Queen’s Play, Take Three
I finished my third read of Queen’s Play, and have started on Mary Doria Russell’s Children of God, sequel to The Sparrow. (I know, I didn’t like The Sparrow to begin with, but my friend Cat wants to see what I think of the sequel, and I’m hoping that if I read it, she’ll feel obligated to read The Game of Kings in return [without stopping a third of the way through because it's "written weird"], and then I’ll have someone in real life to talk about it with! I was all excited that my mom read it, but as usual my mom thinks it’s insane to talk about something you’ve read [or watched, or listened to] so that turned out to have been pointless.)
Anyway, Queen’s Play. I want to do another, kind of definitive re-read of the Lymond series, while taking notes on great lines and interesting bits, and looking up every quote and reference that I don’t recognize. But in the meantime, here’s my brief thoughts on Queen’s Play, take three.
I liked it much better this time, I think because I understand its place in the whole series and in the arc of Lymond’s development. The big question is “What is Lymond going to do with his life?” which is core to everything in this book and to the overall series.
(The scene that says it all: When Richard tells Lymond “You’re just a boy; you have your whole life ahead of you” and Lymond responds “The popular question is, for what?” He’s not just being emo; that’s the core of the story, both that Lymond’s trying to figure out what to do with himself and that it’s a “popular” question, everyone wants a piece of him.)
The main thing I noticed this time around is how much the other main characters parallel aspects of what’s going on with Lymond, and represent different possibilities of what he could become. I’m not sure how I missed this the first time around, because the direct comparisons to Lymond are incredibly apparent once you’re looking for them.
First there’s Robin Stewart (whose corpse when they’re burying him is described as a mirror of Lymond! and Lymond himself, as Vervassal, takes the same advice he gives Robin about how you have to do everything perfectly in order to succeed). Robin never gets anywhere in his life because he’s so steeped in bitterness and resentment that he doesn’t bother improving himself or trying for anything great; he just whines and moans about everything he doesn’t have. This is a course that IMO Lymond could fall prey to, but thankfully never does.
But Lymond has plenty to be bitter about, and it comes through a couple of times–I’m thinking of the trial scene in Game of Kings where Lymond is asked why he didn’t just sign the oath and return to Scotland after being captured at Solway Moss, and he points out that he was never invited to do so because he’s a second son and not important enough. The direct result of that was his seduction and betrayal by Margaret Lennox, and the death of his sister and two years in the galleys for him–what human being wouldn’t be a bit bitter over that? And Lymond losing his “Master of Culter” title in this book is a huge deal–even though we never see him whine about it, the fact that it keeps getting brought up shows us how significant it is. Mary de Guise even points it out as one of the reasons she thinks she can take control of him now. And it’s why Lymond’s gift to his nephew Kevin is so touching, because it shows him welcoming his replacement, putting his loss aside and putting his love of his family first. Because it does suck that Lymond is the second son, that he loses his title–he has much less power than his brother and has to struggle to find his place in the world in a way that a first son never would. Which brings us to…
Oonagh O’Dwyer. I understood her a lot better this time, and why Lymond relates to her, once I recognized the parallel in their situations. They’re both in positions–second son, woman–where they can’t effect politics directly, but have to act through others. There’s a huge parallel here between Mary de Guise’s attempts to “buy” Lymond and Oonagh’s relationship with Cormac O’Connor. Both of them have to effectively whore themselves out in order to accomplish their goals.
Lymond and Oonagh have similar goals–they want to protect their countries. Oonagh can’t directly effect Irish politics, though; she has to sell her body to O’Connor and use the position to influence him to, hopefully, do what’s best for Ireland. And it’s Lymond who opens her eyes to the fact that O’Connor is out for himself, not for Ireland. Which Lymond recognizes in part because it’s the exact situation Lymond is in. As a second son, he doesn’t have power except through others, and in this book it’s very clear that Mary de Guise wants to empower him to work for her, not for the overall good of Scotland.
The reason for his resistance didn’t strike me so strongly on the first read because their goals in this case are the same: protect Mary Queen of Scots. But it becomes very clear in Checkmate that Mary de Guise’s goals won’t always align with Lymond’s, when he discovers the secret papers signed by MQoS to give the Scottish crown to France if MQoS dies without an heir. Like Cormac O’Connor, Mary de Guise is out for herself and the de Guise family, not necessarily for the people of Scotland, which is Lymond’s goal.
It really struck me this time how much Lymond is bothered by this need to compromise. He comes out of the scene with Mary de Guise (the one where he overhears her saying “I mean to take this man in his failure”) “seemingly” not bothered, which is totally Dunnett-code for “He was really bothered.” And he even quotes the line later, doing a MdG impression, so obviously it stuck with him and upset him. And it’s clearly what leads to his decision at the end to create a mercenary army, because in his current situation he’s got no leverage. (And this makes it clear why MdG pretty much takes down his army at the end of Disorderly Knights–she wants it working for her or not at all. And of course Lymond himself realizes it’s too dangerous, what with people like Gabriel around.)
And then there’s Phelim O’LiamRoe, maybe the character most obviously compared to Lymond since we’re tricked into thinking he might be Lymond for the first forty pages of the book. (A literary device I love, btw, because it makes it so much more understandable that the characters can’t figure out which is Lymond when you as a reader had the same problem!) O’LiamRoe is a smart guy who sits on the sidelines, detached and ironic, while other people make the world move. And ultimately he does this because it’s easier than getting involved himself and because he’s afraid of failure. Which I think is another risk Lymond takes–that he could spend his life on the sidelines, not getting involved, because it’s easier and because he doesn’t want to pay the price. See, for example, his early talk with Margaret Erskine about his hesitation to get involved–he knows that he’ll be responsible for the suffering and death of others (already Christian Stewart, Turkey Mat, and his sister Eloise). And he brings up the topic again at the end, when talking to O’LiamRoe after Robin Stewart’s death–if this is the consequence of my involvement, maybe I shouldn’t bother at all. (Sorry, I don’t have the book with me right now or I’d give the exact quote.)
And how lovely that it’s O’LiamRoe himself who’s learned enough from the whole experience to be able to tell Lymond that his mistake wasn’t in getting involved at all, but in not watching out for Robin Stewart after he’d used him. The whole lesson being that if you’re going to be a leader, you have to look out for the people who follow you even when they’re flawed (a lesson that would’ve also come in handy with Will Scott). I’m trying to think of how this plays out later–maybe in the way Lymond looks out for Jerrott, and in the way he tries so hard to not let his seductive power get out of control, because he knows how much risk he runs of people following him blindly and obsessively.
Of course, there’s also the two personas that Lymond himself takes on: Thady Boy, the irresponsible, imaginative, creative, artistic, drunken, out-of-control side of himself, and Vervassal Herald, the epitome of self-control, sleek, meticulous, skilled, brilliant, and utterly lacking in humanity (totally a prototype Voevoda Bolshoia). Mind vs. body, logic vs. emotion, art vs. politics… One of the big themes of the series is Lymond’s need to integrate these two aspects of himself, which finally happens beautifully at the end of Checkmate.
Anyway, I’m just babbling. Hopefully I’ll find time at some point to do a proper series read-through, with quotes and references and everything.
Tags: lymond
7 Responses to “Queen’s Play, Take Three”
Paratti on February 6, 2009 7:44 pm | Link
I think a lot of how he treats Phillipa after they marry – and that he marries her at all when he could have not – has a lot to do with the lessons he draws from RS’s death and O’LR’s words. I suspect it, as well as what happens later to those close to him, are behind why he’s so determined to do what he thinks is best for her even after they fall in love.
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rusty-halo on February 6, 2009 8:59 pm | Link
Hmm, yeah, I think that explains part of the intensity of his desire to protect her (along with all those other losses he blames himself for). But I think the big thing with Robin Stewart was that Lymond didn’t even like him, that he was someone Lymond regarded with contempt, and that this was part of why he died–that Lymond couldn’t be bothered to go out of his way for him.
Lymond was right that Stewart had lessons to learn, and right to set him on that path, but wrong not to look out for him once he’d done so. I think this has an impact on how Lymond treats those “beneath him”–not so much Philippa, who I think he’d have protected regardless of what happened with Robin–he respects her and she’s Kate’s daughter, after all–but with people like Jerott (who Lymond goes way out of his way to protect and guide, again and again, even when Jerott’s being clueless and making mistakes). I’m trying to think of another example–maybe Adam Blacklock, who made a bad mistake, but who Lymond stays with all night after whipping him (to protect him from worse from the czar) in Russia, or the men of St. Mary’s who Lymond looks out for, or even Joleta Mallett, who Lymond does try to protect–he nearly does sacrifice himself for her at the end of DK and is really upset with himself for deciding not to.
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rusty-halo on February 10, 2009 6:45 pm | Link
Ooh, you know what just occurred to me? (Sorry, I’m obsessed with these books and thinking about them constantly!)
Lymond’s failure with Robin Stewart is a huge part of why he goes to such lengths to save Oonagh (even before he knows about Khaireddin). In QP, Oonagh and Robin are in parallel situations to Lymond: they both have the information he wants, and in both cases he refuses to force the information out of them, but leaves it up to them, shows them the options and leaves them responsible for their own moral choices (with Robin during their confrontation in the woods, where Lymond gives him the lecture about how to succeed, and leaves him free to make his decision, and with Oonagh when Lymond talks to her about Cormac O’Connor’s failings and introduces her to Mary Queen of Scots).
He leaves Robin to make that moral decision, which Robin does, and then Lymond isn’t there for him, leading to Robin’s suicide. So when Oonagh also makes the moral decision, which saves Lymond and MQoS and alienates her from O’Connor, Lymond puts a huge amount of effort into finding her and helping her. Not because he’s in love with her–he clearly isn’t–but because he feels he owes her, and doesn’t want his interference with her to lead to her death the way it did with Robin Stewart. (Ironically, everyone would probably have been much better off if Lymond had never had anything to do with her again–at least that way she and Khaireddin wouldn’t have ended up in Gabriel’s sights.)
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queenofthorns on February 7, 2009 12:10 am | Link
You know, your musings on the books are making me want to re-read them so badly (and I will have to refer back to these posts when I DO re-read!)
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rusty-halo on February 7, 2009 12:49 am | Link
The Lymond books are always worth re-reading. :) You totally should (and post about it!).
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ascian3 on February 7, 2009 1:53 am | Link
Queen’s Play was easily my least favorite of the series, probably because it’s part of a character arc that’s only really sympathetic over the long term. There’s a repeated theme in Lymond’s story, of his using *all* the rope he’s been given and then some (by the people who love him within the context of the story, and also by the reader) – over and over again, you are led to doubt his goals, his character, and his methodology. In Game of Kings, this is neatly contained within a single book, and by the end you come to understand that everyone’s doubts about Lymond are unfounded. And in smaller ways this continues throughout the series. But it’s also a major theme in the series itself, and if you’re going to redeem a character, you’re first going to have to tear them down. Queen’s Play is where that happens for Lymond, and redemption doesn’t come along until later. So I suspect that I too will enjoy it more the second time around. On first read, the debauchery and aimlessness was simply kind of dull.
I like your point about how this is, really, Lymond figuring out whether he’s going to engage with the world on his own terms, or allow himself to be sidelined, because it’s one of the main things that I also took away from the series. (A question of my own, as well.)
This one was also kind of rough because I was not fond of either Oonagh O’Dwyer or of Robin Stewart. Oonagh is understandable but not, to me, sympathetic – she’s a strong character in theory, but in practice we see her only as impotent, a victim. She’s at the end of her period of influence, a victim rather than a mover and shaker, and it’s easy to see how Lymond finds that tragedy appealing, but it’s not the better side of Lymond’s character (he, too, sells his body for power from time to time). You see it, later, as he follows her to Malta out of what seems to be a sort of sense of obligation and affinity, but not out of love. Oonagh is who he might have been, but, fortunately, who he becomes.
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rusty-halo on February 7, 2009 5:29 pm | Link
I think my initial problems with Queen’s Play were similar: I wasn’t terribly sympathetic to Lymond (although in retrospect I understand his depression and frustration much better), and I wasn’t that fond of the other characters. I was expecting Oonagh and Robin to be sympathetic like Christian and Will, which they totally weren’t. It was a lot more engaging to read them this time as reflections of aspects/possibilities for Lymond rather than as characters in their own right, because in their own right they’re both pretty annoying.
Robin Stewart in particular annoyed me, because, yes, he’s screwed up and he has some potential and it’s sad that he wastes it, but, dude, he spends half the book trying to kill Lymond and trying to kill a six year old girl. Am I really supposed to care that he dies? But with that in mind, I do understand that Lymond was trying to help him redeem himself, and why that failure hurts Lymond.
You’re right that we see Oonagh as a victim, at the end of her period of influence, and also I think we see her in a corrupted state. She’s stuck around with O’Connor way past the point where he’s worth it, so she’s in a situation of justifying the murder of children for her cause.
It really struck me this time that Lymond relates to Oonagh because she’s a whore too–I don’t think he necessarily finds this appealing, but he understands and sympathizes with the compromises she’s had to make. (And no wonder he relates so much to Khaireddin and knows in his heart which child is his–the child of two whores must be the one who is also a whore.)
I actually wouldn’t say that Lymond ever sells his body for power. I don’t think Lymond is interested in power as an end, just as a means to accomplish his goals, which are pretty much always idealistic and good–protect MQoS, stop Gabriel, protect Jerott, save Khaireddin, help Russia progress, and help Scotland. And that’s part of why he understands Oonagh–she’s out for Ireland, not out for herself. It’s a big contrast to, say, Guzel, who is out for her own power, period.
(The only times I can think of Lymond directly trading his body for something is to the Aga Morat, which is to protect Jerott from being raped/tortured/murdered, and to Guzel, to protect Venceslas and to pay his debt for her helping him and his friends escape Istanbul. And you could cite other instances, like maybe sleeping with members of the French court for information, but even that’s for the good of Scotland, to protect MQoS. Of course, Lymond hates himself for these things and believes that the good ends don’t justify the sleazy means, but then Lymond has major issues with self-hatred and impossible perfectionism.)
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