Strangeness and Sorcery in the Cold North - A Review of Fritz Leiber's "Swords and Ice Magic"
Having finished the sixth of Leiber's seven "Lankhmar" books, I can't help but find myself comparing "Swords and Ice Magic" to its predecessor.
I’m always leery about guessing at the length of my book reviews while I write them. This is particularly true when I expect them to be on the shorter side. All too often I’ll find myself considering what I have to say, come to a fairly simple and concise answer, and build for myself the expectation of a short and snappy review. Then the writing begins in earnest, and the layers of memory are slowly peeled back in my mind to reveal an idea here, a relevant detail there, and other small things that weren’t considered during my preliminary ponderings.
Will that turn out to be the case here today? It’s difficult for me to say for certain. There’s quite a lot that could be said about Fritz Leiber’s sixth Lankhmar book, which follows the continued adventures of his roguish heroes, the northern barbarian and skald Fafhrd, and the sorcerer-cum-fencer and thief, the Gray Mouser. What I can say with certainty is that Swords and Ice Magic wasn’t quite what I’d hoped it would be, which is a shame considering the general upward trajectory Leiber’s writing has had across this series of Sword & Sorcery adventures.
Those of you who read my previous review of this series, which covered The Swords of Lankhmar, Leiber’s fifth Lankhmar book, will recall that I considered it to be a pinnacle of the series thus far. That is still very much the case, with its events and characters continuing to live strongly in my mind.
My hope and expectation was that something close to this overall level of quality would return in Swords and Ice Magic; that the adventures Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser embarked on would be similarly fantastical and gripping, and that whatever secondary and tertiary cast they surrounded themselves with would at least be as strong as characters like Glipkerio Kistomerces, the cruel and immature former Lord of Lankhmar from the previous book–quite the memorable character in his own right. Of course, the ideal situation would be if the new cast matched the strengths of Hisven and Frix, the pair of alluring women who act as both love interests and self-serving villainesses in The Swords of Lankhmar, chiefly for the Mouser.
Those of you who read that review may also recall that I shared it later than I intended to, delayed as I was by the many goings-on in my life at the time. In the interest of transparency, I want to make it clear that this review has been similarly delayed, but for very different reasons. You see, as I was reading through Swords and Ice Magic, an odd and difficult to place feeling started creeping over me. It took me some time to finally pin this feeling down, which only happened as I progressed into the end stages of the book and started to actively pick out the ways in which it differed from those that came before. Speaking of, I think it’s high time we take a look at the story now.
First and foremost, the opening story for this book was very different from what Leiber has presented us in the past. Instead of opening on a tangentially related adventure or encounter that would eventually result in our leads being thrust into the main story of the book, Swords and Ice Magic opens on Death as he works to maintain a careful balance in his cosmic duties. In terms of deepening the fantastical nature of Nehwon, the world in which these stories take place, it’s an incredibly evocative introductory chapter. When it comes to pushing the story forward, though, it does little.
Where the book’s story begins proper is in the second chapter, a very short tale wherein Fafhrd and the Mouser encounter a strange woman in an isolated Lankhmar alleyway. This bizarre beauty is immediately striking to the both of them not only because of her looks, but due to a particular oddity in her appearance: she has two skin tones divided perfectly down her middle–pale white on one side, and ebony black on the other. The woman ignores them when they attempt to interact with her, then suddenly disappears from sight. When this happens, the rogues are assailed by a pair of mighty bodyguards who seemed to be hiding in dark alcoves on either side of the alley. Like their mistress, they are also striking in their appearance, for one is stark white in color, and the other pitch black.
Naturally, as this is only the second story in the whole of the book, Fafhrd and the Mouser defeat these ambushers, only to realize the woman has disappeared entirely. Then, when they look back, they find the ambushers have, too. Strange magic is at play here, as it often is in Leiber’s stories. To my mind, this sort of encounter is where Leiber’s strengths shine in Swords and Ice Magic. Just as The Swords of Lankhmar before it presented some of the most wonderfully fantastical elements in Leiber’s writing thus far, this book continues that established trend.
However, Swords and Ice Magic does also present an unfortunate step backwards in Leiber’s writing style. In my broader review on the first four books in the Lankhmar series, I noted that one aspect which might throw some readers off was the fact that while these stories are gathered together into a roughly chronological format, they still very much read as distinct stories. This isn’t necessarily a problem, but it is something that many readers will likely notice, and that can be distracting for some who were expecting more traditional novels. The Swords of Lankhmar represented Leiber’s first major break away from this trend, presenting a story that read and flowed like a traditional novel in three acts. As opposed to chapters which were self contained but related stories of their own, the previous book presents a continuous narrative throughout.
Swords and Ice Magic has sadly done away with this, and it’s a rare case within this series where I think the book suffers for that fact. Note that this isn’t the same as saying the stories suffer from poor writing. Leiber’s skills are thoroughly refined by this point, and it shows in the wonderfully imaginative descriptions he provides us of the many wondrous and supernatural events that play out in this book. Indeed, I’d personally argue that Swords and Ice Magic outdoes The Swords of Lankhmar in this respect, which is quite the statement considering the level of praise I heaped upon the prior book for the incredible feeling of fantasy it gave.
If only I could heap that same praise here. I will say that the fantasy elements are wonderful to read about for their imaginativeness and the sense of wonder they bring. This is especially true of one of the stories near the middle of the book, wherein Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser find themselves sailing so far out to sea that they’ve crossed from the borders of Nehwon into the Sea of Stars. In terms of raw imaginativeness, this is my favorite story in the book. Leiber draws from real-world legends and specific sailing superstitions to paint scenes with his words that are simultaneously beautiful, eerily unsettling, dangerous, and awe inspiring. A particular standout of this story was his description of water spouts as pathways that contained the worlds and stars reflected all across the surface of the Sea of Stars. It’s such a fun and creative idea that I couldn’t help but fall in love with it.
However, fantastical concepts alone do not a great story make, and it’s in this respect that I can’t help but compare Swords and Ice Magic to The Swords of Lankhmar.
I do want to be clear, I enjoyed my time reading Swords and Ice Magic. I enjoyed it a great deal, but I also think that as a whole it’s a noticeably weaker story than its predecessor, and the reason for this is two-fold. The first issue is the supporting cast. Hisven and Frix, two of the very finest among the myriad of ladies and love interests that fans of Leiber’s books refer to as the “Lankhmar wenches,” do make a brief comeback in this book. However, it is very brief, and their impact upon the story is so greatly reduced compared to the prior tale as to effectively be a fraction of a fraction. Similarly, the original pair of love interests for Fafhrd and the Mouser, Ivrian and Vlana, are heavily referenced in some of the book’s early stories, particularly those sections dealing with Death and his realm, the Shadowlands. Alas, while they are referenced, they don’t make an appearance.
Instead, after a series of events which involves a trio of irate gods meddling in their lives, Fafhrd and the Mouser find themselves unceremoniously stripped of the lady loves they ended The Swords of Lankhmar arm-in-arm with. For Fafhrd, it’s the ghoul woman Kreeshkra, who’s grown tired of what she sees as his boorish and filthy ways and desires to return to her own people. Similarly for the Mouser, his lover Elakeria opts to abandon him for a luxurious life among an enclave of people who share in her habit of full body shaving, which was forced upon her when she worked as one of Glipkerio Kistomerces’ slaves in the prior book. It’s a disappointing turn of events for me, as the ending of the prior book seemed to promise at least some adventures where these two would join Fafhrd and the Mouser, giving us the opportunity to see how their relationships may develop.
Unfortunately, we were given precisely the opposite of this. Rather than further exploring these newly introduced love interests, Leiber opts instead to conveniently have them tire of the company of their men via off-page events and plot convenience, with the biggest being the aforementioned meddling of that trio of gods. While this does result in an admittedly funny story in the book’s first half, it’s also quite frustrating to know that the primary reason this choice was made was to force Fafhrd and the Mouser back into their standardized formula. And as you might expect from a Sword & Sorcery adventure formula, it includes a brand new pair of love interests for the heroes to chase after in the latter half of the book.
Who are these love interests? To be entirely honest, I can’t tell you. I genuinely don’t remember their names, because neither of them was interesting enough to stick with me, and this is the running problem with the supporting cast in this book. Each member of the cast serves the particular stories they’re involved in well. They’re decently written, the cultures they come from show clearly in how they speak and behave, and their differences with Fafhrd and the Mouser do lead to some entertaining conflicts.
Despite these positive elements, there is one very important thing that Swords and Ice Magic lacks which The Swords of Lankhmar had in spades: a distinct sense of identity to help it remain memorable. Please note, I’m not saying there aren’t memorable moments in this story. There certainly are, and quite a few of them in fact. I can recall many of the excellent moments of wonder, fantasy, and strange magic from this book; such as Fafhrd and the Mouser’s journey into the Shadowlands, the strange spectral women that haunted them while sailing across the Sea of Stars, and of course the aforementioned moments with the two-toned woman and the water spouts. I can also recall its battles, which were among the most intense the duo faced. The strongest among these occurred after their journey to the north, which pits them against a seafaring breed of Mingols and the sorcerer who leads them.
Where this book takes a back-step compared to the previous one is in the fact that it’s Fafhrd and the Mouser alone who made these moments so memorable. This is, of course, a good thing. We do want our main characters to stand out, after all, and Leiber’s experience in writing this roguish duo stands out as an undiminished strength of the book. I can’t say the same about the secondary cast or the actual island civilization they travel to in the second half, though. Whether we’re talking the two new Lankhmar wenches who become their patrons and love interests, the old man who is one of the lead councilmen on this island and a rival to the wenches, or even the island itself, it’s difficult for me to recall anything significant about them. This includes their names, details about their appearance, or information that tells me more about them as characters beyond their most basic wants. There simply wasn’t enough present for any of these important elements to stick with me in the long term.
It was as I read through the final chapter of the book for the first time that I finally recognized that feeling I couldn’t pin down. It was a sense of shallowness, a distinct lack of impression. I sat there having just read the final chapter of the book, and I realized that I’d already forgotten half of what I read. So I went back right then and there and read through it again, to remind myself what it is that I apparently glazed right over. I’m glad I did, too, because the book’s final conflict turned out excellent. Why, then, did I read through it so absently?
Simply put, the chapter was a victim of a growing disinterest in that latter half of the book. The quality of the writing on display was still every bit as good as I’d come to expect from Fritz Leiber. His descriptions were vivid and full of personality, and his prose carried that same panache I’ve come to expect from him after five books. But all of this was dampened by a secondary and tertiary cast that came off as such non-entities to me that I simply found myself zoning out. I still cared what was going on with Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser, but unlike the previous books, The Swords of Lankhmar especially, I lacked interested in the people they found themselves with.
This was the reason I put off writing this review. I wanted to give myself time to revisit this story and digest it a second time. I wanted to see if this same problem persisted. As I thought more about it, I realized that the issues were primarily present in the second half. To evidence this, take note of all the events I detailed in the above paragraphs: all of those come from the first half of the book, before they sail north. So I revisited the book’s second half to see if I’d maybe missed something the first time around.
Would that it were the case, for nothing would’ve made me happier, but I found that latter half of the story to be simply…passable. It’s not bad, I really must stress this point. It’s simply that the secondary character work isn’t up to the level of quality I’ve come to expect from Leiber’s work. Fahfrd and the Mouser, as I’ve said–and I apologize for belaboring this point but it really must be understood–are still as strong as ever in their roles. It’s the characters surrounding them who failed to carry their weight in that northerly island of atheistic traders and tradesmen.
So it is that Swords and Ice Magic became a rather unevenly mixed bag for me. The first half of the book maintains and, in some cases, improves on some qualities I’ve come to appreciate in Leiber’s take on Sword & Sorcery. The latter half still carries some of these qualities, but allows others to slip and fall along the way, and the supporting cast suffers for this fact. The end result is a book that feels like it backslides. In its stories and presentation, it moves back to the older style established before The Swords of Lankhmar, which would be fine if not for the baggage that came with it.
It’s unfortunate that I must say this after coming off of what I believe will end up being the best book in this series, but for all the good Swords and Ice Magic brings to the table, it’s not enough to hide the fact that it’s the weakest book in the series thus far. I don’t want to be too harsh, though. As I stated in my review of The Swords of Lankhmar, that book left large shoes to be filled, and I’m not surprised that the follow-up didn’t manage to fill them.
Yet the fact still remains that because the characters of the second half failed to pull their weight, an otherwise strong entry in a very fun and imaginative series was held back. As such, after factoring in both the good an the bad, my final rating for Fritz Leiber’s sixth Lankhmar book, Swords and Ice Magic, is a middling:
Avoid It | Discount Bin | Tough Sell | Flawed Fun | Great Read | Must Own