The Great Book Of Amber} Nine Princes In Amber} Chapter two

Continued from last posting…

Chapter Two In Nine Princes In Amber, pages 7-15

To begin, as I was reviewing this chapter, I was also eating supper, and I accidentally  have baptised this section with the juice of my corn on the cob. So sad.



King Corn Film 2007



Anyways, this chapter.

Again within this section we are shown the writing which brings the reader into the mind of our narrator, main character.

We begin in a town nearby, on a random corner. He is walking, and as I read this for the second time, I enjoy the little detail of:

“…and walked for around twenty minutes. Then I stopped in a diner, found a booth and had juice, a couple of eggs, toast, bacon and three cups of coffee. The bacon was too greasy.”

This is non essential information, as far as I can tell.  And also not placed in a way as to be impressive in any way. But it is here. And it’s neat.

Freehold Diner

I can picture this person wandering around a random town nearby, to where he was just held captive, and had just hours before awoken from a drug induced coma and ripped casts off of apparent broken legs.  And here he is, he is trying to find his way, trying to find a place to rest, to eat, to just be for a bit. He finds a diner. Can you imagine the comfort of feeling alone, lost, and chased/persecuted, and discovering a homey old fashioned diner? The bright neon lighting, the stools, the red and silver counters, Formica tables and the best greasiest food you have ever had? A classic Greasy Spoon. And here he is seeking out his comfort, and then to be in a mild way, a human way let down, with the bacon being too greasy. It is too much of a good thing. I am kind of kidding, and being too clever here. I do not mean that last sentence very much. But in truth here he is, and really seeking some solace, and comfort, but is given the real life taste of something just a bit off.

John Krasinski, Maya Rudolph, Maggie Gyllanhal in Away We Go.
John and Maya realizing this dinner is not for them.

We have all been there in life, I think, at least I have been. In a situation, that is seemingly perfect, in the ideal of the scenario, and yet there is something that leaves me a little discomfited. For example eating at a friends’ house, the cordiality, the kindness, the potential good food, the dressing up, the being away from the burdens of one’s own home and housekeeping. And yet leaving with your loved one, in my case my husband/best friend/beloved, and just yearning to be in our home together again. The idea that something was just not the perfect thing you had hoped for, or rather not perfect but at the least potentially comforting, relaxing, giving. And in the end, you discover the real comfort being at home.

Our character does not have a home at this point; he has a sister, who has kept him hostage for the last who knows how long. And this is the home he is seeking to return to. For answers. For knowing. For his comfort in knowing.

And we start his journey home with him in a diner. I think this is really awesome.

The next sentence or so after, he mentions some items he purchases for himself during this time, and in reading this I find it interesting to consider what he does buy. Clothes obviously, shoes that fit well- he states, which is again obviously important. But also there is the purchase of a handkerchief and a pocket comb. I find this really amusing. Why does he buy a handkerchief and a comb? To be presentable? To wipe of some excess sweat he may be enduring from his injuries? To fill this subconscious pull towards a social class expectation or way of being he is accustomed to filling out? I don’t know. But regardless the thought is intriguing, and the act is tickling.

The idiosyncrasies that people have in these unimportant ways are so wonderful to me. I love seeing how some people are prone to wiggling toes in a shower, while others need to do certain innocuous morning routines, while still others have their own coffee mug, travel mug, that they actually spent time considering and picking out. I can imagine, and not imagine these actions, and they are so wonderfully boring and lovely.

And so is this.

Then suddenly he states in the next few paragraphs, a somewhat of a shocker…he wants to kill the person who put him in this state, and he knows in his being that he has killed in times before. This brings on a new sort of layer to our main character. Yet I was still totally rooting for him. And wondering who he was, and would be.

We are then taken with him around the city, until his inevitable arrival at his assumed sister’s home. He hints that he has a plan, a tactic to help him in this unsure and shaky scene. But then without a moment in between this confidence he expresses and embodies and the next scene, we have our character knock on the door with this great method/plan/manipulation ready to fight with, when this is what we read:

“Before I arrived, I’d already decided on the tack I’d take.

So, when the door to the huge old place opened in response to my knock, after about a thirty-second wait, I knew what I was going to say…

There was no sense of familiarity. I didn’t think I had ever been here before.

I had knocked, and there had come an echo.

Then I’d jammed my hands into my pockets and waited.”

You feel confident with him reading this, and then are pulled into the sudden anxiety of the feeling of, being at the door, awaiting the unknown danger ahead. The confidence dies out immediately, and the fear reigns, oh but for a moment. Not long with our narrator, and of course hero at this time, but reading this again I feel the tenseness in my stomach come for him, what is going to happen?!

It’s really great. (I wanted to end this sentence with a persuasive> Eh? But did not. And yet. )

I am now going to skip ahead a bit, to when Nicholas is within his sisters’ home in the library and how he manages this discourse.

The ways in which this conversation was derived are somewhat beyond me. The ability to convey mild anxiety, calculation and luck in a believable real way, are a remarkable example for any up and coming writer to model from.

Enjoy a glimpse into this piece of the chapter:

“Presently, the aid returned, smiled, nodded, and said, “Please follow me. She will see you in the library.”

I followed, up three stairs and down a corridor past two closed doors. The third one to my left was open, and the maid indicated I should enter it. I did so, then paused on the threshold…

I knew her, from somewhere, though I couldn’t say where.

I advanced, holding my own smile.

“Hello,” I said.

“Sit down,” said she, “please,” indicating a high-backed, big-armed chair that bulged and was orange, of the kind just tilted at the angle in which I loved to loaf.

I did so, and she studied me.

“Glad to see you’re up and around again.”

“Me, too. How’ve you been?”

“Fine, thank you. I must say I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I know,” I fibbed, “but here I am, to thank you for your sisterly kindness and care.” I Iet a slight note of irony sound within the sentence just to observe her response.

At that point an enormous dog entered the room-an Irish wolfhound-and it curled up in front of the desk. Another followed and circled the globe twice before lying down.

“Well,” said she, returning the irony, “it was the least I could do for you. You should drive more carefully.”

“In future, “I said, “I’ll take greater precautions, I promise.” I didn’t know what sort of game I was playing, but since she didn’t know that I didn’t know, id decided to take her for all the information I could.”

This just a glimpse into the feeling of this chapter. An idea as to the tensions, and plays our main character is both forced into and pursuing. The thin line of play that he has. And the delicately considered words chose to provide us readers with these tensions.

This chapter also introduces some plot directions, and hints to the past and near future of our character and Florimel his new found and slowly recognized little sister. The plot lines are somewhat surprisingly disappointing to see from this distance of having already read this book, in that it takes away slightly from the subtlety of writing that is seen otherwise, without the drive of plot. However the story in itself is an imaginative one that is enjoyable as its own entertaining being. It is a battle of being in the moment I would think as a writer, and being these characters to best represent them on paper, and also the pressure of feeling to make them go in certain directions. I think Roger Zelazny does a fine job of balancing this; it is upon review after reading the book that its movements become to me more obvious.

Enjoy your reading!

Back again soon, for the next chapter…or perhaps next we will tackle a few at one go…the pressures of writing!

J.