Terry Brooks, The Sword of Shannara (1977)

When I tweeted that I’d decided to read this novel (on the grounds that I’d never read it) a number of people tweeted back that (a) it is immensely, almost parodically derivative of Lord of the Rings, and (b) but their nine-year-old selves had really liked it. And that is what we find. It is so patently rip-off Tolkieniana, down to the last detail, it is almost endearing. Reading it was a process of reminding myself (contra Adorno) that there is a pleasure in settling-in to an aesthetic experience of marked familiarity; as when the blues chords and bo-diddley chug of yet another pleasant AOR rock track notionally 'new' comes on the radio and you find your foot tapping along. It’s not Tolstoy. You aren't surprised to hear me say so. It is a YA adventure, written before publishers had quite grasped the commercial potential of that mode. And, rather to my surprise, I did enjoy reading it.

Of course, tis a particular and rather limited sense of ‘enjoy’ I’m using here, and to be sure. In terms of the book’s plotting and worldbuilding, I have nothing to add to the estimable Tom Shippey’s judgment of a derivativeness so profound it would plumb the Mariana trench. Shippey [in 2000’s J.R.R. Tolkien: Author of the Century, pp 319–320] considers the novel distinctive

for "the dogged way in which it follows Tolkien point for point" … Shippey locates "analogues" for Tolkien characters such as Sauron (Brona), Gandalf (Allanon), the Hobbits (Shea and Flick), Aragorn (Menion), Boromir (Balinor), Gimli (Hendel), Legolas (Durin and Dayel), Gollum (Orl Fane), the Barrow-wight (Mist Wraith) and the Nazgûl (Skull Bearers), among others. He also finds plot similarities to events in The Lord of the Rings such as the Fellowship of the Ring's formation and adventures, the journeys to Rivendell (Culhaven) and Lothlórien (Storlock), Gandalf's (Allanon) fall in Moria (Paranor) and subsequent reappearance, and the Rohirrim's arrival at the Battle of the Pelennor Fields (Battle of Tirsys), among others. Avoiding direct commentary on the book's quality, Shippey attributes the book's success to the post-Tolkienian advent of the fantasy genre: "What The Sword of Shannara seems to show is that many readers had developed the taste ... for heroic fantasy so strongly that if they could not get the real thing they would take any substitute, no matter how diluted."

Yep.

It’s a novel that bears the marks of a writer not yet (shall we say) entirely in charge of his instrument. The main giveaway here is a gushing refusal to permit any noun to go before the reader unadjectived, or any verb unadverbed. This leads to overwriting of this sort:

The trail stretched out unevenly down the northern slope, winding through the huge boulders which studded the rugged terrain in massive clumps, disappearing into the thick forests of the lowlands to reappear in brief glimpses in small clearings. [9]

Long front legs tipped with deadly hooked claws clutched the empty air, and the great jaws clashed sharply, grinding together the blackened, pointed teeth. [271]

The way to deal with this (in your own writing, I mean; or, you know -- generally) is to italicize all adjectives and adverbs and see what the result looks like. Generally the result is that if you cut out all the italicised bits the prose would be more vivid.

A dazzling flash of lightning outlined a small form near the crest of a tall hill far, far ahead, struggling madly to gain the rocky summit in the face of the driving rain. [529]

So, yes, the prose is a bit wearing in long stretches, although on the upside it’s rarely actively Robert-Jordan bad. Except, you know: sometimes.

It rained the entire time—a slow, chilling drizzle that soaked first the clothing, then penetrated into the skin and bone, and finally reached the very nerve centres. [95]

Well, either Shea and friends have unusually spongy body mass, or that is some unusually penetrating rain. But, look: banging this book on its metaphorical pate with a knobstick for manifold failures of expression and general Thoggism, as I might do with another writer, is no fun. It’s like slapping a puppy. One of the pleasures of Brooks’ writing is that he is so in-the-bone unpretentious; there’s no overweening Jordan-ic or Donaldsonian self-importance here. And (not to abdicate the responsibilities of criticism or anything) there’s a level of response which boils down to: ‘either you enjoy reading sentences like Paranor has fallen! A division of Gnome hunters under the command of the Warlock King has seized the Sword of Shannara! [147] or you don’t.’

What else? Well, for the first 450 pages or so there are no women in this story. No female characters at all. Crikey, but that reads oddly in 2014. Finally a woman is introduced, but in tones of such frank astonishment (‘he had rescued a woman!’ [460]) that the reader is left in no doubt (‘a woman! Why would the Northlanders kidnap a woman?’ [461]) that bringing a woman into a story such as this is really, like, bogus, dude (‘he paused at the second button of his nightshirt, suddenly remembering the young woman with him. He pointed meaningfully to the door, but she shook her head negatively and turned away so she couldn’t see him changing’ [466]). Of course it is sexist, but it is the blithe sexism of young boys who don’t want girls in their gang. Girls! Gak. Also she’s called ‘Shirley’ (well: ‘Shirl’) which is a great name for a character in an heroic fantasy. At any rate, Brooks has the decency to hold-off the icky kissy-kissy stuff until near the end.

'I came a long, long way,' he murmured gently. 'I've seen the evil there is in this world and in worlds that mortals only dream exist. There is nothing that can hurt us ... Just believe, Shirl.' ... The weary highlander smiled, gripping her hands tightly. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. [599]

Since she appears to be the only woman anyone has ever seen, that's a safe bet. Less amusing is the seeming naif racist orientalism by which the ‘Gnomes’, this world’s orcs, are described. They’re small, yellow-skinned, devious and hunched. I don’t believe Brooks uses the phrase ‘bandy-legged’ with respect to them, but he might as well have done.

What’s that? Oh alright then: Thoggisms it is. Though they’re hardly Thoggisms at all! Baby-Thoggisms.

The trees prevented the members of the company from seeing much of anything, their great girth ranging from three to ten feet in diameter. [176] (… that’s one stout set of company members!)

The Dragon’s Crease was well named. [275]

Expectant eyes traveled upward over the steep rock walls. [289]

The features of the Troll were indescribably bland. [342]

They were like thousands of blazing yellow dots in the blackness of the plain. [408]

An eerie soundless shriek of terror ripped from the convulsed shroud. [701]

See? Hardly Thoggisms at all. Reading The Sword of Shannara turned out to be a surprisingly pastime-y exercise, in part because it’s been a while since I read a book so unembarrassed about being Wholly Generic Heroic Fantasy Product. There’s no twist here, no attempt to add novelty to Tolkien’s format. Actually that’s not right: Brooks has one idea, which is that his fantasy world is our world a couple of thousand years after an atomic apocalypse; his dwarfs, elves, gnomes etc. are mutated descendants of different branches of humanity. Every now and again he remembers this notion and has his characters chance upon a ruined city of rusting steel girders in the forest, or encounter a feral robot from the olden times. But mostly it is conveniently forgotten.

One more thing: about half way through our hero falls in with a rogue-ish, charming thief called Panini (I may be misremembering his name) who has a rock troll as his side-kick. In a novel published in 1978 this couple would fair scream ‘Han Solo and Chewie rip-off!’; but The Sword of Shannara was first published in 1977, and written before Lucas’s movie, so I guess that’s just one of those odd coincidences.