Lord Foul's Bane: Chapter 2: ‘You Cannot Hope’ (Part II)

[teres]

Chapter Two (Part I) | Chapter Three

A good day, everyone, and welcome back to Lord Foul’s Bane! Last time, we got another chunk of Covenant’s backstory, including how he ended up in the leprosarium and got out again.

On the previous part of this chapter, Kalinara notes that a bit after this book was published, leprosy was not really “on anyone’s radar” the way it is suggested here. They also think the general reaction to it would be rather “that’s still a thing?!”. I quite agree, though it might of course have been different in the period that Donaldson was writing. …Still, everyone finding leprosy so horrible seems like something I might expect specifically in a small town where Covenant’s living, and I do think I’ll bring that up.

Back with Covenant’s backstory, he has just got home from the leprosarium. As he arrived there in “late summer”, he thought he was “prepared for anything”. He had braced himself against the total silence from Joan and the revulsion from “his former friends and associates”, but it still gives him a “vertiginous nausea of rage and self-disgust”. …Are all his “friends and associates” meant to have backed away from him? I doubt even most of them would, and given that he’s such a best-selling author, he should have at least a few people who do stick with him. Further, what’s to prevent him from finding new friends and associates? He’s got the outreach for it and there will be enough people willing to. I guess that he’d rather try to go without friends to “prove that he can do it” than actually do something about it.

Seeing Joan’s and Roger’s belongings and Joan’s empty stables stings his heart, but he has “already set his heels against the pull of such pains”. But he isn’t prepared against the next shock. Oh, how awful for him. First he checks his mail to make absolutely sure that there’s nothing from Joan and then he speaks to “the lawyer who handle[s] his business”, who is apparently uncomfortable talking to him, too. I’m sensing Donaldson’s hand on the scales, because I find it highly unlikely that everyone would be this uncomfortable with him. And that does hurt my investment in the story, since I’m supposed to believe it and it doesn’t feel real. It hurts my investment in Covenant’s plight, too.

So Covenant goes to the hut in the woods to read everything he’s written on the new book so far. He is left aghast by its “blind poverty”, and he can hardly believe he wrote “such supercilious trash”. I don’t know what it was like, so alright. That night, he reads his bestseller and then he builds a fire in the hearth and burns both the bestseller and the new book. He thinks about “fire” and “purgation”. that if he doesn’t ever write another word, he’ll at least have “rid [his] life of these lies” and wonders how he could have been “so complacent”.

As the pages crumble into ash, he throws in “all through of further writing” with them. He says that he now understands part of what the doctors were saying: “he need[s] to crush out his imagination”. No, Covenant, the doctors didn’t say that; they only said you could be driven to suicide by thinking about “all the kinds of life you can’t have”. You’re angry at what’s happened to you and at your treatment, and you’re letting that anger take over your life at this point. You really don’t need to cut out everything you enjoy about life; sure, you think you’re being “realistic” about it, but it’s just a self-fulfilling prophecy. If you focussed on making your life as good as possible, I think you’d manage to get a long way.

Well, he goes on about how he can’t have an imagination, because if he “torment[s] himself with unattainable desires”, he will lose his grip on “the law which enable[s] him to survive”. His imagination can lead him into suicide because “seeing all the things he [cannot] have [will] make him despair”. This does sound like the doctors’ speech, but I still don’t know which things he supposedly can’t have. I just think there’s more than enough stuff he can get, so why would he despair? I mean, it’s probably just justifications to convince himself, but still.

When the fires goes out, he “[grinds] the ashes underfoot” and the next morning, he goes to organise his life. First, he finds his “old straight razor”, and he goes to shave himself with it, lathering his face and such, and then “set[ting] the edge to his throat”. But of course… He talks about how he knows it’s a threat, and the “consequences might be extreme” if anything goes wrong, but he takes the risk to “discipline himself”. So he makes of this a “personal ritual”, a “daily confrontation with his condition”.

For that same reason, he keeps a “sharp penknife” around. Whenever he feels his discipline falter, or feels threatened by memories, he pulls it out and “test[s] its edge on his wrist”. If just thinking about happy times is apparently unbearable, I wonder if you wouldn’t be happier if you followed through on your threats. Otherwise… I can’t help but apply the term “edgelord” to him. Well, after he’s done shaving, he reorganises his house to remove as much “protruding corners, hard edges, hidden obstacles” as possible, so he can even navigate his rooms in the dark. Anything hazardous he puts in the guest room, and once he’s done, he locks that room and throws away the key. Then he locks his hut and pulls out the fuses, so there will be no risk of fire there.

That’s quite practical of him, and I’d wish he could be so practical in other aspects of his life. Finally he washes his hands quite thoroughly, because of “the physical impression of uncleanliness” he has, and thinks “Leper outcast unclean”. During the autumn, he “stumbl[es] along the rims of madness”. How terrible. He’s goaded by violence “like a picar thrust between his ribs”. …I know what that word is supposed to mean, but it doesn’t seem to exist. That could have been better.

He has a strong desire to sleep, but that will only bring him nightmares, and if he is awake, he’s confronted “with a vicious and irreparable paradox”. Without the support of others, he can’t endure his “struggle against horror and death”, but that “horror and death” explains and almost vindicates the rejection which denies him his support. Still, with enough support, that “horror and death” can be averted quite easily and I don’t think they’re that bad, really. He goes on about that for a bit, saying he hates what will happen to him if he does not fight, and that he cannot hate the people who exclude him, since they “only share his own fear”. Well, I can blame them for not bothering to look beyond their fear.

The only thing which steadies him is “vitriol”, so he clings to it as much as he can. Some days he does not even sleep and goes “without any rest from rage” whatsoever. That doesn’t come across as particularly healthy to me. Eventually, “even that passion” falters. That’s because, as he says, his outcasting is “part of his law” and an “irreducible fact”. If he “fail[s] to crush himself to fit the mold of his facts”, he will not survive. But that’s not a “fact”, Covenant; if you went to live somewhere else, I guarantee that you wouldn’t be this outcast.

He talks about how the highway seems very far away and then says the contradiction “[has] no answer”. But it has! Even if you don’t want to move, you could write to or call people and stay in touch that way. You’re a best-selling author! You will be able to get some contact! Of course, I suppose that actually taking action wouldn’t occur to him. Well, he feels helpless; he says he can’t fight without passion, but “all his passions rebound[] against him”. As the autumn passes, he curses less and less, and he takes to walking the woods behind Haven Farm, where all the possible dangers remind him of how easy dying is.

He only feels “an addition of sorrow” when he touches a tree’s bark and feels nothing. He clearly sees his end: “his heart [will] become as affectless as his body, and then he [will] be lost for good and all”. You could have avoided that by seeking connection, I’m sorry to say. But when he learns his electric bill has been paid, he gets a “sudden sense of focus”, and he’s made aware of what’s really happening. The townspeople are not just shunning him, they’re cutting off “every excuse he might have to go among them”. Yes, that’s true.

As soon as he understands this, he opens a window and shouts into the winter that they should go ahead, since he doesn’t need them. Well, you’re quite right about that. But the issue can’t be solved that easily. As the winter dissolves into a “March spring”, he’s convinced that he needs to do something about it, since he doesn’t want to “stand by and approve this amputation”. I guess he does it out of principle, because I really am not seeing why he would care that much for him otherwise.

So when the next phone bill came, he shaved himself, put on tough clothing and “sturdy boots” and began to walk into town. And that brings us back to the present moment, where Covenant thinks back to his earlier poem. After a bit, he collects himself and stalks in. He puts his palms on the counter, ferocity showing for an instant and then states his name. That’s not the best entrance he could have made. He then stares at the breasts of the girl at the counter (stop that), and looks up to her face and finds her “staring blankly”.

She asks what he wants, he says he wants to pay his bill, thinking that she hasn’t heard, she asks for his number, he gives it, and she goes to check it. Covenant has trouble dealing with the “suspense” and reads the piece of paper he’s been given to distract himself. We get to see that for ourselves.

It details a scenario about a “real man” suddenly finding himself in a “physical situation which [cannot] possibly exist”: a place where synesthesia is a physical reality. A “disembodied voice” tells him he has been chosen as “a champion for his world”. He needs to fight a champion from another world “to the death in single combat”. Defeat equals death, and if he dies, the “real world” will be destroyed “because it lacks the inner strength to survive”.

The man refuses to believe this is true, asserting that he’s “either dreaming or hallucinating” and refusing to participate in the fight when there’s no “real” danger. He’s stubborn in this conviction and doesn’t defend himself when he’s attacked. This is not very subtle in its parallels to Covenant, but I hardly find that a problem. We then get a question: “is the man’s behavior courageous or cowardly? This is the fundamental question of ethics”. It’s hardly that (though I find the suggestion that it is funny), and I wouldn’t have thought to look at the situation that way myself… but to answer the question, I find the man’s behaviour courageous. He sticks to his ideals even though he is threatened with death for himself and destruction for his world if he does and he stays his course even when he is attacked, and I think that is courageous of him, no matter the many other problems I have with this course of action.

Covenant just snorts at the question and wonders who “makes these things up”. The next moment, the girl comes back. She tells him that a deposit had been made on his account that “covers everything for several months” and asks if he recently sent them a large check. The mission’s a bust, then. Covenant reacts about as well as one might expect, needing to catch himself on the counter, crushing the paper in his hand, and hearing “Virtually all societies condemn, denounce, cast out—you cannot hope” in his mind.

He focuses his attention on his cold feet while he “[fights] to keep the violence at bay” (very nice). With quite some caution, he puts the crumpled piece of paper and rambles a bit to the girl about how “it” isn’t catching. The girl just blinks at him “as if she were amazed by the vagueness of her thoughts”. Or maybe she doesn’t have much of an idea of how to deal with what you’re doing, especially since you don’t explain anything?

Covenant gets angry, but suppresses it. He turns away “with as much dignity as he [can] manage” and walks out, letting the door slam shut. He swears “Hellfire and bloody damnation” (which will be his signature curse). Covenant looks back down the street, feeling vulnerable in the sunlight. He hurries back home, saying that he thinks he shows courage by not running. I suppose he does, but I’d hardly mind if he did run.

Soon, he nears the courthouse, where the old beggar is still staring at the sun and mumbling. As he comes closer, he is struck by “how dispossessed” the man looks. He finds that people like him don’t belong “on that street in that sunlight”, because the courthouse doesn’t have “tolerance for such preterite exaltation”. The coins the man hasn’t collected aren’t enough for a meal, too. Covenant gets a “pang of compassion” at the sight and stops in front of the old man. I think I’ll find this scene more interesting, at least.

The man does not move, but his voice alters and he says “Give”. Covenant thinks this is directed to him, so he looks to the bowl. But “the demand, the effort of coercion”, makes him angry again, and he silently tells the old man that he doesn’t owe him anything. I wouldn’t have expected much else. Before he can leave, the old man says that he warned Covenant (which he did do with his sign). Covenant finds that this is a summary of his experiences in the last year, and he immediately decides to pull off his wedding ring. He’s never removed the “white gold wedding band”, since he finds it “an icon of himself”, a reminder of “where he [has] been and where he was”. Now he pulls it from his hand and drops it in. He says it’s “worth more than a few coins” and goes to walk away. You won’t regret that at all, I’m sure.

The old man tells him to wait, with “such authority” that Covenant stops. He stands still until the man puts a hand on his arm, then looks around into his “pale blue eyes”. The man is “tall with power”. Covenant gets the feeling that he’s close to things he doesn’t understand, but he pushes this away. He says “Don’t touch me. I’m a leper”. The old man says in response that he’s “in perdition”. That’s certainly true, however little sense it makes.

Covenant says that this is normal and humans are just “futile”. He thinks that’s what life is like and he just has “less bric-à-brac cluttering up the facts” than most others. Sure, Covenant, you just know things others don’t. The old man remarks on how bitter he is at such a young age. I really do like that he is having none of Covenant’s nonsense, and seems to be trying to help him, too. Knowing who this actually is makes me like it even more.

Covenant apparently has not heard sympathy “for a long time”, and at this, his anger retreats and his throat tightens. He talks a bit about how they didn’t make the world, they only have to live in it, and they’re “all in the same boat”, which I guess is him defending his viewpoint? The old man asks if they did not (make the world). That’s not very subtle, but still small enough of a detail to be easily forgotten, so well done, Donaldson.

The man immediately goes back to humming his tune, holding Covenant until he reaches a break. Then he speaks in “an aggressive tone” that takes advantage of “Covenant’s unexpected vulnerability”, asking why Covenant doesn’t kill himself. Covenant feels a “sense of pressure” and realises that the old man’s eyes are “exerting some kind of peril” over him. He wants to pull away and give himself a VSE, but he can’t. Finally he answers that it’s “too easy”. The man gives no opposition, but he keeps looking at Covenant. Under his gaze, Covenant sees various dangers in his future, in which he recognises possible deaths. This steadies him, though, because of its familiarity, so he manages to put aside his fear and asks if he can give the man something, and he can have what he’s got.

At that, as if “Covenant [has] said some crucial password”, the old man’s eyes return to normal. Well, Covenant was not daunted by the dangers he saw, so I suppose he passed the test the man put him through? The old man says Covenant has done too much and he returns gifts like the ring. He tells Covenant to take his ring back, and then “Be true. You need not fail.” Now he talks in a tone of “gentle supplication”.

Covenant hesitates, but does as the man says. Then he says that everybody fails, but he will survive “as long as [he] can”. The old man sags then, like he’s just “shifted a load of prophecy or commandment” to Covenant. He says that that is “as it may be”, and then walks away, leaning on his staff. Covenant notes that it “[rings] curiously” on the pavement, as if it is harder than cement. Covenant watches the man until he turns a corner and vanishes.

He begins a VSE, then notices his ring and thinks back on what just happened. He decides that he needs to do something “before they barricade the streets against [him]”. Or before they do something to never have to deal with you again, Covenant. He tries to decide on something to do for a while. Looking at the stone heads of the courthouse gives him the idea to see his lawyer. He wants to demand that the woman handling his financial business find “some legal recourse” against the “charity” that cuts him off from the town. He thinks it’s impossible that they can pay his debts without his consent. …A quick look around shows me that it is legal, so I don’t think you’ll have much luck with that. Still, credit to Covenant for trying, and keeping in touch with his lawyer is certainly a good idea in his situation.

Well, the lawyer’s office is on the other side of the road on a corner. After a minute of walking, Covenant reaches that corner and “the town’s only traffic light”. He feels the need to hurry, before “his distrust of lawyers and all public machinery” convinces him that it’s useless. Yeah, I’d love to see you defeat that instinct, too. He waits impatiently, and after a while, it’s green for him and he walks out. Before he’s taken “three steps”, though, he hears a siren, and a police car drives out of an alley onto the main street! It slips through the tight turn, then “aim[s] itself straight at Covenant’s heart”. (Would it be fair to call this the Police Car of Doom?)

Covenant freezes up and can only watch the car “hurtling” toward him. For a moment, he hears brakes and then he “crumble[s]”. As he falls, he gets a sense that he’s falling without having been hit yet, but he’s just too “afraid of being crushed”. He bemoans that this is how he dies, and then he becomes aware of “a huge blackness” behind everything he sees. It all seems to be nothing but “paintings on a black background” and now the background reaches out to get him. He thinks he’s having a nightmare, and hears the old man saying that he need not fail. Then the blackness overwhelms everything, and he can only see “a single red gleam from the police car—a red bolt hot and clear and deadly, transfixing his forehead like a spear”. And there the chapter ends, as we get some action.

Overall… I do like this chapter, even though a significant chunk of it is devoted just to Covenant’s backstory. It does have the problem that the reception of Covenant’s leprosy doesn’t ring true with me, and that Covenant seems more inclined to be an edgelord about his disease than to actually make his life better. The scene with the beggar is well done and we end on a nice cliffhanger, so that’s good; I just wish we could get started earlier than that. Next time, we’re going to get more fantasy stuff, so until then!