The Blood Moon

Shedjia’s riverboat followed the red moon northward along the muddy, slow waters of the Nahar in full flood. She sat in the prow under a canopy of shadow and watched the land unfold. It had been ten days since the messengers had come, bearing with them Kardan, wounded on a barge like a slain crocodile, and the news that Utuzan had been wounded and lay near to death in the temple of Anatu on the island of the gods. At once, she gathered what little she owned and took to the river to reach him.

The days and nights were an agony of waiting, sleeping in shadow beneath the blaze of the sun, then pacing the deck through the watches of the dark. She allowed no rest, no putting ashore for any reason. The boat was small and coasted easily over the shallows where reeds grew like arrows nested from an unseen battle. Herons flew low over the waters, chasing their reflections as they passed beneath the stars.

The temples and towers of Mutun glowed white in the moonlight, reflected in the river like bones. Shedjia looked at the columns of smoke that still rose from plundered shrines and destroyed mansions. Over all loomed the palace of the kings, and not far from it she saw watch-fires, and she heard the great drums of the temple of the dark goddess, and she sent up a silent prayer to the veiled one herself that the dark son still lived.

The Witcher

It’s interesting how the Witcher franchise has become this kind of cultural phenomenon, when the source material remains the least-known part of it. Originally appearing in a series of books and stories by Polish author Andrzej Sapkowski, the character gained momentum mostly due to the series of well-recieved video games by Polish studio CD Projekt Red, culminating in the 2015 game Witcher III: The Wild Hunt. Now Geralt of Rivia has arrived in the mainstream in a major way via his own Netflix series.

It’s a circuitous route to fame, but I suppose it was inevitable with every platform and network trying to make the next Game of Thrones. Whatever you think of that show, GoT has been instrumental in mainstreaming fantasy fiction, taking off from the cultural moment brought about by the Lord of the Rings films. Without the success of those movies, none of this would likely be happening. Now we are living in a time when all kinds of fantasy properties are being adapted for the wider world, and The Witcher is certainly one of the most old-fashioned.

What I find interesting about Geralt as a character is that he is a straight-up pulp hero in the old style. He’s not uncertain of his motives, and he doesn’t spend time philosophizing or doubting himself. Like all the great pulp heroes he comes to us fully-formed, and we don’t waste time on an origin story. Geralt is a badass warrior, already a master swordsman who possesses superhuman physical prowess as well as extensive knowledge of his trade. He’s good at what he does, maybe the best, and he cleaves his way through his world using violence as a solution to a lot of his problems. Like all pulp heroes he is confident, determined, and fearless. We don’t see him question himself or struggle to become skilled – we’re already there.

Another, rather welcome pulp characteristic is that Geralt gets a lot of action. As opposed to modern protagonists who have one true love or just seemingly never get horny, Geralt bangs hot chicks from here to Nilfgaard, and both the character and the stories are entirely unapologetic about it. You can argue that Yennefer is his OTP, but their relationship is, at best, difficult. The fact that Geralt won’t settle down for anything is yet another mark on the “pulp” column. Pulp heroes might try to retire, but they never really do.

The show is an interesting creation. Aside from Henry Cavill in the lead role, the rest of the cast is mostly unknowns, or less-knowns. Freya Allan is solid as Ciri, and Joey Batey’s Jaskier is a welcome dash of comic relief. Jodhi May kills it as the hard-drinking, iron-willed Queen Calanthe, and Anya Chalotra gets the best part as the complex, multifaceted Yennefer, and her performance is just stellar. She has an effortless charisma that just bleeds off the screen every moment she is on it.

The look of it is dirty and grungy, as befitting Geralt’s world, and it also looks a good bit like Westeros, and though they do try really hard to separate them, design-wise, the comparison is unavoidable. I understand they had a rule not to cast anyone from GoT, and when they have a dragon onscreen, you can tell they went hard to make sure it didn’t look like Drogon. That said, the costumes and VFX on this show are generally a cut below what HBO managed, and just retain that TV-look, without the polish I would like.

The first season is strongly episodic, as it is based on short stories set before the main storyline of the novels. That’s another thing that makes it stand out as pulp to me, as the episodes operate on different timelines, skip over events and years between them, and sometimes show the same event from different points of view.

The Witcher is definitely and solidly a Sword & Sorcery show. You have a dangerous, gritty world with no real moral center, and a cast of characters who all exist in shades of gray. At the center is Geralt, a dangerous, wandering adventurer who fucks and kills his way through it all. Also in line with S&S is the lower-class background of the main character. Geralt is not a prince or a knight or an exiled king, he’s just a guy – or he started that way – and he even has a job right there in the title. For all that he gets involved in bigger stories, just as Conan did, at his base Geralt is blue-collar, and he travels around looking for jobs that suit his particular skills. A solid Sword & Sorcery pulp adventure carried off with good performances and definite style.

The Songs of Fallen Gods

Under the delicate shell of night, the heart of High Ashem lay bared to the cold stars, and with the rising of the dawn came her final doom. In the waters of the long lake lay the sacred island of Mannat, and upon the island stood the many-clustered temples and palaces and towers of the city named Mutun – The Place Where the Gods Live Eternally. This place had been the heart of High Ashem for six hundred years, but it would not rule for one more day.

Fires were lit across the city, and the bells rang for prayers to all the gods. The shrines of Hadad and Uanan, of Slud and Anatu were alight with the fires of sacrifice. Lowing bulls were cut open and their blood poured into basins, their entrails fed into burning coals. Incense covered the smell of fear as virgins were offered up in the old rituals. Priests called forth their invocations and choirs sang the songs of supplication and propitiation. The people who dwelled on the shore along the riverside huddled down in their clay houses and made their own small offerings, cast their own small prayers to the fading dark.

All through the days before, those soldiers who had escaped the great disaster had staggered into the city from the desert’s edge. Warriors and porters and men driving wagons filled with supplies had come in a long stream, each of them bearing the same evil tidings. The army had been crushed, scattered across the riverlands, and the invincible Iron King had been cast down and was seen no more. The power of the black sorcerer from the south had proven too great, and even now an army of barbarians marched for the heart of the kingdom.