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Hadley (567 KP) rated The Institute in Books
Oct 24, 2019
Likable characters (1 more)
Paranormal
Sexualizing children (1 more)
Not a regular King story
At around 95 novels, Stephen King, who is one of the most well-known authors of our time, debuts a possible new novel series about psychic children. 'The Institute' mostly takes place in a hidden facility located in a wooded area of Maine,where readers follow a kidnapped child prodigy named Luke Ellis, and the government experiments that are inflicted on him to heighten his psychic powers.
So why is the government kidnapping children to conduct psychic research on them? At first, it may seem just that: psychic research, because psychic powers seem to be more powerful in young children than adults, but nothing is what it seems. As the boss of this Institute says to the children: " ' There's a war going on, and you have been called upon to serve your country.' " A few sentences later, and she explains it a little more in depth for Ellis: " ' This is not an arms race but a mind race, and if we lose, the consequences would be more than dire; they would be unimaginable. You may only be twelve, but you are a soldier in an undeclared war. The same is true of Kalisha and the others. Do you like it? Of course not. Draftees never do, and draftees sometimes need to be taught that there are consequences for not following orders. I believe you've already had one lesson in that regard. If you're as bright as your records say you are, perhaps you won't need another. If you do, however, you'll get it. This is not your home. This is not your school. You will not simply be given an extra chore or sent to the principal's office or given detention; you will be punished. Clear? ' "
King writes in a third-person point-of-view, which makes it a little disturbing that when any female character he introduces (including girls as young as 11-years-old) are usually introduced by their breast size. It's not uncommon for male writers to introduce female characters this way, but when most of them are children, it can be very off putting for readers. One scene, King makes Ellis notice that Kalisha has 'her hands on her mostly nonexistent hips,' then writes about the character Helen in the same scene: " Another door opened and Helen Simms appeared, clad - - - sort of - - - in what Luke believed were called babydoll pajamas. She had hips, plus other interesting equipment. " Both of these characters are only twelve-years-old.
Aside from the children, King also introduces an important character named Tim Jamieson. This character starts the novel off before readers meet Ellis; we learn that he is a former cop who is traveling to New York while taking odd jobs on his way there, including a night knocker job in DuPray, South Carolina (which becomes very important later on in the story) .
Avery, my personal favorite character in the book, is a ten-year-old who acts like a five-year-old, " The screamer was a little boy in Star Wars pajamas, hammering on doors with small fists that went up and down like pistons. Ten? Avery Dixon looked six, seven at most. The crotch and one leg of his pajama pants were wet and sticking to him. " Dixon and Kalisha are both in the Institute for telepathy. " 'You know so,' Kalisha said, and began to stroke the little boy's [Dixon] hair again. Like had a sense - - - maybe bullshit, maybe not - - - that a lot was going on between them. Inside traffic. " And quickly, the group of children become protective of Dixon, " 'But you need to take care of this one for as long as you can. When I think of Tony or Zeke or that bitch Winona hitting Avery, it makes me want to cry. ' " Kalisha confides in Ellis.
Kalisha, one of the other children that has been kidnapped, is another very likable character that seems to keep all of the other kids' spirits up by either keeping them out of trouble with advice or stopping small fights between them. Another kid named Nicky, the troublemaker of the group, is the stereo-typical bad boy. He gets involved in fistfights with the orderlies that work at the Institute, taking quite a bit of abuse in return. But eventually, the rebelliousness catches up with him, leading him to be moved from Front Half to the dreaded Back Half.
Readers later learn that Back Half is worse than Front Half. Most questions we may have about why the Institute is abusing these children are all answered when readers get to see into Back Half from Kalisha's point-of-view. But what is left unanswered is exactly how many children have been through the Institute? From the amount of children seen just in this story, the numbers could be in the hundreds of thousands!
But, as expected, the children come up with a plan to escape - - - with giving as little detail as possible, an orderlie at the Institute is helped by one of the children with a personal problem, and in return, this orderlie decides to help one of them escape and reveal everything that is the Institute. The instance the escape starts being discussed is when the book really picks up.
King's writing of the abuse our characters sustain is very real (" When Stevie Whipple asked where he'd been and what was wrong, Luke just shook his head. He didn't want to talk about the tank. Not now, not ever. He supposed it was like being in a war. You got drafted, you went, but you didn't want to talk about what you'd seen, or what had happened to you there." ) The scene in which Ellis refuses to speak of is where the orderlie Zeke is trying to make Ellis confess that he is not only telekinesis, but also telepathic: "Zeke hauled him up by the hair. His white tunic was soaked. He looked fixedly at Luke. 'I'm going to put you down again, Luke. Again and again and again. I'll put you down until you drown and then we'll resuscitate you and drown you again and resuscitate you again. Last chance: what number am I thinking of?' "
King brings up a fictional belief that strikes fear in parents everywhere: children being kidnapped for government experiments. Readers witness Ellis' parents being killed, Kalisha being a surrogate mother to kids she barely knows, Nicky being beaten by adults when he refuses to get 'shots for dots,' night terrors, suicide, zap sticks and murder.
This book doesn't read like a regular King book; even with the paranormal aspects occurring in it, it doesn't add up to much. The horror aspect is more in the form of child abuse then paranormal moments. I would only recommend this book to fans of Netflix's 'Stranger Things' and Patterson's 'Maximum Ride.' I don't think I would read this again.
So why is the government kidnapping children to conduct psychic research on them? At first, it may seem just that: psychic research, because psychic powers seem to be more powerful in young children than adults, but nothing is what it seems. As the boss of this Institute says to the children: " ' There's a war going on, and you have been called upon to serve your country.' " A few sentences later, and she explains it a little more in depth for Ellis: " ' This is not an arms race but a mind race, and if we lose, the consequences would be more than dire; they would be unimaginable. You may only be twelve, but you are a soldier in an undeclared war. The same is true of Kalisha and the others. Do you like it? Of course not. Draftees never do, and draftees sometimes need to be taught that there are consequences for not following orders. I believe you've already had one lesson in that regard. If you're as bright as your records say you are, perhaps you won't need another. If you do, however, you'll get it. This is not your home. This is not your school. You will not simply be given an extra chore or sent to the principal's office or given detention; you will be punished. Clear? ' "
King writes in a third-person point-of-view, which makes it a little disturbing that when any female character he introduces (including girls as young as 11-years-old) are usually introduced by their breast size. It's not uncommon for male writers to introduce female characters this way, but when most of them are children, it can be very off putting for readers. One scene, King makes Ellis notice that Kalisha has 'her hands on her mostly nonexistent hips,' then writes about the character Helen in the same scene: " Another door opened and Helen Simms appeared, clad - - - sort of - - - in what Luke believed were called babydoll pajamas. She had hips, plus other interesting equipment. " Both of these characters are only twelve-years-old.
Aside from the children, King also introduces an important character named Tim Jamieson. This character starts the novel off before readers meet Ellis; we learn that he is a former cop who is traveling to New York while taking odd jobs on his way there, including a night knocker job in DuPray, South Carolina (which becomes very important later on in the story) .
Avery, my personal favorite character in the book, is a ten-year-old who acts like a five-year-old, " The screamer was a little boy in Star Wars pajamas, hammering on doors with small fists that went up and down like pistons. Ten? Avery Dixon looked six, seven at most. The crotch and one leg of his pajama pants were wet and sticking to him. " Dixon and Kalisha are both in the Institute for telepathy. " 'You know so,' Kalisha said, and began to stroke the little boy's [Dixon] hair again. Like had a sense - - - maybe bullshit, maybe not - - - that a lot was going on between them. Inside traffic. " And quickly, the group of children become protective of Dixon, " 'But you need to take care of this one for as long as you can. When I think of Tony or Zeke or that bitch Winona hitting Avery, it makes me want to cry. ' " Kalisha confides in Ellis.
Kalisha, one of the other children that has been kidnapped, is another very likable character that seems to keep all of the other kids' spirits up by either keeping them out of trouble with advice or stopping small fights between them. Another kid named Nicky, the troublemaker of the group, is the stereo-typical bad boy. He gets involved in fistfights with the orderlies that work at the Institute, taking quite a bit of abuse in return. But eventually, the rebelliousness catches up with him, leading him to be moved from Front Half to the dreaded Back Half.
Readers later learn that Back Half is worse than Front Half. Most questions we may have about why the Institute is abusing these children are all answered when readers get to see into Back Half from Kalisha's point-of-view. But what is left unanswered is exactly how many children have been through the Institute? From the amount of children seen just in this story, the numbers could be in the hundreds of thousands!
But, as expected, the children come up with a plan to escape - - - with giving as little detail as possible, an orderlie at the Institute is helped by one of the children with a personal problem, and in return, this orderlie decides to help one of them escape and reveal everything that is the Institute. The instance the escape starts being discussed is when the book really picks up.
King's writing of the abuse our characters sustain is very real (" When Stevie Whipple asked where he'd been and what was wrong, Luke just shook his head. He didn't want to talk about the tank. Not now, not ever. He supposed it was like being in a war. You got drafted, you went, but you didn't want to talk about what you'd seen, or what had happened to you there." ) The scene in which Ellis refuses to speak of is where the orderlie Zeke is trying to make Ellis confess that he is not only telekinesis, but also telepathic: "Zeke hauled him up by the hair. His white tunic was soaked. He looked fixedly at Luke. 'I'm going to put you down again, Luke. Again and again and again. I'll put you down until you drown and then we'll resuscitate you and drown you again and resuscitate you again. Last chance: what number am I thinking of?' "
King brings up a fictional belief that strikes fear in parents everywhere: children being kidnapped for government experiments. Readers witness Ellis' parents being killed, Kalisha being a surrogate mother to kids she barely knows, Nicky being beaten by adults when he refuses to get 'shots for dots,' night terrors, suicide, zap sticks and murder.
This book doesn't read like a regular King book; even with the paranormal aspects occurring in it, it doesn't add up to much. The horror aspect is more in the form of child abuse then paranormal moments. I would only recommend this book to fans of Netflix's 'Stranger Things' and Patterson's 'Maximum Ride.' I don't think I would read this again.
Mandy and G.D. Burkhead (26 KP) rated Banewreaker in Books
May 20, 2018
Shelf Life – Banewreaker Will Make You Feel Bad for Sauron
Contains spoilers, click to show
Very few fantasy fans can get away with admitting that they aren’t all that big into sweeping, high epic fantasy à la Lord of the Rings or the Pern stories or everything that Terry Brooks writes. Many non-fantasy fans, however, can point to these tales as examples of why they aren’t into fantasy. Like it or not, it’s hard not to see the latter group’s point, as a lot of high fantasy is riddled with confusing terminology, rehashed stories, and genre clichés. This is not to say that these stories are bad, per sé, just that they can easily turn off readers who aren’t in the right kind of crowd.
Banewreaker, the first book in Jacqueline Carey’s two-part volume The Sundering, will probably not change any opinions in this respect, then, as it’s sweeping high fantasy to the core. This, as it turns out, is both its greatest strength and its greatest weakness.
There are some reviews out there that laud Banewreaker as a masterful examination of subjective viewpoints in an epic fantasy turned into a human tragedy by a simple change of perspective. And they are absolutely correct.
There are other reviews, however, that call the book out as a heap of all of the stalest fantasy clichés piled one atop the other in a confusing and pretentious jumble with a shellacking of purple prose for good measure. And they are also absolutely correct.
Let me explain.
For starters, it would be inaccurate to say that this story is full of clichés. This story is clichés. This story is every familiar and used-up trope you would expect from a high fantasy, all of those details that have been done to death in thousands of other versions until almost nothing that happens seems original anymore.
This is what’s going to turn off a lot of people. But the thing is, Banewreaker has to be this way. It wants the reader to look at all of the things that they’ve come to expect from a fantasy epic and then, by shifting the narrative focus, realize that all of these beloved tropes are actually, when you think about it, tragic as hell.
In other words, it’s Lord of the Rings from Sauron’s point of view.
It’s not a riff, though. It’s not goofy like most of the stuff I go in for. It takes its subject just as seriously as the stories that it’s mirroring, and this is what makes the whole story ultimately so gripping and so moving.
The story starts out like many stories of this magnitude, with exposition stretching back to the Dawn of This Particular Creation. In this case, we have a protogenos world god named Uru-Alat who died and gave rise to seven smaller godlike beings called Shapers. First comes Haomane, who becomes the Lord of Thought and sets himself up as head honcho for this ensuing pantheon. Second is Arahila, the Basically a Love Goddess; and third is Satoris, whose purview was “the quickening of the flesh,” which is high fantasy speak for sexy times. Four more Shapers come after this who, for the sake of brevity, we’ll be glossing over.
To summarize the important godly exposition, the Seven Shapers set about shaping the world to the surprise of no one. Haomane creates elves (here called Ellyl, but if you’ve ever even looked at a fantasy, you know that they’re the elves here), Arahila creates humans, and Satoris doesn’t create anything because he’s busy hanging out with dragons and learning their wisdom. Satoris grants his fleshy quickening to the humans but not the elves, because Haomane didn’t want his elves to do that. Then Haomane decides he doesn’t want the humans to do that either, but Satoris refuses to take the gift away again. Conflict escalates, god wars ensue, and the world splits into two continents, with Satoris ostracized from his brethren on one and the remaining Shapers on the other. By the time the dust has settled, Satoris is scarred and burned pitch black, living in a mostly dead land thanks to Haomane’s wrath, but with a dagger in his possession that is the only weapon capable of killing any of the Shapers.
The story itself picks up thousands of years later, with Satoris as the Satan/Sauron stand-in living in a forbidding land surrounded by classically evil things like trolls, giant spiders, and insane people. Since Haomane is the head god, the rest of the world believes Satoris to be a terrible figure of evil and betrayal, while Satoris’s few allies know him as a pitiable and misunderstood figure who only ever wanted to honor his word and do right by his own sense of morality rather than the dictates of his elder brother god king.
From here the plot becomes the typical Army of Good vs. Army of Evil adventure, but with the protagonistic focus on Satoris and his allies. His trolls we see not as a mindless horde but as a simple, honorable people who happily serve their lord because he happily serves them right back. The mad individuals inhabiting his fortress are castaways from normal society with nowhere else to go. And the giant spiders just happen to live there and be bigger than normal, with no sinister intentions beyond that.
And just like that, by actually showing us the home life of the ultimate in evil fantasy tropes, we see how easily one side’s view of evil is another’s view of good. In doing so, Banewreaker becomes perhaps the first sweeping fantasy epic with no real bad guy, just two sides of an unfortunate conflict. Both sides have their likeable characters, both sides seem from their view to be in the right, and pretty soon you, as the reader, will stop cheering for either one, because whenever one person that you like succeeds it means that another person whom you also like is failing.
In fact, the closest thing that this story has to a clearly-labeled “evil” character is the sorceress Lilias, and even then, she’s not evil so much as a woman who has done some bad things for completely understandable reasons. Lilias, in fact, is one of the most pitiful characters in this whole saga of pitiable characters, with her fears and attachments closely mirroring those of most readers, only amplified by her immortality and magical powers. She is afraid of dying. She wants to be more in the grand scheme of things than just another man’s wife or another country’s momentary ruler, both of which would just be tiny moments in a long history. She likes her youth. She likes having pretty things and pretty people around her. And from her interactions with her dragon mentor and apparently only friend, Calandor, we see that she is also capable of intense affection and even love just as she is capable of indulging in self-centered self-interest that, if not particularly a good trait, is also one that she is not alone in possessing.
Banewreaker, then, is a story with a large cast of characters but very few actual heroes or innocents as well as very few outright villains, which is exactly what it sets out to be. Those who love it and those who hate it both seem to blame this quality in particular for their feelings. The biggest complaint leveled against it (that I have read, anyway) is that the people we should be rooting for do not deserve our sympathy, while the people we should be rooting against are more misguided and unwilling to see things in another light than deserving of our scorn.
This is true. But if it’s a flaw, it’s an intentional one. And if it makes you feel like you shouldn’t be cheering for either side at all in this conflict, that’s the point. This is a story of clichés, yes, but it has something that it needs to say about these clichés and, in doing so, about the subjective and impossibly nebulous quality of morality in general.
In short, here again is another fantasy story about the Forces of Good wiping out an entire nation dedicated to their “evil” enemy. And as the story points out, even if you believe in that cause, you’re still wiping out an entire nation of people. No way is there not a downside to that. Seeing things in a black-and-white morality just means crushing a whole lot of important shades of gray underfoot.
Whether or not you like Banewreaker, then, depends in large part upon how much you realize that Carey as an author is being self-aware. As someone who read and still hasn’t stopped being awed over her Kushiel series, I can’t claim complete objectivity in this area, because I came to Banewreaker already in love with her. I can say, however, that unless you have an intense and searing aversion to ornate and sweeping style, this book is worth any fantasy-lover’s time – especially if you’ve ever felt a pang of empathy for all of the poor villainous mooks that fantasy heroes tend to mow down without a thought because they were the wrong kind of ugly.
Banewreaker, the first book in Jacqueline Carey’s two-part volume The Sundering, will probably not change any opinions in this respect, then, as it’s sweeping high fantasy to the core. This, as it turns out, is both its greatest strength and its greatest weakness.
There are some reviews out there that laud Banewreaker as a masterful examination of subjective viewpoints in an epic fantasy turned into a human tragedy by a simple change of perspective. And they are absolutely correct.
There are other reviews, however, that call the book out as a heap of all of the stalest fantasy clichés piled one atop the other in a confusing and pretentious jumble with a shellacking of purple prose for good measure. And they are also absolutely correct.
Let me explain.
For starters, it would be inaccurate to say that this story is full of clichés. This story is clichés. This story is every familiar and used-up trope you would expect from a high fantasy, all of those details that have been done to death in thousands of other versions until almost nothing that happens seems original anymore.
This is what’s going to turn off a lot of people. But the thing is, Banewreaker has to be this way. It wants the reader to look at all of the things that they’ve come to expect from a fantasy epic and then, by shifting the narrative focus, realize that all of these beloved tropes are actually, when you think about it, tragic as hell.
In other words, it’s Lord of the Rings from Sauron’s point of view.
It’s not a riff, though. It’s not goofy like most of the stuff I go in for. It takes its subject just as seriously as the stories that it’s mirroring, and this is what makes the whole story ultimately so gripping and so moving.
The story starts out like many stories of this magnitude, with exposition stretching back to the Dawn of This Particular Creation. In this case, we have a protogenos world god named Uru-Alat who died and gave rise to seven smaller godlike beings called Shapers. First comes Haomane, who becomes the Lord of Thought and sets himself up as head honcho for this ensuing pantheon. Second is Arahila, the Basically a Love Goddess; and third is Satoris, whose purview was “the quickening of the flesh,” which is high fantasy speak for sexy times. Four more Shapers come after this who, for the sake of brevity, we’ll be glossing over.
To summarize the important godly exposition, the Seven Shapers set about shaping the world to the surprise of no one. Haomane creates elves (here called Ellyl, but if you’ve ever even looked at a fantasy, you know that they’re the elves here), Arahila creates humans, and Satoris doesn’t create anything because he’s busy hanging out with dragons and learning their wisdom. Satoris grants his fleshy quickening to the humans but not the elves, because Haomane didn’t want his elves to do that. Then Haomane decides he doesn’t want the humans to do that either, but Satoris refuses to take the gift away again. Conflict escalates, god wars ensue, and the world splits into two continents, with Satoris ostracized from his brethren on one and the remaining Shapers on the other. By the time the dust has settled, Satoris is scarred and burned pitch black, living in a mostly dead land thanks to Haomane’s wrath, but with a dagger in his possession that is the only weapon capable of killing any of the Shapers.
The story itself picks up thousands of years later, with Satoris as the Satan/Sauron stand-in living in a forbidding land surrounded by classically evil things like trolls, giant spiders, and insane people. Since Haomane is the head god, the rest of the world believes Satoris to be a terrible figure of evil and betrayal, while Satoris’s few allies know him as a pitiable and misunderstood figure who only ever wanted to honor his word and do right by his own sense of morality rather than the dictates of his elder brother god king.
From here the plot becomes the typical Army of Good vs. Army of Evil adventure, but with the protagonistic focus on Satoris and his allies. His trolls we see not as a mindless horde but as a simple, honorable people who happily serve their lord because he happily serves them right back. The mad individuals inhabiting his fortress are castaways from normal society with nowhere else to go. And the giant spiders just happen to live there and be bigger than normal, with no sinister intentions beyond that.
And just like that, by actually showing us the home life of the ultimate in evil fantasy tropes, we see how easily one side’s view of evil is another’s view of good. In doing so, Banewreaker becomes perhaps the first sweeping fantasy epic with no real bad guy, just two sides of an unfortunate conflict. Both sides have their likeable characters, both sides seem from their view to be in the right, and pretty soon you, as the reader, will stop cheering for either one, because whenever one person that you like succeeds it means that another person whom you also like is failing.
In fact, the closest thing that this story has to a clearly-labeled “evil” character is the sorceress Lilias, and even then, she’s not evil so much as a woman who has done some bad things for completely understandable reasons. Lilias, in fact, is one of the most pitiful characters in this whole saga of pitiable characters, with her fears and attachments closely mirroring those of most readers, only amplified by her immortality and magical powers. She is afraid of dying. She wants to be more in the grand scheme of things than just another man’s wife or another country’s momentary ruler, both of which would just be tiny moments in a long history. She likes her youth. She likes having pretty things and pretty people around her. And from her interactions with her dragon mentor and apparently only friend, Calandor, we see that she is also capable of intense affection and even love just as she is capable of indulging in self-centered self-interest that, if not particularly a good trait, is also one that she is not alone in possessing.
Banewreaker, then, is a story with a large cast of characters but very few actual heroes or innocents as well as very few outright villains, which is exactly what it sets out to be. Those who love it and those who hate it both seem to blame this quality in particular for their feelings. The biggest complaint leveled against it (that I have read, anyway) is that the people we should be rooting for do not deserve our sympathy, while the people we should be rooting against are more misguided and unwilling to see things in another light than deserving of our scorn.
This is true. But if it’s a flaw, it’s an intentional one. And if it makes you feel like you shouldn’t be cheering for either side at all in this conflict, that’s the point. This is a story of clichés, yes, but it has something that it needs to say about these clichés and, in doing so, about the subjective and impossibly nebulous quality of morality in general.
In short, here again is another fantasy story about the Forces of Good wiping out an entire nation dedicated to their “evil” enemy. And as the story points out, even if you believe in that cause, you’re still wiping out an entire nation of people. No way is there not a downside to that. Seeing things in a black-and-white morality just means crushing a whole lot of important shades of gray underfoot.
Whether or not you like Banewreaker, then, depends in large part upon how much you realize that Carey as an author is being self-aware. As someone who read and still hasn’t stopped being awed over her Kushiel series, I can’t claim complete objectivity in this area, because I came to Banewreaker already in love with her. I can say, however, that unless you have an intense and searing aversion to ornate and sweeping style, this book is worth any fantasy-lover’s time – especially if you’ve ever felt a pang of empathy for all of the poor villainous mooks that fantasy heroes tend to mow down without a thought because they were the wrong kind of ugly.