“The Burning Man” is a haunting, supernatural tale, told by Breda, a woman born into a family dogged by tragedy. The tale unfolds progressively, but in the end, not even Breda can say for sure what it all means. With this characteristically un-characteristic “fantasy” story-line, Tad Williams shows again his human insight, and considerable prose talent.

It would be impossible, within the confines of this review, to illustrate both the quality of Tad William’s writing, and the mechanics of this story: it’s plot and characters, where and how it fits in the scheme of the Memory Sorrow & Thorn saga. I have chosen, therefore, to highlight the quality of Tad William’s prose, on several levels at once.  This will, no doubt, create certain vacuums while filling certain voids, but think of this as an introduction to a larger analysis that is, as of yet, incomplete.

Within the so-called genre of “Fantasy” fiction, there occurs, with few exceptions, a handful of bad literary habits. Since Tad Williams has, thus far, chosen to work wholly within the confines of the “Science Fiction” and “Fantasy” genres, perhaps the first thing that sets him apart from his colleagues is the notable absence of these tendencies.

For instance, in an attempt to create a rustic, antiquarian atmosphere, it is not unusual for a contemporary “Fantasy” author to assume the role of storyteller instead of narrator, which is the traditional novelistic vehicle for plot exposition, outside of dialogue. This almost never succeeds, since these authors also wish to invest in their characters modern values and a contemporary consciousness. Since one cannot address an individual [as a novelist does] as they would a group [as a storyteller does] in describing these anachronistic states of mind, the style of narration shifts back and forth between that of the fabler, who paints in broad strokes, and the modern narrator, who is aware of psychoanalytic concepts and complex emotional exposition.

Even when Tad Williams employs the first-person narrative technique, he never falls into the trap of trying to meld traditional narration techniques with modern, novelistic ones. In “The Burning Man” this is marvelously evident. The Memory Sorrow & Thorn saga takes place in a pre-industrial age, and “The Burning Man” story occurs long before that saga, yet Tad employs a consistently novelistic voice, one which makes no pretense of having emerged from a distant time, but one which is entirely conversant with the modern reader.

This is simply good writing, as opposed to bad writing. The irony is that those authors who attempt to create some half-baked concoction consisting of both traditional and novelistic styles never truly create a penetrating atmosphere of antiquity, which Tad Williams always succeeds in doing, simply by understanding [and accepting the conventions of] the medium in which he is working, that of the novel.

Another pitfall of the modern “Fantasy” author is the use of archaisms to create an ambience of antiquity. This fails so often because there is no internal consistency in the prose style of the author. One line may contain a thoroughly modern quip, such as might be found in any commercial “action” movie; in the next line a “thee”, “sayest” or “nay” might be dropped. The effect is jarring, to say the least. Now and then Tad makes this mistake, but not often.

Another way in which Tad Williams rises above the crowd is the sense of consequence captured in his narratives. Tad masterfully builds the reader’s anticipation; there is a palpable feeling that the characters are standing on the verge of great events, gradually being drawn in. This is the sensation one gets when reading “Doctor Zhivago” or “I Claudius” for the first time.

Most “Fantasy” novels begin with the hero or heroine in mid-action, like the “teaser” at the beginning of an “action” movie, or the “splash-page” of a comic book. Tad Williams slowly instills in the reader the impression that something unique and momentous is going to happen. In the following passage, Tad captures perfectly an atmosphere of anticipation and significance:
 

“I will tell you of Lord Sulis, my famous stepfather.

“I will tell you what the witch foretold me.

“I will tell you of the love that I had and lost.

“I will tell you of the night I saw the burning man.”
 

Beyond those specifics, Tad Williams has a way of tossing off wonderful, memorable lines left and right: “The last words my Mother ever spoke to me were, ‘Bring me a dragon’s claw’ ”: “In this extremity of age, I am farther away, as though I looked at my own life from a hilltop”: “It was in the season of my mother’s death”. In a long imaginative work, where the reader is already being asked to assimilate substantial amounts of unfamiliar data, the effect can be tiring; in a short work such as this, it lends the text a literary and dramatic weight missing from most short genre stories.

If I have any criticisms of  “The Burning Man”, I would state two things. One is that I never entirely lost the presence of a male voice under the character of Breda. One might compare this novella to CS Lewis’s “Till We Have Faces”; also a story set in an ancient society, narrated by a female character and written by a man. Of course, it is unfair to compare any young author, regardless of his accomplishments, with CS Lewis at the height of his powers, but there is certainly something to be learned from “Till We Have Faces” here. Tad Williams might also look to the various poems written from a female perspective by Robert Graves, an acknowledged and apparent influence on Tad’s work.

Also, unlike Tad’s other first-person novella, “Caliban’s Hour”, there is a notable absence of sensual material in “The Burning Man”: sights, scents, sensations. We get into Breda’s mind, but never her body, never her entire experience. This lends the narrative a slightly formal dryness that effectively evokes antiquity, but never fulfills character potential.

But these are minor criticisms. With every new work, Tad Williams continues to advance as a novelist. I have no doubt that one day Tad will produce something with enormous cross-over appeal, and will finally receive the attention he deserves from the conventional literary establishment. Until such a time, however, we have him all to ourselves.
 
 

Review written by Vincent Asaro