Dancing Around the Truth
Imagery in which truth is more akin to what one believes it to be than it may actually be is persistent throughout the novel. This imagery is most explicitly stated by a character who observes “to believe a thing is not to make it true” but as true as this assertion is, it seems to fail to make the grade universally. The concept challenging this assertion is typically the topic of the imagery:
“Moiraine could not lie, but she could make truth dance a fine jig.”
“They had planned to keep a few secrets themselves, but surely they had learned enough since sitting down to alter any plan. There was a time for secrecy and a time for truth.”
“It was not a lie,” she said sharply, then in a weaker voice, “Just not…the whole truth.”
The Sword Sort of in the Stone
The most significant object in this entry is the series is known—read it softly, with a hush, as if in an echo chamber—Callandor. It is unfortunate for modern readers that the novel was published in the early 1990’s as since that time the pharmaceutical industry has taken off and, with it, all those famous commercial for brand name medications with the interminable lists of possible side effect. Let’s be honest, Callandor sounds like it belongs in a run of commercials along Symbicort and Keytruda. It’s not a drug, however:
“The Sword That Is Not a Sword. That blade, apparently glass, would cut as well as the finest steel, yet Callandor truly was not a sword, but instead a remnant of the Age of Legends, a sa’angreal…usable only by a man, linked to the Dragon Reborn through three thousand years of legend and prophecy, was one of the, most powerful sa’angreal ever made. Holding Callandor in his hands, he could level a city’s walls at a blow. Holding Callandor in his hands, he could face even one of the Forsaken.”
A Little Romance
All is not dark shadowplay, swords like crystal, and an ambiguous commingling of power, corruption and lies. A new order breaks forth just before the end as the imagery turns soft and promises are made that time will not tear love apart. The imagery in the love letter composed by Perrin is simple and poetic and mushy, but it certainly gets the job done.
“You are more precious to me than life. Never think I have abandoned you. When the sun shines on you, it is my smile. When you hear the breeze stir through the apple blossoms, it is my whisper that I love you. My love is yours forever.”
Wars of the Sexes
A running theme in the imagery across the full breadth of this series of fantasy novels is how men and women see each other differently. Often the imagery merely pretties up distinctly misogynist and misandrist philosophies while at other times a genuine sense of effort seems to be made by the one to reach across the chasm to the other and impart useful information. The example below belongs to the latter example:
“I expect you will not lack for company after I go. Just remember that some women see a man with their hearts, while others see no more than a bauble to wear, no different than a necklace or a bracelet. Remember that I will come back, and I am one who sees with her heart.”
