Memories of Ice

Memories of Ice, the third volume of The Malazan Book of the Fallen series, further expands the scope of the main story. Although the narrative is less careful about exposition than in previous volumes, it makes up for this with the complexity of its storylines and character arcs.

The story returns to the main characters of Gardens of the Moon at the end of the military campaign in the city of Darujhistan. However, this time Sargent Whiskeyjack and the Malazan army must make an alliance with their longtime foes, led by Caladan Brood and Anomander Rake, to overcome a menace to all: the advance of the Holy War perpetrated by the Panion Domin, a religious sect led by a mysterious oracle.

The Pannion Domin is one of the most fascinating elements in the book, composed of terrifying individuals called Tenescowri: an immensity of cannibals who feed on their victims and worship women who rape fallen soldiers in battle. The war scenes involving the Tenescowri are very heavy in tone, containing visceral descriptions of certain battles. The narrative, however, manages to never make the army one-dimensional, always contrasting the way it acts with how it is referred to: although the Tenescowri basically functions as an unhinged zombie horde, they are constantly referred to as “a mass of humanity,“ for example, which gives them a tragic flavor, making us pity as much as fear them.

There is a pattern in how most of the villains in Memories of Ice are framed: they are always individuals whose moral character is heavily influenced by external forces. If we can’t say that they were “corrupted” by society it’s only because its influence over them was so crushingly oppressive that it never gave them a chance to be good in the first place. The concept attributed to the villains is one of fatalism: they could not have taken any role other than a villain with everything that has happened to them. And they’re often aware of the horrors they perpetrate, being terrified by their own actions: the nove works with the idea that no one sees themselves as a villain, but the few who do have their souls torn apart in the process.

Memories of Ice is packed with reflections on human nature, and if Deadhouse Gates was mostly pessimistic, here the message reflects much more of what there is best in humanity – Tenescowri aside, of course. One of the essential terms in the story, for example, is compassion. It’s an idea and attitude that becomes directly related to several characters in the book and composes the bedrock of the journey of a mercenary named Itkovian, which reaches its climax with a speech that is both beautiful in its message and tragic in its subtext, as it’s based on the assumption that its core idea is rarely understood by people.

The novel is structured around two major battle scenes: the sieges of the cities of Capustan and Coral. The narrative accompanies the preparations for each one, introducing and developing new characters, as well as setting up and resolving the conflicts for each main event.

In the city of Capustan, for example, we’re introduced to the Gray Swords, a group of mercenaries devoted to the god of war Fener, who stand out for their rigid hierarchy and for their unwavering loyalty to their patron. Opposing them, there is the local council, composed of masked priests. The narrative establishes a fascinating contrast between these two forces by subverting expectations: both want to protect the city, but it is the mercenaries rather than the priests that most match the will of their gods. The Masked Council consists of priests who represent the entity that is symbolized in their masks, but these objects function as a ruse, making people believe that they serve the divine, when in fact they are only concerned with their own interests. The tension for the incoming attack, then, increases: while the Gray Swords see no hope of winning the battle, but are too loyal to flee the city, and the Council makes things much harder than they should be for everyone, the Tenescowri – this impending doom – cares little about anything, marching swiftly to devour them all.

Memories of Ice’ sheer scope is impressive, built not only with the enormous scale of the major battles but also with the wide range of complex characters and themes at play. One of the most frequent discussions in the book, for example, is the question of motherhood. The main actors in the prologue are mothers, a figure that is later represented by the characters of Mhybe and the Matron. Mhybe is the mother of a special child who consumes her life as she grows, and her arc functions as a metaphor for the physical and emotional exhaustion caused by motherhood. For her, being a mother not only deprives her of her autonomy and youth, but of all her life. She feels robbed of her energy, drained by her daughter, and her frustration is constantly expressed in plain terms (“She has stolen my life!”), although Mhybe’s love for her child is unquestionable. Her biggest problem, however, is that she believes she was abandoned by her child, who appears to put her aside now that they’re grown up and no longer need her. The message is that there are few pains greater than being ignored by your children just as you get older and need more of them in return: the feeling is none other than betrayal. The Matron represents even greater suffering – the loss of one’s child to death – and her pain and madness surpass even Mhybe’s.

Memories of Ice presents an interesting discussion about trust. The novel is structured in such a way that a good part of the conflicts between the main characters come precisely from the suspicion between them. However, this mistrust is condemned by the story, which exposes it as being, if understandable at times, very foolish in the end. After all, just as war is not a natural state of the human being, betrayal isn’t one either. Optimistic in nature, the novel proposes that waiting to be betrayed is a disastrous stance to take, harmful to one’s own soul, which becomes corrupted by fear. It is precisely for this reason that betrayal is such an unforgivable act, for its mere existence breaks the implicit covenant established by the natural order of social relations: “There can be no true rendition of betrayal for the moment hides within itself, sudden, delivering such comprehension that one would surrender his or her soul to deny all that has come to pass.”

Another recurring theme in the book is the drama involving the T’lan Imass – a race of immortal warriors that swore eternal revenge against another species. They appear as frightening creatures made of bones, but now and then bear a sad countenance, consumed by regret. It is Whiskeyjack who best explains the reason for the T’lan Imass’ pain, when he argues that war, contrary to popular belief, is not a natural state of the individual: hate speech, therefore, can only erode the soul of the one who utters it.

Going into more personal character arcs, Ganoes Paran stands out for the same reason he did in Gardens of the Moon: his frustration for his impotence in the face of the gods continues to grow. However, it is the moment when he thinks about his family that contains his best moment in the book. The movement of the sentence – which goes from heroism to villainy – echoes the events and character development related to his family in Deadhouse Gates while suggesting a tragic end for those involved: “The Children of my parents are, one and all, capable of virtually anything. We can survive. Perhaps we lack a normal conscience, perhaps we are monsters in truth.”

Comic relief, in turn, comes back with the presence of Kruppe and his many lines consisting of contradictory keywords (“Innumerable suggestions of a specific nature, Sir Warlord. So many that, when combined, they can only be seen or understood in the most general terms!”). However, Memories of Ice differs from its predecessors by not relying solely on comic relief to create humor. Yes, now and then Kruppe will make a table fly during a discussion, but, in many cases, the humor comes from serious characters being caught up in absurd situations, such as the instant in which Quick Ben confesses to Whiskeyjack that he has sacrificed a goat, or the one in which he tries to chat amicably with a necromancer shortly after causing an explosion on the guy’s house. In addition, the Bridgeburners plotline features several lighter moments in which they discuss random funny things, such as the possible love interest of a bull that appears to be following them.

If Memories of Ice has a problem is that, unlike its predecessors, it has its awkward moments of infodump. The scene in which Whiskeyjack and his commander openly discuss their schemes in detail is uncharacteristic of the series, but unfortunately common here. In Memories of Ice, characters often reveal their intentions, openly explain the meaning of events that are of little importance to them, and even use nonessential appositives, such as in “And that includes my father, Draconus”: since the interlocutor in that conversation knows who the speaker’s father was and needed not to be reminded of it, the name is there just to remind us, the readers.

Finally, it’s important to note that this book reveals a macrostructural problem of the whole series: the main antagonist is shown only here, leaving the first two volumes somewhat disconnected from the rest of the main story.

Memories of Ice maintains the standard of excellence of Steven Erikson’s epic fantasy series, achieving the feat of impressing us even more with the scale and complexity of the stories told here.

February 09, 2025.

Originally published in Portuguese on August 22, 2016.