The first book, The Phoenix Guards, starts with an idealistic young Dragaeran named Khaavren leaving his home to seek fame and fortune with the Emperor's famed Phoenix Guards. In the first few chapters he meets three life-long friends--Pel, Aerich and Tazendra--who accompany him as they foil an attempt by the dastardly Easterners (i.e., humans) to invade the Empire. In Five Hundreds Years After, which of course occurs five hundred years after the end of The Phoenix Guards, the quartet again try their best to save the Empire, although they are quite helpless against an awe-inspiring event that will later be known as Adron's Disaster. The last three books of the series--collectively known as The Viscount of Adrilankha--move away from Khaavren and focus instead on his equally idealistic young son, Piro. Guess what? The Empire is in peril again, this time from some power-hungry Dragaerans and the mysterious Jenoine. But that's ok: the good guys prevail in the end (kind of).
The most noteworthy feature of this series is the style in which it is written. The ostensible narrator of all five books is Paarfi, a stuffy and arrogant historian who is at once disdaining of and obsequious to the reader. Paarfi does not hesitate to interrupt in his own voice whenever he feels the narrative (or the reader) deserves it; he is also remarkably free with commentary, both good and bad, on the events he unfolds. And yet, for all his interfering, school-marmish manners, Paarfi (or, rather, Brust) knows exactly when to bow out of the narrative, leaving some of the series' most powerful scenes to speak for themselves. Paarfi's voice is a delight. I doubt the series would have been any good if it had been written as a straightforward story.
One of Paarfi's major flaws--and one that he consistently denies he possesses--is a certain longwindedness. Although a lot happens in this series, there are also many passages (particularly dialogue) where pages of words are expended for little purpose. Although this conceit is sometimes tiring, it's usually hilarious: for weeks, my brother and I (we read the series at the same time) would engage in long, Paarfi-style conversations and crack ourselves up. ("Would you like some bread?" "I would love some bread." "I am happy to oblige." "I await with eagerness." "Then I shall deliver the bread to you." "I am in your debt." "Would you like the bread now?" "By the cow! I have been asking nothing else for at least an hour.") I'm pretty sure that your tolerance for such longwindedness is hit or miss: you'll either like it right away, or find it boring. If you find it boring, I warn you that some of the books (particularly the third book, Paths of the Dead) contain little else.
The actual plot in the series is relatively thin for the length expended, but, especially for those familiar with Brust's Vlad Taltos novels, it is quite satisfying to see a full explication given of events that were only referred to obliquely in Brust's earlier works. Of particular note is the stunning treatment given to Adron's Disaster at the end of Five Hundred Years After--it still astonishes me that a series so deliberately facetious could treat this momentous event with such fine-tuned gravity. (Also fun: Mario Greymist's assassination attempt on the emperor.) I should note, however, that as a romance, the series also has plenty of silly moments--like the moment when Zerika encounters a long-lost love. You just have to take the silly with the serious in stride; the books certainly do not pause to consider whether the events they narrate are plausible (because for Paarfi, after all, their plausibility derives from their basis in historical fact).
Finally, a word about the characters. I felt the characters were, surprisingly, the weakest part of the series. Most of the characters were too one-dimensional, a trait that was not helped by the air of formality that governs all of their relationships and that puts some distance between the reader and the characters. I was particularly disappointed that Tazendra, who was quite interesting in the beginning, was by the end reduced to little more than a ditzy heavyweight, a battling comic relief. The one exception to the general one-dimensionality of the series' characters is Khaavren. In the first volume he is a naive, idealistic young fighter; in the second, his yearning for the golden days of his adventures with his friends, five hundred years ago, is poignant rather than pathetic; and in the last three, Brust (or, rather, Paarfi) effectively describes his early depression and later exultation at returning to true form. I really like Khaavren, far above all of the other characters (even his son)--this affection is a large part of what makes the series enjoyable.
Copyright © 2004 Steven Wu 