No more whining fantasy twits

This week Robin & I began a trial separation period.

I've been reading Robin Hobb [Margaret Ogden] since the Farseer trilogy. A long friendship, I diligently collected each book from the nearest second hand store. Someone told me that Robin Hobb was also a pseudonym of Megan Lindholm, and so I collected every Lindholm book I could find, until finally buying a new copy of Wizard of the Pigeons and from that point on bought each new Hobb book as it came out. The liveships, the fools, and then the soldier-son's.

Let's be frank. The lead character -- Fitz -- of the Farseers is a twit. But we tolerate him because at least there is hope that he'll redeem himself. The liveships gave us Andrea, who whined floated out to sea and eventually had some aspect of redemption, maybe. I think. Maybe the trilogy just ended. Burvelle (of the soldier-son trilogy) was one of those characters that you want to scrape off the page, hang in the sunshine and then, once he's finally pulled himself together, punch him in the mouth. A few times.

The fool's were good books, Flavia points out. I concede this - it's like agreeing that there must have been some good points in the old relationship. Yes, the fools were good. Even Fitz couldn't hurt them too much.

Flavia said she couldn't finish the second book of the soldier-son series -- she didn't open the third one: I refused is all she will say on the topic. But I tolerated him, because he couldn't help it. And now, now we have a book with a half dozen whining twits none of whom seem capable of just getting the hell on with life.

I was on a plane, flying over the Pacific, stuck in the middle of the centre row. I couldn't even get out to go to the toilet and even then, when there was no other option, I could not finish this book. I just couldn't. Is it this bad? Flavia asks me. Yes, yes it is.

Robin, I'm sorry we had to break up in a blog, but I'm now with Oscar Wilde, and we'll see where it goes from there.