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Robin Hobb has just concluded her Soldier’s Son trilogy with the third book–Renegade Mage. There doesn’t seem to be much point in reviewing solely Renegade, however, as anyone who has read the first two is likely to pick up the conclusion, so instead I’ll simply review the trilogy as a whole.
Of course, the first question one has to answer as a reviewer is would you recommend the book (s) to a reader. I wish I had an answer. To be honest, I’m just not sure, for several reasons.
Let’s start with the positives. I think Hobb was truly ambitious with this series in a lot of ways, including:
Character– she is willing to have several very unlikable characters drive much of the plot–including the one/two main character (s).
Point of view–employing a hybrid first/third person limited in Renegade Magic when the main character is an observer in his own body.
Themes–the clash of cultures, the clash of religions, free will, prejudice, environmentalism, the individual versus the greater good, progress versus tradition, etc. She wrestles with big questions here and often does so thoughtfully and eloquently.
World creation–setting her trilogy in a 17-1800’s American frontier sort of world with no truly strange races (and none of the clichéd ones–elves, dwarves, etc), no bizarre or portentous sounding place names, and very little wielded magic (usually the magic does the wielding).
“Gray” ethics–presenting us with characters and situations where the choices are not so black and white, where actions aren’t obviously good or evil.
Plot and pace–carrying us along in a slow, almost real-time/real life pace and pulling tension out of character or economics/politics rather than out of battle and conquest.

In short, she breaks away forcefully from many of the conventions of the fantasy epic genre–the medieval, magic-infused, mixed-race world where armies mass for large battles while a small overmatched group representing the obvious good quests for a sneaky way to defeat obvious evil, led of course by the Dread Lord Sauron, I mean, um . . . The complete originality that permeates the book is a welcome change of pace from the usual big-book fantasy.
Another plus is simply the writing. Whether she is creating an entire continent or the smaller worlds of home and barracks, township or market; or creating major characters that spill across all three novels or minor ones that appear for only a few paragraphs or pages, she does so with a sharp, rich sense of fine detail. Her dialogue is rock solid–sounding like people would actually sound during the situations they find themselves in.

Clearly, then, there is a lot to admire in Soldier’s Son. But that’s also the sticking point. There is a lot to admire, but if I were completely honest, I’m not sure there is a lot to enjoy.
It’s an admirable risk to employ an unlikable character, let alone several, but it’s a risk that may work better in novella form, or at least in a single novel. It’s asking a lot, perhaps too much, of a reader, to carry that dislike over 2000 pages. I could barely do it, finding the main character Nevarre almost too much to continue with in book two and here again in book three. When he gets twinned with an equally unlikable other self, and the two of them do little but squabble or sulk, it became almost enough to make me stop even in the concluding book of a series.
Hobb wrestles with big themes here, but I’m not sure I walked away with a crystalline view of how we’re supposed to see them. Looking over the series, it seemed many of the concepts were a bit muddy. If you’re just throwing them out there for us to think about (”talk amongst yourselves”), that’s fine, but somehow I feel a bit more is warranted if I’m going to invest the time to read three large books.
The point of view is interesting stylistically, but I’m not sure it best served the book. The passivity of the narrator was a bit annoying, and his ability/inability to become active seemed a bit too arbitrary, based more on the need of plot than anything else.
The pace is sometimes too slow in all three books. Book one rewards the pace more than either of the latter two books, which seem overly slow, overly dry, and at times overly repetitive–both could have lost a few hundred pages and suffered very little in terms of characterization or plot.
While the endings of books one and two do much to redeem their earlier flaws, and though some of Renegade Mage’s ending has the same effect, much of it also seems too pat, too forced, or tacked on. And the big solution to the whole clash of cultures, or at least a major one, seems far too simple and anti-climactic, making one wonder if the whole thing couldn’t have been solved in the first thirty pages of book one.
In the end, I’m torn about recommending the series. After all, for most people 2000 pages is a large investment of time. I’m a fast reader and all three books probably took me about 10 days total to read and I’m still not sure I feel it was worth it. I’m still trying to decide. But if someone needs to set aside 20-30 days of reading, or more, than it’s hard to imagine that they’ll feel repaid in the end. And with so much out there that is both rich and enjoyable, it’s hard not to send them elsewhere. Which would be sad, because as I said, there’s a lot to admire and this sort of ambition should be rewarded I think. But not if it doesn’t equally reward the reader. So I’ll cheat a little and say read book one. In many ways, and especially many traditional ways–it’s the book most likely to bring enjoyment. If that one doesn’t do it for you, and doesn’t do it by a lot, then don’t feel bad about putting it down and picking up something else. But if you can find reward in its rich character and slow, measured pace, then give the next book a shot. I wish I could be more effusive than that, but it’s the best I can do.

Another reviewer suggested there was not a lot to enjoy in the Soldier’s Son trilogy. I have to agree, if we’re talking about the eating chocolates in the bubble bath kind of enjoyment. But there’s another kind of enjoyment I get from Hobb’s work. It’s the enjoyment of splitting wood in the rain. You feel virtuous for having done it; you’ve earned something by doing it; you’re a little stronger and better now. My soul enjoyed it, even if my inner child wanted more laser beams, romance, and bad guy vanquishing.

The first book was okay. The second just wore me down and depressed me. But I had faith in Hobb. She’s written some of the most psychologically interesting fantasy that anyone has *ever* written. It’s her and George R. R. Martin at the top, then Tolkien. Everyone else seems more than a peg lower on the deepness scale.

If Robin Hobb makes me suffer, I trust that she’s preparing the way for a great finish. I believe she did that.

As a man, I find her male characters often don’t quite think like men (Witness the amazing hand-wringing over love issues that Fitz goes through in the Assassin’s series. He seemed incapable of thinking about sex as simple fun. Dude, come on. Note to Robin: study the male psyche a little more… you almost have it…) However, her plots involve such self-psycho-torture that it works, anyway. Complexity is a tide that floats all boats. I’m fascinated by the way she makes her characters walk a labyrinth before finding the payoff.

Renegade’s Magic is a conclusion that redeems the prep work she’s done with the first two books. It never seems to drag. Yes the protagonist is kind of a spineless fool, but that’s because his spiny part was alienated from him by the Tree Woman. It’s like that episode of Star Trek where the nice Kirk gets split from nasty Kirk, and they are both impaired.

I found this last book entertaining and satisfying. I recommend the series not because you will smile while reading it, but because– if you are are a fan of human complexity– reading it will annoy you like a deep muscle massage given by Angry Helga, and then leave you feeling kind of floaty and satisfied afterwards.

At this point, I will read anything by Hobb, no matter what. I’d like to see her write something with a decisive main character who doesn’t keep a million secrets and lie to everybody in a vain attempt to protect them… but maybe that’s the only way she can make the plots complex enough for them to work their magic on us.

I shall place myself in her capable hands.

This book is 4 stars because that’s the average of 3 and 5. When Renegade’s Magic is at its best — and I do agree with other reviewers that the ending is superb — I almost want to shout, “DAMN THIS IS GREAT!” When it’s not… well, only Hobb’s great word-smithing (and the desire to know what’s happened, since we’re three books into her world) kept me going.

The result is a very good novel that is also remarkably slow going.

Hobb set herself some odd challenges in writing this book, the third in the Soldier’s Son series. One of them is that her primary character is passive; things happen to Nevare rather than Nevare taking decisive action. If you’ve read the previous two books in the series — and really, I can’t imagine reading Renegade’s Magic unless you have — you know that there’s a good plot reason for this, but it doesn’t make the guy seem any less… well, not whiny exactly, but he’s often on the verge of seeming so. Secondary characters, such as Epiny, are so well drawn and admirable that it makes up for Nevare’s ambivalences.

The other (unavoidable) weirdness in the narrative is that Navare is sharing residence with Soldier’s Boy. (I realize that sounds coy, but I’m trying to avoid spoilers.) So she ends up writing prose like this: “…Soldier’s Boy picked up one of the gelatinous structures and set it on my tongue. . . . when he swallowed it, the shiver that I had experienced on my skin was repeated, but as a quivering throughout my entire body.” It’s hard to follow, and yet oddly compelling. But it does make it slower to read the story.

Only Hobb’s great writing makes it possible for the story to succeed, and… well, she really is one of the best fantasy writers today.

Existing fans shouldn’t shy away, but don’t expect a merry romp. (Er, far from it.) If you’re new to Hobb, start with Assassin’s Apprentice; it’s a different universe, but a better intro to this author’s work.