Simon_Jester wrote:Thanas wrote:And all he wants in exchange are - new teeth. That is all. So in exchange for making him chew again...the AMERICANS get the most capable Imperial General to switch sides. Right. I'll not even try to explain how defecting to Adolf was not something Wallenstein ever contemplated IRL. He had plenty of opportunities to desert, even when he was in Imperial disfavor. And he took none...
In mitigation, he's a lot more likely to regain Imperial favor after losing it than he is to regain the ability to chew after losing it.
It's a
human motivation, if not one that fits well with the (apparently ironclad loyal) Wallenstein.
Of course, he's playing a rather more complicated game than that in any case.
Doubtful. Once he deserts, there is no way he can go back and survive. See Eger. And Wallenstein was not ironclad loyal. However, he also never considered allying with the Swedes.
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So, the Wallenstein Gambit.
First, Flint has Wallenstein's life limited, with the doctor being surprised if Wallenstein lives a few more years. Really, can we all say copout to prevent future impact of the character?
Then Wallenstein agrees to get involved in the Ukrainian civil war on the side of the Jews...in return for getting a modern-day goldsmith. Eh...yes. I am sure that goldsmith is going to make such beautiful workmanship once his machine tools break down - and how are they going to power them for long anyway? And we got the classic "pull something out of my behind" of Flint, as one character just happens to have tons of information on 17th century Prague on her PC harddrive. Really. So that means, out of a population of a few thousand, we got multiple weapon nuts, history buffs, people who collect ancient weapons etc...and now someone who researched 17th century prague. I am not buying it, these things happen way too often to be believed.
"The Habsburgs," he said, almost hissing the words. "There is the source—well, the driving engine, anyway—of Europe's bigotry in this day and age. The Austrians as much as the Spanish."
Nevermind the Spanish were far more relaxed with regards to children of mixed "races" etc and the Habsburgs held together a multinational and multicultural empire...whatever.
"He's the stinking bastard who ordered his Croat cavalry to attack our school last year. Tried to slaughter all of our children!"
I never got that. Why would Wallenstein do this instead of trying to capture something of significance?
That said, the story is surprisingly good. Though I think Flint overemphasized the relationship between Wallenstein and Pappenheim (indeed, it comes across as if Pappenheim is really the chief organizer of the army), he writes a good one. I also think that the role of Edith Wild smacks of ameriwank (she is able to ingratiate herself with Wallenstein and his wife, overrule his astrologers, become his confidante and Wallenstein apparently likes Agatha Christie novels).
Example:
"He won't listen to me, Edith," complained Isabella Katharina. Wallenstein's wife shook her head. "Those damned astrologers! All he listens to! And they are telling him he has nothing to fear in the year ahead."
Edith Wild scowled and glanced at the door. Her bedroom directly adjoined the suite that served Wallenstein and his wife as their living quarters in the palace. That was due to Isabella Katharina's insistence that Wallenstein's nurse be readily available in the event his poor health suddenly deteriorated. In the months since she'd arrived in Prague, Isabella had come to trust Edith's advice far more than she did those of her husband's doctors. Much less his astrologers.
Smart woman, thought Edith. "What does Pappenheim say?"
"My husband won't listen to him either. I spoke to Gottfried myself, and he says he can do nothing beyond make sure that a guard is always stationed at the entrance."
"Well, that's true enough. He can't very well force the Duke to accept guards in his own suite."
Isabella seemed close to tears. Edith patted her on the shoulder. "All right, then, you'll just have to rely on me, if something happens."
As much as Isabella trusted her, the look she gave Edith now was definitely on the skeptical side.
Edith sniffed, and marched over to the chest in the corner that held her clothes. After rummaging in the bottom for a moment, she brought out something and showed it to Isabella.
"This'll do the trick."
Now more intrigued than anything else, Isabella came over and stared at the thing.
"Is that one of your American pistols?"
Edith grunted. "Don't call it a 'pistol.' It's a revolver. Smith and Wesson .357 Magnum Chief Special. Holds five rounds, 125 grain. Kicks like a mule and it'll damn near blow your eardrums, but it'll drop an ox. I wouldn't have bought it myself, it's my son's. But he gave it to me after the first time he fired it on the shooting range." She sniffed again. "I hate to say it, but he's something of a sissy—even if he does like to hang out with those bums at the Club 250, pretending otherwise."
She was wearing seventeenth-century-style heavy skirts with a separate pocket underneath, attached by a drawstring. Using a slit in the skirts designed for the purpose, she slipped the revolver into the pocket. "Anyway, relax. If anybody gets into the Duke's rooms, I'll see to it they don't leave. Except in a coffin."
Isabella gazed up admiringly at the large American woman. "What would we do without you?"
"I don't know," grunted Edith.
It was the truth, too. There were ways in which taking care of Wallenstein and his wife was like taking care of children. Still, she'd grown very fond of the two of them. The Duke himself was always courteous to her—far more courteous than any "fellow American" had ever been, she thought sarcastically—and Isabella had become a real friend.
Edith Wild hadn't had many friends in her life. That was her own harsh personality at work, she understood well enough. She'd never really been sure how much she'd like herself, if she had any choice in the matter. So it was nice to have a place again in life, and people who treated her well.
"Don't worry about it," she gruffed. "I like it here in Prague, and I plan on staying. Anybody tries to fuck with the Duke, they're fucking with me."
"You shouldn't swear so much," chided Isabella. The reproof was then immediately undermined by a childish giggle. "But I'm so glad you're here."
Long live the AWESOME AMERICAN.
So there is going to be a new co-ed university in Prague. How is this going to work in a day and age where education for women was reserved to princesses only? Are they suddenly going to reverse hundreds of years of chauvinist society in one generation?
Avigail spoke Yiddish, not German, but Judith had no trouble understanding her. Except for some loan words, the languages were almost identical.
Really? Yiddish and German do not even sound alike.
Oh, and remember Edith WANK-Wild from above? Well, she and another american manage to save Wallenstein's life with ease from four assassins. Edith guns the assassins down in cold blood. Oh god, not another AWESOME FEMALE KILLING MACHINE.
Wallenstein is pretty passive during this - he gets thrown around by one american female and then all he does is club one of the guys. Right.
Edith's last shot had gone a little wild too, it seemed. The man had only been wounded in the shoulder—from what Ellie could tell, nothing more than a flesh wound—and Edith's gun was out of ammunition. Fat lot of good it did him. Don't fuck with Nurse Ratchett. Edith had wrestled him to the floor and was now clubbing his head with her revolver.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Wallenstein stuck his own head out the door, crouched a little higher than Ellie. "Rossbach is dead," he announced.
He studied Edith at her work for a moment, then straightened and helped Ellie to her feet. When she looked at him again, to her surprise, Wallenstein was smiling thinly and stroking his badly scarred jaw.
"A pity there are so few American women," he announced. "If I had an army of you mad creatures, I could conquer the world."
And Flint then starts into torture porn area. I think it is meant to be comical, but it comes across as really sociopathic.
Ellie never saw it herself, since she spent the next many hours closeted in the telephone center. But she heard about it. In the famous "defenestration of Prague" that had been the incident usually cited as the trigger for the Thirty Years War, the Catholic Habsburg envoys thrown out of a high window in Prague Castle by rebellious Protestant noblemen had landed in a pile of manure. Their survival had been acclaimed as a miracle by the Catholic forces and had been disheartening to the Protestant rebels.
Marradas fell about the same distance—seventy feet—after Pappenheim threw him out of a window in the castle. But, as [Wallenstein had] commanded, there was no second miracle. Marradas landed on a pile of stones on the street below—placed there by Pappenheim's soldiers at his command, while Pappenheim kept the screaming and struggling Spanish don pinned in his grip for ten minutes until the work was finished.
You know, passages like this just destroy what would otherwise be a decent story. And then Flint has Wallenstein declare freedom of religion. I wonder why Flint thinks that would outweigh the possible conflicts between Jews and non-jews.
And it gets better in the WANK AMERICA. When Wallenstein marches away to fight the Austrians, guess who is elected to command the defence of Prague against mercenaries? Yes, you guessed right, the American Morris. Who is a jeweler. I for one cannot believe Wallenstein would not leave one of his decent subordinates behind to defend his capital. No, instead he leaves behind a very young subordinate. And the Jews naturally trust the American instead of someone who, you know, actually has experience at fighting a besieging army. And of course, Flint's usual thing - the americans impressing the greatest intellectuals etc.
Then of course the Americans just happened to bring a Katyusha-like rocket launcher with them, which breaks the enemy mains charge. And of course it is an American who actually persuades the Jesuits to stay and support Wallenstein, just with his example.
The only unfortunate episode in the day's celebrations—and that, only mildly unfortunate—was that the biggest cheer of all was not reserved for Wallenstein himself. That cheer erupted, quite spontaneously, when the two APCs from Grantville rumbled onto the Stone Bridge from the Malá Strana side and were met halfway by the katyusha coming from the east bank. Now that they could see what a real APC looked like, almost dwarfing the katyusha drawn up before it, Prague's citizens were greatly heartened. Their own little one had driven off Holk, no? Who knew what the big ones could do?
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All in all, Flint's writing has much improved and he seems to slowly get a better handle on the complexities. The stories and characters are not that one-dimensional anymore and his portrayal of Wallenstein is decent, if flawed. However, the same things that plagued 1632 and 16433 are still very much in evidence here. If he can reign them in, 1634 should be a more pleasant affair.
Alright. Ring of fire Anthology done. 1634: The Galileo Affair is next.
(Of course psychologically that would have been impossible, because Barry was from the Irish gentry by birth.)
