A Little Hatred - Joe Abercrombie

A Little Hatred is a new fantasy work from Joe Abercrombie, set in his First Law universe. The First Law sequence is a seminal work within the modern fantasy genre, and one of the central works within the ‘grimdark’ subgenre. We haven’t had a new First Law novel for seven years (though the short story collection was ace), so expectation and anticipation have been high.

So, first question is it actually any good?

Oh my yes.

If you’re just here to see if Abercrombie dropped the ball, rest assured that he has not, that this is a book of fierce prose, framed by superlative worldbuilding and relatable, empathetic, detailed characterisation. Also there’s a fair bit of swearing, and more than a little blood. If you were already a fan, this one isn’t going to change your mind. Go and get a copy right now.

With that out of the way. This is the start of a new trilogy, albeit in the same world as the other First Law books. So, can you read it without having read any of the preceding books? Yes, I think so. Full disclosure, I have read all the preceding books, so I may be a little off, here. But while there are some lovely references, and extra layers of context and flavour to be gained from that larger background, they aren’t required for the story to make sense, nor for it to grip you by the throat until it’s done. You can read this on its own, and it’s still going to be a cracking story.

The world is as detailed as ever, and as vividly realised. Much of the action takes place in Angland, a rather cold, desolate place that has served as a somewhat dour battlefield between the forces of “civilisation”, fronted by the Empire of Adua, and the more rural, Viking-esque North, for several generations now. The peace is uneasy, as ever, and movers and shakers on both sides are ready to kick off and see what they can grab for themselves. The portrayal of a border region, laced through with the scars of old conflicts, is both affecting and effective. Old friends can become foes on the toss of a coin here, and people are struggling.

Part of that is because of progress. Because what cities Angland has, are experiencing a boom in productivity. They aren’t necessarily sharing that boo with all of their citizens, though. The aristocracy is getting very rich indeed, while doing the best it can to ignore the less fortunate now toiling away in mills and forges. Of course, it was ever thus – the world of the First Law isn’t known for being pleasant. But the widespread deprivation, the gradual boiling of social pressure, those are things that the reader can taste on the wind, even as characters wonder how to deal with it, or what might come next. One of the cities of Angland serves as a key location for much of the novel, and in its misery, its poverty, in its low expectations and lower returns, it is heart-piercing. Likewise its robber barons, in its governing class who serve the realm and serve themselves, feel strangely familiar. Even those who are doing as much as they feel they should are, looking down the scale, doing nowhere near enough. The frisson of class warfare simmers behind every interaction, behind every strike broken, behind every cold stare from a servant who knows exactly where the knives are kept.

This isn’t a story about a progressive society bringing peace and enlightenment to the masses. It’s a story of oppression, of rebellion, of revolution. Of the way in which a mob can turn on the hand which feeds it, the way order can be nothing more than institutionalised violence, and the way that disorder ca look surprisingly similar. It’s a story of a society on the cusp of something, trying to work out what, and making some very poor choices.

At the same time that Adua is trying to absorb these changes, and the rise of the noveau riche, there’s conflicts breaking out along the edge of the border with the North. Abercrombie’s always written beautifully crafted fight scenes, and these are no exception, both individually and en-masse. You can taste the adrenaline at the back of your throat, feel the fear the terror, the warm streak of piss running down a leg. It’s muddy, bloody, uncompromising work, which doesn’t flinch from the exhilaration of combat for some, but isn’t afraid to look at its aftereffects, at the price paid, and the ongoing costs. You may thrill to the surge of a cavalry charge, but cringe at the blood, at the screaming and the running, at the ambushes, at the way glory transmutes into a man trapped under a horse, begging for water. This isn’t a story about the glories of war, but about its realities, and about the people who live within it.

They, much like the urban-dwellers further into Angland, make some very poor choices.

I won’t dig too far into the characters, at least in part for spoiler reasons. But I will say this. Each of the cast has such a unique voice, There’s over a handful of viewpoint characters, and they each feel different, each feel like individuals Some of them feel like fairly unpleasant individuals, to be fair. But in their thoughts and feelings, in their reactions, in their internal monologues and external actions, you can see the faces, hearts and minds of real people. Scared people, often. Selfish? Absolutely. But not always. There are moments of hope, of humanity amongst utter madness, of joy and kindness. If the world is a dark place, and much of the time the folk in it aren’t especially nice, still, sometimes they have the capacity to surprise, the spark that draws in a breath at night.

Not all of them, of course. Some of them are right bastards.      

         

But that’s the thing. These aren’t people who are good, and bad, in an absolute way (well, mostly). They’re people pushed to the bring by the systems they inhabit, making the choices they think they have to. No monsters, no saints, just people. On that level, the characterisation is an absolute tour-de-force, as each of our protagonists is relatable, believable, each voice a unique note in the gathering storm.

So, you’ve got a world that lives and breathes, and characters whose fate you’ll care for, whose actions will have heart in mouth, and hands desperately flipping pages to see what happens next.

As to what happens next? As to the story they have to tell? It’s fabulous. A gradual interweaving of threads across multiple strands of narrative, each as sharp and compelling as the others. Tension is built expertly, so that each turn of the page is done on tenterhooks. The story works. It has broader themes it wants to talk about – the futility (or otherwise) of war, the benefits (or otherwise) of progress, the necessity (or otherwise) of governance – and more. It asks big questions, and takes some steps in letting the reader find their own answers. But it’s also a blood-pumping story of revenge and madness and blood and family and truth and chaos.

A Little Hatred is Abercrombie at his best, and it’s a book you ought to go and get a copy of, right now.