The Seventh Perfection - Daniel Polansky

 

Daniel Polansky is, for my money, one of the most innovative fantasy writers in the field today. He’s always writing stuff that feels fresh, takes an interesting approach to the genre, and draws in the reader with well-wrought characters and interesting worlds. Basically, I always look forward to reading his next work, because I never know what it’s going to be like, only that it’s unlikely to be similar to anything else, and it is likely to be very good.

And so it is with The Seventh Perfection, which is not like anything else I’ve read this year, but is, absolutely, very good indeed.

One of the most striking things about the story is the narrative structure. Told in the second person, each chapter is the other side of someone’s dialogue with our protagonist. That this all fits together naturally is, frankly, a triumph. We pick up on the questions our interlocutor asks, and construct an image of her based entirely on the perceptions of others. We understand her, not through her own eyes, but through theirs. And equally, we understand those she speaks to through their words, their silences, their pauses, what they fight not to answer and what they divulge freely. This is a world constructed entirely from dialogue. That the world built in this way is as richly drawn and real as any other is rather impressive, to put it mildly.

And what a world it is. One populated by god-kings and a militant priesthood. And by people just out for a pint and a quiet celebration. By strange, constructed people, and by technology whose workings are lost in time. Where books are burned, where the past is forbidden, where the story is at once eternal and perpetually changing. Where the national myth is also the national reality. It’s a rich, intriguing world, one not afraid of blood and bone and hurt, though also one with sparks of kindness and quiet joys.

 This is also a book filled with mysteries. Our protagonist is searching for something, or someone. Why they’re doing so, and who or what they’re looking for becomes clearer as their questions are answered. Clearer to both us and, I think, themselves. The gradual unveiling of our “narrator” and their cause is skillfully done, the revelations at once inevitable and startling. It’s a book asking about the mutability of history, and truth. Whether the story we tell ourselves is what is true, or what we remember. Or if what we remember can change, and if that change is true. The seventh perfection is the perfection of memory, which is something, in a story where everyone’s memory of past events is different.

Speaking of which - given that each chapter is a dialogue between our silent protagonist and whoever they’re questioning, I want to note the marvellous diversity of voice. From old antiquity traders, to ex-lovers, to broken-down members of the old regime, each person sees differently, speaks differently, thinks differently. Each of these people come across as completely different, a snapshot of an individual, with their own needs, their own old wounds, and iceberg covered depths. That they draw around her the shape of our protagonist, with those wants and needs under a skein of words, shape our own views with the warp and weft of their stories - well, it’s fantastic.

Which is how I’ll leave this review, really. The Seventh Perfection is, in a word, fantastic; Polansky has done it again, and brought forth another innovative, intriguing, must-read work of fantasy. Go get it.