You’re right, this is significant copyright infringement, otherwise known as *stealing*. But Ballantine Books, the holder of the copyright, has known about this for a long time, and has apparently chosen not to take any action. And a number of people have expressed an interest in e-versions of the “Covenant” books. So until Ballantine does get around to taking appropriate action, I say, What the hell. If you want any of the “Covenant” books in a poorly-scanned .rtf file, help yourself. And if you feel guilty about doing this (as I would), the solution is simple: buy an (extra?) copy of the physical book(s) to balance out the moral equation. (01/01/2005)

I know you’re mostly kidding around when you say that I’ve ruined you for other fantasy books. But in the same vein: I don’t think I owe “all the other fantasy writers” an apology; I think *they* owe *you* one. 1) The fact that I’m answering this question suggests that I survived the book tours. I suspect that my publishers would say the tours went “well” but not “great.” For myself, I simply concentrate on trying to get through the experience intact--and then on forgetting the whole thing as soon as possible. 2) Eventually this interview will include some form of FAQ for such questions. Until then, I’ll keep repeating: hope to see “Fatal Revenant” in two years; expect to see it in three. (01/01/2005)

1) I like to think that my environment doesn’t affect my *ability* to write. But there’s no doubt that my environment has a profound effect on my ability to *keep on* writing. In other words, I can write almost anywhere, if I have to--for short periods of time. But the less congenial the environment is, the more effort I have to expend in order to concentrate effectively; and therefore the more quickly I become too tired to keep going. So in practice the right environment (I mean right for me: everyone is different) is critical. 2) I’m only aware in comparatively subtle ways of a stylistic shift between the first six “Covenant” books and the most recent one. In particular, I know that there are a few technical methodologies which I developed for the GAP books which I’m reluctant to abandon now, for the simple reason that I like what can be accomplished with them. At the same time, I’ve worked very hard at continuing the essential stylistic “spirit,” the “feel,” of the original “Covenant” prose. And I’m not conscious of being “less descriptive” than I was years ago. (Certainly my current editor usually feels that I’m *too* descriptive.) No, what I’m aware of is a shift in my narrative priorities. Putting the matter as crudely as possible, my characters now spend a lot more time talking to each other, and a lot less time moving around (and gazing at) the landscape. This is to some extent a conscious choice (I’ve written at length about my growing emphasis on the “dignity” of my characters) and to some extent an evolutionary change (after all, you can hardly expect me to be the same person I was 25 years ago; so naturally I think in different ways, and want different things, than I did back then). (01/01/2005)

I’ll have to refer to you back to earlier discussions of the Oath of Peace because I don’t want to re-explain the insight which allowed Mhoram to become more effective than his immediate predecessors, even though he lacked the Staff of Law. The point is this: for a long time, the people of the Land saw the Oath of Peace as a proscription against certain emotions, while Mhoram learned to see it as a prescription for certain behaviors. In so doing, he opened the door for his own actions, and for the actions of others, to be galvanized, energized, empowered by previously-rejected emotions. Now, speaking as a student of the martial arts, I believe this to be A Good Thing--as long as no one re-creates the conditions which led to the formulation of the Oath of Peace in the first place. And those conditions were: action *determined* by emotion (Kevin and the Ritual of Desecration, Trell and the devastation of The Close) rather than action determined by conscience and then *energized* by emotion (“Lord Mhoram’s Victory”). Well, the unfortunate fact is that emotions are messy, wisdom is rare, and conscience can be misled. In a very real sense, therefore, I think that when Mhoram removed the “proscription against certain emotions” and replaced it with the “prescription for certain behaviors” he did indeed open the door for the (eventual) emergence of the Clave. (There’s a *reason* why religions tell you how to feel--and it isn’t just because religions are about control [although they certainly are]. They’re also trying to avoid the dangers inherent in letting emotion determine action. Just to pick one example: history has shown us over and over again that punishing people for murder is a less effective deterrent than teaching them that rage, jealousy, and greed are evil.) An inevitable effect of unleashing emotion--even in the best of all possible causes--is that for some people emotion will then begin to overwhelm wisdom/conscience/morality. So I think that Mhoram’s insight made the Clave possible. Does this mean he made a mistake? Far from it. Consider the alternative: Mhoram stays trapped within the confines of the “old” Oath of Peace; the Lords are defeated; Revelstone is over-run; and Covenant’s victory over Lord Foul does nothing to prevent a kind of cultural Dark Age (one which, in fact, closely resembles the state of affairs in “The Runes of the Earth”). In practice, however, it was not Mhoram’s insight which led to the “ineffective guardianship” of the Masters: it was the vacuum of culture and lore left by the Clave’s defeat which inspired the Masters to take on a challenge that became too big for them. (01/01/2005)

The short answer is: yes, this is both a conscious choice and a natural inclination. I’m not a particularly visual person myself, so of course I want the reader to do as much of the “work” as possible. <grin> After all, communication through prose is always an interactive process, even though the “interactors”--the writer and the reader--are not physically present to each other, and are also separated in time. And I’ve noticed that the writers who are most successful at making *me* see--and feel--are those who provide emotive and poetic descriptions rather than visually literal ones. (01/01/2005)

I’m truly surprised that this question keeps coming up. What’s so special about a trilogy? Why does anyone think it’s odd that I would choose some other format? Well, repeating things I’ve said earlier: I’ve only actually written one trilogy in my life, the original “Chronicles.” “The Second Chronicles” was planned in four volumes: it only became a trilogy when Lester del Rey waved his editorial wand and made it so. “Mordant’s Need” is in four parts. The GAP books are, in effect, an extended drumroll followed by four books. I can’t explain why; but my creative impulse seems to work more naturally in four-part structures than in three (in symphonies, one might say, instead of in concertoes). The structure of “The Last Chronicles” *suits* me in some fundamental, and entirely inarticulate, way. (01/01/2005)

From my perspective, what made Marc Vestabule interesting was the way in which he was trapped between identities: no longer fully human, but certainly not fully Amnion; imperfectly able to function in both realities. The Amnion themselves don’t strike me as particularly interesting. They’re too single-minded: for them, the whole concept of conflict between individuals, or between groups of individuals, is inherently meaningless. I’m far more fascinated by the way in which humankind’s multifarious weaknesses can suddenly become strengths in the face of something as truly alien as single-mindedness. (01/01/2005)

My father never wrote out any of his “talks.” And I was only half listening anyway, since I was in that creative zone where other things inspire thoughts which quickly leave their origins far behind. So I couldn’t reproduce that original talk even if I wanted to. Which, actually, I don’t. I do still have what you might call a research paper that my father wrote on the subject of leprosy for my edification; and it’s really nothing more than an emotionless recitation of facts. I wouldn’t inflict it on anyone. (01/01/2005)

I avoid doing this sort of thing for various reasons, one of which is that I dislike the sensation that people are looking over my shoulder, and another of which is that I don’t want to turn this into a “tease.” But since you asked so nicely <grin>, I’ll say just this once that I have in fact “broken ground” on Book Two, and that--changing metaphors as violently as possible--I’m juggling an enormous number of balls as fast as I can. (01/01/2005)

It's strange. I used to (mildly) enjoy playing Cast The Movie. But now that serious movie people are making a serious attempt to acquire financing for a "Covenant" film, I'm no longer interested. Doubtless this is self-protective: I'm trying hard to avoid expectations and disappointments. In an entirely personal, and rather peculiar, way, this has ceased to be a safe topic for me. <sigh> At this point, I really can't afford to worry about whether Justin Timberlake gets cast as Linden Avery. (01/01/2005)

I'm not sure I know quite what your question is. Certainly the way I organize my stories (including, but not limited to, how I break them down into chapters) is deliberate. But does writing fantasy make this easier to do? Not that I know of. It's clear that all of my fiction deals in "extremes" of one kind or another. That seems inherent to the way I think. It isn't affected by the setting (fantasy, sf, mystery). (01/07/2005)

As a matter of storytelling principle, I don't believe in jerking my readers around. So if something in what I've written makes you feel jerked around, you can be pretty sure that there's Something Else Going On. (And keep in mind that I know my stories before I write them--especially true in the case of the first six "Covenant" books--so the scenario you've imagined isn't likely to happen.) In "The Second Chronicles," it was absolutely essential that somebody who knew what was going on, and who wanted to help Covenant save the Land, broke the Law of Life. But since that somebody was clearly going to be one of the Good Guys, he/she/it had to have a pretty damn good reason for taking action. The fact that Hollian's resurrection is also essential to "The Last Chronicles" is simply not a good enough excuse for, well, "toying with the reader's affections." By my standards, if what I'm doing isn't fully justified by the story I'm actually telling, then it isn't justified at all. (01/07/2005)

Well, I can't argue with you. But I don't think of it that way myself. From my perspective, any "seepage" from the Land into the "real world" didn't start until fundamental Laws essential to the Land's existence had begun to break down. Certainly I consider the snake bite in the first trilogy and the venom in the second to be "seepage" in the opposite direction. So, in terms of Covenant's psychology (his need in the first trilogy to believe that the Land is a dream), obviously you could argue that Kevin's Ritual of Desecration also represents "seepage" from the "real world" into the Land. But I don't see any evidence to indicate that anything "seeped" from the Land to the "real world" until after the first trilogy. (01/07/2005)

Ballantine Books, like several other publishers, expressed very little interest in "The Last Chronicles" because they considered--and perhaps still consider--me a has-been. (In their defense: I do write more and more slowly as I get older; and nothing that I've published in past 20 years has sold even 10% as well as "Covenant"--which naturally makes publishers think that the success of "Covenant" was an aberration, perhaps nothing more than a symptom of the zeitgeist of the late 70's and early 80's.) Jennifer Hershey at Putnams bought "The Last Chronicles" because she was my editor for the GAP books and she believes in me. In fact, she believes that I deserve to be published whether my books make money or not. It's true that "The Runes of the Earth" has not been as well promoted (at least in the US) as the first "Covenant" books were. But we all lived in a different world back then. Publishers could afford to take more chances in how they marketted books. And Judy-Lynn del Rey was the publisher of DEL REY/Ballantine. She was a marketting genius. In addition, she received unprecedented support from her bosses. That combination of circumstances won't recur. It can't: the mega-corporations which own all of modern publishing won't allow it because they can't understand it. And keep in mind as well: Bantam's attempts to promote the GAP books failed dismally. What good is an ad in "Rolling Stone" if it doesn't sell books? (01/07/2005)

You should take it very literally. As I keep saying, I can't write at all unless I know "how it all ends." However, what this means in practice has changed over the years. As I've explained elsewhere, the first six "Covenant" books were meticulously planned *in toto* before I began writing. Nom certainly came as no surprise to me: I had planned on that creature from the beginning. (Of course, there *were* surprises for me throughout the writing of those books. But those surprises revolved around "personality" rather than "function." Saltheart Foamfollower's personality was my biggest surprise in the whole of the first six books, followed closely by Pitchwife's personality, and by Lord Hyrim's.) But since those days, I've become considerably more flexible. I still know exactly "how it all ends," but I no longer feel a need to pre-plan every single action and character along my way toward that end. Just one example: in the GAP books everything about Sorus Chatelaine came as a (wonderful) surprise to me. So your conception of how I work is much more accurate now than it once was. (01/07/2005)

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It is to Lester del Rey's eternal credit that he never blinked at Covenant's leprosy, or at the rape of Lena. He understood perfectly that such things were essential a) to the story itself, and b) to distinguish what I was doing from everyone else's work. Of course he knew that he was taking a risk (although it wasn't as big a risk as you might think, considering how little he paid me). But he was always ready and able to trust his own judgment. "Is immortality tough." Is that a question? If it is, I'll let you know when I get there. The only thing I can tell you at the moment is that I find mortality plenty difficult enough. (01/07/2005)

Alas, I can only repeat that there is nothing "waiting to be written" in the GAP sequence. I have no ideas at all. And I have no control at all over whether or not any of my books is ever made into a movie. A couple of wannabees once approached me about filming the GAP books. But they wanted *me* to finance the project--and I don't happen to have 300-400 million dollars I can spare. (01/07/2005)

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I don't like revealing my mistakes. They're embarrassing; and they undermine my (already tenuous) confidence. In addition, I believe passionately in the rewriting process; and I don't want to be judged by ANYthing that hasn't been through several stages of re-evaluation and reconsideration. But Yes, I have occasionally (rarely) become dissatisfied with a character's name while I was working; and when I become dissatisfied I do change that name. In "Runes," Mahrtiir once labored under a less satisfying name (but no, I'm not going to tell you what that name was). And Yes, people (e.g. my agent, an editor) do occasionally (rarely) suggest that I change a name. When I understand their reasoning, I comply. In "Daughter of Regals," the rebel, Kodar, once suffered from a name that elicited reasonable objections. In both cases, I think it would be fair to say that the original name had less, well, dignity than the name I eventually chose. (01/09/2005)

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You're right: I don't have time to learn a completely new operating system (I'm stuck in the Windows world, and I hope I *never* have to leave Windows 2000), never mind new word processing software. And Word has sort of become the industry standard in publishing. My publishers would probably accept a small number of other formats (e.g. WordPerfect), but then they might well convert my files to Word anyway (introducing textual corruption as they do so). I'll stay where I am as long as I can. (01/09/2005)

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Then I suggest you stop reading this interview. Personally, I have no interest in my "aura," or in the "mystique" of my works, and so I don't mind diminishing them (if that indeed is what this interview does). (01/09/2005)

You mean I don't get to pick Peace On Earth? <grin> In that case, your question is *way* too personal for a public forum like this. (01/09/2005)

"Related"? Well, they certainly have a number of characteristics in common. In retrospect, it's easy to see King Joyse as "practicing," "getting ready," for Warden Dios. But of course I don't write books in retrospect. And at the time when I wrote "Mordant's Need," I had no vision at all of ever writing the GAP books. In fact, I had no idea of any kind about what I was going to do after "Mordant's Need." And when I wrote the GAP books, I was thinking about Wotan rather than about King Joyse. Still, it's probably fair to say that Warden Dios is in some sense built on the experience I gained in exploring King Joyse. (01/16/2005)

To the extent that I know where the inpiration came from, it came from the necessities of the story I was trying to tell. I certainly didn't do any research into "real" battles or "real" ideas about strategy and tactics. On the other hand, I always pay close attention when I'm reading novels (e.g. LOTR), looking for what "works" for me as a reader, and for what doesn't. Then I try to profit from those experiences, both positive and negative. (01/16/2005)

The actual quote is, "There's only one way to hurt a man who's lost everything. Give him back something broken." Look in "The Wounded Land," chapter 2 of the prologue. I've already discussed my views on the fan fiction you describe. In brief: as far as I'm concerned, as long as there's no copyright infringement involved, and appropriate credit is given, then go ahead. Creativity is a good thing. Just understand that building on someone else's ideas is, well, second-hand creativity; therefore less beneficial for the creator. Creating your own work from scratch will do you more good. (01/16/2005)

I've already discussed "surprises" at several points in this interview. I'm not going to repeat myself. But I can tell you that I only encountered one such surprise in "The Runes of the Earth." However, it would be a spoiler to explain what that surprise was, or who supplied it. (01/16/2005)

First, a bit of trivia for regular contributers to the Gradual Interview: I'm now 193 questions behind. The good news? I'm so far behind because I'm working hard on "Fatal Revenant." Now: 1) This wasn't a conscious choice. Rather I think it reflects the evolution of how I perceive character. (Or it may just be an aftereffect of writing the GAP books and four mystery novels. <grin>) 2) You appear to be looking at my comments about "efficiency" and "internal consistency" backward. When I wrote the first three "Covenant" books, I absolutely did not foresee that I would ever continue the story; so I only invented as much "world background" as I needed. Then when I wrote "The Second Chronicles" I was able to foresee (and prepare for) a certain number of the issues which would arise in "The Last Chronicles" (since I knew the story I would eventually write); but there I failed to foresee just how complex the challenge of unifying *all* of the "Covenant" books would be. So once again I only invented as much "world background" as I needed for "The Second Chronicles." Which has now placed me in the terribly INefficient position of having to rediscover and (in some cases) reinvent the world as it has been previously presented. None of this would have happened if I had first created the kind of "extended history" you describe. Like MS-DOS, I'm trying frantically to invent "backward compatibility." 3) Sorry, I've never read any Primo Levi. But I'll look for him. (01/19/2005)

I read slowly in part because I study what I read: I want to be able to see how the author "did it". So yes, what I read does definitely affect my storytelling (style, structure, presentation of character and dialogue, etc.). But I don't choose what I'm reading on the basis of what I'm writing. I once did: back in my unpublished days, I stayed away from reading fantasy while I wrote the first three "Chronicles". For two reasons: 1) if what I read was good, it would intimidate me (I can't compete with *this*); and 2) if what I read was bad, it would depress me (how come *this* bozo can get published and I can't?). However, such reactions have long since ceased to trouble me. I now know perfectly well how bad books get published; and I no longer make the mistake of comparing myself to writers I admire. (01/19/2005)

Well, I suppose you could say that I didn't bring up the "language" issue (e.g. between Covenant and Mhoram) because I didn't think of it. <grin> Or you could say that the fact that our characters in our dreams speak our language is so axiomatic that *Covenant* didn't think of it. But the fact is that I considered the whole how-come-you-and-I-and-everyone-in-the-whole-world-can-understand-each-other issue to be an appalling can of worms, and I did *not* want to open it. I foresaw the possibility that I might undermine the entire narrative foundation of the story. In sf, a writer is compelled by the exigencies of the format to confront problems like language barriers. But the underlying assumptions of fantasy are not so rational: they are, in a sense, a-rational (rather than non-rational or irrational), arising as they do from that aspect of the human mind which creates dreams. I was--and am--acutely reluctant to impose the wrong kind of rationality on the story I'm trying to tell in the "Chronicles." (01/19/2005)

As you obviously realize, you've asked quite a number of very complex questions: too many, and too complex, for me to try to answer them all at once. I've already discussed elsewhere what happened to Vain at the One Tree. And I suspect that you could deduce the answers to some of your other questions. So for now I'm only going to address this: "I will NEVER buy the notion that the truth is dangerous! Ignorance is dangerous!" Now, I don't want to get side-tracked into a discussion of the difference between "truth" and "knowledge." But I would argue that what the Dead withhold from Covenant in Andelain is not truth, but rather knowledge. And I have had long and intimate experience with how dangerous premature knowledge can be. (Again, in order to avoid being side-tracked, I won't mention *parenting*; but any parent can tell you that it's easy to hurt children by teaching them things they aren't ready to learn.) I'll stick to one example: the study of the martial arts. At their core, the martials arts (as knowledge) are all about killing and maiming. Yet every responsible teacher of the martial arts knows that it would be destructive and even immoral to teach "killing and maiming" without *first* teaching the control AND the maturity to make ethical choices about when and how to *use* "killing and maiming." EsPEcially since many students of the martial arts are children who aren't developmentally qualified to make ethical choices. Therefore every responsible teacher of the martial arts begins by teaching a stylized and restricted version of the real arts. Will we teach you how to kick your attacker effectively in the stomach? Yes, we will: an effective kick to the stomach can save your life, and is *very* unlikely to kill or maim your attacker. But will we teach you how to kick in a way that will shatter your attacker's kneecap? No, we will not: not until the student has demonstrated the control necessary to practice the technique safely AND the maturity necessary to use the technique appropriately. My point is that knowledge is dangerous unless it has been *earned.* Which is exactly why Kevin went to all the trouble of concealing his lore in caches which were intended to be discovered in a specific sequence. Learning x prepares you to learn y safely. Learning y prepares you to learn z safely. In responsible martial arts schools, the earning of a black belt is considered a prerequisite to learning the *actual* martial art. A student without a black belt simply isn't *trusted* enough to be taught "killing and maiming." So think about it. What do you suppose the consequences would be if Covenant's Dead had simply *explained* everything to him? Well, let's see. Who in his right mind would visit the Elohim under those conditions? Who in his right mind would risk rousing the Worm? And why would the Elohim *ever* decide to Appoint Findail if Covenant and Linden already knew all of the answers? ("Pardon me. We don't actually need anything from you. We just want to trick you into Appointing Findail so we can go risk destroying the world for the sole purpose of bringing Vain into contact with the right kind of power.") It seems to me that the "schema" of "The One Tree" is considerably more solid than you think it is. (Keeping in mind that this is Just My Opinion, and you have every right to your own opinion.) (01/26/2005)

I do feel "sad," to varying degrees, for characters whose lives end at my hands. (See my comments on the Tor long ago in the GI.) And I have occasionally regretted that I haven't succeeded at exploring their situations/psychologies/stories more. (See my coments about Davies Hyland, also long ago.) But none of that means I regret "killing" those characters. I don't "kill off" characters because I'm tired of them, or because I just don't know what to do with them, or because I want to mess with my reader's emotions: I kill them off because their deaths are necessary, and perhaps even inevitable, in the story I'm trying to tell. Their deaths *fit*. Remember, I know my stories pretty well before I ever start telling them. I know what needs to happen. From that perspective, I couldn't regret "killing off a character" without regretting the whole story; and that would violate my fundamental relationship with my work, including my reasons for telling specific stories in the first place. (01/30/2005)

I'm uncomfortable with the whole "magnum opus" concept. And I certainly don't feel qualified to comment on it. I only hope that when I'm done with "The Last Chronicles" I'll feel as proud of it as I do of the GAP books. I'm not "trying to destroy the moral universe." Nor am I "spitting at the dirt." (Surely those aren't my only choices? <grin>) Here's how I look at it. What you're seeing is the natural evolution of a (no longer young) writer who has spent his whole life studying the mystery of his own heart, trying hard to understand the stringent and often cruel dilemmas of the people around him, learning how to "be true" to his own values and commitments, and striving for excellence. Of COURSE everything I do becomes more complex, ambiguous, and fraught. Under the circumstances, what else would you expect? (01/30/2005)

Every story has its own unique needs and demands. "The Last Chronicles" is structured differently than the earlier "Covenant" stories because the story itself is fundamentally different. The truth may not yet be apparent; but "The Last Chronicles" is a far more *urgent* story than its predecessors. (However, squeezing a lot of events into relatively short periods of time does happen often in Donaldson stories. Just look at my mystery novels and the last three GAP books.) *How* "The Second Chronicles" was published (as a trilogy instead of a tetralogy) had nothing to do with the content or fundamental structure of the story itself. The only reason I allowed Lester del Rey to make a trilogy out of a tetralogy is that his action had no effect at all on the actual story. (01/30/2005)