The Claw of the Conciliator: Chapter IV

The Bouquet

The ending of this chapter does much to characterize Severian and this narrative. He tells us, quite plainly, that he will no longer describe the torture and execution of people but that we are to assume that he is performing his role as Torturer throughout the ensuing narrative. Everywhere he goes from here on out, we can assume he’s leaving a trail of bodies broken or killed.

He tells us, in essence, that this is because the narrative is not about violence or even his skill as a torturer. For those reading only for the grisly facts can look elsewhere.

He also explains why so little narrative progress has been made and how he intends to speed things up.

This is a very funny thing to put in a book. Perhaps a secret admission by Wolfe that he’s just learning how to write this narrative as he goes and that he realized he needs to pick up the pace if he’s to ever come to the end.

But we must remember that Severian is writing for an audience and that audience is comprised of his subjects or their descendants. This chapter, along with the explanatory ending of it, do much to explain Severian’s purpose, I think. We get a lot of thinking and wondering. He recalls Thecla and their time together, the love he had for her, how it bloomed, how it pained him. He tells us about the uselessness of small-time officials, of their ego and inadequacies. And then he demonstrates his skill before telling us that he will not do that again.

Caesar Augustus wrote an autobiography. It was distributed through the Roman Empire and was, perhaps, one of the most well known texts of the ancient world. However, not a single copy exists anymore. It’s possible that none escaped the fall of Western Rome or perhaps the burning of the great libraries centuries later or maybe the fall of Eastern Rome a few decades before Columbus sailed the ocean blue in 1492.

We can assume that Augustus wrote his biography much like Severian is writing his. It’s propaganda, of course, but it’s also something more than that. Not just a justification or explanation, but a goal. An example for his subjects.

And so as Autarch, Severian is both telling us and reminding us of his humanity—something not necessarily given when considering how people so far have spoken of the then current Autarch—but also criticizing the aristocracy and bureaucracy of empire. Perhaps justifying why he must remake the empire’s structure and political composition?

Who can say. It’s beyond the scope of this chapter and even this book, but I think it’s always worth remembering that autobiography and memoir are as much performance as they are revelation. They reflect who someone believes they are, how they want to be perceived and understood, but that doesn’t make them accurate or even a good source of information about the subject.

For people lie. They lie perhaps most when they sit to write down the Truth.

And all of this swirls around the execution of a woman. And I love the strange bits of details that come through. How Severian is excited about the execution because then he might see Agia there again. How Severian walks around shirtless, wearing a freaky mask and a darker than black cloak. That he can break an adult’s femur with the slap of his blade. The prayer, too, is fascinating and full of all kinds of strange details telling us more about Urth.

And in the middle is this tiny human drama of two women bound in hate by a single man who is never present on the page. A false accusation leading to an execution. A ritual of forgiveness as act of murder.

It’s beautiful, in a way.

But lets consider why we’ve spent four chapters in Saltus now that Severian has told us that none of this really matters to the narrative.

We’ll begin with this bouquet.

I think, in a sense, it confirms Severian’s views on women. The good ones, like Dorcas, are quiet and compliant. The bad ones, like Agia, have far too much freedom and agency, and what they do with that agency is get up to no good. Like plan his murder or the unjust murder of a sexual rival, as is the cast in Saltus.

Because, remember, Severian philosophizes endlessly in these chapters about the nature of the world and so on, but he also sometimes stops to consider questions of gender. And even him showing us how he treats women comes with it a certain power.

For, remember, he is the Autarch. Yes, he’s humanizing his position, but he is still a figure of awe and fear. When the Autarch takes an action, there is a certain moral weight to it because of the power invested in him. And so when the most powerful man in your society tells you that he threatened a prostitute for speaking, we must take this as a lesson, whether that was his intention or not.

Next, we can consider what is learned in Saltus.

There is an unsuccessful war in the north and that Vodalus has supporters seemingly throughout the empire. We also come to see how the country folk view the people of Nessus and the officials—even ones from despised guilds—of the empire.

We also see the petty corruptions of country officials, their ignorance, their inefficiencies, their inadequacies. Slowly, Severian is painting a picture for us of an empire in decline.

The aristocracy is fat and lazy and locked in stasis. The bureaucracy is manned by fools and liars. The cities are populated by thieves and madmen, punctuated by state sanctioned yet random violence. The sun itself is sick and dying.

Long ago, we blamed the crops on the king. A good king led to surplus and bounty. A bad king to famine and flood.

The Autarch of Severian’s youth oversaw this corpse of an empire, this red bloated and cooling sun, a ceaseless and fruitless war.

So who is Severian in contrast?

Well, I suppose we’ll get there.

And all of this is already here. It’s in the novel. It’s not stated plainly or all thrown together concisely for our benefit. Rather, Severian—and Wolfe—allow us to inhabit this place, this world, and experience for ourselves all this decline and decadence.

And if you’ve missed all this, that’s part of the process.

There are people who say that you cannot read Proust or Joyce but that you must reread them. The logic being that a single reading is insufficient to understand anything but what’s on the surface.

And I think the same is true for Wolfe.

But hopefully this little slow read is helpful in allowing you to skip a step or two along the way to understanding.