1983’s* When Voiha Wakes* is the third and final volume in Joy Chant’s House of Kendreth secondary world series.

Rahiké returns from Halkal-Mari to her native Naramethé bearing welcome trade news1. The Young Mistress of Naramethé also brings a small, but extremely expensive, package for young Mairilek. It contains a stringed instrument.

Looked at another way, the package contains chaos and unhappiness. Mairilek has a small flaw in his character; what is in the package will only exacerbate it.

To quote Rahiké’s musing on Mairilek after she takes him as a lover:

“Naturally his untaught mind could have neither the breadth nor the firmness of a woman’s, but he was very far from foolish, and had insights of his own that often surprised her.”

Those insights concern music.

Naramethé society is straightforward. Women have their farms. Men have their crafts. The women share their city, the men their town, and trading takes place in the market. Women do the important work of keeping society functioning, while men, freed from the burden of thought, are left to work hard in gender-appropriate fields. Ideally while looking attractive in the process.

Naramethé is oddly music deficient. People sing, but other kinds of music are uncommon. In particular, nobody plays instruments and no such occupation as local musician exists. Naramethé knows of musicians because traveling musicians visit. Nobody who matters believes Naramethé needs any full-time musicians in residence. Except for Mairilek.

Having listened to foreign music, Mairilek is consumed with a passion to create it for himself. When he wins a small fortune in a bet, he entrusts it to Naramethé, asking her to buy him an instrument in vast, opulent Halkal-Mari. Now that he has it in his possession, he can become a musician himself.

There is a problem: no one to teach him. Mairilek can learn only by trial and error. His people are literate, but they’ve never bothered with musical notation. He cannot learn from sheet music.

Not only that. Naramethé is extremely conservative. Innovation is strongly discouraged. Men should stick to crafts and lovemaking, they say. There is no place for a musician, nor should there be.

Having ended years of celibacy with a torrid affair with the much younger, extremely handsome Mairilek, Rahiké is inclined to be sympathetic. Having heard his music, she admits its genius. However, as Young Mistress of Naramethé, Rahiké’s duty is preserve, not facilitate innovation.

The socially responsible answer is to utterly crush Mairilek’s musical ambitions.

_oOo

For those keeping track, no two House of Kendreth stories are the same genre, or set in the same era. Sometimes regions vary. It is as though she wrote books set on Earth, but for some reason decided to have the London of 702 have a completely different language and culture from Kyoto of 1128. Each book is a standalone. Hence, I call these books a series rather than a trilogy. There’s no obvious reason Chant could not have continued the series… but she didn’t, and they are all long out of print.

There is an obvious solution to Mairilek’s problem, one that the characters do in fact spot: ditch Dogpatch for the Big City. Mairilek can head to the unimaginably huge, cosmopolitan Halkal-Mari2. Of course, this means life as an exile. Both options open to him, stay or leave, have drawbacks. The dilemma is which set of drawbacks are worse.

The third option, completely reform society to suit the needs of one person, is not on the table. To even consider it would represent an enormous change.

Readers will note that among its unique features, Naramethé strongly and successfully discourages masculine violence.

In fact, violence is on par with Abu Hassan’s fart, a transgression people remember for years:

In those days she remembered a terrible thing that had happened in the Town when she was a child. Two men had fought: not the childish scuffling that little boys were shamed out of, not the quick blow derided and punished in older youths, but a real fight, that had brought the Town to a shocked halt and left both men injured. Like wild dogs, said all who had seen it. For a year afterwards both men had dragged burdens like beasts, their criminal hands locked into wooden yokes, and children had screamed and fled from the sight of them.

Arguably, getting into a fist fight is more shameful than being a musician because Naramethé has a lot more practice actively suppressing violence3, whereas the music thing is brand new. In fact, while it seems extremely unlikely Chant had this model in mind, I am reminded of how female bonobos keep the males in line.

Voiha is a skillfully executed tale in which the stakes, while entirely personal (matters that will have no great impact on geopolitics) are incredibly important to the characters. I wonder if this impacted sales? Tolkienesque high-stakes series dominated fantasy at that time. But it’s just as enjoyable to read a book in which consequences can be inconsequential on a global scale and still matter.

Voiha was well received, winning the 1984 Mythopoeic Award. In fact, Chant racked up an impressive collection of wins and nominations, given that her long-work output was three novels and two non-fiction.

House of Kendreth

Red Moon and Black Mountain (1970) (Mythopoeic winner)

The Grey Mane of Morning (1977) (Mythopoeic & Locus nominee)

When Voiha Wakes (1983) (Mythopoeic winner)

The Walls of Kophitel (unpublished) [SF]

Non-fiction

Fantasy and Allegory in Literature for Young Readers (1971)

The High Kings (1983) (World Fantasy winner, Hugo and Locus runner-up)

In addition to the fannish and juried awards, her works were widely reviewed and the reviews I tracked down seemed to be favourable. Yet, Walls was never published — although ​“unpublished” implies it was written — and The High Kings was her final long form work of which I am aware. I wonder why?

There is likely a story behind her silence and the curious reluctance of publishers to reprint her material… but I have no idea what it is.

When Voiha Wakes is long, long out of print.

1: USA delenda est.

2: Given Chant’s interest in Bronze and Iron-age culture, it is possible that supposedly vast Halkal-Mari has fewer than one hundred thousand people. Perhaps a lot fewer. If all one is familiar with is a single village, one hundred thousand people is a lot of people!

3: ​“But what happens if aggressive neighbours invade?” That question is the focus of the second volume, The Grey Mane of Morning.