Crossroads of Twilight (Wheel of Time) [マスマーケット]

Those who can appreciate great setup will really love this book. Personally, I thought the setup in books 8 and 9 were good ... but this was absolutely stupendous. Fans of total plot inertia will be in heaven.

I've grown to hate the character of Rand because whenever he makes an appearance the plot is in danger of moving incrementally forward. Thankfully, Mr. Jordan saves us from any threatening plot developments by keeping Rand almost totally absent from this book. And when he is introduced - briefly - towards the very end, Mr. Jordan quickly whisks him off to the sidelines before anything interesting can happen. Whew! I'm wiping the sweat off my brow becasue that was a close one.

Have you ever wondered how many stripes should be on the dublet of an important dignatary from Illian? How many shawl twitches are appropriate when Aes Sedai negotiate momentous agreements? What kind of stool the general of an Aes Sedai army sits on, and how stable said stool might be? Well buckle up for a wild ride, amigo, because you're going to learn all that (and more!) by the time you've tediously slogged to the conclusion of this book.

Part of what really makes Mr. Jordan's worlds so unique are the wonderful characters which populate them. I like nothing more than to scratch my head in befuddlement as yet another Aes Sedai is reintroduced into the plot whom I can no longer recall. It gives me an excuse to page to the back of the book and open up the 'Robert Jordan Appendix of Useless and Irrelevent Characters' which is always such a joy. I've created my own drinking game based on this called, [...]
For anyone who wants to play along the rules are simple:

1.) Is the character you're looking up totally irrelevent? Take a drink.
2.) Do you have reason to suspect said character will remain totally irrelevent? Take a drink.
3.) Does the character twitch her shawl? Take two drinks.
4.) Is she looking "cross-eyed" at someone? Take a drink.
5.) Do you know the exact design of the embroidery on the fringe of her shawl? Of course you do - take a drink. For your own sanity, consider taking another.

Anyhow, I don't want to pretend everything about this book is negative ... there are a few positives.

First off, Nynaeve is completely ignored. I suspect Mr. Jordan will make up for this oversite by indulging in an orgy of braid-tugging, yellow-shawled action in books 11-16, but you will be blessedly free of it in this tome.

Secondly, Jordan has stopped even pretending to provide "setup" for future books with CoT. Nothing Of Any Signifigance happens - at all - in this novel. Nothing. There's not so much as a cliffhanger. He's no longer bothering to maintain any facade. I appreciate that kind of bold honesty. He's just holding out his hand and saying, "Listen suckers ... we all know you're going to give me your money - so just hand it over. I could personally visit each of your homes and beat it out of you, but isn't this more civilized?". And, yes, I suppose it is more civilized. So I'd like to take this opportunity to thank Mr. Jordan for allowing me to voluntarily hand him my hard-earned money rather than forcing him to pummel it out of me in my own house. It is very much appreciated.

I can't wait for Volume 11.

Phone Rep: "Hello, this is ****, representing Bigelow Tea and other fine beverages. How may I help you?"

Caller: "Well, see, I have this problem with my tea..."

P: "Which variety of tea are you having the problem with?"

C: "Bigelow Blueberry Blast."

P: "Alright...what seems to be the problem?"

C: "See, there was this one batch of tea I brewed for myself one morning. I brewed it into a gleaming silver pitcher with a matching silver ropework tray and a set of three silver cups, each with its own saucer that was engraved around the perimeter with tiny flowers. I had bought the set in Saldea. Oh, the Sea-folk porcelain is wonderful, but I'm prone to breaking it. Anyway, I poured myself a cup of tea. There were piping hot scones in a silver bowl on the tray next to the tray that held the tea. The basket was covered with a white embroidered cloth slashed with blue silk, much like my dress. Oh, the neckline is a bit too low-cut for some of my acquaintances, who prefer good stout woolens to that Arad Domai silk that clings to the body in such a way as to leave very little to the imagination. So, as I was eating a scone and drinking my cup of tea, the steam from each rising and intertwining together like dueling serpents, I noticed a peculiar taste in the tea: it was cool and refreshing, with a hint of mint. Of course, I thought nothing of it. Giving my earlobe a tug and my braid a pull, I remembered the idiocy of every one of my male friends, indeed every male I have ever come into contact with, or ever will for that matter. The lot of woolheads can never compete with the superior logic and rock-solid reasoning that every female in the known universe possesses. It's no wonder we all behave the same."

P: "Um...what was your problem with the tea?"

C: "Oh yes, I'm sorry. After I had consumed the tea, I placed the cup on the silver ropework tray and covered the gleaming silver basket of scones again with the white embroidered cloth slashed with bands of blue silk, much like my dress. I remembered the stout man in the streets of Tar Valon: a vendor of sausages he was. Though I know I will never see him again, I felt it necessary to familiarize myself with every aspect of his appearance and personal history. He was a short, stout man with black hair that was beginning to grey at the temples, slicked back on his head in the manner of warriors, though it was obvious he was not one. He wore brown shoes of stained leather that rustled softly against the dirt of the streets, kicking up clouds of dust that lingered in the air even after he had passed. His pants were of stiff wool, dyed green and patched in many places. He wore a leather jerkin over a soiled white peasant's shirt, the cuffs of his sleeves rolled up and out of his way. Around his neck was a silver chain with a medallion attached to it that bore the image of a bear. He spoke with a gruff voice..."

P: "The TEA, ma'am."

C: "Well you don't have to be rude about it. I was only filling you in on the relevant details."

P: "I don't have all day, ma'am."

C: "You do remind me of a lad I once knew, back when I used to frequent the palace in Camelyn..."

P: "Look, we'll send you a case of Blueberry tea, alright?"

C: "Oh...alright then, I suppose that will do nicely."

P: "Do you have any other problems?"

C: "Well, there is this one other problem I have, but it's not with your tea. The other day, I was pouring myself a goblet of spiced wine. Only the wine had grown cold after being left on the windowsill for whatever reason. So I siezed hold of saidar. It was pure rapture...like opening all of my petals to the sun, for I am a flower. It was like floating in a river that tore along with great speed: resist it and you would be consumed by it. So I accepted it and was consumed by the sweet joy. I sent a tiny thread of fire into the pitcher to warm the wine. Soon, steam rose from the pitcher of gold, sunlight rebounding on the inset gems. I removed the pitcher from the stark Cairheinien plinth of the finest marble and poured myself a glass. But the use of saidar had turned the spices bitter..."

*CLICK*

C: "Hello? Hello? Wool-headed sheep-herder..."

For those readers anxiously waiting for the Dark One to lash out with the first fell stroke of the Last Battle, you'll find it here in the Crossroads of Twilight. No, the vast armies of Trollocs and their Eyeless taskmasters don't boil forth from the Blight to overrun the heart of Randland, leaving only carnage and destruction in their wake; instead, in a dazzling and completely unforeseen plot twist, Shai'tan unleashes his legions of weevils against our unsuspecting heroes, and no one's grain is safe. I'm getting chills now just thinking about the brilliance of the move. Just think: weevils in the grain require winnowing, and winnowing cuts down on the profit margins of merchants, and lower profit margins means bankruptcy. I absolutely cannot wait for book 11, where we will surely see the entire economy collapse, and then it's just a small matter to bring this incredible series to a close. The Dark One will be revealed as an evil loan shark, and he'll break free from the Central Bank of Shayol Ghul and repossess every palace, dress-shop, and circus on the continent. I just hope Cadsuane can teach Rand some creative re-financing options before the situation becomes hopeless.

Some other notable developments:

The quality of tea has really taken a nosedive since the early books in the series, and it's starting to negatively impact the morale of our heroes. After all, what's the upside of fighting off pure evil if you can't even get a decent cup of tea when you're pregnant and temperamental?

The Dark One inappropriately touches one of his minions. I'm expecting a sexual harassment lawsuit in the next volume.

Hundreds of dresses are described in such intricate detail that I was able to sew exact replicas. I'm wearing one right now, in fact. For hundreds of other patterns, you can shop at wheeloftimewardrobe.com.

We are introduced to the riveting social intricacies of the gai'shain laundering subculture.

Perrin gets bored with his own plotline and breaks out of character for a minute before returning to form.

Woolheads battle ninnies and hilarity ensues. Braid tugging is on the wane. Someone sniffs.