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I’m now well enough to do some serious work on the book–and I thought you’d be amused by one kind of cut/alteration that’s going on now.
This one is about horses. I’m a horse-enthusiast as many of you know, and I inherited my friend K-‘s horse, trained to Grand Prix level in dressage and shown at Prix St. George about a year before she died. I myself had never ridden at that level. But K- was giving me some lessons on him, in the hope that he would connect better with me (not really–or not for the first five years at least.) In the process, I learned to ride some advanced movements that were a lot of fun, and obviously would be of use to someone riding a horse in battle.
One of the things this particular horse found easy was half pass in canter or counter-canter (either one.) It was exhilarating to find oneself moving on a diagonal line while the horse’s body remained (with a very slight curve) on a parallel to the side of the school. He could also do flying changes in half-pass at canter, which was even more fun, so you could zig-zag back and forth across the school, while always facing “straight forward” (almost.)
So: picture the writer “seeing” Kieri on Banner, his gray charger, approaching two enemies…”that” far from one another. How would this engagement play out? From inside my POV character (Kieri in this instance) , I clearly felt the slight shift of seatbones and leg that produce “counter-canter half-pass to the left” and then, when Kieri had delivered a stroke to enemy A, the shift that produced a flying change and change to the other diagonal to attack enemy B. (Yes, I wiggle a lot in the chair.)
The original text had this in detail…from hand gallop to collected canter to half-pass in counter-canter to the left, then change of direction and leg through flying change to half-pass in counter-canter to the right.
Of interest to dressage students, who might critique whether the choice of counter-canter (which has some advantages) was better than canter for the maneuvers and the use of that size and weight of sword, but otherwise totally opaque to readers who–riders or not–were not dressage enthusiasts. Thus, slowing down the action.
The current text (still not the final text, necessarily) merely says the horse shortened into collection (which most people sortakinda understand) and obeyed Kieri’s leg, bringing him close to Enemy A.
A few readers would prefer the earlier text, I’m sure–those with special knowledge. But others…I think not. There’s a battle going on. What matters is who gets killed, who survives, what that means. Not the details of what a half-pass in counter-canter is, or how to ride one.
Still–for those riders among you who haven’t ever gotten to do this–if you have a chance to ride a dressage horse trained for it, and can learn the signals, it is an absolute delight to realize how precisely you can place a horse relative to anything. And if you ever get to ride such a horse with sword in hand (which I did a few times with K-‘s horse) many things about mounted warfare become very clear very fast, including the need for that accuracy of placement. If you’re four inches too far from the post from which you want to remove a melon…your enemy got away. If you’re too close, your knee is forfeit.
Comment by Vikki W — November 13, 2010 @ 10:50 pm
I often wondered how all that worked, with knights on horses in battle. Now with your explanation it is a little clearer. But I can see how it could bog down a section. Thanks for the picture.
Comment by elizabeth — November 14, 2010 @ 12:42 am
A lot actually depends on the conditions of battle–not all cavalry engagements are the same, in terms of terrain, horses, weapons, tactics, etc. The Plains Indian hunting buffalo on horseback (dangerous as battle) isn’t going to need the same kinds of maneuvers as two 14th century European knights in single combat. But ideally the trained cavalry mount for any culture, in any battle, is able and willing to can move in any direction at its rider’s command, whatever those commands are and however conveyed. If you have a chance to use all that athleticism and precision, it gives you an edge.
(And it just occurred to me that the rest of what I was about to write should instead be a separate post as it was going to be too long for just a comment…and since it’s almost 1 am, I should put that off until tomorrow!)
Comment by Celina — November 14, 2010 @ 3:36 am
I’m so happy that you are one of those wonderful authors that don’t describe horses as they were cars, but living breathing beings.
And one thing to another: What kind of breed/s is the model for your horses in the books?
Comment by Kristen B. — November 15, 2010 @ 11:56 am
Hi:
About every other year we go to Dressage at Devon, which is close to where my mom lives in Pennsylvania. I LOVE watching all the dressage with all that control and training being shown, but the flying lead changes in canter are my favorite. The horses truly appear to be dancing. Now, it’s even better knowing what the practical application for the moves are! cool
Kristen
Comment by Genko — November 21, 2010 @ 2:12 am
I enjoyed your description of what happened there, even though I know nothing about riding horses. I would think that something like the phrase you use “light shift of seatbones and leg” can suggest the kind of precision you are talking about. You do that a little bit when you talk about sword work, another thing I have no experience with, and could get just as technical. I had a sense of that when you described Paks’s horse movements during her battle with the wild beasts and Liartian priests in Oath of Gold.
I can see where it is tempting to describe the whole thing in detail. And sometimes those details are helpful in being able to picture the action precisely (same with moves on a battlefield). And sometimes I skip over those details as a reader because I can’t quite picture them or don’t care so much — tell me when it’s over and who won, kind of thing. I can’t always predict how much detail I need to engage with a scene, and, having read these books several times now, find that it varies a bit with how tired I am, how willing I am to stretch my own imagination to picture this.
So, of course I can’t give an exact answer, but maybe something here will help. I suppose the answer lies somewhere in between detail and summary. Finding that place is the art of it all, I suppose.
Comment by Margaret Middleton — November 24, 2010 @ 6:44 pm
It’s amazing how few people realize that dressage is just as much of a martial art as anything in a chop-socky movie; it’s just that it’s done without a visible opponent. Kind of like the katas.
Comment by elizabeth — November 26, 2010 @ 7:44 pm
Yes indeed. Though many dressage riders now don’t like to think of that aspect, and would rather talk about the development of the horse, and the beauty of the performance. Which is fine, but I think tying it back to its historical roots adds a layer of understanding and appreciation. At least it did for me.