Building a Fire - By Maxine scates

Staring at the flames of the woodstove fire
guarded by its glass door, I’m trying to remember
what I’m good at—surprised when it occurs to me
I’m good at making this fire out of kindling
I’ve split, plus one piece of fir and two of oak, cut
from the large branches of the neighbor’s oak
that fell across the road two years ago
on a winter evening. We were driving home
when we saw the flashlights telling us to slow,
the road impassable. It was then I lost my glasses
climbing over a downed tree, and when we
reached our house I called my neighbor,
not yet home from work, to tell him his tree
had fallen and, at first, he thought it had fallen
on his house, as if he already saw our oak glancing
off his roof a year later during the ice storm,
when it seemed every oak in the neighborhood
fell at the same moment. By then, our neighbor


had enough wood and so we cut our old oak
and hauled it up the road. All our ricks
are overflowing now, filled with oak
and four fir trees that died over four summers
due to drought or sunburn, the man who cut
them down said, the consequence, no doubt,
of the woods in front of us being clear-cut to build
a house free of the hazards of trees. Today,


I had jury duty and the D.A. asked me if I thought
economic hardship could impact a relationship
and I said yes, I certainly did. And when the defense
attorney asked about domestic violence, I said
I’d grown up with it, it being the shout and stumble,
the raw confusion of the shove and slap . . .
though it was all I said, and then I said I’d listened
to the charges and the judge’s emphasis on the phrase
“beyond a reasonable doubt” and thought I could
be fair, perhaps because, like my fire contained
in its iron box, for a moment I believed in the clarity
of language, its unblurred definition. I should


have known what I’d said was enough
for the defense attorney to want me gone from
that grim room where the jurors’ chairs did not face
the defendant, accused of harming two people
who shared his name, and the bailiff’s shoes
were scuffed and the judge seemed to be looking
at his computer screen most of the time. And when
I picked up my belongings to go, even as the judge
was thanking me, I hurried, feeling as if I’d done
something wrong, to the door, where I realized
I didn’t know how I’d gotten there because
the bailiff had led us, so for a while I walked down
hallways where each door opened to a courtroom
where people’s lives were changing one way
or the other. Then I came home and built this fire,


and my brother called to tell me my mother
had done just fine with the physical therapist until
she started to shake because her muscles tire. They
both live where there is no need to build a fire on
a cold night though the hills around them
are rimmed by the glow of fire pushed by warm
winds in this dark December. I doubt they think
of those long-ago nights in our small house,
nights grown distant enough that even I thought
I could judge the facts as if they were discrete—
and free of unending consequence

Toss a coin to your Witcher

Witcher Season 1 review : IGN

In its first, short season, Netflix’s The Witcher has a lot of work to do. A whole new world must be introduced, with all its many races, kingdoms, and the laws - both political and metaphysical - that govern it, not to mention a cast of characters with strange names and unfamiliar positions in society. But Netflix’s fantasy darling rises to this challenge, and by the end of its eight-episode run has transformed Polish author Andrzej Sapkowski’s books into a fascinating cinematic world of fearsome monsters, corrupt kings, and scheming mages. But the journey to that end point is messy, convoluted, and littered with poor performances, dialogue, and direction. It makes for a show that is equal parts entertaining and exasperating, and falling a little short of its massive potential.

The Witcher is headlined by a dedicated performance from the perfectly cast Henry Cavill, taking on the role of Geralt of Rivia; a grizzled man mutated to the point of being superhuman. Shunned by society, he makes his way through life by slaughtering monsters for anyone who will pay the coin, be they prince or pauper. The season’s first episode introduces him as a character with a starkly black-and-white view of the world; there is good and evil, and no sense of anything in between. He harbours, almost Batman-like, an unbreakable rule: he never kills humans.

Cavill clearly relishes the role; he’s often shared his adoration of the books and the CD Projekt Red video games, and that shines through. His look and demeanor for the show is essentially a high-end cosplay of Geralt from the games. His gravelly vocal performance captures the character’s decades-long weariness, which, when combined with mostly curt, short lines of dialogue helps convey a man who often has little interest in the debauched kings or squabbling people who hire him. But while those traits make him true to the source material, a lack of genuine plot development for Geralt means there's a little depth or nuance; a couple of episodes challenge his values, but by the finale it feels as if the White Wolf is no more interesting than he is in the premiere.

Geralt is the driving force behind most of the show’s action sequences, which feature some of the best sword fight choreography seen on television. Their direction fully embraces that this is a fantasy show, rejecting any need for historical accuracy or realistic strength. One particular battle, set within the decadent halls of a palace, utilises camera work that follows the combatants’ blades in swinging motions, which calls to mind the slick, stylized fights of superhero films.

While always entertaining, the quality of each individual fight does vary depending on Geralt’s opposition. Choreography is at its very best when he’s clashing with humans, as it allows for tense and loud sword parries. Against monsters the results are less explosive; creatures rendered in CGI have less weight and often look a little cheap, and so make for less believable encounters. Netflix's The Witcher: Cast vs. Video Game Characters Monster designs are always fantastic, though, even if their construction doesn’t make for the best action. Part of the appeal is their root in Polish and Slavic folklore; chances are you’ve not seen anything like them in any Western European or American fantasy show before. Episode 1 opens on a fight with a kikimora, and while the CGI budget sadly doesn’t allow for it to be a Game of Thrones-style delight, the crustacean-like horror of its numerous bony limbs still has a sense of grim fun. The best creatures are those with enough human properties to allow a prosthetic-covered human to still convey a sense of emotion, though; a goat-headed Sylvan or a knight with an hedgehog-like face and spines for hair are among the show’s best-realised beasts.

Geralt may be The Witcher’s protagonist by virtue of him being the titular character, but he is just one of a trio of core characters. And while Cavill provides the best embodiment of the three, it’s Anya Chalotra’s Yennefer that actually proves the show’s most compelling character. Acting as an origin story, this season chronicles Yennefer’s rise from deformed farm-hand to embittered sorceress. It’s a dark, harrowing tale dealing with abuse, betrayal, and anger, which delivers consistent growth and enjoyable turns with each successive episode.

Chalotra deserves recognition for her portrayal of Yennefer in her earliest scenes, in which a mouth-piece and hunchback prosthesis is used to bring her deformities to life. Despite all the visual elements, her performance focuses on Yennefer’s sadness and anger, which significantly humanises what could have been an uncomfortably one-note story. Unfortunately that subtlety is lost as Yennefer becomes stronger in the narrative. Chalotra’s on-screen confidence doesn’t match that of Yennefer’s growth, leaving her feeling unconvincing in later episodes.

Completing the trio is Freya Allan’s Ciri, princess of the Kingdom of Cintra. Her destiny is entwined with Geralt’s, and much of her story follows her journey to meet with the Witcher whom she has never previously met. From the first episode Ciri is emphasised as an important piece of the show’s puzzle - she’s of particular interest to the Nilfgaardian Empire, this world's evil stampeding force - and her fate is the subject of the show’s overarching narrative. It’s frustrating, then, that so little time is spent with her; one episode entirely ignores her for all but its final few minutes. This neglect makes Ciri feel little more than a macguffin for Geralt to find, rather than a compelling character in her own right.

The other result of Ciri’s limited screen time is a sense of tardiness in the season’s pacing. Episode 1 acts as a strong introduction to Geralt and Ciri, setting up the stakes involved and why it’s vital that the two characters meet. But Ciri’s continued relegation to the back seat of the show means that half the season goes by before any even limited development is made upon the problems set out in the premiere.

This is made worse by a confused approach to the show’s overall construction. Showrunner Lauren Schmidt Hissrich has opted to adapt short stories from Andrzej Sapkowski’s The Last Wish and The Sword of Destiny collections and thread them together with longer-running plotlines, and the season constantly feels like a war between these brief and extended formats. The short story adaptations, always featuring Geralt, make for a series of fun monster-of-the-week style episodes akin to The X-Files or Supernatural. Their one-and-done nature means Geralt is always in the thick of it, with the show constantly exploring fun new ground, but the lack of connective tissue between each adventure limits his development, and means he’s almost always divorced from the larger plotlines. Ciri’s story is serialised in nature, but feels hamstrung while it waits for Geralt to catch up - which he never does because he’s still got short stories to episodically experience. Only Yennefer’s storyline feels as if it truly works, almost certainly because much of her story is original material written for the show that neatly weaves her adapted sequences into a larger framework.

Furthermore, each character’s adventures are distinctly different in tone. Geralt’s stories often involve humour and have an almost Dungeons & Dragons podcast vibe, while Yennefer’s story is incredibly dour and tragic. It could be argued that this variety of perspectives demonstrates the world’s plethora of experiences, but it mainly serves to undermine any sense of cohesive tone and iron-forged identity. Is this a fun romp that’s designed to chronicle tabletop RPG-like antics, or a dark look at the perils of power? If it’s the latter, frequent soap opera-esque dialogue and ham-fisted handling of the show’s most interesting morality issues derail any genuine sense of seriousness. The Witcher is an oddly camp show, mixing traditional fantasy dialogue with jarringly modern turns of phrase (largely a crime committed by Jaskier, Geralt’s increasingly irritating bard companion). And by not consistently playing the world straight, the show can occasionally feel as if it lacks conviction in its own setting.

Making things feel further disjointed is the fact that all three main characters exist in different time periods, with their stories told at different speeds. For one character, this season takes place over a matter of days. For another, it’s three decades. The core trio being separated by space and time is something that the show makes very little effort to communicate outside of a few off-hand lines of dialogue. I believe this comes from a good place - showrunner Hissrich is on record saying that she trusts the audience to be smart - but unfortunately the indicators simply aren’t strong enough. While the timelines do finally combine and produce a satisfying merging of the stories, the payoff does not justify the obtuse journey, especially as it has no real narrative payoff such as that seen in HBO’s Westworld.

These problems prevent The Witcher from achieving its potential, but they don’t derail the experience entirely. On an episode-by-episode basis the stories are often engaging and provide some solid thrills. As an anthology of standalone quests the show is actually pretty successful, if not played as straight as the stories deserve. And special note should be paid to composers Sonya Belousova and Giona Ostinelli, who provide an exceptional score for the series that builds atmosphere and provides The Witcher with a genuinely unique signature.

But viewing the season as a whole reveals an admirably adventurous experiment gone awry, where the fundamentals of cinematic storytelling are discarded in a misguided attempt to surprise viewers with multiple time periods, and the storytelling is muddled between episodic and serialised plotlines. That it all comes together at the end of the season is satisfying mostly because it's a relief that The Witcher makes it there largely intact. Essentially, it’s less than the sum of its parts.

Verdict The Witcher’s first season is unconventional and messy. It’s failed by its convoluted structure, which ultimately restricts character growth, and prevents the show from having any true sense of depth. This makes for an unsatisfying big picture, but thankfully there are plenty of things to enjoy in its individual components. Henry Cavill has found his perfect match in Geralt of Rivia, and his appreciation of the role helps elevate all of the White Wolf’s storylines above their imperfections. Anya Chalotra’s Yennefer doesn’t get the depth of character exploration that her character deserves, but does demonstrate the show’s ability to weave a complex, consequential journey. And, weak CGI aside, the show is filled with beasts - both human and monstrous - that give the show a unique, Slavic flavour.

This eight-part season is effectively a prologue for the show’s main story, which has only just begun in the finale’s last scene. And while that does mean that these hours do feel somewhat inconsequential and exposition-heavy, they do establish a fascinating world worth exploring. Indeed, as the credits roll you’ll almost certainly reach for a copy of The Last Wish or boot up the games to continue that adventure. But if you do, you’ll likely discover that Netflix’s The Witcher has a bit of work to put in before it hits the high quality bar set by the story’s other mediums.