Let's Read: David Weber's Honor Harrington

Prologue

The Victorian

Elven Supremacist
Location
Canada
Pronouns
He/Him
Well, is is something a little different...I've done Let's Plays and Let's Watches, but never have I done a Let's Read before. There's a first time for everything, I suppose.

You may be wondering what prompted this. A few months ago, I started work on my science fiction novel (the tentative title is Captain Shahabi and the Spartans of the Mind), which will only ever see the light of the day in the extremely unlikely event that it gets published. The novel involves a Zoroastrian woman captaining a starship (an old, obsolete ship named the Simurgh) whose crew all have rather checkered careers. Now, if you want to get better at writing, then you ought to endeavour to read as much in your chosen genre as possible. More importantly, you should be read things you consider both good AND bad, see you can have idea of what works and what doesn't. I'm not sure why, exactly, I settled on David Weber's Honor Harrington. Maybe because it's science fiction with a female protagonist, or maybe replaying Mass Effect 2 after all these years has put me in a mood for some military sci-fi.

So I want to emphasise that this is a completely blind Let's Read. I've never read any of these books before (and there are quite a few, so don't expect me to do the entire series), but I have heard two things about them:

  • They're basically Horatio Hornblower...IN SPAAAACE!
  • The main character is an ENORMOUS Mary Sue.

I'm going to approach that last point with some skepticism...the term "Mary Sue" has been used and abused so much that it's approached the point of meaninglessness. Too often it's levelled at any female character who has any prominence in the story whatsoever (there's the joke that the male equivalent to "Mary Sue" is just "the protagonist"), and it's often used without understanding the sort of world the character inhabits. Genres such as space opera or heroic fantasy often feature extremely powerful, larger-than-life characters, at which point the barrier for calling someone a "Mary Sue" would be far higher than it would be in a more grounded, realistic setting.

Another thing I ought to point out that, as a rule, I'm usually not a fan of military science fiction. Too often it ends up endorsing reactionary, authoritarian, or even fascist ideologies whether or not the author intended to. This tendency was noticed as far back as 1972 in Norman Spinrad's The Iron Dream, which features a highly-successful post-apocalyptic novel literally written by Hitler. Or, if you want something more recent, Paul Verhoeven's adaptation of Starship Troopers, which thoroughly takes the piss out of the original novel. And while I know nothing about David Weber's political views, let's just say that I won't be surprised if the story takes a sudden, reactionary turn.

All right, enough rambling, let's get into it, shall we? We'll be starting with the first novel, On Basilisk Station, first published in 1992. If you want to read along, you can download an eBook of this novel from the publisher's website here.


Let's start with the blurb that came with the eBook, so we can get a picture of what this story is about:

Having made him look a fool, she's been exiled to Basilisk Station in disgrace and set up for ruin by a superior who hates her.

Her demoralized crew blames her for their ship's humiliating posting to an out-of-the-way picket station.

The aborigines of the system's only habitable planet are smoking homicide-inducing hallucinogens.

Parliament isn't sure it wants to keep the place; the major local industry is smuggling; the merchant cartels want her head; the star-conquering, so-called "Republic" of Haven is Up To Something; and Honor Harrington has a single, over-age light cruiser with an armament that doesn't work to police the entire star system.

But the people out to get her have made one mistake. They've made her mad.

All right, then.

I know you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, but damn it, that cat on her shoulder just bugs the hell out of me! Look, I like cats well enough (I've never owned one), but sometimes cat people take it too far, and you get the impression that they regard "having a cat" as a meaningful substitute for "having a personality." Maybe this feline is a reference to the ancient maritime tradition of the ship's cat, I don't know, but what if that cat should just happen to cough up a hairball on her immaculately-pressed uniform? What person on the ship has the unenviable task of emptying out his or her box of kitty litter?

I'm reminded of a bit from How Not To Write A Novel, titled "In Which There Is A Cat":

In most novels a pet should have about as high a profile as an armchair, unless it is a cat mystery, or the ferret or pot-bellied pig plays an important role in the plot, they can probably vanish from the story. Most of all, it does not work to give a character a pet to make him or her sympathetic.

The novel begins with a small map illustrating the basic layout of the Honorverse:


So there's a system called "Manticore." I should point out that the word "manticore" ultimately derives from Old Persian martya-χvāra (literally "man-eater"). Why did I mention this? I don't know...maybe it's because I'm writing a sci-fi story with a Persian protagonist (WHO MOST DEFINITELY DOES NOT OWN A CAT).

There's also two systems called "Midgard" and "Asgard," which make think this is going to be like some futuristic adaptation of Conan The Barbarian. Then there's a system named "Mazapan" which I'm going to misread as "Marzipan" for the entire book. I'm going to assume that the size of the circles corresponds to the polities' size, which means that the Republic of Haven ("Republic" is in scare quotes on the blurb, so I'm assuming that they're in some way despotic).

The first lines of the novel:

The ticking of the conference room's antique clock was deafening as the Hereditary President of the People's Republic of Haven stared at his military cabinet.

"Hereditary President"...looks like I was right! It's formally titled "The People's Republic of Haven" in case it wasn't obvious enough.

The subject of this conversation between the president and his cabinet concerns...economics. Not exactly a thrilling opening ("...and TRADE NEGOTIATIONS!"), but let's not rush to judgement, here. It appears that the Republic of Haven is blowing through its military budget trying to suppress revolts on the various worlds they've occupied, but one admiral suggests that the problem isn't the cost of building ships, but those goddamn benefit scroungers sucking on the teat of Big Government welfare:

And, with all due respect to Mr. Frankel," the CNO added, not sounding particularly respectful, "it isn't the Fleet budget that's breaking the bank. It's the increases in the Basic Living Stipend. We've got to tell the Dolists that any trough has a bottom and get them to stop swilling long enough to get our feet back under us.

The Secretary of the Economy shoots his plan down, however, pointing out that the Basic Living Standard (which I'm going to assume is basically Universal Basic Income) is the only thing keeping "the mob" in check. So Haven can't cut back on welfare, because the people will revolt, and they can't cut back on military expenditures, because then they couldn't suppress the revolts they're already experiencing. More worryingly, Haven is also surrounded by potential enemies who might take advantage of any sign of weakness. So Admiral Parnell (the one complaining about welfare expenses earlier) comes out with a brilliant plan - launch a preemptive war against their neighbours and, once they're no longer a threat, they can finally cut back on their military spending.

"Maybe we have," Parnell said, "but there's an answer to that." Eyes turned to him, and he shrugged. "Knock them off now. If we take out the remaining military powers on our frontiers, we can probably cut back to something more like a peace-keeping posture of our own."

(Does this sound like a campaign of Stellaris gone wrong or what?)

The admiral explains the situation regarding Haven's neighbours. Most of them are single-system governments who, by themselves, would not pose much of a threat. Unfortunately, these systems are economic backwaters, and would actually cost more money to subjugate than they would earn from conquering them. The only place nearby that would be profitable to annex would be Erewhon, but they're protected by the powerful Solarian League. The only other target is Silesia, but there's a problem:

"Oh?" Parnell challenged. "And what about the Manticore Wormhole Junction? Its Basilisk terminus would be right in our path. We'd almost have to take it just to protect our flank, and even if we didn't, the Royal Manticoran Navy would see the implications once we started expanding around their northern frontier. They'd have no choice but to try to stop us."

"Royal" Manticoran Navy? So they're a monarchy, then? (Which would make sense, if this is indeed inspired by Horatio Hornblower).

The next paragraph answers my question:

"The Manticoran Liberal Party can't find its ass with both hands where foreign policy is concerned, and the Progressives would probably dicker, but they aren't in control; the Centrists and Crown Loyalists are. They hate our guts, and Elizabeth III hates us even more than they do. Even if the Liberals and Progressives could turn the Government out, the Crown would never negotiate with us."

Now, keep in mind that the Honorverse takes place the year 4000 or so. I find it a bit hard to believe that political terms like "liberal" or "progressive" would still be used, but I'm willing to go with it for now. I'm also going to assume from this paragraph that the Kingdom of Manticore is essentially a constitutional monarchy like Canada or the UK.

Finally, President Harris comes to a decision:

"All right, let's look at it. We're in trouble and we know it. We have to keep expanding. Manticore is in the way, and taking it would give our economy a hefty shot in the arm. The problem is what we do about it."

"Manticore or not," Parnell said thoughtfully, "we have to pinch out these problem spots to the southwest." He gestured at the systems Frankel had dyed gray-green. "It'd be a worthwhile preliminary to position us against Manticore, anyway. But if we can do it, the smart move would be to take out Manticore first and then deal with the small fry."

And with that we end the prologue. My prediction for how this novel is going to go?

Haven invades Manticore, at the exact place where the titular Honor Harrington has been reassigned, and she DEFEATS THEIR ENTIRE FLEET with her BRILLIANT MILITARY MIND and the POWER OF HER KITTY.
 
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Treecats are supposed to be kinda like the mil sci-fi version of a cute Magical Girl pet. But like half the time I see the things on art or book covers they're straight up like:



Like, the one in the OP, I really don't like the look on his face. Gives me federal registry vibes.
 
I'm going to approach that last point with some skepticism...the term "Mary Sue" has been used and abused so much that it's approached the point of meaninglessness. Too often it's levelled at any female character who has any prominence in the story whatsoever (there's the joke that the male equivalent to "Mary Sue" is just "the protagonist"), and it's often used without understanding the sort of world the character inhabits. Genres such as space opera or heroic fantasy often feature extremely powerful, larger-than-life characters, at which point the barrier for calling someone a "Mary Sue" would be far higher than it would be in a more grounded, realistic setting.
Mary Sue also can have a different meaning: a character is immaculate in motivation and a lack of flaws, perfect in every way as a character irrelevant of capability, and reads less like a real human and more like an idealised fantasy.

I've never read Honor Harrington so I can be proven wrong, but I have read Weber's more recent (and supposedly better written) Safehold series, and, well...

As of Through Fiery Trials there are three female characters that kinda qualify for that, wether it be the perfect, beautiful, empathetic, just, intelligent, caring, humble, diligent, open-minded empress, or the perfect, beautiful, empathetic, just, intelligent, caring, humble, diligent, open-minded courtesan turned spymistress, or the perfect, beautiful, empathetic, just, intelligent, caring, humble, diligent, open-minded immortal gynoid. The problem is that they're the same character, Weber's got like a dozen character templates he ruthlessly copy pastes and he's only got one for "female lead".

In this regard I do think it's just a matter of poor writing and nothing else, Weber's only really got one "male lead" template as well, and they qualify as Gary Stus just as easily as his female leads.
And while I know nothing about David Weber's political views, let's just say that I won't be surprised if the story takes a sudden, reactionary turn.
Ehhh....

I mean

For the genre

Mild monarchist leanings are pretty forgivable, right?

For the genre
 
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Ehhh....

I mean

For the genre

Mild monarchist leanings are pretty forgivable, right?

For the genre

...



Oh, the things you will see. The THINGS you will see.

I should add that the famed "Crossgender Horatio Hornblower in Space" analogy is more what the Honor Harrington series aspires to be, rather than what it is. Because once you start examining the differences, you will want to temporarily revive C. S. Forester from the dead, just so you can apologize to him for the comparison being made.
 
..... considering what we learn later, WOW that map ends up epicly wrong. At least scale wise.

Look, that is clearly only a step up from a sketch on a napkin with "Good guys" on one side, "Bad Guys" on the other side, and a bunch of little squiggles labeled "Other guys" in between them. It's unfair to rail on it for being vague and wrong. It's like beating up a kid in a wheelchair.
 
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Ehhh....

I mean

For the genre

Mild monarchist leanings are pretty forgivable, right?

For the genre

I must admit, this is something that had me scratching my head. Reading the Wikipedia article for this series, the main character's full title is "Lady Dame Honor Stephanie Alexander-Harrington, PMV, SG, GCR, MC, SC, OG, DSO, CGM, Steadholder Harrington, Duchess Harrington, Countess White Haven."

So we've established that, even 2000 years into the future, there are still kings, queens, lords, ladies, and other hereditary titles. Yes, I know this is supposed to be the Royal Navy IN SPAAAACE, but it rubs me the wrong way to see that two millennia into the future we're still employing concepts that ought to have been thrown into the dustbin of history long ago.
 
It... kinda gets explained later, but yeah. *shrug*

Mild spoilers: The wealthy members of the colony gave themselves royal titles as part of the initial set up of the colony. Does that make sense? Dunno.
 
It... kinda gets explained later, but yeah. *shrug*

Mild spoilers: The wealthy members of the colony gave themselves royal titles as part of the initial set up of the colony. Does that make sense? Dunno.

I don't know if this really counts as a spoiler, but:
That explanation is one that that never bothered me too much, and if anything my disbelief has been under increasingly less strain as it became apparent that this is basically Elon Musk's plan for Mars.
 
Chapter 1: In Which There Is A Cat
So the prologue has established that the "Republic" of Haven is planning on launching a war of aggression in the hopes of salvaging their failing economy. In this chapter, we'll actually be introduced to the titular heroine of these novels.

Now, how the protagonist is introduced to the reader is absolutely vital, because the first impression that the reader has of him or her is the one they'll carry for some time afterwards. Remember how Luke Skywalker was introduced as a bit of a whiner in ANH, ("But I wanted to go to Tosche Station and pick up some power convertors!") and people kept characterising him as a whiner long after that, to the point where people speculated on the existence of a "Skywalker whining gene"? Yeah, that's what I'm talking about.

So how is our heroine introduced?

The fluffy ball of fur in Honor Harrington's lap stirred and put forth a round, prick-eared head as the steady pulse of the shuttle's thrusters died. A delicate mouth of needle-sharp fangs yawned, and then the treecat turned its head to regard her with wide, grass-green eyes.

FLUFFY
BALL
OF FUR

She's introduced via her fucking cat.

I KNEW IT.

All right, all right...calm down. Maybe this cat is really important to the story. After all, this isn't just a regular old felis catus, this is a super-powered breed of space kitty called a "treecat." Hopefully it won't have some insufferably twee name like "Mr. Muffykins" or "Mr. Crumplebottom."

Honor had once seen similar claws used to rip apart the face of a human foolish enough to threaten a treecat's companion, but she felt no concern. Except in self-defense (or Honor's defense) Nimitz would no more hurt a human being than turn vegetarian, and treecats never made mistakes in that respect.

Nimitz. The cat is named Nimitz.

So...a question. Admiral Chester Nimitz might have been important enough to get a class of nuclear-powered aircraft carriers named after him, but would he really be well-known in the year 4000?

So humans have known about treecats for about five centuries, and the book informs us that they "adopt" humans...and they really like sitting on peoples' shoulders. Honor even has a specially-padded shoulder section of her uniform for Nimitz to sit on! So the first four paragraphs of the first chapter have been devoted to this cat. Unless this cat is key to saving the galaxy, this seems a bit much.

We learn that she's twenty-four years old or "over forty Terran standard years." So there's obviously a different dating system in use in the Kingdom of Manticore, which is good, because there's no way in hell someone is going to be given command a ship at age 24. She's travelling on a shuttle to the shipyard Hephaestus (because Hephaestus was the Greek god of the forge, get it?)

The shipyard tech manning the hatch at the far end of the tube saw the white beret of a starship's captain and the three gold stripes of a full commander on a space-black sleeve and came to attention, but his snappy response was flawed by a tiny hesitation as he caught sight of Nimitz. He flushed and twitched his eyes away, but Honor was used to that reaction. The treecats native to her home world of Sphinx were picky about which humans they adopted. Relatively few were seen off-world, but they refused to be parted from their humans even if those humans chose space-going careers, and the Lords of Admiralty had caved in on that point almost a hundred and fifty Manticoran years before. 'Cats rated a point-eight-three on the sentience scale, slightly above Beowulf's gremlins or Old Earth's dolphins, and they were empaths. Even now, no one had the least idea how their empathic links worked, but separating one from its chosen companion caused it intense pain, and it had been established early on that those favored by a 'cat were measurably more stable than those without.

Oh god, we're back to the fucking cat. Which comes from a planet called SPHINX.

SPHINX.

BECAUSE THE SPHINX HAS THE BODY OF A CAT, GET IT?

She's meeting with someone named "Admiral Courvosier," which immediately makes me think of this:



He'd spent hours working with her in private when other instructors worried about her basic math scores and, in a very real sense, had saved her career before it had actually begun, yet this time there'd been something almost evasive about him. She knew his congratulations and satisfied pride in her had been real, but she couldn't shake the impression that there'd been something else, as well. Ostensibly, the rush was all because of the need to get her to Hephaestus to shepherd her new ship through its refit in time for the upcoming Fleet exercise, yet HMS Fearless was only a single light cruiser, when all was said. It seemed unlikely her absence would critically shift the balance in maneuvers planned to exercise the entire Home Fleet!

I don't know why, but seeing exclamation marks outside of dialogue in fiction really irks me. But hey, at least we learn the name of the ship's being assigned to.

The face that gazed back should have looked different, reflecting the monumental change in her status, and it didn't. It was still all sharply defined planes and angles dominated by a straight, patrician nose (which, in her opinion, was the only remotely patrician thing about her) and devoid of the least trace of cosmetics. Honor had been told (once) that her face had "a severe elegance." She didn't know about that, but the idea was certainly better than the dread, "My, isn't she, um, healthy looking!" Not that "healthy" wasn't accurate, however depressing it might sound. She looked trim and fit in the RMN's black and gold, courtesy of her 1.35-gravity homeworld and a rigorous exercise regimen, and that, she thought, critically, was about the best she had to say about herself.

Now, one challenge an author faces when introducing their character is how to describe what they look like. Probably the most overdone way is to describe how they look to themselves in a mirror reflection, which makes your character sound awfully self-absorbed - how many of us (who aren't insecure teenagers) look in the mirror and carefully take note of all our features? Here's what How Not To Write A Novel says:

The reader wants to know what your characters look like. But how do you get your point-of-view character to rattle off his height, weight, and skin tone? Easy! Frog-march him to the mirror! Unfortunately, this is so obviously a convention of bad fiction that it might as well read, "Looking in the mirror, Joe saw a tall, brown-haired man, trapped in a poorly written novel."

When the reader looks in a mirror, what she notices is not the color of her hair and the size of her breasts; she notices the hair out of place, the misbuttoned shirt, the smudged lipstick. People don't notice what they see every day; they see what's different, and the reader, on some level, will balk.

Making a character think about his own looks is not that difficult. Reminders are all around us. Any encounter with the opposite sex could reasonably cause a character to reflect—knowledgably—on his own appearance. At best, the mirror is an unnecessary detour, because the point-of-view character whom you have dragged there already knows what he looks like. He could relay this information to the reader just as easily from the comfort of the couch.

I'm not sure what the author means by "Patrician nose," but I'm sure it's not terribly important. We get another paragraph describing her appearance (again, no one who isn't a total narcissist thinks about their appearance this much), and then there is then a brief mention of a life-extending "prolong process" which will hopefully be elaborated on later. We learn that she rose through the ranks without the help of personal connections or bloodlines, so yes, it would seem that hereditary privilege is certainly alive and well in the year 4000.

At any rate we learn that the ship she's being given command of, the HMS Fearless, is a light cruiser that's rather long in the tooth. But that doesn't matter much to our heroine, because for the first time in her life she's actually being given an independent command. It's also a big responsiblity, of course...as the captain is the final authority onboard a vessel.

HMS Fearless floated in her mooring beyond the tough, thick wall of armorplast, lean and sleek even under the clutter of work platforms and access tubes, and the pendant number "CL-56" stood out against the white hull just behind her forward impeller nodes.

That should be pennant number, not pendant. I'm going to assume that's an error with the ebook and not the print copy.

Honor heads towards the ship, and we cut to the perspective of someone named Alistair McKeon, who holds the rank of Lieutenant Commander. He's a bit annoyed that he has to greet the new captain on such short notice. Such formalities aren't necessary, but he figures that it's probably a poor idea to risk irritating a new captain. Unfortunately, this meeting turns out to be a case of hate at first sight:

His spine straightened, and a spasm of something very like pain went through him as his new captain rounded the tube's final bend. Her white beret gleamed under the lights, and he felt his face stiffen as he saw the sleek, cream-and-gray shape riding her shoulder. He hadn't known she had a treecat, and he smothered a fresh spurt of irrational resentment at the sight.

Over the years, there have a number of so-called "Mary Sue Litmus Tests" made, but one of the recurring characteristics of a traditional Mary Sue is that everyone who dislike her is depicted as being wrong or actively malevolent. It's too early to tell, however, whether or not this is going to be the case here.

MacKeon gives us yet another description of our heroine's appearance:

No one would ever call Commander Harrington "pretty," he thought, but she had something far more important. Those clean-cut, strong features and huge, dark brown eyes—exotically angular and sparkling with barely restrained delight despite her formal expression—discounted such ephemeral concepts as "pretty." She was herself, unique, impossible to confuse with anyone else, and that only made it worse.

:turian:Ah yes, the old "she's not conventionally attractive!" dodge. :turian: And yet, somehow, their appearance is just so unique, striking and important the novel spends paragraphs describing it.

Sometimes I wish authors would just be honest, and have a character look at their heroine and think "She was the kind of woman who made you want to get down on your knees and thank god you were born a man," or "It would be a pleasure to serve under her...in more ways than one!"

So MacKeon resents his new captain because she's...unique in her appearance? Because she has a cat? Well, at least the novel acknowledges that his resentment is irrational. We also learn that she's taller than he is, who stands at "one hundred and eight centimeters." Congrats for using metric measurements for height! It warms my heart to know that, two thousand years in the future, we have finally abolished the awful US/Imperial system of measurements. (Sadly, they have yet to abolish monarchy or hereditary privilege, though)

He also resents her for being younger than he is, and the fact that he had hoped to take command of the Fearless himself, only to find that slot filled by someone who looked young enough to be his daughter or niece. Rather understandable, I think.

Cut back to Honor's perspective, where she steps onto the bridge, which is a flurry of activity. The ship is being retrofitted, and she suspects that there is something the admiralty isn't telling her about the ship. She doesn't take her seat in the captain's seat just yet, however - by tradition she must first introduce herself to the crew, and I'm reminded of that bit in the first Mass Effect game where Shepard delivers her speech to the crew, and you can alternate between Paragon and Renegade responses so that Shepard ping-pongs between noble statements of resolve and xenophobic bigotry every other sentence.

She begins by reading her orders:

"From Admiral Sir Lucien Cortez, Fifth Space Lord, Royal Manticoran Navy," she read in her crisp, cool voice, "to Commander Honor Harrington, Royal Manticoran Navy, Thirty-Fifth Day, Fourth Month, Year Two Hundred and Eighty After Landing. Madam: You are hereby directed and required to proceed aboard Her Majesty's Starship Fearless, CL-Five-Six, there to take upon yourself the duties and responsibilities of commanding officer in the service of the Crown. Fail not in this charge at your peril. By order of Admiral Sir Edward Janacek, First Lord of Admiralty, Royal Manticoran Navy, for Her Majesty the Queen."


Did someone say...Space Lord?





She asks MacKeon about all the work that's going on, which seems rather excessive for a retrofit. He explains that it's all due to the installation of a weapon called a "grav lance." We then get few paragraphs further elaborating on the situation - the installation of the grav lance required the removal of all four "graser mounts" (looking it up, "graser" is short for "gamma ray laser"), and all but two broadside missile tubes. The problem is that torpedoes are ineffective against a ship's "sidewalls" (basically deflector shields), and while the grav lance is evidently superior in this regard, it also has a slow rate of fire and a short range. And wow, this is starting to sound like a Stellaris campaign gone wrong.

So this brings us to the end of Chapter 1, so once again I feel the need to predict how this story will end: OUR HERO will find herself facing IMPOSSIBLE ODDS where will be OUTGUNNED and OUTNUMBERED, but she will SAVE THE DAY with some BRILLIANT STRATEGEM that was DEVISED BY HER CAT.
 
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She's meeting with someone named "Admiral Courvosier," which immediately makes me think of this:


And now I want a drink of Cognac.

I'm not sure what the author means by "Patrician nose," but I'm sure it's not terribly important.

Most likely, the aquiline nose, which looks something like this...



Yes, swoon, swoon. It tends to show up in descriptions by people who understand that it was something that was seen as attractive at one point, who don't realize that... well, tastes have changed. Significantly.
 
First chapter in and you've already discovered the treecat overlords. Better watch out or they'll do to you what they did to poor Thomas Theisman and company.

Space Lord is one of those things where it's clear this is a Hornblower pastiche. In the Royal Navy (both then and now) there are various Sea Lords running various civilian parts of the Navy bureaucracy. The US equivalent is not exact, but think about the various Undersecretaries of the Navy. Since this is in space, Weber scratched out sea here and other places and put in space.

"Game of Stellaris" is closer than you think. Prior to this Weber wrote books and material for a strategy/tactics game called Starfire, and a lot of that shows in how the the space warfare works, particularly with the ship classifications and inevitable tech creep.
 
Oh, cool. A HH lets read. Been a while since we had one of these. But honestly, @Ralson this is why you lock up your ambien. Now someone else has been infected by the bad idea.

FLUFFY
BALL
OF FUR

She's introduced via her fucking cat.

I KNEW IT.
Already we see how the Meta-narrative mind control of the Treecat Imperium has taken over the story from the very start. There was never any hope.
 
Huh, I'm on chapter seventeen at the moment, been reading it for a few months but I'm a slow reader so I expect y'all will outstrip me.
 
Space Lord is one of those things where it's clear this is a Hornblower pastiche. In the Royal Navy (both then and now) there are various Sea Lords running various civilian parts of the Navy bureaucracy. The US equivalent is not exact, but think about the various Undersecretaries of the Navy. Since this is in space, Weber scratched out sea here and other places and put in space.

An attempt at a Hornblower pastiche. This completely botches the opening.

Let's compare with the opening paragraphs of The Happy Return (aka Beat to Quarters), the first published Hornblower book. (But the sixth book in the series internal chronology.)

It was not long after dawn that Captain Hornblower came up on the quarterdeck of the Lydia. Bush, the first lieutenant, was officer of the watch, and touched his hat but did not speak to him; in a voyage which had by now lasted seven months without touching land he had learned something of his captain's likes and dislikes. During this first hour of the day the captain was not to be spoken to, nor his train of thought interrupted.

In accordance with standing orders—hallowed by now with the tradition which is likely to accumulate during a voyage of such incredible length—Brown, the captain's coxswain, had seen to it that the weather side of the quarterdeck had been holystoned and sanded at the first peep of daylight. Bush and the midshipman with him withdrew to the lee side at Hornblower's first appearance, and Hornblower immediately began his daily hour's walk up and down, up and down the twenty one feet of deck which had been sanded for him. On one hand his walk was limited by the slides of the quarterdeck carronades; on the other by the row of ringbolts in the deck for the attachment of the carronade train tackles; the space of deck on which Captain Hornblower was accustomed to exercise himself for an hour each morning was thus five feet wide and twenty one feet long.

Up and down, up and down, paced Captain Hornblower. Although he was entirely lost in thought, his subordinates knew by experience that his sailor's instinct was quite alert; subconsciously his mind took note of the shadow of the main rigging across the deck, and of the feel of the breeze on his cheek, so that the slightest inattention on the part of the quartermaster at the wheel called forth a bitter rebuke from the captain—the more bitter in that he had been disturbed in this, the most important hour of his day. In the same way he was aware, without having taken special note, of all the salient facts of the prevailing conditions. On his awakening in his cot he had seen (without willing it) from the telltale compass in the deck over his head that the course was northeast, as it had been for the last three days. At the moment of his arrival on deck he had subconsciously noted that the wind was from the west, and just strong enough to give the ship steerage way, with all sail set to the royals, that the sky was of its perennial blue, and that the sea was almost flat calm, with a long peaceful swell over which the Lydia soared and swooped with profound regularity.

You will notice we have had not had one lengthy physical description of Hornblower, and yet we already getting a definite sense of the man. He is a thinker. He is a sailor, who has been at it so long that much of it is almost instinctual with him. He is a man of regular habits, and incredible precision.

Now--let's continue.

The first thing Captain Hornblower was aware of thinking was that the Pacific in the morning, deep blue overside and changing to silver towards the horizon, was like some heraldic blazon of argent and azure—and then he almost smiled to himself because that simile had come up in his mind every morning for the last fortnight. With the thought and the smile his mind was instantly working smoothly and rapidly. He looked down the gangways at the men at work holystoning; down on the main deck, as he came forward, he could see another party engaged on the same task. They were talking in ordinary tones. Twice he heard a laugh. That was well. Men who could talk and laugh in that fashion were not likely to be plotting mutiny—and Captain Hornblower had that possibility much in mind lately. Seven months at sea had almost consumed the ship's stores. A week ago he had cut the daily ration of water to three pints a day, and three pints a day was hardly sufficient for men living on salt meat and biscuit in ten degrees north latitude, especially as water seven months in cask was half solid with green living things.

A week ago, too, the very last of the lemon juice had been served out, and there would be scurvy to reckon with within a month and no surgeon on board. Hankey the surgeon had died of all the complications of drink and syphilis off the Horn. For a month now tobacco had been doled out in half ounces weekly—Hornblower congratulated himself now on having taken the tobacco under his sole charge. If he had not done so the thoughtless fools would have used up their whole store, and men deprived of tobacco were men who could not be relied upon. He knew that the men were more concerned about the shortage of tobacco than about the shortage of fuel for the galley which caused them each day to be given their salt pork only just brought to the boil in seawater.

Still no detailed physical description of Hornblower. Instead he's thinking about his situation and surprise, surprise, it's not great. The voyage has gone on too long, his supplies are down and he's worried about a potential mutiny. His crew are... well, not great folks, his surgeon is dead, and was also not great folks when he was alive. Oh, yes, and he's miles away from easy supply, and support, which makes his problems worse.

Man, it's almost like Hornblower is at something of a disadvantage.

The shortage of tobacco, of water and of wood was nothing nearly as important, however, as the imminent shortage of grog. He had not dared to cut that daily issue, and there was only rum for ten more days in the ship. Not the finest crew in the world could be relied on if deprived of their ration of rum. Here they were in the South Sea, with no other King's ship within two thousand miles of them. Somewhere to the westward were islands of romance, with beautiful women, and food to be got without labour. A life of happy idleness was within their reach. Some knave among the crew, better informed than the rest, would give the hint. It would not be attended to at present, but in the future, with no blessed interval of grog at noon, the men would be ready to listen. Ever since the crew of the Bounty had mutinied, seduced by the charms of the Pacific, the captain of every ship of His Britannic Majesty whose duty took him there was haunted by this fear.

Hornblower, pacing the deck, looked sharply once more at the crew. Seven months at sea without once touching land had given an admirable opportunity for training the gang of jailbirds and pressed men into seamen, but it was too long without distraction. The sooner now that he could reach the coast of Nicaragua, the better. A run ashore would distract the men, and there would be water and fresh food and tobacco and spirits to be got. Hornblower's mind began to run back through his recent calculations of the ship's position. He was certain about his latitude, and last night's lunar observations had seemed to confirm the chronometer's indication of the longitude—even though it seemed incredible that chronometers could be relied upon at all after a seven months' voyage. Probably less than one hundred miles ahead, at most three hundred, lay the Pacific coast of Central America. Crystal, the master, had shaken his head in doubt at Hornblower's positiveness, but Crystal was an old fool, and of no use as a navigator. Anyway, two or three more days would see who was right.

Still no long physical description of Hornblower. Instead more on the mutiny problem, and also, the problem of sailing this long in this era.

And yet I would say that in those handful of paragraphs, we have gotten a pretty good look at Hornblower and that his fretful, worried persona and his crappy understocked ship are a great deal more interesting than what we've gotten from Harrington so far.
 
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Re: NImitz name

It's established later that Honor is a history buff. Has 20th century guns even.

I can't decide if it's a retcon Weber stuffed in there or planned....
 
So I should note that it was rather appropriate for me to choose this novel, because the introduction is quite similar to how my own novel begins - tall, dark-haired, physically-intimidating woman gets her first command, which is an outdated ship. But, as I mentioned, no cat. And no brilliant military mind, either.
 
I feel obligated to note that I have satisfied my Cognac craving with a glass of Courvoisier VSOP.

And it was good.

POSTSCRIPT--I should mention that Mr. Midshipman Hornblower, the first in the series' internal chronological order does give us a reasonably lengthy description of Hornblower early on.

So he looked with attention at the approaching figure. It was that of a skinny young man only just leaving boyhood behind, something above middle height, with feet whose adolescent proportions to his size were accentuated by the thinness of his legs and his big half-boots. His gawkiness called attention to his hands and elbows. The newcomer was dressed in a badly fitting uniform which was soaked right through by the spray; a skinny neck stuck out of the high stock, and above the neck was a white bony face. A white face was a rarity on the deck of a ship of war, whose crew soon tanned to a deep mahogany, but this face was not merely white; in the hollow cheeks there was a faint shade of green—clearly the newcomer had experienced sea-sickness in his passage out in the shore boat. Set in the white face were a pair of dark eyes which by contrast looked like holes cut in a sheet of paper; Masters noted with a slight stirring of interest that the eyes, despite their owner's seasickness, were looking about keenly, taking in what were obviously new sights; there was a curiosity and interest there which could not be repressed and which continued to function notwithstanding either seasickness or shyness, and Mr. Masters surmised in his far-fetched fashion that this boy had a vein of caution or foresight in his temperament and was already studying his new surroundings with a view to being prepared for his next experiences. So might Daniel have looked about him at the lions when he first entered their den.

The dark eyes met Masters', and the gawky figure came to a halt, raising a hand self-consciously to the brim of his dripping hat. His mouth opened and tried to say something, but closed again without achieving its object as shyness overcame him, but then the newcomer nerved himself afresh and forced himself to say the formal words he had been coached to utter.

"Come aboard, sir."

"Your name?" asked Masters, after waiting for it for a moment.

"H-Horatio Hornblower, sir. Midshipman" stuttered the boy.

The difference in quality is startling, in'it?
 
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I feel obligated to note that I have satisfied my Cognac craving with a glass of Courvoisier VSOP.

And it was good.

POSTSCRIPT--I should mention that Mr. Midshipman Hornblower, the first in the series' internal chronological order does give us a reasonably lengthy description of Hornblower early on.



The difference in quality is startling, in'it?
It's because these are character moments, and Weber just isn't good at character writing at all.
 
So I should note that it was rather appropriate for me to choose this novel, because the introduction is quite similar to how my own novel begins - tall, dark-haired, physically-intimidating woman gets her first command, which is an outdated ship. But, as I mentioned, no cat. And no brilliant military mind, either.

I apologize but can we not do this? The whole "AHAH OLD BOY, I DID IT BETTER" is nonsensical.
 
The difference in quality is startling, in'it?

Yeah, I mean. It's obvious that Weber is trying to imitate the really crisp, detail obsessive style of those books. But from the passages you quoted the Horatio Hornblower novels are good at pushing the story forward moment to moment amid all the detail. Weber is, uh, less good at this to say the fucking least.

Also it seems like kind of a cop out to have Harrington start out commanding a ship, even if it's a shitty ship, compared to having her just be some rando officer.
 
Also it seems like kind of a cop out to have Harrington start out commanding a ship, even if it's a shitty ship, compared to having her just be some rando officer.

Again, first PUBLISHED Hornblower story, he's a captain. That's completely reasonable.

The problem here is that while imagining that he's making Harrington a badass, he is making her... well, an unpleasant rather petty person.
 
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