The first Westria book I encountered, many years ago, was Silverhair the Wanderer. At the time, I suspect I was still mad for travelling and traditional stringed instruments like dulcimers and harps, so it was a natural fit. I was predisposed to like the series because I am a longtime member of the SCA, and I knew that Diana L. Paxson was one of the founders of the organization (as Diana Listmaker).

This fantasy series is basically a post-apocalyptic neo-pagan utopia set largely in California. I am not particularly familiar with pagan traditions such as Wicca, so it's hard for me to pick out what aspects she invented and which ones she lifted straight from the source material. The underlying premise is that after too much abuse by human society, the forces of Nature rose up in rebellion during the Cataclysm, wiping out most of humanity and the traces of its technological society about 800 years before the events in the novels. Only those people who had some connection to Nature survived into the new age. And in the kingdom of Westria, they formed a Covenant with the Elements and the Kindreds of all the different living things to live in harmony without seeking to conquer or control. And yet, the royalty of Westria have the four jewels that allow them to control the elements: earth, air, fire, and water. Go figure. The royals also basically become avatars.

Anyway, this is another fantasy series where the divine is real, palpable, omnipresent to those who have the psychic sensitivity to connect to the spiritual (read: astral) plane of existence. Similarly, people with that kind of empathic ability can connect with other people and even other organisms. Must be nice to not be hampered by the limitations of the spoken word or to never experience some sort of existential crisis of faith. I think this concept of divine, anthropomorphic forces that are tangible is one of the all-time favorite tropes of the fantasy genre.

After the profoundly disappointing first book of the series and realizing that Caolin is the villain through the rest of the series, I approached rereading Silverhair the Wanderer with trepidation.

Luckily, I still liked it well enough. Caolin makes only a few minor appearance because the story isn't really about him (thank God). And when he does appear, it's at extended intervals and we get to see him develop in some ways, but it's never really his POV. So much more tolerable. This is the story of Farin, the twin brother of Faris, the twit of a queen in the first book. He comes off poorly in his earlier appearance as a boy who won't grow up and have real relationships with women because his first love is music (specifically, his harp Swangold, a gift of the king), but he will get laid when he can. It's kind of a cross between that girls have cooties attitude and the more sinister women aren't really people, except for Faris, his twin, who shares a telepathic bond with him as twins so often do (yawn).

In this book, grief-stricken at the loss of Jehan and the mysterious disappearance of his sister and nephew, Farin decides to pursue Caolin in search of answers. But then it turns into roaming the earth as a wandering minstrel in quest of the vanished. Next thing you know, ten or more years have passed. In many ways, Farin, now known as Silverhair, is still a little boy running away from his problems, his grief, and the people who know and love him (and would put obligations and responsibilities on his free spirit when he just want to soar, pout). Tiresome. But made up for by the travelogue and the many songs. Paxson expands beyond California into Mexico and the Southwest with allusions to Utah and the Great Plains. Funny how all of the people of color exist south of the border. And Silverhair gets to have the stereotypical Native American mystical vision quest while living among them at one point. Anyway, this book spends more time exploring many different cultures and ethnicities and geographies, as well as some aspects of music and musical training. I liked it for those reasons. ( )