“Dear Author!
I have long been an admirer of your talent and enjoy reading the novels and novellas you’ve written. But your latest book has left me feeling despondent and horrified.
Yes, yes, I’m talking about your novel *The Battle of Raglafart*, which describes the climax of the naval war between Yailgnia and Yaitsnarf. No, at first everything is more or less reasonable—Emperor Noelopan I of Yaitsnarf devises a cunning operation designed to undermine the Yailgnian dominance at sea. He plans to unite his three squadrons in the Birak Islands and, while part of the Yailgnian fleet is scouring the waters in search of the enemy’s missing ships, lead them to the coast of Yailgnia itself and land a force there.
I certainly understand that, as the author, you based your story on historical events, but you would have been better off sticking to them, since your creative license has completely distanced your fictional world from reality. To start with, the first squadron from Tserba under Motnag’s command didn’t set out simply because… there was fog! Listen, that’s not the same as calm weather! And, as far as I know, the real-life counterparts of the Yaitsnarfians—they actually set out from their bases in bad weather and fog during the very period you’re describing! Especially since—and this is even more important—why did you need to introduce such a hackneyed plot device as Motnag’s indecisiveness into the novel? After all, you yourself mentioned that a few years earlier he had very boldly crossed the Earth-Middle Sea and transported Noelopan from Tepiga to Yaitsnarf. And then, suddenly, at the most opportune moment, he starts asking the emperor what he should do? Should he set sail or not?
And why such an emotional description of Montag’s enemy—Admiral Sillounrok of Yailgni? As if, once caught in the fog, he’d tear his hair out because he wouldn’t be able to intercept the Yaitsnarf fleet?
But let’s get back to your novel. The Second Squadron, under the command of Admiral Wenliv, is supposed to sail out of the Yaitsnarf port of Noluth, which in turn is being blockaded by Yaiglnia’s finest admiral, Noslen. According to your description, it turns out that Yailgnii’s best admiral was, excuse me… some kind of fool. In that case, it would have made more sense to weave a love story into the plot—where Noslen, for example, was bribed by the enemy, or perhaps fell in love with a young Yainarfa woman… Well, let’s say Venliv set sail from Nolut in a storm, but how do you explain Noslen’s actions, since he went looking for his counterpart in the opposite direction???? You do realize that in real life, that couldn’t have happened!
As a result, Venliv arrives at the Birak Islands nearly a month before Noslen, having picked up allied ships and another of Nogam’s squadrons along the way, but apparently that “generous spirit” runs in your blood—it turns out that Iseissim’s third squadron, which had set sail from Nairol… simply didn’t wait for Wenliv’s squadron!!!! Listen, the author’s imagination has to have its limits!!
Nevertheless, Venliv is in an excellent position—he’s broken away from his pursuers, and now he can probably lead his ships to Tserb, join forces with Motnag there, and facilitate the landing of troops in that nasty Yailgnia? And this is where not only your sense of reality but also your sense of proportion completely fails you! After all, for two months now, Venliv has been busy fighting over the tiny islands of the Birak Archipelago, escorting some convoys, and attacking insignificant enemy merchant ships. And this at a time when the landing of troops in the enemy’s metropolis and its final conquest are at stake! Listen, I strongly recommend that you switch your favorite alcoholic beverage to something lighter…
Sorry, I got a little worked up. But let’s get back to the book. As a result, of course, Noslen catches up to Venliv, and Venliv, suddenly coming to his senses, leads his squadron back toward the shores of Yaitsnarf. Strange as it may seem, even though he set out a week before Noslen, he reaches his own shores later; Noslen even manages to join the blockade squadron at Tserba.
Not far from the cliff with the hard-to-pronounce name Yerretsinif (by the way—this is a separate question for you—where do you come up with such strange names and titles? Can’t you come up with some that are easier to pronounce?) The squadron of Yailgn Admiral Redlak intercepts Venlyva.
You describe the battle as indecisive in nature, yet realistic, but after the battle, the alcohol must have started to affect you again. No, of course I understand everything, but why does Redlak send three more battleships all the way to Yailgnia with his damaged battleship after the battle? Did he, like you, have one too many yesterday? Or has he lost his mind? What’s more—Redlak lifts the blockade on Lorref, and the squadron there breaks through to Venliv, bolstering its forces by nearly a third!
But the most interesting part comes next—after all, Venliv has almost reached his destination, but just then, Noelopan orders… preparations for the landing to be called off and gets embroiled in a new war on the continent!!!!
Listen, you may be a well-known writer, but explain to me—an ordinary reader—why I should believe such nonsense? Where’s the logic? What’s the point of all this?
As a result, Wenliu’s squadron arrives at the port of Sidak, where it is blockaded by a reinforced Noslen force. Noelopan orders Wenliv to move the ships to the Zemnesredny Sea, and twice, according to your description, Wenliv has the opportunity to do so, but his allies let him down—as you write, they are rather inept sailors. By the way, this raises a question for me as well—he’s been sailing around the world with his allies’ ships for half a year now; surely it would have been possible to improve their training during that time? Moreover—you write that the allies still haven’t developed a common set of signals for commanding the squadron. How is that possible? Isn’t that illogical, to say the least?
Well, the climax of the book is your description of the Battle of Raglafart. To be honest, it reads like a battle between blind berserkers on both sides. One berserker has a plan that turns out to be idealized and utopian, while the other does nothing but play along with the first. Take, for example, that oversteer maneuver at 8:15. You know perfectly well yourself that this is nonsense! You write about it yourself! But why do you let Venliv perform this maneuver? After all, you’re the author! Do you want to show how unpredictable the sea is? But given all the “royals” already piled up in the story, you’re just showing that you’ve switched to a stronger drink. Absinthe, perhaps?
Nevertheless, that’s not enough for you, and right at the start of the battle… Noslen himself is killed. And he isn’t blown to pieces by a cannonball or anything like that—he’s simply shot by some sniper on an enemy ship. And he gets shot because he’s wandering around the quarterdeck unguarded and wearing an admiral’s uniform! In my opinion, you simply don’t respect us, your readers!
And, of course, you couldn’t resist adding a bit of melodrama to this serious book—the Yainarnf avant-garde, under Raunamuda’s command, ignores Venliv’s order to engage in battle and abandons its comrades. The result is a rout; Noslena, in a zinc coffin filled to the brim with rum, is taken to Yailgniya. Naturally—as the melodrama continues—Raunamud cannot escape retribution and, after a brief battle, surrenders to another squadron.
Overall, thank you for describing that era. But who is this behind-the-scenes player who holds all the trump cards? After all, the outcome of this whole event is completely illogical, and the ending is clearly far-fetched, isn’t it? Who are you, author? Perhaps Yahweh? Fate? Or simply God?
“Sincerely,
your devoted reader.”
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