Skip to main content

More Elf Queen of Shannara: The Platypus Reads Part CLXXIX

This post will cover chapters 6 and 7 of The Elf Queen of Shannara by Terry Brooks.


*Begin Spoilers*


Our adventure continues with our intrepid heroes slashing their way into the heart of the mysterious jungle of Morrowindl.  Beset on all sides by strange beasts, fever-ridden swamps, and pursued by the horrific Wistron, Wren struggles to unlock the terrifying mystery of the elven island in secret hope that it will also unravel the enigma of her own origins.  However, such an undertaking seems beyond even the prodigious skills of Wren and her faithful retainer Garth, Rovers though they be.  Surely, they would have succumb to the danger of the In Ju swamp had not a fortuitous meeting with a splinterscat named Stressa given them a much needed guide.  This prickly product of magical mayhem offers to guide them through to the elven castle on the condition that our heroes return with the mysterious creature to the Four Lands.

And that's about the shape of it.  To King Solomon's Mines and The Moon Pearl, we add a little bit of The Island of Doctor Moreau.  No wonder I liked this when I was in Jr. High.  After the odd experimentalism of The Druid of Shannara, it must have come as a nice pulpy relief.  This does, however get us into the question of mixing genres.  As I've noted earlier, the mixing of genres seems about par for the course in the later period of American Fantasy writing.  It's what seems to happen when the initial territory has been explored and expanded on and no new promising territory can be seen on the horizon.  Crossovers open up new possibilities for a time simply by virtue of combination (see Tanith Lee's A Hero at the Gates for a perfect example).  While writing High Fantasy, it should be noted that Terry Brooks has been a genre crosser from the beginning: the Four Lands are a post-apocalyptic North America.  The premise for the Shannara books is drawn not from Fantasy but from Science Fiction.  Thus, if The Elf Queen of Shannara is really a turn-of-the-century adventure novel with a veneer of High Fantasy thrown over it, we ought not to be surprised.

But I am surprised.  Now why is that?  I guess it's because before the non-High Fantasy elements have felt like intrusions, brief or long, into Brooks' world.  Take, for instance, his love of trackers and pioneers which bothers my Tolkienesque sensibilities whenever they arise.  In The Elf Queen of Shannara, however, the alien elements are not intrusions, but the entire plot structure and tone of the work.  As with The Druid of Shannara, Brooks seems to be experimenting here, very consciously attempting something different.  About a third of the way through, I don't know what I think so far of the result.    

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Platypus Reads Part XXVII

Thoughts after reading the "Iliad" to prepare a Greece unit for my students: -Hector is a jerk until he's dead. He even advocates the exposure of Achaean corpses and then has the cheek to turn around and ask Achilles to spare his. He rudely ignores Polydamas' prophecies and fights outside the gate to save his pride knowing full well what it will cost his family and city. After he's dead, he becomes a martyr for the cause. -Agamemnon has several moments of true leadership to balance out his pettiness. In this way, he's a haunting foil to Achilles: the two men are more alike than they want to acknowledge. -We see that Achilles is the better man at the funeral games of Patroclos. His lordliness, tact, and generosity there give us a window into Achilles before his fight with Agamemnon and the death of Patroclos consumed him. -Nestor is a boring, rambling, old man who's better days are far behind him, and yet every Achaean treats him with the upmo...

California's Gods: Strange Platypus(es)

We've noticed lately a strange Californian dialectical twist: there, freeways take the definite article.  In other parts of the country one speaks of I 91 or 45 North.  In California, there's The 5, The 405, The 10.  Each of these freeways has its own quirks, a personality of sorts.  They aren't just stretches of pavement but presences, creatures that necessitate the definite article by their very individuality and uniqueness.  They are the angry gods to be worked, placated, feared, for without them life in California as we know it would cease.  Perhaps that's fitting for a land whose cities are named for saints and angels.  Mary may preside over the new pueblo of our lady of the angels, but the freeways slither like gigantic serpents through the waste places, malevolent spirits not yet trampled under foot.

Seeing Beowulf Through Tolkien: The Platypus Reads Part CXCIX

After spending a few weeks wrestling with Tolkien's interpretation of Beowulf , I found myself sitting down and reading Seamus Heaney's translation of the text during a spare moment.  I came to the place where Beowulf presents Hrothgar with the hilt of the ancient sword that slew Grendel's mother.  Hrothgar looks down at the hilt with its ancient runes and carvings depicting the war between the giants and God and meditates on the fortunes of men.  In a flash of insight, I thought: this is the whole poem! Let me explain.  Tolkien believed that the genuine contribution of the Northern peoples to European culture was the theory of courage.  The Northern heroes, at their best, were men who fought for order against chaos -a battle they knew they were doomed to lose.  If they were true heroes, their souls would join the gods and aid them in the final battle against darkness and its monsters and again go down fighting, spitting in the face of the meaninglessness...