Platypus of Truth

Ursula K. le Guin's Lavinia: The Platypus Reads Part CXXXVIII

2012-01-28T15:32:00.000-08:00

Being sick this week has left me with some time on my hands and that means that I've had an opportunity to finish reading Ursula Le Guin's "Lavinia" and think on it for a bit. Without further ado then, here we go.

To state the premiss, "Lavinia" is a retelling of books 6-12 of Virgil's "Aeneid" in novel form and told from the point of view of the Latin princess Lavinia. The choice is a tempting one for any author as Virgil gives this important character no lines and hardly any time on stage. As a writer with feminist leanings, one can see why giving a "voice" to the "voiceless" and "objectified" Lavinia would be an instant draw for Le Guin. However, given the work itself and Le Guin's afterword, it seems as if a feminist critical intervention on one of the arch dead-white-men is the furthest thing from her mind. Instead "Lavinia" seems to spring from a deep love of Virgil's epic work and a resulting desire to continue to flesh out his world and keep it alive in human memory. The character of the Latin princess simply affords Le Guin a point of entry, a place where more might be said.

I won't spoil the book for you, but I will offer a few general assessments. "Lavinia" is an interesting read and different from the run-of-the-mill contemporary pirating of ancient works. The key factor in this seems to be that Le Guin actually likes Virgil. Her work is an interpretation, not a hijacking. That said, however, don't expect another "Till We Have Faces." There aren't any hidden depths to "Lavinia," just a good and thoughtful tale. The novel is also at its strongest when it has Virgil's lead to follow. After Turnus' death, Le Guin is on her own and the work necessarily suffers a bit, though not enough to thwart enjoyment. To sum: this book won't change your life, but if you like ancient literature and are looking for some light reading it's worth picking up.

Nota bene: I am not the biggest fan of Virgil, though I appreciate him a bit more than I did in college. If you are a huge fan of the man from Mantua, then I can't say whether you'll love this book or if it will drive you crazy.

Le Guin Kinda Sorta Fixes Virgil: The Platypus Reads Part CXXXVII

2012-01-19T15:07:00.000-08:00

I'm working my way through Ursula K. Le Guin's novel "Lavinia" right now. It's interesting to watch her attempt to fill in one of the gaping holes in Virgil's unfinished masterpiece. So far, it's complex and rather interesting, not preachy or heavy-handed; LeGuin at her best. Has anyone else read it? Once I finish the thin up, I'll let you know what I think.

Critais Move: Platypus Nostalgia

2012-01-16T10:19:00.000-08:00

After a string of posts about video games, the inhibited part of me is feeling self-conscious about any pretensions I have to adulthood and being a serious scholar. That leads me to another discussion I had this weekend with the Game Guru and his wife who both possess 1337 combat skills (No, really, you should see what they can do with a Cutco knife). We were reminiscing about all our extra-circular activities while growing up and I suddenly realized that my life aged 7 to 18 contained a whole lot more than I thought.

So, what was I doing back then? In between beating "Secret of Mana," "Final Fantasy II," "Chrono Trigger," "Super Mario RPG," "A Link to the Past," and "Ocarina of Time" I also found time for:

1. Knife Throwing
2. Archery
3. Wilderness Survival
4. Fishing
5. Shooting (Dad didn't allow hunting)
6. Amateur Entemology (I still wince at the opening discription of Eustace in VotDT)
7. Drawing (occasionally, though perspective and shading still thwart me)
8.Painting (very rarely these days)
9. Table Top Gaming and RPGs (haven't done this since grad school)
10. Chorus (I still like singing in church)
11. Saxophone and Guitar (neither of which I can do any more)
12. Drama and Acting lessons (I now teach drama)
13. Amateur Film-making
14. Dabbling in wood-working and sculpting (never got very far)
15. Writing (still do this religiously)
16. Taking Courses in Apologetics (I teach Ethics)
17. Trying to Learn French (I can read it but I can't speak it)
18. Reading Voraciously (often the wrong books, but not always)
19. Several Missions Trips to Mexico
20. Learning the Basics of Golf (despite continued effort in college I never got anywhere)

Our teachers challenged us to be Renaissance Men and we took that challenge seriously. Many of my friends and classmates were more accomplished than I was and that scares me sometimes. Looking at this list scares me a bit too until I remember that I didn't achieve much of a competence in any of these pursuits and that my skills in most of them have atrophied to the point of decadence. Still, I managed all this and still had time to keep a 3.8 GPA and play video games.

What's the point then? Not bragging. I'm already wincing at the thought that someone will take this that way (I've met many people that can out-think me and are more cultured than I am; I had a privileged upbringing: that's all). The point is that being a gamer didn't keep me glued to the t.v. set 24/7 or from getting out there and enjoying life. I'm betting that's true for many others as well.

A Structuralist Perspective on Form and Content in Video Games: Platypus Nostalgia

2012-01-16T08:41:00.000-08:00

My friend, the Game Guru, spent the past weekend with us. As usual, this meant a chance for me to catch up on the state of the field. Being the slow-coach that I am, I had to admit that I wasn't bothering with Elder Scrolls VII so much as puttering around with Final Fantasy III/VI. This didn't bother the Game Guru at all so we popped the old cartridge in and did a little dungeon crawl. While trying to drill the SrBehemoth, I pointed out that the game was a lot easier than when I was fifteen. Indeed, all of Square's games have gotten much easier since I've aged a bit. My friend replied that the versions that were put out in the U.S. were often "dumbed-down" on the theory that U.S. players were young children. This led to a consideration of what makes a game "adult." We came down on complexity of story and theme and difficulty of play.

Now, when we talk about media being "adult," those aren't the two things that typically come to mind. Granted, we often try to shield our children from sex and violence, but don't we also try to shield them from complexity and difficulty? -or how about alcohol and tobacco? Our entertainment, then, creates a sort of negative(in the sense of defining something by its opposite) definition of adulthood as those who aren't children because they can/ought to experience sex and violence. If this is what defines an adult, then it is little wonder that media created for adults continues to import as much sexuality and violence as it can get away with in any given project. The primary intent may not always be to shock or to titillate, but rather to demarcate something as "mature" and "for adults." It's like the director who puts a few F-words into a movie just to get an "R" rating and thus get the serious attention of the academy when the Oscars come around.

What does all this mean for video games? Certainly, there has been an increase in the level of sex and violence in video/computer games over the last twenty years. An aging gamer population and innovations in the technology have worked in tandem to make ever increasing levels of gruesomeness and titillation possible. Even The Legend of Zelda series has gotten a bit more risque with its provocative "Great Fairies." Simultaneous with this development, however, has been a rise in the complexity of the stories that video game designers have attempted to tell and the difficulty of the puzzles and challenges set for players. Given what we said above, these two trends are not necessarily joined at the hip. There is no necessary connection between sex and violence and complexity of story and game play. However, as long as sex and violence are the key signifiers of adulthood in the American mind, they will remain and continue to entrench themselves in the medium as more and more adults begin to play.

Iconic Images: Platypus Nostalgia

2012-01-12T15:38:00.000-08:00

I found this image over at the Nintendo website celebrating the 25 year anniversary of "The Legend of Zelda." There's something about it that really captures the soul of the series: that perfect mix of Tolkien and Tom Sawyer.

Truth be told, I'm not sure where this string of posts on the series has come from. I don't think I've played a Zelda game in a couple years at least. Maybe it's been more like three or four. SquareEnix and Blizzard have had most of my attention for a while now. Maybe that means the time to return to Hyrule is rolling round again. Maybe it just means I'm getting old and nostalgic. There is something about this picture that takes me back to age twelve or thirteen and warm summer days spent in the shadow of the woods.

SNES as Money Well Spent: Platypus Nostalgia

2012-01-07T16:10:00.000-08:00

I got my Super Nintendo Entertainment System when I was eleven years old. That's a couple years after it first came out. The occasion was a little dramatic: to celebrate the end of a two-and-a-half year course of treatment for cancer. I had no idea that it would be waiting for me at home after the final doctors visit. It was a nice spring day, the trees were waving gently in the breeze outside the bay windows. With a cup of tea resting on the coffee table, I set down to play. What was that first game? It was The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past. Around twenty years later, my SNES still works as does that Zelda cartridge. It's been a long way from boyhood in Southern Connecticut to manhood in North Houston, but I'm still playing.

Why am I still playing? There were stretches when I didn't. Many times, I've just been too busy. There were also seasons when it felt embarrassing to still be playing video games. Aren't they just for kids, and boys who refuse to grow up? Surely for adults there's just work and chores, or hobbies that can be disguised as work and chores. Then I'd get the flu, or be at home for a long summer, or get set strait by someone who was an eminently well-adjusted adult and still made time for games. Out would come the old nintendos.

Playing again, I began to realize some things. It's like picking up "The Chronicles of Narnia" in grad school and realizing that they weren't written just for kids. I began to realize that a lot of thought went into the best games, even the older and simpler ones. A co-worker pointed out something else to me several years back. Video games were genuine recreation. They were something that could be done over a vacation that was really vacating: they weren't a hobby masquerading as work, or worse, work masquerading as a hobby. The best games set the imagination free to explore worlds totally unlike our own and provide real rest, not merely a cessation of work.

So the old machine still works and I'm still playing. Maybe it is all just nostalgia in the end, but a little nostalgia now and then is a good thing. Through all the travel and changes, the good and the bad, there's been some things that remain constant. If I could meet that eleven year old boy, sipping his tea and sitting in front of the coffee table, we would have something in common.

The Platypus Reviews 2011

2012-01-07T10:43:00.000-08:00

This past year represented an unprecedented jump in the number of posts here at "The Platypus of Truth." Now that 2012 has begun, the official total is fixed at 93. This blows 2010's 66 posts out of the water and sets the bar high for the new year. The main culprits seem to be my treks through Terry Brooks' "Elfstones of Shannara" and "Wishsong of Shannara," "The Mammoth Book of Fantasy," and a gloss of Tennyson's "The Passing of Arthur." Since "The Platypus of Truth" primarily serves as a venue for my literary musings, that's not surprising.

There were some other trends this year at "The Platypus of Truth," however. For instance, 2011 saw a return to meditations on video and computer games especially new favorites Starcraft II, and Titan Quest, and old faithfuls Final Fantasy III, and The Legend of Zelda. Branching out a bit, I also attempted a look at the state of the field in light of "Dragon Age" and "Bioshock."

Beyond video games, 2011 saw several forays into the world of film including an attempt to set down my favorite films, and retrospectives on Moulin Rouge and Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon. Indeed, by mid-year there were enough film reviews to warrant the creation of a new label: "film platypus." I'm no expert on film, but I was glad to see that several of the posts sparked conversation and got a link or two.

Finally, 2011 saw some meditations on art and culture in the city of Houston. I still miss the Getty (both of them), The Huntington Gardens, The LACMA, and the Museum of Jurassic Technology, but the Lanier Theological Library, the Houston Ballet, and The MFAH are nothing to sniff at.

Well, that's a short assessment of the past year over here at "The Platypus of Truth." No big controversies, no grand causes, just a good, long chat over at the quiet end of Lake Blogosphere. May 2012 be a blessed year for you all and remember: the platypus speaks truth.

Neo-Platonism and The Legend of Zelda: Platypus Nostalgia

2011-12-28T18:59:00.000-08:00

I mentioned reading a passage from J.R.R. Tolkien's "Leaf by Niggle" several days ago and immediately thinking of "The Legend of Zelda." Now "Leaf by Niggle" is heavily platonic in its conception of the afterlife; advancing toward the divine through an ever more real series of images. We see this also in C.S. Lewis' Narnia where at the end of the ages the cast are invited "further up and further in." Now there's something in this idea of advancing through stages or levels towards a fulfillment or consummation that put me in mind of video games. The player works his way through a series of worlds, or as Miyamoto calls them "gardens," toward some desired object, the goal of the quest and the end of the game. In the Legend of Zelda series, this goal is often the mystic Triforce, a tripartite object representing the balance between wisdom, courage, and power. To master this object, the one who seeks to win it must bring all three forces into balance within himself. If you know your Zelda mythology, the events of the Zelda series are set in motion by Ganondorf's attempt to posses the Triforce when his own soul is disordered. The mystic object responds by shattering and leaving the thief with the third that represents power: Ganondorf's mastering passion. In effect, Ganondorf cannot achieve the blessedness the Triforce offers because he is Plato's tyrannical man, mastered by his passions. To win the Triforce requires a platonic equilibrium within the tripartite soul bringing wisdom (rational), courage (emotional), and power (appetative) together. Thus, Link's quest is really the platonic ascent of the ordered soul allegorized into a quest and commodified as a video game.

Christmas Culture Platypus

2011-12-27T10:19:00.000-08:00

This Christmas, we've taken advantage of being at home to sample a bit of what Houston has to offer on the cultural scene. This meant a trip to the MFAH to see their King Tut exhibit and to the Worthen Center for the Houston Ballet's production of The Nutcracker.

The cost of seeing the King Tut exhibit was bankrolled by my grandmother this year. For what it cost, however, the exhibit was absolutely worth it. It think we spent three to three and a half hours carefully working our way through the cases. The core of the gallery was a stylized recreation of King Tutankhamen's tomb with key pieces from each of the chambers. This was contextualized by several rooms worth of Egyptian art that included everything from megalithic statues, to a death mask, to a toilet seat from Amarna. There was an audio guide that went with the exhibit as well narrated by Harrison Ford that was worth the extra price. Included for free were a series of videos that explained in further depth the importance, or the discovery, or the fabrication of different objects.

Scratch that off the bucket list.

The Nutcracker seems to me a fantasy in the old sense of the word. It is an excuse to create things that don't exist in our world. As is typical of most pre-Tolkien fantasy, the imagined world of the ballet exists/is reached in a dream. Like all fantasy, however, The Nutcracker re-enchants our our own world by refreshing things that have become mundane: Christmas, midnight, sweets, and dreams.

I appreciated this particular production of The Nutcracker for the literalness of its interpretation. I know next to nothing about ballet, and the concreteness of the performance made it much easier to understand the story and general project of the piece. The ballerina who played Clara did a good job of helping to connect the audience with the wonder of the different plot elements.

Christmas Haul:The Platypus Reads Part CXXXVI

2011-12-26T09:34:00.000-08:00

Thanks to a generous family at our school, this year's Christmas haul has a decidedly Greek twist to it. New titles added to the "independent study" list:

The Best of the Achaeans by Gregory Nagy
The Cambridge Companion to Homer ed. Robert Fowler
Epic Bards and Oral Singers by A.B. Lord
Blackwell's Companion to Ancient Epic ed. Miles Foley

Now I can go back and re-write my Master's Thesis.

Remember, Remember Buy Scrooge and Santa this December

2011-12-21T09:59:00.000-08:00

There's a nice little interview here about THE BEST HOLIDAY COMIC EVER. Seriously, if you haven't picked up a copy of Scrooge and Santa yet you need to now.

Back to the Books: The Platypus Reads Part CXXXV

2011-12-21T08:56:00.000-08:00

There's something about turning 30 that seems to send people back to the books. It's as if the 4+ year trauma of college wounds the intellect so deeply that it takes years to fully recover. By about 30, though, it seems to be back in working order and ready to go. I take as evidence of this the large number of friends that I have that are auditing courses, taking classes, considering going back for a masters, learning a new language, or just taking on a challenging course of study. The bug hit me last summer and I spent a good portion of my bonus on amassing a small library of books on Ancient Greece. Though I don't teach them, the Ancient Greeks are my first academic love and I thought it was high time I returned to them. So... Here's what I'm working on:

Alexander by Robin Lane Fox
Traveling Heroes in the Epic Age of Homer by Robin Lane Fox
Early Greece by Oswyn Murry
The Spartacus War by Barry Strauss
The War that Killed Achilles by Caroline Alexander
Early Cyprus by Vassos Karageorghis
Games and Sanctuaries In Ancient Greece by Panos Valavanis
Greek Tragedy and Political Theory ed. J. Peter Euben
Economic and Social History of Ancient Greece by Pierre Vidal-Naquet et al.

and with Christmas here, more titles may be forthcoming.

Favorite Movies: Film Platypus

2011-12-20T15:08:00.000-08:00

I roomed with film majors in college and in grad school and picked up a few things along the way. That aside, however, I only have mild pretensions to being a film aesthete. All comments about film on this blog should be taken in that spirit. With that out of the way, we can move on.

I had a truly enjoyable evening last night with my wife and a couple of friends eating expensive cheese, drinking Martinelli's, discussing Charles Williams, and watching Terrence Malik's "Tree of Life." Now I have loved Malik's work since I saw the "The Thin Red Line" between the end of high school and the beginning of college. It was the first movie that really opened me up to the potential film has as a vehicle for discourse. I don't think "The Thin Red Line" did that just for me either. Many of the young ~~aesthetes~~ intellectuals Freshman year had had their cinematic awakening after watching Malik's masterpiece. College is a time for affectations and fads (has Evelyn Waugh taught us nothing!) and not everything I thought was cool or important back then has worn well. In that light, I'm glad to find that I'm still enjoying Terrence Malik's work after twelve years.

Where am I going with this? Several years ago, I posted a list of my three favourite books. I love reading and have no qualms about giving my opinion on almost any book under the sun. In the matter of film, however, I'm far less of an expert and I've often, though certainly not always, hung back when it comes to commenting on that field of artistic endeavour. Malik has inspired me now, and I think it's finally time I take a stab at listing my favourite films. So, without further ado, here it goes:

The Thin Red Line: Terrence Malik uses the battle of Guadalcanal as a backdrop for reflections on the nature of good and evil. Malik often has his characters ask questions in the dialog that he then answers symbolically in the visuals. One of the things I like about Malik is that he really has taken to heart that film is primarily about showing, not saying. He lets the film speak for itself without using dialog to lead the audience by the nose. The score by Hans Zimmer is absolutely haunting and I love the pieces done by the Melanesian Choir. I always find talking about Malik's films a bit difficult. They remind me very much of George MacDonald's fantasies in that you can't really reason through them, you have to experience them and allow them to do their work in a way that transcends linear reasoning.

Princess Mononoke: If "The Thin Red Line" opened up to me the possibilities of film in general, then "Princess Mononoke" showed me what could be done with animated film. "Princess Mononoke" feels like a Greek tragedy. It has all the resonance and power of a modern myth. Everything that Hayao Miyazaki does is filled with mythopoeic power; even the children's stories. In a naturalist world, he seems like a man who still remembers the gods. I've still never seen anything in film that can compare with his theophanes. If someone was going to adapt C.S. Lewis' "Till We Have Faces," I'd want it to be Miyazaki. Like Terrence Malik, I pretty much love everything this guy does.

I think I'll leave it there for now. I might want to add "Labyrinth" or "The Dark Crystal." "Gladiator" has been a favorite since college and I do think something ought to be said for the original Star Wars series and "Raiders of the Lost Ark." Then again, what about "Band of Brothers" or "The Seven Samurai." They're all worthy choices, but I think I'll still stick with the two above. I may not watch these films very often, but they're the ones I keep returning to.

Christmas Gaming (Cont.): Platypus Nostalgia

2011-12-17T15:44:00.000-08:00

I was working my way through "J.R.R. Tolkien Artist and Illustrator" when I found this passage from "Leaf by Niggle":

You could go on and on, and have a whole country in a garden, or in a picture (if you preferred to call it that). You could go on and on, but not perhaps for ever. There were the Mountains in the background. They did get nearer, very slowly. They did not seem to belong to the picture, or only as a link to something else, a glimpse through the trees of something different, a further stage: another picture.

The first thing that popped into my head when I read this was what Shigeru Miyamoto said about creating the Legend of Zelda series. He said that he envisioned the games as a set of gardens in which players could wander and explore. Thinking a little further, the defining feature that encloses the world of Hyrule in the first four games is a mountain range. There was something magical about reaching the top of Death Mountain in A Link to the Past and seeing on the other side the faint suggestion of a forest spreading out into the unexplored world beyond: a further stage: another picture.

Christmas Gaming: Platypus Nostalgia

2011-12-17T12:43:00.000-08:00

Long wintry afternoons and evenings aren't just for books. If you grew up in the 80s (or more recently), it's also a time for gaming. If you're old school, this can mean getting out the pen and paper. If you're teh uber, then it means more time on WoW. I, striving for To Meson in all things, tend to prefer the old snes. Once old Bessie is out of the mothballs, that begs the question of what game to play.

Picking a game at Christmas is a lot like picking a book: the question of atmosphere is paramount. As with Christmas reading, then, I like a game that has a more mellow pace and tone. The bright and tinny world of Super Mario Brothers is out then. Also out are the cartoonish creatures of Secret of Mana. The Legend of Zelda series is welcome any time of the year, but I think I like it best in Summer or fall. Metroid comes nearer the mark. What's left? This year, I think the answer to that question is Final Fantasy III (Japan VI). With its quiet, melancholy mood and often wintry atmosphere, it's the perfect game for a cold night.

Agree? Disagree? Question the question? It is a bit of a silly question after all. Should we really choose video games the way we choose wine to complement a meal? Maybe. There seems to be value in living life intentionally. I grew up in a land of sharp and distinct seasons, and seasonal rhythms have always been important to me. They provide a sense of order and balance in what is so often a disordered and unbalanced world. By setting times and seasons for our own activities, we increase the order in our world; logos reclaiming chaos. Still not convinced? That's ok. Now how about you; what are your holiday traditions?

Christmas Reading: The Platypus Reads Part CXXXIV

2011-12-10T09:21:00.001-08:00

The world is getting colder, the days are getting shorter, and work is winding down for the semester. With the Christmas holiday coming, it's an ideal time for reading. Now I always read, but Christmas seems to call for some change change in the line up to match the peculiar feel of the season.

Changing my reading list to fit the holiday mood does not mean Christmas books, though it can. There's nothing wrong with curling up by the fire to read Dickens "A Christmas Carol" or work through Matthew and Luke's accounts of the Nativity. However, I meant something beyond the obvious Christmas additions. There are certain books that you plow through and there are certain books that you eat up. Christmas, for me, calls for neither. Instead, I prefer books with a narrow emotional register that absorb and enchant; the perfect companions for long, cold, quiet nights.

Last year's book of choice was the novella "The Dream Quest of Unknown Kadath" by H.P. Lovecraft. This season, I've decided to try Scull and Hammond's "J.R.R. Tolkien: Artist and Illustrator." It's a slow and engaging read, and Tolkien's odd style of painting lends a sense of quiet enchantment to the whole. I've encountered Tolkien's art before and enjoyed it. In past Christmases, my wife and I have made a habit of reading Tolkien's "Father Christmas Letters" together. The odd world of the North Polar Bear and Father Nicholas Christmas that Tolkien weaves for his children is a real delight. I'm looking forward, then, to continuing to explore the artistic side of Tolkien's worlds in a more complete fashion.

So how about you? What constitutes your ideal holiday reading?

Platypi Against Death: The Platypus Reads Part CXXXIII

2011-12-04T11:36:00.001-08:00

This post comments on Fritz Leiber's "Swords Against Death." If you wish to remain spoiler free, do not read on.

As noted earlier, Fritz Leiber begins his tales of Fafhrd and the Grey Mouser with a heroic foursome; the two male leads and their ladies fair. By the third tale, however, the foursome is reduced to a duo with the death by art magical of Lady Ivrian and the intrepid Vlana. The result seems to be that our heroes can now never be whole and are thus doomed to wander the world in search of adventure and forgetfulness.

This equation almost changes in the second volume with The Price of Pain-Ease where the wizards Sheelba of the Eyeless Face and Ningauble of the Seven Eyes promise to restore a lost love to one of the two men provided he can steal the mask of Death. Tormented, literally, by the ghosts of their lost beloveds, Fafhrd and Mouser accept the quest even if it means slaying each other to get to the mask. Along the way, they continue to be haunted by Vlana and Ivrian and each hero comes to realize that his particular heroine wasn't exactly the picture of perfection he'd remembered. Since Leiber is unwilling to kill off one or both of his leading men, the evil duke Danius gets to the mask first and cuts it in half. Death shows up just in time to finish of Danius and Fafhrd and Mouser each make off with a piece of the mask. Predictably, this satisfies neither of the wizards but, true to their word, they keep half their promise for half the mask: each man is able to let go of his misery and move on.

It's a wry and cynical ending in a wry and cynical series of books. We are left wondering if things ever really could have worked out for the formidable foursome had the two women lived. Of course, the question arises as to whether any breakdown would be the fault of the two beaus as much as the fault of the two femmes. Vlana calls Fafhrd her "beloved booby," and her "man-boy-lover." Given the stories thus far, that's an accurate assessment of Fafhrd's character. The Mouser doesn't fair much better. In each of them, there is far too much of an over-indulged boy and too little of a real man. It makes one wonder if the inference that should be drawn is that Leiber believes masculine friendship rests on some principle of prolonged adolescence. If true, this is rather sad. The adventures go on, and adventures are fun, but they can't go on forever. In the end, even Odysseus, that consummate adventurer must come home and be a man: husband, father, son. "The Odyssey" works because the adventures come to an end. For Fafhrd and Mouser it seems as if the only end is weariness.

Pocketwatch Follow-Up: Strange Platypus(es)

2011-11-28T16:16:00.001-08:00

John Mark Reynolds over at The Scriptorium Daily admits to experimenting with Victorian garb at the office in this article. Kudos to Dr. Reynolds for pushing boundaries and reclaiming the older aesthetic.

T.S. Platypus: Strange Platypus(es)

2011-11-27T15:05:00.001-08:00

Prufrock tells us that he has "measured out my life with coffee spoons." I have measured out my life with blog posts.

With December coming on, we will soon witness seven years of "The Platypus of Truth." Looking at the post history, it seems like 57 or so posts a year has been average. 2007 was a particularly bad year for posting. 2010 and 2011 have been better. This seems to fit as in 2007 I was struck down with a particularly nasty medical problem that left me in constant and drastic pain. In 2010, I moved to a much less stressful position in a more laid-back area of the country an experienced a corresponding relaxation of my symptoms. Since 2006, posts have mostly been about whatever I was reading, playing, or watching at the time. There have been a few forays into poetry and literature as well. Readership has been modest with a few spikes where a post was fortuitously linked to by a popular site.

What does all this add up to? Are these posts only coffee spoons counting out the meaningless hours of a pointless existence? I don't think so. Drinking coffee is fun, but it is merely an act of consumption. Blog posts, even bad ones, are an act of creation. Animals consume, but people create. The posts of the last seven years have been, however mangled, an attempt at creation, an attempt at speaking the creative word into the inchoate silence. In that sense, they are an imitation of the Trinity, or as Tolkien put it: "we make still by that law in which we're made."

Soli Deo Gloria

Pocket Watches and Pushing Boundaries: Strange Platypus(es)

2011-11-12T09:10:00.001-08:00

John Mark Reynolds over at Scriptorium Daily notes the death of the wristwatch and muses a bit about the role of conspicuous consumption and nostalgia for the beauties of a vanished age. Perhaps I have read amiss, but I do note just the slightest tinge of fatalism in the good professor's voice. It seems inevitable in late modernity that the old, functional, and beautiful should be replaced by the new, functional, and ugly. Is this really so? Well, no. The professor does point out that wristwatches became a jewelry piece every bit as much as the pocket watch had been. If this is true, then might there be hope that one day our cell-phones will become as aesthetic as a Rolex? It's a good question, but I can think of another. If the old item remains functional and beautiful, why can't we as a society choose to retain it?

Walking sticks remained an essential part of any gentleman's wardrobe for centuries thought they served little practical use. Cuff links remain in use today even though buttons do just as nicely and aren't as easy to lose. Moving into the realm of technology, newer is not always better. There have not been any serious modifications to the basic plan of a passenger plane since the 1960s. We invented the Concord, which can travel a good deal faster, but it wasn't very practical and the old pattern still gets the job done just fine. My point is, that modern society has not felt itself bound to always discard the old and functional for the new and functional. Sometimes, as with the Concord, the new isn't all it's cracked up to be. Other times, as with the walking stick and the cuff link, we retain an anachronism because it is aesthetic and not a particular hindrance to our daily life.

So what's my point. I wear a pocket watch. I wear a vest. I wear hats. With a bad right leg, I could really use an aesthetically pleasing stick. More important than that, many young men I know do the same. Why do we all do it? It's simple really: the older items get the job done just as well and are more aesthetic and dignified than the new ones. My pocket watch cost eleven dollars, looks great, and I can still keep my cell phone in my pocket. An added plus is that when I want to tell the time I don't have to pull out my cell phone in front of my students and bluntly remind them that they are not allowed to use theirs (see Reynolds' reminder that nurses will still need to use wristwatches and ask yourself if you can't think of more, many more, situations that would justify retaining the older and more aesthetic device). Reynolds wonders in his post if retaining these aesthetic items that have been "superseded" runs counter to the grain of Christianity. While I can't say anything about personal conviction and household clutter, I would point back to the Genesis mandate. As humans, we are to rule and subdue the earth. We are given the job of being Earth's gardeners, that is those who shape the raw materials of the planet into an aesthetically pleasing whole. Conspicuous consumption, that is buying and making things as a demonstration of personal power and status, does run against the grain of scripture, but making and owning things that are beautiful, all things being equal (and many times they aren't and that requires sacrifice on our part), seems to be a direct fulfillment of the mandate our species was given in the beginning. This, of course, needs to be done with charity. If our work standards forbid us from wearing Renaissance clothing, then donning the ugly company uniform is a matter of love-of-neighbor and humility. However, given that men's fashion hasn't changed very much in the last hundred years, there are plenty of little ways (vests, pocket-watches, walking sticks, hats, cuff links, alternatively-shaped collars, slightly-differently cut coats) to re-aestheticize our wardrobes. This applies to women's fashion as well, though it takes a bit more effort (and sometimes trips to the antique store).

A final word and then I'll end. The goal of all this is not to become worldly or produce a set of Christian Aesthetes. Poverty is beautiful; our Lord blessed it. Better is the little portion where the Lord is present than to dwell in Herod's palace with all its splendor. Our goal should not be to store up for ourselves treasures on earth. The problem is that we often think that this means if we're living in an ugly palace, worshiping at an expensive but functionalist church, and wearing designer, but not ostentatious clothing, then we've somehow kept the Lord's commands. This is not real poverty, this is conformity to late modern democratic, functionalist, culture. In addition, poverty and careful husbandry of the Lord's resources should never be incompatible with aesthetics. A peasant's cottage can often be a highly aesthetic space when the peasant is allowed to improve it with his or her own efforts. Medieval monks took vows of poverty but produced amazing illuminated manuscripts, invented several varieties of top-class alcoholic beverages, created the strawberry, and generally beautified and enriched their living space and all the lands about it. They were poor, but they remembered that they were still gardeners. May we remember that ourselves. God have mercy on us and make us wise.

N.B. -This argument presupposes that there is some real meaning, however difficult to deduce or agree upon, to the words "beautiful" and "ugly." If these words merely mean "what I like" and "what I dislike," then we must concede that all of the above is pointless. We might say the same for the words "good" and "evil," and "true" and "false." If this is the case, then we should take a cue from the "Iliad" and realize that life, the universe, and everything are ultimately meaningless including this discussion. Everything, in that case, really boils down to naked or covert displays of power. If that is "true," than I can make no more effective reply than to deny whatever argument you make, accuse you of merely trying to assert yourself under the false pretense of rational argumentation, and assert my own preferences more loudly. It may be "true" that there is no Truth, but we can hardly have an honest, rational discussion about it if even one of us starts with that as a premiss.

On Whiteboard Art: Whiteboard Platypus

2011-11-11T13:30:00.001-08:00

So, I like whiteboard art. I use it in the classroom and post it on my blog. I've been working on my craft for several years now, and thought it might be time to record a few thoughts.

Whiteboard art is a limited medium. Expo markers, my preferred tools of the trade, only come in about twelve colors (at least that I can find.) They don't admit of blending in the way that chalk or pastels do. The fact that adding a new line to an existing line with an Expo marker can erase it also provides some unique challenges to drawing and shading. Filling in solid objects is a real bear.

Given these constraints, whiteboard art lends itself to cartoons, pointillism, and impressionism. Getting into the right mindset for the latter two techniques can be a little rough at first, and I recommend stepping back from your work frequently in order to get a sense of the overall effect. Spending some time with a volume of impressionist paintings also helps. As far as cartooning goes, I recommend getting into a web-comic or two. They're free online, so there's no problem with accessibility or cost. They also tend to be a little more realistic than what you find in the Sunday papers while rarely sporting the frustrating complexity of many modern comic books.

As a final note, the guys over at Wheatstone's The Examined Life are my real heroes when it comes to technique. The videos they put together using time-lapse and whiteboard art are amazing. Nothing gets the creative drive going like a little inspiration, so if you're going to attempt any whiteboard art, I recommend checking out what these guys are doing to get the creative juices flowing.

That's all I've got right now. If anyone has anything to add, don't hesitate to jump in.

William's Europa: Whiteboard Platypus

2011-11-07T18:28:00.000-08:00

All Images Copyright James R. Harrington 2011

Platypus Lectures: Academic Platypus

2011-11-06T09:39:00.000-08:00

I was able to attend the annual Providence Classical School Pursuing Wisdom Colloquy this weekend. This is the first Providence Colloquy I've attended. As with all events that Providence hosts, the Gala in particular, I was thoroughly impressed. Below are some of the things that impressed me in bullet point:

-The plenary speaker was Dr. Ronald Grosh, whom I've heard speak before. Dr. Grosh is always a great catalyst for discourse, and this time was no exception.

-The coffee house and all the catering for the event was truly first-rate. The Providence parents are smart, capable, professional, and run an extremely tight ship. The speakers' dinner was also excellent in terms of food, location, service, and the extended amount of of time given to the speakers to socialize, re-energize, and network.

-Quite a number of Providence students were present working behind the scenes to make things happen. They were well-dressed, polite, and efficient. Beyond that, however, I was impressed by how many of them were willing to sit in on the break-out sessions and discuss with the speakers afterward.

-The quality of the attendees was abnormally high for a teacher's conference. The conversation in the breakout sessions and throughout the weekend was professional, energetic, and intelligent. It is a credit to Providence that it draws such people to its Colloquy both as presenters and attendees.

Those are my thoughts so far. If you're in primary or secondary education, or even just interested in it, may I heartily recommend next year's Providence Classical School Colloquy.

A Picture of the Kingdom: Strange Platypus(es)

2011-10-30T19:34:00.000-07:00

There's a marvelous place in North Houston, the Lanier Theological Library. In the old days, we would have called it a "folly;" a rich man's capricious little building project. This particular "folly" takes the form of a Oxford style library complete with paneled walls painted ceilings with a replica of a byzantine church a short walk away. I should also mention the recreated Cotswold village and the peacocks. Again, all this in the middle of nowhere North Houston. Weird, I know. In the true old tradition of nobelesse oblige, the library and church are open to the public. Beyond that, Mr. Lanier has taken it upon himself to bring world class lecturers (Alistair McGrath, John Michael Talbot, Simon Conway-Morris, Edward Fudge, etc.) in to speak at the library and opening the lectures to the public free of charge. There's also a free desert buffet in the library following each lecture. It's an odd thing, and it draws an odd crowd. At any given time you can stroll around with a cup of coffee and lemon tart and find John Michael Talbot in all his Gandalf look-alike glory squirreled away in an alcove talking to Texas farmer, or the local clergy hashing over anihilationism with Edward Fudge. Elsewhere, they'll be a nun or two and a couple college students and some visiting intellectuals. Turn the corner again, and there will be a rare codex on loan from the Vatican and John Mark Reynolds admiring the painted ceiling. The library's a rambling, odd place. The more time I spend there, the more I think of Jesus' words to his disciples: "in my father's house are many rooms." Walking through the twists and turns of the Lanier is like a little piece of the Eschaton. There's plenty of room, and plenty of food, and there's a place for everyone; great and honored hobnobbing equally with the poor and lowly. The only thing that's wanting is the Master.

Swords and Platypi: The Platypus Reads Part CXXXII

2011-10-22T16:49:00.000-07:00

This post will focus on Fritz Leiber's "Swords and Deviltry". If you wish to remain spoiler free, don't read on.

Kill all the women so the real story can start.

I like buddy stories. There's a special place in my heart for "A Separate Peace" even though the whole pacifist thing is heavy-handed and unnecessary. I had great friends growing up, I had great friends in college, and I had great friends in grad school. One of the finest things in life, to me, is sitting around with the guys and cackling inanely over some good joke. Strong, masculine friendship is seriously under-rated in today's culture; mostly because everyone worries about being called "gay." Now, that said. I don't enjoy male companionship to the exclusion or denigration of women. If you asked me who my best friend was I would tell you its my wife, and that brings me to the meat of the matter (ok, not quite, but almost).

I've been wanting to read Fritz Leiber's Fafhrd and Grey Mouser stories ever since I picked up Mike Mignola's graphic novel adaptation. My chance to do that came this past summer when I was strolling through my local used bookstore. Evidently, someone had dumped almost the whole series in the old Ace edition and they were on sale for a couple of bucks each. Having finally recovered from my trek through "The Mammoth Book of Fantasy," I picked up volume one and started reading. "Swords and Deviltry" gives us the back story of Leiber's dynamic duo and records their first meeting in the legendary city of Lankhmar. It also introduces us to their lady-loves, the cunning, vengeful, and forceful Vlana, and the meek, cultured, and faithful Ivrain. Each of these characters has great potential in their own right and also as part of a budding foursome. That is until Leiber promptly kills them off.

Now, I'm not averse to character killing, but this matter of fem-icide really does bother me a bit. The purpose seems to be to free the men up for further adventures. From what I've seen in Mignola's adaptation, there will women a-plenty for one-night stands, but no more abiding ladies-fair for Fafhrd and Grey Mouser. Leiber seems to need them to lose the loves-of-their-lives at the beginning and never recover so that the infinite tales of adventure can go on. That just doesn't seem right. It reeks of the belief that marriage is a sort of "game over" for everything that makes the masculine life worth living; as if aimless adventuring and drunken reveling are what make a man a man. While I would argue that those strong male friendships are still a masculine need after marriage, Leiber's exculsivist vision seems more like an endless adolescence than a frank acknowledgement that marriage can't (and wasn't meant to) satisfy ever need of the human soul.

So what am I getting at here. I do understand that Leiber is trying to tell a particular kind of story and that requires him to shape the plot and cast in certain ways. Still, I wish there was a chance to use the compelling characters he creates in Vlana and Ivrain to complement the men in a more extended fashion. That said, I think there might be something else that Leiber is getting at (if I'll just be patient and stick with him). Leiber comments that both his characters, Fafhrd and Mouser, are each only half a hero. They stick together through thick and thin because each has something the other needs. They balance each other out. Thinking on this a bit, I wonder if the purpose of killing Vlana and Ivrain off is that they each complemented their beaus in ways that all four complete. With them gone, the men can never really be whole, and thus their quest can never really have an end. If so, then the adventures of Fafhrd and Mouser are not merely about the virtues of masculine friendship but a meditation on humanity's tragic brokenness. We all need each other to be ourselves, but in a world of pain and death that isn't always possible.

We'll see...

William's Europa: Whiteboard Platypus

2011-10-20T17:21:00.000-07:00

More art inspired by Charles Williams' Talliesin Through Logres meets with my lecture on late antiquity.

All images compyright James R. Harrington 2011

Iliadic Platypus: The Platypus Reads Part CXXXI

2011-10-16T19:26:00.000-07:00

I'm in the middle of prepping a talk on the "Iliad" for a colloquy in November. This means that I've gone back to my roots as a student of Ancient History. While I've done some heavier reading on early Greece in the form of Robin Lane Fox's "Traveling Heroes in the Epic Age of Homer" and Oswyn Murray's "Early Greece," there's also been an opportunity to try more popular works like Caroline Alexander's "The War That Killed Achilles." Though Alexander's book is not "The Best of the Achaeans" or "Nature and Culture in the Iliad: The Death of Hector," it's still been an enjoyable and thought provoking read. Alexander's great virtue is that she doesn't treat the "Iliad" as a mere mine of data for other interests but rather seeks to engage the text on its own terms in an effort to gain real wisdom.

This approach reminds me quite a bit of J.R.R. Tolkien's treatment of "Beowulf" in "Beowulf: The Monsters and the Critics." In that essay, Tolkien compares the Beowulf poet to a man who inherits a piece of land on which is sprawling complex of ruins. The man gathers these ruins and adds to them in order to build a magnificent tower. After the man dies, others come and complain that the building of the tower has destroyed the purity of the ruins and decide that it would be best to tear it down. What they fail to realize, as Tolkien points out, is that the man built the tower because from its pinnacle he could catch a glimpse of the sea. This parable applies equally well to the "Iliad." So often scholars come to Homer only for what they can get out of him; a scrap of Mycenaean culture, a glimpse into Dark Age trade networks, a buried fragment of Hittite myth. All of that is valid, but it misses the real point; for centuries, men and women have read the "Iliad" because it spoke to the profound truths of the human condition. In Tolkien's metaphor, they read it because it showed them the sea.

I may not agree with everything Alexander says and "The War that Killed Achilles" is not on a scholarly level with the books above mentioned. I wrote my thesis on Homeric tropes in Classical literature and as such I did my fair share of strip mining the blind bard and am prepared to defend my right to. Nevertheless, I have to say that in the final analysis Alexander's work gets my resounding recommendation. It is a reminder to all of us with scholarly agendas that while we are out quibbling over minutia Homer is trying to show us Life.

MirrorMask: Film Platypus

2011-10-09T19:00:00.000-07:00

Think with me for a moment...

Last weekend I was privileged to watch MirrorMask, Niel Gaiman's first foray into the film industry. While the story has elements that seem to presage later films like Coroline, Dave McKean's odd visual style give it a unique feel. It's that unique feel, a sort of post-modern-industrial-goth-chic, that has stayed with me a week after viewing the film. As a work done in collaboration with Jim Henson Studios, that's not surprising. Other Henson productions such as The Dark Crystal and Labyrinth strike me as notable more for their production value than for their story lines. Don't get me wrong. They're not bad stories, just traditional and unremarkable. They just get the job done so that the visuals are freed up to run away with the show.

All this makes me wonder how important story is to film. Take Terrence Malik, for instance. There isn't a lot of plot to The New World, but the visuals are so incredible and thought-provoking that they bear the weight that would traditional be assigned to the story. To go with a different example, think of how Dino de Laurentis used the score of Conan the Barbarian to take the place of the sparse and rather traditional dialog. It's the strong combination of visuals and music that drive that movie along. Back to high-brow film, we might also look at the disconnected vignettes that make up Andrei Rubalev. Perhaps none of those are really examples of visuals or music replacing plot, but simply alternate methods of story telling.

Anyhow, there's no hard and fast thesis to this post, more of just an "I wonder." I wonder.

Williams (and Beowulf): Whiteboard Platypus

2011-09-27T19:25:00.000-07:00

A Play: Strange Platypus(es)

2011-09-25T17:17:00.000-07:00

Setting: A Higher Plane of Noetic Consciousness

John Piper, Pope Benedict XVI, and the Ecumenical Patriarch stand/hover/exist before three ornately carved podiums.

Enter Simon Peter with Fanfare and angels attendant bearing his keys.

Simon Peter: I am come now even from the Eternal Presence here to dispose a matter of great import. Know you that in the Highest Heaven it is decreed that the Lady who has been twice wounded shall now be made most whole. Therefore, gird yourself most manfully to make answer to the question I will now present, for upon your reply does rest the state of Christendom entire. For be it known that whosoever of you givest that reply which in my Master's sight is most seemly and most true shall even so win for his party the keys wherewith all authority to loose and bind resides.

Benedict XVI: Most gracious Apostle and primary holder of that see in which now by Grace Divine I sit, we are most eager and most obedient to accept thy divine inquisition.

Ecumenical Patriarch: Aye, 'tis so.

John Piper: 'Tis so.

Simon Peter: Thy three-fold reply, yet one, doth agree most behoovingly with my charge. Therefore, make your reply with such holy alacrity as is fitting to the divine query: "What is to be done with N.T. Wright?"

Benedict XVI: We must treat him with all charity as we would be treated.

John Piper: We must refute him in all love.

Ecumenical Patriarch: I'm sorry, who the heck is N.T. Wright?

N.T. Wright: (entering stage right) Grant him tenure!

Simon Peter: Right Tom. Take the keys and off you go.

Exeunt Omnis

About Hell: Strange Platypus(es)

2011-09-25T15:42:00.000-07:00

For with my own eyes I saw the Sibyl hanging in a bottle, and when the young boys asked her, 'Sibyl, what do you want?', she replied, 'I want to die' .

We went to a lecture this weekend on Annihilationism given by Edward Fudge. Briefly stated, Annihilationism is the idea that souls in Hell are eventually destroyed and cease to exist. Though Fudge cast his claims purely in the light of truth and falsity, I couldn't help getting the impression that Annihilationism is put forward as a sort of "nice" alternative to the endless conscious torment envisioned by the Traditional Doctrine of Hell. Of course this begs the question of whether existence is a great enough good to be worth retaining in spite of any pain. I have heard proponents of the Traditional Doctrine of Hell assert that it is "nicer" than Annihilationism because at least it allows the damned the good of existence. There are other alternatives, however. George MacDonald was influential in propagating a modified form of Maurice's Universalism in which Hell is temporary and primarily purgative. This seems like a much "nicer" view than either Annihliationism or the Traditional Doctrine of Hell because in the end everyone will be saved. However, after seeing the torture and violation of Free Will that MacDonald's view entails as he imagines it in his last novel, "Lilith," the purgative view of Hell seems downright monstrous. It turns God into a cosmic torturer (for our good, of course). If we find that unsavoury, we could posit that all souls go to Heaven without any stop-overs. This might seem to be that than which no nicer can be thought until we imagine Hitler, Stalin, Mao, Sadam Hussein, or any of the other great tyrants of the past century entering immediately into eternal bliss. It seems to make a mockery of any sense of ultimate justice. Finally, we could scrap all of this Christian theology and claim that when we die that's it (whether that means the death of the soul or the mere death of a particular personality associated with the soul before it is reincarnated), but denying anyone a chance for Heaven seems the "meanest" view of all.

So what are we left with? Well, perhaps we have to admit with Ecclesiastes and Homer that reality simply isn't "nice." Fudge, with a sudden flair of Fundamentalism, was right in asserting at the beginning of his talk that the question isn't "What is nice?" but "What is True?" (I am paraphrasing here). As Ajax exclaims at the moment when Zeus turns against the Achaeans "let the light shine on us and then let us die." Reality is more like a war zone than a tea party (though it may be much more like something else when compared with a war zone) and there is something admirable in saying "well let's know the worst and then face it head on." At any rate, it seems a whole lot more productive than quibbling about what's "nice."

Back to the Books:The Platypus Reads Part CXXX

2011-09-18T18:55:00.000-07:00

Now that school's started, it's back to serious reading. I've got a couple of books on Art History and culture going as well as "The War That Killed Achilles" by Caroline Alexander. In addition, I've also just finished "The Spartacus War" by Barry Strauss (always a favorite). There's still a little time for fun, however, and that's meant re-reading the Harry Potter series with the wife and "Leaf by Niggle" by J.R.R. Tolkien. Right now, that makes my head hurt, but once things settle down a little I'll have to organize my thoughts and let you know what I'm thinking. Meanwhile, the Platypus is sensing the return of all things pumpkin...

More About Howl my Moving Castle Lost its Legs:The Platypus Reads part CXXIX

2011-09-04T20:52:00.000-07:00

I started blogging about Diana Wynne Jones' "Howl's Moving Castle" while we were still only half way through. Having finished the book I am pleased to say that my enthusiasm for it remains unabated. True, there is a considerable amount of divergence with Studio Ghibli's adaptation, but that only means that some aspects of the ending, and several extra layers of plot remain unspoiled for the reader. Both the book and the movie are strong enough works of art in their own right that they each can be enjoyed without detriment to the other. It should also be emphasized, however, that while there are places where the two works diverge, they still share many points in common. The movie can be seen more as a simplification of the book than a departure from it. Pick up the novel yourself and see what you think!

2011 Seven Heavens of Summer Reading: The Platypus Reads Part CXXVIII

2011-09-03T11:16:00.000-07:00

September is here and Summer has ended (even if it doesn't feel that way outside) and it's time for the 2011 Summer Reading Awards, or as I like to call them: "The Seven Heavens of Summer Reading." The awards were established in honor of Michael Ward's "Planet Narnia," in which he claims that the seven books of The Chronicles of Narnia are ordered around the seven planets of medieval cosmology. In that spirit, each award is given to honor an excellent book whose content is in keeping with the attributes of one of the "seven heavens." With that bit of background, let's cut to this year's awards.

Moon: "Howl's Moving Castle" by Diana Wynne Jones For the sphere of madness, flux, and change, there could be no better match than this story of magical transformations, mistaken identities, and mad Welshmen.

Mercury: "The Four Quartets" by T.S. Eliot In the matter of manipulating language, T.S. Eliot's Nobel prize winning poems stand alone.

Venus: "Brideshead Revisited" by Evelyn Waugh In the matters of Venus Infernal, Waugh is a knowing expert, but he also reminds us that when all's said and done real creative power cannot come from ourselves but only from our Creator.

Sun: "On Fairy Stories" by J.R.R. Tolkien Though perhaps his bent was more Saturnine, J.R.R. Tolkien will always be welcome in the heaven of scholars (though I'm sure he has his eye on Mercury). This essay was a ground-breaker in the field and remains the unchallenged master down to the present day.

Mars: "The Guns of August" by Barbara Tuchman In the matter of recording the ringing strokes that opened the Great War, Mrs. Tuchman reigns supreme.

Jupiter: "Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone" by J.K. Rowling For restoring a sense of wonder, joy, majesty, and the pleasures of the feast to children's literature, Ms. Rowling has earned the sphere of Jove.

Saturn: "Gilead" by Marilynne Robinson There are no things certain upon Middle Earth save death and taxes. In the matter of facing this reality head on, Robinson's story of a minister chronicling his own decline takes the prize.

Runners Up:

"World War I" by John Keegan
"The Graveyard Book" by Niel Gaimon
"Traveling Heroes in the Epic Age of Homer" by Robin Lane Fox
"Taliessin Through Logres" by Charles Williams
"At the Back of the North Wind" by George MacDonald

That's it for this year. In the meantime, what are your "Seven Heavens of Summer Reading?"

Charles Williams: A Caution

2011-08-26T10:05:00.000-07:00

The repentant sadist chastens rude Caucasia with the blade of too Euclidean love

In that place where Simon Magus sits playing with his cards

Queens

Kings

Knaves

Placing her under the unmerited obedience of the hazel rod

Which is

A ruler fit for bookstore clerks and men that play at being kings

Simon Magus

Simon Magus in the mirror

The unicorn has lost her mate which found her when the wild hazel was young

But now it has all been turned to rods that are his horn

To rub between a maiden’s bosom

And she grieves for the wild hazel which was young in spring

Who knows the proper use of horns

Seeking him ever in the heaving breast of Gaul not knowing that he is gone to Logres

Simon Magus

Simon Magus in the mirror

There at Pentecost saw Taliessin the young king Arthur crowned

And Bedivere rejoiced

And Balin swore

As rays of vert and rose and azure smote down upon the window and danced about the king

But Taliesin there in Arthur’s face upraised beheld, but brief, the image of himself

Until Percival was half turned and plain Sir Bors let fall a single snicker at

Simon Magus

Simon Magus in the mirror

Mr. Eliot, lately of London, searched for a volume between repentant coffee spoons

To pass the time and as a means of general beneficence toward one so stately and so low

Offered for purchase

Magia

Goetia

And other things to those who needed waking and those already asleep

As the deck was no longer cut and the hazel rod stood idle in the southern seat of Logres

For Taliessin had of late removed to a city more congenial and perhaps Peter was short on change and
Might have grown tired of fishing

Penny for the old guy?

Howl my Moving Castle Lost its Legs:The Platypus Reads part CXXVII

2011-08-23T10:07:00.000-07:00

We're finishing out the summer here with a trek back through the films of Hayao Miyazaki and with that a little look at some of his source material. In this case, that means a read through Diana Wynne Jones' "Howl's Moving Castle." The film adaptation of this book is one of my favorite Studio Ghibli films and I've watched it numerous times over the past several years. This is the first time, however, that I've turned to pick up the novel.

Stepping into Diana Wynne Jones's world of whiny wizards has been a treat. There's a quirky fractured-fairy tale feel to the whole book that's actually subtle enough not to overwhelm the story with irony; what Tolkien calls "the author's wink at the other adults in the room." The characters and settings function well both as archetypes and as individuals so that the fairy tale feel is preserved right along with all the trappings of a modern psychological novel. For those who were introduced to the story with the film, it is pleasant to find that Miyazaki preserved enough of the original story to make it familiar and intelligible when turning to the novel and yet provided enough changes and omissions to keep the book fresh and interesting in its own right. So far, my appreciation for neither the film nor the book has been diminished, and that's quite a rare thing.

We're only half-way through the book right now, so I'll have to stop there. If the story continues the way it's going currently, however, they'll be nothing but good news to report once its finished. Good luck in the meantime!

Earthsea and Inception: Film Platypus

2011-08-20T10:19:00.000-07:00

After the herculean task of blogging through "The Mammoth Book of Fantasy," it's been good to take a bit of a breather. I'll have to ponder a bit more before I can definitely say what I learned from the experience.

Meanwhile, I have not been idle. My wife and I have been working through some of the Tolkien Professor's lectures with all the accompanying reading that entails. We've also started re-reading the Harry Potter books. In addition to that, we've been making use of our Netflix account. With that, we come to the real purpose of today's post. This week, we've had the fun of watching two recent visually rich films; real treats for the eye. The are studio Ghibli's "Tales From Earthsea" and Christopher Nolan's "Inception."

"Tales From Earthsea" is actually the directorial debut of Hayao Miyazaki's son Goro. In that respect, the film is just a fun chance to see the next generation of studio Ghibli directors strut his stuff. I also happen to love Ursula K. LeGuin's Earthsea books. Put those together, and how could this not be a movie to watch the instant I became aware of it? So, watch it we did.

Now, what do I think? This is an adaptation of several Earthsea stories, so don't expect to see "The Wizard of Earthsea." However, the screen play is done by Hayao himself and shows all the marks of his own peculiar genius for adaptation. If you like the work Hayao Miyazaki has done with other adaptations like "Howl's Moving Castle," the adaptation itself should be right up your ally. If you're an Earthsea purist, don't waste your time. Questions of adaptation aside, Studio Ghibli does a wonderful job of bringing the world of Earthsea to life visually. Every panel has that wonderfully rich touch we've come to expect. The overall effect of the movie is somewhere on par with "Castle in the Sky" or "Naussicaa of the Valley of the Winds." If you go in expecting to see "Spirited Away," or "Princess Mononoke" you'll be disappointed. Of course, this only makes sense if you remember that those two movies are products of the elder Miyazaki at the height of his career. This is still definitely a "first movie." That said, Goro seems to have some real talent, and it will be worth watching his own style evolve over the years to come.

Moving on, we just finished watching "Inception" last night. I have to say that it was worth watching this one at home if only so my wife and I could keep stopping the movie and dialog about what was going on and how we guessed it would turn out; sort of like reading a mystery novel together. Nolan has a passion for playing around with cognition and it was nice to see him return again to his first love. It was also enjoyable to watch Nolan take his talent for coming at a genre "sideways" and totally reinvigorate the "heist" movie. The overall effect of the movie is so masterful that I'm sure this will be the new "Matrix" on college campuses for the next few years.

This, of course, brings us to the question of whether "Inception" is really just an action flick with fancy window dressing. I'm not sure what I think about that question. Christopher Nolan isn't Terrance Malik, nor does he claim to be. However, his ideas seem to have more urgency and coherence than those of the Wichowski brothers. If there is something that Nolan is toying with throughout the movie, I'm going to guess that it's the idea of "the thought that stops all thought," ala G.K. Chesterton's "Orthodoxy." There's also the obvious idea that art can plant memes in people's minds, but I think this Chestertonian angle is actually the deeper thread. I think that's all I'll weigh in with for now. We'll see what I think after more time and reading a few reviews.

Finishing the Mammoth Book of Fantasy: The Platypus Reads Part CXXVI

2011-08-13T09:19:00.000-07:00

The Edge of the World by Michael Swanwick

Well, it's been a long hall. Shifting constantly from author to author, from genre to genre, can take a lot out more out of you, page for page, than just sticking to one. Maybe that's why I've never liked fiction anthologies. I usually just skip over that section in the bookstore. Still, reading through this particular anthology was worth it. It's expanded my knowledge of the genre and put new and interesting authors on my radar. With that preface, let's turn to Michael Swanwick.

"The Edge of the World" is a fitting name for the last short story in this collection. In a sense, we've come to the boarders of the genre. Like Swanwick's protagonists, we've shifted from great and mighty heroes, to cynical adventurers, and withered into broken, whiny teenagers frantically hoping someone will notice them. There no longer seems to be any purpose or meaning to existence, so why not cease to exist? This ultimate expression of the will to nausea in fantasy literature seems to signal the final failure of the genre. Our imaginations have soared passed the "Wall Around the World" and found instead of the promised faerie kingdom a vast nothing. Perhaps more than the exhaustion of genres or modes, this is the question that haunts modern fantasy: is there any point to the imagination? Tolkien believed that it could be used to imitate God, and help us turn our hearts toward the greater reality beyond this vale of tears. If that's all rubbish, then we are left with the burning question of why bother. Oh, we will still go on writing fantasies, of course, so long as we're unwilling to chuck in the towel and disappear, but that underlying purposelessness will always be there, like a worm, gnawing away the strength from all we do.

So here, at the shores of the sea, I must leave you. I will not say 'do not weep,' for not all tears are evil.

Until next time, gentle reader.

Mammoth Book of Fantasy (Cont.): The Platypus Reads Part CXXV

2011-08-12T10:08:00.000-07:00

The Phantasma of Q--- by Lisa Goldstein

This piece has a bit of a steam-punk flair mixed with the "lost world" fantasy that we saw with A. Merritt's "The Moon Pool." It also has a touch of the "turn-about" mystery we see in Tanith Lee's "A Hero at the Gates." All of this is in keeping with the trend of the last few stories in the collection toward an increase mixing of genres and techniques.

It makes sense that fantasy writing becomes more complex the closer you get to the present. Think about it. When Dunsany created his unique voice, or when Robert E. Howard got Sword and Sorcery up and running, the novelty of their creation was enough to hold the audience's attention. Once they had done their thing, however, there was only so much of a spin subsequent writers could put on it before everything in that genre or mode came to sound like a pastiche. As genres and modes proliferated, so did the number of authors writing in them until all the major possibilities were explored. The only option for aspiring new writers of fantasy then became mixing genres modes to create new permutations that sound fresh and original.

All this means, however, that the genre is running the risk of exhausting itself (or has already has). This matches my own experience, where the more contemporary the fantasy gets, the less I find it enjoyable or well-crafted. All this serves as an introduction to the second to last story in the collection.

Audience by Jack Womack

I can only call this a work of surrealist fantasy. I might call it fantasy of the absurd, but the overall tone is too somber for that. There are some works whose meaning can't be ferreted out by traditional means. You either "get it," or you don't. I don't get "Audience.

One more to go.

Mammoth Book of Fantasy (Cont.): The Platypus Reads Part CXXIV

2011-08-11T10:37:00.000-07:00

Nets of Silver and Gold by James P. Blaylock

Blaylock gives us a piece that combines Harlon Ellison's minimalist fantasy with Theodore Sturgeon's "what if?" stories. In so doing, it also fits in with Charles de Lint's penchant for writing fantasy in a pedestrian modern setting. However, Blaylock adds a new twist in that he doesn't feel the need to explain the source or the meaning of the fantastic element. It simply occurs, and we are left to guess its origin and import or else simply revel in the imaginative oddness of the tale. I think the author would prefer that we do the latter over the former. As del Torro reminds us when commenting on "Pan's Labyrinth," the old faerie stories never bother to explain the fantastic element; it's simply something that is. G.K. Chesterton makes much of this in his essay The Ethics of Elfland, which serves as part of his larger autobiographical work "Orthodoxy," by saying that never really know the causal connection between any event. Thus, it is nearer the mark to say that things happen by magic than that they happen by scientific law. In this aspect, then, Blaylock's story recovers a bit of what the old fantasies do for us. It reenchants the natural world around us by reminding us how little we grasp of the actual nature of things. We don't know that there isn't a faerie world in the key hole, we bet on it, and betting means that occasionally we might be wrong.

Next Up: The Phantasma of Q--- by Lisa Goldstein

Mammoth Book of Fantasy (Cont.): The Platypus Reads Part CXXIII

2011-08-10T09:40:00.000-07:00

The Man Who Painted the Dragon Griaule by Lucius Shepard

Yes, I am slowing down. Reading two short stories a day, or even one, is beginning to prove existentially exhausting. I'm not sure if that's because I'm reading other things as well or not. Perhaps this story hasn't interested me as much as some of the others? I don't know.

"The Man Who Painted the Dragon Griaule" is about a young artist who proposes to kill an already half-dead dragon that dominates a town by painting him. The idea is that the toxins in the paint will eventually build up in the dragons system and finish him off. Being desperate to get rid of the beast, which still exerts a psychic influence over the town, the magistrates empower Meric Cattanay to carry out his massive plan. The story continues, interspersing bits of biographical work about Meric and his painting with scenes from Meric's life as he labors to cover the dragon in paint. We are allowed to see Meric's first exploration of Griaule, his brief and sad affair with the foreman's wife, and the finishing of the painting and the artist's death.

I can't say that I particularly like the character of Meric Cattanay. He isn't virtuous, and he doesn't have any great passion or charm to redeem him. Mostly, he just drifts through life. Griaule is more of a presence than a character, so there's not much to cling to there either. The side characters are interesting, but we don't get to see very much of them. There is an ironic twist to the story's conclusion which I won't spoil for you. Perhaps you can make something of it? If there's a greater point to the story, that's where it will be found.

Next Up: Nets of Silver and Gold by James P. Blaylock

Visiting Pan's Labyrinth: Film Platypus

2011-08-08T13:09:00.000-07:00

I think teaching makes you late for a lot of things. It makes me late for film. Usually, I'm not missing much, but sometimes I am. This is one of those times.

I liked "Pan's Labyrinth." I liked the lighting. I liked the costumes. I liked the story and the leisurely way in which it unfolded. Seldom have I seen anything so richly imagined on film. Predictably, it wasn't done by Americans. The New Zealanders, the Japanese, and the Spanish all have us beat.

Yes, there was violence in the film, but I was surprised at how little del Torro seemed to relish it. This movie could have been packed with bloodshed if he'd wanted it to be. What is there is in the service of fleshing out his world and helping him ask the questions about pain, fantasy, and transcendence that he wanted to ask. Maybe he still guessed wrong on the amount needed, but I'm not skilled enough a critic to know.

One thing I can speak on is that fighting Fascists doesn't make you a hero (as Hellboy knows); especially if your side does all the same things. Being on the losing side doesn't make your cause any more just than being on the winning side. We'll just never know what evils you would have perpetrated had you won. Still, I'm not a Spaniard, and del Torro's pain is not my pain, so I won't say any more on that head lest I ere.

All this is dancing around what the movie is actually about: "is hope for a better world just a child's dream?" I'm sure del Torro has volumes to speak on that topic, but he's careful about what he says in the film. At the end, it really is left open to interpretation. That's ok. Sometimes it's ok just to pose a question. The nature of the answer we get directly corresponds to the nature of the question we ask. Finding the right question and the right way to ask it is a worthy effort for a story teller, or any other person.

Be Your Own Traveling Hero in Homer's Greece: Platypus Nostalgia

2011-08-06T15:02:00.000-07:00

My annual summer video game is now complete. I have finished my first action rgp, Titan Quest. All in all, it was a satisfying game. The world was richly imagined, the learning curve was fair, and if you know what you're doing it can be beaten on the first go (contra Diablo?). Of course I didn't know what I was doing, but it was possible to get back on track without playing the game over again. My only only critique: I would have liked more cinematics and a little more development of the plot (which was rather interesting and written by Randall Wallace of Braveheart fame), but I understand that some fans of the genre feel that these things get in the way. If you like video games and ancient history, this one is worth checking out (especially since you can get a package deal at Amazon for 8 bucks!).

Mammoth Book of Fantasy (Cont.):The Platypus Reads Part CXXII

2011-08-06T10:45:00.000-07:00

The Moon Pool by A. Merritt

Evidently, A. Merritt was popular at the turn of the century and then promptly disappeared from the public mind. However, one can see strong similarities between his work and more well known contemporaries H. Rider Haggard and H.P. Lovecraft. There's quite a bit of similarity in tone and plot to Lovecraft's "At the Mountains of Madness." That said, Merritt's inclusion of women as major characters keeps him from simply being "Lovecraft before Lovecraft" and places him in with Haggard in terms of sensibilities. All that to say that if you like either of the other two authors, it's worth giving Abraham Merritt a try.

The plot of "The Moon Pool" falls into the "lost world" genre, and narrates the quest of Dr. Throckmartin and company to uncover a lost Pacific civilization in the doctor's own words. As a clever Platonic move, Dr. Throckmartin himself is not our narrator, but his friend Mr. Goodwin, thus placing us a two removes from the events of the story. At the point at which Goodwin begins his narration, Dr. Throckmartin has lost his fellows and is mentally disturbed. The two friends meet on a boat traveling to Melbourne. When Goodwin witnesses a mysterious being traveling by moonlight to trouble Dr. Throckmartin, Throckmartin decides to tell Goodwin his tale and plead for help. As it turns out, Throckmartin claims to have discovered evidence of an incredibly ancient and incredibly advanced society having once lived in the far reaches of the Pacific ocean. Predictably, the locals are all terrified of the ruins and it takes quite a bit of money to induce any to come and help in the excavations. In the end, several of the natives agree on the condition that they be released from the dig every full moon. The reason for this becomes clear at the full moo when mysterious music comes from the ruins and Thora, Dr. Throckmartin's wife's friend, has a fit of temporary insanity. Convinced that the natives are behind the music and withholding some secret ritual or knowledge from the party, the explorers decide to hide out among the ruins at the next full moon. When the time comes, the party finds a mysterious door charged with unexplainable energy. When the full moon strikes it, the music begins and all but one who hear it are struck with sleep or immobility. The one of the company who is not is carried away by mysterious lights. One, by one, the company is carried off until only Throckmartin and his wife, Edith, remain. Deciding to be proactive, the couple waits by the door and the doctor rushes in as the moonlight opens it. He descends to a strange pool which seems to be the source of the light and music. Out of its depths comes a strange apparition that Throckmartin attempts to combat. The noise of the conflict brings Edith down from the door and she is caught and dragged into the water by the creature. Throckmartin wanders mad for days until he is picked up by fishermen. He tells Goodwin that he is now attempting to put together a rescue for his friends, who he believes to be kept alive by the creature, and enlists Goodwin. Before they can carry out their plans, the light and music return and Dr. Throckmartin is carried off.

"The Moon Pearl" is a caution against scientific arrogance and the corresponding refusal to acknowledge the supernatural. Throckmartin and his company all meet their end through a dogmatic unwillingness to acknowledge that there may be some things science cannot bend to the human will. In this aspect, "The Moon Pearl" can also be seen as the ancestor of works like "Jurassic Park." It also bear comparison to earlier works such as Bram Stoker's "Dracula" or Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein." Cautions against scientific arrogance abound in Western literature, but they seem to serve more as outlets for our fears than actual breaks or checks on the scientific enterprise, but whether you're seeking a morality play or just a gripping read, A. Merritt's "The Moon Pool" is worth the read.

Nota bene: There is a novel length treatment of "The Moon Pool" which Mike Ashley warns readers against in his brief write up. The version I have read and the version he puts forth in the collection is the original short story.

Next Up: The Man Who Painted the Dragon Griaule by Lucius Shepard

The Mammoth Book of Fantasy (Cont.): The Platypus Reads Part CXXI

2011-08-05T10:35:00.000-07:00

Pixel Pixies by Charles de Lint

I have to confess that I've been interested in reading a little Charles de Lint ever since I saw John Howe's impressive covers in "Myth and Magic." Of course, seeing a John Howe cover can make me want to pick up just about any book. I made that mistake a while back with David Gemmel's "Legend." Now I remember not to judge a book by its cover. That said, I am pleased to report that in the case of Charles de Lint the picture matched the writing. I haven't gotten as much delight out of any of the other stories in the collection as I have out of "Pixel Pixies."

Enough gushing, let me summarize. "Pixel Pixies" tells the story of Bookstore owner Holly Rue and her resident Hobgoblin Dick. Holly doesn't know Dick exists, but he helps keep her shop in order every night so long as he has free range of the books. This nice little relationship is threatened when a gaggle of pixies begin running a muck on the store computer. Their mischief is initially checked by the quick thinking of an artsy customer, but at night the pixies break out of the computer and begin wrecking havoc all over town. Dick is able to save his mistress from being enchanted by the pixies, but is powerless to keep them from wrecking the shop. Seeing the devastation, Holly gives her mysterious customer a call. She arrives and promptly calls forth Dick, much to Holly's surprise. Dick in turn reveals that the customer is a high born member of a faerie court. Together, the three unlikely protagonists contrive a way to lure the pixies back to the store and then trap them in the computer. Having been discovered, Dick contemplates relocating, but in the end decides to stay.

"Pixel Pixies" is the sort of piece that makes you want to rush off to the computer and start writing yourself. That, or grab a group of friends and start a "Scions" campaign. It delights in subcreation, that filling in of the spandrels that God has purposely left in the universe so that his creatures can imitate their creator. Seeing that de Lint may (I don't know for sure) bat from the neo-pagan side of things maybe he'd begrudge me that remark but I hope he'd allow it, if only for Tolkien's sake. I mean it when I say "filling in the spandrels," because that is what de Lint has done: imagine a complete faerie world that fits nicely into the empty space of our own. As nice as a hob in his hole.

Well, there's only one review today as "The Moon Pearl," by A. Merritt has turned out to be rather long. As soon as it's finished, you can expect a review here. Best wishes all!

Mammoth Book of Fantasy (Cont.): The Platypus Reads Part CXX

2011-08-04T09:45:00.000-07:00

Paladin of the Lost Hour by Harlan Ellison

A lonely Vietnam war vet saves an old man from hooligans at the cemetery and then takes him in when he finds that the old fellow has no place to go. They're an odd couple, even being different races, but they form a powerful friendship that helps them deal with past events they could never have tackled on their own. Sounds like it could be a great story. And it is. Then there's this other story about a Pope who hid an extra hour inside a watch and gave it to his most trusted servant to guard because should the watch ever open, it would mean the end of the universe. This watch has been handed down through the generations and now it's last guardian is dying and must find a worthy successor. Harlan Ellison's task is to somehow combine these two stories into one in "The Paladin of the Lost Hour."

"The Paladin of the Lost Hour" is a sort of minimalist fantasy. That is the world of the story is as close to our own world as possible with only one key twist. In this case, the story is just another "buddy story" with the key twist of the magical watch to make it a fantasy. The question is whether that one fantastic element mars or makes the otherwise realistic narrative. Deciding whether the technique works or not in "The Paladin of the Lost Hour" is a hard one for me. Ellison is such an adept writer that his "buddy story" really stands on its own two feet as a beautiful piece of work. The fantasy elements are equally well written, but seem like an unwelcome intrusion into the world that he was set up. Ultimately, I think that the fantasy element may detract from the themes and ideas of the piece rather than enhancing them. I'm not one-hundred percent sure yet, but even the fact that I'm split says something about the dangers in writing this kind of minimalist fantasy.

Yesterday Was Monday by Theodore Sturgeon

In "Yesterday Was Monday," we have a little different spin on the fantastic. Instead of minimalist fantasy, or alternate world fantasy, or lost age fantasy, we have a great example of fantasy as "what if." What if a man woke up and suddenly was able to behold the secret workings of the universe; angles set-dressing, and archangels haggling over production schedules? That's the "what if" that Theodore Sturgeon seeks to imagine in "Yesterday Was Monday." Our unlikely Dante, a car mechanic named Harry, goes to sleep on Monday and wakes up on Wednesday to find that "Wednesday" is not a day, but a set that is being furiously dressed by angels and their servants for the next act of the cosmic drama. Harry stumbles about with comic ineptitude, and meets archangels, God, and what might be a demon. Eventually learning the rules of the production house, he is able to manipulate its denizens and get back to his proper place and day.

This sort of thing is amusing and forms, perhaps along with fairy tales, the most accessible form of Fantasy. Mike Ashley, the editor of the collection, notes that this sort of fantasy is the kind that commonly appears in mainstream venues like The Saturday Evening Post. I can remember reading more than a few things in this vein in literature textbooks when I was growing up. There isn't any real moral to the story, but it does scratch that very human itch of asking "what if." After all, what is fantasy more than the human capacity to ask "what if" and then set to work trying to answer that question?

Up Next: Pixel Pixies by Charles de Lint and The Moon Pearl by A. Merritt

The Mammoth Book of Fantasy (Cont.): The Platypus Reads Part CIX

2011-08-03T11:09:00.000-07:00

Lady of the Skulls by Patricia A. McKillip

As with Tanith Lee, Patricia A. McKillip represents a return to an emphasis on well-crafted language as opposed to break-neck pacing. Indeed, like Lee, the pacing of the story is much more leisurely, and it also has more than a little of the detective story about it. Unlike Lee's "A Hero at the Gates," however, "Lady of the Skulls" is not a detective story disguised as a fantasy. It is instead a modernizing of a traditional fairy tale trope: the choice that exposes the hero's heart.

To summarize the action of "Lady of the Skulls," we are presented with the classic "maiden in an enchanted tower" trope. The tower resides in the middle of a desert and is filled with all sort of amazing riches over which the lady serves as custodian. A hero may spend twenty-four hours in the tower, but after that he must either leave or take what he believes to be the most valuable thing in the tower and leave. If he guesses right and indeed takes the most valuable thing in the tower he will live and posses the whole tower. if he guesses wrong, he will die the minute he steps outside the gate. In a modern twist, the story is told with the maiden, not the hero, as the focal character. We get to see what it might be like to be the custodian of an enchanted tower. Of course, you can guess how the rest goes. A gaggle of heroes comes and falls to deciding what treasure is the greatest. One of them picks a "smart" answer, water, and dies. The other are horrified except one who's nicer and smarter than the rest. Can you guess what he chooses? Yep, the lady. Incidentally, the story ends before we find out if he's chosen right. The real interest of the story comes when the knight learns how the lady was made custodian of the tower. She used to be prostitute until she refused to service a wizard. The wizard, seeing that a life of selling herself for money had forced the woman to erect a "tower" within herself, magically sets her as the undying guard over a real tower in the desert. So for years, she has lived in the tower by herself with plants grown in the skulls of the tower's victims as her only solace (hence her name "lady of the skulls.")

"Lady of the Skulls" marks a departure with the last several tales in that it presents us with an explicit moral point. The fact that we never find out if the knight did guess right may obscure it for a moment, but it is no more than a literary technique to get us to think more carefully about what we've just been told. I'll take my stab at what I think the moral is, though if I'm wrong I won't drop dead the next time I step out the door. I think the wizard has given the woman what she wants: a place where no man will abuse her again and those who do ignore her person-hood will pay the ultimate price. The only way she can leave or be taken from this place of safety is if a man comes who values her more than all the treasure, or one she feels safe enough to confide her story to. It may not be a fool-proof plan, but it's good enough for wizarding work. Of course, the problem is that it takes years of waiting alone in the tower for Mr. right to come and that can get awful dispiriting in addition to having to watch so many people get hurt. Putting that into the cogitator, I think the moral comes out thus: if we are vulnerable and open to relationship, people will take advantage of us and hurt us, but the emotional and psychological costs of removing ourselves from all relationships are too high not to risk it.

Sunlight on the Water by Louise Cooper

Cooper's tale is in a similar artistic vein to McKillip's. The feel of the work also seems to bare a strong similarity to Ursula K. LeGuin. As with Dunsany's "The Horde of the Gibbelins," this story really needs to be read through tabula rasa, so I'll leave it at that. See what you think of the ending and the moral. I'd be interested to hear other people's thoughts on this one.

Next Up: Paladin of the Lost Hour by Harlan Ellison and Yesterday Was Monday by Theodore Sturgeon

The Mammoth Book of Fantasy (Cont.): The Platypus Reads Part CVIII

2011-08-02T10:32:00.000-07:00

The Bells of Shoredan by Roger Zelazny

Zelazny follows Moorcock and trumps him in matter of pacing over elegance. His dialog sounds even more like a pastiche and his naming faculty is even weaker (ie. the "green boots of elfland"). Nevertheless, the pacing is so well handled that once you start reading its almost impossible to put down. Short stories, lacking time for minutely developed plots and characters, seem the ideal form for this style of writing. If this wasn't a short story I think that I might have burned out on mere pacing or that the thinness of the world would have overcome my interest and credulity in Dilvish's daring-do.

Speaking of Dilvish (sounds like devilish?), Zelazny, as with Moorcock, Vance, and Howard, continues in the sword and sorcery tradition of creating anti-heroes. This is something we don't see very much in earlier pulp writers like Edgar Rice Burroughs (or do we?). Howard is a bit ahead of the trend, but the other writers seem to be situated squarely in the mid to late 60s, and that may explain a good deal. Still, it may be an American quirk, brought over from frontier stories and general American antipathy for respectability, refinement, and authority. Whichever it is (or both), this point transitions nicely to Tanith Lee and her unique way of toying with the anti-hero in "A Hero at the Gates."

A Hero at the Gates by Tanith Lee

Tanith Lee sets us up almost from the beginning of her story to believe that we've stumbled on another mercenary anti-hero. She also sets us up to believe that we're reading another run-of-the mill fantasy adventure. I have to confess that I was fooled on both counts. Form follows function, and just as nothing within the story is as it seems, so the story itself is not what it seems either. The hero Cyrion is really a hero, but his proper genre is Noir and the story's proper genre is crime fiction.

"A Hero at the Gates" sets us up for a traditional "kill the bad, get the girl, get the shiny" story. We are presented with a mysterious desert town whose inhabitants are plagued by a bloodthirsty monster that stalks the each night ala "Beowulf." The prince of the city, like a desert Hrothgar, is impotent in face of the evil. He begs Cyrion to rid him of the monster and promises gold in return. Cyrion walks carefree and haughty through the whole opening and has us pretty quickly convinced that he is an urbane but mercenary thug who merely wants to take advantage of these poor people for his own benefit. We then have a twist. While resting in his room, Cyrion hears a voice calling his name and discovers a small hole in the floor. Through the hole in the floor, he can see a beautiful woman. The woman tells Cyrion that he has been trapped and that the inhabitants of the city intend to capture him and sacrifice him and the woman to the monster. His only apparent hope of escape is a secret door in the wall which leads to the monster's cave. If he can defeat the monster now, he may be able to rescue the girl and escape. Cyrion hears all this and makes several heartless responses that drive the poor woman to tears. Nevertheless, he brave the secret passage and effortlessly kills the beast. So far, so good. Now things begin to become strange. Instead of rescuing the maiden, he hacks off her head and presents it to the prince. The prince is instantly relieved and informs Cyrion that the woman was really a witch that was holding the entire town hostage. Cyrion then boasts that he knew this and proceeds, ala Hercule Poirot, to list all the things that had tipped him off. He the goes to the treasury and claims the finest things he can find for his reward. The grateful prince offer him the rule of the city, which Cyrion declines. On the way out of the gates, the citizens stage a celebration. Upon seeing the faces of two children, however, Cyrion throws his bag of treasure at the prince and promptly beheads him. The astonished guards ask how Cyrion knew that the prince was also an evil enchanter. Cyrion lists his observations and then scatters the treasure to the people showing himself to really be the traditional hero of fantasy and fairy tale.

This was a great little piece that made amends for some of the artistic defects of the last two writers. Maybe it was reading Moorcock and Zelazny back to back before this story, but I was not expecting all the clever little twists, and was taken completely by surprise. I don't want to denigrate Moorcock and Zelazny, who have proven themselves to have real talent, but I think that Lee was able to achieve a superior effect without making the artistic sacrifices of the other two authors.

Next Up: Lady of the Skulls by Patricia A. McKillip and Sunlight on the Water by Louise Cooper

The Mammoth Book of Fantasy (Cont.): The Platypus Reads Part XVII

2011-08-01T13:10:00.000-07:00

Moving on from Vance and back into darker fare, we come to Darrell Schweitzer and Michael Moorcock.

King Yvorian's Wager by Darrell Schweitzer

When I read the first few pages of this, I swore I was back in Earthsea. Yvorian and his people seem strangely similar to fair-haired men of Karego-At and their god kings. It is also similar in concept and tone, though not ending, to Clark Ashton Smith's "The Last Hieroglyph." The form that the story takes, however, is that of a parable or a morality play. The message we've heard before: it's better to be poor and have love and meaningful work than to be rich, loveless and idle. Schweitzer is able to couch this moral in a story that, while still conventional, is able to capture the audience's attention and carry them through to the finish. Overall, there is nothing outstanding about the piece except in so far as it shows the author's ability to tell a compelling tale. So far in this collection, that's becoming a bit of a theme.

Kings in Darkness by Michael Moorcock and James Cawthorn

With Michael Moorcock we come to a subtle shift in the collection. To be precise, it's the point at which the verbal craftsmanship in the stories takes a sharp decline. Previously, all the authors in the collection have been preeminent wordsmiths, carefully selecting every word on the page to create a distinct tone or voice that draws us into another world. With Moorcock we run into an author that puts his creative eggs into another basket. Moorcock's writing seems a little phoney and slap-dash, but it's not where the power of his story comes from, that lies instead on a firm mastery of pacing. The speed at which the action occurs in "Three Kings in Darkness" is what keeps the reader reading, as well as the well-timed (and short) breaks in the action which provide just enough time to rally before something else exciting occurs. I suspect this emphasis on fast pacing owes more than a little to Robert E. Howard, but even Howard's admittedly pulpy prose seems much more planned than Moorcock's "git 'er done" style of writing. I also sense that unlike the earlier authors, Moorcock doesn't care about verisimilitude in creating his imagined world. The names, places, and the way that the characters speak all has a phoney, trumped-up, note about it as if someone is casually remembering their high school Shakespeare and trying to reproduce it on the page in slip-shod fashion. Still, as with author Terry Brooks, good strong pacing can amend for much and "Kings in Darkness" still turns out to be a page turner. It's a good reminder to aspiring authors that there isn't one sure path to literary victory.

Next Up: The Bells of Shoredan by Roger Zelazny and A Hero at the Gates by Tanith Lee

Mammoth Book of Fantasy (Cont.): The Platypus Reads Part CVI

2011-07-30T11:05:00.000-07:00

The Last Hieroglyph by Clark Ashton Smith

I've been wanting to read a little of Clark Ashton Smith's ever since I discovered Lovecraft and Howard. With the "The Last Hieroglyph," I finally have my chance.

To begin, Smith has a more polished writing style than either Lovecraft or Howard. If I had to pick a word to describe it, I think I would choose "smooth." He shares Lovecraft's love for "big words," but deploys them with greater subtly than his Poe-inspired colleague. This gives Smith's language a feel of authority and a sort of Dunsanian mesmerism that isn't present in Howard or in much of Lovecraft ("The Quest of Unknown Kadath" being a notable exception). This style works well with Smith's chosen subject matter: the mystic journey of an astrologer and his two followers.

"The Last Hieroglyph" tells the story of the itinerant astrologer Nushain and his two companions, a dog and a slave, who travel on a mystic quest to the home of the god Vergama. On this quest, they are guided by three mystic creatures, a mummy, a merman, and a salamander. Each messengers' coming is foretold by the sudden appearance of a new hieroglyph on Nushain's nativity chart. The chart is drawn up at the beginning of the story in response to a strange appearance of three new stars in Nushain's birth constellation. Following the mystic guides, Nushain and his followers pass through the realms of death, ocean, and fire to meet the great god Vergama in his throne room. Upon completing the quest, Nushain is told that Vergama is the ultimate god who creates all things out of his book and then recalls them again to resume their place upon the page when their time comes. Nushain tries to flee, but he and his companions are drawn back into the book and become mere hieroglyphs themselves.

Unlike Howard's story, there is a grim moral to "The Last Hieroglyph," and it seems to be that cosmic meaning is hidden from us and it is better for a man to not try and unravel it. This moral is given force by the Lovecraftian note of cosmic horror on which the story ends. The idea of human life being reducible to a cypher or a sign has all sorts of tantalizing postmodern suggestions but until I've read more of Smith's work and gotten a better feel for his mental world I'll refrain from hopping off down that rabbit trail.

The Sorcerer Pharesm by Jack Vance

This is the first story in the collection with more of a comic turn, though Dunsany has provided us with a bit of gallows humor. Vance's hero, the inept thief Cugel, is of that stripe of lovable jerks that so often appear in comedy films such as Seutalus in "A Funny Thing Happened to me on my Way to the Forum" or the protagonists of "The Producers." The pompous absurdity loquacity of much of the dialog further alerts us that we should not take anything in the tale seriously.

"The Sorcerer Pharesm" is an episode within the greater story of Cugel's quest to free himself of the tyrannous monitor Firx placed in him by the wizard Iucounu. In typical comic fashion, Cugel is thinking of abandoning the quest because he is hungry. Firx attempts to spur him on until Cugel informs him that he will starve himself to death unless he can get some real food and thus thwart Iucounu's mission. Firx, not being to bright, agrees and Cugel stops by a curious group of workman to beg for food. Seeing Cugel, the chief workman attempts to enlist him in the project which has been continuing for some three hundred years under the guidance of the wizard Pharesm. While Cugel is pondering whether such a move will bring him food and sex, the wizard appears and promptly rejects Cugel for the work. Disappointed, Cugel wanders off and finds a strange creature in the midst of the construction and eats it. Foolishly, he mentions this fact to the wizard on his way out sending the enchanter into a rage. Pharsem then informs Cugel that the creature he ate is nothing less than the TOTALITY, and that Pharesm has spent hundreds of years trying to catch it. As punishment for his crime, the wizard sends Cugel a million years back into the past to where the TOTALITY has fled in order to bring it back. Cugel, forced to make the journey discovers a strange land of orange people who worship a race of lying insects that kills them off. Cugel attempts to be a suave intercultural adventurer, but his sexual appetites cause him to run afoul of several local taboos and he is punished by being handed over to the winged insects who Cugel promptly thrashes. During the course of his thrashing, he discovers the TOTALITY, but the insects snatch it away from him in the midst of transporting back to the future. Upon his return, Pharesm makes one last attempt to recover TOTALITY before dismissing Cugel in severe frustration and returning to his manse.

Cugel's story is rather amusing, especially in its witty repartee. There's nothing at all serious to be gotten out of it aside from a few laughs, but that seems to be the point. The only criticism I can venture is that this episode seems too much like Cugel's original encounter with Iucounu giving the impression that Vance has run out of ideas and begun to repeat himself.

Next Up: King Yvorian's Wager by Darrell Sweitzer and Kings in Darkness by Michael Moorcock and James Cawthorn

More Mammoth Book of fantasy: The Platypus Reads Part CXV

2011-07-29T10:29:00.000-07:00

Continuing with "The Mammoth Book of Fantasy," we come to the titans Howard and Dunsany.

The Valley of the Worm by Robert E. Howard

I've generally liked what Conan stories I've read, but that's the only thing I've read by this foundational author of the sword and sorcery genre. I was worried that moving beyond the confines of Conan would be a disappointing experience. That worry proved to be unfounded as "The Valley of the Worm" is every bit as much fun as the Conan stories I've read.

Briefly, "The Valley of the Worm" is the story of a modern man recalling his past life as a prehistoric warrior whose tribe stumbles upon a horror from a yet more ancient era. This tale of Niord and the Worm is supposed to be the origin (via racial memory?) of all the later accounts of heroes and dragons.

Right off the bat, we can see the influence of H.P. Lovecraft on the tale with its psuedo-academic racism, suggestions of elder gods, and the physical appearance of the Worm. This Lovecraftian element is worked together seamlessly with Howard's own ideal of the noble savage existing outside the corrupting confines of civilization. I find this fusion of Lovecraftian mythos and Howardian psuedo-history to be particularly enjoyable when I encounter it and I suspect the taste is fairly wide-spread as the success of Hellboy and its spin-offs seems to testify. That aside, the only technical failing the story can be upbraided with is the brief introduction of Satha the snake who is too much like the Worm and thus makes that portion of the narrative confusing and repetitive. There is no strong suggestion of a moral, unless it be Howard's firm siding with his barbarians over civilization, and so the story is easy to enjoy as simply a thrilling tale (which is doubtless the way Howard meant it).

The Horde of the Gibbelins by Lord Dunsany

I always love the tone or voice of Lord Dunsany's stories. There's something spell-binding about it in the tradition of all the best fairy-tales. My first encounter with him was in "The Queen of Elfland's Daughter." As with that story, "The Horde of the Gibbelins" strikes me as being "almost genius" with just the hint of something unbalanced to throw it off. I think, in the end, Dunsany may be so fond of telling a tale that he gets a bit slip-shod about details like endings. That may be a premature judgement as this short story is only the second piece I've read. Unlike "The Valley of the Worm," there is a wry (in the best Irish tradition) moral to this tale that can only fully be appreciated by reading it "tabula rasa," so I won't pester you with a summary or any hint of a spoiler. Just read it and see what you think.

Next Up: The Last Hieroglyph by Clark Ashton Smith, and The Sorcerer Pharesm by Jack Vance

Something Besides Shannara: The Platypus Reads Part CXIV

2011-07-28T11:52:00.000-07:00

So, what else have I been reading? Well I did finally finish "The Tales of Beedle the Bard" and "Traveling Heroes in the Epic Age of Homer," and I'm more than half way through "The Guns of August." Traveling to Ohio and California for three weeks has slowed the literary machine down a bit, but there's also a collection of short stories called "The Mammoth Book of Fantasy" to add to the list. Basically, it's a survey of the development of Fantasy literature in the 20th century. Practically, it's given me a chance to explore various important fantasy authors without having to hunt down out-of-print books and expensive collected editions. In other words, it saves time, and if I don't like an author I can move on without having blown a wad of cash.

That said, I thought I'd offer some thoughts on the various short stories in the collection. I'll post the title of each one in bold, so that if you haven't read it and want to remain spoiler free you can just skip a bit. I don't know if I'll be able to review all the short stories in the collection, but I'll give it my best shot.

The Wall Around the World by Theodore R. Cogswell

This story is a sort of Harry Potter before Harry Potter with its misunderstood orphan, magical prep-school, and broom-stick riding. With these superficial similarities, however, the likeness ends. Mr. Cogswell sets out to tell a very different kind of story in his world of wizardry than Rowling with her Hogwarts. Rowling's world is a metaphor for our own while Cogswell's is a plan for the scientific society of the future. In Rowling's world, manipulating people for the purpose of achieving power is evil, while in Cogswell's world it is the essence of human advancement.

Briefly, "The Wall Around the World" tells the story of the orphan boy Porgie who lives with his stern but well-meaning Uncle and Aunt and malicious cousin. Unlike Harry, Porgie already lives in the land of magic and spends all his time dreaming how to get out. Porgie is obsessed with the thousand-foot wall that encircles his world and that no one has ever seen the top. Filled with a longing to know, Progie begins using forbidden science in conjunction with magic and is punished for his attempts by his aunt and uncle and the scoolmaster, Mr. Wickens. In the end, Porgie is able to construct a glider and get to the top of the wall where he finds Mr. Wickens disguised as a gate-keeping boogie man. Wickens informs Porgie that he is pleased with the boy's success and that the outer world is run on scientific principles. The world inside the wall is an experiment where people are raised knowing only magic in the hope that they will perfect it and so provide humanity with complete mastery over the universe. The people who inhabit the walled community are of course ignorant of this. Porgie, as a sort of kwisatz-haderach, is then admitted into the bright and glowing world of science which he will presumably enrich with his magical abilities.

The fact that Cogswell does not even try to problematize his world of human lab rats is particularly disturbing. It's as if Voldemort where to meet up with Harry and slap him on the back then offer to team up with him since he's such a clever boy with Rowling's hearty approval. I hope there is a layer of narrative irony that I'm missing here. It is possible to read "Brave New World," for instance, and miss the fact that Huxley is revolted by the society and characters he narrates. If not, then the moral one really walks away with seems to be "isn't it fun to be special and to be able to treat average people like ants?" That seems to be the exact opposite of what we learn from Rowling's Harry Potter.

Darkrose and Diamond by Ursula K. LeGuin

Let me begin by saying that I love Ms. Leguin's work. You should now know where the review is going from here...

The tone, world, and plot of "Darkrose and Diamond" is all flawlessly Earthsea and as such makes for an enjoyable read. It was in the moral of the story that I found something lacking. To be blunt, it was trite. I could have learned the same thing from a Disney movie: women are good, men are offish and confused but usually mean well when they're not stuck in a chauvinist rut, and it's always best to follow your heart. Thank you baby boomers. We've got that message down. Still, if you like Earthsea, this one's worth it for the fun of returning to LeGuin's richly imagined world.

Coming up next: "The Valley of the Worm" by Robert E. Howard and "The Horde of the Gibbelins" by Lord Dunsany

Final Thoughts on "The Wishsong of Shannara:" The Platypus Reads Part CXIII

2011-07-21T17:51:00.000-07:00

What can I say now that I've wrapped up the initial Shannara series after a fifteen year hiatus?

I think Tom Shipey is right, these books only exist because they scratch the Tolkien itch. They are to Tolkien what Geogette Heyer is to Jane Austen except at a more doggerel level. I mean no disrespect to Mr. Brooks. He's a prolific author and clearly worked relentlessly over the course of a decade to produce these novels. Even as pulp, however, they do not reach the level of Rider Haggard, Edgar Rice-Burroughs, or even Robert Heinlein. I'm sure, given the learning-curve in these books and the author's dedication, that Brooks' later work gets better and I'm looking forward to reading it. We'll see where he stands in the end. In the meantime, however, for someone interested in the development of fantasy literature, Terry Brooks cannot be ignored. Whatever the shortcomings of the Shannara Series, they proved to the publishing world that "The Lord of the Rings" was not a mere freak. There was a decided hunger for fantasy among the general public, and that hunger was ravenous. So ravenous was it, that almost anything put on offer would be devoured with an instant call for more. For better or for worse, the all-consuming "Maelmord" that is the fantasy section of any Barnes and Noble can be directly attributed to Terry Brooks.

That aside, some final thoughts on "The Wishsong of Shannara" itself:

1. This is really Jair's story. The initial project to have two heroes in this tale never fully materializes. Brin and the characters that people her portion of the plot always seem subservient to her brother's narrative and it often feels as if Brooks invents filler episodes, such as the Grimpond, merely to flesh her story out.

2. Brin's journey into the Maelmord and encounter with the Ildatch are disturbingly homoerotic. I'm really not sure if that is what Brooks intended, but that's decidedly how it comes off. Make of that what you will.

3. I'm not sure if Brooks originally intended to continue the series. Looking back at the past two books, all the set up for The Heritage of Shannara Series is there, but perhaps Brooks simply pulled out material that had little significance originally and capitalized on it in the creation of the new series. I guess I'll have to do some digging.

4. The last chapter of the book has a sort of "childish" feel to it that confirms that "The Wishsong of Shannara" is properly classed as young adult or teen fiction.

5. Brooks, like many American fantasy authors, seems to have caught the sound of Tolkien's world without its substance. Bear with me, but I think Americans are better at writing science fiction than Tolkienesque high fantasy. There are some notable exceptions, especially Ursula K. Le Guin's "A Wizard of Earthsea." it makes sense when you think about it. Lewis and Tolkien still inhabited a country where some stretches were still catching up with the industrial revolution, and the university where they taught represented a living continuity with the Middle Ages, as did the churches in which they worshiped, and the pub and inn culture where they sought refreshment. There were even castles aplenty for the viewing. The war that both men fought in, and which the warfare of "The Lord of the Rings" faithfully reproduces in many ways, still had a very medieval cast to it. It was fought by nobles who took their peasantry to war with them in the service of king, kaiser, and czar. The first clash between the British and the Germans was fought between cavalry with swords and lances. Even in the midst of barbed wire and high explosive, the spirit of chivalry still broke out at every turn. The British fantasy authors of the 20th century, Lewis, Eddison, Tolkien, etc. enjoyed a distinct advantage in producing a creditable medieval fantasy world that their American counterparts lacked. Conversely, the space race provided the impetus for the golden age of American science fiction. All that to say that The Prancing Pony is an Inn while the Ohmsfords own somebody who's read Tolkien's idea of an Inn.

Anyhow, those are my closing thoughts. I've been reading other stuff this summer, so maybe I'll come back and post a bit about that as well in the coming weeks. Thanks for reading.

More Thoughts on the Wishsong:The Platypus Reads Part CXII

2011-07-19T00:19:00.000-07:00

I'm on page 336, and I have to confess that I am having some trouble staying motivated. The tone of the work is consistent and enchanting, but the plot incidents and characters leave something to be desired.

Thoughts:

This book is more interesting when Brooks is writing about Jair. "The Wishsong of Shannara" feels like a book and a half. There's this main story with Jair that Brooks is interested in and then this under-developed story with his sister that Brooks is obligated to include. The narrative always seems to flail a bit when we turn back to Brin. Allanon helps a bit, but Rone and Brin drag and even the Druid can't make up for their lack of depth. If Brin was a deeper character, then the whole thing could be saved, but she's always a little shallow and paste-board and it's hard to care about her or her journey. Following this trend, many of the characters that Brin and Rone encounter on their journey feel thin or implausible while those that Jair encounters are a bit more robust.

Slanter the gnome is entirely too petulant to ever have been the big, tough, tracker he's supposed to be. It's not that he isn't believable as a personality, it's just that his personality doesn't fit his backstory.

The Grimpond is too much like a recycle of the Hadeshorn and Bremen to be used in the same novel. It feels like Brooks needs filler for the Brin plotline and is flailing.

Jair's supporting cast, especially Garret Jax, are well drawn and work. He even is able to make the character of Helt non-redundant by deftly inserting the "gentle giant" trope in a place where we weren't looking for it.

Terry Brooks has some sort of obsession with trappers and pioneers in these last two books that's at odds with the medieval fantasy world that he's created. It is a fantasy world, and a post-apocalyptic one at that, so he is free to people it as he chooses but in the end the world still needs to feel coherent. Every time a trapper or "old guy living out in the wilderness" appears I feel like we've strayed into another novel. Cogline's home sounds like someone's retreat house in the Pacific Northwest, not the sort of place where a mad-man and his adopted daughter eke out a bare-bones existence in the middle of some of the most hostile territory since the last novel.

That's sort of a laundry list, but I wanted to get the small thoughts out while they were still fresh. I have some big thoughts cooking, but they may have to wait until I finish the novel. Best wishes all until next time!

Further Notes on the Wishsong: The Platypus Reads Part CXI

2011-07-11T15:40:00.000-07:00

If Terry Brooks uses the word "shrugged" one more time I will scream. Moody teenagers shrug, not the heroes of epic fantasy. I can't believe his editor didn't take a read pen to every single appearance of that word in the text. Other than that, at a little more than a quarter through the book the writing style of "The Wishsong of Shannara" continues to be a definate improvement over "The Elfstones of Shannara." I would also add that the plot is more complex than that of the Elfstones while also being easier to follow and generally more artistically interlaced. There's a definite learning curve in Brooks' work and I'd be interested to know where it caps out over the course of his thirty + year career. He also seems to be much more certain of his audience (young teenage boys) and writes consistently with them in mind (Note that the story cannot primarily be about Brin but about Jair's quest to save Brin).

In other news, he has dispensed with the human meatshields of the Elfstones. Doing so, however, means a return to the stock-in-trade company-on-a-quest motif and begins to drag the book back toward "The Sword of Shannara" and second-rate Tolkien pastiche. It also runs the risk of Brooks repeating himself. The skull bearers are replaced by Mord Wraiths, the besieged Wesland replaced by the besieged Eastland, Elstones and Sword of Shannara replaced by the Wishsong, and the Reaper replaced by the Jakra. It's a good thing that he decided to end the first series at this point as it really does run the risk of becoming a mere "Hardy Boys meets Tolkien."

First Notes on "The Wishsong of Shannara": The Platypus reads Part CX

2011-07-06T09:34:00.000-07:00

Immediately after finishing "The Elfstones of Shannara," I have moved on to its sequel "The Wishsong of Shannara." We've had guests over the last few days so I've only reached page 41. We'll be busy during most of July, so it would be difficult to live blog through the book as I did with "The Elfstones of Shannara." That said, let me offer my initial thoughts and I'll post more when there's time and opportunity.

"The Wishsong of Shannara" opens in Autumn, and it is an autumnal work. Something is fading and passing from the Four Lands. This something is Allanon. The demands of keeping the Four Lands safe have aged him, and the Druid is but a shadow of his former self. He even complains that no one recognizes him when he first appears to the Omsfords. We also know that he has begun to experience failure and a loss of his powers as the Mael Mord has thwarted his attempt to destroy the Ildatch. All this is to say that Allanon, the only constant character through the first three novels and their prequel, is dying. This stands out all the more when we look at our youthful cast who seem aged 14,17, and 18, respectively (this should also give us a clue as to who Brooks' perceived audience is).

Nature always reflects plot in the world of Shannara; a lesson learned from Tolkien. Our plot is also autumnal. No grand clash with evil is promised, no chance for heroic sacrifice, just a quick "get in, get out;"
a twilight struggle for a twilight age in which the last of the Druids is dying.

All of this, of course, impacts mood. The overall mood of the novel thus far is quiet and sad, even though the pacing is quintessential Brooks. The youthful heroes are teenage friends in exactly the way I remember teenage friendship, but they do not lighten the sense of failure, desperation, and passing.

Some final thoughts and that will be that. This book has a clear, compelling tone that is lacking in "The Elfstones of Shannara." Brooks starts the novel on top of his game. As the art cranks up a notch, however, it also exposes some of the weakness of Brook's underlying machinery. We can already see clearly within the first forty pages that the Shannara novels all follow the same formula: Allanon appears to teenage Ohmsfords telling them of an impending crisis which only they can overt by magical means and wins them over after a brief initial resistance then taking them on a quest which opens up more of geography on the map of the Four Lands (North, West, East, respectively) resulting in a victory but also exposing Allanon's deceptive and manipulative tactics. We also begin to see that the Ohmsford heroes will always be teenagers (both Bilbo and Frodo, by contrast, are in their fifties when they set out, though Sam, Pippin, and Merry are all younger) as the novels are primarily serial novels for teenagers (age 12-16 at a guess). This sense of formula and repetition necessitates the death of the series and its relaunch if the quality is going to continue to climb. Brooks seems to have sensed this too, and "The Wishsong of Shannara" is the last book in the original trilogy. A discussion of whether Brooks makes any improvements will have to wait for a read through the Heritage of Shannara series.

What Else Has the Platypus Been Reading: The Platypus Reads Part CIX

2011-07-01T10:14:00.000-07:00

So not everything this summer has been my usual return to pulp. We've been part of a reading group and that has given me the opportunity to expand my reading beyond its normal confines. I love the old classics and, conversely, I have great difficulty with many of the "new classics." However, their newness and my lack of interest don't make them any less important. Indeed, as I now teach moderns, knowing them a bit better has become a necessity. Even if it wasn't, I still believe in reading broadly. So here's what I've been torturing myself with: "Hannah Coulter" by Wendel Berry, "Gilead" by Marilynne Robinson, and "Brideshead Revisited" by Evelyn Waugh. N.B.- I have ranked them in the order of preference from least to greatest.

Now there is something odd I've discovered: I prefer the dead Brit to the living Americans. That could be because I have studied at Oxford (the setting of the first part of "Brideshead Revisited") and have only grown up next to farms. It could also be that I'm not a woman and I'm not a pastor or the son of a pastor but I do know a few things about college friendships (even if Waugh is writing about homoerotic ones and I've only experienced heterosexual ones) and maturing to the age of thirty. I also found "Hannah Coulter" ponderously slow and rather preachy, "Gilead" less slow (but still ponderous) and less preachy, and "Brideshead Revisited" neither slow, nor ponderous, nor (oddly as it's a Catholic apologetic) preachy. I found all of them technically excellent and all of them to have great depths to their themes and messages. All three were definitely books worth reading, but I'm still just a little stuck on my order of preference.

Now this brings me to a question I find interesting. How much does our liking for a work depend on our ability to identify with its world and protagonist(s)? Before you jump in, think about all the fantasy and science fiction you like. Have you ever been to the Moon, been promoted to general, been chased by a cyclops, lived for a thousand years, or made first contact with an alien species? So the connection must be at some sort of deeper level. Could it be gender? Have you ever really enjoyed a book with a protagonist of the opposite sex? Then what is it? A similar life journey or a similar view of the world? But I like "Dune" and I'm neither a materialist nor a world-traveling journalist. Nietzsche preaches a worldview that I find noxious and yet I love reading him. So my big question remains: why do we like the books we like?

Wrapping Up the Elfstones: The Platypus Reads Part CVIII

2011-07-01T09:33:00.000-07:00

This whole string of posts has been one set of spoilers. Sorry about forgetting to post the obligatory warning. So, now that we're getting down to the finale:

*Spoiler Alert!*

So, I was right about Cephelo. Brooks has given us reason to like this guy and reason to despise him. He's that likable rogue that could go either way. Unlike Panamon Creel in "The Sword of Shannara," Cephelo fails the test and suffers for it, but we don't quite feel that it's his just deserts. That's a bit of nuance and I give Brooks full points for his Rover thread. It's probably the strongest thread in the book. The Elessedil family thread never completely gels, though Ander and Evantine do achieve that status of fully-developed characters by the end.

That said, once the narrative reaches Hollows and the siege of Arborlon, it kicks into high gear and never lets up until the end. This is solid page-turner territory in the tradition of Hope, Haggard, and Burroughs. The rest of the book often seems to flail, but in the last third Brooks finds his rhythm the work comes together.

My test of when Brooks has been firing on all cylinders so far has been the aura of enchantment and suspense. If that's the test, then the episode with the Witch sisters passes with flying colors. The whole piece feels like a fairy tale spiced with just the right amount of Victorian adventure novel. Indeed, the witch sisters and Safehold both reminded me a good deal of "She." It's good to see that Brooks has some other influences aside from Tolkien. Indeed, I think that here we finally see him begin to individuate a bit from the master. No longer is the story just vulgarized "Lord of the Rings," but something genuinely Terry Brooks. Hopefully, this is a sign of things to come in "The Wishsong of Shannara." Speaking of the wishsong, we can again see Brooks setting up for it in his insistence that the Elfstones are physically changing Wil the more he uses them.

The chamber of the Bloodfire is the real climax of the novel even though there's some fun fireworks with the fight between Allanon and the Dagda Mor. Here we get to find out what the quest means. Brooks handles this well by using the Bloodfire and the elfstones as an excuse to slow down time and allow his characters to introspect. What they find seems to be a conflict of meanings. On the one hand, both characters come to realize their own sufficiency and, in very American fashion, come to believe in themselves. We all know what Chesterton would say to that. The other thing they discover, however, is their ability to sacrifice. Both Wil and Amberle have to give up something precious to them in order to answer a higher calling. Wil, full of iron determination, has to admit that he's been wrong about the elfstones, that there are some things in life that can't be forced by sheer stubbornness. In a similar vein, Amberle has to confront her desire to be her own woman at all costs. Both of these characters are stubborn and rather self-centered in their stubbornness. In contrast to the first meaning, believing in oneself, they also have to discover a second meaning to the work: the need to lose oneself. I don't know if these two meanings can really be synthesized. One belongs to the world of the therapeutic worldview and another belongs to the tragic. It's as if at the critical moment, Brooks the author is being pulled two ways; one way by his shallow late-modern worldview and another by the deeper and more mythic demands of the story he's telling. In the end, I think the shallower meaning is simply bowled over by the more powerful theme of self-sacrifice. At any rate, that's the theme, along with some vague eco-worship, that Brooks will play up in the denouement.

What can be said after that? The battle for Arborlon provides lots of action and a grand fight scene between Allanon and the Dagda Mor. The pace is break-neck right up to the renewal of the Ellcrys. The denouement is of appropriate length and allows us to see the real trauma Wil has suffered. I think most importantly, though, the denouement allows us a larger window into Allanon's enigmatic character. We see at the end that he too knows about sacrifice and actually does have compassion and empathy. This deepens the character from the "brooding bully for good" that we get in "The Sword of Shannara." As I said at the start so I hold at the end: Allanon is the central figure of the book and of the series. Like a dark and forbidding Peter Pan, he entices the Ohmsford youths down the generations into worlds of adventure. Unlike Barry's creation, however, this strange god can grow old.

To finish up then. Would I have read this book to the end if I simply picked it up at the library? No. Has it lived up to my vague childhood memories? No. Is it still a fun read? Yes.

George Lucas says that great works are never finished, they are just abandoned in various stages of completion. I'd say the same is true for "The Elfstones of Shannara." It has the feel of a novel purposely abandoned at one particular stage of completion. That's a hard thing to say as I looked up the author's bio and saw how much work went into producing the current volume. Terry Brooks has guts and drive. Still, it feels like an unfinished product. However, the book did show that his success with "The Sword of Shannara" was not a mere fluke and bought him a chance to try again. Oh for the days when publishers were willing to wait a decade for writers like Brooks to mature! However, a maturing author still needs a public that will buy their books while they're still ripening. Here is were Brooks' real genius comes in. He seems to have seen that there was a real taste for Tolkien after Tolkien, but nobody but Tolkien can be Tolkien. It took the life's work of a genius to produce "The Lord of the Rings" and other authors, even geniuses, are not that patient and single-minded. Brooks found that the public was willing to accept an inferior product so long as it gave them the same fix. He purposefully removed the most time-consuming parts of Tolkien (the poetry, history, songs, and culture) and played up the element of Edwardian pulp that gives the novel its drive. Thus, Brooks was the first American author to really charge head-long through the door that Tolkien opened when virtually created the epic fantasy novel. That is Brooks' lasting legacy, and ultimately what has made me commit to this literary journey of blogging his second novel.

Shannara Platypus: The Platypus Reads Part CVII

2011-06-28T10:06:00.000-07:00

Look at Wil, now back to Ander, now back at Wil, now back at Ander. Wil doesn't look like Ander, but he could smell like him... Ok, so now we're ramping up the pace as the novel heads towards its climax. That means switching back and forth between the two narratives every chapter or two to raise the tension. We'll start with the elves and demons.

Elves and Demons. Brooks sets us up for that great fantasy cliche "the siege." Ever since Tolkien gave us the battle of Helm's Deep and the siege of Minas Tirith, the epic battle for the bastion of the forces of light has become the sin qua non of fantasy writing. Brooks has worked up to this moment with the battles of the passes and the Sarandanon. Even though there are three battles in this book, they are wisely deployed. Each battle has some novel element that separates it from the others and thus keeps the the story from becoming repetitive. After all, three battles in two-hundred pages? That could get tiresome. He even reuses the trope of "small band of soldiers facing vast horde of merciless foes but relieved at the last moment by as small and colorful band of allies". The difference in this case is that we've moved from pitched battle to a siege. We also get the unexpected appearance of the Wing Riders, thus tying our two narrative threads together again, and the return of Eventine. Speaking of Eventine, is Brooks being a little to obvious in tipping his hand about who the spy is? I know he's trying to make us nervous, but was that the right move?

Moving back to Wil and Amberle, Brooks gives us a plausible reason for why Cephelo saves our duo yet again: he wants the elfstones. Now I can't remember from when I last read this book, but I imagine that will get him killed. Perfidy never goes unrewarded in these books. Eretria is back to throwing herself at will, there being no such thing as a restraining order or sexual harassment suit in Wilderun. This now creates some nice tension as Wil and Amberle have bonded and Eretria threatens to drive them apart. Wil does the decent thing, however, and sends the fan service, I mean young Rover girl away. Before that happens, however, we get to meet Hebble. When we first meet him, it's as if we've strayed over into a Wendel Berry novel. Of course, this jars a little with the fact that Brooks has gone to great lengths to convince us of the utter lethality of Wilderun. Oh well, a little extra will in the willing suspension of disbelief and we can fudge it. He is a good character and his legend of the witch sisters is well-narrated and compelling adding an air of enchantment we haven't had since the first time we met the Rovers.

Now, my guess as to where this is going, because I can't remember. I bet the Reaper will track Wil and Amberle and mistakenly attack the Rovers. Cephelo will try to use the stones he's stolen from Wil and be killed if he's unlucky. Eretria will somehow recover the stones and escape bringing them back to Wil. We'll see if I'm right.

Platypus of Shannara: The Platypus Reads Part CVI

2011-06-26T21:24:00.000-07:00

Once we get into the battle scenes, Brooks is completely on top of his game. At the battles of the Halys Cut and Baen Draw the story had me compulsively turning pages and feeling some genuine emotion. Allanon's confrontation with the dragon was particularly intense. Beyond that, Stee Jans quickly achieves the weight necessary for him to be a staunch supporting character and even Pindanon moves up a notch right when the author needs him to for dramatic effect (in other words, right before killing him off). Even in the midst of the action, Brooks carves out room for real character development as we watch Ander take his father's throne and learn that Allanon's magic is slowly killing him (a reason that he's so empathetic and patient with Amberle?). As with the Pykon, then, these chapters represent some of the best writing in the book thus far. My only regret is that Arion never really emerges as a three-dimensional character before he dies. That takes away from some of the power the event has on Ander's development. Oh well, that's always a risk with these cast-of-thousands epics.

Showing good narrative sense, Brooks cuts away from the elven army and the demons at just the right moment to return to Wil and Amberle. If he keeps cutting back and forth this judiciously, it should help with the overall interest of the work. The Shannara books are adventure novels and they can't afford to lag. Speaking of lagging, there has to be a little bit of lag time as we switch gears to Wil and Amberle. The journey to Grimpen Ward and the description of the town do good yeoman's service by advancing the plot while simultaneously keeping up the tension. We're allowed a little bit of a breather after the big battle scenes, but not much. That kind of deft pacing is crucial in this sort of genre. It's the kind of thing that keeps you racing through a Ridder Haggard, Anthony Hope, or Edgar Rice Burroughs novel without burning out. We'll see if Brooks can keep it up.

And that brings us to thirty three and page 339.

Platypus of Shannara: The Platypus Reads Part CV

2011-06-25T09:34:00.000-07:00

As Wil and Amberle prepare to enter the Wilderun, they encounter a genuine piece of fantasy creation: the Wing Riders. Whether they correspond more to the world of Pern or Middle Earth, I'll let you decide, but they aren't directly lifted from either. So far in the world of the Four Lands, the fantastic creatures we've seen have been mostly evil (several kinds of demons and a bog monster). Good has the Elcrys and the King of the Silver River. Yup. Brooks is probably at his strongest imagining all kinds of creepy antagonists for his heroes to fight; the heroes themselves are rather prosaic. Adding the Wing Riders and their Rocs helps even things out a bit. It also provides him with an opportunity to describe a "first flight;" a touchstone that most of us can remember in this age of mass air travel (no doom blimps... sad). Perk is also one of those plucky little NPCs that you know the GM created purely for the satisfaction of having the villain kill him in some nasty way just to prove how bad he is (I tried that once with a gypsy boy and a horde of sword-wielding Thules attacking an Austrian monastery. Very effective.). Like Tolkien's eagles, the Rocs also allow for a little tasteful flying deo ex machina. With Wil and Amberle safely deposited in Wilderun, however, it's time for the great narrative shift.

Ala Tolkien, Brooks now shifts to what's become of the rest of the company. That means narrating the struggle of the elves to hold back the demon hordes long enough for Amberle to find the Bloodfire or for the other races to rally to the defense. This wouldn't be interesting at all if we didn't have the anchor character of Allanon. I wonder to what degree the Shannara series is really about him. He dominates the first eight books that Brooks wrote (I can't say about the others as I haven't read them). Anyhow, Allanon is now equipped with a +100 unique staff of demon-butt-kicking (sorry, non-socketted) and thus gets all the fun of being Gandalf the White without having to take a face plant in the depths of Khazad-Dum. As Peter Jackson points out when describing the Battle of Helm's Deep, this follows a classic war-movie cliche: the noble, outnumbered defenders facing hordes of merciless opponents and doomed to destruction but receiving that last minute help that just might tip the balance and give them a chance. It's made for a good story since Herodotus. So, first we get the staff of the Ellcrys and then we have the Free Company show up (last minute support should always be colorful to catch the audience's interest). We also get to see Brooks continue to build up Prince Ander into enough of a character to hold our interest (though Ander would be a bit more intelligible as a character if he was a bit younger). If he can succeed in that, then then he won't have the reader skipping pages just to get back to what's happening with Wil and Amberle.

Brooks, as seems typical in this novel, is a little clunky at first in achieving these objectives. We're supposed to be struck by the Boarder Legion and their heroic "iron man," Stee Jans, but it all comes of as a bit trite and forced. Ander, on the other hand, slowly but surely is winning himself a personality, as is his father, Eventine. Arion still remains pasteboard, as does Pindanon, and that's a pity as it saps the narrative of some of its strength. The actual description of the elven army and its journey to defend the Breakline against the first onslaught of the demon hordes is nice and evocative. Once again, however, the real interest in the story is Allanon. He is the only character with enough weight to really hold the reader's attention. Brooks seems to know this and is wise enough to keep working the Druid in as often as possible.

As another note, Brooks lays down some more capitol for future novels in bringing up the Federation. They will become important in later books and his mention of who and what they are now, even though they aren't very important, adds the kind of "thickness" to his world that should make for increasingly better stories later on. Brooks claims to have set out to write something like Tolkien but without all the depth; a page-turner. The irony seems to be that after thirty years of writing Shannara books, he has created his own titanic backstory; a "thick" world.

And that should bring us to about chapter 30...

Platypus(okles), Arete, and Sophia: Platypus Nostalgia

2011-06-22T09:32:00.000-07:00

Summer is my new video game season. When I was a kid, it was year round. Dennis and I puzzled our way through more games on an all-nighter than I care to count. My brother and sister and I co-oped on quite a few as well. After Freshman year of college, things slowed down quite a bit and almost disappeared in grad school. I remember trying to play a bit of the Game Cube Legend of Zelda and realizing just how rusty I'd gotten. The first couple years of marriage continued the trend until I got sick and my wife and I discovered Peasant's Quest. Suddenly we realized this stuff could be fun. Now the wife and I devote a little time each summer to working our way through one of the Myst games and I pick something to work through on my own as well. Back in the saddle. Ye-haw.

This year, my wife surprised me with Starcraft II at Christmas so I got started a little early. I bit that off in little 30 minute segments on Saturdays and wrapped it up at the beginning of vacation (I love the fact that the game comes in 20-60 minute segments which are perfect for those of us who are adults and have jobs, families, and other interests). On a whim, then, I decided to try something a little different from my normal fare. I decided to enter into the world of action-RPGs. At first, I assumed that meant Diablo. After a consultation with my friend, the game guru, I decided that old Diablo might be a bit too time consuming to qualify as summer fun. Then I checked our Torchlight, but that was made by the same people. Then I remembered something Chappy Graaf Spee had shown me years ago, a little game from a company called Iron Lore: Titan Quest. Amazon was selling it in a "gold edition" with its sequel and all the patches for eight bucks so I figured: why not (nota bene: I think I may have snagged the last copy. Sorry!)

Now, here's why this game intrigued me: it's an action-RPG set in Ancient Greece. You get to build up a hero of epic proportions and then go and like out your Persiod fantasies mulching titans. This is the video game I would have made if I designed video games. You even encounter rhapsodists in the towns who will recite the Homeric hymns. Fun. Fun. Fun. I should also add that it has a gentle learning curve and lots of good item drops so that you can play through without spending loads of time leveling up your character (very good for us old fogies with other things to do). The designers also took their time to make the sets fell as authentic as possible. Dovetail this with the fact that I'm working through two books by Robin Lane Fox ("Traveling Heroes in the Epic Age of Homer" and "Alexander") and one by Oswyn Murry ("Early Greece") this summer and you've got a wonderful little combo for Greek scholar fun! Read about how Euboeans may have contributed to forming the legend of the titans and then go womp on some titans. See pictures of Dark Age armor and then equip some ad bash things. Life is just richer with an M.A. in Ancient History.

Late Night With Shannara: The Platypus Reads Part CIV

2011-06-21T22:24:00.000-07:00

Nota bene: Elven hunters do really exist to heighten the narrative tension via being butchered in nasty ways by various monsters. Giving them names almost humanizes them. It's like those red-shirted ensigns on Star Trek away teams that show up merely to illustrate what a dangerous situation the crew has found themselves in. Crispin, at least, is starting to flesh out a bit as a character. I don't know why he lets Wil go investigate the Drey Wood when he already thinks that there's danger. Must be all that rain on the pate. Chinese water torture or something. I note also, long after the fact, that Wil forgets in his horror to use the Elfstones. Good job slipping that one by us Mr. Brooks!

In other news: Amberle is still very much a teenager, but now that she is on a first name basis with Wil and falling asleep on his shoulder she has earned three more character points (I suggest that she put them into cuddle, summon animal companion, and dual wield). She is becoming more sympathetic and that helps the narrative keep its interest.

Chapter 24 (page 239) features the abandoned fortress of the Pykon. Brooks does a good job creating a decidedly foreboding atmosphere that has a different flavor from either the Drey Wood or the Matted Brakes which proceed it. The emptiness and silence are evocative and the stuck door comes at just the right place to heighten the tension. In fact, the whole scene is wonderfully paced to keep the horror steady and growing right down the narrow bridge and its frantic confrontation. There's probably a nod to "The Bridge of Khazad Dum" here, but it's artfully disguised. Wil's existential angst at his own failure in painfully believable as is Amberle's pleading desire to turn away. All that goes to make this perhaps the strongest chapter in the story thus far.

Platypus of Shannara (Cont): The Platypus Reads Part CIII

2011-06-19T13:30:00.000-07:00

With Wil, Amberle, and Allanon now safely in Arborlon, Brooks now has two difficult scenes to manage. First, he must depict the elven council and its decision to accept or reject Amberle. Second, Amberle will have to speak with the Ellcrys. We'll take them in order.

The problem Brooks faces in the elven council scene is keeping it from either seeming perfunctory or allowing it to swell into a full "council of Elrond" mega-chapter. Since Brooks' world is a "thin" world without the depth and sweep of Middle Earth and since he's already given us all the back story we need to understand the quest for the Bloodfire it makes sense that he errs on the side of the perfunctory. Allanon and Amberle are the only "deep" characters in the scene (Wil just sits there). We get to see a little more of Eventine, Ander, and Arion; at least enough to confirm their characters. Of the three, only Eventine will get enough screen time in the next couple chapters to elicit any real response from the reader. Even then, he's a little flat. Pindanon et al. really just fill in chairs. Crispin gets a bit of personality as "captain redshirt," if you know what I mean. All in all, this scene gets the job done and keeps the focus on the main characters. Brooks' elves really aren't distinct enough as a culture to create any other sort of interest. This only bothers me when it comes to trying to figure out why the elves are so hostile to taking Amberle back. We really just have to take the author's word for it.

Amberle's conversation with the Ellcrys is managed by simply shutting us out of it. This is a good move on Brooks' part. It's the sort of thing that's so hard to do well it's better not to attempt it in light fiction. Allowing us to see it from Allanon and Wil's perspective works just fine and gives us a little more time to watch their characters evolve. I do wish Brooks would stop switching p.o.v. in such short burst and often to that of minor characters. Seeing the council through Ander's eyes is not as powerful as seeing in through Amber's or Allanon's. On the other side of things, if we're not going to be allowed to see Amber's talk with the Ellcrys from her point of view, the quick switch of p.o.v. to her as she's walking up to the tree seems unnecessary. Still, that one's just a quibble. He doesn't repeat it when Amberle speaks with her mother and we're again shut out (another wise decision). The Marian repetition that Amberle is bearing the Ellcry's seed with Wil as her Catholic-style Joseph hints at some depths in the narrative, but the story is to light-weight to really make full use of them.

Moving on, another brief pause to note that Brooks makes good use of the weather. The rain shower is well described and adds just the right tone to the departure from Aborlon. Amberle and Wil both sound like they belong better in the Peace Corp than in a medieval fantasy. Giving them something in common, however, is in service to the narrative. Amberle is being called upon to give far more than she has ever imagined back to the earth, and Wil is being called on to do far more for the benefit of mankind than he ever dreamed. This should be played up a bit more, or perhaps just deployed a bit more artfully. On another note, all the elven hunters have come into existence merely to be butchered in nasty ways by demons. Yeah.

Final thought: It seems like this book is more properly Terry Brooks' "first book" than "The Sword of Shannara." Even though there are some parts that seem mishandled or disappoint, he is a good writer and I actually find myself looking forward to pressing on to "The Wishsong of Shannara" and "The Scions of Shannara" just so I can watch his technique evolve and come into its own.

The Platypus of Shannara: The Platypus Reads Part CII

2011-06-17T08:37:00.000-07:00

Ending off the Rover episode-

The appearance of the monster that attacks the camp is carefully handled. Brooks does a good job of building up our sense of foreboding with the rumors about a demon and then the "coughs" in the dark leading up to the attack. The creature he describes kept reminding me of the slug beast in Doug TenNapel's "Creature Tech," but maybe that's because I'm reading through it right now. Once again, Terry Brooks is an adept at narrating action sequences. Every time there's a fight or a chase, I know exactly what's going on without having to pause or reread. Wil's use of the Elfstones feels a bit perfunctory, but if we've read "The Sword of Shannara," we know that these things work and will respond to Wil in his hour of need. Cephelo's reaction to the whole incident is spot-on as is Amberle's. Eretria's flirty insistence on throwing herself at Wil's head baffles me. She should be running away screaming after that or at least be in shock.

The road trip that follows gives us a chance to settle down a bit and gather our energy before the next frantic chase to the boarder of the elven kingdom. We also get a chance for Amberle to be a little more endearing. She seems to be settling down into "sweet but spoiled teenage girl." One wonders how she managed to survive on her own for months. Brooks continually points us to her ability to find food in the wilderness, but that's only one part of the equation. The reappearance of the Dagda Mor is too reminiscent of a Nazgul, but otherwise the chase scene excellent; especially since we don't see the demon wolves this time. Allanon shows up and serves as a good explanation for how Wil and Amberle escape without having to do any more fire-flinging. That shows good restraint on the authors part. He's varying his episodes to avoid redundancy. Allanon cuts Amberle more slack than he's usually willing to give. Again, if we've been following Brooks up to this point, we should realize that it's because he sees some similarity between himself and Amberle and pities her, even in the middle of a full teenage meltdown. Wil's reaction is spot on. Knowing a bit more about how the series goes, it seems clear to me that the author has the process of becoming a druid in mind already and is writing in light of it. Even if Brook's world is "thin" and pulpy, he still creates an underlying cohesion that sustains it and should pass an increasingly added interest to each successive volume.

As an afterthought, teenagers seem to replace hobbits in the world of Shannara. Maybe Brooks just knows his audience.

...and that bring us up to page 177.

Blogging Through Shannara: The Platypus Reads Part CI

2011-06-15T12:48:00.000-07:00

Thoughts come pouring in so fast sometimes that they're almost impossible to gather. In the interest, then,of capturing some of them before they depart and are lost forever, I've decided to blog on Terry Brooks' "The Elfstones of Shannara" as I read. Currently, I'm on page 156 out of 564. Let me back up a little, however and explain a bit more about my relationship to the world of Shannara.

I haven't read the Shannara series since I was thirteen or fourteen. I had finished all of Tolkien I could get my hands on and found myself hungry for more. At that time, once people heard you were reading Tolkien, they always asked if you had read the Shannara books. I picked up the series and devoured it being too young to notice or care that "The Sword of Shannara" is point for point rip-off of "The Lord of the Rings." I read straight through to "The Talismans of Shannara" and then re-read again and again in a short span of time. After that, I moved on and didn't pick up anything by Terry Brooks until college. At that time, I was reading my way through various authors' first books to get an idea for the tell-tale characteristics of a first novel. I read "The Sword of Shannara" on the plane back from Oxford. I don't recall being very impressed. From what I hear, Terry Brooks isn't very impressed with it either. He did write it when he was just a college student after all. Half my college fictional writing (much to my dismay) is just a badly-remembered rip-off of Brooks. Anyhow, I found a number of the books on sale for a dollar at the local used book store, so I thought it was time to give him another chance. With that bit of background, let's move on.

Picking up "The Elfstones of Shannara," I was immediately attracted to the artwork. The pictures done by the brothers Hildebrant for the first book were even better, but the dignified style of Darrell K. Sweet adds an extra layer of enchantment to the work. I wish more books, particularly fantasies, were illustrated these days. Maybe that's just my ignorance talking.

After that good start, however, I have to admit that I wasn't particularly interested in the story until page 52. The narrative is a bit clunky and the characters are flat and uninteresting. His elves, and this is a criticism I'd apply to all his races, don't feel one wit different from ordinary American humans. I know there's plenty of back-story reason for that, but it doesn't make for a very compelling read. Part of the charm of a fantasy novel is letting the other races exemplify certain human traits carried out far beyond what is currently possible. Multiply races without giving them individual characteristics that pop and sizzle seems like an impotent use of creativity. Just so you know that I'm not picking on Brooks here, I'd say that E.R. Eddison has the same problem in his "The Worm Ouroboros."

Moving on to what caught my attention around page 52, it was the appearance of Allanon. Brooks clearly likes his crankier version of Gandalf and has his character pretty well worked out. Suddenly, the pace picks up and the narration becomes enchanting. We sense there is actual depth here without having to take the author's word for it. Brooks also is a capable and energetic narrator of fight scenes and the battle between Allanon and the Furies had me quickly turning pages. The writing finally kicked up to the notch where I could imagine the Dagda Mor as scary.

The action slows down again when Allanon comes to Storlock. He does a good job of making you fell the wet. Somehow, all of Brooks' villages feel like a American summer camp. Maybe that's just my mental baggage. It's nice to see Flick again, and he seems to have a creditable psychology. Allanon's narrations are always fun, but his attempt to convince Wil to join him, and his later attempt to convince Amberle, come off a bit clunky. Brooks excels at creating an immediate sense of urgency when bad guys show up, but he's having a hard time so far selling the overall sense of impending Armageddon.

Wil's journey with Allanon to find Amberle reveals Wil to be a character with weight and depth appropriate to his age, family history, and current occupation. His ability to be circumspect at times is much appreciated. Brooks is careful to always give us hints as to why Allanon is such a nasty crank. There's some real pathos when he loses himself in thought about the annihilation of the druids and his own solitude.

Amberle is a bit of an immature brat. It would help if we were reminded a bit more that this is because she is a spoiled princess. Her Hippie sermonizing about the Earth seems to be Brooks' attempt at a deeper "applicability" for his story. I love nature and observe most of the appropriate taboos for a man of my age, class, and station, but I'm really not buying into it here. The chase scene with the demon wolves as Wil, Amberle, and Allanon are forced to flee the village is well-written. The appearance of The King of the Silver River is weighty and well-done having a definite flavor of myth. It also sets us up for the events of "The Druid of Shannara" a few books later. Amberle becomes a bit more likable once the Rovers appear and we have a chance to see her get jealous.

The whole episode with the Rovers is enchanting. Here, Brooks seems to have been able to do a little real sub-creating in imagining this gypsy-like community. The prose he uses to describe their camp life is rich and fluid. Did anyone else notice that Cephelo sounds like the Ancient Greek word for "head" and that Eretria is a place in Ancient Greece? Eretria is another of those forceful, sexually frank, women that people fantasies and science fiction. Sometimes it make me wonder if geek guys are just looking for men with long hair and a figure when they think about a suitable mate. At least there are no chain-mail bikinis. Brooks artfully deploys this worn-out stereotype, however, by situating her within the context of Rover culture and allowing us to make the inference that she's playing up her feminine whiles in order to get away. We also now have the classic "good girl vs. bad girl" cliche present that will require the death, marriage, or nun-ifying of one of them so that Wil does not have to make an actual choice. This shouldn't be a problem so long as Brooks plays his authorial cards right. He's been hinting that something unpleasant awaits Amberle from the beginning so that he can get rid of her without it seeming arbitrary or inorganic. Good job there!

Well that takes you as far as I've gotten. Overall, I'm beginning to really enjoy the book at this point. It's not Tolkien, Lewis, Eddison, or Dunsany(the British titans), but it isn't trying to be. It's not a work of sword and sorcery like Robert E. Howard or Fritz Lieber either (very American authors working in a very American genre). I think Brooks' genius may be in turning fantasy from epic and pseudo-historical fiction into light reading. It's like Tolkien-light, and I'm perfectly ok with that. Anyhow, we'll see how it goes.

Theater Platypus

2011-06-14T09:03:00.000-07:00

Check out Herch's "Ode to the Theater" here. I think he hits the nail on the head. Be sure to check out the comments as well.

The Platypus Reads (a lot): The Platypus Reads Part C

2011-06-09T10:00:00.000-07:00

This category of posts began in 2007. At that point, for reasons no longer remembered, I decided to try my hand at reviewing books. The reviews began with a simple list of my three all-time favorites: "The Lord of the Rings," "The Idylls of the King," and "The Oresteia." From there, it mushroomed out to include everything under the sun. In all, I've reviewed about forty-seven books in genres ranging from science fiction to philosophy, comics to classics. In short, whatever has caught my fancy. After all that effort, it seems like it would be worth while to sit down and put into words what I've learned. Cliche, I know, but here we go:

1. Read Broadly There are a lot of books in the world. You can't read them all. Most of us are merely content to visit one a favorite genre or two and read from a few favorite authors. This may be pleasant, but it stunts the mind and constricts literary taste. In order to grow as persons, we need to have both our views and our tastes challenged. We pity or roll our eyes at the man who still has the same taste in foods that he did when he was seven but tolerate the same stunted appetite in our reading. Sometimes, we need to sit down and read a book because it's a book worth reading (I'm discovering that now on a trip through Wendell Berry). This advice goes for genre, but it also goes for time periods. Do you have a literary "friend" in each century (as Dr. Fred Sanders puts it)? How long is your own literary "Dark Age?"

2. Always Connect "Always connect" is a modern historian's maxim but it holds true for our reading habits as well. People write because they have something to say. That's true whether its conscious or subconscious. What they have to say hasn't developed in isolation, but is connected with other authors that they've read or whose thought they've encountered. Every book is a part of the "Great Conversation" that humans have been having down through the ages. In the West, Homer got the ball rolling and people have been picking it up and running with it ever since (often in opposite directions!). Authors are always talking to each other and if you're tuning that out, then you're missing half the fun and half the good of reading. For instance, Tolkien hated Lewis' Narnia books and Lewis disliked the lion's share of Tolkien's poetry. Lewis created worlds in miniature while Tolkien sought to create one as vast and sweeping as our own. Lewis was an Ulster Protestant and Tolkien a Roman Catholic. Yet both men were friends, shared a common commitment to Christianity, and a common effort to see the kind of stories they liked written for a modern audience. When reading their books, you can see how they worked out their common commitments in differing ways. You can hear the dialog and it enriches the experience of reading both authors. If you want to look at the conversation across time, pick up the "Iliad" and read it back to back with Nietzsche's "Thus Spoke Zarathustra" or Sartre's "Existentialism and Human Emotions." Better yet, pick up Virgil's "Aeneid" and watch him try to "undo" Homer through literary magic.

3. Read In Community One of the things I've enjoyed most about this thread has been the increased opportunity for dialog; sometimes in the comments and sometimes in person. I think my favorite comments thread has to be the almighty "Iliad" row. If "it is not good for man to be alone," then it is not good for him to read alone either. When we read by ourselves, even if we read broadly, our thoughts become ingrown. We are limited beings and those limits, left unchecked, eventually begin to warp us. Have you ever met an intelligent person who's done a little too much reading alone? They usually turn out as cranks.

4. Make Your Reading Personal When I was growing up in church, I remember a man talking about a certain kind of Christian who "missed the Gospel by six inches: the distance from the head to the heart." Now I do believe that everything we read has an impact on us, but that impact can be passive or active. A passive impact is akin to "brainwashing:" it gets in over time and colors the way we see things without you even noticing. An active impact is more akin a devotional or a spiritual discipline: you are working knowingly with the change for a set purpose or goal. Even reading for fun fits into the active category when we accept what we're doing as part of an ordered program, not just a passive habit or entertainment addiction. Coming back to the anecdote, I think what it meant was that one can't passively slip into the Gospel, it has to be a conscious choice. Just so, much of the benefit we get out of reading comes from a conscious choice to engage the art and ideas of the books we read. When something is Good, True, and Beautiful, we ought to let it down into the core of our being. When something is Evil, False, and Ugly, we need to resist it. In so doing, reading can be a means of spiritual formation; a way to take an active role in shaping who we are.

Perhaps these four lessons could have been phrased better, but the beauty of a blog is that it allows us a venue to get our thoughts out and not wait until they're perfect before sharing them. The common wisdom in the writing world seems to be that perfect books don't get written. Imperfect books get written, then revised, then revised again, and then sent out into the world. A book or a blog post is a lot like a human life: it is a reaching for perfection, not an attaining of it. What does that mean practically? It means that out of a hundred posts, most of this thread has been junk. Still, there have been a few posts that have sparkled and caught people's eyes. Those are the ones that make the others worthwhile. In those posts, as always, the Platypus speaks Truth.

Retrospective on Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon: Film Platypus

2011-06-04T11:26:00.000-07:00

It's now been eleven years since Ang Lee's masterpiece "Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon" took American theater-goers by storm. I remember being in the theater and thinking "I've never seen anything like this." Even "The Matrix" didn't come close." The sword fight in the bamboo forest, in particular, is a great moment in Film. Everything about the movie is excellent: the costumes, the sets, the nuanced acting, the lighting and cinematography. It's truly a feast for the eyes and opened up the American mainstream (for a time at least) for other pieces like "Hero" or "The House of Flying Daggers." These subsequent films, however, didn't make as much of a splash and American interest in Hong Kong period dramas has waned.

Granted, "Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon" was exceptional, why the loss of mainstream interest in the genre (there will always be geeks and hipsters who go in for foreign film)? I think I can take a stab at it. The most obvious is the cultural barrier. Foreign films require an extra effort from an audience in order to overcome cultural and linguistic barriers to understanding. It's not just that people don't like to read subtitles. Decoding another culture takes time, and it can be frustrating to watch a film whiz by and not have the time to ask a friend a clarifying question or pause to puzzle out an obscure act or turn of phrase. At home with a DVD player it's possible to press the pause button, but most Americans watch film as a mere amusement and stopping to puzzle out a cultural difference "spoils the fun." I think there is also a deeper level. Since they began importing them to the U.S., I have seen four major Hong Kong period pieces: "Raise the Red Lantern," "Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon," "House of Flying Daggers," and "Hero." All four movies are tragedies.

Tragedy doesn't sit well with Americans, especially modern ones. It cuts against the grain of what some scholars have labeled the "Therapeutic Worldview." You may be familiar with a related offshoot "Moralistic Therapeutic Deism." Briefly put, the Therapeutic Worldview teaches that all human problems can be solved by applying the appropriate scientific technique: medicinal, technical, or psychological. In this understanding of the world, unhappy endings are entirely preventable. They represent a mere failure of human ingenuity. This flies in the face of what classicist Victor Davis Hanson has labeled the "Tragic Worldview." The Tragic Worldview sees human life as a fragile tension easily swept away by competing forces that can only be controlled to a very limited degree. In the Tragic Worldview, there can be no truly happy endings as death and entropy will always triumph in the end. Looking at the four films listed above, the worldview behind the movies that have made it to the U.S. is distinctly Tragic. Thus, the loss of mainstream interest in these films after the initial splash of "Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon" may be rooted in a fundamental disagreement about the way that the cosmos works. Simply put: American audiences want films that affirm and don't contradict their picture of the world. Narrow minded? Perhaps, but it's very human.

So what can we learn eleven years later from Ang Lee's masterpiece? First, we can learn to be stretched. Great art is out there if we're willing to do the work to get it. Second, we can allow our view of the world to be challenged. In the movie, Jen lives the American fantasy of gaining enough power to "follow her heart." Of course, being a fifteen year old girl, that means playing out in a confused and puerile fashion all her day-dreams lifted from the pages of pulp novels. The results are disastrous and irrevocable. Therapy cannot bring Li Mu Bai back, nor can proper medicine reach him in time to save him. Jen is forgiven and allowed to live, but in the end the knowledge of what she has done poisons any hope for future happiness. It is a tragedy. We could posit that in the Brave New World, such problems could never arise, but the challenge is still there. Is the tragic ending of the movie the result of mere social forces or is it rooted in an immutable human nature? That's a question worth asking and worth two hours of our time and energy to bring up.

I Got Yer Platypus Right Here!

2011-06-01T10:23:00.000-07:00

It took fifteen years to get from Starcraft to Starcraft II. To say the wait was worth it would be cliched. Would I have liked this game to have come out a lot sooner? Sure. Did I still love it when it came out? You bet.

I've already discussed my reaction to the map editor for Starcraft II: Wings of Liberty over here. As far as the game mechanics are concerned, they're the same easy-to-use-hard-to-master interface; just perfect for an old fossil like me. The Diablo-esque tech-trees were easy to navigate even for someone who has never played any of the Diablo games or their imitators. The three divergent plot trees were minimal and underdeveloped but still fun. I appreciated the way they stressed that choices have human consequences. In fact, that might be the whole point of the game.

*mild spoilers ahead*

Now on to what really interests me: Story. Unlike the first Starcraft and its expansion Broodwar, Wings of Liberty has a rather tight, linear story to tell with a major message that it wishes to drive home. This may be a part of the general drift in video games over the last fifteen years or too many re-runs of "Firefly," or both. Without going into spoiler specifics, the theme that Wings of Liberty takes up is created community. To be more specific, it deals with the need for maximum political freedom in order to create voluntary communities where real meaning for life can be found. A more Gen X/Mosaic theme for a video game cannot be imagined (If it could, it would just become "That Gen X/Mosaic theme for a video game than which a greater cannot be imagined). That also sounds like De Tocqueville. America thrives on maximum political liberty supported by a pro-active citizenry working through voluntary organizations. However, De Tocqueville also noted that the American tendency toward individualism threatened to undermine support for the broader community leading to a fragmented state where people withdrew from public life to only associate with their friends. The resulting loss of any broader unity must lead back to faction and conflict. This is the situation that Wings of Liberty presents us with. How then shall we live in a world where all loyalties are personal and completely voluntary? If all that matters in life is our little click of friends, how do we make moral decisions, especially when friends have conflicting ideas and levels of commitment? I think Wings of Liberty takes a crack at answering those questions. I think in the end it all comes down to force. We might caveat that we should be frank and decent about it, but it still comes down to brute force. If I'm right, that answer is predictable and sad; as sad and predictable as Homer. ...but I still enjoyed the game.

*end mild spoilers*

What can I say to sum up? Starcraft II: Wings of Liberty was a sequel worth waiting for. It is an improvement over the original in almost every area, yet still immediately accessible to fans of the original. The story is fun and deals, in a middlebrow sort of way, with a timely generational quandary. Let's just hope we don't have to wait another fifteen years for the next installment!

Gabbing About Gaiman's Graveyard: The Platypus Reads Part XCIX

2011-05-31T15:33:00.000-07:00

I grew up surrounded by graveyards. They intrigued me by day and creeped me out by night. Some of them had witches, some of them had apostates, not a few had a charnel house, and a few had ghost-stories. I've also liked Rudyard Kipling's "The Jungle Book" since seventh grade. With that in my background, you'd figure I'd have picked up a copy of Neil Gaiman's "The Graveyard Book" sooner. Fortunately, a friend gave me a copy for my birthday and I've just finished reading it. I can see why Gaiman took away the Newbury medal for this piece of work. It is a compact and delightful retelling of "The Jungle Book" that seamlessly blends its source material into the dark and weird world of Gaiman's fiction. The characters are well-drawn and compelling and the story unfolds at just the right pace. Though the main character is a child, there is nothing childish about the work. Each sentence is the work of a mature author at the height of his career. If you haven't read it yet, this is well worth the read.

The Magician's Nephew: Whiteboard Platypus

2011-05-29T19:37:00.000-07:00

* All Images Copyright James R. Harrington 2011

The Platypus' Directorial Debut

2011-05-29T19:11:00.000-07:00

I had my directorial debut this year as a drama teacher. The play we chose to do was Aurand Harris' adaptation of C.S. Lewis' "The Magician's Nephew." It was well received by the school community. While pictures are pending, here is the director's note that I whipped together (last minute) for the program. (nota bene: I am heavily indebted to Dr. John Mark Reynold's lecture on the Magician's Nephew for the Torrey Honors institute for pointing out that "The Magician's Nephew" revolves around our response to pain.)

Welcome to our 2010/2011 Drama performance of C.S. Lewis' "The
Magician's Nephew." "The Magician's Nephew" was originally meant to
be the second installment in The Chronicles of Narnia. During
composition, however, Lewis found himself increasingly unable to
continue and thus shelved the manuscript for a number of years. The
reason for this may be that the story was becoming too personal. Like
the book's main character, Digory Kirk, Lewis also went through the
experience of having a mother struggle with cancer. Unlike Digory's
mother, however, Lewis' mother died, plunging a bereft Lewis into
years of atheism. Though Lewis, through the ministry of men like
J.R.R. Tolkien, eventually returned to the Christian faith, the death
of his mother had a lasting impact on his life and would return to
haunt him when his wife, Joy, was struck down by cancer after only a
few years of marriage. This extremely personal struggle gives "The
Magician's Nephew" a distinct flavor from the rest of the Narnia
books. Aslan is at his most god-like in the work, but it also
includes darker elements: a dying mother, a genocidal tyrant, and
Uncle Andrew's dabbling in the occult. Throughout "The Magician's
Nephew," characters are forced to choose how they will respond to a
fallen world; a world in which mothers can die. Uncle Andrew and
Queen Jadis choose to cut themselves off from others and pursue
power, thus attempting to make themselves impervious to pain. Polly
holds on to a child-like faith in right and wrong, but this comes
easier for her as her mother isn't dying. Digory, as the focal
character, occupies an interesting space between the other characters.
The imminent death of his mother makes the problem of pain real to
him, but he also retains his belief in doing what's right. This
belief is tested time and again throughout the story. Whether it's
ringing the bell or taking the apple, Digory must choose either to
hold on to his knowledge of right and wrong or else pursue the selfish
use of power. His crucial moment of choice comes when he must take
the apple of life that could heal his mother and surrender it to Aslan
in order to thwart Jadis' evil machinations. In essence, Digory is
asked to trust in the goodness of a God that would let his mother die.
Lewis provides an answer to this conundrum rooted in hard won
experience. It is our job as an audience to determine what that
answer is and then assess its relevance for our own lives in a fallen
world.

Seven Heavens of Summer Reading: The Platypus Reads Part XCVIII

2011-05-28T09:14:00.000-07:00

Summer is here in all its heat (and humidity this year!) and languor. Thus, it is time for the return of Summer reading. Over Finals week I was able to complete (nota bene: this was all for professional development as well as personal enjoyment):

"When Athens Met Jerusalem" by John Mark Reynolds (2nd read)
"World War I" by John Keegan (friend and mentor of V.D. Hanson and third title I've read by the author)
"Civilization and its Discontents" by Sigmund Freud (filling in an important hole in my understanding of the 20th century)

On the ticket are:

"At the Back of the North Wind" by George MacDonald (been on a kick lately and even read a couple of bios)
"Orthodoxy" by G.K. Chesterton (umpteenth readthrough for a reading group)
"Chaung Tzu" (the second great Taoist text)
"The Graveyard Book" by Neil Gaimon (thanks Liz!)
"War in Heaven" (2nd time for a reading group)
"The Rape of Nanking" by Iris Chang (been remiss in not reading this one)
"Alexander the Great" by Robin Lane Fox (a favorite historian)
"The Elfstones of Shanara" by Terry Brooks (it is time! it is high time!)
"Amusing Ourselves to Death" by Neil Postman (for work)
"Ghostopolis" by Doug TenNapel (showin' support for "Ratfist"!)
"Iron West" by Doug TenNapel (ditto)
"Foucault's Pendulum" by Umberto Eco (his panache won me over. Thanks Joi!)
"Gilead" by Marilynne Robinson (reading group)
"Hannah Coulter" by Wendel Berry (ditto)

We'll see how much I get to and what surprises get added in along the way but it looks to be a fun ride. I'll post my finished list with the appropriate awards come August.

So how about you? What are your "Seven Heavens of Summer Reading"?

Why the Leaves Change in the Fall: Academic Platypus

2011-05-22T11:31:00.000-07:00

Our school had its graduation ceremony this Saturday. In addition to the ceremony, an intrepid group of teachers made the rounds of four to five graduation parties as well. It's an honor to be invited to a student's graduation party, an event usually reserved for family and close friends. It's saying that they value what you've done for their child enough to consider you part of the family.

I was mulling this around in my head during the ceremony while a slide-show of the seniors was running along with the typical sentimental music by a popular country singer playing in the background. One of the lines in the song struck me: "now I know why the leaves change in the Fall." For the students, graduating is bitter-sweet since it means leaving friends and family. It means saying goodbye to childhood. However, the thrill of a new life and new experiences awaiting them tends to overwhelm this sober side. For the parents, it seems to be in the reverse. There is great joy and satisfaction in seeing a child cross the threshold and enter adulthood, but it is also an affirmation of the parents' death; one of life's great tasks has been finished and now they are left diminished.

This dynamic is what fills graduations with their special beauty. If it is a Spring for the graduates' adult life, it is the end of their childhood and a sign that their parent's life is moving into its Autumn. We get to see that in a crystal-clear moment at graduation and affirm it in Love as good. Why do the leaves change in the Fall? Because there is beauty even in aging and death if we accept it in Love.

Webbed Flippers and Ivory Keys: The Platypus Watches "Note by Note"

2011-05-07T12:52:00.000-07:00

This week found us watching a documentary called "Note by Note: The Making of Steinway L1037." It's the story of the creation of a Steinway concert grand piano. It's an enjoyable piece, but one of the recurring themes struck me in particular. New York Steinways are still largely made and tuned by hand and this is the key factor in their excellence as musical instruments. Most modern pianos are made and tuned by machine. The result is a a large number of less expensive pianos and a great diminution in quality. The narrative according to the documentary is that modernization is destroying the older and superior way of hand-craftsmanship. This struck me as odd since the piano is a quintessentially "modern" (post 1648) instrument. Let me explain.

The sheer complexity of a piano makes it a daunting task for any craftsman. Producing it at a cost which places it within the purchasing range of the Bourgeois is nothing short of astounding. Thus, the piano is a relative new-comer in the world of instruments, coming into its own only in the early 19th century. Being a product of modernity, it is interesting to find that continued modernization has swiftly reached the point of diminishing returns; a modern device is being destroyed by the modernizing impulses that created it.

This leads one to wonder if the modern enterprise is by nature self-defeating. The initial push has presented mankind with great gains but continued effort rapidly reaches the point of diminishing returns. We might point out, however, that this may be said of any of the eras in human history. Europe's Ancient World self-destructed as did its Middle Ages; each carried within it the eventual causes of its own collapse. Now that we find ourselves nearing the end of this Third Age of Middle Earth, are there any lessons we can take with us into the age of Globalization? That's a big question, but maybe we can start by narrowing down to the level of the piano.

Moulin Rouge on its 10th Anniversary: Film Platypus

2011-04-30T11:37:00.000-07:00

The visually stunning film "Moulin Rouge" was released at the turn of this past century and was set exactly one-hundred years prior. I was in college at the time of its release and I remember "Moulin Rouge" taking the film majors by storm. Like the oily Ziedler, it had them all exclaiming "Spectacular! Spectacular!" Ten years and a decade of advance in visual effects later, I was curious to see how the film has held up. Upon viewing it again, "Moulin Rouge" is still the singular sensational cinematic event it was when it first hit the screen.

After being visually blown away and rather embarrassed by all the pseudo-Victorian naughtiness I had forgotten about (PG-13? Really? PG 13?!?) I had to sit down and ask what made this eclectic musical and cinematic collage work? After all, all the costumes are period perfect, but the music is a hodge-podge of contemporary rock songs with a nod to Rodgers and Hammerstein and a few shots at Walt Disney (I've always thought Tinker Bell fit better into the world of absinthe and show girls than in a kids movie). Well the cliched answer would be that it had a great story. That's true. It had a good story: the myth of Orpheus retold (see the nod to the Opera in the song "Spectacular! Spectacular!"). What really makes the film work is that it finds a way to merge its story perfectly with its eclectic visual and musical style in a way that strikes a deep cord with the modern mind.

In his revolutionary poem "The Wasteland," T.S. Eliot correctly identifies the key component of the modern mind: Fragmentation. The old world of Europe's Enlightenment Liberalism was blown to pieces on the battlefields of World War I and we've been struggling ever since to pick those bits up and arrange them again into a coherent worldview. Tennyson foresaw this fragmentation coming in the mid-eighteen century when he hoped that Victorian zeal would help "mind and soul according well make one music as before". Later, W.B. Yates would prognosticate the failure of that hope claiming "the center cannot hold, mere anarchy is loosed upon the world". Still, the poets and authors tried to hold our world together with their dreams of "Truth, Beauty, Freedom, and most of all Love." "Moulin Rouge" is a retrospect on a century of Bohemian effort to put Humpty-Dumpty together again. The sheer weight of the catastrophe has ground up countless young idealists like the film's focal character, Christian, but we keep trying. Why? Why not give in to despair and accept the hollow and vicious pornified world of Ziedler's entertainment empire? As the diminutive Henri tells Christian in the film: "Christian, you may see me only as a drunken, vice-ridden gnome whose friends are just pimps and girls from the brothels. But I know about art and love, if only because I long for it with every fiber of my being." That is the cry of the modern world; we may be broken and empty, but we keep striving because we know that Beauty and Love are out there if only because our need for them. This follows one of C.S. Lewis' arguments: if there is hunger, there must be food, if there is thirst, there must be drink, if their is a craving in us for something which the world cannot satisfy, there must be something beyond the world which can satisfy it.

"Moulin Rouge" is a film of pieces, little colored bits of glass all patched together, but the picture they form is the soul of Western Man.

Traveling Platypus Show: Platypus Nostalgia

2011-04-25T19:07:00.000-07:00

We spent the weekend in Arkansas with friends one of whom is an old sage in the matter of video games and pen and paper RPGs. Like Gandalf and Bombadill, much of the weekend (when not attending religious services or playing Dominion) was spent in having a good long talk about the state of the field. I don't get to do this often, and it was a real treat.

During the course of our long jaw, my friend introduced me to two games that have made a splash over the last few years: Dragon Age and BioShock. Though one takes place in a Tolkienesque lost age and the other in a 1950s dystopia, there was a common thread that impressed me: the emphasis on the power of choice in determining who we are. The oft repeated refrain of Bioshock is "we make our choices but, in the end, they make us." Dragon Age offers multiple choices to the player at various points in the game which dramatically affect the path the story takes and its eventual outcome. Furthermore, these choices can be rolled over into expansions and the sequel. It may merely be a dressing up of the "choose your own adventure" novels of the 80s, but I think there is something more.

Seeing these games brought to mind something Umberto Eco says in the postscript to his "The Name of the Rose." In explaining why he decided to write a detective novel, something so middle-class and beneath him, Eco mentions that the irony of the detective story is that the reader is made complicit in the murder: it only takes place because the reader wills it to take place; we want the murder to happen so we may be entertained by it. By offering players choices that matter, Dragon Age and BioShock draw player's attention to their own complicity in the story. The characters they end the game with (good, bad, and ugly) are the characters their choices have created; the changes to the game world are exactly those that they have brought about. A player may choose to demur that it is only a game, but the opportunity for self-examination is presented nonetheless.

Why do I mention this? I believe that this emphasis on moral culpability is a sign that video games are beginning to come of age (or at least some of their players and creators are). Sure, they're not high art, but in trying to wrestle with real-world issues (BioShock is an attack on Objectivism), video games are coming to rest firmly in the middlebrow.

The Platypus Glosses Tennyson

2011-04-25T18:28:00.000-07:00

For those interested in my idiosyncratic gloss of Tennyson's "The Passing of Arthur," here are all the links in their proper order:

Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
Part VI
Part VII
Part VIII

99 Potions, 99 Elixers, and a Platypus of Truth: Platypus Nostalgia

2011-04-12T15:41:00.000-07:00

I think I played my first D&D game when I was twelve. The first Final Fantasy must have come out when I was about that age as well. Safe to say, I've done a lot of dungeon crawls in my time. College brought new experiences including the wonderful world of White Wolf's Exalted. Once you've tried free-wheeling through the almost limitless world of the Realm, it's hard to go back into the narrow confines of the dungeon even if there is a dragon at the end.

The point of all this is that I stumbled across an announcement that Blizzard is going to be releasing Diablo III sometime in the near future (with Blizzard this could mean next decade. They are the southern Italians of the video game world.). Now I've seen a lot of Diablo, never played it, and it's always intrigued me. As far as I understand it, it's just a series of really artful dungeon crawls. Yeah, there's some bit of an above-ground world, but most of that seems to be a prelude or mood-setter to get you to the real point: the dungeon. Now my experience has been that free-wheeling game worlds in the pen-and-paper domain, such as Exalted, are way more fun than more than the standard subterranean adventures of classic D&D. I figure that this would also extend to the digital world. This leads me back then to the question of why so many people, myself included, find the dungeon-filled world of Diablo so fascinating. Sure, we could talk different strokes for different folks, but what is it, specifically, about the dungeon crawl that captures our imagination? Why, after game world have gotten so much more expansive, do we keep returning to this time-worn trope?

I usually try to answer my own questions or at least point out in which direction I think the answer might lie. This time, however, I think I'm going to let the question stand. There's still a couple more missions of Starcraft II for me to work through, but maybe after that's done I can break out some old dungeon crawls and see if I can come to grips with this hallowed pillar of fantasy gaming.

From Comsumer to Creator: Platypus Nostalgia

2011-04-07T17:29:00.000-07:00

I love Starcraft. Not Diablo. Not Warcraft. Starcraft.

One of the things I liked most about the original Starcraft was the map editor. Not only could you enjoy the imagined world of the Korprulu sector, you could actually take a hand in expanding it yourself! Fifteen years (or so) later, the first installment of Starcraft II is finally here with a vastly expanded editor.

The vastly expanded Starcraft II editor can be a bear for an old dinosaur like me with little to no experience in the strange world of modding (did I even spell it right?). The maze of buttons and menus is enough to make you give up after 14 or 15 hours of wrangling with the thing. Sure, there are walk-throughs online, but they all presuppose some basic knowledge and facility with this sort of thing. Creaking joints and cramped mental worlds aside, however, there is a compelling reason for an old fossil to be excited.

Like so much of our modern world, the video games of yesteryear were products created by experts and consumed by the masses. This lent even the most active of them a high amount of passivity; a sad ending to a century that began with artist-theologians like G.K. Chesterton and Dorothy L. Sayers asserting that the imago deo was to be found in human creativity. However, the rise of modding is reversing that trend. Video games, those most stereo-typically passive of late modern entertainments are now centers of creativity. Players no longer merely receive the game as envisioned by its creators, but are actually empowered to take part in the creation and expansion of game worlds. Quite simply, gamers are moving from consumers to creators.

Why am I still struggling with the Starcraft II editor? As Remy learns in Pixar's "Ratatouille," animals can consume but it takes a human being to create.

Glossing Tennyson: The Platypus Reads Part XCVII

2011-04-02T08:40:00.000-07:00

Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere:
'Ah! my Lord Arthur, whither shall I go?

As Arthur prepares to leave this world for Avilion, Bedivere rightly asks what his role will be now that his king is gone. Though this is a moment of defeat and not one of triumph, we should still see parallels with the disciples and Christ. In this case, Bedivere is asking the departing Christ figure for a commission. We may see his question as equivalent with the disciples’ questions before Jesus’ ascension: “Will you at this time restore the kingdom” and “What about him (ie. what will John’s fate be?).” If Bedivere is having doubts at this point, the apostolic witness records that some of them continued to doubt even as the gathered to watch the resurrected Christ ascend.

Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes?
For now I see the true old times are dead,
When every morning brought a noble chance,
And every chance brought out a noble knight.
Such times have been not since the light that led
The holy Elders with the gift of myrrh.

Bedivere draws an explicit link between himself and the apostles by paralleling Arthur’s Camelot to the miraculous and world-changing period of Jesus’ life. We can also hear, however, a genuine and familiar nostalgia for a vanished youth. How many of us have found on going off to college, or graduating from college, or having to step down and retire that “the true old times are dead”?

But now the whole Round Table is dissolved
Which was an image of the mighty world,
And I, the last, go forth companionless,
And the days darken round me, and the years,
Among new men, strange faces, other minds.'

Bedivere’s real fear is not only of abandonment, but also of not being understood. He is a man who has outlived his own times. We may recognize in this the fear of the artist: that the day will come when he still wishes to create art but cannot be understood by the new generation and so passes into incoherence and futility. This may have been a real fear for Tennyson as we get a sense throughout the “Idylls of the King” that the promising Victorian society that he grew up in was shifting and passing into the decadent and troubled world of the Edwardians and the final collapse in “that battle in the West,/Where all of high and holy dies away.”

And slowly answered Arthur from the barge:
'The old order changeth, yielding place to new,
And God fulfils himself in many ways,
Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.

Arthur makes his farewell speech. There is no “Great Commission” to carry the idea of Camelot out into the world as in latter versions of the legend. Indeed, as Arthur, who has been the Christ-figure throughout the work, prepares to leave the world he must at last relinquish his role as Christ-figure as well. Instead of imitating Christ in commissioning Bedivere to carry on Arthur’s work, the king explicitly forbids him to and tells the last knight instead to put his full confidence in the sovereignty of God. We have here the fulfillment of the “Time” and “Seasonal” imagery that dominates so much of the “Idylls of the King.” God is here revealed as the Lord of Times and Seasons directing history to its great and predestined end. Because God has made change integral to his purpose for humanity, we are also warned against trying to preserve specific customs and eras past their appointed time. In a world where sin is rampant, all the works of man are eventually eaten up by the flaws within them and God must remove them in judgment lest a “good custom” become an evil one. It was a stern warning to the Victorian order and is a stern warning to our own as well. An Arthur that does not recognize his mortality and relinquish his role as Christ-type in due season becomes an idol that must be smashed.

Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me?
I have lived my life, and that which I have done
May He within himself make pure! but thou,
If thou shouldst never see my face again,
Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer
Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice
Rise like a fountain for me night and day.

Arthur draws Bedivere and the reader’s attention to the fact that he is not Christ but a mere man and that God and not man is the ultimate judge of a person’s life. Indeed, since no person’s life work is unmarred by sin and human weakness each human must place his trust in God to purify his work and give it any eternal meaning. Arthur confesses his own weakness and inadequacy by asking Bedivere to pray for him while at the same time affirming his faith in God and the power of prayer.

For what are men better than sheep or goats
That nourish a blind life within the brain,
If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer
Both for themselves and those who call them friend?

Tennyson uses Evolution as a metaphor throughout the work. Here, however, he makes a clear distinction between man and beast. Man is the animal that can have a personal relationship with his creator and with his neighbor. When we forget that, we “real back into the beast” and are no longer men. This theme can be found in elsewhere in George MacDonald’s “The Princess and Curdie” and C.S. Lewis’ “The Magician’s Nephew” and “The Last Battle.”

For so the whole round earth is every way
Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.

In an age of doubt, Tennyson gives us a radical picture of God’s commitment to the world he has made. The preoccupation with God’s connectedness to history, and particularly to human suffering would become a driving force in Twentieth Century theology ultimately leading to the unorthodox ideas of process theology and pantheism. What exactly Tennyson means by this image, beyond what is stated above, is unclear. Given the context of the metaphor, the “golden chains” seem to be human prayers. If so, are we to understand that human prayer somehow binds God to the world? On the other hand, is Tennyson asserting that prayer binds the world to the God from which its own evil has estranged it?

But now farewell. I am going a long way
With these thou seest--if indeed I go
(For all my mind is clouded with a doubt)--
To the island-valley of Avilion;
Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow,
Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies
Deep-meadowed, happy, fair with orchard lawns
And bowery hollows crowned with summer sea,
Where I will heal me of my grievous wound.'

Avilion is here pictured in a way that is reminiscent of Dante’s Purgatory and the Greek Hesperides. The doubt that clouds Arthurs mind again reminds us that he is merely human and cannot with absolute certainty foretell what lies on the other side of death.

So said he, and the barge with oar and sail
Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan
That, fluting a wild carol ere her death,
Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood
With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere
Revolving many memories, till the hull
Looked one black dot against the verge of dawn,
And on the mere the wailing died away.

Tennyson links the funeral boat explicitly with a dying swan. As noted earlier, this is an image that repeats itself in Tolkien. Bedivere, in watching Arthur’s departure, mirrors the disciples watching Christ ascend into heaven.

But when that moan had past for evermore,
The stillness of the dead world's winter dawn
Amazed him, and he groaned, 'The King is gone.'
And therewithal came on him the weird rhyme,
'From the great deep to the great deep he goes.'

The “weird rhyme” is that given by Merlin in answer to Queen Bellicent when she inquires into the truth of Arthur’s birth. Bedivere hears it at King Leodogran’s court in “The Coming of Arthur.” Whatever Arthur’s origins, the prophesies regarding him have been fulfilled. Bedivere, like the apostles, will be left in the coming years to ponder the meaning of this and then attempt to articulate it to a new generation.

Whereat he slowly turned and slowly clomb
The last hard footstep of that iron crag;
Thence marked the black hull moving yet, and cried,
'He passes to be King among the dead,
And after healing of his grievous wound
He comes again; but--if he come no more--
O me, be yon dark Queens in yon black boat,
Who shrieked and wailed, the three whereat we gazed
On that high day, when, clothed with living light,
They stood before his throne in silence, friends
Of Arthur, who should help him at his need?'

With Arthur removed, Bedivere is now called upon to place his own faith in the three queens; Faith, Hope, and Love. This was the condition of the apostles after Jesus’ ascension and the condition of all Christians this side of Death or the Escaton.

Then from the dawn it seemed there came, but faint
As from beyond the limit of the world,
Like the last echo born of a great cry,
Sounds, as if some fair city were one voice
Around a king returning from his wars.

Tennyson tells us that Arthur passes into “the East, whence have sprung all the great religions of the world.” Using explicitly Biblical imagery Tennyson goes on to explain “A triumph of welcome is given to him who has proved himself “’more than a conqueror.’”

Thereat once more he moved about, and clomb
Even to the highest he could climb, and saw,
Straining his eyes beneath an arch of hand,
Or thought he saw, the speck that bare the King,
Down that long water opening on the deep
Somewhere far off, pass on and on, and go
From less to less and vanish into light.
And the new sun rose bringing the new year.

Arthur’s vanishing into light symbolizes his acceptance into the presence of God. As the apostle says: “God is light; in Him is no darkness.” The new year symbolizes the new generation and the new era that has come.

Glossing Tennyson: The Platypus Reads Part XCVI

2011-03-26T20:13:00.000-07:00

And answer made King Arthur, breathing hard:
'My end draws nigh; 'tis time that I were gone.
Make broad thy shoulders to receive my weight,
And bear me to the margin; yet I fear
My wound hath taken cold, and I shall die.'

Now that Bedivere has passed the test of obedience he can fulfill Arthur’s words: “For thou, the latest-left of all my knights,/In whom should meet the offices of all.” Bedivere has “upheld” Arthur from the beginning when he fought in the Twelve Battles and defended him against accusations before King Leodogran. It is fitting that he should now uphold him in a literal fashion as well. This scene is also interesting given its parallels with J.R.R. Tolkien’s “The Return of the King” where Sam bares Frodo up the slopes of Mount Doom. In addition, in each story we see an object of mystic power that must be cast away, into water or lava, in spite of its obvious attractions.

So saying, from the pavement he half rose,
Slowly, with pain, reclining on his arm,
And looking wistfully with wide blue eyes
As in a picture. Him Sir Bedivere
Remorsefully regarded through his tears,
And would have spoken, but he found not words;
Then took with care, and kneeling on one knee,
O'er both his shoulders drew the languid hands,
And rising bore him through the place of tombs.

But, as he walked, King Arthur panted hard,
Like one that feels a nightmare on his bed
When all the house is mute. So sighed the King,
Muttering and murmuring at his ear, 'Quick, quick!
I fear it is too late, and I shall die.'

Tennyson worried that he had made his Arthur so “perfect” as to appear more than human. Tennyson’s son tells us that his father explicitly tried to guard against misinterpretation of character by inserting the declaimer that Arthur was “Ideal manhood closed in real man” into the epilog “To the Queen.” Here also Tennyson makes sure to give us a humanized Arthur who has real weaknesses and knows the fear of death. On the other hand, Arthur is already undergoing a kind of death, from flesh and blood person to arise again as the mythic “once and future king.” It is significant that in an age of doubt that Tennyson envisions Arthur as what C.S. Lewis calls a “true myth.” Arthur’s actions have mythic power and significance but they are still enacted by a real, flesh and blood figure. Thus Tennyson portrays Arthur as most human at his most legendary moment. In light of this, we should understand that Tennyson’s Arthur is a Christ-figure, but he is also a type of the ideal Christian who, though imperfect, still imitates Christ.

But the other swiftly strode from ridge to ridge,
Clothed with his breath, and looking, as he walked,
Larger than human on the frozen hills.
He heard the deep behind him, and a cry
Before. His own thought drove him like a goad.
Dry clashed his harness in the icy caves
And barren chasms, and all to left and right
The bare black cliff clanged round him, as he based
His feet on juts of slippery crag that rang
Sharp-smitten with the dint of armed heels--
And on a sudden, lo! the level lake,
And the long glories of the winter moon.

Like Tolkien’s Sam Gamgee, Bedivere in serving the legendary King Arthur becomes for a moment a figure of legend himself. The cold and bareness of the land are symbols of death.

Then saw they how there hove a dusky barge,
Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern,
Beneath them; and descending they were ware
That all the decks were dense with stately forms,
Black-stoled, black-hooded, like a dream--by these
Three Queens with crowns of gold: and from them rose
A cry that shivered to the tingling stars,
And, as it were one voice, an agony
Of lamentation, like a wind that shrills
All night in a waste land, where no one comes,
Or hath come, since the making of the world.

Again, we should note the parallel with the works of J.R.R. Tolkien. Just as the grievously wounded Frodo cannot remain in Middle Earth once his great task is finished and must sail across the sea to a mystic island where he will find healing, so Arthur must pass over to Avilion. Tennyson’s “black barge,” however, stands in contrast to Tolkien’s “white ship,” though both are an image of death (Tolkien makes this explicit by making his white ships in the form of swans, a bird associated with death). The three queens are from “The Coming of Arthur” where it was foretold that they would help the king in his hour of need. There the queens appear in three colors; green, blue, and red for the theological virtues of Faith, Hope, and Love. Star imagery is important throughout “The Idylls of the King” and tends to follow the idea of “the music of the spheres” where God’s love causes the angelic intelligences within the crystalline spheres to move in orbit about his throne thus causing a music as the spheres rub against one another (like a wet finger on a filled crystal glass). The three Queens cries “that shivered to the tingling stars” thus symbolize effectiveness of the three virtues in communicating with the heavenly realms.

Then murmured Arthur, 'Place me in the barge.'
So to the barge they came. There those three Queens
Put forth their hands, and took the King, and wept.

Arthur, facing death, is committed into the keeping of the three virtues. His our has passed, but as the apostle Paul testifies, Faith, Hope, and Love remain forever.

But she, that rose the tallest of them all
And fairest, laid his head upon her lap,
And loosed the shattered casque, and chafed his hands,

Paul tells us that the greatest of the three theological virtues is Love. Elsewhere in the apostle’s writings, he identifies the helmet with salvation. Even Arthur with all his purity and greatness cannot save himself and must ultimately rest in the Love of God. The wounding of Arthur’s head may also be a reference to religious doubt. Where the mind fails to bring assurance of salvation, Love may provide it.

And called him by his name, complaining loud,
And dropping bitter tears against a brow
Striped with dark blood: for all his face was white
And colourless, and like the withered moon
Smote by the fresh beam of the springing east;

Like the moon, Arthur is only a reflection of the divine light, not the Light itself. However, this scene should put us in mind of another great image of Christ, the Pieta. The tallest queen holds the bloodied body of Arthur in her arms much as Mary holds the body of Christ in Michelangelo’s famous sculpture.

And all his greaves and cuisses dashed with drops
Of onset; and the light and lustrous curls--
That made his forehead like a rising sun
High from the dais-throne--were parched with dust;
Or, clotted into points and hanging loose,
Mixed with the knightly growth that fringed his lips.
So like a shattered column lay the King;
Not like that Arthur who, with lance in rest,
From spur to plume a star of tournament,
Shot through the lists at Camelot, and charged
Before the eyes of ladies and of kings.

This is perhaps one of the saddest and most powerful passages in “The Idylls of the King.” In reminding us of Arthur’s glorious beginning, Tennyson prepares us for the king’s farewell speech.

Glossing Tennyson: The Platypus Reads Part XCV

2011-03-18T20:08:00.000-07:00

Then went Sir Bedivere the second time
Across the ridge, and paced beside the mere,
Counting the dewy pebbles, fixed in thought;
But when he saw the wonder of the hilt,
How curiously and strangely chased, he smote
His palms together, and he cried aloud:

'And if indeed I cast the brand away,
Surely a precious thing, one worthy note,
Should thus be lost for ever from the earth,
Which might have pleased the eyes of many men.

Arthur as a “saint” should have appropriate holy relics, but every relic risks becoming an idol. Arthur’s mission was to point men to God, not thrill them with baubles, however costly. As all the old certainties are upset, Bedivere is clutching at straws. The irony is that Arthur is not even dead.

What good should follow this, if this were done?
What harm, undone? Deep harm to disobey,
Seeing obedience is the bond of rule.
Were it well to obey then, if a king demand
An act unprofitable, against himself?
The King is sick, and knows not what he does.

Tennyson leads us through a very creditable process of rationalization. As a cynical Heinlein once quipped: “Man is not a rational but a rationalizing animal.”

What record, or what relic of my lord
Should be to aftertime, but empty breath
And rumours of a doubt? But were this kept,
Stored in some treasure-house of mighty kings,
Some one might show it at a joust of arms,
Saying, "King Arthur's sword, Excalibur,
Wrought by the lonely maiden of the Lake.
Nine years she wrought it, sitting in the deeps
Upon the hidden bases of the hills."
So might some old man speak in the aftertime
To all the people, winning reverence.
But now much honour and much fame were lost.'

Bedivere’s temptation now becomes clear: to disobey Arthur for the sake of Arthur’s honor. This is a frequent motif in the gospels. James and John wish to call down thunder when a village rejects Jesus’ teaching. Peter strikes off the High Priest’s servant’s ear when they come to arrest Jesus in Gethsemane. In each case, Jesus rebukes his disciples. They are zealous for Christ’s glory, but not for Christ. Like Peter, James, and John, Bedivere is one of Arthur’s most ardent disciples. In the coming of Arthur, he is swift to defend his sovereign’s legitimacy: “Then Bedivere, the first of all his knights/Knighted by Arthur at his crowning, spake-/For bold in heart and act and word was he,/Whenever slander breathed against the King-“. Now Bedivere faces a different test to his loyalty: can he separate his obedience to Arthur the man from his zeal for Arthur the legend? The passage regarding the forging of Excalibur is also a tour de force of Romantic poetry. These heart-piercing images will continue as the poem reaches its tragic conclusion.

So spake he, clouded with his own conceit,
And hid Excalibur the second time,
And so strode back slow to the wounded King.

Bedivere’s “clouded conceit” parallels the mist which covered the battle. He is running the risk of becoming confused like the traitor knights.

Then spoke King Arthur, breathing heavily:
'What is it thou hast seen? or what hast heard?'

The king’s heavy breathing shows us that he is dying and thus adds a sense of urgency.

And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere:
'I heard the water lapping on the crag,
And the long ripple washing in the reeds.'

To whom replied King Arthur, much in wrath:
'Ah, miserable and unkind, untrue,
Unknightly, traitor-hearted! Woe is me!
Authority forgets a dying king,
Laid widowed of the power in his eye
That bowed the will. I see thee what thou art,
For thou, the latest-left of all my knights,
In whom should meet the offices of all,
Thou wouldst betray me for the precious hilt;
Either from lust of gold, or like a girl
Valuing the giddy pleasure of the eyes.
Yet, for a man may fail in duty twice,
And the third time may prosper, get thee hence:
But, if thou spare to fling Excalibur,
I will arise and slay thee with my hands.'

Arthur seems to misunderstand Bedivere’s motivation here, or perhaps he understands it all too well and is revealing it for the shallow thing it is. Either way, his ability to command and reproach remains intact. His threat to slay Bedivere as a judicial act comes across as completely creditable despite the king’s wounds. Even in defeat, Arthur remains a powerful and commanding figure. The offer of a third chance has biblical resonance. Simon Peter denied Christ three times. We also see again that since Arthur knows his place, he is able to remind Bedivere of his and even in death serve as a force for order. It is another reminder that Arthur serves as the “Reason” of the body politic of Camelot.

Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere, and ran,
And, leaping down the ridges lightly, plunged
Among the bulrush beds, and clutched the sword,
And strongly wheeled and threw it. The great brand
Made lightnings in the splendour of the moon,
And flashing round and round, and whirled in an arch,
Shot like a streamer of the northern morn,
Seen where the moving isles of winter shock
By night, with noises of the Northern Sea.
So flashed and fell the brand Excalibur:
But ere he dipt the surface, rose an arm
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,
And caught him by the hilt, and brandished him
Three times, and drew him under in the mere.
And lightly went the other to the King.

The emphasis on Northern imagery in the casting away of Excalibur serves as a metaphor for death. Soon Arthur, like his famous sword, will be “cast” back into the sea from where he purportedly came. The white arm is presumably that of the Lady of the Lake. Her appearance serves as the prophesied sign that Bedivere has acted rightly. We can see this as parallel to the cock-crow that Jesus foretold would be the sign of Peter’s denial. Like Arthur, Bedivere stands on the far side of the Crucifixion and thus receives help that Peter lacked (remember that Peter was not allowed to speak with Christ during the course of his own temptation) allowing him to succeed on the third attempt where the Apostle failed. Tennyson draws our attention in his own gloss to “And flashing round and round, and whirl’d in an arch” which mimics the sound of the sword spinning through the air.

Then spoke King Arthur, drawing thicker breath:
'Now see I by thine eyes that this is done.
Speak out: what is it thou hast heard, or seen?'

And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere:
'Sir King, I closed mine eyelids, lest the gems
Should blind my purpose, for I never saw,
Nor shall see, here or elsewhere, till I die,
Not though I live three lives of mortal men,
So great a miracle as yonder hilt.
Then with both hands I flung him, wheeling him;
But when I looked again, behold an arm,
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,
That caught him by the hilt, and brandished him
Three times, and drew him under in the mere.'

Bedivere’s confession seems to imply that he still does not understand the purpose of Arthur’s command, but the relationship between king and subject is set right based on his obedience. This matches Arthur’s submission to the unfathomable will of God in Camelot’s overthrow. It is a picture of Faith in an age of doubt: we act based on trust in the rightness of God’s decrees even when they seem inscrutable or unclear.

Glossing Tennyson: The Platypus Reads Part XCIV

2011-03-17T12:11:00.000-07:00

Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere:
'The sequel of today unsolders all
The goodliest fellowship of famous knights
Whereof this world holds record. Such a sleep
They sleep--the men I loved. I think that we
Shall never more, at any future time,
Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds,
Walking about the gardens and the halls
Of Camelot, as in the days that were.

Arthur tells Bedivere that his life’s work has been destroyed in the destruction of the Round Table. Arthur has himself participated in this destruction thus siding with his duty as king over the love of his work. Even though Arthur expresses no doubts that he has done the right thing, he still mourns the passing of his work and the individuals who participated in it. This completes Arthur’s realization in the outset of the poem that: “For I, being simple, thought to work His will,/And have but stricken with the sword in vain;”. Arthur knows now that he cannot build the Kingdom of God on Earth. He is a Christ-figure, but not Christ. The idea that Tennyson expresses here, that even a Christ-like king cannot usher in a perfect world, flies in the face of both the Victorian faith in Progress and the Post-Millennialism embraced by Christians of the era. These two creeds would help lead Victorian civilization to its doom in what Wilson dubbed “The War to End All War.”

I perish by this people which I made,--
Though Merlin sware that I should come again
To rule once more; but, let what will be, be,
I am so deeply smitten through the helm
That without help I cannot last till morn.

Facing his death, Arthur is for a moment distracted by Merlin’s prophecy. However, he quickly turns back, as he has throughout the work, to do his duty. That duty is to return Excalibur, the symbol of his rule, to the Lady of the Lake. It should be remembered that the Lady of the Lake, on one level, represents the Church, or the Christian tradition. That she gives Arthur his mystic sword should be a reminder of the words of the apostle that civil authority comes from God and that he has given government “the sword” to punish wickedness. Since neither his sword nor his authority comes from himself, Arthur must return them both. This principle is written into the blade itself: “There likewise I beheld Excalibur/Before him at his crowning borne, the sword/That rose from out the bosom of the lake,/And Arthur row’d across and took it-rich/With jewels, elfin Urim, on the hilt,/Bewildering heart and eye-the blade so bright/That men are blinded by it-on one side,/Graven in the oldest tongue of all the world,/”Take me,” but turn the blade and ye shall see,/And written in the speech ye speak yourself,/”Cast me away!” And sad was Arthur’s face/Taking it, but old Merlin counsell’d him,/”Take thou and strike! the time to cast away/Is yet far-off.” So this great brand the king/Took, and by this will beat his foemen down.’”

Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur,
Which was my pride: for thou rememberest how
In those old days, one summer noon, an arm
Rose up from out the bosom of the lake,
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,
Holding the sword--and how I rowed across
And took it, and have worn it, like a king;
And, wheresoever I am sung or told
In aftertime, this also shall be known:
But now delay not: take Excalibur,
And fling him far into the middle mere:
Watch what thou seest, and lightly bring me word.'

Arthur revalues Excalibur even as he instructs Bedivere to throw it away naming it “my pride.” In relinquishing this final symbol of his kingship, Arthur overcomes his pride and thus achieves his final victory. It should be remembered that Pride is one of the seven deadly sins, and indeed the root of the other six. It is also the only one of the six which Arthur seems really susceptible throughout the work. Guinevere, though spiteful, speaks true when she says in “Lancelot and Elaine”: “Ye know right well, how meek soe’er he seem,/No keener hunter after glory breathes.” Though Arthur is able to cast off his pride, it will take Bedivere several tries before the knight can cast off his own.

To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere:
'It is not meet, Sir King, to leave thee thus,
Aidless, alone, and smitten through the helm--
A little thing may harm a wounded man;
Yet I thy hest will all perform at full,
Watch what I see, and lightly bring thee word.'

Bedivere, Arthur’s first knight, still maintains a protective loyalty towards Arthur that should put us in mind of the Apostle Peter. Like Peter, Bedivere will also be tested in his loyalty when events turn in a direction he cannot understand.

So saying, from the ruined shrine he stept,
And in the moon athwart the place of tombs,
Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men,
Old knights, and over them the sea-wind sang
Shrill, chill, with flakes of foam. He, stepping down
By zigzag paths, and juts of pointed rock,
Came on the shining levels of the lake.

Tennyson paints a hauntingly beautiful picture for us in true Romantic tradition. As an artist, Tennyson rejected both of the extremes popular in the Victorian era: subordinating art to mere didacticism, as in the novels of George MacDonald, or creating art for the mere sake of technique, as in the case of Oscar Wilde. At a symbolic level, Arthur is going to join the ancient heroes of Britain, some of whom are buried in the vaults by which Bedivere passes.

There drew he forth the brand Excalibur,
And o'er him, drawing it, the winter moon,
Brightening the skirts of a long cloud, ran forth
And sparkled keen with frost against the hilt:
For all the haft twinkled with diamond sparks,
Myriads of topaz-lights, and jacinth-work
Of subtlest jewellery. He gazed so long
That both his eyes were dazzled as he stood,
This way and that dividing the swift mind,
In act to throw: but at the last it seemed
Better to leave Excalibur concealed
There in the many-knotted waterflags,
That whistled stiff and dry about the marge.
So strode he back slow to the wounded King.

The question here placed before us is “what causes Bedivere to disobey the king?”. In this first scene of temptation, we are not allowed into Bedivere’s thoughts. Given what we know of bedivere’s character, it is hard to believe that he is tempted by the mere monetary value of the sword. At an allegorical level, the sword may represent the beauty of Arthur’s reign and the past order. In that case, this scene may be functioning as a morality play in which the folly of trying to cling to “the good old days” is revealed. Tolkien expresses the same moral in his “Return of the King” where Denethor, steward of the ancient realm of Gondor, facing the destruction of his kingdom can only pine that he would have things as they were in the days of his “long-fathers.” There are many things that the old ruler might have, but that is not one of them. As Gandalf the Wizard later declares: “Whatever betide, you have come to the end of the Gondor that you have known.” Holding on to the “old order” eventually drives Denethor mad and he misses the opportunity to participate in the salvation of his city. His son, Faramir, while also feeling the appeal of Ancient Gondor, rejects his father’s course and so finds a place for himself in the “new order” that emerges under Aragorn.

Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere:
'Hast thou performed my mission which I gave?
What is it thou hast seen? or what hast heard?'

And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere:
'I heard the ripple washing in the reeds,
And the wild water lapping on the crag.'

These lines between Bedivere and the King will be repeated throughout this scene, and the repetition reinforces the sense of mythic significance as Arthur passes into legend.

To whom replied King Arthur, faint and pale:
'Thou hast betrayed thy nature and thy name,
Not rendering true answer, as beseemed
Thy fealty, nor like a noble knight:
For surer sign had followed, either hand,
Or voice, or else a motion of the mere.
This is a shameful thing for men to lie.
Yet now, I charge thee, quickly go again,
As thou art lief and dear, and do the thing
I bade thee, watch, and lightly bring me word.'

We return to the motif of remembering or staying true to one’s name in this passage as Bedivere is forced to define himself now that the Round Table is no more. Notice also that Arthur’s dialog is becoming increasingly ritual and archaic. Tennyson, as one of the great doubters in an age of doubt, may be offering advice for how to maintain one’s virtue in uncertain times. If so, this scene seems to suggest that in moments of doubt, it is ritual and principle that give men a sense of self and thus allow them to act even if all the other “certainties” have been abolished. It may also be an affirmation that moral duty remains certain in spite of changing times. As Aragorn tells a baffled Eomer in “The Two Towers:” “Good and ill have not changed since yesteryear; nor are they one thing among Elves and Dwarves and another among men…”

Nota Bene

2011-03-15T15:43:00.001-07:00

The post for march 9th, "Glossing Tennyson: The Platypus Reads Part XCII" has been ammended to correct for the loss of several sentences from the original.

Begining Arthurian Torso: The Platypus Reads Part XCIII

2011-03-15T15:23:00.000-07:00

I've just acquired a three-in-one copy of "Arthurian Torso," "Taliesin Through Logres," and "The Kingdom of the Summer Stars". Fresh off of Tennyson and in the middle of teaching Mallory, I'm ready to dig in. However, I've been told that the best way to approach the work is to read Lewis' essay first and then read the poems in his suggested order. Does anyone have anything else to add for the benefit of a first-time reader? I've already encountered Williams via "Descent Into Hell," "All Hallows' Eve," "Many Dimensions," "War in Heaven," and Humphrey Carpenter's study of the Inklings.

Glossing Tennyson: The Platypus Reads Part XCII

2011-03-09T16:05:00.000-08:00

Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere,
And whiter than the mist that all day long
Had held the field of battle was the King:

Tennyson gives us another picture of Arthur as Leodogran’s “phantom king.” Bedivere stands with Arthur at the last, like John at the crucifixion, and so is able to record a true testimony of Arthur’s final words and deeds.

'Hearest thou this great voice that shakes the world,
And wastes the narrow realm whereon we move,
And beats upon the faces of the dead,
My dead, as though they had not died for me?--
O Bedivere, for on my heart hath fallen
Confusion, till I know not what I am,
Nor whence I am, nor whether I be King.
Behold, I seem but King among the dead.'

The “great voice that shakes the world” is in a literal sense the sound of the surf (“and rolling far along the gloomy shores”). Figuratively, it may be the voice of Death or Time, “the voice of days of old and days to be.” Looking at the break-down of time and space in this archetypal moment, however, it may be that Arthur’s crucifixion is coming under the power of The Crucifixion. If so, in this moment when Arthur is alone and forsaken his cry of helplessness is caught up into the great “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani” of the dying Son of God.

Then spake the bold Sir Bedivere: 'My King,
King everywhere! and so the dead have kings,
There also will I worship thee as King.
Yet still thy life is whole, and still I live
Who love thee; but who hates thee, he that brought
The heathen back among us, yonder stands,
Modred, unharmed, the traitor of thine house.'

Here again, we see that though Arthur is a Christ-figure, he does not have to bear Christ’s burden. By grace, Bedivere is with Arthur and able to offer him comfort in his final hour. As before, Bedivere calls Arthur to himself by reminding him of his name and role. This should remind us of “Merlin and Vivian” where Merlin confesses that he fears the loss of “name and fame” only as they decrease his usefulness. When Vivian strips the wizard of his power, he is “lost to life and use and name and fame.” Unlike Merlin, Arthur has not isolated himself from society and is thus saved from the great moment of weariness and despair that Merlin leaves himself open to when he sails away from Camelot.

Then spake the King: 'My house hath been my doom.

Arthur realizes that it is his inability to keep his own house in order that has caused his downfall. This is not specific to Modred, but includes, Guinevere, Gawain, and Lancelot as well. Tennyson may be commenting on Queen Victoria and Prince Albert’s ability to weld their public and private lives into a unified whole and thus make their “house” their greatest political asset. It is also interesting to note that Albert, who Tennyson says admired Arthur “Perchance as finding there unconsciously/Some image of himself,” contracted the typhus which killed him while visiting Cambridge to rebuke his son for a sexual liaison with a chorus girl thus making Albert’s “house” the source of his doom.

But call not thou this traitor of my house
Who hath but dwelt beneath one roof with me.
My house are rather they who sware my vows,
Yea, even while they brake them, owned me King.

This echoes Christ’s words to the crowds when his mother and brothers come to keep him from embarrassing the family: here are my mother and brothers.

And well for thee, saying in my dark hour,
When all the purport of my throne hath failed,
That quick or dead thou holdest me for King.

Unlike the apostles, Bedivere is here in Arthur’s “dark hour” to confess him as the true king. The fact that the title “Christ” is a hold-over from the Greek often keeps us from remembering that when Peter confessed Jesus as “Christ” he was confessing him as the “anointed king.”

King am I, whatsoever be their cry;
And one last act of kinghood shalt thou see
Yet, ere I pass.' And uttering this the King
Made at the man: then Modred smote his liege
Hard on that helm which many a heathen sword
Had beaten thin; while Arthur at one blow,
Striking the last stroke with Excalibur,
Slew him, and all but slain himself, he fell.

Arthur, knowing his role, knows himself and thus has power to act. This is Arthur’s final test. He and Bedivere outnumber Modred. They could declare victory and go home. In time, however, Modred could gather a new army and Arthur’s Round Table would take a lifetime to rebuild. Even though Arthur will pass, he can at least insure that the coming order can emerge free from the corruption of Modred. This matches Arthur’s cryptic words at the end of “The Holy Grail” where he tells his knights: “And some among you held, that if the King/Had seen the sight he would have swore the vow:/Not easily, seeing that the king must guard/That which he rules, and is but as the hind/To whom a space of land is given to plow./Who may not wander from the allotted field/Before his work be done; but, being done,/Let visions of the night or of the day/Come, as they will…” Here Arthur keeps to his word and does his duty to the last but, his duty done, the visions of Avilion will now swiftly catch him up. In the same passage of “The Holy Grail” Continuing the quotation, Arthur also explicitly identifies with Christ: “…and many a time they come,/Until this earth he walks on seems not earth,/This light that strikes his eyeball is not light,/This air that smites his forehead is not air/But vision-yea, his very hand and foot-/In moments when he feels he cannot die,/And knows himself no vision to himself,/Nor the high God a vision, nor that One/Who rose again…” Arthur fulfills his role as Christ-type in smiting down Modred the Satan figure: “He will crush your head, and you will strike his heel.” We should also note that Tennyson has changed this scene from Mallory where Arthur attacks Modred with a spear. The switch allows Arthur to use Excalibur, the symbol of his office, and thus enhance the sense that Arthur is fulfilling his final duty as king.

So all day long the noise of battle rolled
Among the mountains by the winter sea;
Until King Arthur's Table, man by man,
Had fallen in Lyonnesse about their lord,
King Arthur. Then, because his wound was deep,
The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him,
And bore him to a chapel nigh the field,
A broken chancel with a broken cross,
That stood on a dark strait of barren land:
On one side lay the Ocean, and on one
Lay a great water, and the moon was full.

Tennyson tells us that the whole Round Table died in battle about King Arthur. It is important to remember that more of the knights of the Round Table fell attacking Arthur than defending him. Thus, Tennyson is pointing us to the fact that even the traitor knights somehow belong to Arthur. This may remind us of what Brother Ambrose says about the members of the Round Table in “The Holy Grail”: :”For good ye are and bad, and like to coins,/Some true, some light, but every one of you/Stamp’d with the image of the King…” Bedivere carries his lord in fashion similar to that of Sam Gamgee bearing Frodo on his back at Mount Doom. Further parallels between Tennyson and Tolkien can be seen in this poem leading one to wonder if claims of Tolkien’s supposed rejection of the Arthur legends as source material for “The Lord of the Rings” are inaccurate. The broken chancel and the broken cross can be seen as icons for the loss of faith and the breaking of sacred vows. The ocean plays an important role in Tennyson’s poetry as a symbol of death and the infinite. This is most evident in the poem “Crossing the Bar” which he requested to be placed at the end of any collection of his poems: “Sunset and the evening star/And one clear call for me!/And may there be no moaning of the bar,/When I put out to sea,/But such a tide as moving seems asleep,/Too full for sound and foam,/When that which drew from out the boundless deep/Turns again home./Twilight and the evening bell,/And after that the dark!/And may there be no sadness of farewell,/When I embark;/For tho’ from out our bourne of Time and Place/The flood may bear me far,/I hope to see my Pilot face to face/When I have crost the bar.” The water may be the temporary lake that surrounds Glastonbury abbey, often thought to be Avilion, at certain times of the year.

Glossing Tennyson: The Platypus Reads Part XCI

2011-03-06T19:28:00.001-08:00

Then rose the King and moved his host by night,
And ever pushed Sir Modred, league by league,
Back to the sunset bound of Lyonnesse--
A land of old upheaven from the abyss
By fire, to sink into the abyss again;
Where fragments of forgotten peoples dwelt,
And the long mountains ended in a coast
Of ever-shifting sand, and far away
The phantom circle of a moaning sea.

Moving at night, Arthur enters into the dream-like world of Lyonnesse where time and reality begin to break down. This is Arthur’s crucifixion and, like Christ’s crucifixion, it becomes an event that transcends time and re-orders past and future events around it like the hub and spokes of a wheel. Arthur has now firmly passed into that place where History and Myth meet.

There the pursuer could pursue no more,
And he that fled no further fly the King;
And there, that day when the great light of heaven
Burned at his lowest in the rolling year,
On the waste sand by the waste sea they closed.

Tennyson reminds us that this battle is fought on the Winter Solstice, or the darkest time of the year. This represents the death of Arthur and his realm as we reach Camelot’s winter. It is also a day of power in paganism and thus heightens the sense that the forces of evil and regression have the upper hand. The battle takes place on “the waste sand by the waste sea” to remind us that Arthur’s kingdom has now reverted to the “waste” that characterized Briton before “The Coming of Arthur.”

Nor ever yet had Arthur fought a fight
Like this last, dim, weird battle of the west.
A deathwhite mist slept over sand and sea:

As at Christ’s crucifixion, a darkness falls over the land. Notice also the return of the “battle in the west” motif. In “To The Queen,” Tennyson elaborates that it is “that battle in the West, where all of high and holy dies away.” As the Round Table turns and devours itself, it is not just its sins that will be blotted out, but all of “high and holy” that it strove to create as well. We may compare this with the Biblical narrative where the Babylonian chastisement on sinful Judah also destroys the Temple. We may also compare this with Tolkien’s pyrrhic victory in “The Lord of the Rings” where even though Sauron is defeated, the elves still pass away.

Whereof the chill, to him who breathed it, drew
Down with his blood, till all his heart was cold
With formless fear; and even on Arthur fell
Confusion, since he saw not whom he fought.

For friend and foe were shadows in the mist,
And friend slew friend not knowing whom he slew;

Tennyson notes that this battle is meant to be “a vision of death.” We might add that it also represents the spiritual turmoil of civil war. This was not a far-off concept as the American Civil War was raging during the time of composition of several of the idylls. It can also been seen as a snap-shot of the raging controversies and deep doubts that racked mid-Victorian England.

And some had visions out of golden youth,
And some beheld the faces of old ghosts
Look in upon the battle; and in the mist

As noted earlier, time begins to break down as the battle rages and past and present begin to meet. At this moment, Arthur’s kingdom has come full-circle to the warfare and chaos in which it began. Readers of the novels of Charles Williams, who attempted his own poetic Arthurian cycle, should be reminded of similar temporal and spiritual nexuses in his own writings; particularly in “Descent Into Hell.”

Was many a noble deed, many a base,
And chance and craft and strength in single fights,
And ever and anon with host to host
Shocks, and the splintering spear, the hard mail hewn,
Shield-breakings, and the clash of brands, the crash
Of battleaxes on shattered helms, and shrieks
After the Christ, of those who falling down
Looked up for heaven, and only saw the mist;
And shouts of heathen and the traitor knights,
Oaths, insults, filth, and monstrous blasphemies,
Sweat, writhings, anguish, labouring of the lungs
In that close mist, and cryings for the light,
Moans of the dying, and voices of the dead.

Tennyson records no deeds of note during this last battle to enhance the sensation of confusion and the loss of meaning created by the spiritual and political uncertainties that the mist, at one level, represents. The word-choice also creates a harsh and clashing sounds when read aloud that mirror the actions they describe. Since he is a master of poetic style, it is always important to be on the alert when reading Tennyson for how the sounds of the words he chooses match what they describe.

Last, as by some one deathbed after wail
Of suffering, silence follows, or through death
Or deathlike swoon, thus over all that shore,
Save for some whisper of the seething seas,
A dead hush fell; but when the dolorous day
Grew drearier toward twilight falling, came
A bitter wind, clear from the North, and blew
The mist aside, and with that wind the tide
Rose, and the pale King glanced across the field
Of battle: but no man was moving there;
Nor any cry of Christian heard thereon,
Nor yet of heathen; only the wan wave
Brake in among dead faces, to and fro
Swaying the helpless hands, and up and down
Tumbling the hollow helmets of the fallen,
And shivered brands that once had fought with Rome,
And rolling far along the gloomy shores
The voice of days of old and days to be.

Tennyson tells us that the last “weird battle in the west” is a metaphor for death. It is Arthur’s crucifixion, but it is also the death of the Round Table. Though it is not mentioned here, we should remember from the Geraint poems that it is in this battle where Edyrn son of Nudd and Geraint, knights Arthur was able to redeem, die fighting for the king. We aren’t told which knights turn traitor beyond Sir Modred. Regardless of what side they fought on, when all the confused and warring knights are dead the mist of earthly confusion parts. For good or ill, Death ends the ambiguity and confusion of earthly existence. This is oddly parallel with the final lines of “Guinevere” who passes “to where beyond these voices there is peace.” The North wind often represents Death in literature and thus it is fitting that it blows back the mist. The fratricidal knights, the mist, and the pale king all parallel elements in king Leodogran’s dream from “The Coming of Arthur” and Arthur’s dream before the battle. Tennyson also takes care to mention that the shattered swords that litter the sea-shore are also those that freed Arthur’s kingdom from Roman rule at the outset. Enhancing the sense that we have come full-circle are the voices “of days of old and days to be.” This is the foretold moment of catastrophe where Arthur actually faces the complete ruin of his life’s work.

Scribbling Through Chesterton: Whiteboard Platypus

2011-03-02T17:09:00.000-08:00

Final Tennyson Scribblings: Whiteboard Platypus

2011-03-02T17:05:00.000-08:00

Glossing Tennyson: The Platypus Reads Part XC

2011-02-28T16:06:00.000-08:00

Then, ere that last weird battle in the west,

“The last weird battle in the west” or “the battle in the west” will become a recurring motif in both “The Passing of Arthur” and “To The Queen.” Merlin has already predicted this battle in “Merlin and Vivian” where he gave it the ominous title of “world war.” With Arthur’s Camelot serving as an allegory for Victoria’s England, these passages then become arrestingly prophetic as we remember the destruction of the Victorian achievement on the fields of France in World War I. Beyond this, Arthur’s last battle takes place in the west, not the north as in Nennius, and thus plays into Tennyson’s seasonal and day imagery. Throughout “The Idylls of the King” we find Tennyson playing with the seasons, the hours of the day, and time. The whole work moves through the seasons from spring to winter. Arthur wages twelve great battles and there are twelve idylls, one for each hour of the day (there are none for the hours of the night for, as Christ points out, no work can be done at night). Many of the idylls do not follow a direct sequence of events, but rather flash forward and backward in time. The whole effect is twofold. One, it enhances the Tennyson’s central meditations on the rise and fall of Victorian society in particular and civilization in general. Two, it reminds us that time and its passing are relative, not fixed, in so far as human events are concerned, especially on the supernatural level. These things having been said, the Tennyson’s choice to set Arthur’s last battle in the west taps into the “day imagery.” Arthur’s “day” is setting as he faces death and the destruction of the Round Table.

There came on Arthur sleeping, Gawain killed
In Lancelot's war, the ghost of Gawain blown
Along a wandering wind, and past his ear
Went shrilling, 'Hollow, hollow all delight!

In the sequence that follows, Gawain’s ghost returns in a dream to foretell Arthur’s passing and the ruin of his realm. Notice again the motif that Arthur “passes” rather than “dies.” Gawain, according to Mallory, was wounded in single combat with Sir Lancelot while trying to avenge the death of his brother. During the first assault on Modred’s troops, the wound reopened and Gawain perished. Why Gawain’s ghost predicts Arthur’s passing is a bit of a mystery. We may speculate that because he is Arthur’s kin he is allowed to speak to Arthur prophetically. Like Hamlet’s ghost, however, there is a certain ambiguity to the figure of Gawain’s ghost. The torments and bloody course of revenge that Hamlet’s ghost advocates seem much more appropriate for a damned spirit than one doing penance in Purgatory. Likewise, the image of Gawain’s spirit being “blown along a wandering wind” sans delight seems to be a reference to the Circle of the Lustful in Dante’s “Inferno.” This is also not the first time we have seen Gawain associated with Dante’s Circle of the Lustful. In “The Holy Grail” Gawain wearies of the quest and takes up with a bevy of beautiful women. A whirlwind comes and blows Gawain and his ladies all about. The tenor of his message is also devoid of hope and even seems to contain a certain element of schadenfreude. All of this leads us to wonder what the ghost’s purpose is and whether Arthur should believe it or alter his course of action based on this visitation.

Hail, King! tomorrow thou shalt pass away.
Farewell! there is an isle of rest for thee.
And I am blown along a wandering wind,
And hollow, hollow, hollow all delight.'
And fainter onward, like wild birds that change
Their season in the night and wail their way
From cloud to cloud, down the long wind the dream
Shrilled; but in going mingled with dim cries
Far in the moonlit haze among the hills,
As of some lonely city sacked by night,
When all is lost, and wife and child with wail
Pass to new lords; and Arthur woke and called,

What, then, is Tennyson doing with this section? The ambiguity of the messenger aside, Arthur’s dream has odd parallels with the dream King Leodogran has in “The Coming of Arthur” where he sees a phantom king surrounded by unheeding figures that slay and pillage. Perhaps Leodogran is granted a prophetic glimpse of Arthur’s ruin and ultimate “apotheosis.” If so, it is interesting that this vision convinces Leodogran to give Arthur his daughter in marriage, thus unknowingly precipitating Camelot’s ruin and Arthur’s passing into mythic icon. It is also interesting that the dream Leodogran has causes him put aside his doubts and change his course of action while Arthur’s dream enhances his doubts but does nothing to change his course of action.

'Who spake? A dream. O light upon the wind,
Thine, Gawain, was the voice--are these dim cries
Thine? or doth all that haunts the waste and wild
Mourn, knowing it will go along with me?'

Arthur, unlike the young prince Hamlet, is old and wise enough to doubt such an ambiguous messenger.

This heard the bold Sir Bedivere and spake:
'O me, my King, let pass whatever will,
Elves, and the harmless glamour of the field;
But in their stead thy name and glory cling
To all high places like a golden cloud
For ever: but as yet thou shalt not pass.

One wonders what the angels said to Christ in Gethsemane when they came and brought comfort to him. Arthur, being only a type of Christ and not the reality does not receive angelic succor but is nevertheless comforted by the appearance of Bedivere. Bedivere comforts Arthur with Arthur’s name; a reminder that the King’s good deeds have not been in vain. This parallels with Arthur’s concern for Lancelot’s name in “Lancelot and Elaine.” There, a dejected Lancelot finds his name and reputation a torment since they make his sin with Guinevere stand out all the worse. We can also note a parallel with “Guinevere” where the novice in her story makes the elves and fair folk a sign of the blessedness of Arthur’s early reign. Here, at the end of Arthur’s reign, the King worries that the fair folk may be signaling his ultimate defeat. Bedivere, who, unlike the novice, remembers the events of “The Coming of Arthur,” will have nothing to do with such fictitious portents. Bedivere’s strident tone in this portion of the poem matches with Peter’s rash assertions to follow Christ no matter what. This is ironic, since Bedivere will later deny Arthur twice.

Light was Gawain in life, and light in death
Is Gawain, for the ghost is as the man;
And care not thou for dreams from him, but rise—

Bedivere also knows just what to do with Gawain’s ghost: ignore it. Whether it is a true visitation or just a dream, Arthur’s duty remains the same.

I hear the steps of Modred in the west,

Notice that we have here again the link between the “west” and death or doom.

And with him many of thy people, and knights
Once thine, whom thou hast loved, but grosser grown
Than heathen, spitting at their vows and thee.
Right well in heart they know thee for the King.
Arise, go forth and conquer as of old.'

Bedivere sees the apostate knights as worse than the pagan Anglo-Saxon invaders since they side with barbarism having known civilization and paganism having known Christianity. This can be linked with the devolution motif, as the Round Table was created to ennoble mankind by its good example and now is joining in corrupting mankind with its lust for power. Arthur has already seen this lust eating up the younger knights in “The Last Tournament” and thus knows that there is no going back to the old days as Bedivere urges (“Arise, go forth and conquer as of old”). This becomes apparent in his reply.

Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere:
'Far other is this battle in the west
Whereto we move, than when we strove in youth,
And brake the petty kings, and fought with Rome,
Or thrust the heathen from the Roman wall,
And shook him through the north. Ill doom is mine
To war against my people and my knights.

The king who fights his people fights himself.

And they my knights, who loved me once, the stroke
That strikes them dead is as my death to me.

Bedivere is trying to hold onto the past and Arthur gently rebukes him for it. Arthur’s reply is not as stern an admonishment as “get thee behind me Satan,” but the overall tenor is still there. The nature of this battle, being a civil war, is such that there can be no such thing as a “glorious” victory. Even if Arthur wins, it will be by killing off a great portion of his remaining knights and the realm will be left in a hopelessly weakened state. Most of all, however, Bedivere is trying to convince Arthur that his impending crucifixion need not be a crucifixion and in this way continues in his role as Peter with Arthur as the Christ figure. The mention of Rome is meant to be a parallel with “The Coming of Arthur” where the final test of Arthur’s new order is a war with Rome. Rome will be mentioned again and forms a motif in this poem reminding us that Arthur’s civilization is going the way of all great civilizations. This should have been evident from the beginning, and yet Bedivere is tempted to believe that somehow Camelot can be different. Arthur rightly understands this sentiment for what it is, a temptation, and rejects it.

Yet let us hence, and find or feel a way
Through this blind haze, which ever since I saw
One lying in the dust at Almesbury,
Hath folded in the passes of the world.'

We see here again what the loss of Guinevere means both literally and symbolically for Arthur. Without the Heart, Reason’s perception of the world becomes clouded. The blind haze, continuing the motif from “Guinevere,” is also a reminder that Arthur is swiftly passing into the realm of myth and legend.

Glossing Tennyson: The Platypus Reads Part LXXXIX

2011-02-23T19:48:00.000-08:00

I've just wrapped up Tennyson's "Idylls of the King" with my seniors. As I have quite number of thoughts to share, I thought I would try something rather ambitious. I am going to attempt over the next few posts to gloss final poem in the series "The Passing of Arthur." We'll see how it goes.

That story which the bold Sir Bedivere,
First made and latest left of all the knights,
Told, when the man was no more than a voice
In the white winter of his age, to those
With whom he dwelt, new faces, other minds.

The opening of “The Passing of Arthur” stands in marked contrast with the previous idyll “Guinevere.” In “Guinevere” we see both Arthur and the Queen passing into myth while the opening to “The Passing of Arthur” claims to be an eye-witness testimony. In his role as the last eyewitness to great events that are rapidly passing into myth, Bedivere serves as a sort of John the Evangelist. John sets down his account to save a historical Jesus from the myth-making of the Gnostic and pass on knowledge of the Christ to a generation of Christians who have no memory of the gospel events. In the same way, Bedivere hopes to pass on an understanding of Arthur that can combat the saccharine fables of characters like the novice in “Guinevere.” This desire will form the core of Bedivere’s Petrine temptation later in the poem when he must throw Excalibur back into the lake.

For on their march to westward, Bedivere,
Who slowly paced among the slumbering host,
Heard in his tent the moanings of the King:

Like Peter, James, and John, Bedivere as a member of Arthur’s “inner ring” is present at Arthur’s Gethsemane and so is able to record Arthur’s struggle with the destiny God has set before him. Indeed, Bedivere takes on the role of all the Apostles, save Judas, throughout the poem. Also worth noticing is that the army is moving westward. “Going west” is a euphemism for death.

'I found Him in the shining of the stars,
I marked Him in the flowering of His fields,

Arthur opens his Gethsemane monologue with an affirmation of God’s presence in the heavens and on the earth. We may think of the Doxology: “Praise God from whom all blessings flow/Praise Him ye creatures here below/Praise Him above ye heavenly hosts/Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.” We may see this as confessional, but there is also an apologetic argument in shorthand here. Arthur sees Order, as represented by the stars, and Beauty, as represented by the flowers, as evidence of the existence of God. The existence of God of a Beautiful and Orderly God, however, poses a problem for Arthur in his particular circumstances.

But in His ways with men I find Him not.

I waged His wars, and now I pass and die.

Arthur states his problem and it is the problem of Job. Arthur has chosen to lend his powers to the side of God and the result of it has been the overthrow of everything he has worked for. The question Arthur is asking is: “why am I suffering if I am righteous?” This question has to find resolution before Arthur can “drink from the cup.” Interestingly, Arthur refused the quest of the Grail knowing that God was calling him to remain at his post. Now the Grail comes to Arthur again in a much less glorious fashion. This time, however, Arthur will be called upon to drink from it. In this way, Arthur is a clearer Christ-type than even Galahad.

O me! for why is all around us here
As if some lesser god had made the world,
But had not force to shape it as he would,
Till the High God behold it from beyond,
And enter it, and make it beautiful?

Given that Arthur is righteous and yet suffering, the temptation to form some sort of theodicy arises. The first that presents itself to him, as Tennyson tells us in his own commentary, is that of Gnosticism. By denying the omnipotence of the creating deity, Gnosticism tries to get god off the hook on the question of evil by positing that a weaker god made an imperfect world and so introduced evil that will in turn be “fixed” by the coming of a higher and more “spiritual” deity. Given Arthur’s emphasis on the spiritual and cerebral, we can see why Gnosticism (or perhaps deism) would be a tempting alternative.

Or else as if the world were wholly fair,
But that these eyes of men are dense and dim,
And have not power to see it as it is:
Perchance, because we see not to the close;--

The next theodicy that offers itself to Arthur is more subtle. It is the Platonic option: that evil is merely a failure of human knowledge to apprehend the true Good. This answer would flatter Arthur’s vanity by making his own knowledge of the Good the source of Camelot’s success and his followers’ lack of knowledge the source of its failure.

For I, being simple, thought to work His will,
And have but stricken with the sword in vain;

And all whereon I leaned in wife and friend
Is traitor to my peace, and all my realm
Reels back into the beast, and is no more.

Arthur saves himself from both false theodicies through humility. Quite simply, he asserts his own vanity and ignorance. It is interesting that in the overthrow of his realm it is Arthur’s humility that saves him. “Blessed are the humble for they shall inherit the earth.” Though Camelot is overthrown, Arthur is the promised “once and future king.” In the meantime, Arthur’s tentative answer to the problem of evil is the same as Job’s; he demurs in the face of a question too great for any mere creature to answer. However, this answer fails to satisfy Arthur emotionally as his impassioned cry against the treason of Guinevere and Lancelot and the failure of his regime. This reveals to us where Arthur’s real trouble with God lies: in the heart. Arthur, as Camelot’s “head,” or reason, can handle merely intellectual problems. Guinevere complains several times that Arthur is too cerebral and emotionally remote. Cut off from Guinevere, Camelot’s “heart,” Arthur is laid bare to torments of the emotions. Notice also the language Arthur uses to describe his overthrow: “all my realm/Reels back into the beast.” This continues the evolution/devolution metaphor that begins in “The Coming of Arthur” where Arthur finds England perishing “between man and beast” and the beasts “rooting in the gardens of the king.” For Tennyson, evolution transcends the merely biological and extends to the spiritual aspect of man as well (see Lewis use this idea in “Mere Christianity” in the chapters “Nice People or New Men” and “The New Men”). The very fact that man is a spirit that can choose, however, means that moral devolution is as much a possibility as moral evolution. This can be seen as an attempt on Tennyson’s part to critique the myth of Progress that was so prevalent in his day.

My God, thou hast forgotten me in my death;
Nay--God my Christ--I pass but shall not die.'

In his anguish of spirit, Arthur echoes Jesus’ words on the cross. Unlike Christ, however, Arthur as mere man cannot bear the weight of separation from God—but he does not need to. Even as Arthur confesses his feeling of desertion he turns back to a reaffirmation of Christ. This is the first time in this poem that Arthur invokes the second member of the Trinity. The choice is significant. Arthur does not have to bear the weight of a full separation from God because Christ has already born it for him. Furthermore, Arthur is able to complete his theodicy in a way that galvanizes his emotions and allows him to accept the cup of suffering. We may not be able to intellectually understand the problem of evil, but we can rest in the knowledge that God himself has experienced the full weight of evil and overcome it in the death and resurrection of Christ. Even if the prophecies fail and Arthur goes to his death, he can still look forward to his own bodily resurrection. Furthermore, his own prophetic words, spoken in a tripartite role as prophet-priest-king to Guinevere will be fulfilled on that day and a purified Guinevere will stand again at his side. Camelot will also be fulfilled in the coming of the New Jerusalem. Fortified with Faith and Hope, Arthur passes through his Gethsemane and goes on to face his crucifixion.

My Broken Wings: The Platypus Watches Trinity Blood

2011-02-13T19:57:00.000-08:00

My questions were not all answered. That's par for the course when dealing with anime. Most anime is based on manga. That means that an immense amount of plot and character development from a 24+ volume series must be condensed into 24 30 minute episodes. In many cases, the anime is produced before the manga is even finished. Thus, not having a satisfactory conclusion to an anime series is par for the course. Most times, I accept this and shrug it off. In the case of "Trinity Blood," however, I found its incomplete ending oddly fitting. Let me explain.

"Trinity Blood" is chiefly about brokenness. The ending song with its chorus of "my broken wings" gives it away. The setting, a post-apocalyptic Europe, gives it away as well. In fact, every one of the characters in the world of "Trinity Blood" is broken in some way. We see a young Pope, broken by the political machinations of his older siblings. We see a young nun broken by a cycle of revenge. We see an older nun broken by the tension between her vows and her private feelings. We see a young nobleman broken by the betrayal of his friend and mentor. Most of all, we see Father Nightroad broken by the very nature of what he is: a vampire who must feed on other vampires. Each of these characters is broken in a deep and perhaps irreparable way. Like the three Crusniks who dominate the action (Able, Cain, and Seth), the people and the world we are introduced to in "Trinity Blood" is Fallen, cast out of Eden. And yet...

And yet love and grace trickles down like tears into this fallen world and lifts up an ennobles the lives of its inhabitants, raising them, weaknesses and all, to something higher. "Trinity Blood" with its embattled Vatican is a moving picture of the Church Militant: broken and torn, yet striving higher (often in spite of itself) in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

That's why I'm ok with the series' unfinished ending. The fight has to go on. The Eschaton hasn't come and the Church is still present in the midst of a broken and dying World and is still broken herself. Deliverance is coming, but it's also important to confess that we are still waiting. Until that day, we are left to fly with our broken wings.

Scribbling Through Tennyson: Whiteboard Platypus

2011-02-08T19:10:00.000-08:00

Teaching Tennyson My Way: Academic Platypus

2011-02-08T16:06:00.000-08:00

I'm back in Tennyson --with seniors this time. The higher grade level means that we can go even deeper than we did last year. It also means that I feel more comfortable teaching it my way with free-wheeling associations galore. I've brought up Kennedy's Camelot, Bob Dylan (The Times They Are a Changein'), Simon and Garfunkel (The Sound of Silence), The Band Perry (If I Die Young), Hellboy (The Wild Hunt, and The Storm), and "The Lord of The Rings." Showing the students Mignola's re-telling of the story of Nimue and Merlin right when they were reading through Tennyson's "Merlin and Vivian" was priceless. I also enjoy any chance I get to read passages from Tolkien out loud. Fun times.