Origami Unicorn

34: In a Hole in the Ground...

William Morris is so central a character to Tolkien's development as a writer that it is difficult to know where to begin. He was an artist, both fine and practical, a writer, and translator, and an extremely successful businessman. He was also a Marxist, which is why one of the most comprehensive websites about him, The William Morris Internet Archive, is housed by marxists.org. He makes a strange bedfellow with many in some respects but the strangeness has much to do with the perspective of time as reality.

Morris believed that everyone should live a life of dignity surrounded by beautiful objects, and produced cloth, wallpaper, and rugs, other other things in mass quantities and of good designs to encourage the development of good taste of the working man. His own workmen lived lives that were exemplars of his desire, and many were as much artists as craftsmen. Nonetheless, the people who bought most of what he and his company produced were middle class or better and his business did a great deal of semi-customized work, such as stained glass windows, both secular and religious.

At the same time, Morris produced exquisite, almost handcrafted, editions of books, written in a faux archiac language that required considerable attention to understand and appreciate. They were based in whole or in part on traditional folklore, most of it northern legends that were somewhat later also used by Richard Wagner, who was interested in purifying the Germanic folk, an ideal that lead on into or was used in support of some of the greatest atrocities of the twentieth century.

Although Tolkien would be among those who went to war to end war—he repeatedly denied that the orcs were inspired by Germans but they clearly are inspired with the vision of a dull, cruel, relentless enemy sloughing through blasted landscapes devoid of almost any living thing—he also acquired the desire that England have its own legends and stories, which had been lost through the centuries. But that harsh experience would come after the first inspiration and writing had already begun.

By the time Tolkien was in his late teens, he desired to create what had been lost, as had the great legend of Finland, which Elias Lönnrot pieced together and expanded, The Kalevala, and it may even have been this 1888 translation into English that he read. You can hear and see what caught the young man's ear and eye, as, for example, the Maiden of the Rainbow:

"Pohyola's fair and winsome daughter,
Glory of the land and water,
Sat upon the bow of heaven,
On its highest arch resplendent,
In a gown of richest fabric,
In a gold and silver air-gown,
Weaving webs of golden texture,
Interlacing threads of silver;
Weaving with a golden shuttle,
With a weaving-comb of silver;
Merrily flies the golden shuttle,
From the maiden's nimble fingers,
Briskly swings the lathe in weaving,
Swiftly flies the comb of silver,
From the sky-born maiden's fingers,
Weaving webs of wondrous beauty."

Tolkien was hardly the only writer to fall under the spell of The Kalevala. On another continent, another writer strove to create a myth for his land, too, which gave Americans:

"By the shore of Gitche Gumee,
By the shining Big-Sea-Water,
At the doorway of his wigwam,
In the pleasant Summer morning,
Hiawatha stood and waited.
All the air was full of freshness,
All the earth was bright and joyous,
And before him, through the sunshine,
Westward toward the neighboring forest
Passed in golden swarms the Ahmo,
Passed the bees, the honey-makers,
Burning, singing In the sunshine.

Henry Wadworth Longfellow also heard the commanding tramp of that meter, and wrote in the hope of making legends, but we will follow Tolkien's path for the time being, as Tom Bombadil sought Goldberry among her lilies on a day when it was fortunate for hobbits that he did so.

(to be continued)

The Iliad, The Odyssey, and the Woman Who Wrote Them

"Homer," the generally credited author of the two great Greece epics, is also generally conceded not to have existed, or to have been, at most, a bard whose work was remembered and transcribed considerably after his own lifetime.  However, modern research into pre-literate cultures and oral transmission has revealed the entirely unsurprising truth that every teller tells a different version of any story and very few ever repeat themselves.

Story-telling was a performance art and the bard looking for a good meal and a comfortable bed tailored what he said and sang to his audience of the evening.  It was customary to praise one's host, for example, and to laud the richness, beauties, and skills of his possessions, including his wife.

As far back as Victorian times, it was suggested that The Odyssey might have been told by a woman, although The Iliad was felt to be too martial to have been a woman's creation. In Eastern cultures we know that many story-tellers were upper-class women and so were many of the first authors, for they were the people the leisure to create long stories and the learning to record them.

Which brings me to Salon's jazzy take on a new book by Richard Dalby, which suggests that both seminal Greek epics, at least in the form we know them, are by women.  There's internal evidence that this might be so, not least that, although the two tales are set in a society where women were chattels, women play major roles in both epics.  Helen, with her face that launched a thousand ships, may have had sisters who told her story.

We'll never know, although the easiest way to appreciate how different the Greeks were from what is in older history books is to remember that the Greeks were culturally Asiatic and looked East and South when they sought power and prestige, and that in those societies, women told stories, to their children, to their households, and to their husbands.

Scheherazade was neither the first nor the last woman whose life depended on the tales she told, and some of her foremothers just might have been—"Homer."

Harry Potter: The Website

If you've only been to the Warner Brother's site—currently on Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire—you ought to visit J. K. Rowling's website, which rewards the curious with odd hints, leaps through one hyper-dimension or other, and with the occasional flitting fly or drifting cloud seen through a window.  One of these days, the Wizard's Door will open again, meanwhile the wristwatch on her desktop keeps the correct time.  Your time.

David Gemmel

British Fantasy author David Gemmel died this morning after unexpected complications following heart surgery. Gemmel's career spanned nearly a quarter century, beginning with the publication in 1984 of Legend. He wrote more than thirty novels, and the second book of a planned triology, Troy: The Shield of Thunder, will appear posthumously in September. His climb to success was not without its dark moments, such as the rejection slip that read, "You mention in your resume that you are working as a lorry driver's mate for Pepsi Cola. This is an occupation not without merit. Good luck with it." He did not take the hint. At the height of his writing prowess, Gemmel leaves behind a hoard of fans and the sites they produced, including the Unofficial David Gemmel Site and one devoted to Gemmel Mania, as well as bereft family and friends. Gemmel was fifty-seven. An appreciation, a quote froma convention speech, and links to other material are at Books at Transworld.

6: The Translator

Fran is from New York City, delayed a semester because her parents decided on a long family trip before they told her they were going to divorce, and she plays the viola. Kit, having asked, knows with dismay that she will have to tell her own story, but gets away with a shrug.

Her new roomate accepts that and heads for the real meat: What Kit will be studying.

Kit recites her list of courses and adds "poetry."

"You a poet?"

But Kit just shoves her hands into her coat pockets and is silent.

So Fran tells her there is a note and Kit finds the note tells her she really will be taking the course in poetry.

Falin's class turns out to be a large one and the poet starts off by asking everyone to recite a bit of poetry they remember. The first student gives a bit of Emily Dickinson, and they are off, struggling to think of the words that hold the thoughts that captured their imaginations. When it is Kit's turns she can do no more than give, "Je suis comme le roi d'un pays pluvieux..." the opening of a poem by Baudelaire and that bit brings her close to tears.

And finally, when no one else can or will speak, Falin recites. Not one of his, but a piece by Pushkin, the sense of which is—Falin will not translate—that Pushkin, asked to sacrifice by Apollo, is unworthy—until he begins to sing. The sound of the poem that they cannot understand is rich and strange.

Falin tells them about himself, knowing that some have come from curiousity and then he sets the material for the course. They will read and memorize all of the poems he has collected in his purple memographed handouts. The class is dumfounded.

The story returns to the older Kit, speaking to Gaviirl Victorovich, telling him they were surprised to be told that the only poems they would able to understand would be ones they had memorized. The old man understands the amazment but explains that all of the students only had to open a book to read any poem, whereas in Falin's world poetry had to be carried in the mind or not exist at all.

"You know," he says, "we have a view of poets unlike anyone's."

Kit agrees.

He goes one to explain that in Russia poetry was a secret, allusive language, shared thoughts that might or might not make it possible to trust.

Kit, knowing how different what she has created is from the originals, asks if she ought to have published translations.

Gravriil Victorovich says, "It began your career, I think?"

"Yes."

"So long ago." And they consider the matter, with Kit concluding, asking, When I meet them tonight, what will they say to me?

"Thank you for coming so far."

And the story returns to the young woman at college, coming out of her first class in poetry.

(to be continued)

Superman has a Past

With Superman Returns now in the theaters, it's interesting to go to a tribute site that has a montage video of past versions of the character.  The written discussion is fun, too, with Superboy, Gerald Cristopher, first enthusiastically received as appropriate for the role of Superman—and then rejected because he had played the part before.   

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

...should be in stores in paperback today for those interested in the Saga of Harry and who had the will-power to wait—or access to a copy and now want their own. There is a modest first printing of two million, which brings US total of all the books in all versions to more than 120 million. Rowling—now very, very rich—says Harry's fate continues to hang in the balance, since two of the three main characters will die in the final book. It's no surprise that she's not even hinting which, other than she has, in the past, approved of authors who finished off major characters so no one else could ever tamper with their creation.

The Lovely Bones

Anne Sebold's The Lovely Bones has been optioned by Peter Jackson, and Jackson, Fran Walsh, and Sebold herself are working on a script. It is difficult to guess how this book, which is very dependant on effects in the mind of the reader, can be brought to the screen. The story, an as-told-by from a girl—raped and murdered by an adult acquaintance—following the events after her death and trying to assist in the discovery of her "lovely bones," seems all too likely to be subverted into horror, something that marred Jackson's version of the Lord of the Rings, which occasionally seemed to have too many orcs and not enough elves. Jackson began as a director of horror films and has an affinity for that genre. We can hope for a defter touch for The Lovely Bones, for it is the telling the distinguishes this tale, not the unfolding of a brutal event that might have headlined the evening news.

Lady in the Water

Slate has launched a series of post-viewing chat sessions, and one of the first to fall under the lash of their tongues is Lady in the Water. The one thing that becomes clear is how deeply the "post-viewers" resent the fact that there is no twist at the end. The movie really is a fairy tale. This is bad. One may voyage in the realms of the imagination but one should always, like Dorothy, believe "There's no place like home," and return there. See Warner's website: Lady in the Water.

6: Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister

The next morning the Master turns out, bright and cheerful, to a household unwilling to respond to his mood. Iris struggles to get out the words to tell him that she will not sit for him, that she has seen how he paints her...

And the Master, who forbade her to look, jumps on this, asking Is this how his orders are obeyed when he is absent?

Margarethe is quick to say it was Casper's idea.

The Master shrugs, for he has no high opinion of Casper and far more important things on his mind. A patron is coming and the house must be set ready and the paintings positioned to the best light. So the girls are sent to meadow with nothing but a crust of bread for breakfast, there to run races to keep themselves warm in the cold.

Once in the meadow, Iris climbs the apple tree she climbed on the first day they came to the Master's household and she sees the patron, richly clad, coming. Curiosity overcomes her and she sneaks back. Hidden by the lower half of the Dutch door, she can hear that the Master is afraid of losing the patron's attention, even to the point of meekly accepting criticism of his work.

And then Iris suffers the frequent fate of those who eavesdrop: She hears more than she wants to. The patron comments on her looks. Her mother answers that her daughter is as clever as she is homely. Upon hearing that iris speaks English as well as Dutch the patron wishes her, as well as the painting, "Ugly Girl with Flowers," delivered to his house the next day.

Iris races away to collect her sister, riven through with shame and misery.

(to be continued)

The picture is a detail of Jan Lievens' "Portrait of a Girl."