W: Wanton and Wild

In a book I read once upon a time on Medieval history (Growing Up in Medieval London)the author stressed the concept of Medieval children beginning as 'wanton and wild' and becoming 'sad and wise'. The idea is not quite as dismal as it appears as the Medieval concept of 'sad' was more serious than forlorn and yet . . . who would choose to be serious when they could be wanton and why oh why must 'wild' be the obvious counterpart to 'wise'?

I am contesting long forgotten conventions, of course, which means that there will be no one (or few) to dispute my theories but I feel that some of the attitude from that concept may have leaked through the centuries of our culture. It is understandable that in an age of such violence and political instability predictability would be valued in a person's behavior. It is also understandable that those even of today who have lived longer might look at the antics of those who haven't with a slight shake of the head and think "They have no idea". Still, there is an undertone of lifelessness in giving up everything associated with youth once one enters the throws of wisdom. From my side of enlightenment --wanton and wild though it may be --it looks an awful lot like defeat. Wouldn't it be great if there was a way of reaching wisdom without allowing the world to beat the wildness out of us?

And so I read. And so I write. And so I live.

Eyes Bigger Than . . . Well My Eyes

I hate skimming books for research instead of emerceing myself in every detail and digesting them slowly.

I hate passing books that look interesting in the bookstore without even reading the back.

I hate returning books to the library unopened to avoid late fees.

I hate turning in work I know could be better if I'd had another day to edit.

I hate only reading two or three blogs before I realize I have to be somewhere.

I hate sitting down in front of the computer and, instead of getting lost in the words wiggling out of my fingers, keeping my eyes on the clock and panicing when I see how low my word count is.

I hate only giving a sentence or two of commentary instead of anylizing line by line.

It may be time for me to do less in order for me to do more.

Beowulf

I always thought that the plot of Beowulf went on too long. Monster attacks stronghold. Hero kills monster. Monster's mother takes her revenge. Hero kills her too. That should be it right? The stronghold is safe. Conflict resolved. A little about the victory feast makes sense but why follow Beawulf all the way home if nothing is going to happen for another thirty years? And why, oh why add another episode with a dragon when no victory could ever compare to his victory over Grendal? A bit anticlimatic isn't it.

If Beowulf were only an adventure story that would be true but I reread the peom this week and on closer examination I don't think its about a single exploit of bravery. Its about mortality and how the Anglo Saxons thought that a life could be worth living in spite of inevitable doom. Cheery I know.

Grendal himself is an example of doom lurking outside even the strongest most prosperous stronghold. Beowulf conquers him but there is yet another monster, his mother, his source. Even after Grendal's mother is destroyed Hrothgar warns Beowulf that strength and victory are not long lasting acheivments. That they will fade with age and if a hero is not courteous as well as brave so will his aclaim.

Beowulf's acheivements after Grendal are only told in flash backs just before the final show down with the dragon but it is clear that he took Hrothgar's advice and lived as a just and courteous king. But why do we need this final battle? Can't we just enjoy imagining the hero living a long and happy life without fast forwarding to the end of it?

Many old poems show us a character's life from beginning to end. Morte D'Arthur begins with the circumstances of Arthur's conception and ends with his burial but while Arthur's story is a tradgedy of how a great kingdom went wrong and fell prematurely the death of Beawulf is not a tradgedy at all.

Beawulf's death shows that even the strongest, most vireous and most honored man dies but he also shows that if one must die one might as well die . . . with his honor on. He died the best posible death for a Geat and a reader fully emersed in the culture of the tale can not be satisfied with his long and happy life until they know how he ended it. In the beginning of the story he conquers doom, holds it at bay so that the Danes can enjoy Heorot again but at the end the inevitability of doom catches up to him. He dies but conquers doom once and for all by behaving heroically up to the very last second of his life.

So its not anticlimatic after all.

Silverlock; A Review

John Myers Myers' Silverlock is an odessey like adventure with the action and cavileir aditude of Robert Louis Stevensons' Kidknapped and the metaphysical undertones of George MacDonald's Phantasies. A. Clarence Shandon is thrown overboard in a storm on his way to Chicago. With no particular taste for life he accepts his inevitable death until he is saved against his will by Golias (also called Orpheus, Wisdith or Taliesin) and dragged through the Comonwealth on one long rambling adventure in which he laughs, drinks and despairs with Robin Hood, Beawulf, The Green Knight, Tam Lin, Job, Faustopheles, Hamlet, Davie Crocket and many others on his journey through storytelling to a better understanding of life.

The character of Shandon is hard to like at first but grows on you pretty quickly even before he starts the more major aspects of his transformation. Silverlock is a wonderful book to explore the effects of storytelling with and a perfect book for summer because most of it is episodic and goes at a more languid pace so you can soak it in little bits at a time. I don't know that I've read a book that made me feel so refreshed upon finishing it in a long time.

Reading List

I've decided to make a point of reading through all the books on my shelf that I for one reason or another haven't got around to yet. The books at the moment are:

Avalon --by Anya Seton

Silverlock --by John Myers Myers

Perchance to Dream --by Lisa Mantchev

The Wind's Twelve Quarters --by Ursula K. LeGuin

The Golden Apple of the Sun --by Ray Bradbury

The Lady in the Loch --by Elizabeth Ann Scarborough

Tam Lin --by Pamela Dean

Artemisia --Alexandra Lapierre

I am also taking a vow to get my hands on Delia Sherman's The Porcelain.


So here's hoping I have time to get through them all. Wish me luck. There maybe book reviews some time in the near future.

Re-incarnation Through Reading

Forgive me for going a bit mystic on you for a moment. It will connect, I promise.

Earlier this week I watched a documentary on Buddha. One of the things they talked about was finding enlightenment from all the lives we live through re-incarnation. I don't exactly believe in re-incarnation and I'm not about to convert to Buddhism but somehow the thought stuck with me. In it I found an answer to a question I have been asked over and over.

Why do we read? Why do we write?

There have been many answers suggested by various sources and I have tried all of them on for size, never quite feeling like I've got it right.

The answer most often given is escapism. We use books to transport us to another world when we find we can't quite cope with this one. This is a stigma attached especially to fantasy junkies like myself.

"We Read to know that we are not alone" (this one is from my old friend C.S. Lewis). We Read to see that others experience the same joys and sorrows and confusions that we do.

Literature has been described as a mirror, reflecting reality.

Literature has been described as a light, inspiring us to change reality.

Probably the closest I've come to the answer is Dickens' concept of "Mooreeffoc" ("Coffee room" backwards) of using literature to see reality in a new way.

Here is my new answer:

We read to come to terms with ourselves. To seek enlightenment.

Think of every book we read as another life we live. Re-incarnation if you will.

It is an answer that is almost not an answer because it encompasses all the others.

It is escapism because we must step outside of what we perceive as ourselves to partake of this other life.

Through this experience we do learn that we are not so very unique in our struggles. That we are not alone.

We see the reflection of new pieces of reality that we might not have otherwise noticed.

We see light we never imagined the the visions of others

and

we emerge back into our reality, seeing it in a different way.

We are closer to knowing ourselves.

Of course sitting down to a cozy mystery or romance might not always seem like a path to enlightenment. The effect will usually be much more sudden than ant kind of epiphany but emerging yourself in someone else's world for a period of time will help you find piece in your own world. Just make sure you always know how top come back.