Kren (Part Nine): Cudgel Courtesy

 

There was a moment of stunned silence and then the men broke into a mayhem of joyful whoops of celebration. Kren sat stock still, dumbfounded. There had not been a King of Men, he knew, since Worthin fell before the fires of Drang. That one should have taken over the ancient and powerful city of the Morgs … it implied vast changes.

“Looks like we come into our own, boys!”

“Our time is here!”

“We rise!”

“Sorry, Kren, it seems your folks been knocked off the throne at last.”

“Son of a dying breed, our friend there!”

Koppa looked startled and leapt to his feet, raising his hands for silence.

“Gentlemen! Gentlemen! I think you have the wrong idea! King Taryn …”

The inn door suddenly banged open. There were Mr. Ventil and Mazzak, the burly bondsman, cudgel in hand. They shuffled off to either side, however, and the Hetman himself stepped through. He stopped, cold grey eyes raking the room. The cheering crowd went silent.

Kren looked at him uneasily. The old man had apparently rushed over when he’d heard the news, for he lacked the customary hat and cloak that he usually wore in public. Without them, his ancient balding head was all too skull-like, his body thin and frail. But there was command in his step, and he held his head high as he advanced upon the stranger.

“Yes, young man?” The Hetman’s voice was firm, even threatening. “What were you telling these men about ‘King Taryn’? I’d like to hear it, too.” He held out a claw-like hand as if demanding an answer. “I am Balanus Thane, the Hetman of Far Reach. And you are?”  

I Say, I Say, I Say

A couple of toys from the Long Ago Times: The Farmer Says and the Peanuts Mattel-O-Phone. I don't remember the phone working very long, though it's sturdy orange components lasted quite a while. Most Farmer Says you see pictures of have arrows with a decal of a farmer on it; ours had that figural pointer.

Some Memories from Seguin High

 

The Golden Book of the Mysterious, by Jane Werner Watson and Sol Chaneles. I'm sure I had seen Alan Lee's work before, but this is the first time I became aware of his name and could identify him.

The Illustrated Edgar Allan Poe, by (of course) Edgar Allan Poe, and illustrated by Wilfried "Satty", the same artist who had done my beloved The Annotated Dracula. Probably the first place I read any Poe beyond the ubiquitous selections in English textbooks.

Weland: Smith of the Gods, by Ursula Synge. A novelistic re-telling of the story of Weland (or Volund, or Wayland), I read it as a further exploration of Norse Myth. The first place I ever heard of Weland was as the character of John Wayland Smith in The Dark is Rising.

The Shadow Library: An Animated Discussion

 

I was pretty sure that I had given this to Kameron but he says he can't find it at the moment. The Simpsons Uncensored Family Album (1991) by Matt Groening (rhymes with complaining) was a very early tie-in with the earlier, funny episodes.

Drawn Together began as a fairly amusing show about a batch of characters representing different styles of animation living together in one house for a TV show. Originally a parody and deconstruction of the attitudes and assumptions of different times and types, it devolved largely into a scurrilous and stercoraceous exercise in offense. And not in a good way. After I had seen the movie, I realized I had had enough of the show and was probably never going to re-watch it or show it to another, so into the Shadows it went.

Kren (Part Eight): The King is Dead ...

“Ah.” Koppa sat back and looked a little embarrassed. “Well, to tell the truth, I’m sort of a herald for the King in Morg City.” There was a low impressed murmur from the crowd. Pappy, who had returned with a roast chicken, paused in wonder as he sat the plate down. “He’s tasked me to search the distant parts of the realm, see how things are going, look out for stray Ogres and whatnot. In short, to check on the state of the East and report back.”

“Old Thron, eh?” Pappy said, wiping his hands thoughtfully with his greasy apron. “And how’s he holding up?”

Koppa raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, my. You folks really are far behind the times here, aren’t you?” He set his mug down carefully and looked around at the crowd. “Thron has been dead for nearly five years,” he announced in a solemn voice. “King Taryn rules in Morg City now.”

There was a stunned pause, then babbling shouts as the men leapt to their feet to the banging of overturned chairs. Kren noticed how Mr. Ventil, the Hetman’s saturnine overseer, who had been sitting quietly in the back, went banging out the door under cover of the abrupt uproar. He wasn’t surprised. This was news indeed.

The stranger, ostracized before, was overwhelmed with questions, eager voices that canceled one another out as all crowded near Koppa’s table.

“Thron’s really dead?”

“He was king forever!”

“How did he go?”

“What’s King Taryn like?”

“Long live the King!”

Kren wrinkled his nose and took a long draft of ale while he watched Koppa striving to pick which questioner to answer first. He wiped the foam from his muzzle with the back of his paw.

“Taryn?” he asked. His low, calm voice seemed to cut through the chaos. “Taryn? That doesn’t sound like any Morgish name I ever heard, though granted I haven’t heard many.”

Koppa turned to his tablemate, looking relieved to settle on one asker.

“Ah,” he said brightly. “That’s because the new king isn’t a Morg, you see. He’s human.”

Puck's Peaks

While the influences that impacted me during A. J. Briesemeister Middle School are on my mind, I must say a word about the National Geographic Map of Shakespeare’s Britain. It first came to my attention when a boy named Dennie Beicker brought it to school for some reason and was showing it around. I was immediately drawn to it, perhaps from my growing fascination with ‘Olde’ England, perhaps from its resemblance to the detailed map of Wilderland in The Hobbit. I began negotiating with Dennie for possession of the map, and eventually he was persuaded to part with it for the sum of $3 (which for me was quite a bit of money at the time). Later on I also bought a couple of Conan comic books from him.

I pored over the map (and poured myself into it) intensely. I sought out evocative names and learned how to draw the little hillocks and buildings that represented mountains and towns. I made dozens of fantasy maps of my own. At one point I pinned the map to our bedroom door, and when much use caused its folds to start to part, repaired it rather clumsily with electrical tape. Later I was able to get a couple more copies, one from the stack of National Geographics that Nanny kept in her water heater closet, and one bought from Yesterday’s Warehouse. But I still have that old original safely tucked away.

Here is a scan of a map I made way back then, under the influence of Shakespeare’s Britain. It is full of the names of family members, friends, and even interests of the time, including a town called Snoopy (obviously!) and one called St. Vinci (for my interest in Leonardo Da Vinci, brought on by a three-part special on PBS).

The Shadow Library: Where the Wild Things Ain't

 

Where the Wild Things Are (DVD, 2009)

The other day when John and I were watching compilations of Saturday Morning cartoons, we ran across a 1975 animation with Peter Shickele and produced by Gene Deitch (with the heavy involvement of Maurice Sendak himself), adapting the famous children's book. For once, Deitch does a fairly creditable job. It reminded me that I had briefly owned this movie, bought on a gamble and not particularly enjoyed. I do, however, have the complete collection of McFarlane action figures, which as a set go for around $300 now.

The Rings of Power Episode 5 “Partings”: Stop! In the Name of the Lore!

Suppose you sat down to play a game of chess. Suddenly your opponent begins making wild, unorthodox moves: knights act like rooks, bishops like queens, pawns start capturing pieces right in front of them. You would say he is cheating, or perhaps didn’t understand the rules of the game. He might counter that he is simply being creative, and that it makes things more exciting. One thing would be certain. Though you were using the same gameboard and pieces, it certainly wouldn’t be chess.

This episode, I think, finally sets a pointing finger down on the very sore spot that has been vaguely plaguing readers of Tolkien since the very beginning. Forget black Elves and Dwarves. Forget deviations from the timeline or contradictions with known ‘lore’ or even clumsy writing and callbacks. The difference is even more fundamental than that, and it is epitomized in the story the writers have concocted for the origin of mithril.

The story that Gil-galad orders Elrond to recount has an unnamed Elf-Lord and a Balrog fighting over a tree growing high on a mountain.  Lightning strikes the tree, and the two combatants are somehow merged into a single substance that trickles down to the roots of the peak and becomes the fabulous shiny ore when it mingles with a lost Silmaril. Gil-galad states that mithril is “as pure and light as good, as strong and unyielding as evil.” And therein lies the crux, I think.

It would be very easy from a cursory reading of The Lord of the Rings to describe Middle-earth as a kind of Manichean world, with good and evil poised in a sort of yin-yang struggle for dominance. A closer reading reveals that for all its power, there is light and a high beauty that the Shadow can never touch; that Evil does not have the power of creation, it can only sully what is made. To describe strength and rigor as an essential quality that evil can impart is to deeply misunderstand the nature of Middle-earth. They are simply positive goods that can be misused. C. S. Lewis summed it up:

“The truth is that evil is not a real thing at all, like God. It is simply good spoiled. That is why I say there can be good without evil, but no evil without good. You know what the biologists mean by a parasite—an animal that lives on another animal. Evil is a parasite. It is there only because good is there for it to spoil and confuse.”

It seems that moral ambiguity is the greatest, perhaps the most irreconcilable, difference between what is Tolkien and what is The Rings of Power. Perhaps it is this that the showrunners mean most profoundly when they say it reflects “modern sensibilities”. This moral ambiguity plagues every episode. Are Gil-galad and Celebrimbor’s actions evil? Do the Orcs just want lebensraum? In Tolkien there is moral uncertainty (“I know what I must do, but I’m afraid to do it”) but no moral ambiguity. Tolkien’s moral theme is not the largely accepted Zeitgeist of our time and it would take a master-touch to dramatize it.

“Good and ill have not changed since yesteryear; nor are they one thing among Elves and Dwarves and another among Men. It is a man’s part to discern them …”

It is not the ridiculous constructions of the story (“The Elves are going to fade … right now! Unless we take our mithril pills!” or some such nonsense – although I suppose the forging of the Three Rings, which do resist time and fading – and could need to be made with mithril - of which Durin seems to have enough to hand out samples - but then ring-making is not a thing yet – ah, the Lore!) that is the worm in the apple here. It is the profound philosophical disconnect. They do not play by the game rules, and if they don't, they should play another game.

Ever On and On

 

A Contemporary Effort

The first time I ever read J. R. R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit, as I have said, was in middle school. I had already been introduced to the story in third grade of course, via a visit to a high school play. Probably it was fading memories of this that prompted me to give the book a try. Of course, I found the cover very eye-catching too, whenever I was searching the shelves for a new read. The spine was thick enough to feature the unusual title right-side up and was decorated with a picture all along it. I took the book down, checked it out, and started reading it between class periods.

It was a quantum leap for me. Although I had enjoyed fantasy and adventure before, it had been on a fairly simplistic level. The protagonists of my reading had been, for the most part, children like me. Perhaps the fact that Mr. Baggins, while childlike, was not a child (and indeed no children as characters ever appeared in the story) had something to do with its appeal. Tolkien’s style was very rich, indeed, at times incantatory, and I found myself swept away by his spell.

The impact on me was immediate and compelling. Under the influence of The Hobbit, I began to start drawing, or at least trying to draw, in earnest, seeking to capture a vision. I began attempting to write poetry. Using the World Book Encyclopedia, I learned to write the Futhark runes that adorned the cover and the maps; this skill led to me meeting my one friend in middle school, Steve Jones, who had an interest in codes and secret writing.

Not only did I begin to read more widely (chasing that high), I started to desire to get books for myself, real books, books unavailable at school. I bought The Tolkien Reader. I pestered Mom until she finally sent off for The Guide to Middle-Earth, an unprecedented mail-order occurrence in our family. Our shared enthusiasm for Tolkien led Mr. Fleming (our drama teacher) to loan me the Earthsea Trilogy, and soon I had to have a copy of those.  I got Mike to get me The Lord of the Rings trilogy from high school one year before I went.

But always The Hobbit holds a special place in my heart. It is rather like that path of pale white stones that Gandalf follows to lead Bilbo and the Dwarves to Rivendell. Such a simple, juvenile thing, perhaps, but it’s taken me on a road that goes ever on and on.

"Kren" Part Seven (The Thin Edge of the Wedge)

 

He was met with a blank wall of suspicious, mulish faces. It seems that his offer of a drink had done nothing to win their good will. Koppa turned back to Poppy, but the old man had disappeared into the back kitchen. Kren grinned at the poor fellow’s dilemma. He had not come to the right place to make friends. The young man cast his eyes around the room, trying to find a crack, a way into that wall.

Perhaps it was the gleam of his fangs in the shadows that drew Koppa’s searching eyes. He turned to where the Morg sat at his lonely table and with a sudden cry of surprise and delight advanced on the astonished Kren.

“Well, here’s a friendly face!” Koppa exclaimed. “You know, I haven’t seen a Morgish mug in two hundred miles! Fancy finding one all the way out here.”

Before anyone knew what was going on he grabbed a nearby chair and swung it over to Kren’s lonely table. Kren stared at him round-eyed, then his toothy grin got even wider. The stranger certainly wasn’t taking the best way to ingratiate himself in town. But he was ready to play the game and see how far it would go.

“Well, howdy there, stranger!” Kren replied enthusiastically, pouring it on thick. “And what brings you out to Far Reach so late in the year?” He glanced over at the tables. Nobody had moved, but they were obviously all ears. He might as well ask the questions they were all dying to know but were too stubborn or cautious to breach. Besides, he was curious too.

The Books of Briesemeister

 

I was introduced to a lot of new books when I went to middle school (A. J. Briesemeister Middle School, to give it its full title). None more influential than The Hobbit, of course, to which I had a sort of introduction in Third Grade in play form. Actually reading it was a revelation and an enchantment. Almost as engaging was Susan Cooper's The Dark is Rising, which brought ancient mysteries into the modern life of an eleven year-old boy. I moved out into exploring the Arthurian legend in various forms, reading ghost stories, ancient myths, and the modern myths of hidden monsters and strange visitors. I kept up old friendships like Charlie Brown, of course. I saw The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe on the shelves but didn't read it at the time. I believe I found that pink border a little off-putting. Anyway, here is a gaggle of the books that I remember, many of which I have today, and many with the gloriously Seventies-ish covers I saw them in. Looking at them is like looking at a snapshot of my juvenile soul.  

Awake! Arise!

                            Arise! Arise!

The daylight dies,

And now's the time for wandering!

Awake, you fool!

The air is cool

And stars are faintly glimmering.

The wind blows fair

And brown owls stare

Within the shifting moon-lit wood.

The friendly night

Is filled with light

And fresh-mown fields smell green and good.

So stand not so,

But let us go

And walk the path up to the hill.

We'll talk and sing

Like careless kings

And silent night with laughter fill.

Awake! Arise!

The cricket cries

And calls us to the nightly walk.

Why do you stay?

We must away!

At last has passed the burning day!

The Third Inkling: Off the Wish List

 

Charles Williams: The Third Inkling (2015), by Grevel Lindop

Last Friday, besides being the occasion of so much family fun, also saw the arrival of this volume in the early hours of the day. I had been waiting for it quite some time, which might be explained by its origin as being "Withdrawn from the Guille-Alles Library." That directed my curiosity to discover that this was on Guernsy, one of a small group of independent islands, somewhat closer to France than to England, but a Crown Dependency, if not a formal part of the Empire. Inhabitants of these islands have included T. H. White and Mervyn Peake.

The book itself, as far as I know, is the first fully in-depth biography of Charles Williams, the so-called 'Third Inkling', the group of writers that included most famously C. S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien. There have been other books about Williams in this capacity as a member of the circle, but they have focused mainly on his poetry, novels, and religious writings, not so much on his unconventional personal life and its details, or even an assessment of Williams' place in literature.

As Lindop points out in his Preface, Williams was quite famous in the 30's and 40's, supported by the likes of T. S. Eliot, W. H. Auden, and C. S. Lewis, famous for his literary criticism, lectures, and as a notable dramatist. But he is largely forgotten today except as a sort of fringe enthusiasm. His unfortunate death, overshadowed by the end of World War Two, and the subsequent inexpert handling of his literary estate put him in eclipse for decades. If it were not for his association with the Inklings, he might be nothing more than a footnote today.

It is Lindop's self-appointed task to bring what he contends is a great poet out of undeserved obscurity, to take him out of the shadow of his towering colleagues, and allow a clearer assessing of his life and his accomplishments. And this meaty, nearly 500 page offering from the Oxford University Press, looks to be a very firm first step on that path. 

As a bit of a bonus, I append the cover of my first copy of All Hallows' Eve, now residing in the Shadow Library. I find out only now (of course) that it was a rather rare edition.

The Rings of Power, Episode Four: Headin' for a Hullabaloo

 

Yesterday I once more made the pleasant journey to Babeloth to visit family and watch Episode Four (“The Great Wave”) of Amazon’s The Rings of Power. I still refuse to grant it the prefixing title of The Lord of the Rings in my references; it is clumsy and inappropriate for so many reasons, not least of which is the onerous task of typing it out in full and feeling that it is somehow a lie one is forced to keep telling. But on with the show.

It begins with Queen-Regent Miriel’s prophetic dream of a great wave overwhelming Numenor (a type of Atlantis dream that Tolkien had many times himself; he bequeathed it not only to Faramir in LOTR but apparently also to his son Michael, to whom he had never spoken of it). Miriel and Galadriel then undergo a period of sparring while Numenor gets all het up about the presence of ‘the Elf’. Galadriel somehow sneaks in to see the real bedridden King, further angering Miriel and ending with ‘the Elf’ being thrown into the clink with Halbrand. The man offers some cunning advice, Miriel shows Galadriel a vision in a Palantir (which she claims is the only one on the island – another ignoring of canon), the White Tree starts shedding, and Miriel decides to take Galadriel back to Middle-earth with a fleet to counter the feared rise of Sauron. I understand there are some who are squeeing over a possible spotting of Narsil (the blade that broke in the killing of Sauron and was later reforged into Anduril, Aragorn’s sword).

We return to proto-Mordor where Mr. Tuvok finally meets Adar, the revered leader of the orcs. (Reverence, rather than simple fear and respect or downright hatred of a superior is a strange emotion to see in an Orc.) A corrupted Elf who has seen better days, he begins the interview by (mercy?)killing one of his own badly wounded minions. He rambles on a bit about becoming a god, then releases Tuvok to return to the men of Tirharad to deliver an ultimatum. They, meanwhile, have holed up in the Elf-tower as the most defensible spot, and the situation is giving off strong ‘Helm’s Deep’ vibes. Bronwyn is trying to organize a defense, but there are some self-important men, darn ‘em, who are challenging her decisions. Her son Theo and his friend Rowan volunteer to sneak back to their abandoned town and grab some supplies, but a group of Orcs start invading. The friend buggers off with about a wheelbarrow’s worth of food, but Theo is left caught in town to sneak around and avoid capture. When he is spotted it is seen he has the strange sword-end that the forces of evil have been seeking. Theo runs away and is joined by the returning Tuvok and Bronwyn who has come out to search for him. They flee and are saved by the rising of the sun. Back at the Elf-tower, Theo is confronted by the former hider of the broken blade, Waldreg, who ask him if he's heard the good news about the Lord Sauron?

We return to Khazad-Dum for the most enjoyable of the story-threads so far. The Elf-Dwarf collaboration is in full swing, with Celebrimbor’s tower/forge well under way. Celebrimbor spends a moment talking to Elrond about Earendil, taking the opportunity to fill the audience in on some backstory. Elrond returns to the Dwarf kingdom, where he gently manages to finagle Durin’s secret location from out of what Disa does not tell him. In that hidden mine seam he gets Durin to tell him the big mystery: they have discovered mithril (more specifically Disa has discovered mithril), and so finally they can dig greedily and too deep. There is a sudden collapse in the mine, trapping four miners, until Disa sings some calming Dwarf-opera to the rocks. After an initial clash, Durin and his father agree that the Elves are up to something that needs further investigation. Perhaps it's just me, but it seems there are some echoes here of Terry Pratchett's Dwarvish developments (his own vision of Dwarves being initially based on Tolkien's; thus does popular culture feed into itself).

There are no Harbits … I beg your pardon, Harfoots … in this episode. We can only assume they are on their migration, with Poppy eating all the snacks and Nori constantly asking, “Are we there yet? Are we there yet?” The showrunners keep insisting that the Harfoots are not Hobbits, which is like saying the French are not Europeans.

As usual, this episode suffers from poor writing: unrealistic action (yes, I know it’s a fantasy, but fantasy needs inner consistency, character truth, and probable improbabilities), clumsy echoes of familiar phrases, and cliched tropes. Once more we had the uncanny ability to predict what was going to be said or done, and words we spoke in jest were fulfilled in earnest. But, on the plus side, the turgid action seems to be finally ramping up and we can be amused by the fights and spectacles. There is still a bit of good scenery porn.

In fact, it occurs to me that I might quite enjoy The Rings of Power on a certain level, if I watched it without a dialogue track.  

From the Old Green Mill Notebook: An Early Effort

History of the Sons of Nargarth

By Bryan Babel

Dedicated to John Babel and J. R. R. Tolkien

 

Time Line

501 – Nargarth Born.

683 – Nargarth crowned.

721 – Nost and Rost born.

1053 – Death of Nargarth. Rost crowned.

1109 – Girth born.

1110 - Birth of Neth. Helg born.

1128 – Birth of Hurn.

1139 – Girth marries Helg.

1142 – Sirth born.

1152 – Rigga born.

1156 – Poisoning of Rost. Nost ascends the throne.

1157 – Exile of Girth. Helg dies by execution. Sirth’s hand is maimed, and he is exiled with his father. Girth swears oath of revenge and return.

1169 – Girth and Sirth settle in the mountains west of the dwarf kingdom.

1281 – The Dearth. Death of Rost. Neth ascends the throne.

1290 – Heln is born illegitimate.

1332 – Return of Girth and Sirth. Execution of Neth, Hurn, and Heln. Girth ascends the throne.

1499 – Death of Girth. Sirth is crowned King.

1528 – Birth of Rost II.

1624 – Sirth dies. Rost II is crowned King.

2021 – Rost II dies.

 

[Causes of Death:]

Old Age – Nargarth, Sirth, Rigga, Rost II

Poison – Rost I

Execution - Helg, Neth, Hurn, Heln

The Dearth – Nost.

Fever – Girth.

 

Line of Nargarth: Rost’s Family

Nargarth (501 – 1053) had two sons:

Rost (721 -1156) and Nost (721 – 1281):

Rost had one son Girth (1109 - 1350)

          Who married Helg of the House of Hurn (1110 -1157):

They had one son Sirth (1142 – 1624)

Who Married Rigga of the House of Hurn (1152 – 1630):

They had one son Rost II (1528 – 2021)

 

Line of Nargarth: Nost’s Family

Nost (721 – 1281)

          Had two sons Neth (110 - 1332) and Hurn (1128 – 1132)

Neth had one son Heln (1290 – 1332)

 

Ages

Nargarth -552

Rost – 435

Nost – 560

Girth – 241

Neth – 222

Helg – 47

Hurn – 204

Sirth – 482

Rigga – 472

Rost II – 593

Heln – 42

Notes:

1.    Sirth’s hand was skinned and cut off from the knuckle up.

2.    Girth swore the Oath of Return on Helga’s skull.

3.    The Dearth is a disease in which people emaciate, their joints swell, and then they die.

4.    Girth and Sirth fled to the West Mountains.

5.    Girth made Sirth an iron hand.

6.    Rost and Nost are twins.

[Notes: The first picture of a Dwarf and the Map are actually from the Notebook; the other pictures of Dwarves are contemporary to the time (which I remember as being in Briesemeister, despite the 78 -79 date inside) and use what I've come to call the Big-Nose Style period of my art. I was of course greatly influenced by Tolkien (hence the dedication) but found making time-lines and notes much easier than actually writing a story. The gruesome details, long words, and the use of 'illegitimate' (probably to be sourced to The Crystal Cave which I also read at the time) showed that I was trying to be very grown-up. I notice now that I got East and West reversed on the Map.]