Wednesday, September 25, 2024

Wideo Wednesday: Fantasy is Fun


 

Substitutionary Locomotion 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yUSRWwdFHEU

With a Flair

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8V5OrGOeTRw

Higitus Figitus

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uimyetd3PNo

Zap the World

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WWJskztzetY

Stonehenge

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N4NTXWz4cMw

The Best Song in the World

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xy5S8s6rTH0

Diggy Diggy Hole

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ytWz0qVvBZ0

The Age of Magic

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dsOeHuevNMk&list=PLrfu1mNqTP1al7W7m7jDTQnDFd_DK_Y5x&index=40

Fantasy is fun and funny, both funny ‘ha-ha’ and funny ‘peculiar’; this is often what first draws people, when children, to the genre. One cannot deny the humor of, say, The Hobbit. It is carried over into the much more serious The Lord of the Rings, especially around the hobbits, who can be seen as a link between more modern attitudes and the legendary world in which they move; the dissonance of which provides a more subtle humor, as well as a bridge between outlooks.  

Especially when one is a child, the idea of magic, where wishing meets reality and wishing wins for once, is quite appealing, an idea that makes the heart light. People who mistake Fantasy for so-called real life ‘Magik’ find that their search ends in blasphemy, loveless eroticism, animal sacrifice, hardness of heart, and futility. They have not comprehended where the true power of Fantasy lies and are trying to use it to scrub their portholes. The use of Fantasy is to ease our burdens inside and help us to bear them with hope.

But young kids (and kids at heart) know how to use Fantasy instinctively, even satirically, deprecatingly, to help take off the curse of the label of ‘Escapism’ while still tapping somehow into the heart of the thing. I find ‘fantasists’ like George R. R. Martin are not writing real Fantasy, just books with dragons, magic, and knights. There is an essential spirit lacking. Perhaps it is fun.


Tuesday, September 24, 2024

The Lord of the Rings: The Passing of the Grey Company (Part One)

The Tale

We return to the time and place Gandalf and Pippin parted with Merry. The hobbit joins Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas. They are all ready to ride. They will go with King Theoden to Edoras, who, after the Nazgul sighting, wants to leave right away under the cover of night to oversee the muster of the Riders of Rohan to go to the aid of Minas Tirith. But he is not sure if that is his road.

Legolas and Gimli declare that they will go with him wherever his way takes him, and Merry begs to go along too. He doesn’t want to be left behind like baggage. Aragorn thinks he will be safer with the Riders. Merry recalls he did promise to tell the King all about the Shire. Aragorn thinks it may be long before Theoden sits in peace in his house to listen to tales.

The company departs; twenty four horses, with Legolas and Gimli riding double on Arod and Aragorn and Merry on Hasufel. The King’s Company have not ridden far past the Fords of Isen when they hear a band of horsemen approaching. Theoden calls a halt and they wait. Aragorn dismounts and stands at the King’s side. Merry feels more like baggage than ever. If there is a fight, what can he do? He can’t flee heedlessly into the wild fields, to be lost again. ‘He drew his sword and tightened his belt.’

They can see dark shapes approaching in the moonlight, horses and riders, spears glinting, uncountable in the dim light but no less than their own company. When they are fifty paces away, Eomer calls for them to halt and asks who rides in Rohan? The pursuers halt, and one man comes forward, hand held open in token of peace. Rohan, did he say? That is good news indeed. They have been looking for Rohan.


Well, you’ve found it, Eomer replies. But none ride here except by King Theoden’s leave. Who are you? ‘Halbarad Dunadan, Ranger of the North I am.’ They are seeking Aragorn, son of Arathorn. They heard he was in Rohan. Aragorn joyfully cries that he has found him. He rushes forward and embraces the newcomer. This is a welcome if unexpected surprise!

Merry is relieved. Not need to die defending the King yet. He had feared some last trick of Saruman. He sheathes his sword.

Aragorn introduces them as kinsmen of his from the North. Halbarad says there are thirty with him, all that could be gathered quickly, but also the sons of Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir ride with them. All are here to answer his summons.

Aragorn replies he sent no summons, except in thought, wishing they were here. He asks Theoden if they may ride with his company, and Theoden gladly agrees. If these kinsmen are anything like Aragorn, they will be ‘a strength that cannot be counted by heads.’

As they ride together, Elrohir (Elrond’s son) tells Aragorn that his father sends this word of advice: ‘The days are short. If thou art in haste, remember the Paths of the Dead.’ Aragorn replies that he’ll really need haste before he takes that road. They will not speak more of it under the open sky.

Aragorn asks Halbarad what he is bearing. It is a tall staff with a furled black cloth bound with many thongs. It comes with a message from Arwen, Lady of Rivendell, Elrond’s daughter. ‘The days now are short. Either our hope cometh, or all hope’s end. Therefore I send thee what I have made for you. Fare well, Elfstone!’ Aragorn now knows what it is. He asks Halbarad to hold it for him for a while yet. ‘And he turned and looked away to the North under the great stars, and then he fell silent and spoke no more while the night’s journey lasted.’

Bits and Bobs

The Grey Company is of course the name given to Halbarad, the Dunadan Rangers, and the sons of Elrond, cloaked in Elven-grey, as they ride to Aragorn’s aid. Halbarad might mean (hal high + barad tower) in Sindarin. Elladan means (el elf + adan man), referring to his mixed heritage through Elrond to Earendil; Elrohir also means (el elf+ rohir knight, man); the brothers were twins, just like their father Elrond (who chose to be Elven) and his twin Elros (who chose to be mortal), first King of Numenor. This makes them distant relatives to Aragorn. They too will have the choice whether to remain Elven or to be human.


Aragorn says he sent no summons; who actually called the Grey Company will be revealed shortly. The Paths of the Dead are mentioned as a possibility; such a name of ill-omen is not good to speak ‘under the open sky.’

Merry begins his journey towards courage to stand in battle; he has been courageous before, but not in this particular way. We are reminded of Arwen, not mentioned since Rivendell; she will come to play an increasingly obvious part in Aragorn’s path of destiny, not least by inspiration. Arwen calls him Elf-stone, ‘Elessar’, which will become his kingly name, after the green and silver brooch Galadriel gave him in Lothlorien.

Arwen’s use of ‘Fare well!’ as two words reminds us of the origin of the word ‘farewell’, not simply as a way of saying goodbye, but as a wish that one will travel (fare’) safely (‘well’) and to a purpose.



Monday, September 23, 2024

Into the Archive: A Comedy of Injustice

I suppose this one is really on me: on my greed, my folly, and my haste. This will make the fourth copy of Jurgen I have bought.


The first was the terrible paperback by a publisher that thought of it as an erotic classic; the second was a cheap Dover reprint (though it came with all of Frank C. Pape’s illustrations); and then there was the rather plain volume from the Storisende edition. I came across this copy on eBay while I was researching prices for Cabell books, and it caught my attention. Fifty dollars? That was much cheaper than the $100 that it had been going for. Illustrated? Who could that be by, other than the great Frank C. Pape himself?
Well, it could be by Ray F. Coyle, that’s who, and if I had slowed down a bit and done a little more research I might have realized it. Ray Coyle was a short-lived (1885 – 1924) artist whose work in pen and ink has been compared to Aubrey Beardsley. Not a style I’m particularly fond of. Only when I have one of those black hardcovers by McBride with pictures by Frank C. Pape can I finally stop buying Jurgen.
The Real McCoy (Not McCoyle)

It’s not like it’s even my favorite Cabell (that would be
The Silver Stallion), nor do I reread it often. Although it might be Cabell’s most famous book, its reputation is, indeed, a little embarrassing.

Also arriving today was the copy of The Monk by Matthew G. Lewis that I had been considering. A little battered, but inexpensive and serviceable; it only needed a little care to make it presentable.

But the gem of the day must be Tiffany Aching’s Guide to Being a Witch. Put together by Terry Pratchett’s daughter Rhianna and Gabrielle Kent, an author of juvenile fantasy, and copiously illustrated by Paul Kidby, it’s a beautiful little book in both a slipcase and a book jacket. I’m wondering exactly where it fits on Terry Pratchett’s dictum ‘no more Discworld when I’m gone’; it seems to be a kind of a gathering of everything he wrote about Witches on the Discworld compiled into a sort of a scrapbook, just put together a little more seamlessly into the form of, well, a written guide (rather than a novel or a story) by one of the characters within that world. I imagine there must be some kind of new writing not by Terry to segue everything together. “I could not wish it undone, the issue of it being so proper.” Or at least, proper looking. It’s surprising to realize Terry Pratchett has been gone for almost a decade.

September 24: A New Haiku for Fall

 

Blissful and dying,

Old cicadas are singing:

‘Serene, serene.’


Sunday, September 22, 2024

Diary 2019: Seasons Change


9/21/2019: Up at 6 AM and wrote down 2 dreams. Fed Socks; he looks mankier than ever and is dropping clumps of fur. I'm afraid he can't have long, and what time he's got won't be pleasant for either of us. Today would be the best day for writing. I don't have to go anywhere and have plenty of food. I could finish the chapter. Let's see what happens. A rainy, even stormy day predicted.

So I showered, dressed, and did morning devotions (by which I mean prayers and reading the catechism), and opened the bathroom window and door. Swept house. Played WWF and watched Disney shows. Researched the lyrics for the Toymaker's Song in Disney's Babes in Toyland and finally after fifty years know what it says. At 10:30 AM I made ramen with crackers. It rained a bit. Socks is out in the house [by which I meant not penned up in the bathroom]; I noticed he had what looked like blood running out of his eye so I cleaned that up. For the first time in months, with the house open, I can smell the earth and trees, and really hear the crickets and birds. I just looked out the door at 11:15 AM and saw at least 4 hummingirds at the back porch feeder. I really do not feel like writing just yet. There is a tinge of mortality in the air, melancholy but not sad; for everything there is a season.

Noonish Andy came in and said I could have the rest of the chicken salad and the bananas. He was going to mow down in the bottomlands. I ate the chicken with crackers, then got Socks some more cat food. Kam called me to grass the dogs at 5 PM as S&A were off to see a movie.  Had 5 chicken planks and ramen for supper. Dipped in and out of "Logan", and "13 Ghosts" is on tonight. Finished my Rosary at 7:30 PM. No writing at all today, instead took it easy.

 

9/22/2019: Alarm rang at 6 AM, after a night at the Dream Wars; I set it again for 6:30, but got up at 6:20. Straightened the house, got dressed, and out the door by 7 AM, forgetting to cut my nails and write down a card for Gloria if she still wanted to get those shoes over. Went to church, and spent a little time worrying about if I should go to the restroom, but that never happened. A good service. I actually sang loud enough that I could hear my own voice, and didn't hide behind a pillar. Today is the harvest festival. Heard the news that the bell tower was struck by lightning during the storms, and, after being fixed for only 2 weeks, are out of order again. Hopefully it is only the electrical system, which can be fixed without too much trouble. Left out the front door today and shook hands with Fr. Greg. Found an L-wrench on the road on my way over. Got in and triumphantly went to the restroom without an accident. Today is also Bilbo and Frodo's Birthday.

Made my second box of stuffing and ate the rest of my chicken planks with creamy pepper sauce. A little after 12 noon Andy came around and said that Gloria was here. I gave her the candle[?] and took the bag of shoes (also some shirts). When I took them in I saw right away that the shoes were too small. A couple of the shirts look wearable.  Took a nap until almost 3 PM. What do I do with these shoes now? Maybe the shop near Dragons Loot.

This weekend is really going by fast. Just as I was finishing my ramen for supper (7 PM), Andy brings me out 2 leftover Whataburgers (about 1/3 of each) and 2 halves of Quizno sandwiches with about a bite taken out of each. Lovely, but I'm already a bit full. It was raining as well; I think he came out in the only 5 minutes it was actually raining today.

Today my pop culture intake consisted of The Nolstalgia Critic's comparison of The Ten Commandments vs. The Prince of Egypt, slices of Joseph: King of Dreams, Miriam Margoyles on The Graham Norton Show, Episode 1 of Vicious, Ben Shapiro Sunday Special with Kennedy (MTV). No football, no Emmy's. Laid down at about 9 PM, prayed my rosary, then off to sleep.

 

9/23/2019: Up at 6 AM, back from a bout of the Autumnal Dream Wars. Awoke with the idea that all my life I've been a skimmer, not really totally engaged with anything. Not writing, not faith, not any job, not seeking a mate. My life has been getting a meal in a comfy corner, diverting my attention, and basically waiting for it all to end while I play my life by ear. This is a dark, seasonal thought. I have made commitments enough to get a book published (but have you pushed it enough? comes the dark whisper) and join the Church (are you only going through the motions? the whisperer asks. Where are the big FEELINGS?) Shut up, I answer. I've got a Monday to face. There is much to do.

Got dressed, did my devotions, and at 9 AM started the wash; did another load after that of the shirts Gloria gave me. Made the chicken salad for S&A, then cut Kamerom apples. Listened to GGACP [Gilbert Gottfried's Amazing Colossal Podcat]. At 10 AM went and got Kameron up and out the door. He gave me his bean, bacon, and cheese taco. At noon changed loads and had my ramen with the chicken broth and bread. Spent the afternoon with YouTube shows and turned on the AC at 1 PM. Made the broccoli salad and called S when I found there was no cheddar cheese.

Socks is looking VERY poorly and slow today, especially by evening. I fear he is on his way out. My right leg has been very painful today as well. At 4 I grassed the Chihuahuas and fed the outside cats, then made supper (salmon pinwheels and couscous). Took my couscous in and mixed it with ramen. Waited until almost 7 PM for S&A to get here with the cheese. Watched "Miss Hokusai" on Netflix. Went in and cleaned up at 8 PM. Put Socks up for the night and finished the movie. Part of today has been a memory quest about kochkaese, or 'cook cheese'. Time for a rosary, then bed.

But before I could go to bed, Socks died. He had been having a rickety evening laying on the couch; I noticed he had passed some liquid (peepee? drool? stomach stuff?) so I cleaned it up and moved him into the bathroom on a towel. While I was praying the Rosary (and during my first decade, which was with the intention - with the help of Sts. Francis and Gertrude - for, if not healing, and least an easeful passing for him) he made a little call. I went in the bathroom and he seemed to be going out. He had made one last poop on the towel. I cleaned it up and moved him and the towel into the shower. When I checked on him about 30 minutes later he was gone.

Saturday, September 21, 2024

Into the Archive: Treasures New and Old

 


The Collected Poems of J. R. R. Tolkien, Three Volumes Slipcased, Vol. I 1910 - 1919, Vol. II 1919 – 1931, Vol. III 1931 – 1967, Edited by Christina Scull and Wayne G. Hammond (William Morrow, An Imprint of Harper Collins, 2024)

I had ordered this at the beginning of September, knowing that I must have it. It arrived today, two days early; quite fitting as it is the 87th anniversary of the first publication of The Hobbit. Tomorrow is so-called Hobbit Day, Bilbo and Frodo’s Birthday, dedicated to celebrations and reading Tolkien. I know what I shall be reading.

The Collected Poems is just such a book as I have dreamed of since middle school, only much more complete. Then I could only imagine the poetry from The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, and The Adventures of Tom Bombadil; these volumes have much more. Not only are there various variants of poems that have already been published, there are seventy poems that have never been printed before. Copiously curated by Christina Scull and Wayne G. Hammond, a team of Tolkien scholars known for their erudition. The books themselves are almost elvishly beautiful, with silver-blue spines and creamy white covers, each decorated by one of Tolkien’s own ornate drawings of stylized trees. Each has a blue ribbon bookmark. The first volume is 445 pages, the second is 976 pages, and the third is a whopping 1501 pages. They have no individual dust jackets; the slipcase protects them all. I almost fear to handle them with mortal hands, but that’s the kind I’m equipped with.



I have only just dipped a toe in so far; I do not even know if they include the so-called Long Lays of Beleriand, the complex and lengthy poems that tell the stories of Beren and Luthien and the Children of Hurin. I look forward to many fine hours of finding out. ‘Tis the season … for Tolkien.

Update: I just realized that Volume I seems so short because it has an Introduction and a Chronolgy that is XCI (91) pages long before the actual poems and Arabic numbering began. That makes it closer to 546 pages long.



I should include here that I also already got The Fantasy Book by Franz Rottensteiner (Colliers, 1978) in the regular mail today. It was very nostalgic to riffle through it again. It certainly brought back memories of high school. But I always thought that the cover was rather unfortunate.


Just What the Doctor Ordered


Samuel Johnson and Peter Ustinov have always been two enthusiasms of mine, as a quick search of this blog will show. Imagine my delight this morning to find, completely by accident, an episode of Omnibus, broken into eight parts (each about 10 minutes long), hosted by Alistair Cooke, which was an adaptation of The Life of Samuel Johnson, featuring Peter Ustinov in his 1957 television premiere. He won an Emmy for this performance. I can think of no better wedding of actor and subject; I cannot believe I never thought of the possibilty myself. 

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLG9HnbiEj7sXqf28oSCYh-wgf6X1fDClv