The Voyage of Bran, Son of Febal (and a few other Irish legends)

Source of book: I own this

I got this book as a gift, but it was one I had on my wish list, primarily because it was one of the ancient works that is said to have inspired The Voyage of the Dawn Treader by C. S. Lewis. Since I am in a snarky mood, I’ll give just a quick summary, and then give some important lessons learned from the poem and the additional legends that are in this book. The Voyage of Bran dates to the 8th Century, but the tales themselves may well have been told in oral form centuries before that. The story is believed to have influenced the tale of St. Brendan, whose voyages also inspired Lewis. 

Manuscript of the story of St. Brendan

So, Bran is met by a woman/fairy sort who tells him of mysterious islands over the sea, where a magic plant can be found, and many other wonders. He takes a boat and some men, and voyages to these islands, over the course of 50ish quatrains, returning to tell his story, but finds that he has been gone for centuries and he is only known in legends. (50ish, because the poem refers to 50 stanzas, but only thirty-some-odd are found in the various surviving versions, and even combined and added up, they still fall short.) Many of the stanzas describe “Mag Mell,” the Happy Plain (perhaps paradise?) and the delights and wonders found there. A stanza or two may suffice:

The size of the plain, the number of the host,

Colors glisten with pure glory,

A fair stream of silver, cloths of gold,

Afford a welcome with all abundance.

A beautiful game, most delightful,

They play sitting at the luxurious wine,

Men and gentle women under a bush,

Without sin, without crime.

In addition to the poem itself, there are also some short prose works included in this thin volume, filling in the back stories of characters that appear in the saga of Bran. The most notable is Mongan, the king of the Cruithin people of ancient Ireland. Mongan was a real person, although the stories told about him are clearly mythical. He was believed to be a reincarnation of Fionn mac Cumhaill (aka Finn McCool).

In legend, Mongan’s birth and subsequent adventures were told and retold, eventually ending up in the Cycles of the Kings. (This would be a fun book to get some time.)

So, without further ado, here are the snarky lessons to learn from these:

1. If a woman comes to you and encourages you to take a crazy trip, she will always be dressed in “strange raiment.”
2. If a chick in funky clothes sends you on a trip, you are probably in for trouble, but you might become famous. Even if it kills you. (I’m pretty sure this holds true across all legends from all places. The human universal of epics.)
3. If the king sees you as a rival, perhaps taking that voyage is a good idea.
4. It is always a bad idea to offer someone “anything short of the kingdom.” This never ends well.
5. Chances are, if you have a hot wife, you will be asked for her.
6. On a related note, the best way to get a hot woman (unless you are king already) is to make a wager or bargain with the king and ask for his wife.
7. Ergo, if you want a hot woman, best to be sly and cunning, or a wizard. Preferably both.
8. Also, if you have something the king wants, like, say, the world’s prettiest herd of cattle, you can drive a hard bargain.
9. It sucked to be a woman in those days. You might find yourself having to bed some random dude because of a bet gone bad.
10. Except that apparently human women are irresistible to fairies and gods, so at least one occasionally got some serious bragging rights.

So there you have it.

My translation was by Kuno Meyer, an old German scholar, who had no hesitation to call all older women “hags.” On the other hand, he was willing to admit when he had no clue what a word meant and footnote how he came to a guess. It would be fun to find the rest of the legends, and fill in the gaps.

Starting Over by Elizabeth Spencer

Source of book: Borrowed from the library

I have always enjoyed short stories, as regular readers of this blog would know. My inaugural book post on Facebook, before I moved to a regular blog, was a review of a collection of Isaac Bashevis Singer stories, in fact. That review was the first time I went beyond a few sentences since my school days.

For those who share my love of short stories, here are some other reviews of collections I have enjoyed since starting this blog.

Gold Boy, Emerald Girl by Yiyun Li

A Curtain of Green by Eudora Welty

The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros

The Moons of Jupiter by Alice Munro

Short Stories and Sketches by Sarah Orne Jewett

Sevastopol Sketches by Leo Tolstoy

There is something about the short story that continues to draw me. After four years of blogging, I still find it difficult to distill my thoughts into a small space. For a short story to be successful, it must not merely distill a thought, but an entire world, an entire web of relationships, and at least a handful of distinct personalities into a remarkably few words. Authors that succeed draw one into that world and make it real, while those who fail never quite bring things to life. It is maddeningly difficult. I wrote a few stories for my high school classes, and they were awful. (I didn’t bother to keep them.) I’m not particularly original or creative to begin with - my skills, such as they are, lie with synthesis, not genesis. But even when I had an idea, it became clear early on that bringing it to life was far from simple. Thus, I have a lot of respect for those who can in fact do it. 

But about this author and book. Elizabeth Spencer has been writing since the 1940s. She is a southern american author, and thus is a link in the chain that includes Eudora Welty (who championed her writing) and the unforgettable Flannery O’Connor. While clearly in this tradition, these stories are also recognizably modern.

I put this one on my list of potential books, but ended up selecting it almost by chance. I had a bit of time come free at the end of the workday, and decided to stop by the library to find a few books that I could bring on vacation with me. Since it is a smaller branch location that is on my way home, I was limited to whatever they had on hand from my list. This was somewhere rather far down, but it was checked in, so there you have it.

This particular collection is interesting for a number of reasons. First, it is a very recent book. Published in 2014, in fact, it came to my attention quite recently. Spencer had been writing for decades, but took a hiatus - perhaps originally intended as retirement - in 2001. After all, she was at that time 80 years old. So, for her to come out with an entirely new collection at 94 is nothing short of remarkable. In fact, I rather glossed over the dates until after I had read it, and realized just how old she was. I would never have known it from the stories, which do not read like those of someone in the winter of life. I might have guess late middle age, perhaps, as most of the stories are about families where the children have left the nest and are either in college or in first jobs. The narrators are typically in the age 30 to 50 range. From what I can tell, Spencer returned to writing after the death of her beloved husband, perhaps needing a distraction from her grief. Whatever the reason, these stories show the craft of someone who hasn’t lost her game. 

The second thing that struck me is how well Spencer writes from different points of view. Throughout the nine stories, she uses a whole host of perspectives. Some stories are told from the viewpoint of men, some from women. Sometimes the perspective is that of an older generation, sometimes that of the younger. Relationships are at the heart of the stories, and Spencer shows her insight into human nature by her ability to convincingly get inside the heads of a variety of recognizable characters.

I can’t help but think of some contrasts with other similar writers. Spencer is, despite the geographical linkage, of a different generation than Welty and O’Connor. The characters and situations (at least in this book) are from the 1980s or later, and, as such, the attitudes and conflicts are different. Just as a minor example that stood out: the fear of interracial marriage is a plot point in two of the stories, but the issue is referred to obliquely, even by the older generation, because of the change in attitudes even in the South.

Another author that comes to mind is, of course, Alice Munro. Like Munro, Spencer focuses on the relationships between the characters, rather than the action. Unlike Munro, Spencer tends to come to a resolution rather than an internal epiphany, but even this distinction is perhaps too overstated. Both are masters of the internal dialogue and the palpable discomfort of human relationships. Of the various authors I have read in the last couple of years, I would list these two as the ones that I would pick to write about my own family gatherings. Although I may well fear that their gentle honesty may not be flattering to me. One difference might be that Munro rarely writes from the male point of view, while Spencer is admirably comfortable and fluent writing from that perspective.

Spencer has two focuses in this book. The first is on intergenerational relationships, particularly those between adult - or near adult - children and their parents. The second is on the relationships between former spouses or partners. These relationships are so recognizable, and so real. I can almost give a name and face to some of Spencer’s characters.

I was pleasantly surprised to note that a number of the stories involve a special or growing bond between father and daughter. Sometimes, modern fiction tends to be hard on men. Often, we deserve it. But Spencer paints some beautiful pictures of flawed men, unsure of themselves, nevertheless finding some point of commonality with daughters who are trying to find their way through a damaged or broken family.

One story that stood out, not exactly as the best story, but as memorable is “Return Trip.” It involves a question of paternity, but even more of temperament and bonding with a difficult and incompatible child. What ultimately is the source of a solid adult relationship? Blood? Personality? It may be a question every parent who has a child vastly different in personality may ask.

There were a few great lines that I had to write down. First is one in “On The Hill,” a story that eventually took a really dark turn. However, in the middle, one of the characters describes her husband, who is strongly introverted, and would rather stay at home and listen to opera or Broadway musicals rather than go to social events.

Once in the middle of gossip about local sexual affairs, how everybody wondered whose marriage would be next - she brought out that she was safe until Aida showed up.

Perhaps nobody but we classical musicians and aficionados  find this amusing.

The other line that I laughed at was in the final story, “The Wedding Visitor.” The narrator is a political operator, working for candidates. He returns to his hometown for a wedding involving his cousin. The family is horribly dysfunctional, and he ends up caught in the middle, asked to keep secrets by just about everyone.

Rob promised, reflecting that everyone so far, excepting Emily, had asked him not to tell something. It was as bad as politics.

Spencer understates this, of course, as poor Rob ends up using his political savvy to smooth everything over at least enough to get the couple hitched - although, like politics, he isn’t sure he did the best thing.

All told, this was a worthwhile collection of stories, the more surprising because I wasn’t familiar with Spencer before I read it. Like the best writers of short stories, she has a keen insight into human psychology, combined with a sympathy toward all her characters. There is a delightfully humanity to each story, and the complexities of life are well drawn.

Small World Note:

Elizabeth Spencer is the cousin once removed of senator and erstwhile presidential candidate John McCain. I had no idea about this until I was researching Spencer’s biographical information after reading the book. Neither of them name drops the other, so it isn’t common knowledge, apparently.

Flora and Ulysses by Kate DiCamillo

Source of book: Audiobook borrowed from the library - but my daughters own and adore this book

Kate DiCamillo wasn’t a part of my childhood for the simple reason that she hadn’t written anything when I was a kid. Her first children’s novel came out in 2000. My second daughter became a fan when she discovered The Tale of Despereaux (which we listened to last summer). She has always loved mice of all sorts, fictional and otherwise, stuffed and living, so she has made a rather extensive study of all the available protagonists of the small rodent persuasion found in the kids’ section of our library. 

 Cordelia (aka Cora), lover of all things rodent

Flora and Ulysses starres a slightly larger rodent, a squirrel, who finds himself unexpectedly transformed.

DiCamillo begins by satirizing the “superhero” trope. How does a certain kind of hero get his or her powers? By surviving a run-in with a deadly danger, such as a poisonous spider or radioactive goo. Ulysses is gobbled up by an out of control vacuum cleaner, and gains his name - and some unexpected powers - as a result. Ulysses may gain super strength and the ability to fly, but he isn’t really sure what to do with them. He also is able to understand humans and type his thoughts on a typewriter, but he remains a squirrel. Thus, while his human companion (and his inspiration), the overly dramatic Flora expects him to set off saving the world and righting wrong, he is unsure how to wear the weight of these expectations. He has gained a desire to write poetry (from the poetry book that was gobbled by the vacuum before it got him), and he discovers he can save people from an aggressive and pathological cat; but what he really wants to do is find food, particularly a giant doughnut, the tastiest thing he can imagine.

Flora, on the other hand, sees Ulysses through her imagination, fired by her many hours immersed in the comic-book world of “Incandesto,” a mere janitor by day, but crime fighter by night. This squirrel, to her, is her fantasy come to life, and a way of dealing with the pain of an inattentive mother and her parents’ broken marriage.

The best sort of children’s books appeal to adults as well because of the universal themes and ideas. I have found both of DiCamillo’s books (so far) to have enough hidden wit that may (or not) go over the heads of my younger kids, and also food for conversation. The characters are rarely entirely what one would expect - even the villains. (Roscuro in Despereaux is particularly delightful.) In this book there is the tension between the cynic that Flora thinks she is and the romantic that she really is at heart. There is a delightful skewering of the romance novels that Flora’s mother writes - and of the fact that she is as prosaic as they come, and constantly irritated at the bond of imagination and wonder that Flora and her father share. There is the imaginary book, Terrible Things Can Happen to YOU! that both prepares Flora for emergencies, and leads her to overreact to ordinary situations. There is the treatment of the fear of rejection which haunts many of the characters. There is an interesting perspective shift between a destructive giant squid as a hated villain and the same creature as the pitiable loneliest creature in the sea.

As usual, DiCamillo celebrates the oddball, the misfit, and overly dramatic. After all, who really wants to read about perfect people? And who could identify with one? We are all misfits, who, even if we don’t indulge in drama, have at least been tempted. (And, our kids do…) All of us have a fear of rejection, and perhaps we too would welcome a little superhero who loves us absolutely. And, come to think of it, I probably would have loved to have shouted, “Holy Bagumba!” when the unexpected happened. 

One disadvantage of audiobooks is that you sometimes miss fun illustrations.  

Flora and Ulysses contains extended sections of comic book style illustrations by K. G. Campbell which are fun.

Note on modern children’s literature:

I have all too often heard laments that modern kids’ books don’t measure up to the standards of bygone eras. I think this is overblown, but it is the product of two things. First of all, we forget that the worst art from the past has faded into forgotten obscurity, leaving the best behind as “classics.” So, we don’t have to read the dreck of ages past. Thus, whenever we read (or hear, or see) some poorly done modern effort, we tend to compare it to the giants of lore. Few come off well well when compared to Shakespeare, Beethoven, or Rembrandt.

The second factor is that modern books often address modern dilemmas. Many books, including this one, have divorced families in them. This is a turn off to certain parents because of the fear that this will “normalize” divorce. I find this a bit irrational. What it does is normalize the children of broken homes. And seriously, our children will be around those who come from all kinds of family situations, and the last thing they need is added fear of others. A little understanding of the stresses associated with feuding parents is probably a good thing - as is the truth that rejection is the last thing a child needs, regardless of how that child came to be.

Through my kids (and other friends and family), I have had the chance to read a number of modern books for children, and I have been impressed by how many of them are thoughtful, entertaining, and imaginative. Children’s literature is far from dead, in my experience.

Blue Shoes and Happiness by Alexander McCall Smith

Source of book: Audiobook from the library

My kids, for some reason, love Alexander McCall Smith. Never mind the slow pace and character driven plots. Never mind the exotic yet mundane setting. Never mind the serious and philosophical topics. They want to bring one of his books - particularly the No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency series - on every long driving vacation we go on.

Last summer, we listened to The Kalahari Typing School for Men, which is number four in the series. Blue Shoes and Happiness is number seven. Fortunately, it is possible to figure out the characters in the middle of the series, because, unlike my wife and kids, I haven’t read the earlier ones. 

I won’t rehash the details of my previous review, which discusses the series and the characters. Rather, I will just mention a few things that stood out in this book.

First, the plots in this book turn on superstition, greed, the quest for happiness, and the meaning of “feminism.” The fear of a curse leads to a near panic at a wildlife refuge. A government employee steals food to keep her philandering husband from leaving her. A doctor sells generics at the full price to line his pockets. A bitter advice columnist blackmails for profit. And, unforgettably, Mma. Makutsi nearly loses her fiance over what it means to be a “feminist.”

As with the other books, McCall Smith and his protagonist, Mma. Ramotswe, are gentle with human foibles. As Mma. Ramotswe puts it, each of us have our weaknesses and vulnerabilities. When faced with them, we often cannot rise above our defects. For Mma. Ramotswe, this would be her love for sweet things, which lead to her “traditional build” and high blood pressure. For Mma. Makutsi, a beautiful but impractical pair of shoes would prove irresistible.

Mma. Ramotswe therefore attempts to fix serious issues with a minimum of damage to those involved. This may be frustrating to those wishing to see virtue rewarded and vice punished to the hilt, but it fits with a worldview of showing grace and mercy to others - including those who don’t deserve it. In some ways, this is an interesting contrast to the G. K. Chesterton book I read recently, The Man Who Knew Too Much. In that one, the greatest crimes are so great that they cannot be punished at all, which is a frustrating outcome, but one that is perhaps all too true in real life. For Mma. Ramotswe, justice is tempered, rather than escaped. Often, she is able to stop an evil before it causes great damage. The perpetrators may not experience “justice” in the sense of punishment, but they must abandon their schemes. In other cases, the law must be involved, and a more traditional form of “justice” is necessary, but even then, Mma. Ramotswe is never out to destroy, but to stop evil. I find this emphasis on restoration rather than vengeance to be fascinating, and morally compelling to one who aspires to follow Christ. There is a bit of an echo of “neither do I condemn you, go and sin no more” in these books.

Perhaps the most fascinating bit in this book, however, was the question of “feminism.” Mma. Makutsi’s fiance, Phuti Radiphuti, is somewhat timid man, with a stutter, who has found himself at ease - and less stuttery - around Mma. Makutsi. In turn, Mma. Makutsi is a strong, opinionated woman, alternately intimidating and naive, but with a good heart. Phuti asks her one day if she is a feminist, and she say that of course she is, and so are nearly all women these days. Poor Phuti is terrified, because of the differing perceptions of what “feminism” means.

Phuti is fully in favor of equality for women, but he is haunted by a radio broadcast he heard from a “feminist” who claimed that “men were finished, and would soon be swept away.” This conjured in his mind a giant woman with a huge broom, sweeping him out with the dirt. This is, naturally, the furthest thing from Mma. Makutsi’s mind, as she gets great enjoyment from cooking for Phuti, and would hardly be one to disregard him. She may be outspoken and expect to be able to make her own decisions, but she would never want to hurt Phuti.

McCall Smith does a brilliant job in this book of bringing the debate into focus using humor and believable human interaction. The two lovers were in fact admirably close in their actual beliefs and actions, but the words meant different things to them.

This is a current problem, in my experience, within conservative and religious circles. While there are some that genuinely wish to return to a patriarchal society, I believe most people I know actually agree with most of what feminism stands for. The problem is that “feminism” to them means a strawman version. A man-hating version, standing by with a giant broom to sweep men aside.

This version is not only out of touch with the real meaning of feminism, a belief in the social, political, and economic equality of men and women, but is also out of touch with what all except for a small, if vocal, minority of feminists advocate. In my experience, the stereotype of “feminism” is a mashup of Helen Gurley Brown (known both for Sex and the Single Girl and “A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle”) and Andrea Dworkin (whose past experience of abuse led her to believe that heterosexual sex could not be separated from dominance and control).

Unfortunately, this has lead to so many within the Evangelical camp to view “feminism” as the flip side of misogyny. On the one hand, this is merely sad, because “social, political, and economic equality” isn’t at all the same thing as misandry. On the other, there is a certain influential movement within Evangelicalism to whom “social, political, and economic equality” is considered to be a true evil. I have written a good bit about this in the past, so I won’t rehash it, but I do want to note that the conflation of “feminism” with misandry is not an accident. It was and is promoted intentionally by those that do in fact oppose the true meaning of feminism because that false equivalence allows them to claim that allowing equal social, political, and economic power to men is the first step toward inevitable misandry, and thus incite many within Evangelicalism to oppose all things “feminist” without actually learning about them or engaging with their ideas.

I am one who proudly wears the label of “feminist.” I didn’t always do so, until I married a “feminist” wife, and met many other “feminists” within my profession and social life, and realized that, to paraphrase the philosopher Inigo Montoya, that word didn’t mean what I thought it meant. Perhaps, then, Mma. Ramotswe is right in her approach to the situation. Rather than try to browbeat either party into changing their views, she gently suggests that Mma. Makutsi assuage Phuti’s fears. Likewise, Phuti is then able to clarify that he has no wish to control her or take her for granted - things far too common among men in the culture of Botswana (and, let’s be honest, in most cultures to some degree or another).

For Mma. Ramotswe, who is, if anything, even more feminist than Mma. Makutsi, the solution isn’t about an argument over labels, but in seeing the common ground. And this is really her approach to all of her cases. Encourage and build up. Right wrongs when possible, but never seek vengeance. Account for human weakness and help all tap their better selves. And, of course, brew another pot of bush tea.

Christmas Books 2014

For two of the three years since I started this blog, I have made a short post about the books I received as gifts for Christmas. In addition to being fun, it also serves as a teaser for the reviews to be written in the upcoming year.

Here are the past editions:

2011

2013

Here is what I received this year:

1. The Space Trilogy by C. S. Lewis

There are three books in this set, Out of the Silent Planet, Perelandra, and That Hideous Strength. I read the first two in my teens, but never read the third. Since leaving home, I haven’t had a copy, either, so I didn’t get a chance to revisit them and finish the series. [Update: I have!]

I had really hoped to find hardbacks, but they have been quite hard to find - and outrageously expensive. Recently, however, Scribner re-issued them, so my wife was able to pick up a set for me.

I haven’t decided whether to just read them myself or introduce the older kids to them. Either way, I doubt I will do all three this year, but I intend to start at the beginning so I can tie all of them together. 

2. Complete Poems by W. B. Yeats.

I have a paperback edition of selected poems, but this is a hardcover of the complete poems. It is also the first of fourteen volumes of the complete works of Yeats, published (in a fun coincidence) by Scribners. My wife found this for me (supposedly) used at a library sale. It does not appear to have been opened, let alone read. 

3. Essays by Francis Bacon

Another used book find by my wife. She knows I go for weird random stuff like this. My favorite fact about Bacon - one I still remember from a book of weird facts I had as a kid - is that he died of pneumonia, contracted during a series of experiments in the preservation of food by freezing.

4. Jacob’s Journey by Herb Neufeld

Some of my ancestors on both sides of the family were Mennonites who left Germany for Russia after being evicted for pacifism. They eventually left Russia in the 1890s for the same reason, and settled in the Great Plains area of the United States. This book, written by a local known to my parents and my wife’s grandparents, wrote the story of his ancestors, who stayed behind in Russia, later fleeing the Communists via China. My mom got this for me, saying it wasn’t great literature, but is a fascinating story. 

5. The Art of War by Sun Tzu (and other classics of Eastern thought)

I’m going to count this as a Christmas present, even though I selected it myself. The lovely Amanda and I got to have an afternoon and evening to ourselves, thanks to my in-laws, and we were left with some time before dinner. We (naturally) ended up at Barnes and Noble, where I find a sweet hardback of this for not too much. We had a gift card left over from somewhere, so I spent it. So, thanks to whoever gave me the card!

The other works in this book are The Tao Te Ching, Confucian Analects, The Great Learning, The Doctrine of the Mean, and The Works of Mencius.

6. The National Geographic Guide to National Parks and Secrets of the National Parks

These were a gift from my in-laws. I won’t be reviewing them per se, but I do intend to start a series of posts on the National Parks. I have paged through them a bit, and there is some useful information - and some great pictures. [Update: I have used these a lot over the last near-decade in planning our trips.]

Night Shift at the Hospital on Christmas Eve

Tonight is Christmas Eve.

The kids and I have just finished watching The Muppet Christmas Carol together, and they are snug in bed. This year, we did Christmas a day early, as we often do. Except when we do it a day late, or even earlier or later.

Amanda is at work tonight, and tomorrow night.

Amanda is a nurse, and illness doesn’t take the holidays off. Life and death don’t take the holidays off either. She doesn’t work every holiday, but every day, many must.

And so, we celebrate Christmas whenever we are able to be together. I’m pretty used to this, as my father worked as an air traffic controller most of my childhood. We always assumed that Christmas was a flexible thing. And so it is. The spirit of Christmas cannot be bound by a mere calendar.

I wanted to write something up, however, because I am proud of my wife. I am proud of the fact that she is there to care for the sick during the night shift, when most of us are enjoying peaceful slumber. I am proud that she is good at what she does. I am proud that she is usually in charge of one of the ICU units at the hospital - sometimes all three if they are short staffed. I am proud that she is often the one that the rest of the hospital relies on when something goes wrong with a patient in other units, and that she has the cool head to take charge of a situation. I am proud of the way she has taken charge in emergencies when off shift, directing CPR or otherwise assisting those who need it. I am proud that she uses her gifts to make the world a better place.

I am proud of the fact that she made her dream a reality. She has wanted to be a nurse as long as she can remember, and she put in the work and the sacrifice to make it a reality. But it’s more than a dream, it’s her calling.

I am also proud of the fact that she contributes financially to our family. I am proud that she works hard for our benefit. I have received some hateful comments (deleted) on this blog about how we are sinning because she works outside the home, and I’d be lying if I said they didn’t bother me a bit. Because it’s all too common in certain circles, the knowing “ohhhh.” when one of us discloses that she isn’t a full time stay-at-home mom, and thus failing to fulfil the role of the good “Christian” woman. I will admit it has been tempting to wish that these people might find themselves ill and in need of care - and realize that they can’t just rely on a male doctor for what they need. Without Amanda, and millions of others like her, the entire health care system would fall apart. And I am proud of that.

So, tonight, on Christmas Eve, when most of you are celebrating with family and friends, spare a thought for the many who are out there tonight keeping us well and safe: nurses and aids, law enforcement, gas station attendants, air traffic controllers, and many more that serve unseen and often unrecognized. Here’s to them, and to the sacrifices they make to make our world a better place.

And Amanda, I love you and am proud of you. You are the Christmas present I love the most every year - even if I can’t always have you next to me on Christmas Eve. God bless us, every one.

 

The Prisoner of Zenda by Anthony Hope

Source of book: I own this as part of my hardback “World’s Best Reading” collection

Buckle your swashes! Time for a rip-roaring adventure story!

Illustration by Charles Dana Gibson, 1898

Anthony Hope wrote a few books, but none was more popular than The Prisoner of Zenda, although the sequel, Rupert of Hentzau came close. Written at the close of the 19th Century, it started a revival of the tale of sword and chivalry, practically creating the “Ruritanian Romance” genre.

In order to make the anachronistic tale more believable, Hope set it primarily in an imaginary Central or Eastern European country he called Ruritania. For the 1890s, this area of the world was barely less exotic than the Persia of the Arabian Nights or the Far East. It was still believable as the half-savage, backward, forested wilderness in which a sword fight in a castle was entirely possible. Even Count Dracula was possible, and children could be stolen away and turn up in Transylvania. I’m not sure the Romanians entirely appreciated this stereotyping. Perhaps these days, one of the few places that would still work for this sort of thing is North Korea.

In any case, “Ruritania” becomes the setting for this tale. Englishman Rudolf Rassendyll is a rather unmotivated and silly young aristocrat somewhat in the vein of Bertie Wooster. Either blessed or cursed with flaming red hair, he is the living reminder of the checkered past of his family. A few generations back, a torrid affair took place between a respectable matron of the family and the rakish prince of Ruritania, and the red hair crops up once each generation as a reminder of the incident.

Pestered to do something useful with himself, Rudolf takes a trip to Ruritania on the pretence of going to Italy to research a book. He accidentally runs into the heir apparent to the throne, who happens to be his doppelganger. After the king is drugged and abducted by his brother - who also wants the throne - Rudolf finds himself impersonating the king, so he can free him from the dungeon at Zenda. This wasn’t exactly his plan for his vacation, but, after all, why ever not?

Hope realizes that this story is a bit silly, and doesn’t take it entirely seriously. For both Rudolf and the author, this is a fortunate lark, a chance to show their mettle while indulging in a fantasy. Hope writes in a flowing, well paced manner, allowing the story to unfold at a perfect pace.

The Prisoner of Zenda would prove to be influential. While some authors would lean more to the serious side, the best and most memorable of the subsequent Ruritanian Romances would mine the concept for its comic potential. The Adventures of Tintin draw significantly from Zenda, both in idea and in plot devices. Both Charlie Chaplin and the Marx Brothers (Duck Soup) would utilize the concept to comedic effect. George Bernard Shaw parodied the genre in Arms and the Man. Ian Flemming’s Chitty Chitty Bang Bang invents perhaps the best “Ruritania” of them all, the kingdom of Vulgaria. Even recently, Grand Budapest Hotel draws from the tradition.

The Prisoner of Zenda is great fun, and a nice light read. I also intend to introduce my children to it at some point. Perhaps I can find an audiobook for one of our adventures this summer.

What is a “swash,” and how do you buckle it anyway?

“Swashbuckler” is similar to “gunslinger,” but the meaning isn’t quite as obvious. The derivation comes from the sound the sword makes through the air, and a buckler is a round shield. (And also one of the great naughty jokes in Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing.) A swashbuckler is the sort who prefers a sword to a gun, is as idealistic as they come, and rescues the damsel in distress. Obviously, Robin Hood and the Three Musketeers qualify, along with any number of movie heroes of the past. Nearly every book by Sir Walter Scott [insert link] contains this archetype, and many adventure stories and movies have had to choose whether to embrace or parody the trope. The eminently quotable The Princess Bride encompasses both, with the quintessential swashbuckler Inigo Montoya contrasted with the cynical but resourceful Westley. Even the Star Wars franchise capitalizes on the enduring love for swordplay and the wistful desire that it could in fact still trump the far less romantic firearm.

Morganatic Marriage:

This was a term I had to look up after it appeared in the book. A Morganatic marriage is one between a member of the nobility and a commoner. (In fact, the marriage of Prince William to Kate is technically Morganatic, which makes it a big deal for those who care about such things.) The legal question to be settled is one of inheritance. Obviously, the commoner spouse cannot inherit the family estate, but what of the children? Do they inherit the titles and property? As I presume any British barrister could tell you, “it’s complicated.” Morganatic marriage doesn’t drive the plot in this book, but it does at least come into play in the back story of a few minor characters.

Movie and Stage Adaptations:

Hope co-wrote a stage version of the novel soon after it was published.

Naturally, a plot this good has been turned into a movie on several occasions. Early films were made in 1913, 1915, and 1922. The definitive version is the 1937 film starring Douglas Fairbanks as the dastardly yet dashing Rupert Hentzau, and Ronald Colman as Rudolf and the king. The same script would be used for the 1952 remake starring Stewart Granger and Deborah Kerr. A very loose adaptation was made for a 1979 film starring Peter Sellers.

Trailer for the 1937 version