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Friday, March 17, 2017

NorsePlay: Neil Gaiman's "Norse Mythology".

Neil Gaiman faced the daunting task to adapt the narrative holy of the holies, the ur-book stories, the most ancient tales known to man from which all other tales have since flowed from: Norse Mythology.



As we told a childhood friend of Neil's last month, Neil is a fearless writer, that before Neil there wasn't a great movement in the fantasy genre to use the Gods as actual intimate first & close third-person protagonists.







[Neil Gaiman being fearless!]

We look back at his record for this daring talent with reading pleasure: The Sandman (his breakout World Fantasy Award-winning graphic novel series expanding the being of Greek deity Morpheus), American Gods (heavily featuring Gods from various pantheons), and Odd & the Frost Giants (a NorsePlay story for children of all ages). And now, in a tribute to pay back what originally inspired him, Gaiman offers us his version of Norse Mythology.



In his introduction, Neil points out and mourns the loss of many stories in the Norse Lore, with only hints of more left behind in epithets and kennings:






I wish I could retell the tales of Eir, because she was the doctor of the gods, of Lofn, the comforter, who was a Norse goddess of marriages, or of Sjofn, a goddess of love. Not to mention Vor, goddess of wisdom. I can imagine stories, but I cannot tell their tales. (p.14)



You big tease, Mr. Gaiman, as we're pretty sure you could draft some. (And go check out "The Almighty Johnsons" for an interesting take on these goddesses.)




One can't help but hear Gaiman's comfortable English accent while reading. (If you're unfamiliar, listen to this.) Some authors make a total hash of reading their own work (talking to you, departed Douglas Adams), but the words here just rise off the page as though you're listening by a campfire. 




The bar for comparison will always be D'Aulaires' Norse Gods & Giants, but Gaiman instead grew up with Roger Lancelyn Green's Myths of the Norsemen. This early inspiration aside, he sources Snorri Sturluson, the Poetic Edda, and Rudolf Simek's Dictionary of Norse Mythology for his current retelling.







[Fenrir-fraught German edition cover.]

There's an open-endedness to the Norse Lore which allows the teller to detail in the blanks as they see fit. Everyone takes the opportunity to do so, and in this Gaiman is no different. Just when you thought you'd heard all the names for the Gods, he comes up with some original epithets, which is a skaldic achievement.



Charming anachronisms, born of Gaiman's penchant for contemporary urban fantasy (i.e. Neverwhere), make their way into his version of the Eddaic material. For instance, the giant that survives Ymir's flood of lifeblood does so by "clamoring onto a wooden box" (p.32), and smithy dwarf Brokk threatens Loki with converting his head into "A thinking machine (...) Or an inkwell." (p.55) The fact that these modern day items can flow backward and find a place inside these stories only reinforces the Norse Lore's timeless essence.




Other interesting additions and modifications in Gaiman's version include: the cosmic giant Ymir being made neither sex yet hermaphrodite, the detail of runes inscribed on the sides of Utgardaloki's bottomless challenge horn, the rationalization of Odin, Vili, & Ve wanting to create better worlds to live in & thus sanctioning the necessary sacrifice of Ymir to provide realm-building materials to do so, the prick of "Baldur's bell-like laughter...", a new character of Thyrm's conniving sister at Thor's marriage, and Mjölnir winning the the dwarven crafting contest because of its ability to protect, as Gaiman emphasizes that value far above the other entries.




Gaiman also specifically assigns the Vanir's Frey & Freya with the creation of Kvasir, which dovetails nicely into their role as both generative/creative gods and as the members of the post-war tribal exchange.




As the book continues, one can't help but notice Gaiman's enjoyment of writing Loki as a foil for events, especially seen in his extended embellishment of Loki's seduction of the giant's draft horse into something rather sensual.








"The Mead of Poets" is a brilliant standout. The dwarves who kill Kvasir are recast from spiteful miscreants into alchemists, which makes more sense for the murder's resultant beverage. And Bolverkr's underhanded wooing of Gunnlod's done as well as any modern lothario running game on a girl on any given club night.



"Hymir and Thor's Fishing Expedition" partly gets retold as a bad stepfather story, as Tyr's giantess mother marries the abusive & inhospitable Hymir, and we get a taste of Tyr's oppressive early home life.




Hel's half-dead side is descibed as looking into the "pale eye of a corpse" (the exact phrase Gaiman re-uses later for midwinter's brief and distant sun). Gaiman's previous empathetic personification of Death in Sandman may have been partly influenced by her Gothic-forbearer Hel:



"I am only myself, Hel, daughter of Angerboda and of Loki," she said. "And I like the dead best of all. They are simple things, and they talk to me with respect. The living look at me with revulsion."

One can't help but admire Hel's forthright manner, and despite the horror of her condition, she wins us with her self-acceptance, and also wins Odin when he gives her a fitting place in his cosmic scheme of things.



Gaiman reorders events to make more narrative sense. Odin raises the long dead wise woman völva only once, far later in the stories after Balder experiences his plague of nightmares. Gaiman also takes the liberty of making the völva Loki's lover & monster mother jötunness Angrboda, which makes her belligerent & doom-filled revelations to Odin more motivated. This shuffling of prophecy toward the end of things gives the reader a feeling that Ragnarök's too late to stop by the time Odin hears of it, which eliminates the usual planning versus destiny questions of why can't it be avoided if the Gods know about it from so early on in the stories' throughline.







[Hungarian edition.]

Like in Sandman, and in his introduction, Gaiman falls prey to the common slanderous reduction of Thor to a box of hammers ... which ignores Thor's verbally deft outwitting of dwaven Alvíss (actually meaning "All-Wise") to save his daughter Thrud from his amorous attentions, and Gaiman omits this story in his collection. 





A huge deviation in "The Story of Gerd and Frey" is that Gerd's refusal of Frey's proposal is completely skipped. One wonders if the coercion aspect was found to be distasteful by the author, but that's negated anyhow for most modern audiences by her finding mutual happiness with Frey at the end. He is a God of love after all, and being selected by love itself for marriage would be the ultimate compliment.




A serious missed-opportunity occurs in "The Last Days of Loki" when the "Lokasenna" usually takes place. During this episode Loki calls out all the Gods on their transgressions and shortcomings in an attempt to show them they're as mischievous as he is and hypocritical to boot (which is false since Loki's brand of mischief also harms everyone and is born of a darker motivation). Unlike Gaiman's previous writerly use of Loki, he skips the potential of this famous verbal tennis match entirely, which we found disappointing.







[Domestic cover with nordic landscaping.]

During "Ragnarok: The Final Destiny of the Gods", there's a dying exchange between Heimdall & Loki, and a gorgeous post-Ragnarok ending that movingly capstones the book.



Bottom-line: Does Gaiman significantly improve the telling? No, but his telling is respectful, adorned with thoughtful things only he would do, crafted with the fuzzy edges of myth gathered & woven into smoother narratives, poetic yet accessible, and, in many passages, beautiful & wondrous. In that meritorious achievement, Gaiman fulfills the role of that Green version he grew up with, and this new version will be the lens through which the current generation first encounters the All-Father, the Trickster, and the Thunderer. Snorri would be proud.







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While a mostly happy bookstore fixture for over two decades, Guillermo Maytorena IV is currently willing to entertain your serious proposals for employment as a literary/cinema critic, goth journalist, castellan, airship pilot/crewperson, investigative mythologist, or assisting in a craft brewery. Should you be connected to any of the above or equally interesting endeavours, do contact him viaLinkedIn or G+.

Wednesday, March 15, 2017

and then we went to Monster Camp.


Some would insist that marriage is about compromise, but in that subtractive equation one of two people always get chafed under the yoke of the other. No, if you've married correctly, the operating principle is compliment, like two pieces of a puzzle that make something greater that itself, or liquid to a bottle, things that fulfill each other's purpose.





So when my wife wanted to camp, something I'd not ever really had on my to do list, we decided it had to be something more engaging than the chore of roughing it, more than man versus nature, greater than just the great outdoors: We went to Monster Camp!







[Mini-totem in front of Camp Spirit's ramada.]


Monster Camp's the brainchild of Daniel & Dawna Davis of Steam Crow, a husband & wife graphic design team (see the compliment there?) out of Phoenix, AZ. Their outfit's been making monster-based books, stickers, postcards (my favourite), posters, t-shirts, and other sundries since 2005. The Monster Camp is attended by Monster Rangers, Steam Crow's fan-based scouting group, who participate in pursuit of good times, the eco-paranormal motto of "Believe, Study, Protect"-ion of Monsters, and the pursuit of superneat knowledge & achievement badges.







[The Marrow Totem at campground center. Put together with aluminum pipes and toggles made of elastic and wooden dowels, it's a sterling example of Monster Ranger ingenuity.]

Having been a huge admirer of Steam Crow's work since the first Tucson Comic-Con, we went not only for the camping, but to see how such a sociological construct would even come together. Having noticed that the focus at conventions seems to be acquisition, self-adornment, and photographic aggrandizement, how do a group of strangers taken out of that context and placed into the wild form community?








[Trophy heads posted outside of a gothic Skull Ranger's tent as an offering to the undead monsters they especially care for.]


Imagination is the key. Given the alt-scouting context, there's a mutual feeling generated that one belongs to something special with its own cult-like mores, a subversion of the protestant-based 1950s American youth groups with individual creativity replacing communal conformity as an ideal, a shared aesthetic that celebrates a steampunkesque inventiveness coupled with an attraction to the outré with the monster as its totem.







[Our fearless leader, Master Ranger Daniel Davis. Note the Goblin Post delivery man at bottom left, busy handing out missions and coded messages to members.]


There's a mythology complete with origin story, specialty scouting subdivisions if you feel like pursuing a niche, non-required uniforms with accessories, and an online forum with a patch-for-points registry if one wanted to get competitive about it, all which provide the glue that binds the Monster Rangers together.







[Hand sewn stitch witchery taught by hexcasting seamstress Dawna, who has a grimoire full of patterns of magickal intent for the Conjure Guard ranger branch.]

The annual Shindig (2017 being the second of these, with five happening up and down the western US) is the ultimate real world manifestation of the Monster Rangers. An exclusive patch for coming aside, it's three days of camping, with crafting workshops, monster-related lectures & presentations, secret missions, optional hikes, gaming, a musical performance, potluck dinners, and shared geekery with campfires, marshmallows and heavy social drinking. Like a cult, it takes you outside of your comfort zone where a tribal group dynamic then takes over. There's a special greeting in place of a handshake, and an even more special otherworldly artifact each scout is entrusted with that allows for a connection with any other Ranger at the camp.




[At our Camp Cucuy, my wife turned a chair into a working solar defroster after the dry ice solidified our fancy cheeses for the potluck charcuterie into impossible tooth-breaking bricks.]

Yet, unlike a cult, there's no peer pressure to do anything besides have a good time. Usually featuring two activities each hour outside of mealtimes, one at each ramada (either Camp Spooky or Camp Spirit) at each end of the camp, everything was optional, so if you needed tent time, you just took it, no questions.








[My smartly dressed wife sports her newly constructed Medic Scout themed nametag.]

Everyone we met in and outside of activity was congenial. People gave us bacon (!), lent us an extra portable gas stove to finish cooking our first night's potluck dish of red potato chili cheese fries, offered us middle shelf booze at the campfire, and everyone listened nicely to everyone else. We brought Jenga, and totally owned people, for which I know I deserve a patch. And as we talked to others, we found out many Rangers drove in from as far away as the West Coast to come, so it definitely wasn't just us 'Zonies making up the subculture.








[Late into the second night, Marrow showed up for a revealing Q & A with a monster.]




[At the stroke of midnight, a real Krampus sauntered out of the darkness, into the campfire's light to have his entourage hand out really, really good gingerbread cookies.]



Then there was a point where fantasy crossed into reality. One of the imperative skills of the Monster Rangers is to "Imaginate!", which allows one to see monsters. Reality's a consensual construct. When we frame what we see a certain way, it then excludes being able to see it in different ways, and we blind ourselves to the possibilities. The ancients saw monsters, gods, and creatures of all stripes & shades, recording them in legendary histories we learn about and enjoy today, whether we choose to investigate their truths or not. But nothing really separates the ancient mind from the modern one except how we construct our perception of reality. If we can reframe how we think about the world around us, we can see things as well as or even grander than the ancients did, and enrich ourselves in the process. This is probably the most subtle lesson the Monster Rangers has to teach us. While the manifestation of monsters in the pictures above may be a bit of low theatre, it also challenges what you see everyday by providing a solid sensory representation of the extraordinary right in front of us, and by forcing a broadening of our reality, that initiation ritual effectively allows us to witness them around us everyday.








[Rival Monsterologists showed up in top hats to present their counterpoint that monsters are dangerous and must be hunted to protect mankind. What short-sighted cretins!]








[My supercool aggregate of Monster Ranger badges. The hammers are wicked.]

While maybe it might be all about the sweet badges, there's alot more at play among the Monster Ranger Shindig experience than you might see at first. We're glad we went because it was all of the above and more. Thanks, Steam Crow!






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While a mostly happy bookstore fixture for over two decades, Guillermo Maytorena IV is currently willing to entertain your serious proposals for employment as a literary/cinema critic, goth journalist, castellan, airship pilot/crewperson, investigative mythologist, or assisting in a craft brewery. Should you be connected to any of the above or equally interesting endeavours, do contact him via LinkedIn or G+.

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