In response to an essay by Sara Douglass in defense of fantasy: (From my comment on Talvikki's DeviantArt journal)

"Escape from the modern world" is not a defense that fantasy fiction needs right now. Actually, right now, "escapism" is its most severe condemnation. I think with her anti-modernity argument that Sara Douglass has argued for fantasy's appeal, but not for its value. So, this right here is a critique of a fantasy apologetic from someone who is herself an apologetic.

No, modernity, rationality, and science absolutely aren't antithetical to wonder. Diving oceanic depths, reaching into far-flung outer space, smashing infinitesimal particles into clouds of light and heat add more to the imagination, not less. Logic and science only oppress the imaginations of people who weren't very imaginative to begin with. Rapidly changing, highly diverse cultures feed the garden of my soul (as Sara Douglass puts it) more than an idyllic medieval village or pristine wilderness. If you look at medieval illustrations, even classical myths and Biblical stories are given contemporary, provincial settings. Peasants thought Jerusalem was just around the corner and imagined Joseph and Mary as better-looking, bourgeois versions of themselves. They were fundamentally incapable of imagining life drastically different from their own. Sarah Douglass argues that knowing everything makes the world seem safe and lifeless, but science isn't about (and never can be about) knowing everything, it's about finding new things. That's as pretty opposite of the mundane as you're going to get with any philosophy.

Good fantasy doesn't tap into some vast, ancient, unchanging archetype, but acts like a funhouse mirror to everyday life. It takes the ordinariness of our lives and exaggerates it into Other, such that we recognize it as truer than reality. Assume that we run with the supposedly generic, Western medieval fantasy world, which despite my criticisms, I adore. Say, a world where the printing press was the dangerous cutting edge of modernity, or women unchaperoned were risque, or armed men weren't that "noble knight" schmaltz but just as proud, vindictive, and tragic as rival drug lords or CEOs. This is a world where its appeal comes not from somber ancientness, but from chaos, change, modern life run riot, not knowing "how it ends", from making all old things anew. Is that world really different from our own? Tap water is boring until we're confronted with the logistics and sheer beauty of a Roman aqueduct's soaring arches. Never mind light bulbs, or microwavable food. Good fantasy makes us see our own world with new eyes.

I may be sick over spring break, but that's not keeping me from writing up fake Wikipedia articles.


"In medieval Europe, charismatic, itinerant preachers travelled between cities, delivering fire and brimstone sermons at religious revivals. Spectators would congregate from miles around to hear these rousing speakers, working themselves into frenzies. Wealthier listeners had the opportunity to find seating in wooden grandstands, but landless peasants had to stand during the entire spectacle, frequently for hours on end, and often fainted with rapture when "moved by the Holy Spirit." Because the audience was so densely packed, there was no way to carry anybody out through the chaotic mob, so bystanders would lift the ecstatic worshipper over their heads and pass him on to others standing nearby, without the person ever touching the ground. In time, this practice became known as 'serf-crowding.'"

This is fucking awesome:

"The example is of the Noble Women of Tortosa in Aragon, and recorded by Josef Micheli Marquez, who plainly calls them Cavalleros or Knights, or may I not rather say Cavalleras, seeing I observe the words Equitissae and Militissae (formed from the Latin Equites and Milites) heretofore applied to Women, and sometimes used to express Madams or Ladies, though now these Titles are not known.

"Don Raymond, last Earl of Barcellona (who by intermarriage with Petronilla, only Daughter and Heir of King Ramiro the Monk, united that principality to the Kingdom of Aragon) having in the year 1149, gained the City of Tortosa from the Moors, they on the 31 of December following, laid a new Siege to that place, for the recovery of it out of the Earls hands. The Inhabitants being a length reduced to gread streights, desired relief of the Earl, but he, being not in a condition to give them any, they entertained some thoughts of making a surrender. Which the Women hearing of, to prevent the disaster threatning their City, themselves, and Children, put on mens Clothes, and by a resolute sally, forced the Moors to raise the Siege.

"The Earl, finding himself obliged, bythe gallentry of the action, thought fit to make his acknowlegements thereof, by granting them several Privileges and Immunities, and to perpetuate the memory of so signal an attempt, instituted an Order, somewhat like a Military Order, into which were admitted only those Brave Women, deriving the honor to their Descendants, and assigned them for a Dadge, a thing like a Fryars Capouche, sharp at the top, after the form of a Torch, and of a crimson colour, to be worn upon their Head-clothes. He also ordained, that at all publick meetings, the women should have precedence of the Men. That they should be exempted from all Taxes, adn that all the Apparel and Jewels, though of never so great value, left by their dead Husbands, should be their own.

"These Women (saith our Author) having thus aquired this Honor by their personal Valour, carried themselves after the Military Knights of those days."

-Ashmole, The Institution, Laws, and Ceremony of the Most Noble Order of the Garter (1672), Ch. 3, sect. 3

Stab, Stab, Stab the Evil Infidel

Go watch Kingdom of Heaven. It's about the Crusades. It's seriously awesome. It has some phenomenal writing that never takes the easy road, and by some miracle makes a "medieval epic" seem fresh.

Spoilers: The Muslims win. Kay was cheering. I was mortified. Kay! You can't be cheering for the "bad guys!"

...

No, I don't care if you're Muslim, Kay.

BAD GUYS, I TELL YOU!!!!

In Like Flynn

I saw Errol Flynn's Robin Hood yesterday. For those of you who don't know, Errol Flynn is the hottest man alive*. He is sex on legs. He has a reputation for being a pervert, which is fine with me. He's allowed to be a pervert. He's Errol Fucking Flynn. Orlando Bloom has often been called the next Errol Flynn. No. Blasphemy. Errol Flynn is the next Errol Flynn. Errol Flynn could spank Orlando Bloom until he cried for mommy, and then when she showed up, he'd fuck her. Because Flynn is just that badass. And his thighs... (oh lord!)

..Ahem.

You all should see this movie. It's hilarious. And by hilarious I mean hilariously bad. It has atrocious music in mono and ridiculously flamboyant costumes made out of crushed velvet and metallic fabrics. Actors being hit by arrows have this comical delayed reaction before they fall over. The fencing is hammy. Marion is whiny. The love scenes are best scene-selected through. In general, it feels like you're watching somebody's LARP. I'm not a man, but if I wanted a gay sidekick, I'd have to go with a lute-playing bard who runs around in red tights and a cape.

"Will Scarlet of the Merry Men" also makes a magnificent porn name...

Ahem!

Another thing is, while the portrayals of all the characters are pretty much black and white (not literally- the film is in "Technicolor!") I can't but feel sorry for the villain, Sir Guy. If I opened the door on my fiance's maidenly bower to find her being shagged stupid by a forest brigand, I'd be pretty damn pissed too. Conversely, Robin Hood has a creepy, predatory vibe. Never mind that Marion is as stupid as a rock ("Oh look, I've been abducted by a renegade outlaw and fifty sweaty men, this isn't creepy at all") and develops a severe case of Stockholm's Syndrome ("I'm your hostage. I want you so bad. Do me now.") I get the impression that Robin Hood is a man who beats and humiliates clergy, inflicts stark terror upon many an innocent traveler, incites mobs to their worst and most bestial behavior, and toys with women like a cat with mice. Robin Hood may be a good man, but the fact that he is chaotic, unpredictable, lawless, and desperate makes him a force to be feared, like any other lord of armed men. His cheerfulness is precisely what makes him cruel- oh, let's laugh while we kill people. He may be popular and brave and charismatic, but you know, still cruel, in the end. It doesn't make him any less interesting or attractive, but it's something to keep in mind.

Wit and charm is one of the things I miss in modern action heroes. I miss Errol Flynn's silver voice, his measured inflection and its timbre. Modern action heroes, to achieve this thing known as "psychological realism," come in two flavors- Brood and Sulk. If you're lucky, they may also come in Angst and Whine. Not so our Robin. He's eloquent, articulate, smooth like water over silk. Between smiting the unjust and harassing the clergy, Errol Flynn seduces the ladies and taunts the knights, makes witty conversations and flashy entrances. He feasts, carouses, and swaggers around Sherwood forest with a giant deer carcass strapped to his back. No other hero does this. (Except for Viggo Mortensen, and Viggo Mortensen is a hippie.) If abstract traits can be concretely embodied, Errol Flynn is a towering pillar of charisma, charisma in its Platonic form, its elemental state. If there were monuments to charisma like those to liberty, a four hundred foot tall statue of Errol Flynn would grace New York harbor, possibly exposing itself to greater Manhattan. That, beyond any physical manifestation, is what Errol Flynn is.

... Not that it hurts. He wears a lace-up collar partway undone. Under it I see his glorious tanned neck, the rise of his Adam's apple, the hollow of his throat, his broad, manly chest...

...Ahem.

I digress.

*by alive I mean dead.

Pictures: (all captions are mine, of course)

"Hey, crazy lady, your husband's like RIGHT OUTSIDE!"

"I'm suspended fifty feet in the air above shark infested waters. This is a great time to take a picture!"

"I can get away with wearing a polka-dotted tie. Why? Because I'm Errol Flynn!"

"I'm badass"

".. I'm only thinking pious thoughts, hm?.."

"This is my son. He's hot."

"This is my grandson. He's also hot. Where do you think they get it from? Me. Because I'm Erol Flynn."

Ideas rejected by medieval romance novelists:

Ivan Hou: The story of Sir "I Kirr You, Blian de Bois-Guirbelt! " Wilfred of Ivan Hou, the Chinese Saxon. God, just the prospect of a Chinese man named "Wilfred"...

Shuck n' Jive-n'-Ho: A medieval ethnic epic comedy about a young ghetto knight and the honey who loved him, and the mysterious man only known as the fun-loving, carousing Black Knight... wait. That already does exist. Please shoot me.

Wilfred's Game: the sci-fi adventure of a genius boy who is sent to a space station where he trains for knighthood in a zero-gravity jousting room and inspires loyalty and comaderie among his fellows. Written by the famed Sir Walter Scott Card. Hoo-ah. Oh, and he also battles aliens known as Buggers, which is much more profane because this is an English novel. Featuring a stirring rendition of "Jews in Space" by Isaac of York.

Ivan's Hoe: A Communist tract featuring Robin Hood and romanticizing the simple agrarian ways of medieval England. Oh yeah, and Russians. Lots of Russians. Ivanhoe becomes an unwitting agent of the Man, as, in the name of Richard the Lion-Hearted, he misreads the name "Plantagenet" as "Plant-a-Genet," resulting in the deaths of many a rodent stifled in the mud, hence exposing the academic snobbery and callous treatment of the proletariat, represented as rodents, by the elitist aristocarcy.

Um.

I think that this can be classified as one of those, "She is delirious and knows not of what she speaks" type blog entries.

Renfest kicked butt...

Ahhh.... I've been happy the whole day just basking in the memory.

It was rather surreal though. Just walking through the parking lot towards the gate, I walked past the horse trailer ("The Knights of Valour: Canadian Jousting Champions") where one of the knights was putting on his armor, and he calls out, "I need my spurs!" That's not something you hear everyday..

Jousting could've been better though. The herald system was pretty bad, because he'd have to listen to what the other announcer was saying before summarizing it to us.. and it's like, dude, couldn't he announce it from an unrolled scroll or something so he actually knows what to say? And we had really short and dinky lists, and the knights were on Clydesdales, and for some reasons, the knights wouldn't spur their horses at the same time so you'd have one knight make it three quarters down the lists and the other knight only make it one quarter of a way down at a slow jog. Really really slow jog. And they'd shout.. battle cries or something, I'm assuming, but of course you couldn't hear them. It wasn't as dramatic as in Knight's Tale with people flying off their horses and the lances splintering (they'd snap, but they wouldn't shatter theatrically...) Sometimes during the pass they'd miss completely. You couldn't really tell one knight apart from the other (apparently, neither could the King, who announced the stats for the same knight twice in a row), and there were some incredibly ridiculous flags, (like the Canadian flag draped over one horse, and the Nascar flag, according to the perseon next to me, draped over the other.) But jousting, nonetheless, is pretty cool, especially since they aren't choreographed matches.

The first guy who made a pass during the 12 pm tourney got a lance head shoved into a gap in his shoulder plate.. they had to pull it out. He wasn't hurt, but it was quite a scene, you know, having like a foot of wood pulled from your body. The horses were sort of groggy in the first tourney, sort of trudging down the lists, and we got a four way tie for second place. Second tourney rocked, though our crowd was surlier than the enthusiastic 12 o'clock crowd, which made the herald feel really desperate to get us to actually cheer- but on the up side, the horses and the knights were actually awake. Green and gold (Ireland) got unhorsed twice in the 2 pm tournament, though the second time he had the sense to hang onto the halter for a moment before letting to. :( He was my favorite too just because he and his horse had great showmanship.. possibly because it was feeling fresh after taking a doody on the far side of the lists. The people in the stands looked sick, according to the person next to me. The people next to me kept making the most retarded comments.. ("The lances are wood?") The guy who went against him (Red, I think), in the next round, kept having his horse panic at the last minute and crash into the barrier ropes. Twice. In one of the earlier passes, one of the knights actually ended up grabbing the lance from the other one. Crazy. And one of the squires was awarded a point for catching a broken lance head as it snapped off. Nothing of significance happened at the 4 pm tourney. Too damn crowded. Now.. why did I go to see jousting three times again?

Other surreal things.. people in the Renny clothes. Not as dorky as I thought it would be- people actually make an effort to look good, except for random sad punk/goth teenagers in "historical" cloaks and studded leather. People would actually step up their presentation.. as in, people who didn't work there would start speaking in fake British accents and bow/curtsey to each other and address each other as "Milord" "Milady" and actually be civil. Surreal. Some of the cavaliers were really hot though. Wheee... codpieces.

Saw.. In the Cups.. the singing tavern wenches.
Saw The Rogues perform at the White Hart.. they're... a Candian Texan bagpipe group. Yes. They rock. Best music I've heard in a long time- I got the CD. And Royal Pyrates. ("I'm a rowdy soul I'm a rowdy soul..!")

I have to go.. more renfest blogging later.

Inspired by Jen...

And now for:

LINES TAKEN OUT OF CONTEXT FROM IVANHOE THAT SOUND WRONG

Background info: The mysterious Black Knight has just fled the tournament at Ashby and has sook (is that a word?) shelter for the night at the humble hut of a rather worldly hermit who calls himself the Clerk of Copmanhurst.

They sat down, and grazed with great gravity at each other, each thinking in his heart that he had seldom seen a stronger or more athletic figure than was placed opposite him.

The hermit goes on to provide bedding for the knight. They have dinner. The knight takes off his armor, including his breastplate. The hermit pushes back the hood of his cloak. They both eat and get a little drunk, and before you know...

'I hope, Sir Knight,' said the hermit, 'thou hast given no good reason for thy surname of the Sluggard. I do promise thee, I suspect thee grievously. Nevertheless, thou art my guest, and I will not put thy manhood to the proof without thine own free will. [snip] If though knowest ever a good lay, thou shalt be welcome to a nook and pasty at Copmanhurst as long as I serve the chapel of St. Dunstan....'

This is why I don't trust the clergy!!! >___<

What did medieval people do without shorts? Did they wear those funky tunics without pants underneath like Prince Valiant?

Ok. NOW I'm going to sleep.

Unofficial Movie Weekend continues! Saw Knight's Tale. His Noble Lady was most irritating. It was funny though. Except it actually took some effort to understand the British-ish accents. And seeing Geoffrey Chaucer naked shall traumatize me forever. MORE JOUSTING ACTION! HAHA! Villains rock.