David W. Tollen's Blog, page 12

Why Sounds Yoda so Archaic?

Says Yoda things like: “Powerful have you become; the dark side I sense in you.” Sounds it like speaks he an old dialect of English. Yet uses not Yoda “thou hast” or “erstwhile” or “thee” — or any other word or phrase found no longer in English. Old English does not speak Yoda, nor even Middle English. Speaks Yoda Modern English, except that one rule he breaks. Alters Yoda noun-verb order. That same one rule this post breaks too (more consistently than Yoda).

A firm rule has modern English: comes first the subject noun, then the verb, then the object noun. (“SVO” linguists call this pattern, for “subject-verb-object.”) So, say we: “Edgar walked to town.” If said we, “Walked Edgar to town” (VSO) or, “To town walked Edgar” (OSV), grammatically wrong would we be — though understand us would almost any English-speaker. In fact, easier to understand is this post — and Yoda — than Shakespeare, though in Modern English wrote the Bard (an early version).

Require many languages a particular noun-verb order, though not the same as English necessarily. More flexible about nouns and verbs are some languages, however, like German and Dutch — as well as their long-dead aunt, Old English. In Old English could speakers choose their noun-verb order. Unusually flexible was it. Lost was that choice in most cases, in the 11th Century starting. The reason that is why sounds Yoda so archaic. Sounds he like a speaker of Old English, though never uses he old vocabulary.

Actually, a little of its old flexibility retains English, even today. Choose can we still between, “Get up!, Mom yelled,” and, “Get up!, yelled Mom.” Also, say we still, “What do you think?” though could we instead say, “You think what?” Not far then from Yoda are we — or from those who to our language gave birth.

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Photo from Flickr.

© 2015 by David W. Tollen. Reserved are all rights.

The Real Destruction of Atlantis

The legend of Atlantis comes from Plato. In Timaeus and particularly Critias, written around 360 B.C., the Greek philosopher describes an island society ruling a great empire. But the Atlanteans’ pride angers the gods, who destroy the island with floods and earthquakes, sending it beneath the sea.

Terror Antiquus by L. Bakst (1908)

The story has fascinated Westerners for centuries. Many scholars consider Atlantis entirely fictional, but others think Plato based the story on history. The leading contender for the real Atlantis is the Minoan settlement on the island of Thera (a.k.a. Santorini).

The Minoans were Bronze Age people who lived on the large island of Crete and built great palaces there. We don’t know what they called themselves, but we use the name “Minoans” because of the Greek myth of Crete’s King Minos. Crete’s palace of Knossos was a giant maze to the more primitive Greeks across the Aegean Sea, and the palace elites enjoyed watching acrobats jump over charging bulls. So real history probably gave rise to the Greek myth of Minos, king at Knossos, and the Minotaur (bull-headed monster) in a maze under the palace. The Minoans build towns on Aegean islands other than Crete, including Thera, which lies between Crete and Greece. The Minoans of Thera and elsewhere likely dominated the Greeks through sea power, so stories of empires and excessive pride make sense, from a Greek point of view. Anyway, Thera was a volcano, and sometime around 1600 B.C., it erupted spectacularly, sending most of the island beneath the sea and wiping out the Minoan towns there. According to the theory, the Greeks never forgot Thera, and Plato gives us its history as the tale of Atlantis.

This is one of the stories told in my book, The Jericho River: A Novel About the History of Western Civilization. Please buy a copy to read more!

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© 2015 by David W. Tollen. All rights reserved.

Historical Mashup by Ivan Gataric — for The Jericho River

Here’s more great artwork for The Jericho River, A Novel About the History of Western Civilization . It’s a poster by Ivan Gataric.

The young woman is an Egyptian priestess (Tia from the book), and the sphinx is Mesopotamian (Zidu from the book). The ship is European, of course, from the 18th or 19th Century. And those are World War II fighter planes above a Sumerian ziggurat/temple.

You can see more artwork at my fiction site’s art page. And of course, you can find The Jericho River at Amazon and other retailers.

BTW, If you know anyone, young or old, who enjoys drawing historic or mythic images, please suggest that he/she contact me! I’m happy to add artwork to my fiction page and to this blog.

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SOURCES:

Poster created by Ivan Gataric, © 2015 by David W. Tollen

© 2015 by David W. Tollen. All rights reserved.

In the Hall of the Dead King

Here’s an adventure from The Jericho River, A Novel About the History of Western Civilization, Chapter 3: Death in Egypt.

Passing through was like stepping into a dark otherworld. Beyond the bronze door was a narrow tunnel of stone. Jason realized they must be inside the little pyramid, or beneath it. Tia led them down stairs and around sharp turns, veering into one narrow side-passage and then skipping another. Jason guessed the odds of ever getting back without a guide were one in fifty. The air grew cold, and only the wavering flame of Tia’s torch lit their way.

Finally, after several minutes, a yellow glow appeared at the end of the tunnel. This gave little comfort because it came with an awful odor. The hall smelled of chemicals and rot, and it reminded Jason of the funeral home where they’d taken his mother. He bit his lip.

The light came from a small chamber full of handsome furniture and works of art, including painted statues and figurines of shining metals. Hieroglyphs and color illustrations decorated the stone walls. At the far end, a lean man in white sat in a high-backed chair, and an elderly woman stood next to him. The man wore a tall Egyptian crown, like a bowling pin in a red basket. His skin was pea-soup green. Jason’s stomach turned as he realized the man wasn’t exactly dressed in white. Rather, he was wrapped in white strips, from neck to wrist to toe, like a mummy. His eyes gleamed with lumin fire.

“O great and eternal Osiris Senusret!” said Tia, falling to her knees before the mummy, “Ruler in life over all the Middle Kingdom, beloved son of Osiris, and regent, in his name, over the dead, I present to you Lord Jason Gallo, ruler of Oregon, and his lumin companion, Zidu.” Tia touched her forehead to the floor and then stood aside, leaving Jason facing Senusret.

“Greetings, Lord Jason and lumin Zidu,” said the mummy. Jason cringed as he executed an awkward bow, wondering if he’d heard a hint of sarcasm around the word Lord. “You are both welcome in the tomb of Senusret.” The dead king’s voice was deep and even. “I knew your father long ago, Jason Gallo: an affable and interesting man. I granted him several interviews. I am sorry to hear he is lost, and I hope no harm has come to him.”

“Thank you … Your Majesty.” Jason choked back a wave of disappointment. Obviously Senusret did not know where his father was. “I came because I’m trying to find my father. There was this priestess, in Sumer, and she said you’d know where he is. At least, she said I should come ask you.” He caught a sympathetic nod from the white-haired woman next to Senusret. “My dad and I, we’re not from your world, Fore. We’re from another world, and that’s where he’s supposed to be. But he’s somewhere here, and he may be in trouble. And you’re the only lead I have. Do you have any idea where he might be?” He blinked away tears of frustration.

“Come closer, Jason Gallo,” said Senusret. Jason approached, hoping the dead king wouldn’t touch him but also filled with morbid curiosity. Was he really talking to a corpse? Senusret sat stiff and still, arms crossed over his mummy-wrapped chest. He held a golden crook in one green hand, and in the other some kind of wand, with short rods dangling from its top, like tiny nunchucks. A rope-like, black beard hung from the center of his chin, and he looked neither young nor old. “Yes, I can see the resemblance,” he said. Gleaming eyes rimmed in black liner gazed at Jason. “It is not strong, but I think it runs deep.” The dead king nodded, still stiff. “I know of your Sumerian priestess. I felt her mind and her goddess weeks ago, and I sensed that she searched for your father. But I do not know where he is. It is nearly thirteen years since William Gallo visited me, and I never learned where he went after.”

Jason stared at the white wrappings covering Senusret’s feet, biting his lip. “Well, um, do you … do you know where he came from—where he was before he came here?”

The dead king turned to the old woman. “Nebetit, you spoke with William Gallo many times. From what land did he come to us?”

“He came from Crete, oh great and eternal king,” said the old woman. “He brought tokens of introduction from the king there, from the palace of Red Knossos.”

The dead king nodded, and Jason sighed. The Egyptians’ information was thirteen years old—at least, thirteen Fore years.

“Do you know—Your Majesty—do you know how long it takes to get to this Crete place?”

“Perhaps two weeks by sail, down the Jericho River, and much longer by land.”

Jason glanced at Zidu, who nodded, looking uncomfortable. A trip to Crete would waste time if it was a dead end, but what else did they have?

He turned back to find the smallest of smiles on Senusret’s lips. He gulped as it occurred to him that visitors didn’t usually ask the dead king for travel tips, or even glance away during an interview. “Uh, thank you very much for seeing us, Your Majesty. I’m sorry if I did anything wrong.”

“I wish I could counsel you more,” said Senusret. “But whatever you choose to do, I see that you need rest and comfort before you set out again. You and your companion will be guests of my temple.” This was not so much an invitation so much as a command. “Perhaps some guidance will come with prayer. My master, the great god Osiris, protects lost fathers and their sons. After all, he was killed but then redeemed by his son, mighty Horus. As Osiris was redeemed by Horus, may your father be redeemed, Jason Gallo, and returned to you.”*

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* As a young god, Osiris marries his sister Isis and rules Egypt. His evil brother Set wants the throne and kills Osiris. Isis, however, resurrects her husband and lies with him, becoming pregnant. Soon Set discovers the resurrection, and he kills Osiris again. This time, he chops the body into little pieces. But even this seemingly foolproof strategy fails. Perhaps Set should have killed Isis, because she collects the pieces—except the genitals, which have been eaten by fish—reassembles them, and wraps them in linen, making Osiris the first mummy. Even worse for Set, Isis gives birth to Osiris’s son: the hawk-headed god Horus. Horus grows up and fights his evil uncle. Neither wins, but Horus does manage to crush Set’s genitals. Eventually, the council of gods decides that Horus is Osiris’s rightful heir, not Set. So Horus becomes king of the living, while mummified Osiris rules as king of the dead.

~ William Gallo, Palace of the Sphinx, 59.

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SOURCES:

Text & Illustration from The Jericho River: A Novel About the History of Western Civilization , by David W. Tollen (Winifred Press 2014, 2015), Chap. 3.

© 2015 by David W. Tollen. All rights reserved.

Snow White May Have Begun as a Sexy Goddess

“Freyja and the Necklace,” by J. Doyle Penrose (1862-1932), c. 1913

In the myths of the Norse and other Germanic peoples, Freya is the beautiful goddess of sex, love, and fertility — and of war and death. She drives a chariot pulled by cats, treasures the pig as her sacred animal, and wears a powerful golden necklace called Brisingamen. According to one story, Brisingamen is the work of a troop of dwarves. While visiting the dwarves’ cave, Freya sees the beautiful necklace and begs to buy it. But the misshapen smiths already have plenty of treasure, so they demand a higher price. In exchange for the necklace, Freya stays in the cave until she’s slept with each dwarf.

Does the story have a familiar feel? Some scholars think it evolved into Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. In fact, scholars think many fairy tales of the Christian ear (along with many saints) began as pagan myths.

This is one of the stories told in my book, The Jericho River: A Novel About the History of Western Civilization (p. 224).

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© 2015 by David W. Tollen. All rights reserved.