Mark R. Vickers's Blog, page 4
January 7, 2019
Lists of Mythic Fiction #MythicFictionMonday
I’m in the process of reading The Golem and the Jinni, which I’m enjoying but which just can’t be rushed. In lieu of writing about it, I’m providing links to a number of lists of mythic fiction.
The one seems most prominent is the list created by the Journal of Mythic Arts, which stopped publication in 2008. Although the list is not, in theory, being continually updated, I noted that The Golem and the Jinni is on it, even though it was published in 2013. So it may be more up-to-date than the original page would leave us to believe:
>>A Mythic Fiction Reading List
Another version of the list, which is provided as a book list challenge, can be found here.
But there are other lists out there as well, including these on Goodreads:
>>Must-read Mythic Fiction Novels
>>Popular Mythic Fiction Books
>>Fantasy Novels Based in Native American Myth
If you’re familiar with other good lists out there, please let me know!
The post Lists of Mythic Fiction #MythicFictionMonday appeared first on The Tollkeeper.
December 30, 2018
A Rant Against a Review of Song of Achilles
Daniel Mendelsohn’s review of The Song of Achilles, a mythic fiction novel by Madeline Miller, is a fine reminder of why so many people despise book reviews.
I see the review as vicious, snide, pompous, prudish and generally wrong-headed.
The Song of Achilles is a first-person narrative novel told from the perspective of Patroclus, the lover of Achilles. Mendelsohn’s critique focuses on what he views as two key flaws of the novel. First, he believes the novel focuses on the wrong aspects of the tale. He writes, “There’s a lot of time and energy devoted to adolescent Sturm und Drang (Patroclus’ early years are a bit Judy Blume-ish), but as the action progresses into the territory of established myth — the abduction of Helen, the formation of the Greek armada, the landing at Troy, 10 years of warfare — you often feel as if this or that famous episode is being rapidly ticked off a list.”
Second, he feels that there’s a failure of tone: “The real Achilles’ heel of this book is tone — one made disastrously worse by the author’s decision to metamorphose an ancient story of heroes into a modern tale of hormones.”
His first point is silly. The last thing anyone needs is a modern novelist’s attempt to compete with Homer. No, Miller’s book is not a retelling of The Iliad but, rather, a love story that begins, as it should, well before the invasion of Troy.
It’s the story of two young men who want nothing to do the great war until it’s foist on them. It’s not that Miller is ticking certain episodes off a list. It’s that she’s putting those events into the perspective of two men who are reluctantly caught up in what is, essentially, a unnecessary war and political gambit made by glory-craving nobles.
Mendelsohn’s second point about tone has more merit, but only because it’s incredibly difficult to strike just the right tone when writing a novel that is both historic and mythic. For the most part, I think Miller pulls it off, striving to make her prose warm and elegant without too many archaic-sounding clunkers.
Mendelsohn refers to Miller’s “misguided attempt to give a contemporary smoothness to Homer’s antique tale,” but I think that its smoothness is a virtue. Mendelsohn prefers the prose of Mary Renault in The King Must Die, wherein the author opts for more antique phrases: for example, a sacrifice is held “four-yearly.”
And then there’s Mendelsohn’s reference to Miller’s “swoony soft-porn prose.” Yes, well, in a story about physical love, there’s going to be some swelling and cupping and, if we like, some ripening. It’s hard to do well. But ignoring the physical realities of sexual love is typically worse.
To defend his perspective, Mendelsohn quotes Renault: “If characters have come to life, one should know how they will make love; if not it doesn’t matter. Inch-by-inch physical descriptions are the ketchup of the literary cuisine, only required by the insipid dish or by the diner without a palate.”
Oh, please. Miller’s descriptions are nothing like an “inch-by-inch physical description.” It’s the height of arrogance for Mendelsohn to assert he knows how Renault would have viewed Miller’s work. And even if he did know, it would be irrelevant.
Every author is entitled take up the challenge of writing about sex. As in every other matter of writing, this is, above all else, an aesthetic challenge, not a moral one. Avoiding the challenge because it seems too difficult is legitimate, but avoiding it simply because some other author or critic believes it’s always in “bad taste” is an unwholesome combination of prudishness and cowardice.
Alright. Enough about the boorishness of Mendelsohn’s review.
In the end, I didn’t love the book with the same passion as its most ardent admirers. The writing is very good, but not always fully unleashed. The characters are finely drawn, yet often fail to communicate the surreal madness of humans beings in times of war. And, with the exception of the character of Odysseus, there is precious little humor in the book. Everyone seems strangely earnest despite a range of personal and political absurdities.
But these quibbles reflect my personal aesthetics.
Taken as a whole, The Song of Achilles succeeds in depicting the romance and motivations of Achilles and Patroclus, whose lives and deaths largely determine the outcome of the Trojan War. This tale is not intended to compete with Homer but, rather, deepen an important story line contained within it. It’s a fine and fully imagined book, and one well worth reading.
The post A Rant Against a Review of Song of Achilles appeared first on The Tollkeeper.
A Review of The Song of Achilles
Daniel Mendelsohn’s review of The Song of Achilles, a mythic fiction novel by Madeline Miller, is a fine reminder of why so many people despise book reviews.
I see the review as vicious, snide, pompous, prudish and generally wrong-headed.
The Song of Achilles is a first-person narrative novel told from the perspective of Patroclus, the lover of Achilles. Mendelsohn’s critique focuses on what he views as two key flaws of the novel. First, he believes the novel focuses on the wrong aspects of the tale. He writes, “There’s a lot of time and energy devoted to adolescent Sturm und Drang (Patroclus’ early years are a bit Judy Blume-ish), but as the action progresses into the territory of established myth — the abduction of Helen, the formation of the Greek armada, the landing at Troy, 10 years of warfare — you often feel as if this or that famous episode is being rapidly ticked off a list.”
Second, he feels that there’s a failure of tone: “The real Achilles’ heel of this book is tone — one made disastrously worse by the author’s decision to metamorphose an ancient story of heroes into a modern tale of hormones.”
His first point is silly. The last thing anyone needs is a modern novelist’s attempt to compete with Homer. No, Miller’s book is not a retelling of The Iliad but, rather, a love story that begins, as it should, well before the invasion of Troy.
It’s the story of two young men who want nothing to do the great war until it’s foist on them. It’s not that Miller is ticking certain episodes off a list. It’s that she’s putting those events into the perspective of two men who are reluctantly caught up in what is, essentially, a unnecessary war and political gambit made by glory-craving nobles.
Mendelsohn’s second point about tone has more merit, but only because it’s incredibly difficult to strike just the right tone when writing a novel that is both historic and mythic. For the most part, I think Miller pulls it off, striving to make her prose warm and elegant without too many archaic-sounding clunkers.
Mendelsohn refers to Miller’s “misguided attempt to give a contemporary smoothness to Homer’s antique tale,” but I think that its smoothness is a virtue. Mendelsohn prefers the prose of Mary Renault in The King Must Die, wherein the author opts for more antique phrases: for example, a sacrifice is held “four-yearly.”
And then there’s Mendelsohn’s reference to Miller’s “swoony soft-porn prose.” Yes, well, in a story about physical love, there’s going to be some swelling and cupping and, if we like, some ripening. It’s hard to do well. But ignoring the physical realities of sexual love is typically worse.
To defend his perspective, Mendelsohn quotes Renault: “If characters have come to life, one should know how they will make love; if not it doesn’t matter. Inch-by-inch physical descriptions are the ketchup of the literary cuisine, only required by the insipid dish or by the diner without a palate.”
Oh, please. Miller’s descriptions are nothing like an “inch-by-inch physical description.” It’s the height of arrogance for Mendelsohn to assert he knows how Renault would have viewed Miller’s work. And even if he did know, it would be irrelevant.
Every author is entitled take up the challenge of writing about sex. As in every other matter of writing, this is, above all else, an aesthetic challenge, not a moral one. Avoiding the challenge because it seems too difficult is legitimate, but avoiding it simply because some other author or critic believes it’s always in “bad taste” is an unwholesome combination of prudishness and cowardice.
Alright. Enough about the boorishness of Mendelsohn’s review.
In the end, I didn’t love the book with the same passion as its most ardent admirers. The writing is very good, but not always fully unleashed. The characters are finely drawn, yet often fail to communicate the surreal madness of humans beings in times of war. And, with the exception of the character of Odysseus, there is precious little humor in the book. Everyone seems strangely earnest despite a range of personal and political absurdities.
But these quibbles reflect my personal aesthetics.
Taken as a whole, The Song of Achilles succeeds in depicting the romance and motivations of Achilles and Patroclus, whose lives and deaths largely determine the outcome of the Trojan War. This tale is not intended to compete with Homer but, rather, deepen an important story line contained within it. It’s a fine and fully imagined book, and one well worth reading.
The post A Review of The Song of Achilles appeared first on The Tollkeeper.
A Review of The Song of Achilles #MythicFictionMonday
Daniel Mendelsohn’s review of The Song of Achilles, a mythic fiction novel by Madeline Miller, is a fine reminder of why so many people despise book reviews.
I see the review as vicious, snide, pompous, prudish and generally wrong-headed.
The Song of Achilles is a first-person narrative novel told from the perspective of Patroclus, the lover of Achilles. Mendelsohn’s critique focuses on what he views as two key flaws of the novel. First, he believes the novel focuses on the wrong aspects of the tale. He writes, “There’s a lot of time and energy devoted to adolescent Sturm und Drang (Patroclus’ early years are a bit Judy Blume-ish), but as the action progresses into the territory of established myth — the abduction of Helen, the formation of the Greek armada, the landing at Troy, 10 years of warfare — you often feel as if this or that famous episode is being rapidly ticked off a list.”
Second, he feels that there’s a failure of tone: “The real Achilles’ heel of this book is tone — one made disastrously worse by the author’s decision to metamorphose an ancient story of heroes into a modern tale of hormones.”
His first point is silly. The last thing anyone needs is a modern novelist’s attempt to compete with Homer. No, Miller’s book is not a retelling of The Iliad but, rather, a love story that begins, as it should, well before the invasion of Troy.
It’s the story of two young men who want nothing to do the great war until it’s foist on them. It’s not that Miller is ticking certain episodes off a list. It’s that she’s putting those events into the perspective of two men who are reluctantly caught up in what is, essentially, a unnecessary war and political gambit made by glory-craving nobles.
Mendelsohn’s second point about tone has more merit, but only because it’s incredibly difficult to strike just the right tone when writing a novel that is both historic and mythic. For the most part, I think Miller pulls it off, striving to make her prose warm and elegant without too many archaic-sounding clunkers.
Mendelsohn refers to Miller’s “misguided attempt to give a contemporary smoothness to Homer’s antique tale,” but I think that its smoothness is a virtue. Mendelsohn prefers the prose of Mary Renault in The King Must Die, wherein the author opts for more antique phrases: for example, a sacrifice is held “four-yearly.”
And then there’s Mendelsohn’s reference to Miller’s “swoony soft-porn prose.” Yes, well, in a story about physical love, there’s going to be some swelling and cupping and, if we like, some ripening. It’s hard to do well. But ignoring the physical realities of sexual love is typically worse.
To defend his perspective, Mendelsohn quotes Renault: “If characters have come to life, one should know how they will make love; if not it doesn’t matter. Inch-by-inch physical descriptions are the ketchup of the literary cuisine, only required by the insipid dish or by the diner without a palate.”
Oh, please. Miller’s descriptions are nothing like an “inch-by-inch physical description.” It’s the height of arrogance for Mendelsohn to assert he knows how Renault would have viewed Miller’s work. And even if he did know, it would be irrelevant.
Every author is entitled take up the challenge of writing about sex. As in every other matter of writing, this is, above all else, an aesthetic challenge, not a moral one. Avoiding the challenge because it seems too difficult is legitimate, but avoiding it simply because some other author or critic believes it’s always in “bad taste” is an unwholesome combination of prudishness and cowardice.
Alright. Enough about the boorishness of Mendelsohn’s review.
In the end, I didn’t love the book with the same passion as its most ardent admirers. The writing is very good, but not always fully unleashed. The characters are finely drawn, yet often fail to communicate the surreal madness of humans beings in times of war. And, with the exception of the character of Odysseus, there is precious little humor in the book. Everyone seems strangely earnest despite a range of personal and political absurdities.
But these quibbles reflect my personal aesthetics.
Taken as a whole, The Song of Achilles succeeds in depicting the romance and motivations of Achilles and Patroclus, whose lives and deaths largely determine the outcome of the Trojan War. This tale is not intended to compete with Homer but, rather, deepen an important story line contained within it. It’s a fine and fully imagined book, and one well worth reading.
The post A Review of The Song of Achilles #MythicFictionMonday appeared first on The Tollkeeper.
#MythicFictionMonday The Song of Achilles
Daniel Mendelsohn’s review of The Song of Achilles, a mythic fiction novel by Madeline Miller, is a fine reminder of why so many people despise book reviewers.
I see the review as vicious, snide, pompous, prudish and generally wrong-headed.
The Song of Achilles is a first-person narrative novel told from the perspective of Patroclus, the lover of Achilles. Mendelsohn’s critique focuses on what he views as two key flaws of the novel. First, he believes the novel focuses on the wrong aspects of the tale. He writes, “There’s a lot of time and energy devoted to adolescent Sturm und Drang (Patroclus’ early years are a bit Judy Blume-ish), but as the action progresses into the territory of established myth — the abduction of Helen, the formation of the Greek armada, the landing at Troy, 10 years of warfare — you often feel as if this or that famous episode is being rapidly ticked off a list.”
Second, he feels that there’s a failure of tone: “The real Achilles’ heel of this book is tone — one made disastrously worse by the author’s decision to metamorphose an ancient story of heroes into a modern tale of hormones.”
His first point is silly. The last thing anyone needs is a modern novelist’s attempt to compete with Homer. No, Miller’s book is not a retelling of The Iliad but, rather, a love story that begins, as it should, well before the invasion of Troy.
It’s the story of love between two young men who want nothing to do the great war until it’s foist on them. It’s not that Miller is ticking certain episodes off a list. It’s that she’s putting those events into the perspective of two men who are reluctantly caught up in what is, essentially, a unnecessary war and political gambit made by glory-craving nobles.
Mendelsohn’s second point about tone has more merit, but only because it’s incredibly difficult to strike just the right tone when writing a novel that is both historic and mythic. For the most part, I think Miller pulls it off, striving to make her prose warm and elegant without too many archaic-sounding clunkers.
Mendelsohn refers to Miller’s “misguided attempt to give a contemporary smoothness to Homer’s antique tale,” but I think that its smoothness is a virtue. Mendelsohn prefers the prose of Mary Renault in The King Must Die, wherein the author opts for more antique phrases: for example, a sacrifice is held “four-yearly.”
And then there’s Mendelsohn’s reference to Miller’s “swoony soft-porn prose.” Yes, well, in a story about physical love, there’s going to be some swelling and cupping and, if we like, some ripening. It’s hard to pull off. But ignoring the physical realities of sexual love is typically worse.
To defend his perspective, Mendelsohn quotes Renault: “If characters have come to life, one should know how they will make love; if not it doesn’t matter. Inch-by-inch physical descriptions are the ketchup of the literary cuisine, only required by the insipid dish or by the diner without a palate.”
Oh, please. Miller’s descriptions are nothing like an “inch-by-inch physical description.” It’s the height of arrogance for Mendelsohn to assert he knows how Renault would have viewed Miller’s work. And even if he did know, it would be irrelevant.
Every author is entitled take up the challenge of writing about sex. As in every other matter of writing, this is, above all else, an aesthetic challenge, not a moral one. Avoiding the challenge because it seems too difficult is legitimate, but avoiding it simply because some other author or critic believes it’s always in “bad taste” is an unwholesome combination of prudishness and cowardice.
Alright. Enough about the boorishness of Mendelsohn’s review.
In the end, I didn’t love the book with the same passion as its most ardent admirers. The writing is very good, but not always fully unleashed. The characters are finely drawn, yet often fail to communicate the surreal madness of humans beings in times of war. And, with the exception of the character of Odysseus, there is precious little humor in the book. Everyone seems strangely earnest despite a range of personal and political absurdities.
But these quibbles reflect my personal aesthetics.
Taken as a whole, The Song of Achilles succeeds in depicting the romance and motivations of Achilles and Patroclus, whose lives and deaths largely determine the outcome of the Trojan War. This tale is not intended to compete with Homer but, rather, deepen an important story line contained within it. It’s a fine and fully imagined book, and one well worth reading.
The post #MythicFictionMonday The Song of Achilles appeared first on The Tollkeeper.
December 28, 2018
Modern Superheroes and Ancient Mythologies: Part II
Sometimes superheroes are lifted directly out of ancient mythology, as discussed in Part I of this series. Other times, the nature and creation of superheroes are “inspired by” ancient mythology.
Because the latter is less direct, it’s harder to prove, but there’s no shortage of writers who set out to do so. Here are examples of just a few of the parallels that have been drawn:
GRST 202 Blog lays out a series of comparisons between ancient mythic heroes and modern superheroes:
> Captain American and Heracles: “Captain America could be regarded as a super patriotic Heracles. As Heracles had his shield that embodied events of the Olympics, Captain America has a shield that embodies the country he fights for. Heracles is the only human that became god, and had to go through many demeaning tasks and suffer a great deal of pain before becoming a god. The same goes for Captain America, in a more modernized sense.”
> Ironman and Daedalus: “They were mad scientists of a sort, inventors that gave birth to creations of both wonder and horror.”
> Justice League and the Greek pantheon: “The Justice League is pretty much the pantheon. The Greek gods live on the top of Mount Olympus, separated from all of the humans. The Justice League lives in the Watchtower. In space. Completely isolated from humans. Zeus is the leader of the gods, Superman is the leader of the league.”
In A Place to Hang Your Cape, David Molofsky makes the parallels between the Justice League and the Olympians even more explicit. Members of the Justice League are equated with specific gods:
> Superman is Zeus
> Batman is Hades
> Aquaman is Posiedon
> Wonder Woman is Hera
> Artemis is Artemis
> Hawkman is Ares
> Green Lantern is Hephaestus
> Green Arrow is Apollo
> Oracle is Athena
> Black Canary is Aphrodite
> The Flash is Hermes
It’s easy enough to quibble with the specifics here, with some parallels being more obvious than others, but the overall argument is intriguing.
Other writers focus more on the mythic archetypes rather than on specific parallels.
Becca Caddy, for example, compares Superman with a variety of mythical and religious figures, from Heracles and Achilles, to Moses and Krishna.
She also discusses the X-Men’s Jean Grey and how she represents the “monstrous feminine” archetype. Jean is, of course, a powerful mutant with telekinetic and other psychic powers. But she can’t always control her powers and inside harbors a monster capable of destroying the universe. One feminist interpretation is that this is because Jean Grey represents a female stereotype. Caddy writes:
Now arguably there are a number of monstrous feminine characters throughout mythology. The most obvious is Medusa, using her appearance to literally turn people to stone. But there are other more subtle examples, like Pandora who just like Jean is unable to control her female urges and opens up her box (ahem). There are also other characters, such as the sirens, who use their sexuality to lure men to their death – at one point they weren’t beautiful mermaid-like creatures but were actually half-woman, half-bird.
Of course, there are also plenty of powerful male superheroes who are exceedingly bad at controlling their powers (e.g., Hulk), but we’ll leave that debate for academics and comic-book devotees. The point is that, even when we don’t find a one-to-one correlation between mythical characters and superheroes, we can find plenty of more abstract and, one might say, archetypal or trope-like connections.
So, what does all this tell us about about impact of ancient and modern mythologies (e.g., well-known comic-book fictions)? We’ll discuss that in Part III of our series.
P.S. – Although I wasn’t thinking about it at the time, I suppose the character of Hallr Halftroll in The Tollkeeper bears a family resemblance to the Hulk. Of course, we could also argue that the Hulk is himself descended from myths of giants and trolls. Indeed, in the 1988 movie The Incredible Hulk Returns, a (pretty cheesy) version of Thor actually refers to the Hulk as The Troll. And so it is that modern and ancient mythologies continuously cycle back on one another in a kind of infinite Möbius-strip-like loop.
The post Modern Superheroes and Ancient Mythologies: Part II appeared first on The Tollkeeper.
Modern Supers, Ancient Myths (Part II)
Sometimes superheroes are lifted directly out of ancient mythology, as discussed in Part I of this series. Other times, the nature and creation of superheroes are “inspired by” ancient mythology.
Because the latter is less direct, it’s harder to prove, but there’s no shortage of writers who set out to do so. Here are examples of just a few of the parallels that have been drawn:
GRST 202 Blog lays out a series of comparisons between ancient mythic heroes and modern superheroes:
> Captain American and Heracles: “Captain America could be regarded as a super patriotic Heracles. As Heracles had his shield that embodied events of the Olympics, Captain America has a shield that embodies the country he fights for. Heracles is the only human that became god, and had to go through many demeaning tasks and suffer a great deal of pain before becoming a god. The same goes for Captain America, in a more modernized sense.”
> Ironman and Daedalus: “They were mad scientists of a sort, inventors that gave birth to creations of both wonder and horror.”
> Justice League and the Greek pantheon: “The Justice League is pretty much the pantheon. The Greek gods live on the top of Mount Olympus, separated from all of the humans. The Justice League lives in the Watchtower. In space. Completely isolated from humans. Zeus is the leader of the gods, Superman is the leader of the league.”
In A Place to Hang Your Cape, David Molofsky makes the parallels between the Justice League and the Olympians even more explicit. Members of the Justice League are equated with specific gods:
> Superman is Zeus
> Batman is Hades
> Aquaman is Posiedon
> Wonder Woman is Hera
> Artemis is Artemis
> Hawkman is Ares
> Green Lantern is Hephaestus
> Green Arrow is Apollo
> Oracle is Athena
> Black Canary is Aphrodite
> The Flash is Hermes
It’s easy enough to quibble with the specifics here, with some parallels being more obvious than others, but the overall argument is intriguing.
Other writers focus more on the mythic archetypes rather than on specific parallels.
Becca Caddy, for example, compares Superman with a variety of mythical and religious figures, from Heracles and Achilles, to Moses and Krishna.
She also discusses the X-Men’s Jean Grey and how she represents the “monstrous feminine” archetype. Jean is, of course, a powerful mutant with telekinetic and other psychic powers. But she can’t always control her powers and inside harbors a monster capable of destroying the universe. One feminist interpretation is that this is because Jean Grey represents a female stereotype. Caddy writes:
Now arguably there are a number of monstrous feminine characters throughout mythology. The most obvious is Medusa, using her appearance to literally turn people to stone. But there are other more subtle examples, like Pandora who just like Jean is unable to control her female urges and opens up her box (ahem). There are also other characters, such as the sirens, who use their sexuality to lure men to their death – at one point they weren’t beautiful mermaid-like creatures but were actually half-woman, half-bird.
Of course, there are also plenty of powerful male superheroes who are exceedingly bad at controlling their powers (e.g., Hulk), but we’ll leave that debate for academics and comic-book devotees. The point is that, even when we don’t find a one-to-one correlation between mythical characters and superheroes, we can find plenty of more abstract and, one might say, archetypal or trope-like connections.
So, what does all this tell us about about impact of ancient and modern mythologies (e.g., well-known comic-book fictions)? We’ll discuss that in Part III of our series.
P.S. – Although I wasn’t thinking about it at the time, I suppose the character of Hallr Halftroll in The Tollkeeper bears a family resemblance to the Hulk. Of course, we could also argue that the Hulk is himself descended from myths of giants and trolls. Indeed, in the 1988 movie The Incredible Hulk Returns, a (pretty cheesy) version of Thor actually refers to the Hulk as The Troll. And so it is that modern and ancient mythologies continuously cycle back on one another in a kind of infinite Möbius-strip-like loop.
The post Modern Supers, Ancient Myths (Part II) appeared first on The Tollkeeper.
Modern Superheroes and Ancient Mythologies (Part II)
Sometimes superheroes are lifted directly out of ancient mythology, as discussed in Part I of this series. Other times, the nature and creation of superheroes are “inspired by” ancient mythology.
Because the latter is less direct, it’s harder to prove, but there’s no shortage of writers who set out to do so. Here are examples of just a few of the parallels that have been drawn:
GRST 202 Blog lays out a series of comparisons between ancient mythic heroes and modern superheroes:
> Captain American and Heracles: “Captain America could be regarded as a super patriotic Heracles. As Heracles had his shield that embodied events of the Olympics, Captain America has a shield that embodies the country he fights for. Heracles is the only human that became god, and had to go through many demeaning tasks and suffer a great deal of pain before becoming a god. The same goes for Captain America, in a more modernized sense.”
> Ironman and Daedalus: “They were mad scientists of a sort, inventors that gave birth to creations of both wonder and horror.”
> Justice League and the Greek pantheon: “The Justice League is pretty much the pantheon. The Greek gods live on the top of Mount Olympus, separated from all of the humans. The Justice League lives in the Watchtower. In space. Completely isolated from humans. Zeus is the leader of the gods, Superman is the leader of the league.”
In A Place to Hang Your Cape, David Molofsky makes the parallels between the Justice League and the Olympians even more explicit. Members of the Justice League are equated with specific gods:
> Superman is Zeus
> Batman is Hades
> Aquaman is Posiedon
> Wonder Woman is Hera
> Artemis is Artemis
> Hawkman is Ares
> Green Lantern is Hephaestus
> Green Arrow is Apollo
> Oracle is Athena
> Black Canary is Aphrodite
> The Flash is Hermes
It’s easy enough to quibble with the specifics here, with some parallels being more obvious than others, but the overall argument is intriguing.
Other writers focus more on the mythic archetypes rather than on specific parallels.
Becca Caddy, for example, compares Superman with a variety of mythical and religious figures, from Heracles and Achilles, to Moses and Krishna.
She also discusses the X-Men’s Jean Grey and how she represents the “monstrous feminine” archetype. Jean is, of course, a powerful mutant with telekinetic and other psychic powers. But she can’t always control her powers and inside harbors a monster capable of destroying the universe. One feminist interpretation is that this is because Jean Grey represents a female stereotype. Caddy writes:
Now arguably there are a number of monstrous feminine characters throughout mythology. The most obvious is Medusa, using her appearance to literally turn people to stone. But there are other more subtle examples, like Pandora who just like Jean is unable to control her female urges and opens up her box (ahem). There are also other characters, such as the sirens, who use their sexuality to lure men to their death – at one point they weren’t beautiful mermaid-like creatures but were actually half-woman, half-bird.
Of course, there are also plenty of powerful male superheroes who are also exceedingly bad at controlling their powers (e.g., Hulk), but we’ll leave that debate for academics and comic-book devotees. The point is that, even when we don’t find a one-to-one correlation between mythical characters and superheroes, we can find plenty of more abstract and, one might say, archetypal or trope-like connections.
So, what does all this tell us about about impact of ancient and modern mythologies (e.g., well-known comic-book fictions)? We’ll discuss that in Part III of our series.
P.S. – Although I wasn’t thinking about it at the time, I suppose the character of Hallr Halftroll in The Tollkeeper bears a family resemblance the Hulk. Of course, we could also argue that the Hulk is himself descended from myths of giants and trolls. Indeed, in the 1988 movie The Incredible Hulk Returns, a (pretty cheesy) version of Thor actually refers to the Hulk as The Troll. And so it is that modern and ancient mythologies continuously cycle back on one another in a kind of infinite Möbius-strip like loop.
The post Modern Superheroes and Ancient Mythologies (Part II) appeared first on The Tollkeeper.
December 24, 2018
Mythic Fiction: A New(ish) Genre Based on Ancient Tales
So, what’s mythic fiction? I hadn’t heard of it until I stumbled over the term on Goodreads. It turns out The Tollkeeper is a pretty classic example of the genre, so at least I know how where in the literary landscape to locate it.
Wikipedia provides the following definition of mythic fiction:
Mythic fiction is literature that is rooted in, inspired by, or that in some way draws from the tropes, themes and symbolism of myth, legend, folklore, and fairy tales. The term is widely credited to Charles de Lint and Terri Windling. Mythic fiction overlaps with urban fantasy and the terms are sometimes used interchangeably, but mythic fiction also includes contemporary works in non-urban settings. Mythic fiction refers to works of contemporary literature that often cross the divide between literary and fantasy fiction.
I’m currently reading a mythic fiction novel, which I’ll post about soon. I’d love to be able to read on such a novel every week or even month, but my life just doesn’t allow me to make that personal commitment these days.
But if you’ve read a piece you particularly like, please drop me a note. It’d be neat if we could form a community of sorts, sharing discoveries and raising the profile of this genre.
The post Mythic Fiction: A New(ish) Genre Based on Ancient Tales appeared first on The Tollkeeper.
Defining Mythic Fiction
So, what’s mythic fiction? I hadn’t heard of it until I stumbled over the term on Goodreads. It turns out The Tollkeeper is a pretty classic example of the genre, so at least I know how where in the literary landscape to locate it.
Wikipedia provides the following definition of mythic fiction:
Mythic fiction is literature that is rooted in, inspired by, or that in some way draws from the tropes, themes and symbolism of myth, legend, folklore, and fairy tales. The term is widely credited to Charles de Lint and Terri Windling. Mythic fiction overlaps with urban fantasy and the terms are sometimes used interchangeably, but mythic fiction also includes contemporary works in non-urban settings. Mythic fiction refers to works of contemporary literature that often cross the divide between literary and fantasy fiction.
I’m currently reading a mythic fiction novel, which I’ll post about soon. I’d love to be able to read on such a novel every week or even month, but my life just doesn’t allow me to make that personal commitment these days.
But if you’ve read a piece you particularly like, please drop me a note. It’d be neat if we could form a community of sorts, sharing discoveries and raising the profile of this genre.
The post Defining Mythic Fiction appeared first on The Tollkeeper.
