Lobsters

This is a busy, busy week for me, so I'm cheating a little on my posting. I've been thinking of posting the pieces I wrote during exercises at the BYU writers and illustrators conference for a while, but couldn't quite bring myself to do it. Yes, I'm a writer, but I'm a kind of shy, reserved writer who doesn't like to share work much, and certainly not before it's polished. So, posting this very unpolished work--I've only read it twice--is my attempt at growth.

The work I'm posting is the result of an exercise focusing on the use of dialogue. It didn't have to be all dialogue, like this piece is, but I had just read A Clean Well-Lighted Place, which, I think, led to this. It's not even on the same page as the Hemingway, but I did enjoy playing with it.

*

“You know I hate this sort of place.”

“You hate every sort of place.”

“No. I don’t. I only hate the sort of place you bring me too.”

“They’re just lobsters. It’s not like they have a purpose.”

“Everything has a purpose.”

“Not lobsters. Lobsters eat, lobsters get eaten. That’s it.”

“How many?”

“Two.”

“Right this way.”

“Look at them! Just look at them! They’re so sad. Binding their claws like that is just cruel!”

“Listening to you is just cruel. Get over it, already.”

“You’re waiter will be here in a moment.”

“Don’t you dare order one!”

“I’ll order whatever I want.”

“You’ll order something lobster-less, or I’m going home.”

“Hi, my name’s Kirby, I’m your waiter for this evening. Can I get you anything?”

“Some champagne. And can you tell us the specials?”

“Sure. First, we have lobster with a simple garlic butter sauce. Then there’s a clam risotto, and finally a mussel and tomato pasta.”

“The lobster would be great, thanks.”

“Didn’t you hear me? If you eat that, I’m going home.”

“So?”

“So? That’s all you can say, so? So what about the lobsters? What about the lobsters’ rights? Haven’t you ever thought about that?”

“All the damned time.”

“You’re a murderer, you know that? A lobster murderer. They boil them alive, you know. Boil. Them. Alive. And it’s just because they’re lobsters, too. You’re—you’re endoskeleton supremacists! You heard me, endoskeleton supremacists! If those were puppies in that tank, all fur and cuteness, or bunnies, or cats, you wouldn’t boil them alive. You’d say ‘awww’, ‘no way’, ‘eat a puppy? Never?’ But lobsters, oh no, boil ‘em up, dip ‘em in, eat ‘em all!”

“Ma’am, if you could just sit down—”

“No! Why should I? It’s time you bigots—all you bigots—heard this!”

“Can we go home now?”

“She’s right!”

“Yeah, lobster rights!”

“I’m a vegetarian!”

“Shut up, you stupid hippie!”

“Ma’am, please, if you’d just sit, I could get you a salad—”

“I won’t do anything you say, you endoskeleton supremacist! I demand you free the lobsters!”

“Ma’am, you have to pay for that—”

“Run, babies, run free! Return to your oceans!”

“Here. Just take it. Charge whatever you like.”

“Free!”

“Ma’am, if you could just—”

“Charge it. Just charge it all. I’m going home.”

“But sir, your wife—”

“—is allergic to shellfish. She’ll pass out in a few minutes. Call an ambulance if she starts to swell, okay?”

Cat

This cat has moved into my room, and on to my bed. When I wake up, she follows me. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, she pads up to my face and stares. Right now, she's sitting at my feet grooming.

She's a lovely cat, but I think she has abandonment issues.

Moreover, I really wish I could move my feet when I'm in bed, but they tend to get trapped. Ack.

Now she's purring. Loudly. I wonder if the neighbours can hear...

Far & Away...part I

First I want to apologise for my lackadaisical posting of late. I’ve been without reliable internet since the 15th of June, when I flew to Utah. I haven’t forgotten “The Twa Sisters”, though, and I’ll put a commentary up soon. So, where have I been exactly? Well…

I flew into Australia on Tuesday morning, after a week in Utah (I’ll post more soon), and a couple of days in L.A. And I had a great time, for the most part—the conference at Brigham Young was excellent, the couple of days relaxing in L.A. were exactly what I needed, and it was wonderful to come home. Except…

Yes, that’s right. Except. There’s always an except.

My except comes in a couple of ways. First, and perhaps most frustrating, is my computer. About six hours before I was due to leave, it died. My OS went kaput. Fortunately, though, I did not get sad macced[see below], and the whole thing was salvageable—just. I’m still carrying most of my data around on an external drive, as I’m afraid to rely on this dying husk of a thing for too long. Second, and most time-consuming, were my flights.

I’m a fairly seasoned flyer—I’ve done the trip from Boston to Brisbane so many times I’ve lost count. I recognise most of the QF 176 flight crew. I know my way around LAX, right down to the good coffee place (in contrast to the bad coffee place, where everything smells stale). I always get an aisle seat, but not an exit row. I always eat before I fly, so I’m not left with a five dollar snack pack filled with one bag of chips and a bunch of stuff I don’t eat. I stop drinking caffeine at least three days before I fly.

I’m good at stopovers, too. I’ve waited out 6 hours in Heathrow, and 4 in Singapore. I’ve rushed from the international to the domestic terminal in Sydney, and cleared customs in LA in under half an hour. I have never, though, spent three hours on a tarmac in 120 F (~ C) heat with no airconditioning, no power at all, and no information. I’ve never been diverted to Albuquerque. I’ve never flown with hydraulics that sound like a dog with diarrhea. But I’m getting ahead of myself, so I’m going to take a cue from Julie Andrews, and start at the very beginning…

Despite my computer calamity, I made it to Logan with about ten minutes to spare. Check in was fast, and so was Joe—while I did the ticketing thing, he bought me a doughnut. (Our lives are unreasonably filled with doughnuts, but I don’t question it. I just eat them, hot, overflowing with jam.) The plane left, almost exactly on time. And I pulled out one of my many books.

About an hour in, there’s a rustle. Whispers of doctors, medications, and vomit rippled through the rows. I studiously kept my eyes on my book (a difficult task, as it’s atrocious, but I need to read it for work). Cabin crew bring around drinks, and try to sell us snacks.

Another hour passes; the people next to me call out to their family, handing around the portable dvd player and chatting about which grandkid is the favourite (no definitive consensus). Strange sounds from the front of the plane. A worried attendant flits up and down the aisles.

A third hour passes—we’re now about halfway to Phoenix. The family has settled down. The grandfather is watching “We are Marshall” (go team), while the grandmother and mother discuss “The Other Boleyn Girl” (not very good, that Henry was a bad man). The intercom crackles: Is anybody a doctor? A paramedic? Heads begin to crane. A woman behind me cracks her neck.

A call light pings; a man in a sweater vest is rushed up the aisle. “Acute appendictis” and “surgery” are overheard as they pass.

And then it falls, that which I had been dreading, “Hi folks, it’s the captain here. Look, we have a little girl up here who’s very sick, so we’re going to divert to Albuquerque. The good thing about Albuquerque is that it’s on the way.” Cough, cough. “If you could all just remain in your seats, we’ll be in and out in no time, no connections should be affected. The paramedics will meet us at the gate.”

There’s more whispering. I ask my row-mates about Albuquerque. It’s in New Mexico, apparently.

Moments later, the plane tilts, and I know we’re descending. Well, the tilting, and the horrible Baskervillian woofing the hydraulics make.

I don’t see much of the rescue. There’s a fire-engine-come-ambulance on the tarmac, a lot of low-voiced chatting, and a few white shirts, then the doors close. The captain tells us we’re on our way again, and the hydraulics start up their frightening song once more. The family looks a bit frightened, and I sympathise. But I don’t say anything. Never admit fear is my policy when travelling. Helplessness, yes—after all, I am dependent on airlines—but never fear, else I may start throwing up.

About seven minutes in, the plane levels off, and the noise stops. There’s a collective sigh of relief. We haven’t lost much time, either, so I feel okay. When we finally land, I take the opportunity to seek out food (overpriced fruit salad) and tea (iced, green). I have an hour before my next flight, and free (really free, not just unsecured) internet, so I spend my time pretending to work.

More tomorrow! I promise!


For non-mac users: the "sad mac" icon is a terrifying sight as it usually indicates serious damage or data loss. This image from Wikipedia is a sad mac indicating that an illegal error has occurred.

The Golden Bird & Other Fairy Tales

I said I'd look out a list of fairy tales referenced in the commentary for The Golden Bird. I've updated the post to link to these tales in the introduction, but I thought I'd post them here as well.


The Bird Grip - online at children's author Rick Walton's website, excerpted from Andrew Lang's Pink Fairy Book Wheeler, Post. Russian Wonder Tales. New York: The Century Company, 1912.

Tsarevitch Ivan, the Fire Bird and the Grey Wolf - online at Surlalune, excerpted from Wheeler, Post. Russian Wonder Tales. New York: The Century Company, 1912.

The Nunda, Eater of People - from an online version of Andrew Lang's Violet Fairy Book.

The Greek Princess and the Young Gardener - an online version excerpted from More Celtic Fairy Tales, Joseph Jacobs 1892

The Golden Bird - and, of course, the golden bird, available here as part of Fairy Tale Fridays.

And now, to bed...

In the hazel wood...

Jim Frazier, Common Witch-Hazel

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire aflame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And some one called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

-- William Butler Yeats

Read more at the National Library of Ireland's The Life and Works of William Butler Yeats, an Online Exhibition.

Fairy Tale Fridays: The Twa Sisters

THERE was twa sisters in a bowr,
Binnorie, O Binnorie
There was twa sisters in a bowr,
Binnorie, O Binnorie
There was twa sisters in a bowr,	5
There came a knight to be their wooer,
By the bonny mill-dams of Binnorie.
He courted the eldest wi glove an ring,
But he lovd the youngest above a’ thing.
He courted the eldest wi brotch an knife,	10
But lovd the Youngest as his life.
The eldest she was vexed sair,
An much envi’d her sister fair.
Into her bowr she could not rest,
Wi grief an spite she almos brast.	15
Upon a morning fair an clear,
She cried upon her sister dear:
“O sister, come to yon sea stran,
An see our father’s ships come to lan.”
She’s taen her by the milk-white han,	20
And led her down to yon sea stran.
The younges[t] stood upon a stane,
The eldest came an threw her in.
She tooke her by the middle sma,
And dashd her bonny back to the jaw. 1	25
“O sister, sister, tak my han,
An Ise 2 mack you heir to a’ my lan.
“O sister, sister, tak my middle,
An Yes 3 get my goud 4 and my gouden girdle.
“O sister, sister, save my life,	30
An I swear Ise never be nae man’s wife.”
“Foul fa the han that I should tacke,
It twin’ d 5 me an my wardles make. 6
“Your cherry cheeks an yallow hair
Gars 7 me gae maiden for evermair.”	35
Sometimes she sank, an sometimes she swam,
Till she came down yon bonny mill-dam.
O out it came the miller’s son,
An saw the fair maid swimmin in.
“O father, father, draw your dam,	40
Here’s either a mermaid or a swan.”
The miller quickly drew the dam,
An there he found a drownd woman.
You coudna see her yallow hair
For gold and pearle that were so rare.	45
You coudna see her middle sma
For gouden girdle that was sae braw.
You coudna see her fingers white,
For gouden rings that was sae gryte. 8
An by there came a harper fine,	50
That harped to the king at dine.
When he did look that lady upon,
He sighd and made a heavy moan.
He’s taen three locks o her yallow hair,
An wi them strung his harp sae fair.	55
The first tune he did play and sing,
Was, “Farewell to my father the king.”
The nextin tune that he playd syne, 9
Was, “Farewell to my mother the queen.”
The lasten tune that he playd then,	60
Was, “Wae to my sister, fair Ellen.”

Commentary: The Golden Bird

From Tsarevitch Ivan, the Fire Bird and the Grey Wolf, Ivan Bilbin

In the absence of overwhelming scholarship - and I'm sure there's some around for AT 550, just not available through my regular sources - I present a comparison of a few tale types, much as I did for Suan the Guesser. The tales I've chosen - The Golden Bird (Grimms, most likely German), The Bird Grip (Swedish), Tsarevitch Ivan, the Fire Bird and the Grey Wolf (Russian), The Nunda, Eater of People (Swahili), and The Greek Princess and the Young Gardener (Irish) - are an interesting collection of tales within the same type, with The Nunda, Eater of People being a good example of the variation than can exist within a given group, and The Bird Grip aptly illustrating how some tales fit within two groupings. I'll post some links to, or versions of, these tales in the coming days.

1. In the beginning…

The Golden Bird - theft of golden apples, discovery of a golden feather, leading to the king's wish to possess the golden bird. (Fox)

The Bird Grip - when the king loses his sight, an old woman tells him that the song of the bird Grip will restore it.

Tsarevitch Ivan, the Fire Bird and the Grey Wolf - the theft of golden apples leads the king to declare that whichever of his sons catches the thief, the Firebird, will have half his kingdom and be his heir.

The Nunda, Eater of People - the failure of the Sultan's eldest sons to catch a date-thieving bird leads to a change in status of the youngest.

The Greek Princess and the Young Gardener - the theft of the king's curative fruit leads the king to declare that whomever catches the golden bird shall marry his daughter.

2. And then there was one…

The Golden Bird - the king's three sons each attempt to stop the apple thief. Only the youngest succeeds. Then the three sons each try to track and capture the bird, but the eldest two ignore a fox's advice and are waylaid, leaving the youngest to succeed.

The Bird Grip - the king's three sons set out to fetch the bird Grip, but the eldest two are waylaid at an inn, leaving the youngest to continue on and eventually succeed.

Tsarevitch Ivan, the Fire Bird and the Grey Wolf - the king makes offer of half the kingdom &c. To his eldest sons, each of whom are waylaid by indecision at a crossroads. The youngest, after much begging and cajoling, is allowed to set forth also, and it is he that succeeds.

The Nunda, Eater of People - the sultan sets six of his seven sons, year after year, to defend his dates. Each son fails; when it reaches the turn of the youngest, the sultan believes him incapable, eventually grants the youth's request to try, and is surprised when he succeeds.

The Greek Princess and the Young Gardener - the gardener's three sons, the finest archers in the land, each attempt to stop the apple thief. Only the youngest succeeds. Then the three sons each try to track and capture the bird, but the eldest two ignore a fox's advice and are waylaid, leaving the youngest to succeed.

From Tsarevitch Ivan, the Fire Bird and the Grey Wolf, Ivan Bilbin

3. The Animal Aide

The Golden Bird - the sons each meet a talking fox; only the third son takes his advice. Interestingly, the youngest soon proceeds to disregard the fox's advice, but never for selfish reasons, but rather because he feels he's doing the right thing by the golden bird, the golden horse, and the princess from the golden castle.

The Bird Grip - after leaving his brothers at an inn, the youngest pays the debts of a dead man unable to be buried, then meets with a fox who tells him he can help him. The fox proceeds to give instructions for the coming tasks, which the youth follows half way, leading to other tasks. This tale also fits ATU 505, The Grateful Dead, as the fox is in fact the dead man whose debts the prince had paid.

Tsarevitch Ivan, the Fire Bird and the Grey Wolf - unlike the other stories, the animal to offer help in this story is a grey wolf. After the youth has met with the wolf, the story continues in a similar fashion to those with the fox.

The Nunda, Eater of People - there is no fox-like creature within this story; the closest thing, as an animal advisor, is the thieving bird. Although the bird does offer to aid the youth through the gift of his feather, and is benign in that he does not cause the prince to fall, he has no other similarities to the fox, most particularly because he is never called upon through the use of said feather.

The Greek Princess and the Young Gardener- the gardener's sons each meet a talking fox; only the third son takes his advice, and the story continues in a similar fashion to The Golden Bird.

4. Happily Ever After…?
I've chosen not to go into detail of the tasks set to each of the youths, as much of this will be covered in the following part of this commentary.

The Golden Bird - after rescuing his brothers from the gallows—despite the fox's warning not to do so - surviving after they push him into a well and attempt claim credit for his deeds, and eventually establishing himself as the rightful hero of the story, the youth is asked to cut off the fox's head (sometimes head and paws). This he does; the fox is then revealed to be the enchanted brother of the princess. Note than in some tellings, the youth refuses to do this out of love for his friend, and it is not until he and the fox meet again many years later that the youth relents, and the fox is returned to his true form.

The Bird Grip - as above, save that the brothers throw the youth into a den of lions rather than push him into a well; the fox is the dead man whose debts the youth paid.

Tsarevitch Ivan, the Fire Bird and the Grey Wolf - the only story in which the animal advisor, the wolf, takes an active part in the tasks, shapeshifting into necessary forms (the princess, the horse) such that the youth may escape. The youth's brothers meet him and the princess on the road, killing him and stealing the princess, the firebird, and the horse. After they have left, the wolf has a crow fetch the water of life, restores the youth, and takes him home, where arrives in time to marry the princess. In contrast to the other tales listed here, the brothers are sometimes killed by the wolf, othertimes made servants. Note that the wolf is not enchanted in any way, and remains a wolf.

The Nunda, Eater of People - after the youth has made a covenant with the date-thieving bird, the king's cat slowly transforms into a demon, the Nunda. After some events, the youth and his slaves kill it, with no great confrontation, but rather through the use of intellect. The bird does not feature in this part of the story.


The Greek Princess and the Young Gardener - the end of this story stands out in that is happy for all. The gardener's elder sons are not evil; once the youth has rescued them (they are beggars), they return to the king with him. As in the other stories, the fox asks the youth to cut off his head, but the youth cannot do it; the eldest brother does it for him, revealing that the fox is the princess' brother. The fox-prince then marries the king's daughter, and the youth the princess he has brought.

What is AT 550?

The quest for the golden bird, or, sometimes, Firebird, this is a fairly well known tale type. Sometimes, as in the case of The Nunda, Eater of People, it is combined with other tale types also. Interestingly, the Nunda, or the swallowing monster, is a common element in African tales, and is rarely stand alone (more below).

Animal Aides

Defining the tale type is both complex and simple. The tales discussed here suggest that the inclusion of a fruit-thieving bird is the only necessary element, though many tales within the type also include the enchanted fox (or other animal) and the disreputable brothers. As we see in Nunda, the youth and the bird make a covenant, but there is no other interaction between them, nothing which can be construed as animal aid in the manner of the fox's. The wolf in Firebird is an animal aide, and yet lacks the enchanted quality of the fox in the other tales (as the dead man, or the enchanted prince), though, as the wolf is clearly a magical creature, perhaps the idea of the enchanted animal should be changed to the more encompassing "magical".

Thieving Birds

I think it's worth noting that in all the AT 550 tales I've read, the fruit thief is a bird. It's possible this is for reasons of logic - it is easiest for a bird to steal undetected and to flee unharmed, and the bird in a gilded cage is a well known motif. Perhaps it is for this reason, too, that I've been unable to find anything relating to the specificity of the tale, with most scholars believing the bird-thief an obvious choice.

Youngest sibling

In The Dead Wife commentary, I posted about stories and reader assent—i.e. The reader's acceptance of the fairy tale world and the paradigms within. AT 550 contains another example of a plot line in which the reader already knows the end - the youngest sibling, (in this case, the youth) is most always the one to succeed at a given task. I hesitate to say that it is always the youngest who has the happily ever after—in The Singing Bone[1], the youngest certainly succeeds in the tasks set, but still dies—without resurrection—before the end of the story.

Why, in the case of three siblings, is it always the youngest who succeeds? As an eldest child, I have to admit that this questions holds some fascination for me. Even in the absence of evil siblings (such as the gardener's sons in The Greek Princess and the Young Gardener), it is most often the youngest of three who succeeds. This youngest child, however, is also usually an underdog: sometimes he/she is lacking in intelligence compared to the elder siblings, or is considered weaker, more frail, sometimes even perceived to be soft of spirit. All manner of things are thought about the youngest, with the elder siblings laughing at the "child", or a parent at first refusing to let the youngest participate.

Why is all this important? As the underdog, the youngest sibling rarely fails to engage the reader's sympathy—everyone has been an underdog at some point, marginalised, forgotten, or somehow perceived as inferior/not good enough. The fairy tale youngest is easy to relate to regardless of one's birth position. Moreover, the youngest as hero gives a story depth—there are not only two previous attempts through which a story builds tension, but rather two antagonists already woven into the very fabric of the tale.

The theme of the youngest sibling succeeding has been much popularised in recent years. In her The Matisse Stories, A.S. Byatt follows the journey of an eldest sister determined to elude her expected fate, while Diana Wynne Jones opens Howl's Moving Castle by telling us that Sophie, the eldest sister, does not expect much from life because she is not only an eldest sister, but technically an ugly stepsister as well.

For more on apples, see an earlier commentary, Mother Holle.

Footnotes:

[1] A German tale, collected by the Grimms and somewhat prevalent in Lower Hesse; the most well known tale type in. AT 780. AT 780 is common in certain parts of northern Europe, particularly Scandinavia.