The Sword of Wellerran, or Lord Dunsany Revisited

A few years ago I read The Gods of Pegāna by Lord Dunsany.

I sort of had a tough time with it. It may have been because in my minds voice I pronounced it as a rhyme for vagina. This possibly contributed to the weirdness I felt after reading what turned out to be a dry, structureless, no-plot, biblical (-esque) collection of stories (or anecdotes). It is probably something more like peg-anna, but there is nobody around to tell my minds voice the correct pronunciation.

So that was problem one and two. The vagina rhyme and the dry, structureless, &tc.

Problem three is sentences like this: When Māna-Yood-Sushāi had made the gods there were only the gods, and They sat in the middle of Time, for there was as much Time before them as behind them, which having no end had neither a beginning.

And this: Time is the hound of Sish.

And countless others.

Aside from those things, I like the incomparable weirdness of Dunsany… as did Lovecraft and Tolkien. Seriously. There really is nothing like Dunsany.

It had been a while since I had first read The Gods of Pegāna in the Penguin Classics collection I own. Because of my first experience with him I have had very little inclination to pick up the collection I own since, but thanks to the horrible service of Chicago’s postal system I was in need of something until the three new books I ordered arrive at my doorstep.

Yesterday afternoon I read a story called The Sword of Wellerran. So far so good. Can’t rhyme any of those words with privates, male or female.

It is the story of an ancient city with a long history of epic battles and heroes. It begins after the heroes have died and says that the town is practically sleeping because all memory of them has turned into legend. With limited exposition Dunsany creates a harsh reality for the inhabitants of this dreaming city. It feels dirty, cold, and tired, with little to no description of the environment.

Through dreams the heroes of old rouse the folks in the town to defend their city.

It’s short and sweet. It really made me change my opinion of Dunsany.

Plus, he’s a Lord. Like, for real. Pretty awesome that someone with such a noble family line decided to create mythologies and write something that is to this day considered nerdy. He must have been super nerdy. King of the nerds. Or at least Lord of the Nerds.

Orlando Furioso: Canto 2, 31-45

“This thief-whether he was a mortal being

or infernal fiend I cannot say-.”

Next up are many stanzas exalting Bradamante and stuff. But the gist of it is that she is celebrated throughout the countryside and sister to Rinaldo. She is held in as high esteem as her brother Rinaldo. She is loved by Ruggiero whom she has only met once. The crusades definitely seem like they were a bogus time for love.

So Bradamante wanders through the woods and leaves one weeping knight (which was Sacripante whom she bested earlier in the first Canto)  near a river only to discover another. She comes upon a white knight who laments and whines about how his love was stolen by a knight on a winged horse. Also he thinks that Bradamante is a man by her outfit.

Turns out that the knight was leading some cavalry to meet King Charles. He was also escorting a lady; a lady he loved. And lo! in the air he saw a knight in armour on a horse with wings circling high above.

The flying horse swoops and the knights scurry away like cockroaches when a light is turned on. The lady, startled, is snatched into the air. The valiant knight missed the whole thing and didn’t realize what had happened until her screams came calling from up above.

Then, this is the best, though he knows he can’t follow a winged horse from the ground he abandons his army and leaves it leaderless. So he just starts wandering aimlessly looking for his love who was snatched by Pegasus’ uncle. Then, after six days he finds a valley and a mountain beyond with a castle on top. The castle is made of steel “forged in the fires and chilled in the streams of hell.”

No stairs. No door. Just sheer castle walls. He lingered and cried and wept and just at that moment, as if he had been singing the Smiths Please, Please, Please, when his despair was at it’s greatest, two cavaliers escorted by a dwarf came into sight. The knights were none other than Gradasso and Ruggiero!

*sorry no 8bit pictures today. Next time.

The Griffin and the Minor Canon

“I have had a contemptible opinion of you ever since I discovered

what cowards you are, but I had no idea you were so ungrateful…”

-The Griffin

Lately I have been moderately obsessed (if one can be moderately obsessed) with American writers. Add this to my regular obsession of fairy-tales and I’ll practically flip my lid. So when I discovered Frank Stockton a while back one might have mistaken me for a human shaped Tupperware with an upside down lid. Needless to say I’ve been reading a lot of Frank Stockton…along with my regular regimen of literature which currently includes City of the Century and Mark Twain’s Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc, which is, to my happy surprise, quite good. I’ll try to post about both when I finish.

I wish I could say that Stockton wrote tales with the beautiful, whimsical, heart-breaking quality in which Oscar Wilde fashioned his tales, because that’s what I always want with more recent fabulists, but I cannot say that. Few people can write like that. However, whatever Stockton lacks in ornate prose he more than adequately makes up with originality and sheer likability; and also some good old fashioned American sense.

The Minor Canon, one of the titular characters in the story is a well-liked, average, member of the clergy, just trying to do the best for his town. Just a regular guy really. Then along comes this Griffin who has never seen what he looks like but hears of a carving of himself in a village. He heads to the village and the townspeople freak out and hide. The Minor Canon is the only one to face him and after his initial fear, which never truly subsides (for it isn’t often one confronts a Griffin), he finds the creature somewhat exasperating as the Griffin decides to follow him around constantly, enjoying his kindness and common sense which much of the village lacks.

The story is fun. Lots of fun. The plot is fun. Basically, everything is fun. The sparse dialogue is always entertaining, being made up of little quips that the two characters often exchange.The ending is abrupt and kind of sad, and even though kind of out of left field, made me like the story more.

Of his stories it is my favorite, though all of them are worth a read. A Tale of Negative Gravity is also unique and parochial (as I’m sure the Nobel Lit board would agree with). What’s wrong with parochial? The Bee Man of Orn, is also a good and quick read. Both of these have illustrated editions by Maurice Sendak.

Buenos Aires

So I’ve been terribly negligent of updating this blog. That’s what happens when I try to do two things at once. Shouldn’t have tried to do my regular blog posts and talk about our trip. It left me like the donkey who found himself equidistant between two carrots; unable to move at all.

And between a job I hate and trying to write a book and summer with all its usual distractions I have found little time to work on this blog. So until I allot some real time to craft a post I’m going to post some of my favorite pics from the trip. Here they are.

Me on a bus tour!

Recoleta Cemetery

The Quixote.

La Boca.

One of the best meals ever. Sweetbreads.

¡Superpancho!

Taking the train to Tigre.

Waffles of the World.

Lighter I bought for a few pesos.

Another great meal.

Last night out. Listening to traditional Tango. Drinking Quilmes. Photo courtesy of Peter.

¡They love Cokermeister!

Who is “they” and what exactly is cokermeister?

“They” is the amiable folks from Argentina, and “cokermeister” is a beverage with equal parts Jagermeister and Coke. The beverage is not quite as amiable. But allow me to back up a moment.

One evening we; my brother, my friend Matt, and I were hatching ideas. Unlike the chicken whose “ideas” are incubated under the butt of an old hen, our ideas are incubated under the weight of cigarettes, gin, and erratic conversation. I’ll let you judge who is more successful, the chicken or the three of us.

Anyways, years ago Matt had a party. The party had come to an end, like all parties do, after a successful evening of socializing. Only two had to leave because offense was given. Top notch. In the incandescent glare of early morning bulbs and reflections from so many glass cups and bottles I surveyed the disarray. Looking between my empty glass, my brother, Matt, and the island of half full bottles and discarded drinks and lion cakes, we decided it was still early enough (3am) for one more.

I don’t know whose idea it was, perhaps it was communal, and I don’t know who drank it first (maybe we all had straws like a soda fountain date from the fifties) but cokermeister was born; equal parts coke and Jager. It tastes kind of  all right. How you’d imagine I guess.

The cokermeister cleared the path for another classic, the Makermeister, which I will not discuss here.

How does this relate at all to our trip to Buenos Aires?

Well, the first night we arrived we walked Florida a few times, got cash from the ATM, had empanadas, and thanks to our friends who are residents, tried the mixed drink of choice among the porteños; Fernet y coca.

Fernet itself is a liquor made with countless spices and has a very herby smell and flavor. It is somewhere between Jagermeister and Cynar. It is good on ice and everyone in bars orders it with coke. It is available at nicer liquor stores in the states, usually for less than $20.

Because of it’s similarities to Jagermeister I shouted upon sipping “It’s exactly like Cokermeister!”

Fernet y Coca

Indeed it was, gemma told me. Then we dropped the conversation because the actual evening of Cokermeister’s creation turned out horribly, ending with bruised knees and bruised egos and hate notes stabbed into walls with bic pens….

We had been like three Dr. Frankenstein’s unleashing an unloved bastard child upon the world (of course the creation had three dads…. but whatever). And like Dr. Frankenstein, I had been reunited with my child on the other side of the world, but whereas his monster and he engaged in a battle upon the ice ending in death, my monster and I engaged in a sensual tango among the beauties of Buenos Aires.

Only Jerks in the World to look for Brewpubs in Buenos Aires

“We must be the only two jerks in the world to fly to Argentina and look for brewpubs.”

I said that to Gemma. At least in my memories I said it, while searching travel guides and internets for info. I think I probably said several times that we were the only two jerks to do “X” when we traveled. Guess it was my schtick…..and her’s also. She was the Laurel to my Hardy.

In any event, these two vaudeville stars did manage to find two brewpubs to enjoy in Buenos Aires. The first was called Cosssab. The second, Antares.

I believe it was our second or third evening that we did manage to make it out to Cossab. Cossab is situated in the West. It was on Carlos Calvo, which happened to be the same street as our B&B. We were initially excited about this, thinking we could maybe walk, and then realized it was about five miles to the West.

Gemma and I have no beef with walking five miles. We do it in our native land of Chicago and we even did it while we were there. But walking in the evening with a belly and head full of frothy South American beer was not a good idea…..so we took a cab.

Since nothing opens until 8 in Buenos Aires we waited outside for Peter to show up. The place was open but just, and we didn’t want to be the first jerks in the place. Especially because conversation would have been, ahem, strained to say the least. And I would have probably said something stupid like, “Quiero cerveza un chopp….” which is totally fine, but then since I would have wanted to say something else to showcase my stellar spanish skills I would have said “btw, estoy el diablo blanco.” And I would have thrown in the webspeak too. It was good Gemma was there to keep me in line.

Peter showed up about four minutes later and we went in. It was a dark pub. Beer cans and coasters covered the walls. We felt right at home. We took a seat by the window and waited for Paola and Arturo. Pao had been buying a space heater for the winter and Arturo had been sleeping, I think.

Our friends arrived shortly after and we sampled their house beers, most of which, sadly, were unavailable. The blonde was good. The porter was good. I think those are the only ones that made an impression. The rest were drinkable but nothing exceptional. We ordered food.

They love pizza down in Buenos Aires but most of it is a strange sort of Frankenstien version of what we think of as pizza. Strange white cheese and whole green olives….sometimes raw onions thrown on top, &tc. We drank Stella and Quilmes and even some Guiness I believe. Arturo and I became better friends while chainsmoking all evening outside the front. We left at about 3 or 330am.

Outside Cossab. Left to Right: Me, Pao, Peter, Arturo.

Smoking is technically banned in Buenos Aires bars but it is a loose sort of ban. Some bars just don’t care. Some are strict about the policy. Some specific rooms in certain bars are smoking rooms. Some upstairs areas are smoking if the place is big enough. Generally we just took a quick look around to see if others were smoking and if not we went outside.

The other brewpub we went to, Antares, was in Palermo. Palermo is a very nice area. It is filled with shops and fancy restaurants and lovely streets and beautiful homes and hotels. Antares is among the fancy places.

Antares Brewpub, Palermo.

Gemma and I had wandered around Palermo all afternoon looking for a restaurant we had read about. We found it. It was closed and lots of people were inside cleaning intensely. Our hunger pulled us away too quick to discover what what had caused them to close for lunch. We wandered a bit. We were thrown. When our plans fail we often starve. Not due to lack of restaurants but due to indecision. Restaurants were everywhere we just had a hard time deciding. We found a traditional parrilla place that ended up being the best meat I had while there. Not the best meal. The best meat. I intend to write about our food on another post.

After our Palermo shopping adventures, in which niether Gemma or I made a single purchase (again the indecision thing….it amazes me we got to South America!), we stopped at a bar. I got made fun of for ordering a “disco drink,” which I took to mean a girls drink.

Girl Drink

It was tasty though, so whatever. And full of bourbon…which is why I got it. And honestly, you can only drink so much Quilmes.

Then we texted Arturo and headed to Antares. It was getting chilly but I wanted to sit outside to smoke. I got readdicted while there. Hard not to when the packs are 5 pesos; roughly $1.80.

Beer Flight.

Gemma and I sampled their two dark beers before Arturo showed up. When he arrived we got the flight. It was all good and we were, I think, all very impressed. The bar, which is one of five or six scattered about Argentina, was lovely. The decor and clientelle definetely reflected the neighborhood in which it was placed.

Antares Interior

When we all got too cold we went in and had another pint. Draft beer is called “chopp” there. It was just the three of us and Arturo told us about his mother country Columbia. We would have loved to stay there all evening but it was Tuesday and we had a date with a dive bar and a traditional tango singer later. We met up with Pao and Peter enjoyed more Quilmes at our next bar which was not a brewpub but which merits it’s own post in the near future..

Arturo tells the gang a story.

Cats and Dogs living together! Total anarchy!

So Gemma and I returned from Argentina a few weeks ago and we have both been terribly negligent of our blogs. She only just recently posted something on hers and I have yet to write anything about the subject.

Typical Palermo Street

The time has come for me to do so. And since I don’t want to sit around and reconstruct the chronological narrative of our trip, I’m going to take a Naked Lunch approach and just throw sequence, coherence, and credibility to the blog wall and see what sticks. Look at that. Incomprehensibility already.

We arrived at the airport and the Argentine government immediately made us put on masks to reduce the risk of the swine flu we were all most certainly carrying. They also took pictures of each and every one of us. What this picture of residents of the USA with masks on was for was never discovered.

Beyond the airport was a thirty minute stretch of countryside with houses made from any and all materials. Kind of sad, but not really a shock. Gemma and I checked in to our B&B in San Telmo and took a long walk down Florida with Peter (our friend who is teaching English to business men and women in Buenos Aires).

Peter in Tigre

Florida is a super long, super busy pedestrian street; one of the longest in the world. Shops aplenty. Pretty people aplenty. Ugly people aplenty. Tourists aplenty. The one aplenty I hadn’t counted on was the animals. Maybe I should have figured….why I don’t know, but maybe I should have figured there would be dogs and cats everywhere.

Sweater Club on Santa Fe

Dogs joined us down Florida, jogging along, happily stopping at the crosswalks, smiling and wagging their tails; paying no notice to the money changers, men, women, children, or vendors. The following days, to our great surprise, we saw the same dogs. They were not passing through like us, they had made their home addresses on Florida Ave. They comfortably took up residence among Polo, Burger King, Izod, and Citibank.

Mr. Snugglekins in Recoleta Cemetery

Cats sat on engines under open car hoods, and really anywhere else they could fit. The feline faction preferred the Botanic gardens and Recoleta cemetery, making their homes near Eva Duarte and Borges’ parents. Cats took over the interior of the botanic gardens and the dogs, who were too dumb to find the entrance, stood outside the fences salivating.

My funny friend and me.

Gemma was none too happy that I was making such good acquaintances with these animals and insisted I wash my hands repeatedly before I do anything like drink café, hold her hand, or itch my face. Well to that I say: These are the loveliest and most amiable creatures on earth and would not try in infect me with any disease. I love them and miss them with all my heart. If anything, the animals should have been worried about me infecting them with the swine flu, and I believe the Argentine government would agree.

Return from South of the Equator

Gemma and I have safely returned from the autumnal lands of South America. I have been working nonstop since our return but will continue with the saga of Orlando and Angelica soon. I have much to say regarding our trip and intend to write a fairly long entry with some photos; hopefully starting today.

We had a wonderful time visiting with our friends Peter, Poala, Arturo, and the millions of other folks who are down there. I learned a lot, drank a fair amount, and even picked up a few folktales I was unfamiliar with.

To tide you over here is a photo of a not-so-old folktale that is being produced for the stage in Buenos Aires. Alas, Gemma and I did not have time to see it; one of our many regrets. Too little time.

El Joven Frankenstein

South America and Charles Brockden Brown

Charles Brockden Brown.

I’m working non-stop until Gemma and I depart for Argentina. Therefore, those of you who are dying to know what happens next in the saga of Orlando and Angelica will have to wait until after we return on the 22nd.

We are also having a party tomorrow so posting on this blog won’t be happening.

I was planning on traveling south of the equator with Borges in my bag and maté dripping from my lips. I was looking forward to revisiting the crazy land of ideas that he created. However, I grew excited and read Ficciones recently and another short collection we have. So I don’t want to read them again and won’t be bringing Borges with on the plane. Visiting his old haunts and smoking at sidewalk cafes in San Telmo will have to suffice for me. This is probably for the best because I imagine every jerk on the plane will be reading him.

Instead of Borges I’ll be reading some Charles Brockden Brown on my trip. Specifically I’ll be reading Edgar Huntley; or Memoirs of a Sleep-Walker. Picked it up for a buck! He has nothing to do with South America but I figure I’ll go down there representing the USA full force. I’ll probably write it up when I return. I will also be making a separate link with photos and musings on our trip.

¡Hasta luego boludos!

Lair of the White Worm

Your God is your great kite, which cows the birds of a whole district.

-Mimi Salton

Lair of the White Worm is Bram Stoker’s final novel before he died in 1912. I was particularly excited about this book after learning it was based on the legend of the Lambton Worm. The lambton worm (or Wyrm) is of course an antediluvian beast that wreaked havoc on the English countryside (something I am one day looking forward to doing…and something my good freind Mikey is currently doing).

I haven’t read all of Stoker, but I really like Dracula, at least it’s main elements. I don’t care for its epistolary format and the way in which it reads, i.e. kind of slow. Maybe it’s the format. Maybe it’s just me. But I liked it nonetheless.

And I didn’t love Lair of the White Worm but I did really like it. I can overlook all of the books faults, such as introducing characters and then forgetting about them completely, only to have them return in the final pages. I can overlook deus ex machina. I can overlook the (as is typical in this genre and time period) less than generous portrayals of woman and minorities.

I can overlook final paragraphs like

“I think it is quite time you young people departed for that honeymoon of yours! -There was a twinkle in his eyes as he spoke. -Mimi’s soft shy glance at her husband, was sufficient answer.”

I enjoy happy endings as much as anyone, maybe more, but c’mon.

I can forget about these things because the book has so many wonderful ideas; the ancient beast living in the English countryside, a kite that becomes sentient (at least to one maniac) who receives scheming messages up it’s long umbilical, Scanner-style psychic battles…..&tc. Unfortunately in the end they don’t really work together. Any one of those would be sufficient for a single novel. Perhaps it just needed to be beefed up. It’s a mere 210 pages.

A brief synopsis:

The White Worm has evolved somewhat and can roam about as a woman name Lady Arabella, with some level of scanner-power. She slinks around in white dresses seductively. She is trying to marry this rich guy….to prove once again women, even ones that have evolved from antediluvian creatures all want a rich man.

Adam Salton returns to England from Australia to reclaim his estate. He joins his uncle and his uncle’s friend in the battle against this scourge that nobody else seems to know about. Then a random stranger comes from Africa with a servant who also has scanner-like powers. There is a pair of cousins who are beautiful…also, with scanner-like powers.

The uncle is introduced and then ignored until the final pages of the book. The only explanation being, he is too old and infirm to be swept up in the intrigue and final battle with the worm. Which, I must say is the biggest disappointment. There is no real final battle. The Giant Kite is incorporated (I must say I was worried it would not be brought back for the finale), as is the madman who sends it letters up the wire. Then there is a scene very reminiscent of Tremors.

(“What the hell is going on! I mean, what the HELL is going on!”)

It’s worth it just to read it with Tremors and Kevin Bacon in the back of your mind.

A redeeming element in the book, considering it’s portrayal of woman as evil (Lady Arabella/White Worm), and helpless (all other women in the book), is that a woman does stand up to the maniac who flies his kite and the white worm (scanner-style). So that’s awesome. But then, she is named “Mimi.” Ugh. Barf.

So I don’t know. Totally unorganized post. But I just finished it and haven’t had time to let it stew in my brainpot. I liked it. It’s a quick read.

And the title is awesome.