Tales From the Perilous Realm

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It’s been a week of very real experiences, growth, and adult functionality and I honestly don’t think I could have made it through in tact without the aid of my chosen read. When the realities of the world are banging at your door, sometimes the best method of relaxing after dealing with them is going into a very unreal world. Yay voyeurism! So this week, I conversed with dragons, travelled to Faery, watched a painter pain his afterlife, and followed a dog to the moon. This week’s book was Tales From the Perilous Realm by J.R.R. Tolkien.

Made up of five separate works, Tales From the Perilous Realm is a gorgeous array of bedtime stories filled with beauty, adventure, magic, and meaning. In Roverandom, a poor little dog gets made littler by a wizard and goes on all sorts of adventures in the hope of eventually getting back to his proper size. In Farmer Giles of Ham a simple farmer becomes a folk hero when he rids his town of a giant and then, later, a dragon. We get to travel all over Middle Earth with the poems that make up The Adventures of Tom Bombadil. In Smith of Wootton Major a child gets blessed with visits to Faery via the magic ingredients of a giant cake. And in Leaf by Niggle a kind-hearted painter gets put through his paces as he tries to paint the most magnificent tree, while also trying to aid his ‘friends and neighbours’.

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Tolkien’s simple prose is always a treat: accessible and digestible to a varying range of ages from eight to eighty. His stories are simple, sweet, and wholly immersive; the perfect thing for a spot of bedtime reading. The mixture of narrative and poetry is a particularly lovely part of this reading experience, as The Adventures of Tom Bombadil efficiently breaks up the strict, structural delight of narrative prose and covers a great expanse of ground in so short a space of time.

There’s not much more that can be said about a work of Tolkien’s that hasn’t been said already. Tales From the Perilous Realm is an enchanting and compelling bedtime read, perfect for any age and personality.

Author: J.R.R Tolkien

Published: Pictured edition published by HarperCollinsPublishers, Great Britain, 1997. Farmer Giles of Ham first published in 1949. The Adventures of Tom Bombadil first published in 1961. Leaf By Niggle first published in 1964. Smith of Wootton Major first published in 1967. Roverandom first published in 1998.

Illustrations by Alan Lee.

The Master and Margarita

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Continuing on with my mission to read my way through my entire personal library as well as broaden my literary horizons, this week I have taken a trip to Soviet Moscow and witnessed some delightful mayhem at the hands of the Devil himself. This week the book of choice was Mikhail Bulgakov’s The Master and Margarita.

On a warm summer day, the Devil turns up in Moscow. He strikes up a conversation with two artists that ends with one being decapitated by a train and the other in the asylum. This seemingly innocuous occurrence sets the city abuzz with strange happenings: people disappearing, money turning into champagne labels, and people being turned into witches and flying pigs. At the centre of it all is Woland, an eccentric magician of the black arts and his entourage of various curious characters including a naked woman and a giant black cat. But while the law buckles underneath the weight of the chaos and the asylum becomes in danger of being packed to capacity, it seems that some people are immune to the destructive powers of the Devil: a despondent writer known as The Master and his adulterous lover Margarita.

Time for a little history. The Master and Margarita was originally digested and circulated underground, having been written during Stalin’s reign of Soviet totalitarianism. Despite Bulgakov being praised as one of Stalin’s favourite playwrights, the book didn’t come into public consciousness until after his death when, in 1966 (almost thirty years after Bulgakov’s death), the first part was published in the Moskva journal. Since then, it has endured, gone from strength to strength, with many of its poignant phrases becoming modern Russian proverbs and even having reach in the West – apparently the Rolling Stones’ song Sympathy For the Devil was inspired by Woland.

The book is made up of two stories that become interconnected. The first being set in modern Moscow where the Devil turns up to wreak a little havoc, and the second in ancient Jerusalem starring Pontius Pilate. The entire story is a cheeky and mischievous satire of Soviet life mixed with religious allegory: the joke being that only the morally- fluid (to just the right degree) can come through a visit from the Devil unscathed.

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Bulgakov’s cast of colourful and charismatic characters, described with a nonchalant omniscient narrator’s voice, reminds us of the chaos of Carrol’s Alice In Wonderland – but with more nudity and decapitation. What’s really delightful about the whole thing is that there is no targeted character to hate or properly vilify. While Woland and his entourage are definitely the cause of the chaos and destruction of social law, they are not painted as villains: indeed, when the Master and Margarita encounter them, they are perfectly pleasant and gracious hosts. The mayhem that ensues after their little party tricks highlights the flaws of a rigid social structure and a binary belief system. Neither the Master nor Margarita are saints, but they are rewarded for their moral ambiguity, committing sins which are textbook-wrong but do not badly hurt or inhibit other parties, thanks to the way they approach and handle them.

The Master and Margarita is an out-of-control carnival of magic, flesh, vodka, madness, drama, and comedy. It’s a story with many layers, each one a very tasty treat.

Author: Mikhail Bulgakov

Published: Moskva Journal, 1966. First published in Great Britain by Collins and the Harvill Press, 1967. Pictured Vintage edition published 2003.

Labyrinths

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There is something fascinating and enthralling in reading anthologies or collected works of authors – especially when done in a continuous bout. I find it very intriguing to pick out the niche nuances, unique tricks or quirks of the author, and spot the recurring theme of the works. I just finished enjoying such an experience, having just closed the cover of Labyrinths by Jorge Luis Borges.

Labyrinths is a collection of short fictional stories, essays, and parables that explore the compelling and contrasting methods of thinking in which mankind tries to understand the world, their selves, and their gods. The ‘labyrinths’ of the title refers to everything and nothing in the human experience; the literal labyrinths of a house, the labyrinths of one’s mind, the endless labyrinths of theology, philosophy, mythology, and idealism.

 I found it fascinating and provocative; an enjoyable challenge that raises more questions than it answers and almost metafictively becomes a comment or an examination of itself. Borges’ doomed and dispirited cast of characters reflect a self-deprecating – almost loathing – omniscient narrator and author who in turns takes an almost fiendish delight in torturing both characters and readers alike with questions and scenarios that are both unanswerable and the simplest of things to fathom.

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Citing renown and celebrated works such as The Divine Comedy and Don Quixote, as well as featuring cameos from Pascal, Judas, Kafka, and Bernard Shaw, Borges explores these conflicting ideologies that humanity has invented to refute, recast, disassemble, and reinvent literary tropes, traditions, behaviours of the fictional heroes, and the world theories put forward by other literary giants. Thus, turning the entire collected work into another step that keeps the paved road of literature going: ever winding forwards and backwards without an end in sight – a twisted labyrinth.

It's a fascinating read and indeed a challenge, the reward being a widened sense of perception and ability to question what is and what is not.

Author: Jorge Luis Borges, 1962

Published: First published in the USA by New Directions, 1964. Pictured edition published by Penguin Books, 1970.

The Blind Assassin

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There are many fantastic, malicious, and delightful ways within literature in which authors can manipulate their readers’ emotions towards characters and steer their trains of thought over the difficult terrain. Some authors plant red herrings or false clues that are striking enough for the reader to latch onto and then try to shape mysterious ending around this one item. Others opt for the unreliable narrator: a character whose word we are forced to believe, as they are the ones telling the story, but then learning through actions and events that this is a dire mistake. And then there are some authors that very subtly twist the mechanics of genre to better suit the tale they are trying to tell and fill it with drama, intrigue, and shocking revelations. This latter is a trick that I have just finished getting intimately familiar with, having just closed the cover on a six-hundred-page tome of flashback and reverie by Margaret Atwood: The Blind Assassin.

It has been more than fifty years since the death of Iris Chase’s sister, Laura, but the event still haunts her. As she nears the end of her life, Iris begins to write an autobiographical tale of money, society, neglect, secrets, betrayal, and self-sabotage with two sisters as the protagonists.

The Blind Assassin explores the power of the story-within-a-story. The book for the most part, told in flashback from the point of view of Iris as an old woman in the ‘90s, recounts the childhood of the two girls growing up rich and with social standing in the community, as well as motherless in Ontario. A rich history with a lack of real relationships, education, and awareness, this part of the book traverses through time, giving us a panoramic tour of twentieth century history from its lavish beginnings through to its most dire times: the Great Depression, the threat of Communism, the Spanish Civil war, and finally, WWII.

Splintered into chapters and historic milestones, the book then has the semi-fictional story of The Blind Assassin, a tale about a doomed romance between lovers from two different worlds who must meet clandestinely and discreetly. This is the story in which Atwood exercises the manipulative power of both the unreliable narrator (sort of) and the power of planting the red herring. Within this story there is yet another story: a science fiction pulp novel that is being written in ‘real-time’ by the doomed lovers. Characters, words, and phrases from this tale then sneakily escape into the real world and this is where the book succeeds in luring, hooking, and steering the reader right to the end. While this book has been out for over two decades, I don’t wish to explore the genius of this part further for fear of spoiling the end.

It's quite astounding how expertly and ingeniously Atwood fleshes out this world and these characters without actually giving them food that would make them grow correctly. By this, I mean relationships. The story of Iris and Laura is one that is lacking in love, all kinds: familial, spousal, even friendly. If there is love at the bottom of anything, it is either very light or the watery film of the world is so murky that it obscures everything that is fine.

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Closing the cover, we are left with more questions and need a moment to rationalise and process everything that just happened over a lifetime. We get an idea of who the blind assassin is, but it’s the way in which they are blind that piques and stirs the problem-solving part of the brain.

Winner of the 2000 Booker Prize, The Blind Assassin is a wonderfully compelling and intriguing read filled with historic glamour, drama, tragedy, and adaption. I would definitely recommend reading it if you are an Atwood fan, though it does pose some delightful challenges and hurdles to overcome.

Author: Margaret Atwood, 2000

Published: Virago Press, London, 2001. Pictured edition published by Virago Press in 2009.

Empire of Ivory

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This week we’re back into the thick of the perils of war, discovering new ways in which man can leave his smouldering mark upon the world. What I am loving about this series is the way in which the narrative twists and turns, unearthing these incredible surprises like truffles. A simple quest narrative that sends a cascade of worms rushing out all over the floor, Empire of Ivory is a real page-turner.

After being away from England for so long a time, Laurence and Temeraire are excited to return and see all their friends. But disaster has struck while they have been away. A terrible disease plagues the entire Aerial Corps, proving fatal to many of the dragons. Time is very much against them, as Bonaparte’s aerial scouts continue to creep closer to discovering the Corps’ weakened state. In order to save their friends, Laurence and Temeraire must embark on another long journey to find a cure, this time venturing into the most dangerous and mysterious of places: Africa.

While this instalment is certainly not as rollicking as Black Powder War, what it does do is really bring to light the ethical, political, and social conflicts that have been violently bubbling under the surface. Through a very thrilling and cleverly constructed series of acts, Laurence and Temeraire’s characters become stretched, contorted, torn, and reknitted into someone new: someone coming to grips with the horrible irony there is so much promise in the world, yet so little shared. I think so far, this is definitely the most emotionally charged book of the series.

As cool as African dragons are, I have to applaud Novik for not colouring the story with too much descriptive world building. While the dragons are certainly what make these books unique, this series is about the pressures of war and the historic decisions and rules made by human society. In Empire of Ivory, be warned, the theme of slavery comes very heavily into play and the dichotomy of good and evil, civilisation and savagery, is prevalent. The basic threat of invasion becomes an anthill of a problem when compared with stolen generations and entire cultures wiped out for the betterment of a single society. This is the book that inspires bouts of reflectiveness and emotional evaluation whilst powering through its pages.

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Filled with drama, action, adventure into the unknown and uncharted, and heroism, Empire of Ivory is a fantastic fourth instalment in a series that has fast become one of my favourites.

Author: Naomi Novik, 2007

Published: HarperVoyager, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers, London, 2008.

Empire of Ivory is the fourth book in Naomi Novik’s Temeraire series. It is preceded by Temeraire, Throne of Jade, and Black Powder War.

The Silmarillion

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There are so many layers to adore in the makeup of an epic story. The fearless, flawed, or fiendish characters that fill the world and make the narrative spin. The beautiful, treacherous, and magnificent landscapes that house those characters, challenge them, or force them to undergo change. And the incredible, horrible, and mind-melting histories and lore that shapes and colours all.

It is a shame that lore can often be pushed to the backseat in the carriage of a good story, because more often than not it is written in such a boring and droning type of way that conflicts with the action going on in the present. But for those of us that really love learning about why the world is the way that it is, expositional chunks of lore are ecstasy. And I am still buzzing from the thrill of reading quite possibly the most beautiful and exciting ‘history’ book ever written: The Silmarillion.

Before Bilbo Baggins found a ring in a cave, before Frodo Baggins took that ring on an epic quest that brought about the end of an Age, and before a ranger from the North rose to be King of Gondor, there was Eru (Iluvatar) who sang into being the Ainur who thus created the world. Many perfect and beautiful things were thus brought into being, but none so perfect as the Silmarilli: three perfect jewels fashioned by Feanor, most gifted of the Elves. But such beauty and perfection brought also the dark seed of pride and envy, and when the Silmarilli were stolen by the first Dark Lord, Morgoth, Feanor and his kindred took up arms and waged a long and terrible war to recover them.

It is so very easy to become wrapped up in the epically romantic and dramatic prose of J. R. R. Tolkien. It’s funny, both friends and strangers alike upon discovering that I was reading The Silmarillion were impressed and bemused. It seems the consensus is that the book is a long and trying history book of a fictional world (it is) and peoples’ wonder at my reading it so voraciously was akin to seeing someone read the dictionary or Ten Days That Shook the World for fun. All I have to say to this is that history can be absolutely riveting if written in the right way!

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The Silmarillion is exactly the right way. Beginning with the origins of the god-like creatures that bring about the world, the book tells many exciting and tragic tales that make up the colourful history of the races of Middle Earth. Closely following the quests of Elves and Men, we are thrown into the thick of epic battles between Light and Darkness while also being treated to tales of great valour and romance between the wars. We get to see the kin and histories of some familiar characters such as Elrond, Galadriel, and Gandalf (Mithrandir), learn about the rift that came between the races of Middle Earth, and witness many dispiriting falls of Men.

Anyone who is a fan of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings needs to read The Silmarillion. From the origin stories, a little reminiscent of Greek mythology, to the tragic Fall of Numenor, and then the final chapter concerning the Rings of Power, this book is beautiful, exciting, tragic, and epic!

Author: J. R. R. Tolkien, edited by Christopher Tolkien (1977)

Published: Fist published in Great Britain by George Allen & Unwin, 1977. Pictured edition published by HarperCollins Publishers, London, 1999.

Eric

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Classic narratives are considered classic for many reasons. I think that one of the biggest and most important being longevity and the fact that the messages, structures, and basic idea is so stoic so as to weather the ravages of time and transcend generations, but also so malleable and open to new and fresh interpretations that it’s almost impossible not to write a new version of it every couple of years or so.

I just closed the cover on one such treatment of the classic tale of Faust, this one featuring a hapless wizard, a teenaged boy, and an Underworld that yearns for the good ‘ol days of terror and torment. I am referring to Terry Pratchett’s Faust Eric.

Eric is the Discworld’s only demonology hacker; an impressive sounding job title if you can pull it off. Sadly, he can’t. All he wants is three wishes granted, minor improvements to life such as living forever, ruling the world, and having the most beautiful woman in the world fall in love with him. But instead of a demon who can offer these improvements, he summons up Rincewind, the Discworld’s most incompetent wizard. Alongside Rincewind and his terrifying Luggage Eric is in for a wild ride through space and time, one that will make him streamline his wishes to just one: that he’d never been born.

I honestly only know so much about the story of Faust, but I believe the message (like that of many wish-themed narratives) is ‘be careful what you wish for’. Over the centuries we have seen, read, and heard stories that involve some magic being granting wishes that always come with some sort of twist unforeseen by the hero that eventually comes back to bite them. While the same semantic twists are used to hilariously upturn Eric’s wishes, resulting in very funny and entertaining scenes of human sacrifice, epic warfare, and the nothingness of the beginning of the universe, Pratchett delves deeper into the nature of wishes and their role in the universe, which in turn brings the book to a very uplifting and funny conclusion that doesn’t really leave our heroes any better off.

The hapless wizard Rincewind returns to make this story more enjoyable as his penchant for cowardice and expertly running away gets the heroes out of many scrapes in hilarious and against-all-odds fashions, whilst at the same time occasionally passing on titbits of wisdom and ‘real-worldliness’ to the young upstart. The character of Eric is a recognisable type of young man with relationship problems that are further fuelled by his using literature as a method of understanding how things are in the real world.

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Faust Eric is a fun little Discworld novel filled with action, time-travel, character growth (?), and plenty of comedy. I very much enjoyed it.

Author: Terry Pratchett, 1990

Published: First published in Great Britain by Victor Gollancz Ltd, 1990. This edition published by Millenium, an imprint of Victor Gollancz Ltd, 2000.