Monthly Archives: June 2008

Book review: Lady of Avalon

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Lady of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley. New York: The Penguin Group, 1998. 380 pages.

Lady of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley picks up where The Forest House ended. Avalon has been established under the leadership of high priestess Caillean in the shadow of the holy Tor and close to the Christian brotherhood at Inis Witrin. The first book follows Eilan’s son Gawen and his contribution to Avalon, the second establishes Avalon’s active role in the politics and future of Britannia, and the third focuses on characters familiar to Arthurians — Vortigern, Vortimer, Viviane, and Taliesin and the Merlin of Britain.

Although the mythology and history are rich, the material is squandered in these nearly plotless, barely connected stories. While Avalon tries to preserve the degenerated wisdom that remained when Atlantis sank into the ocean, the world is being torn apart by the oppression and instability of empire and waves of barbarian invasions. Caillean, Gawen, and the daughter of the fairy queen, Sianna, save Avalon, then their successors extend its influence outward to manipulate kings, princes, and military leaders. In spite of the sacrifices and losses, Britannia seems no better off; Rome clings to it, and the barbarians keep coming. There are important victories, but they seem contrived when the goddess is called on to frighten off the Saxons, and they do little more than provide a break in the onslaught. The plots are so minimal and the useless details so many that it’s not clear to what extent Britannia’s rebelliousness and vulnerability contributed to Rome’s decline and fall.

The goddess religion of Avalon is murky at best. Unlike in The Mists of Avalon and The Forest House, the magic here is unquestionably real; the visions are not drug-induced hallucinations, and priestesses invoke the goddess to deter the enemy. The “ancient wisdom” seems to be centered on the power of the earth (focused along leys), the seasons, and reincarnated souls like Gawen, Sianna, Dierna, and Carausius. Practice of the religion is as ordered and artificial as the rule of Rome, with strict rules and elaborate rituals that owe more to the human predilection for control than to the concept of nature and the earth. Even the most natural of emotions and acts, love and non-ritual sex, are forbidden. Young men and women are drawn to Avalon, but their passion is poorly articulated, especially when they cannot know the mysteries revealed during training and initiation. There is nothing special about the character or intelligence of the many of the Druids and priestesses called to Avalon; why are they singled out to preserve the ancient wisdom and mysteries?

While the plots and the secondary characters are weak, the real problem is that so many of the primary characters are selfish and unlikable. Gawen, the “Pendragon” and “Son of a Hundred Kings,” from beginning to end is unremarkable, displaying predictable rebelliousness and nobility at the expected moments. He is so susceptible to suggestion that “the priest’s words had tainted the Druid ways as well.” Dramatically and childishly, he exclaims, “You both want to possess me, but my soul is my own! . . . I am leaving to seek my kin of Rome!” His soul mate, Sianna, has no more personality than Waterwalker, whose role is to pole the Avalon barge. High priestess Dierna does not seek the obvious path, proving the fairy queen’s point: “But I do not know what the purpose is, exactly, and if I did, I would not be allowed to speak of it; for it is often in working for or in avoiding a prophecy that people do the very things they should not.” We are told that Teleri, who is weak, pliant, and passive, is destined to become high priestess of Avalon; why would the goddess, the Druids, and the priestesses choose someone so unsuitable for such a position? At her worst, high priestess Ana is egotistical and petty, especially with regard to her daughter, Viviane. Is it Ana or the goddess who says, “I would gain nothing. I already have everything.”?

For reasons that are never explained, the enigmatic fairy queen insists that her daughter become a priestess of Avalon, and it is her line whose members impose their will on events rather than that of the goddess, proving their human side stronger than their role as conductor of magic. Of all the major characters, only Caillean, Taliesin, and perhaps Carausius are likable, revealing both human weaknesses and a greater wisdom. Although it is strongly hinted that Carausius is a reincarnation of Gawen’s soul, they are different enough that it raises the question of what these souls are and why only certain ones return again and again, while others are “once born.” The whims of the god and goddess, as channeled through these souls and through the Druids and priestesses, appear to be as illogical as those of any human.

Without a solid plot driven by strong, sympathetic characters, Lady of Avalon lacks the touches of historical and magical drama that made The Forest House at least interesting. Although the novel reveals some of the reasons for the decline of Avalon and the goddess religion, Lady of Avalon adds little essential to The Mists of Avalon.

29 June 2008
Copyright © Diane L. Schirf

Hyde Park’s weak hippie

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The sign on an empty storefront announces that “In a few weeks there will be a fruit and vegetable store here.” Below are sheets of paper with an invitation to make your desires and preferences known.

Someone requested varieties of that comfort fruit/vegetable, cheesecake. To clarify, “vegan” is penciled in nearby.

Another soul would like “bears, coyotes” to be sold. Someone helpfully noted that these items are “not vegan!”

One person would like to buy “ORGANIC — LOCAL!” Someone pointed to this request with an arrow and editorialized, one imagines somewhat sadly, “You’re a weak hippie.” Is this because the first writer is not fortified with pesticides and growth hormones?

Wacky weather and dragonflies

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After I picked up Hodge, who, I am told, was well behaved (I assume this is relative to his typical behavior versus relative to that of a normal cat), I went to Bonjour for coffee and sat inside. I noticed some cloud buildup in the west, and the temperature seemed a bit cooler when I came out.

On my way back, the sky to the east was mostly sunny, but a dark cloud loomed directly overhead, and when I reached Hyde Park Boulevard at 55th Street, the westerly wind began driving large, scattered drops of rain into my back and backside. A couple across the street held their umbrella straight in front in a defensive posture, but when it’s this windy, you’re simply going to end up wet with a torn-up umbrella.

The light changed, and I continued on. East of Everett Avenue, the sidewalks were dry — they weren’t even blotchy from the large, erratic raindrops. I looked back to the west and saw that the sky was clear in the same spot where the black rain cloud had hovered just minutes before. I wondered if it had moved over the lake that quickly and had stopped spitting rain as it moved.

This evening the wind has picked up, knocking over the pool and lawn furniture with abandon. Now the temperature is comfortably cool, and I would like to sit outdoors a while longer even as I batten down tea glass, notebook, and everything else that seems weightless to the gusts.

When I first came out, I spotted an enormous dull green dragonfly with a purplish “tail.” It tried to settle on one of the evergreens, but at that moment the wind kicked up and thrashed the bush around so much that I thought the dragonfly had had to let go or had been beaten to death by the flailing limbs.

During a brief lull, I was startled to see it take off and fly straight toward me, just a foot or two away. I thought it would dart past me, but it latched onto me, right in the middle of my left chest area, if you can picture that. “Great,” I thought, “if anyone sees me they’ll wonder why and how I’m nursing this giant dragonfly. ‘Do you often walk around with a huge dragonfly attached to your chest?’ they’ll think, and perhaps even ask.” How could I answer that, asked or unasked? Fortunately, my dragonfly friend and I were quite alone.

I love dragonflies and normally would enjoy the opportunity to see one so close at rest, but this seemed a little too intimate. With an unconscious, indiscernible movement, I persuaded the dragonfly to seek shelter somewhere more stable.

Nonetheless, perhaps it will bring me better luck.

Dream: Tests of fortitude

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The Partridge Family was performing in an auditorium. I liked the music, which was new. When I saw people with signed CDs, I decided to get one, which required going on stage during the performance. I felt shy, but steeled myself to do it.

To get to the stage, I had to work my way across two narrow ledges and pick up a magazine with each successful step sideways. It was harrowing and time consuming, and I wanted to quit, but it was the only way to get the CD that I now wanted badly. In addition, this ledge crawl appeared to be the only way to get to the bathrooms.

As I made it from the right side of the first ledge to the left and was trying to figure how to take the step up to the next ledge to work my way back, I became aware of several things. First, the audience perceived me as a mentally deficient child who couldn’t do such a thing, so they mocked me. Many of the magazines in my hand were duplicates, which seemed unfair, and the next one was a silly fashion/celebrity publication in which I had no interest. I lost track of why I was stuck on the ledge.

I looked up and could see one of my objectives, but not the bathrooms, which had become unlabeled, moving targets. David Cassidy looked the same as in the television series, even to his hairline and style, but sometimes his face was worn with the ravages of late middle age. Danny was still a child as though decades had not passed. Was that Danny Bonaduce? It looked exactly like him, but surely he could not be stuck in perpetual pre-adolescence.

The CD had “19” in the title, and I never knew how I obtained it or whether it was worth it.

I was with some friends in a contraption at the bottom of a steep hill. By the use of pools or some form of mechanical leverage, we were able to extend our physical strength to “walk” the contraption beneath us up the hill. We soon found that it was surprisingly easy.

As we progressed, to the left and right we could see prisoners performing day-to-day activities and tasks. Some wore white long johns with yellow polka dots, while others sported different patterns in various colors. Some were lined up at what appeared to be a general store, which seemed to be an unusual haunt for prisoners. Others appeared to be taking care of houses or gardens. As we passed, they would stop what they were doing to stare at us. It was then that I became aware than I and the other women were naked, which now seemed to have been a foolish idea on my part. I couldn’t understand why we had, at my suggestion, done something that would leave us surrounded by prisoners, nor could I imagine why they left such a vulnerable group alone. Suddenly I was afraid.

At the top, I realized that getting down the hill would be the harder task. How could we control the contraption’s descent on that steep decline?

A man offered an elephant to help us. I did not trust the elephant, who looked at me with preternaturally human eyes. I said that one kind of elephant has gray eyes, while the other has brown — but then I remembered a third kind, which made my neat point ridiculous. The elephant continued to eye me in a meaningful way; I could not read its thoughts, which at the least seemed to bode further difficulties for the group but especially for me. I didn’t know what to do, and again I was afraid. Somehow we began our descent.

Time and relativity

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I’m on the train returning to Chicago after what feels like the shortest vacation I’ve ever had. I slept more than I meant to and didn’t do some things I intended to , but I don’t regret that as I have before. I did what I could and enjoyed it without feeling bored, at a loss, or disappointed. Now the weather has turned hot and humid, so perhaps it’s best that I’ve gotten all that walking out of my system. When I get home, unpack, clean up a bit, and return to work, time, or my perception of it, will slow down to its normal, boring speed.

After eating at Casey’s Tavern last night, we visited Ann Arbor Too, which, like its sister bed and breakfast, is charming, albeit in a different way. The contemporary and discreet range successfully share the kitchen with a vintage pot-bellied stove that dominates the scene. A deck overlooks a lush green park, and a south sun room serves as the breakfast room. As my friend said, this house would be lovely in winter, too.

Yesterday we drove to Tantre Farm, where she has a share. I tried the Seascape strawberries — sweet, and the peas — crisp. We visited the chickens, which were enjoying the shade, along with turnips and strawberry tops. We also stopped to look at the cows. On the way back, I spotted a turkey vulture flapping around someone’s yard and several goldfinches flitting back and forth across the road with their characteristic up-and-down movement.

The next time I find myself succumbing to the inane concerns of small, controlling minds focused on the insignificant and oblivious to what matters, I must remember the goldfinches and the relativity of time.

Post-birthday blues

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I don’t feel blue, but for the first time since Sunday the sky is wholly overcast and the rain more than intermittent if not constant. I don’t mind rain and clouds, and sun causes me all kinds of problems, but at this time of year I prefer the partly sunny or cloudy of the past few days to complete gray. One damp woman, carrying a plant purchased at the farmers’ market through the rain, saw me, laughed wryly and said, “My umbrella’s is in the car — right where it belongs!”

Yesterday afternoon I celebrated my natal day by contacting the gynecologist, who told me Ignatius is 10 cm, one of his friends is 9.5 cm, and the third is large. She said that they’re about the size of a small medicine ball, although I’m not sure if she meant individually or combined. While my weight, which makes me a poor candidate for surgery, could be causing my lower back pain (a relatively recent development), she said that common sense would indicate that all that crowding could be affecting my bladder. Both back and bladder are interfering with my ability to walk as much as I would like, alas.

She referred me to the brochure she’d given me, so now it’s up to me. I’m still undecided, but I sent an e-mail inquiry via Ask4UFE to the radiologist. Now I suppose I should make a list of questions with my own spin.

We walked through a dense, young woods last evening, the kinds of woods that birds don’t favor — not enough open spaces. The lack of clearings didn’t faze the mosquitoes, which usually leave me alone. When they do bite, generally I don’t suffer much effect. This evening, however, I was a mosquito magnet, and now I have enormous red welts on my thighs and calves. It was a great excuse to sink into a comforting bubble bath with my current reading material and relax.

This morning, I headed for Falling Water, walked quickly through the farmers’ market lest I be tempted, and ended up at Café Verde, still my favorite place here. A man next to me told his friend that all he knows personally of the woman who will be his new boss is that she is “very smart and very competent.”

I don’t know who he is or what he does, but I envy him.

“I’ll cry if I want to”

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Mr. Wolf is correct — it’s my birthday, a date I hide from my day-to-day acquaintances and highlight on my Web site. Thank you to those who sent greetings.

I am celebrating by experiencing one of the pains of middle age — perhaps a rite of passage of sorts. For a while my lower back has been expressing unhappiness, and my abdominal region has been feeling tense and full of pressure. Both seem to have become worse recently, while my need for handy facilities has grown. It all makes being a pedestrian tourist somewhat difficult and painful, and my body seems to be telling my stubborn brain the same thing my friends have: “Get the UFE done already!” I hope my discomfort isn’t merely psychological because my awareness of increased within a couple of weeks of my conversation with the gynecologist. I would like to think I’m not that susceptible to a little suggestion.

In my planned rambles today, I found Hollander’s and spent too much there, then bought J. a T-shirt at Peaceable Kingdom. The “Dog Person” version was unavailable in his size, but “Cat Person” was. Heh heh heh. “Message, Spock?”

I finally came to Sweetwaters Café on Washington and thought I should have gone into the one in Kerrytown. For some indescribable reason, which could be familiarity, I think I prefer Café Verde. It could be because it feels less polished and more subversive than Sweetwaters, and it’s a little more tucked away.

Bob and Pat mentioned their second bed and breakfast, Ann Arbor Too,1 which also looks wonderful. Bob said that a bus stops there, frequently during the university’s year, so it wouldn’t be impossible for me to stay there without a car. It sounds delightful — an 1842 farmhouse adjacent to Miller Nature Area. Perfect for me.

I’d better start saving for my next birthday. Fortunately, it comes only once a year.

Aside: As I was leaving, I found the fairy door at Sweetwaters, then backtracked and saw Peaceable Kingdom’s.

1 Since sold.

Dream: Lost pencils and a “good tired”

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Both yesterday and today I’ve been unusually tired. I didn’t get much sleep Saturday night. I wanted to do some writing and reading on the train, but after I had settled in I couldn’t stay awake. Even sitting up in an uncomfortable position, I fell soundly asleep. This morning after breakfast I fell asleep, and then again this afternoon after I had gone for a walk and eaten a portobello mushroom and mozzarella sandwich at Café Verde. Even Love Buzz coffee and Earl Grey tea couldn’t keep me conscious. I hope I don’t sleep away my time here. The room, The Maine Woods, is comfortable, and the weather has been what my Pennsylvanian parents called “good sleeping weather.” My stressed body has noticed.

At Borders, of all places, I found four-color Camel pencils from Japan, as well as “Be Goody” lead pencils, also from Japan. The latter have an eraser end, but no ferrule. It’s an interesting and sleek design, and they write fairly smoothly and darkly, too.

At Motte and Bailey, I found The Complete Poetry of Richard Crashaw published in 1970, clearly never cracked open and therefore read; a similarly pristine copy of Gondal’s Queen: A Novel in Verse by Emily Jane Brontë published in 1977 by the University of Texas Press; and an unloved library edition of The Oxford Book of Children’s Verse published in 1973, complete with the stamped name, address, and phone number of a previous owner.

After lunch, a brief stop at People’s Food Co-op, the haul back, and some reading and writing on the balcony, I slept and dreamed that, as I was trying to get up and get off a bus, I noticed some of my favorite pencils missing from my case. I’m under the impression that I held the bus and made a fool of myself by getting down awkwardly to look under the seats, which I sensed didn’t endear me to my seat mate or other passengers. Then I finally got off the bus and found myself isolated on a quiet country road. The next thing I remember, someone had asked about the long-delayed development brochure, and the responsible person had a shouting fit and nervous breakdown over it.

After eating A.’s pizza, we watched Sweet Land, which, aside from being a love story, represents the foibles and the strengths of a small community, and how one can overcome the other. The scenes in set in 1968 were very evocative for me; Inge’s hair and glasses reminded me very much of a friend of my mother’s who happened to be not of German ancestry, but Norwegian. I do not know if her coffee was “too black.”

After I came back, I couldn’t sleep for a long time, but I also couldn’t stay quite awake, either. I am what my parents would call a “good tired.” Perhaps I should simply give into it and enjoy it when I can, even if it is during the day.

Dream: The royal wedding, and all aboard

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This morning I dreamed that I was looking at paintings that appeared to depict a Russian royal wedding and that it was vital that I put them into the correct order. I did not know whether they should be arranged chronologically or in some other order. In the middle of the stack I came to a magnificent full-length portrait of a woman in an ornate costume (the bride or her mother?) and thought perhaps she was meant to be the culmination of the series. I had a feeling that, if I didn’t get the order precisely right, something very bad would happen to me. Then a light started flashing beyond my closed eyelids — my alarm — and I woke up thinking some catastrophe was about to occur.

The early Sunday morning alarm was to get me up in time for a trip to Ann Arbor. I’m on the train now, passing through a cross section of countryside that probably represents a good portion of the eastern and midwestern United States — family farms, small towns, and industries of various sizes. In minutes you can pass everything from fields, trees, taverns, decaying houses, and bland new subdivisions to massive concrete smokestacks that put food on the table and a blight on the landscape and the soul.

As industry grew and promised a higher quality of life for more people, did anyone question whether this was any way to live? I remember a story about a place in Brazil where the air quality was so poor that the writer’s lungs began burning within minutes of getting off the plane. The lungs burn; the soul sickens; the animals die or disappear. Is this the fit legacy of general prosperity?

Unbeknownst to me, my dad lived a double life. Early every morning for 26 years, or nearly 30 percent of his life, he went to work at the Ford Stamping Plant in Lackawanna, New York, an industrial city south of Buffalo dominated then by Ford, Bethlehem Steel, and the rails that carried their shipments. The few times I went to or through that part of Lackawanna I must have felt like I had entered an alien world where all the beauty of nature had been completely supplanted by the ugly dreariness of steel, concrete, and pavement.

And every night he came home to a trailer facing an open field and backed by woods in which deer, rabbits, woodpeckers, chickadees, titmice, nuthatches, cardinals, blue jays, and other animals thrived. He saw owls a few times; occasionally I heard whippoorwills. When we went to the butcher’s, they’d give us suet for the snowbirds, and we’d buy enormous bags of birdseed at the feed store or grocery. Watching the antics of the chickadees or cursing the aggressiveness of the blue jays gave both my parents great joy — a joy they could not have found in Lackawanna.

I have to remind myself that I can’t completely disparage industry, although I can lament some of its lasting effects. Without it, and unions like the UAW, men like my father might not have earned a living wage, been able to provide their wives and children with health and dental care, and had enough to live on during retirement (for my father, 23 years). In areas where industry has come and gone, the blight is felt the most — the negatives without the benefits.

It’s easy to forget about or ignore industrial blight when it doesn’t surround you — out of sight, out of mind — or when it blends into the urban landscape. From the vantage point of a train, as it travels through different human settings like a bit through layers of sedimentary rock, it is impossible not to compare and contrast the smokestacks of Hammond, Indiana, with the forest, fields, and farms of south central Michigan. Life on a farm is hard and uncertain, but there is a natural rhythm to it combined with an indefinable emotional satisfaction. Life in the shadow of the factory is also hard and uncertain, and the reward is to be able to provide for the family. In that shadow, however, how many wither and die inside?

As I see decaying or abandoned mills, plants, and other remnants of the age of industry in my train travels, I wish that we could reclaim the land — tear down the concrete and steel and let nature rebuild. But there is neither the money nor the will to restore the land, and so the Rust Belt grows ever rustier — part of our legacy to our future.

Dragonflies, catbirds, and dogs

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A couple of weeks ago in the garden at The Flamingo I saw a butterfly with muted orange, black-spotted fore wings and dark or gray hind wings clinging to the vines and soaking up the sun’s rays. I’ve seen this kind before, so I assumed it would be easy to find in my field guide book or online. I still haven’t found it, although it has to be a common species, nor have I seen it again.

When I’ve walked out here in the last couple of weeks I’ve sent a half dozen dragon- and damselflies darting to the left and right, back and forth. I seldom get to see them clearly, although I’ve caught a glimpse of metallic blue on one damselfly and metallic green on another. Sometimes I wonder if I am the only person who notices them as they fly about, and if the children appreciate these jewels on the wing as much as I do.

Last week I noticed a catbird trying to get a grip on a branching twig with its bill. The first time I recall seeing a catbird was in my cousin’s yard. I heard the mewling of what sounded like a desperate cat, but when I looked all I could see was a long-tailed gray bird. I should not be surprised to see one here; they were pretty common in the wooded areas at Lincoln Park Zoo.

Sunday morning a thunderstorm with high winds and heavy rain drove in a man who’d taken his little dog for a walk. The walk turned into a run as sheets of rain came down and the sky flashed, and the little dog could hardly keep up with the master. When you see the sky turn green and feel the wind pick up, take it as a sign that Fluffy can find relief at the nearest lamp post or tree, and real “walkies” can be put off a while longer.

Now, after a sweltering day that threatened storms for much of the afternoon, the air has cooled and the sun is setting here even as it rise somewhere else, and thus ends my weekly respite from the weird and not-so-wonderful alternative reality.