Today I’m going to cover the first quarter of the contents of A Treasury of Fantasy. This early 1980’s volume contains a chronologically arranged selection of fantasy, and bears the subtitle “Heroic Adventures in Imaginary Lands.” Interestingly, the stories chosen come from no farther back than the Volsunga Saga, circa 1270. I suppose that decision makes a degree of sense. Starting with, say the Epic of Gilgamesh, would result in a book at least twice as thick as the already hefty tome under review. There is an open question whether traditional legends, myths, and fairy tales are equivalent to what is considered to form the genre currently labeled fantasy. But that’s a debate for another time (if ever.) So, on to the selections.
The Story of Sigurd, from the Volsunga Saga. Translated from the Icelandic by Eirikr Magnusson and William Morris. That Northern Thing, which matches for grim tragedy anything the Greeks produced. The outlook on life expressed feels almost alien: fatalistic, bloodthirsty, nakedly avaricious. The focus on magical runes and the use thereof is interesting. I can’t imagine at this point there is anyone who doesn’t recognized the debt Tolkien’s The Children of Hurin owes to the Volsunga Saga. This is essential reading perhaps, but not necessarily the most pleasant.
The Quest of the Holy Graal. Mrs. Andrew Lang. Hard to know what to make of the assorted adventures, recounted as barebones outlines of events. More importantly, what is represented by the quest? The unfolding of the search establishes a certain moral hierarchy, one in which martial skill is often (but not always) directly correlated to virtue. But virtue to what end? The religious nature of the quest seems clear, and the most virtuous die to go their final reward. But the quest itself leads directly to the downfall of King Arthur’s court, as half of the Knights of the Round Table perish in pursuit of the Holy Grail, leaving the kingdom vulnerable. So, is the object sought (or the quest for it) in fact a form of evil? Or was it an essential good, necessary to fulfill Arthur’s tragic destiny and move history on from a beautiful, but ultimately stagnant springtime? To quote Tennyson,
“The old order changes, yielding place to new,
And God fulfills himself in many ways,
Lest one good custom should corrupt the world….”
Either way, it was good to encounter all these old familiar names again.
The Enchantment of Lionarda. From Palmerin of England. Franciso de Moraes. This is one of the few knightly romances Cervantes deemed worthy of survival. Palmerin is one of many off-shoots of Amadis of Gaul. While interesting, this selection lacks punch. All the obstacles Palmerin faces are mere illusions. Still, after the dry recitation of encounters in the Graal Quest, it is nice to read a richer narrative, one in which events are described in detail rather than baldly stated. The story telling from this point becomes recognizably modern.
The Elves. Johann Ludwig Tieck. Ultimately tragic, another glimpse of the Perilous Realm. If the elves weren’t quite so twee, portrayed as eternal children, this version would align reasonably well with Tolkien’s (c.f. Smith of Wootton Major.) The tale contains suggestions of the old Nordic concept of the Alfar and some aspects that would fit (uncomfortably, perhaps) with the elvish world of Poul Anderson’s The Broken Sword. The dark undercurrents of traditional fairy tales are surface level in this one.
The King of the Golden River. John Ruskin. A droll fairy tale in the vein of Hans Christian Anderson, though with more humor and less pathos. The supernatural creatures are presented with color and wit. It is a proverb of virtue and vice, with the dull nutrition of the message encased in a flavorful delivery vehicle, like coating a dog’s pill in peanut butter.
I will return with part II at some, as yet unspecified date in the future. But if you want to read something else from me right away, why not pick something out from here?
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