(Note - I will be posting another chapter of Hurricane River in the next few days.)
Last night was spent in front of the TV watching Wisconsin pull off a close one in the Sweet Sixteen, but the night before was given to no greater a task: finally, the last of the Hobbit trilogy was available on CD, and we watched it with glee. Just as suspected from its subtitle, "The Five Armies," much of it was given over to action, but it was good action, epic action: the action of mythical heroes. At the end of the film I let the credits roll and listened to the made- for- movie music and wished that it were not over. I wanted another. I did not want the fantasy to end.
Why I, why many of us love fantasy is no mystery: fantasy gives us great adventure in a story with great meaning. In fantasy, we do not sit bored in front of the TV and worry about our jobs or slowly dwindle with age; no, our lives in fantasy land are worth it, part of a fate that makes us greater than ourselves. In our regular reality, in this little corner of the universe, we come to believe that we are nothing; but in fantasy we share the broad picture of fate at large, of magical forces that turn the cosmos on the head of a pin, on our own heads, on our own actions. In fantasy, we mean something. There, we are part of an Age, every bit as great as the movement of armies in ancient history - better, really, because we come to know that there is a hidden meaning behind it all, that which forms the fabric of the fantasy universe.
In, reality I would be frozen in terror in front of the demonic Orks, and would shake uncontrollably if I were forced to scale a razor's edge cliff to get to the magical destination. But it does not take too much thought to understand that, even in our prosaic cowardice, we are involved in a great 'fantasy' that surpasses that of Tolkien. It is life, plan and simple life. It is not just that we do not know from where we come or to where we go, which is mystery enough; but that the so-called little things of our lives also form the head of the pin on which the universe turns. We live the big things, too, those things of history called world wars and plagues and social disruption; but with some thought, we can see that even our small things are not so small after all. We bring life from nothing, we fight death like the gods of Asgard, and just like them we are doomed; and in our fight, each one of us plays the hero of villain or coward, likely all three, and in no small way at that. Our actions or inactions ripple through ourselves, our families, our friends, our community, and on and on to no one knows where.
In Tolkien's works, there is never a mention of God or gods; this is left rather to the unspoken author of fate, for all the stories are fated. This is what gives fantasy its sense of importance, of meaning. But it is no hard thing to see that fate, or the names we have given to it (God, gods, divine force, karmic law, will of heaven) is active in our lives both individually and collectively. This, this life is a miracle; this, this life follows a plan, one which we can only begin to see in hindsight. Like magic in the fantasy world, we do not understand how it is, and why it is, but it is, and it is only our doughty thoughts, our very Hobbit-like sense of social order, that keeps us from grasping that our lives are impossible marvels.
Fantasy is really over-simplified life, or life made simple. It borrows all the big stuff from life, but packs it into a book or story that lets us see the whole thing in small time. We love it because it is simple, and long for it because it gives us the sense of the heroic that we need in real life but cannot see, for real life is too complex to grasp. But if we look back with a little bit of thought and we can see that each of us is going to battle at the magic mountain in our own time, and that each of us is accosted and consoled by the small and great and magical all along the way. This is something we will all see in the end, for sure.
Until then, I will continue to love my fantasy stories. But I hope to see what is true in them: that they are just cardboard cutouts of the real thing, simple analogies to help us grasp the greater magical essence of life. FK
Last night was spent in front of the TV watching Wisconsin pull off a close one in the Sweet Sixteen, but the night before was given to no greater a task: finally, the last of the Hobbit trilogy was available on CD, and we watched it with glee. Just as suspected from its subtitle, "The Five Armies," much of it was given over to action, but it was good action, epic action: the action of mythical heroes. At the end of the film I let the credits roll and listened to the made- for- movie music and wished that it were not over. I wanted another. I did not want the fantasy to end.
Why I, why many of us love fantasy is no mystery: fantasy gives us great adventure in a story with great meaning. In fantasy, we do not sit bored in front of the TV and worry about our jobs or slowly dwindle with age; no, our lives in fantasy land are worth it, part of a fate that makes us greater than ourselves. In our regular reality, in this little corner of the universe, we come to believe that we are nothing; but in fantasy we share the broad picture of fate at large, of magical forces that turn the cosmos on the head of a pin, on our own heads, on our own actions. In fantasy, we mean something. There, we are part of an Age, every bit as great as the movement of armies in ancient history - better, really, because we come to know that there is a hidden meaning behind it all, that which forms the fabric of the fantasy universe.
In, reality I would be frozen in terror in front of the demonic Orks, and would shake uncontrollably if I were forced to scale a razor's edge cliff to get to the magical destination. But it does not take too much thought to understand that, even in our prosaic cowardice, we are involved in a great 'fantasy' that surpasses that of Tolkien. It is life, plan and simple life. It is not just that we do not know from where we come or to where we go, which is mystery enough; but that the so-called little things of our lives also form the head of the pin on which the universe turns. We live the big things, too, those things of history called world wars and plagues and social disruption; but with some thought, we can see that even our small things are not so small after all. We bring life from nothing, we fight death like the gods of Asgard, and just like them we are doomed; and in our fight, each one of us plays the hero of villain or coward, likely all three, and in no small way at that. Our actions or inactions ripple through ourselves, our families, our friends, our community, and on and on to no one knows where.
In Tolkien's works, there is never a mention of God or gods; this is left rather to the unspoken author of fate, for all the stories are fated. This is what gives fantasy its sense of importance, of meaning. But it is no hard thing to see that fate, or the names we have given to it (God, gods, divine force, karmic law, will of heaven) is active in our lives both individually and collectively. This, this life is a miracle; this, this life follows a plan, one which we can only begin to see in hindsight. Like magic in the fantasy world, we do not understand how it is, and why it is, but it is, and it is only our doughty thoughts, our very Hobbit-like sense of social order, that keeps us from grasping that our lives are impossible marvels.
Fantasy is really over-simplified life, or life made simple. It borrows all the big stuff from life, but packs it into a book or story that lets us see the whole thing in small time. We love it because it is simple, and long for it because it gives us the sense of the heroic that we need in real life but cannot see, for real life is too complex to grasp. But if we look back with a little bit of thought and we can see that each of us is going to battle at the magic mountain in our own time, and that each of us is accosted and consoled by the small and great and magical all along the way. This is something we will all see in the end, for sure.
Until then, I will continue to love my fantasy stories. But I hope to see what is true in them: that they are just cardboard cutouts of the real thing, simple analogies to help us grasp the greater magical essence of life. FK
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