Archive: Category: Raven's Feathers
Raven’s Top 5 Portal Fantasy Books
Portal fantasy is a sub genre of fantasy literature that involves a pkerson being transported into another realm. This is merely a list of my favorites.
- The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis.
Yes, I understand that the Chronicles of Narnia are an entire series involving enough books to fill the entire series, and all but one of them (The Magician’s Nephew) can be described as portal fantasy, and maybe even that one. These are the definitive portal fantasy books for me — the classic image of the wardrobe and lamp post kind of define the genre. They are not just at the top of the list in a sub genre, but they are some of the best fantasy books ever written.
2. Phantastes by George MacDonald.
George MacDonald was a massive influence on C.S. Lewis and many others, including J.R.R. Tolkien. In Phantastes, the protagonist is transported into Fairy Land and, as we learn in the book, the only way out of Fairy is through.
3. The Neverending Story by Michael Ende.
It is hard to place this book at number 3, just because I consider it one of the best standalone fantasy books ever written. Many people know of the film, but there can hardly be a comparison between the quality of the film and the book. The book is a masterpiece of imaginative literature and, I think, qualifies as a transportation to a magical world and so earns a place on this list.
4. Lilith, by George MacDonald.
This is another MacDonald book, one of his fantasy masterpieces. In this, our protagonist is sucked into a world where Adam and Eve and Lilith are denizens, where a cat woman prowls and children shelter from waste lands. The question is whether or not our main character is willing to face the inevitable.
5. The Tower of Geburah by John White.
This is not a well know book, and White openly acknowledged that he sought to copy Lewis’ idea. But I enjoyed this book (and in fact, the whole series of which this is a part) in my childhood and it comes to mind when thinking about my favorite portal fiction.
The Top 5 Must-Read Icelandic Sagas
Ah, the Icelandic Sagas, treasures of medieval literature. While mainland Europe was preoccupied with rhyme and verse, The Icelanders preserved gritty, semi-historical, semi-fantastical mini-novels. They are our best glimpse into the lives of the vikings and the explorations of Vinland (the New World). They’re also just plain fun. There is quite a canon of sagas to choose from, but here are the top 5 must read Icelandic Sagas.
1. Grettir’s Saga.
This is an outlaw’s tale. Grettir is essentially the robin-hood of Iceland in some ways, with perhaps more outright violence, trolls, and less of that Robin Hood flare for being such an upstanding-citizen-outlaw. Grettir, one of the most powerful warriors, almost manages to become a legitimate resident of Iceland again, all while overpowering and escaping all who tried to hunt him down and beating the more supernatural aspects of the Saga landscape — trolls. This is one of the more fantastical of the sagas, and just a plain good bit of storytelling.
2. Egil’s Saga.
Egil’s Saga is of interest both as a well-told tale, an interesting character study of a rough and tumble murderous viking poet, and full of historical information (one battle wherein Egil fights can be cross-checked to the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, for example). Egil is one of the early settlers of Iceland, and the Saga begins with his family history in Norway, his flight to Iceland, and all his rampages in the region of the North Sea. A practically unstoppable fighter and generally belligerent man willing to go head-to-head against the will of kings, Egil’s adventures are in some ways the standard of the Icelandic viking ethos of independence, ruggedness, and bloody-mindedness.
3. The Saga of the People of Vatnsdal.
This family saga is perhaps most notable because of its remarkably interesting accounts of the coming of Christianity to Iceland, foretold in the story by one of its most sympathetic main characters (this is not to say it is not full of adventure). This is a story of an Iceland meeting a new day and doing it with all the rough edges of the vikings. One more interesting scene depicts a Christian winning souls by overcoming evil berserkers.
4. Njall’s Saga.
Spoiler Alert: people get burned. Njall’s Saga is considered a classic, mostly because of its dealing with the laws and social norms of medieval Iceland. The Icelanders were a people, oddly enough, highly interested in laws and they had a whole system that circled around the Althing, the main law-meeting of the people of Iceland. In this saga, some brutal stuff goes down, and the ramifications must be worked out in the Icelandic ways . . .
5. Eirik the Red’s Saga.
It is fairly widely known today that the Norse people arrived in North America long before Columbus. This saga recounts the activities of Nordic explorers in North America. This saga displays well the confusion of two unfamiliar cultures encountering each other for the first time. At first, encounters were peaceful, but finally, fighting broke out, replete with some unusual behavior (at one point, a pregnant woman scares away tribal warriors with quite a display of intimidation). This is the shortest saga on the list, but it is dense with interest.
Riddles from the Grey Horse Tavern
What has six faces,
But does not wear makeup.
Has twenty-one eyes,
But cannot see?
(a die)
In a room are 6 men and 53 bicycles. One man is shot. Why?
(he was cheating at cards; bicycle playing cards)
It cannot be seen, it weighs nothing, but when put into a barrel, it makes it lighter. What is it?
(a hole)
Five hundred begins it, five hundred
ends it, Five in the middle is seen;
First of all numbers, the first of all
letters, Take up their stations between.
Join all together, and then you will
bring, Before you the name of an eminent
king.
(David)
Who or what can speak every language in the world?
(echo)
Here’s an interesting, if verbose, riddle:
Adam, God made out of dust
But thought it best to make me first,
So I was made before man
To answer God’s most Holy plan.
A living being I became
And Adam gave to me my name.
I from his presence then withdrew
And more of Adam never knew.
I did my Maker’s law obey
Nor ever went from it astray.
Thousands of miles I go in fear
But seldom on earth appear.
For purpose wise God did see,
He put a living soul in me.
A soul from me God did claim
And took from me the soul again.
So when from me the soul had fled
I was the same as when first made.
And without hands, or feet, or soul,
I travel on from pole to pole.
I labor hard by day, by night
To fallen man I give great light.
Thousands of people, young and old
Will by my death great light behold.
No right or wrong can I conceive
The scripture I cannot believe.
Although my name therein is found
They are to me an empty sound.
No feat of death doth trouble me
Real happiness I’ll never see.
To Heaven I shall never go
Or to Hell below.
Now when these lines you slowly read,
Go search your Bible with all speed
For that my name is written there
I do honestly to you declare.
I have four wings, but cannot fly, I never laugh and never cry; On the same spot I’m always found, toiling away with little sound. What am I?
(a windmill)“A man went on a trip on Friday, stayed for 2 days and returned on Friday. How is that possible?”
(riding horse named Friday)
Turn us on our backs
And open up our stomachs
You will be the wisest of men
Though at start a lummox
What am I?
(a book)
A man goes out drinking every night, returning to his home in the wee hours of every morning. No matter how much he drinks, he never gets a hangover. This drink is very well known, but is rarely consumed, served warm and taken straight from its source. The man is a sucker for a free drink, especially since he can’t live without it. What is his favorite drink?
(blood; he is a vampire)
My life can be measured in hours,
I serve by being devoured.
Thin, I am quick
Fat, I am slow
Wind is my foe.
(a candle)
I make you weak at the worst of all times. I keep you safe, I keep you fine. I make your hands sweat, and your heart grow cold, I visit the weak, but seldom the bold. What am I?
(fear)
Reaching stiffly for the sky,
I bare my fingers when it’s cold
In warmth I wear an emerald glove
And in between I dress in gold.
(a tree)
Who makes it, has no need of it.
Who buys it, has no use for it.
Who uses it can neither see nor feel it.
What is it?
(a coffin)
I can travel all over the world, but I always stay in my corner. What am I?
(a stamp)
I have wood but no bark,
leaves that don’t fall,
I am made up of branches,
and I come in sizes of all.
I am completely devoured many times,
over and over by a worm of a kind.
If you desire to know the answer of mine,
look for the secret that I’ve stored inside.
What am I?
(a bookstore)
Lives in winter, dies in summer, grows with its root upwards. (Source: “Dimers”)
(icicle)
I’m cousin to the teeth of caves,
and kindred to the ocean waves.
Of ice I’m made,
But that’s not my name
If you walk beneath me
you’ve only yourself to blame.
Your mother warned you
of my pointy descent
if once I fall,
I’m shattered and spent.
(source: Trae)
(icicle)
A murderer is condemned to death. He has to choose between three rooms. The first is full of raging fires, the second is full of assassins with loaded guns, and the third is full of lions that haven’t eaten in 3 years. Which room is safest for him?
(room 3: the lions starved to death)
I am around long before dawn.
But by lunch I am usually gone.
You can see me summer, fall, and spring.
I like to get on everything.
But when winter winds start to blow;
Then it’s time for me to go!
(the dew)
I make you see the beauty of nature through colors,
My name makes things weigh less
And I have no weight at all.
(light)
What can run but never walks, has a mouth but never talks, has a head but never weeps, has a bed but never sleeps?
(a river)
I can be cracked, I can be made. I can be told, I can be played. What am I?
(a joke)
My home is not quiet but I am not loud.
The lord has meant us to journey together.
I am faster than he and sometimes stronger,
But he keeps on going for longer.
Sometimes I rest but he runs on.
For as long as I am alive I live in him.
If we part from one another
It is I who will die.
(fish)
Though I wear armor.
I carry no sword.
Though I have a mouth
I speak not
Though I neither walk nor fly
I can travel swiftly between soil and sky.
I see ships,
but they look to me
like big dark clouds
above the sea,
But sometimes they drag me
upon the deck
to rend my bones
and chop my neck.
(source: Trae)
(a fish)
A red city, its walls are green, its key is iron and its inhabitants are black slaves.
(a watermelon)
My beak is downward and low I move
and dig in the ground. The hoar foe of the forest
directs my movements; and so my master
goes bent over, the guide at my tail,
drives across the field, pushes me and crowds me,
and sows in my swath. I go sniffing along,
brought from the woodland, stoutly fastened,
borne on a wagon. I have many strange ways.
I leave green on one side and black on the other.
Driven through my back there hangs beneath
a well-sharpened point; on my head another,
firm and forward-moving. What I tear with my teeth
falls to the side, if he serves me well,
my lord who behind me heeds me and guides me.
(a plough)
Dragged am I by four-footed man-friend
Brother to scythe though I cut no wheat
My swaths are deeper and leave no sheaves
No grain fears me but worms despair.
(source: Trae)
(a plough)
I am free for the taking through all of your life
Though given but once at birth
I am less than nothing in weight
But will fell the strongest of you if held
(breath)
What grows when it eats, but dies when it drinks?
(fire)
It speaks with a hard tongue, it cannot breathe, for it has no lung.
(a bell)
I drive men mad for love of me.
Easily beaten, rarely free.
(gold)
I build up castles. I tear down mountains. I make some men blind, I help others to see. What am I?
(sand)
Upon my back the scourge of dragons,
Beneath my hair the sound of dancing,
And in my rushing multitudes, thunder.
Without me there is no chivalry
Tis but a code
That has been called after me
The power in my legs could shatter
The strongest warrior
And yet with a slight touch
I am led by the will of another.
(Source: Trae)
(a horse)
I’m so fast you can’t see me,
Though everyone sees straight through me,
I don’t stop until the day you die.
What am I?
(a blink)
I am a box that holds keys without locks, yet they can unlock your soul.
(piano)
Not a heart
Though many I’ve moved.
Not a chisel
Though often I’ve grooved.
Who is quick and who is staunch
To tickle the tusks of an oliphaunt?
All those keys without locks
black and white all in a flock.
(Source: Trae)
(a piano)
I went into the woods and got it. I sat down to seek it. I brought it home with me because I couldn’t find it.
(thorn or splinter)
I am what all answers to riddles are
Until you discover the answer.
I am what people say they seek about life
Or the universe
Or the answer to all things difficult
That many would wish easy.
A mystery until you know
And when you know
You have me until you share.
(Source: Trae)
(a secret)
I am served at a table, In gatherings of two or four;
Served small, white and round.
You’ll love some, And that’s part of the fun.
What am I?
(ping pong / table tennis)
Top 10 King Arthur Books
Photo credit: “The Accolade” (1901) by Edmund Blair Leighton
Ah, Arthurian Literature. Arthurian Literature as a tradition spans well over a millennia, arguably beginning with our earliest surviving literary or oral traditional references of Arthur (Yn Goddodin, Historia Brittonum, and The Mabinogion to name a few) in the 9th century onwards to modern day masterpieces like T.H. White’s The Once and Future King (1958). The genre is full of daring, romance, comedy, and tragedy, and is bigger than the figure of Arthur himself, arguably relating to the telling of tales of high chivalry in the style of Medieval Romance. This list will encompass the wide definition of Arthurian Literature.
1. Le Morte D’Arthur (1485) (The Death of Arthur) by Sir Thomas Mallory.
This somewhat hodgepodge collection of stories regarding King Arthur and the Knights of the Roundtable is long, rambling, and is hardly the best example of medieval romance, but Sir Thomas Mallory (himself a knight with a personal tale involving robbery, roving, adultery, and castle jail break) seemed to take relish in the stories of Arthurian daring-do. The book is an expansive collection of stories and serves as a fitting introduction to the medieval tradition of Arthur.
2. The Mabinogion (12-13th centuries) by oral and scribal tradition.
This compilation of Welsh stories most likely of the oral tradition is a good look at early version of King Arthur. Arthur has had the opportunity to live through early medieval oral tradition, high medieval romance, Victorian armor-polishings and modern reconstructions. This has produced a very complex structure. The Mabinogion is part of that earliest of known traditions.
3. The Once and Future King (1958) by T.H. White.
This is perhaps the definitive modern Arthurian Masterpiece. Truly an epic, the book follows Arthur’s life with great humor, tragedy, and tenderness. Keeping with the structure of the medieval romance, White re-works the tales with modern sensibilities and yet holds true to a spirit of wonderment and sorrow. While the second half might be the weakest, I set down the book knowing I had encountered a truly masterful piece of storytelling.
4. Yvain, the Knight of the Lion (12th century) by Chrétien de Troyes.
Of all the medieval writers of Arthurian Romance, Chrétien de Troyes perhaps achieved the greatest level of style. A French writer, Chrétien de Troyes wrote a number of Arthurian style romances in poem form, my favorite being Yvain, the Knight of the Lion. Yvain befriends a lion, who accompanies him on his adventures. A tale full of love, lots of jousting, and general chivalry, it is full of the Arthurian tropes that make Arthurian literature so recognizable and ready for comic portrayal.
5. Sir Gawain and the Green Knight (14th Century) by Unknown.
Sir Gawain is the first book on the list that is about the exploits not of Arthur himself but of one of the Knights of the Roundtable, Sir Gawain. This book survives in an illuminated manuscript that I had the great pleasure of seeing in the British Museum. Truly a classic of medieval adventure and visual art, Sir Gawain captures the essence of a knight of the round table traveling on deeds of daring, meeting fair maidens, and overcoming formidable foes.
6. Idylls of the King (1859-1885) by Alfred, Lord Tennyson.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson, the well known Victorian poet, scribed quite a collection of Arthurian poems including classics like “The Lady of Shalott.” This is the dominant contribution to Arthurian literature from the Victorian age and is the go-to for anyone who likes classic poetry an Arthur.
7. Tristan (12-13th century) by Gottfriend von Strassburg.
The tragic Tristan and Iseult legend has been treated extensively by many authors. It is one of the great medieval stories, fully indulging in tragedy and flirting with (or embracing) adultery as so many Arthurian stories did. Two lovers separated, one married to a king, the other a knight fighting with honor and tormented by shame. Gottfried engineers the story both in style and narrative better than any other writer I have read, and it is truly a tragedy of literature that he never finished the full saga. Again, this saga is not so much about Arthur, but it exists in the same imaginative landscape.
8. The Pendragon Cycle (series, 20th century) by Stephen R. Lawhead.
Lawhead’s re-telling of Arthurian legend focuses a lot on the Celtic origins of Arthur’s stories, intermixing other Celtic tales and legends. If you’re looking for an Arthur tale with Celtic painted blue with woad and the transition between paganism and Christianity, Lawhead’s rendition may be for you.
9. Historia Brittonum (ca. 828) by maybe Nennius. This is an early medieval historical account (Medieval history was sometimes as much about telling a good story as anything else) that includes information about Arthur. If you want to go back to the early tellings of Arthurian lore, this is one of your major stops.
10. Y Goddodin (7th-11th centuries, maybe) by the bard Aneirin (or so the story goes). This is a elegy recounting the brave deeds and names of a group of warriors who died at a doomed battle in Britain. It arguably contains one of the earliest if not the earliest reference to Arthur (one of the warriors is compared to him, if this is true). This is not a story about Arthur, but it is a fantastic literary work, the kind that would have been sung by a bard in the glow of a fire-lit mead-hall. It does not get the attention that it deserves.
It’s Not Your Story, It’s The Story
Letting Go of Control in Group Storytelling
Let go of the control of single author stories, the dominance of gaming systems, and experience storytelling in community.
By Raven
(map from story told communally by Brendan, Duke, Trae, and Ben)
Growing up, I wrote stories and “books” in notebooks and later on the computer. I was in complete control of the world and could express my imagination howsomever I pleased. As the youngest child in a pack of boys, control in play was mostly found in isolation. But even so, there was also another type of storytelling I learned — a form of storytelling that involved friends. I remember as a little boy the fun of having my older brother play stories with me.
“Let’s go out into the woods and play, and then come back and write it down.”
We’d grab our wooden make-shift toy swords we’d hammered together from scraps of wood and nails from our father’s unending projects. Into the woods we’d go, to meet the old hermit who lived in the apple tree, or to cross deathwater swamp and escape the man-eaters, slaying goblins and running from tree-tall dragons. As someone with a bit of an archival bent, I still have a notebook with such stories and I have later adapted one of them into a full length novel.
At other times, we had another method of storytelling. My oldest brother would take a couple dice and we’d begin our tale.
“You’re a poor farm kid on Tattooine,” he’d say.
With rolls of the dice to decide if my actions were plausible or would succeed, and his own whims as a storyteller, we would take my character far in an obviously D&D derived form of play that was a hand-me-down from my brother’s friend who actually played D&D and had introduced my brother to it. But we had no official systems, just our imaginations and some dice to serve as chance in the story.
It was late at night, dark in the woods. We sheltered beneath a pine tree, the embers of our fire still smouldering nearby. Ben, Travis, and I lay in a circle of blankets and sleeping bags on the pine needles. Around us we could hear the nighttime sounds of the woods — crickets, birds, and small breaking of twigs from unseen animals. I listened to Ben’s voice as I stared up through the dark of the pine branches.
“Alrick took his sword and said, ‘If anyone can succeed, it’s me, but I will need a volunteer. . .’ Next.”
“‘All was quiet for a few heartbeats,” Travis began. “But then a young boy, no older than seven or eight, stood out from the crowd.’I will go. . . ”
The narration continued until I began my own turn after Travis, and told the next section of the story and passed it off to Ben.
In highschool, I typed in names for website ideas. Elvendale. Elvenvale. Elvenhollow. . . I later turned away from the elf theme and regsistered www.lostpathway.com. There, I wrote little stories and I started a forum in the pre-facebook years. Today, the re-started forum is called The Grey Horse Tavern. I had no idea what the forum would become. Over the years, a couple dozen members made that forum a little community, and the old storytelling style I practiced with Travis and Ben beneath the pine tree adapted itself well to writing over the internet. One member would post a beginning, another would follow up. What developed was communal storytellin away from the function of dice, pre-set worlds, and game masters. A few entire book-length projects resulted, most enduringly, a satiric story called the Ides of Starch which has continued for ten years and involved to date eleven different storytellers. The story is currently in its seventh installment, the final one, and is the length of a modern fantasy novel.
I never anticipated the impact lostpathway.com would have in those highschool years, and they continued on into college. I remember when Duke, Brendan, Ben (another one), and I sat on the dorm room floor and finally finished, after many hours, the “interactive fiction” game we had been telling. Taking turns as “character” and narrator and using dice to help us relinquish control of each role, we told an epic tale of magic on an archipelago — a tale of revenge and sacrifice that explored the fantasy and horror genres in a way that no single author could. I most remember the final moments, when the whole story wrapped together in a poetic and beautiful ending that none of us had seen coming but all knew was sublime. It was not D&D. Everyone narrated and everyone made choices for a character, depending on the rotation of the storytelling. There was no system, just a world that developed. There was no winner, and you weren’t necessarily tied down to a character. This was not gaming — it was storytelling.
We took the map that resulted and each signed our names. It was to be a momento of a story that none of us could have told alone, a story that we shared together, and because it was spoken and not recorded, a story that will never be told again — not quite like that.
Since those days as a kid, I have gained a Bachelor’s in Creative Writing and a Master’s in Storytelling, but have I gained more delight in reading or listening? As storytellers and authors — or writers, for those who prefer that term — we can sometimes revel in the control of a story. We can point to it and say, “that is my story; I wrote it.” We guard our “creativity” and our “work.” We strive for literary quality. Sometimes, our learning gets in the way of our enjoyment and the reasons we love stories to begin with. But what happens if we can let go of having to control or own a story, even if just among a few close friends? We can begin to let go and enjoy a story for its possibilities. Yes, it takes getting past having the story go exactly as we want it. We may need to let go of the grudging feeling that we would have made better narrative decisions and character choices. Our “styles” may clash. In the writing of the Ides of Starch project, I have often become frustrated with various contributors because of a lack of continuity (over ten years, multiple installments, and multiple writers, such things happen) or disconnect in focus and content. I did at times steer the group to maintain order and pull the project from chaos — particularly during one installment where a satire of meta-fiction became especially hairy — but no amount of dictatorial rule could have produced a project like the Ides of Starch, something that has become a thing of its own so that we refer to writing it as “starching” and speak of it like some Arthurian legend. That was not the result of me, or my co-writer Duke, or any of the other storytellers. That was an “us” that could only become possible through none of us attempting to completely dominate the others. We had to at some point enjoy the course of the tale.
And what’s perhaps even funnier about it all — it may be terrible. The Ides of Starch might just be a pile of steaming horse pucky — with its moments of brilliance, no doubt, but nevertheless, maybe no one but the participants will ever read the whole thing. And that’s okay. Because we wrote it. Together. For ten years. And we’ll never forget it. We will never forget Berbil, or Eliott, or Quemmerillius the Sage of Cinnamon (formerly the Pepppermint Avenger).
In the end, we just have to accept that communally told stories are not about us — they’re about sharing a story with others, and enjoying the beauty of creative collaboration in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, something different and beautiful will result in a way that could not possibly happen alone — no matter the readership, no matter the ownership, and maybe even no matter the ultimate literary quality.