Moments of recognition (11.01.03)
What is it that fascinates me so much about this particular kind of situation? And is it a fascination that is particular to me, or does everybody feel it? In all Farscape ‘Coming Home’ fics the most fascinating moment for me is the one that, almost inevitably, comes when John’s family or friends notice he is not who he was. That is a moment of sudden estrangement, or rather, sudden recognition of estrangement. There’s traces of it already in the season 1 ep, ‘A Human Reaction’, and more definite traces, of course, in the latest season 4 ep, ‘Terra Firma’.
Another such situation that fascinates me, in another universe, is also a coming home situation: Frodo returning to the Shire in Lord of the Rings. There is a moment when Saruman and Frodo face each other, surrounded by a host of hobbits who have no idea of what’s going on between those two. Saruman looks at Frodo and says, ‘You have grown, halfling, you have grown very much. You are wise and cruel....’ He is wrong about the ‘cruel’, of course, mistaking mercy for cruelty- yet still, the fallen wizard probably sees Frodo more clearly than most of his fellow hobbits are able to see him. He sees greatness and wisdom, both beyond the comprehension of ordinary hobbits.
There are a few more moments like that in Lord of the Rings, in fact, more than a few. Sudden recognition of hidden greatness is almost a theme of the book. Aragorn drawing his sword in Bree; Frodo looking at Aragorn as they pass the Argonath, and seeing the king, not the ranger in him; Sam looking at Frodo as he talks to Gollum about swearing on the ring, and so on.
There’s an element of alienation here, too, and I wonder if that, maybe, is an essential feature of the kind of moment I’m talking about.
It’s definitely alienating when MacLeod, in Highlander’s ‘Comes A Horseman’, finds out about Methos’ past. Moments of recognition can induce awe, admiration, but also horror, as in Methos’ case. Another recognition comes one ep later, when Methos confronts Silas who, shocked, appeals to their brotherhood. Methos denies it - and Silas understands that Methos has changed. Kronos has to recognise just a few minutes later that his brother has turned on him. . .
There’s a number of such moments in the Borribles, too. I already quoted a few, further down. Let’s have some of them:
>>’Cripes,’ said Twilight, ‘you can’t do that; it’ll be you against all of them.’
Spiff turned his head very slowly and looked at the Bangladeshi, his blue eyes blazing with the bright love of danger. It was a light fuelled by hatred and Chalotte blinked in the glare of it.
‘You’re mad, Spiff,’ she said very quietly, ‘you’re raving bonkers.’
But although she meant it there was a note of admiration in her voice. His bravery burnt like a beacon.<<
Chalotte recognises what may be Spiff’s main drive(s) in life: hatred, and bravery - in short, madness. The reader shudders but cannot help a certain admiration, just like Chalotte. . . it’s a complicated admiration, mixed with a very acute awareness of Spiff’s morally dubious nature.
>>They drew breath, their heartbeats slowed and they regained their composure while Napoleon knelt at the front of the leading raft, still paddling as he stared into the gloom, his body swaying gracefully, his face beautiful with excitement. He loved the river.
Sydney, who was next to the Wendle, felt a shiver go down her spine.<<
This time, we see Napoleon, through Sydney’s eyes. What we see is something we don’t expect to see in Napoleon: beauty. It’s touching, because we get an idea of the ‘other’ Napoleon hidden behind the rough outside. We also see his love for the river, a defining element of his character that doesn’t come out too often since we mostly see the Borribles on land.
Well, there’s more, but I don’t want to spoil people here who might like to read the Borribles for themselves too much. ;-)
I think what I’ve been tracing here is actually an aspect of, what shall we call it, narrative mechanics? There may even be a word for it in literary theory. For me, it’s definitely a very powerful element, though I suspect that my reaction is not typical of the average reader, and probably linked to something more personal than just a common feature of the human psyche.
There seem to be a few basic constellations, what they all have in common is that at least two people are involved. These two people either have a history together or have something else in common (Saruman and Frodo don’t have much of a history together, but they have both been touched by Sauron’s evil and are both of a certain greatness.) They either meet after a period of separation and one (or both) of them recognises that the other has changed, that what they had in common is in the past now; or, in cases where there hasn’t been a separation, one of them suddenly sees the other one in a new light, suddenly ‘recognises’ the other. These are moments in which a person’s true being or inner motivations shine through for others (in most cases, just for *one* other) to see. The result can be awe, admiration, even love, but also horror, hatred etc.
Another such situation that fascinates me, in another universe, is also a coming home situation: Frodo returning to the Shire in Lord of the Rings. There is a moment when Saruman and Frodo face each other, surrounded by a host of hobbits who have no idea of what’s going on between those two. Saruman looks at Frodo and says, ‘You have grown, halfling, you have grown very much. You are wise and cruel....’ He is wrong about the ‘cruel’, of course, mistaking mercy for cruelty- yet still, the fallen wizard probably sees Frodo more clearly than most of his fellow hobbits are able to see him. He sees greatness and wisdom, both beyond the comprehension of ordinary hobbits.
There are a few more moments like that in Lord of the Rings, in fact, more than a few. Sudden recognition of hidden greatness is almost a theme of the book. Aragorn drawing his sword in Bree; Frodo looking at Aragorn as they pass the Argonath, and seeing the king, not the ranger in him; Sam looking at Frodo as he talks to Gollum about swearing on the ring, and so on.
There’s an element of alienation here, too, and I wonder if that, maybe, is an essential feature of the kind of moment I’m talking about.
It’s definitely alienating when MacLeod, in Highlander’s ‘Comes A Horseman’, finds out about Methos’ past. Moments of recognition can induce awe, admiration, but also horror, as in Methos’ case. Another recognition comes one ep later, when Methos confronts Silas who, shocked, appeals to their brotherhood. Methos denies it - and Silas understands that Methos has changed. Kronos has to recognise just a few minutes later that his brother has turned on him. . .
There’s a number of such moments in the Borribles, too. I already quoted a few, further down. Let’s have some of them:
>>’Cripes,’ said Twilight, ‘you can’t do that; it’ll be you against all of them.’
Spiff turned his head very slowly and looked at the Bangladeshi, his blue eyes blazing with the bright love of danger. It was a light fuelled by hatred and Chalotte blinked in the glare of it.
‘You’re mad, Spiff,’ she said very quietly, ‘you’re raving bonkers.’
But although she meant it there was a note of admiration in her voice. His bravery burnt like a beacon.<<
Chalotte recognises what may be Spiff’s main drive(s) in life: hatred, and bravery - in short, madness. The reader shudders but cannot help a certain admiration, just like Chalotte. . . it’s a complicated admiration, mixed with a very acute awareness of Spiff’s morally dubious nature.
>>They drew breath, their heartbeats slowed and they regained their composure while Napoleon knelt at the front of the leading raft, still paddling as he stared into the gloom, his body swaying gracefully, his face beautiful with excitement. He loved the river.
Sydney, who was next to the Wendle, felt a shiver go down her spine.<<
This time, we see Napoleon, through Sydney’s eyes. What we see is something we don’t expect to see in Napoleon: beauty. It’s touching, because we get an idea of the ‘other’ Napoleon hidden behind the rough outside. We also see his love for the river, a defining element of his character that doesn’t come out too often since we mostly see the Borribles on land.
Well, there’s more, but I don’t want to spoil people here who might like to read the Borribles for themselves too much. ;-)
I think what I’ve been tracing here is actually an aspect of, what shall we call it, narrative mechanics? There may even be a word for it in literary theory. For me, it’s definitely a very powerful element, though I suspect that my reaction is not typical of the average reader, and probably linked to something more personal than just a common feature of the human psyche.
There seem to be a few basic constellations, what they all have in common is that at least two people are involved. These two people either have a history together or have something else in common (Saruman and Frodo don’t have much of a history together, but they have both been touched by Sauron’s evil and are both of a certain greatness.) They either meet after a period of separation and one (or both) of them recognises that the other has changed, that what they had in common is in the past now; or, in cases where there hasn’t been a separation, one of them suddenly sees the other one in a new light, suddenly ‘recognises’ the other. These are moments in which a person’s true being or inner motivations shine through for others (in most cases, just for *one* other) to see. The result can be awe, admiration, even love, but also horror, hatred etc.