Look Both Ways
Over the weekend, I finished reading two books, so I picked up another two from my "To be read" shelf. I tend to read multiple books at once, depending on where I am. There's the book on the dining room table that's for reading while eating; there's the book in my bookbag for reading during my commute to and from work (and maybe over lunch break); there are books for bathroom reading; there are other books scattered around the house. Often they're of different genres or styles, so if I ever just want to sit and read something, I have multiple books to choose from.
Last night, the new "commute" book I picked out was a Fantasy anthology (after getting down off a rather thick book recently, I was looking for something a little shorter to get through, and short stories sounded just the thing!). Then I commenced a search for the appropriate bookmark, and stumbled across a rather serendipitous find.
In my bookmark box, I happened across an oft-overlooked bookmark, one of a pair I had gotten (for free, I think) as part of some health/safety awareness campaign about biking. They're both actually well-made bookmarks, glossy and sturdy with bright orange braided tassles. Very hip for all of their basic educational message.
The one that fell into my hands was black, with a red stripe going down its length. In the red stripe were the words "Look Both Ways." The words are intentionally messy, as if they'd been sloppily sprayed on through letter stencils.
Then it occurred to me--why is this not a thematically appropriate bookmark for a fantasy anthology? Isn't fantasy all about looking at things from different directions, unusual angles? Does not a fantasy story, by its very definition, ask us to "look both ways"?
Take the Statue of Liberty, for example. It's iconic, and I would guess that many people around the world would instantly recognize it. It's been photographed, filmed, replicated in miniature, etc. etc. People have seen it from every picturesque and straightforward angle.
But science fiction, for example, invites us to view the Statue of Liberty through the lens of 500, or 1,000, or 100,000 years in the future. Fantasy asks us to look at it from underground, or through a supernatural mist, or through the lens of another world entirely. The magic comes again when the lens comes off, because what you saw before now overlays the straightforward view, like a transparency. You've learned to "look both ways."
Or maybe I'm just crazy. I've been spending too much time with faeries, dragons and unicorns lately, it seems :) Anyway, the point of this whole entry is to say this: before you step over your threshold into the strange outer world, remember to look both ways.
Last night, the new "commute" book I picked out was a Fantasy anthology (after getting down off a rather thick book recently, I was looking for something a little shorter to get through, and short stories sounded just the thing!). Then I commenced a search for the appropriate bookmark, and stumbled across a rather serendipitous find.
In my bookmark box, I happened across an oft-overlooked bookmark, one of a pair I had gotten (for free, I think) as part of some health/safety awareness campaign about biking. They're both actually well-made bookmarks, glossy and sturdy with bright orange braided tassles. Very hip for all of their basic educational message.
The one that fell into my hands was black, with a red stripe going down its length. In the red stripe were the words "Look Both Ways." The words are intentionally messy, as if they'd been sloppily sprayed on through letter stencils.
Then it occurred to me--why is this not a thematically appropriate bookmark for a fantasy anthology? Isn't fantasy all about looking at things from different directions, unusual angles? Does not a fantasy story, by its very definition, ask us to "look both ways"?
Take the Statue of Liberty, for example. It's iconic, and I would guess that many people around the world would instantly recognize it. It's been photographed, filmed, replicated in miniature, etc. etc. People have seen it from every picturesque and straightforward angle.
But science fiction, for example, invites us to view the Statue of Liberty through the lens of 500, or 1,000, or 100,000 years in the future. Fantasy asks us to look at it from underground, or through a supernatural mist, or through the lens of another world entirely. The magic comes again when the lens comes off, because what you saw before now overlays the straightforward view, like a transparency. You've learned to "look both ways."
Or maybe I'm just crazy. I've been spending too much time with faeries, dragons and unicorns lately, it seems :) Anyway, the point of this whole entry is to say this: before you step over your threshold into the strange outer world, remember to look both ways.