[Book Reviews] Under In The Mere
I have recently finished Catherynne Valente's triple Salchow on Arthuriana and the Matter of Britain, "Under In The Mere". While I am generally a fan of her writing, I loved this book as I have loved only two others of hers. ("Palimpsest" and "Oracles", for you fellow mythpunk lovers.) The storied subject matter is well suited to her lush descriptive style, and having a deep familiarity with Arthurian myth and legend before you start reading lends extra richness to the text. She takes the canon and gives it a half-twist, and in doing so illuminates emotional depths of the original works in a way I hadn't previously considered. The rote recitation of Morgause's sons, for example -- Gawain, Agravaine, Gaheris, and Gareth (thanks, T.S. White, for drilling that into my childish brain) becomes terrible with Mordred's naming his pet corvids after the brothers who don't see him. It makes you realize that, at best, it's "Gawain, Agravaine, Gaheris, and Gareth.... and Mordred", if at all. Poor bastard doesn't even get a G. You cannot love him... to me, he's not really lovable at all, and that's the tragedy of it.
My favorite bit came early on, with her retelling of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. She has a distressingly appropriate use of the flora of Britain and their symbolic values in folklore. (Through my Celtic studies, I've made rather a personal study of it, and this is one of the few times that I've seen it appropriately done in a work of fiction rather than the author seeming to consult a cheap table of correspondences and having done.) She does a wonderful and eeric invocation of the Otherworldliness of the knight and his wife, their blurring and doubling presences, here and there and neither, transporting you without your will or even your notice. It is excellently liminal. I was less fond of the California-as-Otherworld theme that weaves through the stories, probably mostly because the land there doesn't speak to me so. It's too dry to be a proper Celtic Otherworld, for me. But even with that slight dislike, it didn't distract me from the story or ruin the mood-setting, which is pretty impressive given my lack of love for deserts and palm trees.
Kay, I felt like I understood, that clockwork salaryman of a brother. Lancelot, I felt more for Guinevere. Bedivere, the difficult unjustness of it all was the part that struck me -- when I had finished the book, I went back and read the Lady of the Lake right next to Bedivere to see if their stories side by side would bring new flavors to the text. (I ended up thinking of how often we misunderstand each other, how easy it is to not know another's heart and isolate yourself thereby, how difficult and flawed expressing yourself under stress and in extremis was. Arthur, whose great heart faltered in his trust at the end with Bedivere's weakness not being greed rather than grief and unworthiness. The recurring theme of none of the knights feeling themself worthy breaks your heart, even in shining Camelot. I loved Morgan le Fay, and I probably always will. Terrible as an army with banner, her hour come round at last.
Four and a half Sangreals out of five.
My favorite bit came early on, with her retelling of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. She has a distressingly appropriate use of the flora of Britain and their symbolic values in folklore. (Through my Celtic studies, I've made rather a personal study of it, and this is one of the few times that I've seen it appropriately done in a work of fiction rather than the author seeming to consult a cheap table of correspondences and having done.) She does a wonderful and eeric invocation of the Otherworldliness of the knight and his wife, their blurring and doubling presences, here and there and neither, transporting you without your will or even your notice. It is excellently liminal. I was less fond of the California-as-Otherworld theme that weaves through the stories, probably mostly because the land there doesn't speak to me so. It's too dry to be a proper Celtic Otherworld, for me. But even with that slight dislike, it didn't distract me from the story or ruin the mood-setting, which is pretty impressive given my lack of love for deserts and palm trees.
Kay, I felt like I understood, that clockwork salaryman of a brother. Lancelot, I felt more for Guinevere. Bedivere, the difficult unjustness of it all was the part that struck me -- when I had finished the book, I went back and read the Lady of the Lake right next to Bedivere to see if their stories side by side would bring new flavors to the text. (I ended up thinking of how often we misunderstand each other, how easy it is to not know another's heart and isolate yourself thereby, how difficult and flawed expressing yourself under stress and in extremis was. Arthur, whose great heart faltered in his trust at the end with Bedivere's weakness not being greed rather than grief and unworthiness. The recurring theme of none of the knights feeling themself worthy breaks your heart, even in shining Camelot. I loved Morgan le Fay, and I probably always will. Terrible as an army with banner, her hour come round at last.
Four and a half Sangreals out of five.