The King’s Glory (in progress)
I died before I woke, like the old prayer threatens.
I do not know how long I died. I do not know how long I lay dead and pulsing before my return. At some point in my waking it seemed that I had dreamt a good long death. Or rather, that I had died into a good long dream and found them both the same. There had been some sort of dream, for I remember my Goddess, Hecate, pulling my spirit into a questionable eternity and then my spirit making an equally questionable escape back into my body. Read more.
Besides, it is especially dangerous to slow one’s thoughts in the North Country. Here one is likely to mistake rabbit holes for oak trees, and fall toward infinity while grasping for strength. Or oak trees for wrens and bleed on rough bark while caressing soft contradictions. Or wrens for weather. Or weather for dreams. Or dreams for all you’ve ever envied. Or a scarefisher, weaving down your thoughts, for the real thing.
Or, cruelest of all, here the sun might make you believe you are beautiful. And if you’re not careful, you’ll embrace the light and joyfully throw your life away to gaze at your deadly reflection. And then you’ll die while the Northern light chants that it was all a trick, that you were really dust and maggots all along. I mean, I’ve made something of a career out of destroying beauty, enough to establish a reputation as an evil cleric, but here in the North the sun’s cruelty could transform even me into a poet, the kind of poet who writes precarious verses as the sun destroys them. Read more.
A study of the historical, political and social reasons underlying the exclusion of fantasy literature from the traditional literary canon. Examines the influence of both Victorian religious institutions and British imperial ideology on early canon formation.