Mist

‘Mist’ (Niebla) by Miguel de Unamuno is one of the first great novels of the Modern era. By ‘Modern’ I mean from around 1910 to — well, whenever one wishes to cut it off. We were into the Postmodern by 1960, but I’m inclined to see that as simply phase two of Modernism.

The story was being written at about the same time as Proust’s first efforts toward the novel, somewhat before Joyce and other well-known Modernists were making their mark. It is certainly an Existentialist novel, as was de Unamuno an Existentialist writer and philosopher. One of the first ‘Catholic Existentialists,’ in fact, despite his bouts of agnosticism.

De Unamuno had criticized the Spanish novels of his time as all reading like French novels. ‘Mist’ does not; it feels closer to Modern English authors in some respects. The description and characterization is spare, and rises from the narrative. There is a tongue-in-cheek absurdity one finds later in such authors as Huxley and Waugh. But it also slips in some serious philosophical questions — even if they are not treated so seriously.

I had known Miguel de Unamuno’s essays and was definitely impressed by them. Now, I am almost equally impressed by his fiction. ‘Mist’ is a novel that should be more widely read and appreciated.

Raskolinikov

Rodion Raskolinikov, the central character of Dostoevsky’s ‘Crime and Punishment,’ deludes himself into believing that he is a superior man and can use others as he will. Yes, he is also impoverished and resentful, but that is the central idea around which the author builds his story. Obviously, Dostoevsky disapproved of that sort of mindset, which had a certain popularity among the intelligentsia of his time — and still does. We see the same ideas put forth by men such as Thiel and Musk, people whose hubris leads them to think they know what is best for mankind* and who should be sacrificed for their goals.

Raskolinikov is redeemed but I fear his modern real life counterparts will never be. I’m not a fan, I’ll admit, of Dostoevsky’s moralizing and unrealistic ‘realism,’ but I’m in agreement with his central point. Even if he does bludgeon us with it almost as much as his main character bludgeons the pawn broker with his axe.

*I, of course, always argue that ‘mankind’ does not exist except as a vague concept. Only individual men and women are real.

Portals

All mirrors are magic mirrors. ~ George MacDonald

In 1858, George MacDonald wrote what may be considered the first modern portal fantasy, ‘Phantastes.’ This was also MacDonald’s first novel of any sort, followed by many more, both fantasy and mainstream. With William Morris (who wrote the first modern high fantasy), he laid the ground for the fantasy writers of the Twentieth Century.

Strictly, neither man is ‘Modern.’ Their writing belongs to the late Romantic. I might be inclined to describe them as precursors to modern fantasy rather than its first practitioners. They are very important precursors, to be sure—one can draw some direct lines from MacDonald to C.S. Lewis (or to Tolkien from Morris, for that matter).

The portal in ‘Phantastes’ is to Faerie; it opens quite early in the narrator’s own bedchamber, thanks to his fairy blood evincing itself when he reaches sufficient maturity. No wardrobes or doors are needed for this initial passage (though others appear later in the narrative). The one world, our world, simply fades into the other. Near the end of his career (1895), George MacDonald created another—and better—portal fantasy, ‘Lilith.’ There, the portal lies in a library and is somewhat better defined as an actual passageway between worlds.

‘Alice in Wonderland,’ written less than a decade later than ‘Phantastes,’ did much to popularize the portal concept. It may be argued, however, that it is not fantasy in the genre sense, being dream-based and full of absurdities, taking it closer to surrealism. ‘The Wonderful Wizard of Oz’ carried the concept into the Twentieth Century—if one is willing to consider the tornado a portal. My own stories have used similar storms to open portals, but have carried no houses to other lands! Perhaps the cave where John Carter falls into unconsciousness, to awaken on Barsoom, can also be considered a portal. I’m willing to include it among the important portal fantasies. Important enough to spawn its share of imitators, anyway.

But the ‘true’ portal fantasies with which almost all of us are familiar are C.S. Lewis’s Narnia tales. Actual, physical ways between the worlds exist in them. At the same time, the experience of the children transitioning from one to another on entering the wardrobe, is surprisingly similar to that in the opening of ‘Phantastes,’ written a century earlier.

‘Phantastes’ is a decent story though without much cohesive plot. It gives a first person account of the protagonist’s rambling journey and of his making stupid mistake after stupid mistake. I occasionally wanted to shake the narrator and scream, ‘Pay attention when folks warn you!’ Such dependence on the protagonist’s bad judgment is not a good plot device—in its way, just as bad as the hero who makes no mistakes at all.

The tale is told in a clear, serviceable prose style—decidedly better than what one gets from some of his contemporaries—but one might do well to skim over MacDonald’s attempts at poetry. He certainly couldn’t match Morris there! The overt symbolism might be off-putting to some. One of the main points there seems to be that ‘Faerie’ is all around us and the mundane world is an illusion. This is akin to some of the Christian symbolism we encounter in Lewis. One can hear echoes of MacDonald in Dunsany, in Lewis and in Tolkien, in pretty much every modern writer of fantasy. The shadow that follows Ged in LeGuin’s work is not so removed from the one attached to our protagonist in ‘Phantastes.’

As a read, the novel hovers somewhere between ‘good’ and ‘very good,’ readable and reasonably interesting. It might even be called a minor classic, though mostly for its influence on the fantasy stories to come. ‘Phantastes’ is, of course, long in the public domain and may be downloaded as a free ebook at Project Gutenberg and elsewhere.

Difficult Novels

On the first read of a ‘difficult’ novel, one should not attempt to analyze. Give it a non-critical read; if the author has written well, what they mean to say and to do with the book should be at least somewhat evident. Reread later, if a more in-depth understanding is desired.

To be sure, some of us are going to analyze anyway. We’ve simply read too much not to recognize what the author may be doing. Sometime, the ‘nuts and bolts’ that underlie the text can be a little too obvious! That can definitely be a fault with some literary fiction.

I am currently tackling for the first time (despite my advanced years!) the work of Proust. It is a surprisingly easy read, at least so far. And the many devices that were cutting edge when he wrote do not call undue attention to themselves. Unlike Joyce, who could be too clever for his own good.

Perhaps Proust is just a better writer. That does not mean I am particular taken with ‘Swann’s Way,’ the current book. It’s just good enough to keep me reading—again, at least so far.

Book Review: The Pioneers

THE PIONEERS by James Fenimore Cooper, a book review by Stephen Brooke

***** 5 stars

One could make an argument that “The Pioneers” was the first great American novel. It is certainly the first important one. Before Hawthorne, before Melville, Cooper gives us the American voice and sensibility (though with the obvious stylistic influence of Scott).

Yes, it is wordy. Cooper is always wordy and early Cooper even more so. The novel is not quite historical fiction in the sense some of the other Leather-Stocking books are; it is set in the time of the author’s own youth and draws on his memories of Cooperstown. Nor is it an adventure in quite the same sense. Natty Bumppo, Leather-Stocking himself, has a less central role, though he does stand as symbol of the end of an age, helping hold the story together.

The closing of the frontier, the felling of forest, the peopling of what was wilderness, is a central theme—but not the plot. Cooper knew better than do that. The theme is attached to a fairly conventional sort of story. We can all figure out who young Edwards, the closest thing to a main male protagonist, truly is. But the plot is set against the panorama of civilization expanding into the wilderness, both the good and the bad of it. Cooper was certainly a conservationist before the word existed.

The story concerns itself not only with the trees felled but the human lives impacted, including those of the Native Americans. Yet it is most certainly not all gloom. There is plenty of humor and maybe just a little too much description of everyday frontier life. It is one of those novels that captures its time and place—a newly-born nation finding itself and perhaps blundering a bit in the process. A classic and worth the highest ranking (though maybe just barely).

This review has appeared in a slightly different form at GoodReads