by Wendy Hawkin | Sep 6, 2016 | Book Review, mythology, writing and publishing
It’s been years since I was SO enthralled by a book. I was choked up at the end of the final chapter and had to stop…couldn’t read the epilogue. Didn’t want to. Didn’t want the boy to grow up—though I knew it was inevitable: he was, after all, an adult reliving his past—didn’t want to know what became of the wise and comforting Hempstock women, didn’t want to emerge from my ocean.
I don’t know exactly why this book had such a profound effect on me.
It had something to do with the fertile Sussex countryside, with the Hempstock farm—with Lettie, and Ginnie, and Old Mrs. Hempstock—with their pioneer spirit and simple sumptuous food: with their porridge and drippling honeycombs and pots of sticky berry jam; with warm unpasteurized milk straight from the cow (I’m sure I tasted that as a kid), with shepherd’s pie layered in gravy and mashed potatoes, and soup collecting in a hanging cauldron over an open fire. I wanted to join them at the scarred old kitchen table and whisper by candlelight and sleep curled up in the four-poster bed under the full moon— was both hungry and sleepy simultaneously.
It had something to do with magic realism (which I adore) and a delicate understanding of the soul and parallel worlds that know no space and time, with a reality that “was a thin layer of icing on a great dark birthday cake writhing with grubs and nightmares and hunger” (143).
Yes, it had something to do with incredible writing, perfect pacing and simple, yet powerful, descriptions that sing through the mind of the boy like an incantation. The girls and boys come out to play…
A boy that could be any seven year old boy and no seven year old boy. An unnamed boy…every boy and any boy and no boy: the “pudding-and-pie-boy”, the boy from the top of the lane, the boy running for his life in bare feet across the meadow in a lightening storm wearing red pyjamas and a soaking housecoat. He’s a boy much like I imagine Neil Gaiman to have been: a boy that reads by a glimmer in the dead of night, that dreams of Narnia and Batman, that loves the rain on his face as he sleeps, that feels and thinks and believes in a world adults have misplaced; a boy with no real friends until…a boy that fights demons and will give up his life to save the world.
And, it had something to do with a fluffy black kitten on a pillow that made me cry.
I promise I’ve not given anything away.
You must read it to know it.
Should I read the epilogue? Can I? Now? Ever?
The Ocean at the End of the Lane, Neil Gaiman, William Morrow: NY, 2013
by Wendy Hawkin | Jun 26, 2016 | Ireland, journal, mythology, writing and publishing
One of my main characters in To Sleep With Stones is a mysterious blue-tattooed dwarf who runs an antiquities shop in Glasgow and practices Druidry. Creating Magus Dubh has led me on a journey into the realm of contemporary Druids. Over the past several months I’ve researched Druidry and reflected on its importance to a planet in peril. Living on the West Coast of Canada means I’ve had to do this via the net and missed the visceral experience I could get in the UK. Still, I’m learning.
One of my best teachers is Philip Carr-Gomme. A brilliant man, who can distill even the most complicated of issues with a wave of his pen, Carr-Gomme has led the The Order of Bards Ovates and Druids since 1988.
It seems to me that Druids are People of the Trees. Their love for nature inspires them to protect and preserve, celebrate and advocate for the natural world.
Spiritually affiliated with the Celtic tribes, Druids are both artistic and political, bards and judges, but I leave this to Carr-Gomme to explain.
On his latest blog post, he offers an mp3 recording of a talk on Druid Wisdom. Listening to him explain in story what Druidry entails is both inspiring and peaceful. Perhaps I hear the voices of my ancestors in his words; or perhaps I am recalling bygone days when I lived in the Druid world myself. Maybe I am just resonating with the magic of storytelling.
When I laid on the hill of Tara in 2005, I experienced something similar. What now looks like a sheep pasture was once a vibrant home to the kings of Ireland. It is a sacred landscape to which I long to return because it feels like home.
Musing with the Sidhe. Tara Ireland
by Wendy Hawkin | Jun 10, 2016 | Book Review, mythology
I love Holly Black. The woman’s spawned an empire writing edgy urban fantasy for young adults. Born in 1971 in New England, she captures the mythopoetic allure of that landscape in her stories. I discovered her books a decade ago:
Tithe: A Modern Faerie Tale (Simon & Schuster, 2002)
Valiant: A Modern Tale of Faerie (2005)
Ironside: A Modern Faery’s Tale (2007)
These three have become old favourites. I’ve recommended them to kids for years and continue to reread them myself.
Last week, I picked up The Darkest Part of the Forest — a standalone novel published in 2015. As in the Modern Faerie Tale series, this book features a kick-ass female protagonist named Hazel Evans who doesn’t comprehend her own power. Her sidekick is her musically gifted gay brother, Benjamin. Both are in love with an enchanted Prince of Faerie. Enough said.
I think Black has softened as she’s aged. These parents are less raunchy than the smoking, beer-swilling, bad-man-loving mother of Kay in Tithe; though they still party and leave their babies to fend for themselves in the Fairfold forest. And, I admit, I found the Alderking weak for an antagonist, but then again, kings have been known to be weak. That’s how they succumb. Nevertheless, I haven’t enjoyed a book this much for a long time.
I am surprised that Black’s books (apart from the Spiderwick Chronicles 2008) haven’t made it into film. Her heroines surpass Katniss Everdeen and Bella Swan in both strength of character and intelligence. And Black’s superlative writing skills keep me reading; descriptions so visceral you feel like you’re there, woven in words and worlds you may have never heard or dreamt of before.
by Wendy Hawkin | Apr 1, 2016 | mythology
What is your life purpose? This is one of those questions that can hurl you on the passion train, derail your dreams, or stop you cold.
If you can’t answer the question, how do you go about finding your life purpose? Is it hovering in the ethers just waiting for you to name it? Do you seek it through meditation? Or counselling? Do you abandon all else to whatever it is that gives you joy? I used to advise abused women to look back into their childhoods for moments of bliss. What gave you the biggest buzz when you were a kid? Most could not remember, had forgotten who they were in the time before. Some were too afraid to look.
I came across this video of Eve Ensler yesterday and the raw truth of it disturbed and astounded me. Here is a woman who escaped abuse only to walk out on the world stage and confront it head on; a woman bold enough to write and perform a play called “The Vagina Monologues” and create V-Day.
Eve Ensler talks to girls and women all over the world and helps them tell their stories, for in the telling, healing begins. You can read her biography here.
She is a woman who shaped a life purpose from the battered bones of her past. I can only stand in awe and celebrate her courage, passion, energy, and dedication. Thank you Eve Ensler.
https://www.ted.com/talks/eve_ensler_embrace_your_inner_girl?language=en
by Wendy Hawkin | Mar 27, 2016 | Book Review, mythology
First published in 1948, The White Goddess explores the mythology of poetry, or as Robert Graves says,“how poets think.”
The book has become something of a manifesto for writers, pagans, and those involved in Wicca and Goddess culture.
But what Graves intended it to be, I think, is a source of inspiration for poets, like himself, yearning for a mystical connection with the muse.
As such, the White Goddess figures prominently in my latest novel, To Sleep With Stones; wherein my hero uses this esoteric knowledge to invoke the Old Gods.
It is a lengthy and difficult text, peppered with obscure references, and has been widely criticized by the academic community. In a letter to a friend, Graves once wrote: “It’s a crazy book and I didn’t mean to write it” (xx). He was, he explains, overtaken by a “sudden overwhelming obsession … an unsolicited enlightenment” (489). We might say he channeled his longed for muse.
There is, says Grave, one single poetic theme that traverses time: The Theme.
The Theme speaks of love and rivalry, of birth, death, and resurrection. The characters in this story are archetypes: the hero king, the dark king (a twin shadow aspect of the hero king), and the white goddess, for whom they compete. When a poet is faithful to some aspect of The Theme, both the writer and the reader, experience a shiver of truth, and a “strange feeling, between delight and horror” (17).
I think it is this intrinsic desire to possess and merge with the beloved that compels men to slay their brothers, drives them through horrific landscapes and into bitter wars. It is the stuff of Joseph Campbell’s Hero’s Journey and Carl Jung’s psychology. Think of the White Goddess as woman, but also as land or territory, and suddenly this mythic story becomes familiar. Think of every story you’ve ever seen or read that gave you pause: Lord of the Rings, Avatar, King Arthur, Titanic, Dracula. And the poems and the songs that we call the classics.
Graves says: “The reason why the hairs stand on end, the eyes water, the throat is constricted, the skin crawls and a shiver runs down the spine when one writes or reads a true poem is that a true poem is necessarily an invocation of the white Goddess, or Muse, the Mother of All Living, the ancient power of fright and lust – the female spider or the queen-bee whose embrace is death” (20).
The White Goddess is an account of Graves’ inspired journey into the realms of Druidic poetry by way of ancient Welsh minstrel poems. Câd Goddeu or the Battle of the Trees comes from the Romance of Taliesin, recorded in The Red Book of Hergest. Graves reconstructs the poem and explains it as a sort of encoded account of a British battle fought on Salisbury Plain between the Tuatha de Danaan (a tribe originally from the Mediterranean who later transformed into Irish Faeries) and an invading Brythonic tribe (51).
But why is an ancient poem about trees significant?
In the Celtic tradition, trees equal letters; in fact, the ancient Irish Beth-Luis-Nion alphabet translates as Birch-Rowan-Ash. And so, this battle, though seemingly fought by trees, is actually the story of a battle fought to retain possession of power, knowledge, and land–embedded in the poem is The Theme.
Graves cracks the code and offers a “calendar of seasonal tree-magic” (161), in which The Theme is enacted through a thirteen-month lunar cycle. The calendar corresponds in various ways to the Wiccan calendar, and so I offer it here, with Sabbats embedded along with Graves’ lore and tree symbolism, and my own added interpretations. Celtic Tree Calendar borrowed from Salems Moon.
1. Birch/Beth (December 24 – January 20) Birch is the tree of beginnings and is used to drive away evil spirits and the darkness of the old year. It was believed that if you beat something or someone with a birch rod you can scare off evil. The birch is silver or white, a light bright tree and first to leaf out in spring. In Christian mythology, December 25th was chosen as the birth date of Christ…the beginning of his life.
2. Rowan or Mountain Ash/Luis (January 21 – February 17) The rowan’s red berries symbolize rebirth, acceleration, and quickening. Red is the colour of birth (blood) and of death (ochre denoting blood), both sacred and magical moments. February 2 is the Celtic feast of Candlemas and dedicated to the Irish Goddess Brigit; herself, a manifestation of the White Goddess.
3. Ash/Nion (February 18 – March 17) The ash symbolizes the power of the sea and of water. It is the months of rains, of floods, of melting snow. It is also the time of Piscean dreamers, and my birthday.
4. Alder/Fearn (March 18 – April 14) The alder symbolizes fire and blood. When you cut the alder, its sap bleeds red. Spring Equinox or Oestara occurs March 21—it is the time of equal day and night, when the sun’s fire breaks the darkness of winter. The blood signifies spring births and the shoots that burst through the Earth’s crust to reach the bright heat of the sun. Later, in Christian mythology, the red blood spilled by Christ symbolized the promise of everlasting life.
5. Willow/Saille (April 15 – May 12) In the “Song of the Forest Trees” we are told: “Burn not the willow, a tree sacred to poets.” The willow is associated with the moon, with water, with the feminine powers of the goddess, with the ability to bend and shape and enchant. Envision the beautiful willow tree bending over the river, reaching its roots through the soil to reach the water. On the eve of Beltane, May 1, an ancient fertility festival, the god and goddess meet in a wild sexual encounter to ensure the continuance of life. The Oak King (the hero king), who came into his power at Winter Solstice, mates with the Goddess and in spreading his seed, and in some stories, his blood, over the land ensures its continued fertility.
6. Hawthorn/Uath (May 13 – June 9) This month was considered unlucky. It was a time of cleansing and purification in preparation for the summer festival. The hawthorn symbolizes chastity.
7. Oak/Duir (June 10 – July 7) The oak is the tree of midsummer festival and symbolizes protection, endurance, and triumph. Castle doors were built of oak, as it was the strongest and toughest wood, capable of deflecting intruders. Druid translates as “oak-seeker” and druids held their rituals in oak groves. At Summer Solstice, the power of the Oak King is waning, and so, his shadow twin, the Holly King slays him by burning him alive. A seven-day wake is held in honour of the Oak King. The Holly King then mates with the Goddess and rules until December 22, when his power wanes and he is slain by the Oak King. This cyclic story of birth, sex, and death signifies the Earth’s natural cycles.
8. Holly/Tinne (July 8 – August 4) The harvest festival of Lughnasadh, which honours the Irish hero-god, Lugh, falls on August 1. It makes sense to me that the deciduous oak tree, which loses its leaves in the fall, would be replaced by its evergreen twin.
9. Hazel/Coll (August 5 – September 1) “That’s it in a nutshell.” The hazel signifies wisdom. Hazelnuts, which ripen and are harvested at this time, provide nourishment for the long winter to come. In England, forked hazel rods were used to divine water and buried treasure, but were also arbiters who could distinguish thieves and murderers from innocent men. Hazel takes nine years to fruit and nine is a sacred number.
10. Vine/Muin (September 2 – September 29) Wine, wine, fruit of the vine. This is the month of fermented berries, grapes, and all things intoxicating. As such, the vine is symbolic of “joy, exhilaration, and wrath”. Mabon or Autumn Equinox occurs on September 21. A time of equal day and night, darkness and light, Mabon is a harvest festival and a time to remember the waxing darkness that is soon to come.
11. Ivy/Gort (September 30 – October 27) The spiralling ivy flowers were “sacred to Osiris as well as Dionysus” both wine gods. “In England the ivy-bush has always been the sign of the wine-tavern” and “ivy-ale, a highly intoxicating medieval drink” (178). Here on the West Coast, ivy is as invasive as revellers who imbibe too much fruit of the vine.
12. Reed/Ngetal (October 28 – November 24) Reeds were cut in November and used to thatch the cottage roof before the storms of winter, when our ancestors were forced to take refuge inside their homes. Samhain occurs the eve of October 31. This is the time for communion with the spirit world as the veils between the worlds are said to be the thinnest. Halloween really means sacred or holy eve–The Hallowed Eve. It is a time for introspection, meditation, divination, reflection on the ancestors, and those who have passed over through death, as well as, reverence for the dark time of the year that is upon us.
13. Elder/Ruis (November 25 – December 22) This is the time of Winter Solstice (December 21) the longest night of the year—the time of darkness. Elder is the “tree of doom” and is associated with witches who were said to ride elder sticks as “magic horses” in Ireland (180).
At this time, the resurrected Oak King slays the waning Holly King and rules in his stead. Five thousand years ago, our European ancestors celebrated the dawn at Winter Solstice by building megalithic passage tombs in which the morning sunlight would shine through a roof box and illuminate the passage. This golden light … this fire … promised the end to the dark cold days of winter and signified the turning of the wheel.
In a high tech world disconnected from the raw power of nature, it is important to remember where we began. In a time when we hack down our forests at a thoughtlessly alarming rate, it is important to remember our beautiful trees and what they stand for.
Have people changed in the last five thousand years? Does The Theme still touch us and send a shiver through our flesh? Love, sex, death, rebirth? What consumes us? If, one day, a rival force challenges us for control of our planet, how will our poets tell the story? If they threaten to silence our language and stories will we find a way to preserve them? Will our poets invoke The White Goddess?
