Mythological Dimensions of Neil Gaiman

So there was a call for papers, and a friend and I answered the call. But we were too late, by a few hours (damn that time zone confusion). Here's a copy of our proposed abstract for a paper on the mythological dimensions of Neil Gaiman. While it most likely won't go any further than this blog, I hope you enjoy this foray into literary realms!

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Perhaps it’s the human condition, built somehow into our DNA: the eternal, mythical Quest. From The Odyssey (Homer, classic, ancient Greece) to American Gods (Gaiman, classic, modern Earth), we respond deeply to the quest and all of the mythological elements that go into it. The stakes are always high, the mission unique, and, in Gaiman’s (and our? modern? American?) world, magic is always nigh.

In response to the call for abstract submissions on “Mythological Aspects in Gaiman’s Work,” this exploration assumes the Talisman as a mythological aspect, and explores the nuances of what makes a talisman, what makes a Gaiman talisman, and what this has to do with the modern world.


Seeing and Not Seeing: Talismans in the Mythological Modernism of Neil Gaiman


With every quest comes a Hero; with every hero, a Talisman, conferring on its bearer “supernatural powers or protection” (www.wordnik.com/words/talisman).

Gaiman takes this iconic element of ancient myth and shapes it for a modern mind. Everyday objects suddenly becoming magical is a gift for the masses. Giving that magic a purpose, in the hands of a questing hero who probably is just a regular modern human, makes every one of us that much closer to the archetypal possibilities inherent in such a journey. Facing our demons, going for the gold, finding the key—these are “everyday” quests, and Gaiman gives us this bit of magic that opens our eyes to the powers of the imagination in creatively seeing our way to the end. Talismans, including magical mirrors, keys, and boxes, are all around us. The modern mythological aspects are so complete, in fact, that one might call his genre “myth” as much as Science Fiction, for he truly employs the powers of myth profusely and consistently.

In Gaiman’s world, magic is everywhere. A talisman could be a stone, a carving, a letter: common, everyday items, uniquely powerful. Sometimes objects of power will work for anyone, but a talisman is special in that it often “works” for Only One: one hero at a time.

The talisman is often mentioned or noticed early in Gaiman’s stories. Its acquisition by the hero marks the beginning of a quest. Its loss may mean death for the hero. Its return—or bequeathing to another, for her own adventure, if the talisman will allow—often marks the end of the quest. And when you think the quest is done, but you still have the talisman, WATCH OUT, because there are still things to be learned, forces to be met, and fate to be had. You may only get one chance to step through the Door, help the Invalid, or meet the Teacher to which the talisman has led you.

Gaiman’s talismans are also unique in that they often are used as not only markers of the quest, but also for “Seeing and Not Seeing.” Talismans are used to See the Path, or the Universe, or the Real fabric of the world each hero is in. Witness Coraline and her hollow stone, labyrinth talismans in Neverwhere, or the Monk in Dream Hunters and his glowing slip of paper.

And just like that … we are drawn in. Gaiman lures us into classic, carefully crafted stories as easily as if he were telling a “regular” story. The merge is seamless. This is part of Gaiman’s genius. He takes “heavy” mythological journeys into the modern world, to merge not just east and west, but above, below, old and new. The Warrior, the Trickster, and the Monk are all around us, if only we look through new eyes.

Gaiman’s talismans can help us do just that.

Interstitial

last year's thoughts
pile together
like so much laundry

finished pieces
fly, fly away
like paper airplanes -
origami word birds

last year's journal
leaves gaps
like so many invitations

last year's thoughts
provide good fodder
like so much good manure

this year's interstitial thoughts
will be rich
like so many buds of spring

Clutter

The re-arranging piles
are now
piles of constants,
in rows.
Satisfying, somehow -
this small order
from chaos.

Sincerity

I grew up
not knowing sarcasm
Only experiencing it
occasionally
as barbs of veiled
intentions

My father was strict
on this notion -
Anything but Sincerity
is a Colossal
Waste of Time

It's deeply ingrained
and I Sincerely
thank him
for the lesson

Birds in Winter

baby birds grown,
nests exposed, and
summer's lessons tested

first snow flakes
fall slushily
on crispy maple leaves

tree architecture, naked
shows the still life
of birds in winter

The Lady with the Lamp

I'm in Roseville, Minnesota, blessed to spend some time with my hard-working and very talented grandparents (88 and 91 years old) who've been navigating some extra challenges this summer. A couple of weeks ago Gram called me The Lady with the Lamp, and my dad wrote this poem that I thought was too wonderful not to share.

The Lady With the Lamp


When times are tough and we are down, there is a myth of wide renown:

As home fires fade and the kindling’s damp, here comes the Lady With the Lamp.

She brings a warmth and energy, a light that brightens all we see.

As hope returns and spirits rise, we soon begin to realize

The Lady With the Lamp is here to overcome despair and fear,

Reminding us to hope and pray for help to find a better way

To meet the many tests we face, with resolve and steady grace.

The Lady With the Lamp is more than just a maid of local lore.

Her little lamp, though very bright, represents a greater, larger light.

And though we may not understand the source of every helping hand,

We have a feeling in our heart that her compassion is a part

Of a universal earthly love that we were given from above.

Life is full of mysteries that compensate for frailties,

And one to help us up the ramp is the Lady With the Lamp.

***

Thanks, Dad! Makin' me cry! :)
Much Love!
-dancinghawk-

Ten Gnats and the Golden Dragonfly

Sunset under the bridge:
golden dragonfly lights on a rock, and
ponders.

Ten gnats circle up, up, up a sunbeam, and
drift.
Then drop, like a waterfall,
stop,
and form into a ball.
Updraft.
Ten gnats circle up a sunbeam.

Flit!
One gnat leaves the column for a surrounding ring:
one thousand gnats.
Scythe!
One pointy-winged little bird
bullet-trains through the
now-wider gap.

Golden dragonfly
disappears in a curve of shadows,
perfectly mimicking a leaf's edge.

Sunset under the bridge:
Golden shadows are in motion.