Persephone

        The Greek myth of Persephone (Roman Proserpina) is one that many people have found resonant, but in a surprisingly broad range of ways.  The story represents very different things to different people, and to different artists.  When I went looking for one or two relief block prints to post with my poem about the Persephone myth, I found so many I thought I’d take a closer look.

  Myths, like fairy tales, aren’t really about individual people.  They’re about symbols, and symbols don’t have emotions, except when the emotion is the point of the myth.  Demeter’s grief at losing her daughter explains the barrenness of winter.  But how does Persephone feel?  Part of fantasy’s job is to explore these things.  There are many possible ways the bare bones of the myth could be fleshed out into a story of experience,  reflecting the complex realities of life as a human.  (Persephone and the other characters in this myth aren’t exactly humans, of course, but as the Classical gods are pretty much just superpowered humans, and as all stories that humans tell are, really, about ourselves, I let my statement stand.)

        So, was Persephone raped in our modern sense of the word?  Kidnapped and sexually assaulted, and forced, then, to marry her rapist?  Or was she thrilled at the adventure of running off with the tall dark and handsome Hades, escaping from the frankly smothering love of her powerful mother?  Did she grow to love Hades gradually, like Beauty and her Beast?  Did she, like me, find eternal summer boring and enjoy the rhythm of changing seasons, each with its own evocative beauties?  What about Hades; did he merely lust after the nubile maiden, or perhaps just want a trophy wife to sit on the throne by his side, or did he really love Persephone?  Was Persephone tricked into tasting those pomegranate seeds, or was it freely chosen, an acknowledgement that life with Hades was something she was willing to take on, or perhaps even wanted?

        Traditional depictions of “the Rape of Persephone” tend to emphasize the violence of the kidnapping, and the titillation of Persephone’s beauty, which highlights the somewhat disturbing fascination that artists (and/or their patrons) have with that unholy combination of sex and violence.  The first piece above, by Guiseppe Scolari around 1600, is of that type, although his version is unusual in failing to focus on Persephone’s nudity as most other artists seem to do.  Scolari seems to have had much more interest in the cleft from hell opening in the earth and venting infernal fumes.  That was probably a more interesting challenge than just another naked chick.

        In ancient Greece Persephone was always paired with Demeter as a goddess of spring, flowers, and fertility, or paired with Hades as the queen of the underworld.  These two pieces by Cynthia Cratsley reproduce the traditional iconography, and the scene with Hades is directly based on a votive tablet found at an altar dedicated to Persephone.

        Another popular theme for artists is Persephone as a lovely maiden gathering flowers.  Presumably this is simply because lovely maidens and pretty landscapes are always a sure bet in art, and calling it “Persephone” adds Culture by way of an excuse.  Sometimes this version of Persephone is shown looking pensive, as a reference to her coming sorrow.  I’ve included a sampling of these, in different styles and different printmaking techniques.

        Finally I get to some of the more unique interpretations.  I’ve included Georges Braque’s version because he’s famous and all, but really, I have absolutely no idea what we’re supposed to be looking at here!  And while we’re feeling cryptic, here’s another piece inspired by Persephone’s story, without being too literal.  The artist Steve Goodwin says this is about “the experience of being split between two worlds, pulled apart in two opposite direction, never fully dwelling in one place.”

        Mina Mond’s Persephone is also split between two worlds, Hades’s hands clutching after her as she rises from Hell into a world of sunshine… and growing pomegranates.

        Persephone’s beauty is always emphasized, and here is a beautiful dress for her, a verdant springtime tangle of plants and flowers and birds… and pomegranates.

        Demeter is beautiful, too, but Persephone’s beauty is that youthful, springtime loveliness that all fashionable women desire — and it can be yours with Le véritable corset Persephone, rendering the sveltest Parisiennes even svelter!

        So many things to so many people… What does the myth of Persephone mean to you?

[Pictures: Rape of Persephone, wood block print by Guiseppe Scolari, 1590-1607 (Image from The Met);

Demeter and Persephone, and Persephone and Hades Enthroned, linocuts by Cynthia Cratsley (Images from the artist’s Etsy shop CynthiaRaeCratsley);

Persephone, etching(?) by Roberto Rascovich from The Myth of Demeter and Persephone, c 1903 (Image from Smithsonian American Art Museum);

Proserpina, woodcut by Eric Ravilious, 1928 (Image from MutualArt);

Persephone, paper relief by Lila Oliver Asher, before 1972 (Image from Smithsonian American Art Museum);

Persephone, woodcut by Georges Braque, 1948 (Image from MutualArt);

Persephone, linocut print by Steve Goodwin (Image from the artists’s Etsy shop rememberinggreen);

Persephone, woodcut in three colors by Mina Mond (Image from the artist’s shop Mina Mond Prints/DUO DESORDRE);

Persephone, woodcut by Ouida Touchön (Image from the artist’s shop Ouida Touchön Portfolio);

Le Véritable Corset Persephone, advertisement from 1911 (Image from Mary Evans Picture Library).]

Lovable Supervillains

        A good villain can be so hard to find.  There are villains that I love for their delicious pure evil, such as Darth Vader in "A New Hope" and Maleficent in Disney's "Sleeping Beauty," but today I'm talking about villains that are actually our heroes.  With all my goody-goody speeches about heroic heroes, you'd probably expect that I'd purse my lips disapprovingly at the very idea of books or movies about supervillains.  And it's true that I have a very limited tolerance for anti-heroes, or "heroes" who do all the same evil things as the bad guys but are lauded because they do it for our team.  But I confess to as much fondness as anyone for a solidly comedic supervillain, especially, of course, one that turns out to have a heart of gold after all.  Here are a few I've enjoyed.

        Gru of "Despicable Me" - Sure it was predictable, but the point wasn't where we would end up; it was how we'd get there, and our whole family got a kick out of all the supervillainous fun.  We especially liked when Gru punched the shark, and of course the minions.

        Artemis Fowl of the series by Eoin Colfer - Colfer did a nice job with Artemis's transition from pure villain to heart of gold, and of course I liked Butler the bodyguard, proving once again that a supervillain needs super sidekicks.  And both Artemis and his opponents always have the most excellent selection of technological and magical toys.  But [Spoiler Alert!] I'm sorry to say that I lost it at the end of the third book when Artemis lost his memory and turned completely evil again.  That's when I gave up.  (But I am assured by one of T's friends that I should have kept going because he gets his memory back and the whole series is awesome.)
        Bartimaeus of The Bartimaeus Trilogy by Jonathan Stroud (Book One is The Amulet of Samarkand) - Bartimaeus is a true demon, introduced as a villain, and certainly looking out for himself.  But his sense of perspective, and most of all his sense of humor, end up making him the hero of the series.  (There's another book about the character, The Ring of Solomon, that's still on my list of books I'd like to read.)

        Demon Kid of St Viper's School for Super Villains, by Kim Donovan - I received a review copy of this one, and my real regret is that it wasn't around three years ago.  Unfortunately, P is really out the top end of its target reading level, so he and I both thought it was cute, but slight.  In some ways almost a parody of Harry Potter, Demon Kid begins a new school, runs into immediate rivals, makes friends, and has to prove his worth to the teachers and himself.  There were lots of fun jokes and references to supervillain tropes, a few twists, and exciting chases and battles.  I think the toughest thing in the series will be that perpetual problem for supervillain heroes: the balance between believable badness and likeable goodness.  If Demon Kid were really to be a supervillain, wouldn't he happily kill all his enemies and backstab all his allies at the first convenient opportunity?  And if he's to show mercy and loyalty instead, how to keep up the plot device of his desire to be the most nefarious villain of them all?  Still, such meta considerations aside, I think this would be a fun, light romp for the seven or eight year old who likes super heroes and lots of sound effects.  What's not to love about invisible invisibility guns, classes in diabolical laughter, and the International Space Station?

        Finally, what about two more characters riding that thin line between lovable and hateable: Dexter of the cartoon "Dexter's Lab," and Calvin of the comic Calvin and Hobbes.  Both veer wildly between noble impulses and plans for world domination.  Both endear themselves to us with their quirky imaginations and ridiculous escapades.  Both would be nightmares in real life, but are treasures in the world of fiction.

        So let's join the minions in cheering for our favorite supervillain's latest plans to take over the Earth.  And may the most absurdly villainous villain win!

[Pictures: "Chill vs Demon Kid," computer artwork by Petherick Button from St Viper's School for Super Villains: the Riotous Rocket Ship Robbery by Kim Donovan, 2011;

"Calvin as tyrant," pen and ink from Calvin and Hobbes by Bill Watterson, May 11, 1992.]

The Tolstoy Fallacy

        Leo Tolstoy famously wrote that "All happy families resemble one another; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way."  This sound bite is representative of the rationale behind the current fashion for books about miserable people living miserable lives.  It is also, in my opinion, entirely backwards.
        It seems to me that falling into sadness or evil, or hanging out there, is always pretty much the same.  People suffer when people are selfish.  Whatever it is that a selfish person wants, whether it's power, riches, sex, or fame, their actions spring from the same small, closed, dark space inside them.  Unhappy characters are drearily predictable.  You know they'll always choose the path that leads to that same dark, boring hollow in themselves.  And really, don't all small, closed, dark hollows look the same?

        By contrast, the really interesting question in life is "How do you get to Happy?"  Or, to put it another way, "How do you hold on to Good?"  Because everyone gets to true happiness in his own way.  Happiness looks different to different people and there are many paths to reach it.  There are also many potential traps and detours and misdirections, so that which route any given person ends up taking is the very definition of her character.  What, out of everything in the universe beyond his own self, is important to someone?  Turning outward gives infinite possibilities, but turning inward has only one.  Why does someone choose to take the more difficult path instead of the selfish one?  How does someone resist the lures of selfishness?  What does she have to overcome to get to genuine happiness?  How will he hold onto goodness in a desperate world?  These are the really interesting questions, and the myriad different answers to these questions are what is original in each new story.

        I'm not saying Tolstoy couldn't write a compelling novel, but when it comes to this famous quotation I believe he had it dead wrong.  Unhappy families are interesting only to the extent that someone works to break out of the unhappiness by searching for a better path.  But every happy family gets to happiness in its own way, and every happy person holds on to goodness through his own unique story.  Those are the stories that pique my curiosity, draw me in, and ultimately satisfy me. What about you?

[Picture: Intertwined, rubber block print by AEGN, 2003 (sold out).]

Heroic Heroes

The Itsy Bitsy Spider - a truly epic heroic hero?

        I am old-fashioned and unfashionable enough to like my heroes heroic.  These days literary trendiness demands anti-heroes and conflicted protagonists.  Especially in comic-books and their attendant movies it seems that Disturbing Psychological Issues are a prerequisite.  Nice guys and gals need not apply.  But for me perhaps the number one factor determining whether or not I will enjoy a book (or movie) is whether I like and respect the hero.  (I use hero as a gender-neutral term here, by the way.)  That doesn’t mean a protagonist can never make mistakes, or can’t be dealing with a troubled past, or can’t struggle with difficult decisions.  It doesn’t mean our hero won’t waver or lose heart at times.  It doesn't mean our hero isn't human.  But ultimately what I want to read about is people who try to do what’s right, and who are heroes not because they are the strongest people around, or the most powerful, or have the coolest gadgets, or because they refuse to let any moral considerations get between them and what they want.  I want to read about people I can respect because they are thoughtful, brave, creative, and moral in the face of difficulty.  (And not too much angsty whining, either, please.)

        This is why I've never been a huge fan of Greek or Norse mythology, or Arthurian legend.  All those so-called gods and heroes are no better than they ought to be.  We're supposed to cheer for one set of characters who are doing all the same lying, cheating and murder as the other set of characters whom we're supposed to boo.  Some are better than others, of course, but how can you respect such a wrangling, petty bunch of gods, not to mention Zeus's serial rape habit?  How can you respect Merlin after the episode of Uther and Igraine?

For a more modern example take the Earthsea series by LeGuin.  They're all beautifully written, and The Tombs of Atuan is one of my all-time favorite books – but I did not like A Wizard of Earthsea at all upon first reading, and the primary reason was simply that I didn't like Ged.  Of course that was the whole arc of the story - how Ged made a terrible error and how he atoned for it and made it right – but in reading the book I had no patience for his poor choices.  All I wanted was to take him by the shoulders and shake him and say “Quit being so stupid and arrogant!”  He was an awful lot like the posturing, bragging boys I never liked in school.  I didn't like him, and thus I didn’t like the book.  (It didn’t help that at the time I was of an age to be looking for female heroes - but that’s a whole ‘nother issue.)  Luckily, by the time we meet Ged again in The Tombs of Atuan, he’s as heroic as I could wish.

        I know that some people dislike a protagonist who’s too goody-goody.  Indeed, if every reader shared my taste for heroic heroes, then characters like Heathcliff, Holden Caulfield, the Black Knight version of Batman, and The Punisher wouldn’t be so wildly popular, and nor would Arthurian legend have such enduring appeal.  I know I’ve always been that much-despised creature: a good little girl... but is it really so unreasonable to look for stories about people I can like and respect?  Am I really the only person in the world who wants to read about good people trying to be good?  What about you?

[Picture: The Itsy Bitsy Spider, rubber block print by AEGN, 2006.]