On Sunday 5 I highlighted some of my favourite Fantasy retellings of the Arthurian cycle, here. And commenters mentioned a few more too, which was great—so do check those comments, too!

But once I started thinking about it, I realised that there are actually a whole lot of Fantasy tales out there that are influenced by the Arthurian cycle, and draw on its mythology, without being actual retellings. So I thought I’d share a few of my favourites today.

First up, I just have to start with The Dark is Rising quintology by Susan Cooper, simply because it’s such an outstanding series. Although the eponymous The Dark is Rising is probably the best known of the series, the first book is Over Sea, Under Stone, where the character of Merriman Lyon (Merlin) is first introduced.  The strongest Arthurian influences don’t really come in until the 4th and 5th books, The Grey King and The Silver on the Tree, but it’s a classic series and undoubtedly strongly embedded in the Arthurian legends. And as for my first reading of The Dark is Rising–may I say that as I kid I found it really scary, but in the best possible, shivery kind of way!

And then there’s The Drawing of the Dark (hmm, noticing a certain theme with titles here) by Tim Powers, which is another longstanding favourite. The debt to the Arthurian cycle is that as the story unfolds we learn that the main character, a freebooting, Renaissance-era sword-for-hire, is actually infused by the spirit of Arthur, and through Arthur,  the older hero archetype of Sigurd/Sigismund (may I say, really loved that aspect to the story) and gets caught up in the Ottoman seige of Vienna, which was indeed an epic battle of its day. So another nice mix of myth and history, which as you will already know from Sunday, I really like. (Oh, the Dark—well it may not be exactly what you think, but you’ll have to read the book yourself to find out!)

The Fionavar Trilogy by Guy Gavriel Kay, comprising The Summer Tree, The Wandering Fire and The Darkest Road (yup, there’s that word again, only as an adjective this time, not a noun!) is another series where the Arthurian cycle is integral to the story, not just in terms of avatars or archetypes, but with the actual characters of Arthur, Guinevere, and Lancelot, and yes, Arthur’s hound, Cabal—love the part played by Cabal—being drawn into the epic battle between light and dark in another world. I don’t want to give too much away, but I know when I first started reading this series my first thought was that it was going to be very much in the mould of The Lord of the Rings. And to a certain extent it is—but the story does very quickly find its own voice, and a big part of that is the way the Arthurian cycle is drawn into the tale, but not quite as we know it! Needless to say, I enjoyed its use  in the series, almost in a blending of Tolkienesque—with a side nod to Joy Chant’s Red Moon & Black Mountain re the Dalrei of the Plains—and Celtic/Arthurian mythologies, very much.

These are just a few of my favourites, but I know there are many more. So how about you, do you have a favourite Arthurian influenced Fantasy novel or series to share?

Yesterday evening I had the great pleasure of attending the launch for poet Jan Hutchison’s third collection, The Happiness of Rain (Steele Roberts.)

You may recall that I featured Jan’s poem Unwinding Matariki’s Hair (which is part of this new collection) as my Tuesday Poem on December 6 last year–you can read it again, together with Jan’s personal comment on the poem, here.

The Happiness of Rain follows Jan’s prior collections, The Long Sleep is Over and Days Among Trees, both also published by Steele Roberts.  It features The Coming of the Matariki, which won first place in the Bravado International Poetry Competition 2006—and of course Jan has recently won the Takahe Poetry Competition 2011 for a new poem, Reading the Book Aloud.

I love Jan’s poetry—she is an outstanding wordsmith and poetic craftsperson, and her poems are always insightful, compassionate, and keenly observed. So I was delighted to be able to attend her launch and am very much looking forward to sitting down with The Happiness of Rain—I hope, very soon!

Te Tangi A Te Matui

Kia wkakarongo ake au
Ki te tangi a te manu nei
A te matui

Tui-i-i    Tui-i-i    Tuituia
Tui i runga
Tui i raro
Tuia i waho
Tuia i roto

Tuia i te here tangata

Ka rongo te po
Ka ronga te ao

Tuia i te muka tangata
I takea mai i Hawaiki nui
I Hawaiki roa
I Hawaiki paa mamao

Te hono i wairua
Ki te whaiao
Ki to ao marama

Tihe mauri ora!

~

I listen
To the cry of the bird
Of the matui, calling

Tui-i-i    Tui-i-i    Tuituia
Let it be woven above
Woven below
Woven without
Woven  within

Interwoven with the thread of humanity

Feel the peace of darkness (death)
Feel the peace of light (life)

Bind together the people
descended from great Hawaiki
from far off Hawaiki
from long distant Hawaiki

The coming together of spirits
Out into the dawn
Emerging into the world of light.

The spirit of life is in us!

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The incantation or tauparapara, Te Tangi A Matui, is both traditional and very old. I first learned it as a child and young adult growing up in the King Country, where it was often used as a karanga, the traditional call that begins the welcome onto a marae. The translation was also as I was given to understand it then. I post it today to honour and celebrate Waitangi Day and the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi: Te Tiriti O Waitangi, the founding document and the founding act of our modern nation.

The Treaty House, at Waitangi

Today, 6 February, is Waitangi Day, New Zealand’s national holiday. For blog readers who are not Kiwi (aka a New Zealander) the significance of  Waitangi Day is that it marks the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi 172 years ago by the Maori chiefs of NZ and the British Crown. As a result of the treaty, NZ officially became part of the British Empire. It’s celebrated on 6 February and called “Waitangi Day” because although the treaty was subsequently taken all around New Zealand, it was first signed on 6 February at Waitangi in New Zealand’s Bay of Islands.

Te Whare Runanga (meeting house) at Waitangi

The words “he iwi kotahi tatou: now we are one people” were spoken by Captain Hobson, who signed the treaty on behalf of the Britsih Crown and subsequently became the first Governor of New Zealand.

Sadly, the chequered history that followed the signing of the treaty and the subsequent settlement of New Zealand by “Tangata Tiriti”—all those peoples who settled in New Zealand following the treaty, including people of British, Chinese, Indian, Dutch, Pacific Island and many other ethnicities—has often fallen short of the aspiration voiced in Hobson’s words.

The Bone People, by Keri Hulme

Nonetheless, I still feel that we do have something to celebrate as a nation today, including:

~ that 172 years on we are still, as a nation, trying to make that aspiration of kotahitanga, unity, work—we haven’t given up.

Whanau, by Witi Ihimaera

~ Something I feel is really important about the Treaty—and that I feel we overlook too often—is that because of it, subsequent immigration into New Zealand by peoples from other parts of the world has been lawful, and this is the fundamental principle that underpins our society, not conquest or seizing by force. This is not to deny the subsequent wars, land confiscations and injustices that took place—but I feel that it is a very important part of our cultural and political heritage, one we should be both proud of and try to live up to, ie it’s why we can’t just push aside claims of past injustices on the basis that ‘bad stuff happens’—because if the whole reason we’re here is lawful, then we have to honor and uphold that lawfulness and justice as we go forward. Well, that’s what I reckon, anyway.

Tu, by Patricia Grace

~ And as a country, I think we have a great deal to celebrate that is about being here together. As a writer, a big part of what I can celebrate is the contribution of Maori to New Zealand literature, through distinctive voices such as Hone Tuwhare, Witi Ihimaera, Patricia Grace, Keri Hulme, Apriana Taylor, James George, Hinemoana Baker—and many more. But these are amongst New Zealand’s most outstanding writers, in our eyes as a nation & also in the world’s eyes, and to me that is a small—or  a large, depending on how one looks at it—realisation of “he iwi kotahi tatou” in practice.

Do you remember when it seemed like every other Fantasy novel or series that came out was a retelling of the Arthurian cycle? I love the “Matter of Britain” (as the Arthur legends were termed in the Middle Ages) but there definitely came a time when I felt “Arthurian-ed out.”

But as with all trends there are some books that remain enduring favourites. Here are a few of my favourite Arthur retellings:

Marion Zimmer Bradley’s “The Mists of Avalon”, first published in 1983. I recall being enthralled when I first read it—by  its interweaving of Celtic myth and real history, and the combination of politics and battles and magic, romantic and sexual relationships—but most of all that the entire story was told from the perspective of the women in the Arthurian cycle. That was definitely a first for me in my Fantasy reading and one I liked, opening up the notion that women’s history and women’s voices in and through storytelling had something to say: something that mattered.

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“The Crystal Cave” by Mary Stewart (1970) — I first encountered Mary Stewart as a writer of romantic thrillers, so was unsure what to expect when I picked up The Crystal Cave, which is an Arthurian retelling from the perspective of Merlin (or Myrddin Emrys) the bastard son of a Welsh princess in the period at the end of the Roman-British era and the beginning of the Saxon invasions. But I loved the way Ms Stewart wove the magical story into probable history—as much as we can deduce it—and provided alternative rationales for how Merlin, as a real man, might have woven his magic. So in this sense it is what I would call the “legendary history” style of Fantasy but still a must-read (together with its sequels, The Hollow Hills, The Last Enchantment and The Wicked Day) for lovers of the Arthurian tales.

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“Down the Long Wind” by Gillian Bradshaw also falls into the “legendary history” quadrant of the Fantasy ‘verse and is the omnibus publication of the trilogy comprising The Hawk of May (1981), Kingdom of Summer (1981), and In Winter’s Shadow (1982).  This retelling focuses on the Arthurian story from the perspective of Gwalchmai, literally the “hawk of May” whom most would know better as Gawain. Like both The Mists of Avalon and The Crystal Cave, Bradshaw’s retelling has a strongly historical context, although it is focused more exclusively in a Celtic milieu than either of the other two books and draws on the older myth cycle of Gawain as a sun hero, in this case wielding Excalibur in its guise as the sword of Lugh.

Hmmm, perhaps like me, you are starting to detect a theme here, which is that the three Arthurian retellings I have enjoyed most all have a strongly historical base, albeit woven through with older magic and myth. So it is perhap not surprising that another strong favourite is a straightout historicalization (I think that’s a real word!)—Rosemary Sutcliff’s “Sword At Sunset” (1963), which sets the Arthurian story in a similar end-of-Roman British era to Mary Stewart’s The Crystal Cave. In this case Arthur is Artos, the bastard son of a long-dead Uther, but raised by his uncle, Ambrosius, to lead the Roman-British fight against the invading Saxons. I have always been strongly drawn to this portrayal of Arthur as a very human man, struggling with the internal divisions between the Celtic and Roman British, as well as the external struggle against the  Saxons.

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But there is one more version of the retelling that I feel deserves a mention, simply because of the imaginative twist that Patricia Keneally-Morrison takes with the Arthurian cycle as part of her Keltiad--a space-faring Celtic kingdom (Keltia) where the traditional myths are told in a SciFi-Fantasy setting. The Hawk’s Gray Feather (1991) is the first of the Arthur trilogy, told through the voice of Taliesin, followed by The Oak Above the Kings (1994) and The Hedge of Mist (1996). Despite the space setting these are probably more magical books than any of those previously mentioned, and provide an innovative treatment of the traditional “Matter of Britain.”

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So how about you—do you have a favourite Arthurian retelling you’d like to share?

New Zealand will be the featured country at this year’s Frankfurt Book Fair and as part of the run up the “Aotearoa Affair—from Kiel to Kaitaia” blog is now  up and running. Part of the “Affair” will be a monthly blog festival—with the first fest commencing around the theme of “Crossings.”

As you may also know, The Heir of Night (The Wall of Night series, Book One) is being published in Germany this year by Blanvalet, as Die Erbin Der Nacht.  So I can’t help feeling part of the Aoteraoa–Germany Affair—and as there is a passage in The Heir Of Night: Die Erbin Der Nacht that very much deals with “Crossings” it feels right to be posting something for the inaugural blog carnival.

The relevant section of the book comes in Part 3, Jaransor when the central characters, Malian and Kalan, are making both a physical and emotional “crossing”—from their old lives on the Wall of Night, to the unknown lands of their world of Haarth, which includes a physical crossing of the transitional Gray Lands and also the river Telimbras, marking the border into the interdicted realm of Jaransor.

So here, in the spirit of “Crossings” and Die Erbin Der Nacht, are the extracts:

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from Chapter 25, River of No Return

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“It was the fourth day since they had fled the Keep of Winds, travelling through the narrow ways of the Wall while the storm raged above them.  It had taken two full days to blow itself out, just as Haimyr had predicted, and they had reached the western rim of the Wall by the end of the second day.  The evening light had been in their faces when Kyr pointed beyond the rock-strewn foothills to the vast, flat emptiness that was the Gray Lands.  “That is the way we must go,” he’d said.  “We shall travel by night to avoid prying eyes, although it will make our progress slower.”

They had kept to this plan, making their way down through the foothills and only setting out across the Gray Lands once it was full night.  The rocky plain was full of sudden dips and dry streambeds that kept their pace slow, but at first Malian had enjoyed the journey, the smooth stride of the horse and the breeze at her back that raised small dust devils across the plain.  After hour on hour of silent riding, however, only stopping for short rests and to snatch a hurried mouthful of food, the ride became a matter of simple endurance.  Only the paling of the eastern sky had finally signaled a halt, and their hiding place that first day out had been little more than a scrape in the surface of the plain.  Even the horses had lain down to rest, while Kyr and Lira had stretched a tarpaulin, as gray and dreary as the land itself, from one side of the hollow to the other.  They had all huddled beneath it, first to eat the dried rations from their saddlebags and then to take turns sleeping.  “For only a fool,” Kyr had said, “would fail to set a watch in these lands.”

…

They rode out as soon as darkness fell and turned their horses west, toward Jaransor.  Kyr pushed them hard, setting a faster pace and allowing fewer stops.  He rode slightly ahead of their small company, while Lira was rearguard and frequently dropped behind, checking their back trail.  Malian and Kalan rode close together, sometimes knee and knee, sometimes one horse behind the other, but they did not speak.  An air of palpable tension hung over them all, but although Malian listened for the sounds of pursuit, all she heard was the wind and the steady thud of the horses’ hooves on earth and stone.  The night stretched out, cold and black and seemingly endless, while she rose and fell in the saddle, fell and rose until it was all she could do to remain upright.

This time they did not stop with the dawn but pushed on toward the range of hills that rose up before them, rough and wild in the gray light.  The ridges were far lower than the Wall of Night, but still very rugged, with stony outcrops along their tops.  “We’ll have more shelter once we’re in amongst the hills,” Kyr said.  “We can stop then and find a safe place to rest.”  So they pressed on again and eventually came to a wide river that comprised several braided channels flowing between shingle banks.  The water was a pale blue-green in color and looked cold.

“The river Telimbras,” said Kyr. “It marks the boundary between the Gray Lands and Jaransor.  In Westwind Hold,” he added, his expression impassive, “we call it the River of No Return.”

Malian glanced quickly at Nhairin and saw that the steward’s face was set, although she made no reply to Kyr’s remark.  Kalan grinned.  “Well,” he said cheerfully, “this is the river for us, then, since going back is not an option.”

That surprised a laugh out of Lira, and a reluctant grin from Kyr.  Even Nhairin’s countenance eased a little.  They clattered and splashed their way across the riverbed, throwing up clouds of glittering spray as they rode through the deeper channels, and then climbed steadily, following narrow trails up rocky ridges and across steep slopes.  The focus of Malian’s world closed in again: to the black neck of her horse, to staying in the saddle, and to gritting her teeth and keeping going.

Despite her weariness, she began to notice small details about the landscape around her. The herb thyme grew wild and its scent rose, heady and aromatic, whenever the horses’ hooves crushed it.  Small yellow flowers danced among the rocks and the higher slopes were covered in a mix of scrambling green—sweetbriar, said Kyr, when she roused herself to ask—and dark, twisting thorn scrub.  Eventually, Malian began to see the green shimmer of trees growing along small precipitous creeks, and they stopped at last in a narrow ravine where the trees formed a green roof and a stream ran clear over brown pebbles.  “A short rest only,” Kyr warned. “Just to eat.  We need to get further into the hills and keep pushing south.”

… for the month of January, and I clock in at No. 23, but hey—hey I say, “doin’ alright” for a gal from the far side of the world!

Well, I’m stoked anyway!  And you can check out the evidence, here. 😀

The post, if you haven’t checked it out already, is “Making Epic Fantasy New—Do We Need To?” and it’s right here.

Speaking of posts, you’ll have noticed that I haven’t done any ‘big’ posts in the last wee while—fear not, the well is not dry, but I’ve just been a little busy juggling writing the new book, with doing the final proof round for The Gathering of the Lost, and also taking up the creative writing residency. All good stuff, but there are only so many hours in a day (cliche alert—but like most cliches they get to be that way for a reason!), and ‘after hours Helen’ has been a tad over-committed too. But I’ve been jotting down ideas as I go along—because there’s never any shortage of ideas ;-)—so like Arnie, I shall “be back.”

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OK, pop culture references in this post:

“doin’ alright” — the way they actually sing it in the refrain from “Doing All Right” by Queen (one of my favourites from—can I say, just about forever!)

“the far side of the world” from the book of the same name by Patrick O’Brian (& one of the Aubrey/Maturin series, of which may I say: awesome!) as well as the Peter Weir film ‘Master and Commander: the Far Side of the World’ (which is two books in one movie title, but never mind—it was based far more on The Far Side of the World.)

“I’ll be back” — first and most famously used by Arnold Schwarzenegger in the first The Terminator movie in 1984

(You can let me know if you think I’ve missed anything on the pop kultcha front! ;-))

Yesterday I said that I “might” have some photos of my writers-in-residence office to share with you—and here they are, just a couple because I am only just getting settled in.

But here’s the door (with apologies for crookedness!)—& although I haven’t got  a name plate yet, just the generic writer-in-residence address, there’s that cover flat of The Heir of Night to personalise things a bit, even though it’s very early days. 😉

And here’s a ‘wide’ shot of the office, with various desks, the very nice couch donated by my immediate predecessor, the very talented Eleanor Catton, and—as mentioned yesterday—the Thornspell cover banner on the wall. I think that adds a nice touch! 🙂

Most importantly though, there’s the laptop on which Daughter of Blood, The Wall of Night Book Three is even now being written. And yesterday I felt the first benefit of the  ‘dedicated writing environment’ that is such an important part of the residency for me: having the dedicated space and time hours to really sit down and concentrate in on the book. This involved unravelling a new sequence that wasn’t working particularly well, which ended with me deleting 1200 words—always a gulp—but then writing 2300 “on track” words new. All that took me 6 hours and at the end of that I was “had it” (how does Brandon Sanderson do his 10 hours a day?)—I knew where the story had to go, but there were no more words in me to go there at that time. Always the very best place to stop for the day!

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Guest Spots:

I have my usual ‘US-first-of-the month’ post up on the Supernatural Underground today, featuring the UK cover and the Catherine Asaro quote for The Gathering of the Lost—as well as the backcover blurb for the UK edition, which hasn’t been public before, so check out the Supernatural Underground, here, if you want to have a read.

And yesterday Nicole Murphy published her Writing Process interview with me, here. This follows on from the Writing Habits interview on Monday, here.

Things have been feeling just a little hectic lately—I had a final proof to complete for my UK publishers (Orbit) for the forthcoming April release of The Gathering of the Lost (in the US and UK/Aus/NZ, but this was UK), I am way beyond on my reading, and I have also just commenced my Creative Writing residency at the University of Canterbury.  As I found out to my surprise (I don’t know much about these things, you see) this means that rather than being a “guest” I am actually officially  “staff” for the period of the residency, which is kind of cool. So the last few days have been filled up wth all the business of becoming an official staff member as well as the practicalities of sorting out my office. I’ve been doing a little office personalizing, too–so there’s already an “HEIR” cover flat on my office door and one of the large Thornspell banners on the wall, because I thought that would be, you know, inspirational!

And of course, given the ongoing threat of earthquakes, having something that lightweight to hang on the wall is just plain good sense. I “may” take in my original artwork for the Wall of Night world map, as well—the artist, Peter Fitzpatrick, has very kindly gifted it to me and of course it is amazing, but I do really like its current locale in my home office as well …

Anyway, with luck may even have some photos for you tomorrow. (And if not tomorrow—soon!)

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Speaking of Thornspell, one thing I’d like to draw to your attention is “The Great NZ Book Race”, here.

“Are New Zealanders really only separated by 2 degrees?

Students from Katikati College (Bay of Plenty)  and Papanui College (Christchurch) will be supporting their local writers by reading, reviewing, and then passing on books , from person to person, until they reach the other school by the end of Term Three (see BOOKS ON THE RUN for complete list.) Their aim is to get their book read and reviewed by the most New Zealanders.“

Find out more by clicking the above link—but Thornspell is one of the books featured and you can see its feature page here. This is a really great NZ Book Month project and one I am honored to have been invited to join and am proud to support.

I will bring you more updates as we get closer to March, when the race begins.

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Another thing I’ve dived into ‘full on’ for the new year has been guest blog posts, with Making Epic Fantasy New for SF Signal, The Evolution of Character and Myth, Legend and History, both for Orbit,  adding my wee mite on Mary Victoria’s excellent “Place as Person” series, here—and most recently contributing to Nicole Murphy’s interview series  on writers’ “Habits and Processes.” The inside gen on my (nefarious!) habits was here on Monday and the “Processes” follow here some time today.

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My favourite post I’ve read this month (and I’ve read a few!) was handsdown Gillian Polack’s “Place as Person” guest post, here.

Dulce Et Decorum Est

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.

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by Wilfred Owen

1893 – 1918

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Last week I featured AB Negative (The Surgeon’s Poem) by US poet Brian Turner—and quoted Wilfred Owen in my commentary: “My subject is War, and the pity of War. The Poetry is in the pity.”

So this week it seemed appropriate to feature a poem by Wilfred Owen, in this case one of the more well known, Dulce Et Decorum Est.

Wilfred Owen is also one of the most well known of the World War 1 poets writing in English, and his poetry is characterized by the juxtaposition of compassion with grim realism.

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To read the featured poem on the Tuesday Poem Hub and other great poems from fellow Tuesday poets around the world, click here or on the Quill icon in the sidebar.