Saturday, April 30, 2022

The Hobbit / The Lord of the Rings Box Set by J. R. R. Tolkien

 (Book Review--Fantasy)


Started: October 23, 2021
Finished: April 15, 2022



This is one of my compilation book reviews--as I explained HERE.

To see my separate reviews of each of these books, see below:


Playlist HERE

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Friday, April 29, 2022

The Return of the King by J. R. R. Tolkien

(Book Review--Fantasy)

Started: February 7, 2022
Finished: April 15, 2022

(This review is written using my new format for book reviews.) 

Background Information

Originally published in 1955, this is the 3rd and final book in the Lord of the Rings trilogy.
For my previous reviews of this series, see:
To emphasize the continuity with the previous volumes, the edition I read keeps the page numbers continuous.  So the first page is page 977 (picking up where the previous volume left off).  
There are 6 appendices at the end of The Return of the King.  These are meant to be considered appendices to the whole trilogy (and to some extent, The Hobbit as well), and not just to The Return of the King, but since they are contained within The Return of the King's binding, I'm lumping them in with this review.
They are:
* Appendix A: "Annals of the Kings and Rulers"
* Appendix B: "The Tale of Years" (Chronology of the Westlands)
* Appendix C: "Family Trees" (Hobbits)
* Appendix D: Shire Calendar for Use in All Years
* Appendix E: "Writing and Spelling"
* Appendix F: "Languages and Peoples of the Third Age" and "On Translation"
In my edition, these appendices made up a total of an extra 145 pages of reading (p. 1351-1496).  
(I worked through them very slowly over several weeks.  I actually finished the main text of the narrative way back on March 6, but then got bogged down in the appendices.  As a result, I'm worried the main narrative is not going to be as sharp in my memory as if I had written this review on March 6.  But I'll do the best I can.)

My History With This Book

As I recounted in my started video for this series, my initial exposure to this series was the Rankin-Bass animated movies.  I saw The Hobbit first when it aired on the Disney Channel in the mid-80s, and was a huge fan of it.  Some time later (a year?  a few months?  I don't remember), Disney Channel began advertising that it would soon air the animated The Return of the King.  I was super excited.
Actually if memory serves, even before I saw the movie, there was some chatter in my 4th grade class about the gruesome ending to the movie.  Some of the guys were saying a character actually got his finger bitten off at the end.  Since I grew up in a sheltered environment, the idea that a character could get his finger bitten off in a cartoon movie (airing on the Disney Channel no less!) seemed pretty shocking.
The night The Return of the King premiered on the Disney Channel, my siblings and I were ready with special snacks prepared.  And we had the VCR all set up to record it onto video cassette.  (Remember those days?)
...I was, therefore, disappointed by how incredibly boring I found that movie.  I tried to convince myself I was enjoying it, but it was a real slog to sit through.  (If you've ever seen this movie, you'll know exactly what I mean.  It's got a lot of really boring scenes.  That song, It's So Easy Not to Try, was the worst, wasn't it?)
However, after the movie was over, and I had time to think about it over the next day, some of the more dramatic scenes lingered in my head, and I convinced myself it was a really good epic movie.  The showdown between Eowyn and the Witch King, for example, struck me in retrospect as a really epic moment in the movie.


And then, like everyone else in the world, I saw the Peter Jackson movie when it came out in December 2003.  (This was the only one of the Peter Jackson trilogy that I actually got to see in theaters.  I was home from Japan over the Christmas holidays in 2003, and saw it with my family in the theater.  And like everyone else, my primary memory of seeing the movie in theaters was the big impressive battle scenes, but also the fatigue at the end of the movie when it just would not end!)

Summary of the Plot (***SPOILERS***)

I'm going to assume once again that everyone has seen the movies, and everyone knows the basic plot beats, and I'm only going to concern myself here with stuff that was different from the movie.
A lot of the big battle scenes from the movie were not in the book.  That dramatic scene of fighting the elephants, for example?  Not in the book at all.



...somewhat to my surprise, I admit.  Although I guess I should have known better.  Especially since I had long known that almost everything in  The Hobbit 3: The Battle of the Five Armies was not in the book--I should have realized that Peter Jackson had probably done the same thing in the other movies.
In fact, as is common in these older fantasy books, the battle scenes are generally not given blow by blow descriptions, but are described only in very vague terms.
Likewise, I was also surprised to learn that the Army of the Dead does not appear in the final battle in the book.  In the book, Aragon uses the Army of the Dead to attack the pirates ("corsairs" as they are called in the book), but we the reader don't get to actually see this scene.  We only hear it recounted briefly by Gimli later.

Because of the way the book is structured, the big battle outside Minas Tirith occurs only about halfway through the book.  Then we switch over to follow Frodo and Sam in the second half.  
If memory serves, the movie switched back and forth between these two plot threads, so that we got to watch them unfold concurrently. (Am I remembering that right?  It's been years since I saw the movie all the way through.)  But in the book, it's first one story, and then the other.

Then, there is a long epilogue / final battle in the book that was completely absent from the movies.  It turns out that while the hobbits had been gone, Saruman and his henchmen had taken over the Shire.  So when they get back home, the Hobbits have to fight one last battle to free the Shire.

The Reading Experience / Evaluation

It probably goes without saying that my comments about Tolkien's narration style from the previous - two books still holds true here as well.  So I'll try to only limit myself to what was new.
My imagination was kindled by the opening parts of this book which described the ancient kingdom of Gondor and the magnificent city of Minas Tirith.
It struck me that there was almost a bit of a genre shift here.  The Hobbit and the first two books in this trilogy seemed to inhabit a rather primitive tribal world (perhaps influenced by the Anglo-Saxon tribes that Tolkien had studied?).  But here, with the Kingdom of Gondor, we seemed to be shifting to the genre of knights and magnificent castles and the Chilvaric Romance.  It was different, but it was different in a good way.
The big battle scenes were, of course, epic.  (I was slightly disappointed to learn that there wasn't nearly as much action in the book as there had been in Peter Jackson's movie.  But as I wrote above, I shouldn't have been surprised.)
Then the book shifts to Sam and Frodo.  And I found myself utterly bored.
I think the basic plot-line of Sam and Frodo is pretty boring to begin with.  (Frodo is so tired, and yet somehow, they must find the inner strength to keep walking.  *YAWN*)  But the gloomy and barren atmosphere of Mordor just increase the general boredom of the whole section.

I noticed my reaction as I read these sections, and I found it interesting that they depressed and bored me so much.  After all, I myself am not physically in Mordor.  I'm just reading about it.  And there aren't even any pictures in this book, so it's just the visuals that are created in my mind's eye as I read the book.  And yet, it depressed me nonetheless.  There must be something about human psychology.  Imagining pretty and beautiful things makes us feel refreshed.  Imagining barren and gloomy things makes us feel depressed.  Even if it's all just in the mind's eye.  
I was really having a miserable time reading those Frodo and Sam sections, but then they actually finished earlier than I thought they would.  (I was expecting them to take up most of the second half of the book, but it turns out it wasn't that bad.  There's only about 70 pages of Frodo and Sam in Mordor.)
And then, very quickly, the ring is disposed of, and then Frodo and Sam pass out, and suddenly they wake up in much more beautiful surroundings.  
When Sam awoke, he found that he was lying on some soft bed, but over him gently swayed wide beechen boughs, and through their young leaves sunlight glimmered, green and gold. All the air was full of a sweet mingled scent. (p.1245)
...and all of a sudden, my mind's eye is visualizing something sweet and beautiful, and I find myself completely refreshed.  Weird how our brains work, huh?

As I mentioned above, the Peter Jackson adaptation was famous for never ending, and the book is similar.  (We still have 106 pages of narrative left after Sam wakes up safe in his bed.)  But while this is a frustrating experience in a cinema, it's okay in a book.  For one thing, with a physical copy of the book you can see exactly how many pages are left, so there's no fake outs with the ending.  Secondly, you absorb a book at a much slower pace anyway, broken up over several days, so it's not the same as being stuck in a seat at a cinema after a 3 hour movie.  

Another scene that was different from the book: on the journey home, Gandalf and the Hobbits met up with Sarumon and Wormtongue.  Gandalf offers them redemption, but they prefer to be miserable by themselves rather than take the offer.
I thought at first that this might be the final fate of Sarumon and Wormtongue.  (I almost wonder if somewhere, in an earlier draft, this was actually their intended final fate.  The scene has an air of finality about it.)  I almost wonder if it would have been preferable to have this be their final fate--it is a nice little unexpected ironic ending.  One expects the antagonists in an epic fantasy to have a violent death, how ironic that their final fate is just to wallow in the misery of being evil.  
(Although in The Lord of the Rings trilogy, offers of mercy and redemption seem to be very selectively extended.  It's not clear to me why the offer is extended to Sarumon and Wormtongue, but not to any of the Orcs, but I've complained about the Orcs as Amalekites - twice - before, so I won't harp on it again here.)

And then we come to the Scouring of the Shire section--which was not in either of the movie adaptations. 
It seems that the Shire has become a sort of dystopian police state while the 4 hobbits were off on their adventures.  (Tolkien was famously good friends with C.S. Lewis--I'm sort of reminded here of That Hideous Strength by C.S. Lewis which came out 10 years before this did.  I wonder if there's a common influence.)
At first it seems to be implied that the reason things got so bad is because all the hobbits just passively allowed themselves to go along with it.  (There seems to be a political allegory here, although it's probably the type of political allegory that could be just as easily used by either side of the spectrum.)  
‘Look here, Cock-robin!’ said Sam. ‘You’re Hobbiton-bred and ought to have more sense, coming a-waylaying Mr. Frodo and all. And what’s all this about the inn being closed?’
‘They’re all closed,’ said Robin. ‘The Chief doesn’t hold with beer. Leastways that is how it started. But now I reckon it’s his Men that has it all. And he doesn’t hold with folk moving about; so if they will or they must, then they has to go to the Shirriff-house and explain their business.’
‘You ought to be ashamed of yourself having anything to do with such nonsense,’ said Sam. ‘You used to like the inside of an inn better than the outside yourself. You were always popping in, on duty or off.’
‘And so I would be still, Sam, if I could. But don’t be hard on me. What can I do? You know how I went for a Shirriff seven years ago, before any of this began. Gave me a chance of walking round the country and seeing folk, and hearing the news, and knowing where the good beer was. But now it’s different.’
‘But you can give it up, stop Shirriffing, if it has stopped being a respectable job,’ said Sam.
‘We’re not allowed to,’ said Robin.
‘If I hear not allowed much oftener,’ said Sam, ‘I’m going to get angry.’
‘Can’t say as I’d be sorry to see it,’ said Robin lowering his voice. ‘If we all got angry together something might be done. But it’s these Men, Sam, the Chief’s Men. He sends them round everywhere, and if any of us small folk stand up for our rights, they drag him off to the Lockholes. They took old Flourdumpling, old Will Whitfoot the Mayor, first, and they’ve taken a lot more. Lately it’s been getting worse. Often they beat ’em now.’
‘Then why do you do their work for them?’ said Sam angrily. ‘Who sent you to Frogmorton?’
‘No one did. We stay here in the big Shirriff-house. We’re the First Eastfarthing Troop now. There’s hundreds of Shirriffs all told, and they want more, with all these new rules. Most of them are in it against their will, but not all. Even in the Shire there are some as like minding other folk’s business and talking big. And there’s worse than that: there’s a few as do spy-work for the Chief and his Men.’(p.1311-1312)
In my opinion, this moralizing is undercut later when we learn that the source of this dystopia is revealed to be not just hobbit complacency, but a blatantly evil external force--none other than Sarumon and Wormtongue.  There's another battle, and eventually Sarumon and Wormtongue do meet a violent end (even though Frodo does try to show them mercy.)
There's one more chapter of epilogue, and then the main text comes to the end, and we get to the appendices.

I was a little unsure if these appendices would be worth reading or not, but Appendix A is absolutely fascinating.  The whole history of Middle Earth, and the various kingdoms of it, are laid out.
The style is sparse.  It seems to be deliberately imitating the ancient historical annals (such as the historical narrative of the Bible.)  But this arguably works to the advantage--it makes it easy to imagine this is some sort of authentic historical document.
I could be wrong here, but it struck me that Tolkien's reputation as a fantasy world builder is based not so much on his main narrative as his appendices.  That is to say, I suspect that if The Lord of the Rings had been published without Appendix A, Tolkien wouldn't enjoy the cult status he has today.
You see, Tolkien has a reputation for worldbuilding in his fantasy, and this is what I was expecting to immerse myself in when I started The Lord of the Rings.  But when you actually read The Lord of the Rings, you discover that Tolkien's principle preoccupation is not describing the civilizations and history of Middle Earth, but rather describing the landscapes of Middle Earth.  Most of the really impressive world building is regulated to the appendices.
There are references to the history of Middle Earth scattered all throughout The Lord of the Rings, but we don't get the full history until we get to Appendix A.  And, in fact, Appendix A helps finally make sense of a lot of the confusing historical references that had been scattered throughout the main narrative.  
(Although I will admit to occasionally encountering references to places in names in Appendix A that I wasn't clear about.  Maybe it's stuff that I should have remembered from earlier in the book if I had been paying closer attention.  I don't know.  But at that point in the book, I decided to just keep plowing on forward rather than try to track down every reference.)
Appendix A also contains a lot of extra information about things like the backstory of Aragon and his romance with Lady Arwen.  It is, in my opinion, essential information for understanding these characters, and I almost feel like Tolkien was cheating a little bit by relegating this stuff to the appendices.  If the story of Aragon is incomplete without this information, then shouldn't it have been integrated into the main text better?
Appendix B is also interesting, although much of it is a repeat of the information in Appendix A, just written differently--in the form of a timeline instead of as a narrative.  
Appendix D is a 10 page explanation of how the hobbit calendar works.  And it's at this point that I reached the "Why am I even reading this?" stage of the appendices.  Seriously, I did not need to know how the intricacies of how the hobbit calendar works in order to enjoy The Lord of the Rings.  I mean, it's cool that Tolkien put so much thought into his world building, I guess, but do I need to read it?
The next couple appendices are on the languages and writing systems of Middle Earth.  This is another thing Tolkien is famous for.  I found it a bit dry to read through myself, but I suppose I can't complain too much about it.  I knew this was coming--everyone knows that Tolkien is famous for creating his own languages in Middle Earth, so I knew sooner or later I'd get to an explanation of the languages.

Extended Quotation

  Now after Gandalf had ridden for some time the light of day grew in the sky, and Pippin roused himself and looked up. To his left lay a sea of mist, rising to a bleak shadow in the East; but to his right great mountains reared their heads, ranging from the West to a steep and sudden end, as if in the making of the land the River had burst through a great barrier, carving out a mighty valley to be a land of battle and debate in times to come. And there where the White Mountains of Ered Nimrais came to their end he saw, as Gandalf had promised, the dark mass of Mount Mindolluin, the deep purple shadows of its high glens, and its tall face whitening in the rising day. And upon its out-thrust knee was the Guarded City, with its seven walls of stone so strong and old that it seemed to have been not builded but carven by giants out of the bones of the earth.
   Even as Pippin gazed in wonder the walls passed from looming grey to white, blushing faintly in the dawn; and suddenly the sun climbed over the eastern shadow and sent forth a shaft that smote the face of the City. Then Pippin cried aloud, for the Tower of Ecthelion, standing high within the topmost walls, shone out against the sky, glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver, tall and fair and shapely, and its pinnacle glittered as if it were wrought of crystals; and white banners broke and fluttered from the battlements in the morning breeze' and high and far he heard a clear ringing as of silver trumpets.
   So Gandalf and Peregrin rode to the Great Gate of the Men of Gondor at the rising of the sun, and its iron doors rolled back before them.
   'Mithrandir! Mithrandir!' men cried. 'Now we know that the storm is indeed nigh!'
   'It is upon you,' said Gandalf. 'I have ridden on its wings. Let me pass! I must come to your Lord Denethor, while his stewardship lasts. Whatever betide, you have come to the end of the Gondor that you have known. Let me pass!'
   Then men fell back before the command of his voice and questioned him no further, though they gazed in wonder at the hobbit that sat before him and at the horse that bore him. For the people of the City used horses very little and they were seldom seen in their streets, save only those ridden by the errand-riders of their lord. And they said: 'Surely that is one of the great steeds of the King of Rohan? Maybe the Rohirrim will come soon to strengthen us.' But Shadowfax walked proudly up the long winding road.
   For the fashion of Minas Tirith was such that it was built on seven levels, each delved into the hill, and about each was set a wall, and in each wall was a gate. But the gates were not set in a line: the Great Gate in the City Wall was at the east point of the circuit, but the next faced half south, and the third half north, and so to and fro upwards; so that the paved way that climbed towards the Citadel turned first this way and then that across the face of the hill. And each time that it passed the line of the Great Gate it went through an arched tunnel, piercing a vast pier of rock whose huge out-thrust bulk divided in two all the circles of the City save the first. For partly in the primeval shaping of the hill, partly by the mighty craft and labour of old, there stood up from the rear of the wide court behind the Gate a towering bastion of stone, its edge sharp as a ship-keel facing east. Up it rose, even to the level of the topmost circle, and there was crowned by a battlement; so that those in the Citadel might, like mariners in a mountainous ship, look from its peak sheer down upon the Gate seven hundred feet below. The entrance to the Citadel also looked eastward, but was delved in the heart of the rock; thence a long lamp-lit slope ran up to the seventh gate. Thus men reached at last the High Court, and the Place of the Fountain before the feet of the White Tower: tall and shapely, fifty fathoms from its base to the pinnacle, where the banner of the Stewards floated a thousand feet above the plain. (p.982-984)  
***END QUOTE***  I think this does a good job of signaling the transition I mentioned above.  We are no longer here in the world of primitive tribal settlements, but of grand Chilvaric castles and towers.

Links


* And speaking of Steve Donoghue, he posted a video this past month in which he was talking about another fantasy series, and commented:
I completely forgot that I had to search my memories of the first time I read this book and you know when I did I realized, no, even the first time I read it, even though it was annoying me, I did not ever want to stop reading, never.  That's a gift.  That's not nothing. That's not nothing at all. In fact that's not even true of Tolkien. Need I remind you of the endless Sam and Frodo scenes?
So true!  Those endless Sam and Frodo scenes totally made me want to stop reading.  I'm glad to hear Steve say it first, so that I know it's not just me.

* Also while I was reading this book, I became aware that March 25th is Tolkien Reading Day.  Then I came across this Tweet on the next day, which I thought was kind of accurate.  (It's exaggerating for humorous purposes--Tolkien doesn't literally spend 3 pages describing one tree--but the general idea of reader fatigue with descriptions is definitely true.)  
* In the past couple months, you may have seen this trilogy being referenced in news about the war in the Ukraine.  It's been reported in several news outlets, but here's one link: Why are Ukrainians calling Russian invaders ‘orcs’?  
I'm genuinely not sure if this is just a harmless reference, or if this is an attempt to dehumanize the enemy during a time of war.  Part of me is worried that the influence of Tolkien has been to see wars in Manichean terms as pure good versus pure evil.
Compare this, for example, to The Iliad in which we the readers are forced to feel sympathy for both sides of the war.  When did we lose this complexity in our storytelling?  At what point did Western Civilization become infatuated by stories of pure good versus pure evil?  Are Tolkien and Star Wars to blame?  Or were the Greeks the exception, and the human norm is to see conflicts in terms of good versus evil?  
Or is The Iliad more barbaric because it is acknowledging the humanity of the other side, but still glorifying the war?  
I don't know.  Talk among yourselves.  (Or leave a comment.)

Odds and Ends

* Well, there we are.  I've finally finished off The Lord of the Rings trilogy.  For years and years, I've felt guilty about not having read these books.  
The thing is, I actually consider myself a fan of the fantasy genre.  But for years I felt ashamed calling myself a fantasy fan when I never finished Lord of the Rings.
And yes, I know, I'm probably 30 years late on this.  (Most fantasy nerds read Tolkien in High School.)  But better late than never.
I knew a few Tolkien nerds in high school, and I know that they obsessed over the whole Tolkien oeuvre.  I considered trying to make up for lost time by plunging into the Tolkien extended canon: The Silmarillion, The Fall of Gondolin, etc.  But I've been searching around online, and it doesn't look like these lesser-known books are readily available in Vietnam.  So it looks like I'll be finishing my journey here.  
Besides which, I've been advised by a couple people on Booktube (HERE and HERE) not to rush into The Silmarillion too fast.  Maybe re-read The Lord of the Rings first seems to be the advice.
Maybe I'll get to the other books in Middle Earth someday.

7 out of 10 stars.  (The same rating I gave to The Two Towers).  

Weekly Reading Vlogs (as mentioned above, the page numbers for this edition start from 977)
February 27, 2022 p.1148-1268
March 6, 2022 p.1268-1352
March 13, 2022 p.1352-1370
March 20, 2022 p.1370-1394
March 27, 2022 p.1394-1420
April 3, 2022 p.1420-1438
April 10, 2022 p.1438-1480
April 17, 2022 p.1480-1498 (finished) 2nd reading p.977-988
April 24, 2022 2nd reading p.988-992

Video Review (Playlist HERE)


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Monday, April 25, 2022

Chapter 6: The Age of the Gods

 [This is cross-posted from my other blog HERE.  For all the previous chapters, see HERE.  As I explained in that post, I'm eager for any feedback you might have on anything from prose level concerns to story level concerns.  Give me your feedback in the comments.]

Google: docs, pub
Chapter 6: The Age of the Gods
Catherine managed to rejoin the group just as things were breaking up, and Carlyle and Alfred were starting to head home.
“There you are!” said Carlyle.  “Where did you go this time?”
Catherine walked right past Carlyle, and began heading towards their home.  “None of your concern,” Catherine said as she strode past.
Because Catherine was walking at a swift pace, Carlyle and Alfred jogged to catch up with her.  “Catherine, you can’t wander off by yourself like that,” Carlyle insisted.  “You know it’s dangerous.”
Catherine remained silent and kept walking.
“Catherine, I’m serious.  This is twice now.”
“I’ll handle myself, thank you,” Catherine replied.
“I’m going to tell Mom and Dad,” Carlyle blurted out.
Catherine stopped walking and turned to glare at Carlyle.  There was an unspoken code between the siblings that they never report on each other.  After glaring at Carlyle for a few seconds, Catherine started walking again.  “Fine,” she spat out.  “Fine, go ahead.  You can tell them whatever you want.”
In the tone of Catherine’s voice, there was an unspoken message: if you report on me, you will be dead to me forever.  Carlyle picked up on the tone, and he realized he had gone too far.  “Catherine, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.  Catherine, wait!”
Catherine had picked up her pace, and Carlyle had to jog to catch up again.  “Catherine, stop a minute.  I shouldn’t have said that.  I won’t tell Mom and Dad.  But you can’t go off on your own like that.  You remember what happened to Jack.”
Catherine kept walking.  She wanted to tell Carlyle to be quiet and mind his own business, but she was too tired to argue with him.  So she found it easier to keep quiet and keep walking.
Soon they reached the door.  They knocked, and Margaret let them in.
As they all settled down to dinner, Margaret could tell that there was tension in the air.  Carlyle and Catherine weren’t talking to each other, and Alfred looked like he wasn’t sure what to say.
After the dinner was finished, Margaret suggested they read another chapter from the book.  She thought that this might be the best way to dissipate whatever tension was there.  She brought the book down and gave it to Carlyle
“I want to hear more about The Age of Monsters,” said Alfred.  “You said that after all the heroes got killed, some of the humans still survived.  Can you read that part?”
“There are lots of chapters about that,” said Carlyle.
“It’s best to read the section in order,” Margaret suggested.  “You can start with the second chapter, right after what you read yesterday.”
“Okay,” said Carlyle, sitting down in the chair and finding the right place in the book.
Alfred settled into the opposite chair.  Catherine remained standing stiffly by the fire.  Margaret knew better than to suggest that Catherine sit down.  Catherine would sit when she was ready to sit.
“It was in this time that the Teritha, the ancient monsters, roamed the world, and all the human cities were destroyed.  All the human crops were destroyed as well, and humans lived like the animals did. They scavenged for food in the forests, and in the rivers.  They ate whatever plants they could find.  In their desperation, many humans resorted to eating animals again, and humans and animals once again became enemies.”
“Why does it say ‘once again’?” asked Alfred.  “Were humans and animals enemies before?”
“Yes, during the Second Age, the Age of Beasts,” Carlyle said.  “We skipped that part because you wanted to start at the Age of Monsters.”
“Well, what happened in the Age of Beasts?” asked Alfred.
Catherine sighed audibly.  She was getting frustrated with Alfred and his questions.  But she didn’t say anything.
“Loads of stuff,” Carlyle replied. “It was a whole age.  Each Age contains many different stories in it.  But basically, when humans and animals were first created, they were constantly fighting.  Humans ate animals, and some of the animals ate humans.  There were years of war between humans and beasts before peace was made, and the laws were established.”
“But the wolves and bears still eat humans,” said Alfred.
“The mountains are a special case,” interjected Margaret.  “There is no one to enforce the laws in the mountains.  But in the forest, the ancient laws are still enforced.  It is forbidden for a human to harm an animal, or for an animal to eat a human.”
“Really?” Alfred’s eyes widened.  “So you mean in the forest, I could walk anywhere I wanted to, and I wouldn’t have to worry about bears or wolves or lions or anything?”
Margaret nodded.
“I want to hear more about The Age of the Beasts,” said Alfred.  “Could you read that section?”
Catherine sighed again, and plopped herself down into a chair with an air of frustration.  Carlyle and Alfred ignored her.  Margaret thought this was progress.  If Catherine was annoyed at Alfred, then at least she was no longer thinking about whatever had been upsetting her earlier.
“It’s a very long section,” said Carlyle.  “We can’t read it all in one night.”
“Maybe we should start from the beginning,” Alfred said.  “What was the first Age called again?”
“The Age of the Gods was the first age,” said Carlyle.  “We could start there if you like, but you're only going to be staying here three more nights until your father gets back.  It’s not enough time to read the whole book through from the beginning.  We should just choose the most interesting parts for now.”
 “Is The Age of the Gods interesting?”
“Yeah, it’s pretty interesting.  There are no humans or animals in that section, but there is lots of fighting among the gods.”
“Well then start there,” said Alfred.
“Good idea,” said Margaret.  “Some of the best stories are at the beginning.  And Alfred, if you like, we can continue the book even after your father gets back.  You can come over every afternoon.  I’ll teach you how to read the book for yourself.”
Catherine groaned again.  Everyone ignored her.
“I don’t need to read it myself,” Alfred said.  “You can just read it to me.”
“As you like,” said Margaret, with a smile.  “Carlyle, why don’t you start reading again.  From the very beginning this time.”
“Okay,” said Carlyle, flipping back to the beginning of the book.  “In the beginning, there was the Ocean.  He was the first god, and he covered the whole world.  At that time, there was no land, only deep water.”
“Where did Ocean come from?” asked Alfred.
“I don’t know,” said Carlyle.  “It’s not in the book.”
“No one knows,” Margaret said softly.  
“But he must have come from somewhere,” Alfred insisted.
“In the beginning, there was the Ocean.  That’s all it says,” said Carlyle.  “That’s how the story begins.”
“Don’t we know anything about where Ocean came from?” asked Alfred.
“Alfred, stop asking questions,” Catherine said, exasperated.  “It’s just a story.  Every story has to begin at some point.”
“Is it just a story?” Alfred said, looking at Margaret.  “I thought the gods were real.”
Margaret shrugged her shoulders.  “These are the stories the ancient ones have left us with.  They may be true or they may not be true.  Or they may be partially true. But these are the only stories we have about the beginning of things.  So we study them, and then pass them on. Where the Ocean came from, or what existed before the Ocean, we cannot say.”
“Alfred, just be quiet for a while.  You can ask questions after the story finishes,” Catherine said.  She motioned for Carlyle to start reading again.  Her impatience was visible on her face, but Margaret noticed that she was also starting to look more relaxed in the chair.  She was reclining in it, and she had begun to put her feet up on the table.
“We can talk about the stories tomorrow, if you like,” Margaret said to Alfred.  “For now, let’s just listen.”
Carlyle began to read the story again.  He read about the ancient Sea Dragons, that the Ocean gave birth to, and how the Ocean next gave birth to the new gods, who fought the Sea Dragons and slew them, and used the bodies of the sea dragons to create the land.
The fire crackled as Carlyle read, and the warmth filled the room.  And eventually, Catherine and Alfred began to relax, and then slowly nod off to sleep.  And Margaret smiled approvingly.

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Sunday, April 24, 2022

Weekly Reading Vlog #57: Herodotus p.494-538, The Magic of Oz p.1322-1336, Frederick Douglas


(Weekly Reading Vlog)

   

Books (71 pages this week)
The Histories by Herodotus p.494-538 (44 pages)
Podcasts and Audiobooks: (Not mentioned in the video)

Videos from this week:
The Return of the King Review: https://youtu.be/WCVo05kLglg
The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings Box Set: https://youtu.be/8VskkKOiarE
Nguyen Hue Walking Street https://youtu.be/1hEpYC6K-G0
Started: Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass https://youtu.be/olS7x2_F90w

For more information about what this is and why I'm doing it, see HERE.
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Started: Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass by Frederick Douglass


Started: Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass by Frederick Douglass


The video in which I mentioned buying this book in a book haul: https://youtu.be/bNb39RDpHQw
A video of book street (where I bought this book): https://youtu.be/2bmHRkV8p_U
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I'm about a week late in linking to this (sorry, it's been a really busy week), but another episode of Revolutions Podcast came out this week: 10.94- The New Policies. When the old policies aren't working...try new policies!

I don't really have any intelligent commentary on this one.  It was just really interesting to listen to.  
I had begun to get a little bit tired of all the military history in The Civil War episodes, so it's really interesting to get back into the ideological episodes, and explore what Lenin was really thinking about during this time.  It's interesting to see the thought progression that is steadily leading to a more and more authoritarian state.  

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Saturday, April 23, 2022

Nguyen Hue Walking Street (Phố đi bộ Nguyễn Huệ) District 1, Ho Chi Minh City

(For more information about these videos, see HERE)


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Thursday, April 21, 2022

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Sunday, April 17, 2022

Kep, Cambodia, Spring 2012 (Stealing from Facebook)

(Travelogue--Cambodia)

Another Facebook album link.  (This is part of the project I explained about in this post HERE.)  Here is a link to my photos from my trip to Kep in 2012.  (Kep is right next to Kampot, so this was the same trip as the Kampot photos I previously posted.)


I wrote up some of this trip in my journal, but not all of it.  I've down my best to edit out any personal bits, or any bits that contain information about other people, and only kept in the parts that describe the town and the resort.  I've replaced proper names with ****** to protect everyone's identity.  
It ends rather abruptly because when attempting to write everything about this trip, I got fatigued and just kind of gave up halfway through.

Monday, March 26 2012

Woke up. 
Packed for the trip.  Ate breakfast at Blue Dolphin.   

Took bus.

Bus trip was advertised as 3.5 hours to Kampot, but took longer.  Mostly backpackers on bus (lots of trendy hippy clothes, lots of trendy tattoos, et cetera.)

There was an older couple behind me who were very talkative, and they did frequently engage me in conversation and I heard a lot of their life story.  They were from upstate New York.  He had worked for GE, but when he had gotten laid off in the 90s they had gone to Vietnam to teach English.  Then he had gotten re-hired at GE, but he was now retired, so they come out to this region to visit every winter because they like the area and it’s so cheap to travel.

They were friendly enough people, but like a lot of the other travelers you meet around this region they seemed very interesting in telling me their travelling stories and in trying to impress me.  I overheard the man say to someone else, “A lot of people go to Vietnam and they only see Hanoi, or Saigon or Halong Bay but there’s so much more to Vietnam they never see.”  
True enough, no doubt, but he was at the same time reminding everyone he had seen it, and so trying to gently play traveller’s one-upsmanship.

Anyway, bus ride down was long and boring for the most part, although the scenery was occasionally quite stunning.  
The bus swung by Kep first so I got a brief look at Kep from the bus windows.  Half of the passengers got out at Kep, and then we continued onto Kampot.

I got a motor taxi and met ******  at Riki Tiki Tavi restaurant.

I would have been game to hang out for a while, but ****** suggested we go to the Villa immediately.  He was quite keen to show me the place.

We had a bit of a problem finding a tuk tuk driver, one of the indications that Kampot is a much more sleepy town than Phnom Penh.

“I’m not used to not being harassed by tuk tuk drivers,” I commented to the Dutch women who ran the Riki Tiki Tavi restaurant/guesthouse.
“Here you have to harass them,” she told me.

Eventually we found a tuk tuk.

The Villa ****** is staying at is a bit removed from town and I had a 10 minute tuk tuk ride down a dirt road past some rural villages until we finally arrived at the secluded villa.

The place’s name is Villa Vedici, and it is built in the style of a French Villa (although recently built.)  Originally I think it had been built for private use, and then converted into a guest house where you could rent out individual rooms.

On the minus side, it was quite far from the city and quite secluded.  (I was hoping to get a feel for Kampot city daily life while I was here.)

On the plus side it was, well, quite far from the city and quite secluded.  And absolutely beautiful.  A pool overlooked a well kept tropical garden which opened up to the river and there were mountains in the background.  From the balcony we watched flocks of white birds fly down the river while the sun set behind the mountains.

“And the best part is,” ****** told me, “We’ve got the run of the joint.  There’s absolutely no one else here.  That’s the beauty of having the holidays in the middle of the week when nobody else has off.”

It was just us and the Khmer staff.  We ordered several drinks and food.  

It got dark fairly early on, around 6 or so.  Because we were in a secluded area, and away from the city lights, the darkness made it feel like it was actually later than it was.


Went to bed at 10:30.

Monday, March 27, 2012
Woke up at 8.  Breakfast.

 ******** walked down the stairs as I was writing up this journal in a notebook (which I was using to take notes while I’m away from my computer.)  “That looks suspiciously like a diary Joel,” he said.  “Busted.”

Some debate in the morning about what to do.  ******** wanted to go to Bokor Hill Station, an old French colonial outpost on a mountain now abandoned and become a tourist destination.

I was interested in French colonialism as well, but the problem was getting there.  ****** was clearly relishing the idea of a scenic drive up on his motorbike.  I was without a motorbike, so I would have to ride on the back of a motortaxi, which wasn’t so appealing for long distances.

We talked about the different scenarios for a while, and debated with the Villa Khmer staff about how long it would take.  (They were saying Bokor Hill was 2 hours away by motorcycle,  ******** was insisting it couldn’t possibly be more than one.)

Eventually it was decided to order a motor taxi for me.  The staff told me it would be $15 to hire the driver out for the afternoon, which seemed a bit expensive to me (considering this is Cambodia).  

I decided to opt out in the end though.  I had enough of my mother in me that I was nervous at the idea of 2 hours on the back of a motorcycle without a helmet.  (My paranoia has been increased by the rash of motorcycle accidents we’ve been having at work lately—several staff injured on motorbikes within the past couple weeks.)  Plus riding on the back of a motor taxi for 2 hours didn’t sound like my idea of fun.  It was different for ****** because he would be doing the cruising yourself, and driving a motorbike is always much more fun than riding on the back of one.

So, I suggested we split up for the afternoon.  I hadn’t gotten a chance to walk around the town yet, which was what I really wanted to do anyway.  ****** , I think, was somewhat disappointed I wasn’t going along, but we agreed to meet up again at 3 (for the boat ride we had reserved).

So, camera in hand, I journeyed from our villa down the dirt road, past all the village houses.  Many of the village people were friendly and called out hello to me.  I tried to take a lot of pictures of the beautiful road lined with palm trees.  

I got into town, where I walked along the river.  I passed lots of restaurants and guest houses for foreign tourists along the river.  I briefly walked inland away from the river to see a bit more of the town center.

As opposed to Phnom Penh, I was able to have a pleasant walk without tuk tuks and motor taxis yelling out at me from every corner, although I did encounter a couple of them near the tourist areas.

Feeling tired and hungry around noon, I went up to get some food at Riki Tiki Tavi, where I had met ******yesterday.

I walked in and saw ****** and ****** (from America).  They saw me and joked about how even down here they couldn’t get away from people from work.

I sat next to them and we hung out.  They had just spent 3 days relaxing at a resort up the river, and were now freshly arrived in Kampot.  I encouraged them to stay where ******and I were staying, and also invited them on the boat.  In the end, they would turn down both invitations, but I still chatted to them over an hour or so at lunch.  

Headed back on foot.  Passed more friendly villagers on the road, some of them leading cattle.

Back at the villa, met up with ****** again.  ******was raving about what a beautiful drive it had been, but I think I would have enjoyed it a lot less on the back of a motor taxi anyway.  

We then did the boat tour at 3:30.

The river ride was absolutely amazing.

Unfortunately I didn’t have my camera with me.  (I wasn’t sure who we wet we would get our how secure our belongings would be, so I just left it behind).  Which was a pity because the scenery was just breathtaking and beautiful at every turn.

Actually maybe it’s just as well I left my camera behind, because it allowed me to soak in the scenery without frantically trying to take as many pictures as possible every time the boat went around the bend.

The river upstream from Kampot was surrounded on both sides by tropical jungle.  Occasionally the scenery would be broken by a peasant house and a cow grazing, or a rich villa overlooking the river, but it was mostly just jungle along the river for 2 hours.  Absolutely beautiful.

This is the Cambodia you dream about seeing,” I said to ******as we watched the scenery unfold.

****** sat up on the roof, and after he encouraged me to join me, I came up on the roof as well.

Just drop dead gorgeous scenery in all directions.  What can I say?

The boat cruise had been advertised as going up to a waterfall for swimming, but we never got to a waterfall.  ****** explained to me that a Chinese company had bought the waterfall and was now collecting the water, so that it was no longer possible to swim by it.  (Or something like that.  I’m not sure I understood her correctly, and for that matter I’m not entirely sure she knew what she was talking about.)

We stopped where the river split into two parts.  (Or, more accurately since we were going upstream, we stopped where two rivers came together) and swam there.

I, partly to show off my swimming ability, swam all over the place, a good ways downstream and then a good ways upstream.  (The current was very gentle.)  

We got back on the boat, and started away.

We stopped at another point on the river where we watched the sun set behind the mountains.  It was gorgeous.

Several birds were flying up and down the river, and ****** pointed them out to me.  “You know back in England people make fun of bird watchers,” he said.  “They’re supposed to be a bit eccentric or something.  But I really got into it back when I lived in Africa.  It’s the only wild life that’s easily visible sometimes, and they’re so colorful.”

We got back to the lodge, where we ordered dinner.

****** was talking about going into town for drinks in Kampot, and I initially agreed, but after a couple beers we felt quite comfortable where we were, and we talked ourselves out of it.  (Between the walking around town and the boat cruise, it had already been a full day for me.  And ****** had put in a full day as well.)

So we drank beer at the bar. 

While we were floating around in the pool, ****** asked me what my plans were for tomorrow.  I told her I didn’t have any plans.  She told me she had off tomorrow morning and afternoon, and offered to show me around bicycling.  I accepted.  
She proposed, oddly enough, not meeting at the guest house, but instead gave me directions to meet her down the road.  “Turn right, then left, then left,” she said.  “I’ll meet you at the coffee shop down the road.”

I was a bit worried I would get lost, but then she confirmed that this was essentially just the main road into town I had already been down today.

Wednesday, March 28

Woke up early.

Ate breakfast. 

I ordered a couple cheese sandwiches to go (one for me, one for ******, so we would have something to eat during the day) and rented one of the bikes.  

I met ****** right down the road—it turns out she actually lives just down the street from Villa Vedici  She pointed out her family house to me, and it was a typical peasant house built on stilts.  Obviously she did not come from a wealthy background.

She was at a neighbors coffee restaurant, which was also a typical Cambodian rural establishment—just some picnic tables outside.  I ordered a cup of strong Cambodian coffee.  Dogs and chickens ran around the place.

Then once we had our coffee, we went on our way.

We biked straight down the road into town, and then a bit beyond.

We decided to head out to the sea first, but there was some confusion about how to get to the sea, so we ended up taking several side streets.

We passed lots of rural Cambodian neighborhoods, and the children would always call out, “Hello! Hello!” to me.

(****** was of the impression I was getting most of the attention because I was a foreigner, and she was probably right.  She would imitate the children, and say, “Hello Barang! Hello Barang!” (Hello foreigner, Hello foreigner.)

We passed through many charming rural Cambodian neighborhoods, and if I had been travelling on my own I probably would have taken many more photographs than I did, but I didn’t want to be constantly bothering ****** to stop all the time.  So I waited for her to stop, and then I would try and take photos in all directions.

While passing through all these rural Cambodian villages, I would often think to myself that back when I was growing up, in Grand Rapids Michigan, I would never have imagined that one day I’d actually be biking through rural Cambodia and seeing all this with my own eyes.

(Perhaps this is a bit of a cliché thing to think.  Every traveler who goes anywhere new probably always thinks this to himself.  But cliché or not, this is what I thought.)

Among some of the rural villages we passesd was a Cham village (Cambodia’s Muslim minority). They had a temple in the center of the village, which blended Islamic style architecture with Cambodian temple architecture.  (I wish I would have gotten a picture actually, but we kept biking.)  The Cham men had on special hats, the women headscarves, but the children were as friendly as in all the other neighborhoods, and yelled out, “Hello! Hello!” as we passed by.

We followed small foot paths through rice fields, and rode our bikes across a small stream over a bridge which was nothing more than a few wooden planks lying across the stream.

As we got closer to the ocean, there were lots of fields that were just covered with water.  I didn’t understand what these were at first, but ****** explained to me they were salt fields.  They were all covered with ocean water, and then once the ocean water evaporated they would harvest the salt.

While biking around we also saw lots of Water Buffalo lounging around in the mud.  And at one point we saw a man leading a whole heard of them through the fields.  He was a bit off in the distance, but when I asked about it, ******said that he was probably a Muslim (Cham), since only the Muslims in Cambodia kept Water Buffalos.  Although why ownership of Water Buffalos was regulated to a single religion, I never did get ****** to fully explain to me.

Eventually we made our way to where the river emptied into the sea.  And stopped for pictures and a rest.  There wasn’t much of a beach, but we had made it to the Ocean, which had been one of our objectives for the afternoon.

Near the ocean there were various shell fish and crabs.  And several shells that had all been smashed and left in a pile.  I assumed at first that this was children who had done this, but ****** told me the local people here didn’t have enough food to eat, and so would resort to breaking open these shells to get the tiny little sea crabs inside.  (I guess poverty in rural Cambodia was worse than I had realized.)

There were a couple of empty concrete barrels resting near the river, and ****** crawled into one of them to rest and escape the sun, and invited me to come in.  It was a much tighter fit for me than it was for her, but I did manage to get inside even if I was a bit cramped.

She asked me if I had ever been in a barrel like this before, and I had brief flashbacks to my childhood playing in and around the concrete barrels at elementary school.  (Funny now to think how easily we were kept occupied as children.)  

We hung out there and talked for a while, and then got back on our bikes and started heading back.

We took a slightly different way back than we did there, but ****** claimed to know the area so there was no danger of getting lost.

A man on a motorbike passed us on the road.  He glanced briefly at me, but starred much harder at ******.  He then sped on, but we saw him a little ways down the road.  One of the salt houses had a wooden pavilion, and he was sitting there, and invited us to stop and sit with him.

******asked me if I wanted to stop, and I said sure why not.

The man didn’t speak in English, so he spoke the whole time in Khmer to ******.  I didn’t understand a word he was saying, but he would give me a hard stare from time to time which struck me as unfriendly, but it might just have been cultural differences.  He also appeared to be really grilling ****** and firing off questions at her.  
(He also had the rather disgusting rustic habit of vigorously picking his nose while conversing.)

Since I couldn’t participate in the conversation, I took some pictures of the surrounding countryside while we were there.  
The man took an interest in my bike (which was, by Cambodian standards, a fairly nice bike) and ****** translated that he would like to ride it.
“I’m afraid it’s not my bike,” I said, “I’m only borrowing it for the day from the guest house, so I can’t really loan it out to other people.”  This must not have gotten translated accurately, because he got on the bike anyway and road up and down the street for a while.  He came back and asked me (through ****** translation) how much the bike costs.  I repeated that it wasn’t my bike, it belonged to the guest house, and I really didn’t know how much it costs.

When we got back on the road, I asked ****** what all the man’s questions had been.  “He asked me lots of questions, and all of his questions were very boring,” she said.
(...and this is, unfortunately, as far as I got writing up my journal on this trip...)


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Weekly Reading Vlog #56: Herodotus p.486-494, The Return of the King p.1480-1498, The Magic of Oz


(Weekly Reading Vlog)

   

Books (52 pages this week)
The Histories by Herodotus p.486-494 (8 pages)
Podcasts and Audiobooks: (Not mentioned in the video)
Revolutions Season 3: The French Revolution  3rd Listening From: Fundraiser! 14 Dec 2014 - 21 Jan 2015! To: The Insurrection of August 10th (from Revolutions Podcast)
Audiobook: Age of Myth by Michael J. Sullivan 00:00--1:51 audiobook link HERE

For more information about what this is and why I'm doing it, see HERE.
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Chapter 5: Catherine Asks for Help

[This is cross-posted from my other blog HERE.  For all the previous chapters, see HERE.  As I explained in that post, I'm eager for any feedback you might have on anything from prose level concerns to story level concerns.  Give me your feedback in the comments.
I know it's been a long time since I posted a chapter.  As I explained HERE and HERE, I made the mistake of taking a break, and it took me forever to work up the willpower to get back into my writing rhythm.  But I seem to be back into it now.  We'll see how it goes]

Google: docs, pub
Chapter 5: Catherine Asks for Help
The night passed without incident, and in the morning Margaret served breakfast to the three teenagers.
As they sat at the table and ate their bread and stew, Margaret asked to see Alfred’s arms.
“My arms don’t hurt at all,” Alfred said cheerfully.  “Whatever you put in that salve, it really helped.”
Margaret smiled.  “I do what I can,” she said.  “I know you’re feeling better, but I’m going to put on a bit more of the salve.”
“Okay,” Alfred said.
“And Alfred, we should get you a new shirt before you go outside.  The sleeves on your shirt are ruined.”
“It’s okay,” said Alfred.  “I don’t think it’s going to be so cold today.”
“Yes,” said Margaret, “but you don’t want to walk around with your bandages showing.  Think of all the questions your friends will ask you.”
“I don’t mind,” said Alfred.  “I’ll tell them all how you healed me.”
“If you tell everyone the whole story, then you’ll have to tell them how you couldn’t beat Catherine in a fight,” Carlyle reminded Alfred.
Alfred was silent as he contemplated this.
“I’m sure it was just a little quarrel between the two of you,” said Margaret.  “Quarrels like this are just best forgotten about.  The rest of your friends don’t need to hear about the little fight or your injury.”
“I guess not,” said Alfred.  Alfred was momentarily quiet, as he thought about yesterday, and then he turned suddenly to Catherine.  “Hey, Catherine, what happened yesterday anyway?”
Catherine just looked down at her breakfast and did not answer.
“The important thing,” said Margaret in a firm voice, “is that whatever happened yesterday is over, and that your arms are healed now.  Don’t fight each other in the future, and it won’t happen again.”
“But it was so strange,” said Alfred.
“Alfred, eat your breakfast,” said Margaret.  “And don’t think about it anymore.”
They finished their breakfast, and then asked permission to go out.  
“Stay together, as always,” said Margaret.  “Don’t forget about the goblin army that was reported yesterday.”
“We won’t,” said Carlyle.
“It’s best if you stick with your group of friends,” said Margarat.  “They can tell you if they’ve heard any news about the goblin army.  And if you hear anything approaching, hurry back at once.”
“We will,” said Carlyle.   
They went out to try to find their friends, and they found a group of teenagers assembling on a rocky part of the mountainside near the woods.  They immediately recognized their group of friends.  The boys, Lucas, Kevin, Marcus, Brian, and Shawn were grouped together talking, and not far away sat the girls, Gabriel, Lucinda, Molly and Abby. 
“Look who it is!” Shawn called out as they approached.  “Where have you three been?”
“Oh, you know us,” Alfred shouted back.  “We’ve been here, there and everywhere.  What are you guys up to?”
“Nothing yet,” Shawn replied.
“We’re thinking about starting some wrestling matches,” said Kevin.  “Do you want to join?”
“Not today,” said Alfred.  “I’m resting my arms.”
Gabriel burst out laughing when she heard this.  “Resting your arms?”  From the tone of Gabriel’s voice, it was evident she found this a ridiculous thing to say.
“I can rest my arms if I want to,” said Alfred.
“Alfred, nobody has ever used that excuse before,” Gabriel insisted.  
Alfred gave Gabriel a shrug of the shoulders in reply, and then looked away from her to indicate that the subject was dropped.
But Lucas wouldn’t let him drop it.  “It’s no good,” said Lucas.  “If you want to rest your arms, you can stay home.  If you come here, you have to fight.”
“Since when?” asked Alfed.  “I can rest if I want to.”
“Go and keep the old women company!” spat out Lucas, and he advanced toward Alfred.  But before he got near Alfred, Carlyle launched himself at Lucas and tackled him around the waist.  Lucas was knocked backwards off of his feet, but even as he fell, he curled his hands into fists and brought his fists down onto Carlyle’s back.  Lucas hit the rocky ground square on his butt.  Carlyle landed on top of Lucas, and started immediately swinging his fists at Lucas’s face.  Carlyle was able to land a couple of good blows before Lucas brought his feet up against Carlyle’s chest, and used his legs to push Carlyle back.  Lucas then leapt to his feet as Carlyle also scrambled to stand up.  They looked at each other for a brief moment, and then rushed forward to fight again.
By this time, a circle had formed around the two combatants, and everyone was cheering and yelling advice.  
Molly was the first one to notice someone was missing.  “Wait a minute,” she said.  “Where did Catherine go?  Did she disappear again?”

***********************************************************************************

As soon as the fighting had started, Catherine had stepped into the trees and disappeared.  
Catherine didn’t even glance around to make sure no one was looking at her.  She knew that at the beginning of a fight, everyone’s eyes would be drawn to the combatants.  No one would be watching her.
None of them had any authority over her, but there was a rule in the mountains against wandering off by yourself.  They would certainly have tried to stop her, if any of them had noticed.  
Although Catherine and her family lived near the tree line, there were still large parts of the mountainside that were covered with woods.  At this elevation, the woods were mostly pine trees.  They gave off a sharp piney smell that hung on the cold mountain air.  Catherine journeyed through the pine trees.  There was no clear path for this part of the mountain, so Catherine made her way as best she could.  Sometimes she headed down the mountain slightly, but mostly she headed east.  She didn’t know this area of the mountain well, but she had a vague idea of where she was going.  She had been this way a few times before.
Catherine, of course, knew very well the dangers of wandering around in the mountains.  People who got separated from their group were vulnerable to getting eaten.  A few years ago, it had even happened to a member of their group, a boy named Jack, who had gone for a walk into the woods, and had never come back. But at the moment, Catherine wanted answers more than she was worried about the danger.
And it wasn’t long before the danger came.  At first, it was just a sense that something somewhere in the woods was moving.  Then after a while Catherine thought she saw little glimpses of movement in the trees off in the distance.  And eventually, she realized that a pack of wolves was tracking her movement.
Even though Catherine knew this mountain was dangerous, the realization that the wolves were closing in on her still gave her a sinking feeling in her stomach. Despite the cold, her forehead started to sweat.  But she kept walking steadily.  She didn’t want to show that she was afraid.
She kept her eyes sharp, and eventually she saw a large branch lying on the ground.  She picked it up.  It wasn’t much, but any weapon would be better than nothing.
Catherine kept walking.  The wolves kept getting closer and closer.  They were closing in.  Soon, she felt their presence on all sides.  One of them stood directly in front of her.  It had bright white fur, and red eyes.  It bared its teeth and growled.  “What’s a little girl like you doing all alone in these woods?” it said.
“Walking peacefully, and troubling no one,” Catherine answered.  Her heart was beating fast, but she tried to hide her fear.  
“You are troubling us,” the white wolf answered.  “These are our woods.  Anyone who enters must pay a price.”
“And we are very hungry today,” said another wolf from behind Catherine.
Catherine raised her hand and held the branch up.
“Do you expect to scare us away with that?” asked the white wolf.  “We’ll tear your arm off before you can strike a single blow.”  The wolf spoke in a growly tone, and Catherine shivered when she heard the menace in its voice.  She felt the shiver travel down her spine, and up into her arms.  And then, the shiver passed from her arms into her hands, and from her hand into the branch, and with a sudden popping noise, the branch burst into flame.  
The wolves were startled, and every one of them jumped back suddenly.  Catherine was equally startled, and she almost dropped the branch out of surprise.  But somehow, she had the presence of mind to keep holding on to it.  She didn’t know what exactly had happened, but she knew that this was the same power that had hurt Alfred yesterday.  Something was happening to her that she couldn’t control, and it scared her.  Her heart beat even faster.  And as her heart beat faster, the energy flowed throughout her body, and she could feel even more of it leaving her body and going into the branch.  The fire grew bigger, until it engulfed the whole branch.  The flames shot up into the air.  It seemed strange that the branch could produce so much fire.  And yet, even more strangely, Catherine’s hand was not hurt by the fire.
The wolves were now cowering before her, but the white wolf crept cautiously back up to Catherine.  “Are you one of them?” he asked.  “We know all of the ones who live in these woods, but we have not seen you before.”
“I am going to ask to join them,” said Catherine.
This answer seemed to confuse the wolves.  They looked at each other, and then the white wolf tried to clarify with a second question.  “Are you under their protection?” he asked.
“I journey through these woods with their permission,” said Catherine.  “I am under my own protection.”
It was a small lie, but it did the trick nicely.  The wolves bowed their heads toward the ground.  Their tails were tucked between their legs.  “You should have told us,” said the white wolf, but now his tone was conciliatory, not accusatory.  “We would never attack one of them.”
“We will not trouble you again,” said another wolf.
And the wolves scattered.
Catherine stood frozen, holding the flaming branch, until the wolves had disappeared out of sight.  Only then did she feel the relief wash over her. 
But what then to do about the flaming branch?  Catherine tried to will the fire to go out, but it would not.  Apparently she had the power to start the fire, but not to put it out.  Eventually she dropped the branch on the ground, and was only able to extinguish the flame by covering it with dirt.
But let us return to the small lie that Catherine had told the wolves.  In truth, she did not have permission, she only had toleration.  That is, they knew she had come before, and they had not explicitly forbidden her from coming again.   
The last time she had come, they had seen her.  Catherine had been too afraid to come forward at first, and had been hiding in the trees.  But one of them had seen Catherine, and had made eye-contact with her right before they all went back into their cave.  Catherine had rushed forward once she had realized they were all going inside, but it had been too late.  They had all disappeared into their cave, and Catherine knew that it would be foolish, perilous really, to go into their cave without being invited.  So she had waited outside for them to come out again.  She had waited several hours, but they hadn’t come back outside.  And then Catherine knew that she had to return home before sunset.
This time, Catherine promised herself that no matter what happened, she would talk to them.  She had to know.  She couldn’t handle not knowing any longer.
The path to their cave was a little bit tricky.  It was on another slope on the mountain range, so to get to it, Catherine had to go down the slope for a while, until she reached one of the troughs and the mountain began to rise again.  Then she walked up the woods on the other side, until she got close to where their cave was hidden.
The closer she got to their cave, the thicker the trees were.  There were trees, but there was also a lot of other foliage.  There were leafy green trees that obscured the sun, and green vines that hung everywhere.  No other place in the mountains was like this, and Catherine wasn’t even sure this kind of growth was natural at this altitude.  But no one expected things to be natural here.  
Several ravens cawed from the trees.  There was a hissing sound from the ground, and Catherine noticed two snakes slithering across her path.  Snakes were definitely unusual this high up in the mountains, but Catherine wasn’t surprised.
And as she got closer, she saw one of them sitting outside the cave.  It was the same woman who had seen Catherine before--a pretty woman with long black hair, and wearing a simple black dress.  She had a basket with her, and she was filling the basket up with roots.  She sang to herself as she gathered the roots.  She had a pretty voice, but it was a haunting eerie melody that she sang.  Catherine broke into a run, worried that if she waited, she might miss her chance again.
The woman heard Catherine running towards her, and looked up.  When she saw Catherine, she brushed the dirt off of her hands, and stood up. “You’ve come here twice now,” she said to Catherine.  “Thrice will not be forgiven.  Go away, and be not so foolish as to place yourself in danger again.”
But the woman’s words barely registered to Catherine.  Catherine had rehearsed in her head so many times what she would say that now it just came babbling out.  “I have come to ask for aid,” Catherine began.
The woman stopped her abruptly.  “Aid will not be given.  We do not use our powers to solve the insignificant problems of the common mountain folk.  If we gave aid to everyone who approached us, there would be no end to the disturbance.”
“Then give me your counsel, and I will not ask for your aid,” Catherine pleaded.
“Very well.  You may ask me for advice this once, but then you must never return here.”
“The past year, I have felt the growth of something inside me which is not part of my physical body,” Catherine began.  “It’s some sort of energy that I can’t control.  And now I can no longer contain it.”
The woman smiled grimly.  “I see,” she said.  “So you think you’re one of us?” 
“This is what I want to be advised on,” said Catherine.  “For I am completely ignorant of what is happening to me.  If I am one of you, how would I know?”
“If you were one of us, you would know from your parents.  Magical abilities are always inherited.  They never spring out of nowhere.  Do either of your parents have magical abilities?”
“I don’t think so.  But there are many things they never tell me.”
“They don’t have to tell you.  You would have seen it.  You would have seen something.  It cannot be contained.  If magic isn’t used, then it will leak out in unexpected ways.”
“Yes,” Catherine said excitedly.  “Yes, that’s what’s been happening to me!”
“Your parents,” the woman insisted.  “Have you ever seen them do anything magical?”
“No. I--, wait, let me think.”  Catherine had never thought of her parents as magical, but now she searched her memory.  Had she missed something?  Had there been unusual events that might have been magic?
“Think particularly of your mother,” said the woman.  “It’s usually passed from mother to daughter.”
“I don’t know.  Everyone else on the mountain thinks my parents are very strange.  They’re the only ones who can read. And my mother is very good at making medicines.  She understands things about herbs and roots and leaves that no one else does.  She can make salves and draughts that can heal almost anything.”
“Interesting,” the woman said slowly.  “So you think she’s using magic to make her draughts?”
“It had never occurred to me,” Catherine replied.  “Until just now.”
“It’s possible,” said the woman.  “If her draughts and salves have a healing power that is not natural, she could be making them with magic.  But it’s also possible that she is just very learned in the art of healing.”
“Who could she have learned it from?” Catherine said.  “Nobody else in these mountains knows anything?”
The woman shrugged.  “Why have you come here, at great peril to yourself, to ask me questions which you should be asking your own mother?”
“Can you help me?” asked Catherine.  “I want to be able to control it.  Or better yet, to be rid of it.”
“If you do have it, you cannot get rid of it.”
“Then teach me how to control it.”
“I’ve already told you that aid will not be given.  We do not train apprentices here.  Only fully mature witches, who have already learned their craft, may join us.”
“But how can I learn?”
“To learn, you must be trained.  But it will not be from one of us.  You must find your own teacher.  In most cases, the teacher is a relative.  If you have the ability, there must be someone in your family who can train you.  If there is no one in your family, then you do not have the ability.”
“Is there no other test?” asked Catherine.  “Can’t you use a spell to check and see whether or not I have the ability?”
The woman gave her another sad smile.  “I already told you, we don’t do magic on command.  It would set a bad precedent if the mountain folk found out.  And besides, what good would it do you only to know?  You would still need to be taught how to control it.  What you need to do is to talk to your parents.  That is what you should have done before coming here and bothering me.”
Catherine nodded meekly.  She very much doubted that her parents would tell her anything, but she also realized that at this point in the conversation, it would be no use to argue with the witch.  She didn’t seem to understand, and she definitely didn’t seem to care.
“Do not forget that it is forbidden for ordinary humans to approach the witch’s coven,” the woman continued.  “You have been forgiven these two times now.  I repeat, a third time will not be forgiven.”
And Catherine realized that she was being dismissed.  “I understand,” she said bitterly, she turned to go.  “Don’t worry.  You won’t see me again.”
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