Questing for Camelot

For the world is only a tissue of masks and veils; And when the veils are lifted, in birth or death or the other ecstasies, we look beyond them, and see faces that we already know, but cannot bear to look at for long.

Sparked, in part, by pulling out and playing Mythic Bastionland 📖 , I have again felt the warmth of embers rekindled; I once more delve into my fondness of Arthuriana.

Part of that fondness is questing for books (and Role Playing Games (RPGs 📖) ) that would fill me with wonder. One past attempt was The Mists of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley, another The Faerie Morgana by Louisa Morgan. Both focusing on Morgan le Fey, providing an interesting perspective that humanizes a woman often cast as villain.

I had read, and adored, The Once and Future King by T.H. White, which gave full and fair treatment of Guineverre; whereas The Mists of Avalon was one of woman tears down another woman. And The Faerie Morgana is passable, but there’s little economy of language. I stumble on an observed pattern of several different paragraphs that are comprised of several sentences that are in essence reiteration of emotions, which lands heavy as mailed gauntlet.

Through serendipity, I recently found Galahad and the Grail by Malcolm Guite, a lyrical ballad. I’ve been etching heraldric shields on pink erasures and stamping them in my campaign journal; seeing the woodcut illustrations throughout the book (and as the author’s biographical photo), I felt providence’s pull.

One in which I’ve considered revisiting The Fall of Arthur by J.R.R. Tolkien, to again hear and feel the poetry of a myth. To find and feel the Truth in this fictive story.

Last night I read the introduction of Galahad and the Grail and some of the appendices. I saw that this could be a very Christ-centered retelling. I might normally cringe at such things, but withheld judgment. As I read further, the author is concerned with symbolism, mysticism, and stewardship of the land. That I can appreciate and embrace. It follows in my well-trod mental pathways of Tolkien.

I think about my present reading of The Faerie Morgana and weigh it against my recent read of The River Has Roots by Amal El-Mohtar. When reading The Faerie Morgana I find myself setting the book down somewhat tired of the story and composition. While reading The River Has Roots, I found myself setting down the book with a sense of fullness.

I don’t think this setting down of books is related to my attention span; I spent several consecutive hours reading Dungeon Crawler Carl by Matt Dinniman. (Sidenote: A book (and series) that I marvel at being far better than it should be. Someone recently posited to me that this series may well be a/the Don Quixote of our era.)

The interplay of grammar, word-play, transubstantiation, conjugation, lyricism, and tonal register of The River Has Roots invokes a sense of splendor, magic, eternal cycles, and loss. I felt the slowness of soft flowing river reshaping my brain. Fighting against the digital attention capturing colonization I’ve allowed to seep and squirm into my brain.

These are not tales of sustained progress, that manifest propagandized myth we receive and amply, but instead of the natural rise and fall, of waves coming to shore and receding. That once and future, present here and now in its telling.

I also think of the queerness of other Arthurian stories I read: Spear by Nicola Griffith and Lancelot and the Lord of the Distant Isles by Samuel N. Rosenberg and Patricia Terry. Both holding models of tender (non-toxic) masculinity, something faded and beleaguered from patriarchy’s constant assault.

Arthuriana tells of the questing beast but is itself a questing beast.