Brian Murphy's Blog, page 42

Today I recorded an episode of the Literary Wonder and Adventure podcast with host Robert Zoltan (aka, Robert Szeles). It was an enjoyable, wide-ranging, 90 minute or so conversation on sword-and-sorcery, Robert E. Howard, Flame and Crimson, fantasy fiction and the power of myth, publishing, genre, and more.

I’m not sure exactly when the episode will be posted as Robert does a lot of post-production and editing, and as I understand it co-host Edgar the Raven will be making an appearance on the show. But I’ll announce when the episode is live.

Learn more or subscribe to the podcast here.

Three years ago I lost my friend Rick Langtry to cancer. Rick was a guy that readers of this blog would have liked—a fan of fantasy fiction, hard rock, role-playing games, history, beer. He had an enviable sword mounted on the wall of his living room, real Toledo steel purchased in Spain. In other words, he appreciated all the good things in life. He was a family man with a son and a daughter and a great wife, Charlene.
I met Rick in about the shadiest place imaginable, and under shady circumstances. I believe it was April 2001. Dungeons and Dragons third edition was newly on the scene, promising a “back to the dungeon” approach and a fresh update of a tired, bloated rule set. I was married but without kids at the time and suddenly found myself possessed by the urge to dust off my dice bag and get back in. The only problem was, I didn’t have anyone to play with. A web search turned up the EN World site, which had a “Gamers seeking Gamers” forum. Rick was living in Southern New Hampshire and at the time I was living in Northern Massachusetts, and through the online forum we brokered a meetup at The Tavern in Methuen. My wife was so paranoid that I was going to be murdered by some madman that she made me take her cell phone (I did not have one at the time), thinking that I could at least call from the trunk of a car.
Our meetup at The Tavern was very apropos for what was in store, since as any veteran gamer knows most of the D&D adventures ever played begin with the player characters meeting up awkwardly in a tavern, downing ale served from a comely tavern wench before embarking on adventure. Ready to serve together in arms in life or death circumstances, regardless of the fact that they just met, and barely know one another’s names. Which again, proved prescient.
At the time smoking in restaurants was still a thing, and when I walked into The Tavern it was like the streets of Victorian-era London, with dim lighting and (cigarette) smog straight out of the East End. I looked around and there was Rick, with a beard a beer. Fortunately not Jack the Ripper.In hindsight it was a meeting solely to make sure we both had one head and a reasonably complete set of teeth. But I knew after a single beer with Rick that he was the kind of guy I’d enjoy hanging out with. I walked out of the Tavern absolutely stiff with smoke, but confident that I found a Dungeon Master, and possibly, a friend.

There would be many more hangouts to come.
We played our first game at Rick’s in May of 2001. We played perhaps every 3-4 weeks, sometimes more often, and typically on Saturday and Sunday afternoons into the evening. Rick was the de facto DM, running us on adventures through his homebrew world of Ilsardia. Others later rotated DMing duties but Rick inevitably wound up back behind the screen. He was good at what he did, dropping in voices to bring NPCs to life and creating compelling villains and storylines with his voice and his imagination. Rick was not in the least a railroad type of GM. Ilsardia was unfolding with wars and politics in the background, and our party had free reign to pursue whatever adventures stirred our imagination.
We didn’t just play D&D, though that rule set formed the bulk of our gaming experience. We also played Victorian Shadows, a Western RPG, and various and sundry boardgames and wargames. Most of our hangouts revolved around gaming but also included family parties and other social gatherings. Many of my fondest memories were not the games themselves, but the chatter over grilled food and beer. We talked about books, The Lord of the Rings films, music, popular culture, medieval fairs and re-enactments, the gaming industry, and much more. It was a great time with a bunch of like-minded guys (and a couple gals).
My last game with the group was I believe early 2012. More than 10 years of adventure, and friendship, and incredible shared experiences at the gaming table. Here's an old post commemorating our 10th anniversary. But life was getting too busy for me and the games had perhaps lost a little of their luster. I needed a break.
I kept up on the progress of the game and the group through another friend I had made through the group, Chris Torres, with whom I’ve remained friends ever since. In late 2016 Chris told me that Rick was battling cancer, but was still gaming, and I thought it was perhaps a treatable form that had been caught early, and all would be OK. There were no particularly serious overtones at that time, but that might have been wishful thinking on my part, or perhaps subsequent guilt for not reaching out to see how he was doing.
In April 2017 I heard that Rick had taken a turn for the worse. I wrote to him and he replied that the treatments to date had not controlled the lymphoma. He had moved on to experimental drugs and clinical trials, and traveled to Houston hoping to get on a phase 1 trial for a CAR-T transplant. He remained optimistic, and planned to include me in the celebrations when he finally beat the cancer.
Rick did not beat the disease, and did not have much longer to live. Two months later I got an urgent message from Charlene, through one of my old gaming friends, that he was on home hospice and did not have long to go.
I said goodbye to Rick for the last time on June 9, 2017, driving up together with Chris to his summer home in Washington, New Hampshire. Charlene had arranged for the old D&D gang to get together for a final visit. He was ravaged by the disease, but nevertheless recognized me and we exchanged a few words, even a smile.
Two days later he passed away. He was just 58 years old.
I share here a bit of verse I wrote for him that June day for the group. I had intended to read it to Rick in person but he was too weak, and fading in and out of consciousness, so instead I read it to our old group, arrayed together in a circle on the porch. Like adventurers of old gathered together one last time.
Miss you my friend.
Ode to the Dungeon Master
Oh tale spinner, great bard of the NorthYou have led us on adventures farTo Ilsardia, and the village of Hommlet, and on to Kharne’s Inn.We vanquished invaders from Aflitan, beat them back from the shoresBattled orcs and ogres, and entreated with mysterious red-haired womenPassed through magic portals, and conversed with copper dragons.We waited an eternity it seemed, for Shem to pick those locksWhile Cyrus was never shy to boast of his magical prowessAnd Cal and Tristan swept the field with mighty axes and bladesAs Arden filled the foe with arrow shafts, and prickling words.The battle ended, we raised many a tankard of frothy aleIn the Inn of the Welcome Wench
Yet what I remember bestOf those adventures wondrous and fairAre those times we met ‘round the fireNot in Elrond’s mighty Hall in Rivendell, but the blue flames of the gas grillIn the driveway at Naumkeag, enjoying good food and cold beerAnd each other’s company, as we shared a little of our lives with one another.Those were adventures of a different sortAnd ones which we shall never forget.Adventures never end, for when we reach our journey’s endThe tale is only just beginning, and the bard’s songs remainAnd they grow in the telling.
Oh Dungeon Master, you have led us, through your artTo wondrous places beyond our world, to better placesWhere we could be heroes, and we were, on many fine Sunday afternoons.For that I thank you.

Voice of an angel (and a demon). The great Ronnie James Dio.Can it really be 10 years since Ronnie James Dio fled the circles of the world? Somehow, yes. A decade has passed since his death, but his music remains as vibrant and awesome as ever. Today I expended a few words explaining why over on DMR Blog. Check it out here if you're interested.

There's been some nice Dio tributes on the interwebs today. Here's a nice collection of short remembrances from the likes of Rob Halford, Scott Ian, and others. 

Glad to hear that in addition to being a once-in-a-lifetime talent, he was also humble and a great guy who took the time to help out new musicians and stick around to sign for the fans.

Hey, this hero is made up of a thousand
faces... I see what they did there.The following are some ramblings and observations conceived after a recent reading of Joseph Campbell’s The Hero With a Thousand Faces. I’m not sure if I believe the ideas I’m advancing. I’m no Campbell scholar. Just presenting some thoughts here for commentary/disagreement/dismissal. Have at it.

Among the claims I make in Flame and Crimson is that sword-and-sorcery offers a sandbox in which to explore themes alternative to mainstream/high fantasy. The latter often closely follows the “hero’s journey” as described by Joseph Campbell in his classic 1949 study The Hero With a Thousand Faces. Sword-and-sorcery I am positing here offers an alternative exit ramp.

To set the stage a bit: Campbell (1904-87) was a teacher, lecturer, author, and editor who achieved fame with his compelling theory that mythologies the world round—ancient Greek, African, Native American, Northern European, occidental and oriental, and more or less everything in between—share striking similarities and patterns, including their use of the hero’s journey. The journey entails three major stages—Departure, Initiation, and Return—defined by familiar hallmarks and tropes like The Call to Adventure (which the hero may initially refuse), Dragon-Battle (symbolic of the fierce guardian the hero must overcome), and Whale’s Belly (our hero is swallowed, sometimes literally, sometimes figuratively,  in a near death experience). The hero undergoes a supreme ordeal to obtain a reward, then re-emerges from the kingdom of dream and returns with a boon that restores the world. It’s a work that builds on the theories of Carl Jung, including the collective unconscious.

How does traditional sword-and-sorcery fit into this model? There is some significant overlap. We see calls to adventure in S&S, journeys into dark pits and underworlds. We see magical aid, from time to time. And plenty of battles against fearsome monsters and wizards. Robert E. Howard’s “The Scarlet Citadel” fits this mold very well, with Conan heeding the call to adventure (taking the bait on a trap set by plotters to steal his kingship, but riding out to heed that call). Captured, he is imprisoned in a dark hell-like underworld, swallowed if you will, and battles a giant serpent. He is offered magical aid by Pelias the wise wizard in the form of a flying mount. And he returns to lay waste to his enemies and would-be usurpers on the battlefield.

But I would argue that sword-and-sorcery diverges with the hero’s journey, often sharply, in the return, and what a return portends. Sword-and-sorcery heroes return (though not always, particularly in the works of Clark Ashton Smith, where they often die ignominiously). But when they do return, typically they do not bring with them a boon that restores the world. In fact, they usually refuse to return or reintegrate to society, and occasionally bring radical upheaval or destruction home with him.



Conan’s return in “The Scarlet Citadel” is striking. He is no genteel king restoring order but a roaring, red-handed barbarian who sees the folly in all civilized attempts at order: And high above all, the naked figure of the king rocked and swayed on the dizzy battlements, mighty arms brandished, roaring with gargantuan laughter that mocked all mobs and princes, even himself. As Campbell notes, the first problem of the returning hero is “to accept as real, after an experience of soul-satisfying vision of fulfillment, the passing joys and sorrows, banalities and noisy obscenities of life. Why reenter such a world?”

Among the reasons Campbell’s work is so highly regarded is that it not only points out interesting mythological parallels, but also offers a powerful psychological model of human maturation. The hero’s journey mirrors the stages of growth in a life. Self-realization is the ultimate goal, with the enlightenment of Buddhism or the submission to Christ the discovery of “truth.” Says Campbell, “Every failure to cope with a life situation must be laid, in the end, to a restriction of consciousness. Wars and temper tantrums are the makeshifts of ignorance; regrets are illuminations come too late.” The classic hero on the journey must be willing to sacrifice himself or herself to elevate the world to which he or she returns; failure to do so is the hero’s fault, as he or she has not reached a high enough order of consciousness.

In the classic Campbellian arc the return of a king portends the return of peace and a hero entering a higher level of self-consciousness. Conan’s return is something different, a spirit aflame with personal vengeance, not a soul ready to ascend to a higher order of spirituality.

I would argue that Conan does not complete the classic Campbellian hero’s journey. He answers the call, but never becomes fully self-realized. He becomes a king, but his wanderlust and outsider-ness never allow him to integrate with society. I don’t believe you can be both an outsider and self-realized—the latter implies a full recognition of oneself with the universe.

Sword-and-sorcery is full of like examples. Elric never finds Tanelorn/equilibrium, and is unable to rise above his Melnibonean heritage. When he does returns, it is to (spoiler alert) destroy Imrryr, and the world, and self-immolate with Stormbringer. Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser arguably make it further down the road, however their path to Rime Isle strikes me as a retreat from responsibility, not a re-integration.

But there may be another interpretation. Mythology is like the god Proteus, Campbell explains, taking all manner of shapes and divergent paths, and therefore allow alternative interpretations of the hero’s journey. One of these is that of the exile, who stands in diametric opposition to that of social duty. In our modern age, when the great co-ordinating mythologies are now seen as quaint lies, there is no meaning to be found in tribes or groups, only in the individual. And a hero who has lived a full life as wanderer, warrior, chieftain, or priest, never losing his own essence, carries within himself the all, though he be an exile. “Wherever the hero may wander, whatever he may do, he is ever in the presence of his own essence—for he has the perfected eye to see. There is no separateness. Thus, just as the way of social participation may lead in the end to a realization of the All in the individual, so that of exile brings the hero to the Self in all.”

Campbell notes that a danger of the victorious hero is arrogance—a hero becomes a supreme king, becomes too prideful and haughty, and his pure essence deteriorates—which may explain why S&S heroes typically refuse the mantle of kingship. “The hero of yesterday becomes the tyrant of tomorrow, unless he crucifies himself today,” he warns.

Sword-and-sorcery heroes, outsiders and exiles, are therefore very relevant in our secularized, atomized modern lives. Strikingly, Campbell even refers to Atlantis in the context of the exile, a small dash of sword-and-sorcery: “The modern hero-deed must be that of questing to bring to light again the lost Atlantis of the co-ordinated soul.”

In summary, sword-and-sorcery heroes at times seem trapped in their juvenility, unable to complete the Hero’s Journey. But perhaps this is mistaken. They may be wearers of one of its thousand faces, exiles with an important message to bear.

But I’ll let this thought-exercise cease here. Campbell’s book contains a brilliant line (just one of many) about the dangers of over-interpretation and applying too rational an analysis to timeless stories: “Whenever the poetry of myth is interpreted as biography, history, or science, it is killed.”