Myths and Fairytales

I have to admit, I haven't ever taken the time to think about the differences between myth and fairy tales. To me, they've always just been fiction. Myths seem to explain how things in the world came to being and perhaps have some kind of moral baked into their stories. Fairy tales have always been something we read to our children to entertain them and to encourage them to read. But Frye, of course, has taught me that there is a substantial difference between the two genres.

"Myths have two characteristics that folktales, at least in their earlier stages, do not show, or show much less clearly. First, myths stick together to form a mythology, a large interconnected body of narrative that covers all the religious and historical revelation that its society is concerned with, or concerned about" (Frye, 9). Myths incorporate a variety of characters and story lines from earlier myths. As Frye points out, there is a mythology, an entire world of stories, to which each myth clings.

Each subsequent story relies on the other myths for its ethos. "They carry an authority that no writer can command." In that way, each story is simply a tiny piece of a much greater pie, which I believe is what can make mythology so hard to understand. It's almost like being immersed in a culture to which you do not belong - at least in the beginning, everything seems like it's a foreign language. But to the culture from which the myth was born, the stories make perfect sense.

Take, for example, the Illiad. This story starts en media res. The characters all have well-known back stories. Like Homer, "the mythical poet, then, has his material handed him by tradition, whereas the fabulous poet may, up to a point, choose his own plots and characters." Those that would have listened to this story of the Illiad would have known who the characters were, would have understood the context in which they were placed and would have believed the importance of some of the key elements, such as how the gods played a role in the lives of the mortals. It would have been accepted as an explanation for how their society has progressed to their current status.

This brings us to Frye's second point, which is that "myths take root in a specific culture, and it is one of their functions to tell that culture what it is and how it came to be." Myths are more than just stories. They primarily concern themselves with "structures of belief or social concern rather than imagination" (12). Perhaps to the authors of mythologies, the underlying message is of paramount importance. Though I believe that it's the stories that carry these messages that cause the myths to live on well beyond their usefulness. Without the stories, the message would be just that - boring history, social rules and propaganda. Where's the love and suspense and suffering and triumph in that?

Folktales, on the other hand, "lead a more nomadic existence." They cross over between cultures and largely stand on their own as stories. Though they do differentiate themselves from myths in this way, Frye points out that fairytales can also say a lot about a culture that treasures such stories. And, as has been reiterated in class, no story stands on its own. "The fabulous writer may seem to be making up his stories out of his own head, but this never happens in literature...his material comes from traditions behind him which may have no recognized or understood social status, and may not be consciously known to the writer or to his public" (10). Rest assured, though, the fairytales of our childhood came from as rich a tradition as mythology. And, just as do myths, they follow a structure that was handed to them by the literature of the past.

Naivete

I often feel intimidated by you all. Yes, you...my learned classmates. You throw out these huge words that I have to go look up every night, only to forget their meaning the next time I hear them. You read books from authors I haven't even heard mentioned. And you post blog entries that I can barely comprehend.

I believe we are all naive in some regard. My naivete just happens to extend into this degree program. But that's why I'm here. As one of my professors once said, "if you already understood this stuff, you shouldn't be in this class." That thought keeps me going when I want to throw up my hands and say "I'll never catch up."

So here I am writing on a subject in which I am well acquainted. Yet I can't quite figure out what it is that makes us naive. If it truly means a lack of experience or understanding, does that mean that we all of a sudden lose our naivete when we suddenly become learned in a subject? I think, to a certain degree, we're all naive, even in the things we think we know the most about. Perhaps it's when we think we know everything that we become truly naive. That was probably a really naive assertion. Now I've just confused myself.

An Ephesian Tale is a simple one. It follows the archetype of romance literature, in which the man and woman fall in love, are separated, and eventually are united again. It's language is "extremely plain and unadorned" (3). But is it a naive story? A fairytale? Was it told for children? I think I would probably leave some parts out of this story if I was telling it to my son. But I suppose this story is naive compared to the sophisticated tales of later authors. The characters seem fairly one-dimensional. They are hardly ever on the page long enough to develop them. I found myself, at a few points, saying "and then, and then, and then..." It is as if Xenophon was trying to pack as much action into the story as possible without regard to things like suspense. But is this naive? Or were some of the details kept simple, perhaps to allow for easy memory, as this tale was likely told orally.

One of the most glaring problems I found with this story was the role of Eros. He seems to play an important part in the falling in love of Habrocomes and Anthia. Eros supposedly wanted to make Habrocomes suffer. So he set him up to fall in love with Anthia and then devised a way to split them apart. But we never hear from him again. You would think that the story would circle back around to Eros. Perhaps he thought Habrocomes had had enough and decided that he could be reunited with Anthia. But we are left to wonder, without resolution of this character's jealousy and wrath, is it really over? Or is there more in store for these two?

“The journey is the destination.” - Unknown

“Most romances end happily, with a return to the state of identity, and begin with a departure from it” (54). The idea of a happy ending is one with which we are all familiar. As an audience, it seems to be what we all beg for as we approach the final pages of a story. It is memorable and affirms our sense of right and wrong. In a word, it is good. Evil is vanquished, obstacles are overcome and the guy gets the girl, or vice-versa.

Happy endings are great. And they certainly are one of the keys to a successful story. But I'm more interested, at least in this blog post, in the journey it takes to get there. How do these characters lose their identities? How and where do they depart? This is the signature, the swerve that we have been talking about in class. But it doesn't necessarily just pop out of the author's head. A lot of planning must take place in order to get from point A to point B.

With this in mind, I recall the story of Daphnis and Chloe. This tale follows the romance model with precision. In Daphnis, we see two young people who seem destined to live happily ever after. But between the innocence of youth and outside forces, there is some dark force that seems to be tearing these two apart. These outside forces, I think, reflect the society in which the characters are placed. Their setting has much to do with how they grow up, learn and love.

Indeed, Frye reminds us that we, as (budding) critics of literature, we tend to look beyond the story into its deeper implications. Frye emphasizes that not only is the story important, but “what is being said about the society that the story is 'reflecting'” (45) is important. This, I believe, is what causes the departure. It is the essence of the conflict. Society's ills have built a wall between these two people who want only to be in love with each other and be free to act out that love. The middle of the story is how they attempt to scale the wall, how they fall off and how they get back up, eventually making it to the top.

John Irving, in The World According to Garp, gives this phenomenon a name. He calls it “The Under Toad,” a mistaken interpretation by Garp's child, Walt, of the word “undertow.” But what we learn is that both the natural environment and the world that man has created can be dangerous places. The Under Toad lurks in our oceans of stories like Khattam-Shud in Haroun. The Under Toad is what we fear most, and for Daphnis and Chloe, that fear manifests itself in the form of sexual naivete, a host of suitors, pirates, thieves, rapists, power and wealth.

So the romances that we read really go beyond just simple stories. They are a commentary on the settings in which they reside. As Dr. Sexson has pointed out to us several times already, there is indeed a point to all these stories. Each one is part of our greater story of human history. It is the best and worst of who we are. We are all born (the beginning of the story) and we all die (the inevitable last page), but what we do in the meantime is our swerve. We all follow this archetype of birth and death. It's the middle of our lives – how we deal with adversity and find happiness – that gives our lives meaning. What we do now is how our stories will be told. In this way, life really does imitate art.

What's the use of stories?

"What's the use of stories that aren't even true?" I had a similar reaction more than ten years ago. When I first started reading books in earnest - that is, when I began reading without needing to be prompted by a homework assignment - I began reading non-fiction. I wanted to learn something from my reading, not just be entertained. So I read about the economics of the environment and history, biographies and travel journals. But reading still felt mostly like a chore.

Somewhere along the way, I found myself reading fiction. The next thing I knew I was an English major. Now I'm convinced that there is as much to learn from a good story as there is in a manifesto or an essay. As I believe we will explore in this class, stories get to the very heart of what it means to be human. Whether true, mostly true or completely fabricated, stories are a survey of humanity, a snapshot of our lives.

"No man is an island," and no story is entire of itself. I think John Donne would agree that all stories, like people, have a connection. And, just like making friends, finding lovers or just being able to get along with your family, to find that common thread is how we truly enjoy each other. It helps put our own lives into context. It gives us purpose and meaning. And it makes our limited time on this planet a little more enjoyable.

Haroun and the Sea of Stories approaches this idea in a novel way. Rushdie not only gives us a great story, but he also uses many of the storytelling archetypes to drive home his message. Rushdie dips his own cup into the great Ocean of the Steams of Stories in order to teach us that stories do have purpose and that all stories are connected in some way and come from the great oral traditions from centuries past.

One example of this is the weaving into Haroun's story of the themes often portrayed in Greek romances. In such works of fiction, there is often a man and a woman who fall, or are already, in love, and who quickly become separated. At the end of the story, they are reunited. What happens in the middle are a series of struggles and victories that eventually lead to the lovers rejoining. Oftentimes, it is this "middle part" of the story that distinguishes it from all other stories that have been told, or will someday be told.

But even in the middle of Haroun, we see the footprints of stories past. There are obvious references to the Arabian Nights. And the naming of the houseboat in which Haroun and Rashid begin their true journey is, of course, no accident. Since I just read Aladdin, I couldn't help but find the reference to Iff to be comparable to the genie in the lamp. Haroun retains control over Iff in the same way that Aladdin controls his destiny through retention of this object. Though Iff is a reluctant genie, he is beholden to Haroun and their path through Kahani is mainly determined by the wishes of Haroun.

There is also a very stark line drawn between good and evil in Haroun. I can't help but see references in this story to religious teachings. The fact that Kahani is divided in half by light and darkness illustrates the very prevalent viewpoint shared by many religions that there is right and wrong and perhaps only a very thin strip, in the text referred to as the "Twilight Zone," that represented ambiguity. Of course, I believe that Rushdie here sees this as representative of hope and compromise and, perhaps even peace between warring ideologies.

Very specifically, Rushdie refers to "Wishwater" as a way to bring about the end to conflict and a the return of a cycle of light and dark on Kahani, if only Haroun can concentrate long enough to make it work. This could be interpreted as prayer, and the use of Wishwater is an allusion to holy water. This idea is central in the story, as there are always forces greater than ourselves shaping our lives, though through concentration (prayer or meditation) we can cause great things to happen.