Marian Allen has been busy on tour with her recen
tly-released e-book, Eel’s Reverence. She managed to squeeze in a few minutes to talk about the Eel, Aunt Libby, and the forces that shaped them–and their world. She’ll be checking in today, so if you have questions of your own ask them in the “comments” section. I’ll be posting my review of Eel’s Reverence tomorrow, and talking a bit more about it in the coming days. If you’d like to know more about the books check back here, or visit Marian at her online home here.
Can you remember where you first got the germ of the idea for Eel’s Reverence?
I read Matthew Arnold’s poem, “The Forsaken Merman”, in which a merman whose human wife has deserted him goes into her village and sees that she’s made a “normal” life and will never come back. The merman on land was the germ of the book.
What inspired you to plant and water that germ, so to speak?
I had two or three random scenes floating around in my head. A couple of them were of this merman in a desert city with a human friend. Another, disconnected, was of a priest surrounded by wolves, with a background in my mind of true priests and antagonistic ones. For some reason, it suddenly occurred to me that the scenes were all part of one book.
Tell me about the mermayds.
When I decided to make them ambiguously gendered and non-mammalian, I couldn’t call them merMAIDS. But, since that was the look I wanted to conjure–humanoid from the waist up, fish-like from the waist down, long hair, slightly vain–the term, with alternate spelling, seemed appropriate. I used a same-but-different species because I thought it would be fun to work with; the developing story line turned it from just fun into a metaphor for defining people out of humanity.
To what degree were they inspired by real world cultural groups and species?
They were originally inspired by Matthew Arnold’s take on the fantasy creatures, but you’re right: I did research alternate sexual reproductive systems. I also thought about cultural cross-contact in which each side knows only as much about the other as is necessary to trade. In Eel’s Reverence, you see how this affects human attitudes. In “Line of Descent”, the short story I give away on Smashwords, I look at an early contact from the mermayd point of view.
Let’s talk religion. The coalition of reaver priests rule the Eel. They have private armies, levy taxes, and hold court. In fact, they have completely replaced secular rule. Why is that?
From the coalition priests’ point of view, it’s because they want all possible wealth and control. In terms of the narrative imperative, it forms a knot of conflicts opposed to my protagonist from the outset: true priest versus reavers, true believers versus apathetic followers versus militants, competing economic interests, violence from various quarters versus pacifism.
Were you thinking of historic examples when you created the Eel’s religious government?
Not specifically, but pre-Reformation Catholicism must come to mind. There were a GREAT many priests who followed the way of pacifism, inclusiveness and compassion, as well as the cynical indulgence sellers.
One of the central conflicts in Eel’s Reverence is between the “True” priests, who foster private spirituality, and the reaver priests, and in particular the coalition of reaver priests seeking to expand and secure their hold on power by driving out the true priests, and by extension, destroying private spiritual practice. Can you explain a little bit about how you came to devote so much of the book to that issue?
My main character is a priest who comes into the area when she leaves her parish because a fancy reaver temple is pulling her devotees away. So the conflict begins before the book’s action, and is the impetus that puts Aunt Libby where I want her for the story to begin. She doesn’t intend to be part of that conflict. Her intention is to avoid the conflict by leaving. When she lands in the middle of this more intense version, she still intends to pass through and wander on, feeling sorry for herself. I had intended for the story to be about Aunt Libby, Muriel and Loach’s adventures in Batumi, the desert city, but the stew of conflicts in Port Novo was so rich, I had to use it.
The birds and the bees get a bit of a makeover in Eel’s Reverence. The mermayds can shift gender at need, like those African frogs, and both mermayds and “humans” follow the pattern set by seahorses-the females produce the eggs, and the males nurture them in belly pouches. I found the way that seemed to affect the male characters’ relationships to children, and male/female roles in general, fascinating. Can you tell me a little bit about what prompted that?
I’m glad you noticed that! There are a lot of reasons human societies in general stereotype attitudes/duties by gender, and it pleases me to eliminate some of those reasons and see what happens. It’s my contention that, without societal stereotyping, males and females are equally nurturing or not, depending on their particular individual natures.
Where does Eel’s Reverence fit in with the other books you’ve written?
Eel’s Reverence was the first book I completed and the first book I sold. It and the next two books due out from Echelon Press, Force of Habit and Sideshow in the Center Ring, were epublished back in 1994, in the first Rocket eBook era. They did well at first, but languished when ebooks fell into eclipse. When the Kindle revitalized the industry, I requested my rights back and submitted them as reprints to Echelon, which is devoted to maximizing the new technologies with and for its writers. Not that I have a word to say against my previous publisher–Serendipity Systems was and is great, just not right for me. We parted on good terms.
Force of Habit (due out in November of 2010) and Sideshow in the Center Ring (due out in February of 2011) are very different, and each is very different from Eel’s Reverence. FOH is a crazy sf farce, an exploration of the writers’ mantra that each character in a book is the main character in his/her own story. I use multiple points of view and sometimes show the same scene from two or three of those points of view. Each person is convinced he or she knows exactly what’s going on, and they’re all so wrong, but it all works out in the end. SIDESHOW is sf set mostly on a planet on which slavery is legal, giving me a chance to explore some of the ways we give our lives over to other people, some of whom abuse that honor.
One thing all three books have in common is the willingness of some people to take responsibility for the wellbeing of others, even if there’s no obvious requirement or expectation that they do it. I find that amazing and absolutely admirable.
In addition to these three novels, I’ve put together collections of short stories available for Kindle and, on Smashwords, for a variety of formats.
Find out more about Marian Allen and her books here.
Thanks for having me. Great questions! And don’t forget the contest. Leave a comment here or at my site and mention EEL’S REVERENCE and win a copy of EEL’S REVERENCE or three other books or have your name in a short story I’m writing to promote my next release, FORCE OF HABIT.
Marian Allen
[…] guesting at Magic Dog Press’ blog Speak! Good Dog! today answering questions about the writing of EEL’S REVERENCE, where those mermayds came […]
Marian, some fascinating concepts here. A great idea!
Thanks, Chris! I’m at the library now (1:19 pm EDT) and plan to be here for a couple of hours, so consider us LIVE! lol!
Hey Marian–thanks again for visiting. I very much enjoyed getting to know the old auntie.
Love the title of this blog. Does it ever have anything to do with canines. I have an 85 lb Newfoundland puppy, Miss Lula, named after a character in one of my novels. Anne
Yes, it does. Check out “High-Riding Bitches,” and, of course, the original Magic Dog was a real animal with his very own book (it’s on amazon, here: http://www.amazon.com/Very-Good-Dog-Sherry-Wachter/dp/1453763554/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1284754607&sr=8-3) Other dogs drift in and out–we’re always happy to talk about Newfies, by the way!
Sounds like a really creative story!
Marian, I love that you were inspired by Matthew Arnold. Do you know his poem “Man With A Hoe”? This was an moving poem for me. Anne http://blog.SoupKitchenWriting.com
I loved the questions, they really answered a lot of how you came to choose the subject of Eel’s Reverence! It was so in tune with real conflicts of why and how people get into nasty situations, and why and how people can get themselves OUT of nasty situations, that it elevated you as a wise old soul!
Marian, it is a pleasure to know you! Karen Overturf
Anne, I don’t know that poem–will you point me to it? We have several books with Matthew Arnold poetry in them, but not that one.
Karen, thank you–I’m blushing! This was a really challenging interview. The questions were excellent, and made me put into words a lot of things that were working while I was writing, but have become absorbed into the background for me since. It was good to pull them back up and look at them again.
Tomorrow we’re reviewing Eel’s Reverence here, for those who haven’t yet read it, and then moving on to look at “I Want To Be Left Behind: Finding Rapture Here On Earth,” by Brenda Peterson. Peterson will be visiting this week as well, so make time to stop by if you have questions. “I Want To Be Left Behind” deals with some of the same real-world, real-people issues and conflicts that “Eel’s Reverence” explores, but from a very different perspective.
Well here you go. You couldn’t find the poem The Man with the Hoe because it is not by Matthew Arnold. I found this poem at http://www.PoetryFoundation.org at great resource. It is a provocative poem. Anne http://www.KitchenTableWriting.com http://blog.SoupKitchenWriting.com
POEM
The Man with the Hoe
by Edwin Markham
Written after seeing Millet’s World-Famous Painting
God made man in His own image,
in the image of God made He him. —Genesis.
Bowed by the weight of centuries he leans
Upon his hoe and gazes on the ground,
The emptiness of ages in his face,
And on his back the burden of the world.
Who made him dead to rapture and despair,
A thing that grieves not and that never hopes,
Stolid and stunned, a brother to the ox?
Who loosened and let down this brutal jaw?
Whose was the hand that slanted back this brow?
Whose breath blew out the light within this brain?
Is this the Thing the Lord God made and gave
To have dominion over sea and land;
To trace the stars and search the heavens for power;
To feel the passion of Eternity?
Is this the Dream He dreamed who shaped the suns
And marked their ways upon the ancient deep?
Down all the stretch of Hell to its last gulf
There is no shape more terrible than this—
More tongued with censure of the world’s blind greed—
More filled with signs and portents for the soul—
More fraught with danger to the universe.
What gulfs between him and the seraphim!
Slave of the wheel of labor, what to him
Are Plato and the swing of Pleiades?
What the long reaches of the peaks of song,
The rift of dawn, the reddening of the rose?
Through this dread shape the suffering ages look;
Time’s tragedy is in that aching stoop;
Through this dread shape humanity betrayed,
Plundered, profaned and disinherited,
Cries protest to the Judges of the World,
A protest that is also prophecy.
O masters, lords and rulers in all lands,
is this the handiwork you give to God,
This monstrous thing distorted and soul-quenched ?
How will you ever straighten up this shape;
Touch it again with immortality;
Give back the upward looking and the light;
Rebuild in it the music and the dream;
Make right the immemorial infamies,
Perfidious wrongs, immedicable woes?
O masters, lords and rulers in all lands,
How will the Future reckon with this Man?
How answer his brute question in that hour
When whirlwinds of rebellion shake the world?
How will it be with kingdoms and with kings—
With those who shaped him to the thing he is—
When this dumb Terror shall reply to God
After the silence of the centuries?
Source: The Man with the Hoe and Other Poems (Doubleday, 1921)
Wow. That poem is amazing. It reminds me of the poets I studied for my Master’s thesis. i was studying fish symbolism in twentieth-century interpretive poetry. It started out as a joke. ‘Surely no one will go for this,’ I thought. But they did, and I was stuck.
And in my studying I discovered the War Poets, a group of literate, imaginative, creative men who got swept up in the first and second world wars. Far too many of them died. Wilfrid, Owen, the poet who wrote the poem below died seven days before the Armistice was signed. The church bells were ringing in the streets of his home town, celebrating peace, the day the telegram telling his parents of his death arrived.
I know that World War II is often called the United States’ last “just” war. The justice or injustice of it isn’t really the point of many of the poems I read. For these poets, what seemed to be important was capturing a reality of which no one at home had any concept.
So why did the poem above make me think of Owen? Maybe it’s because many of the poems carry the concept of our accountability within them. How is it that we can do such brutal things to each other, to people we have never met, to other species, to the earth, and not expect that at some time someone is going to ask us why. Enough–I don’t mean to preach here. Mostly I just wanted to share an amazing resource.
Maybe we are too close to Viet Nam, to Desert Storm, to the Twin Towers, to Afghanistan, to Iraq, to Israel and Palestine, to Democrats and Republicans and Tea Partiers, to be able to see beyond the political justifications offered, and the fear they engender, and on which they thrive. I don’t know. I know that sometimes it’s hard to move beyond the idea of “enemy” to reach “person.”
For some reason I never fully understood, a significant number of the war poets–and not just the navy men–use fish and water imagery when expressing the horror of war. Why? I don’t know. But I know it crops up, over and over. I have a whole file full of poems about it. And somehow, it seeking to express the real, immediate, and tragic cost of war, those poems capture something sublime, terrifying, and awe-inspiring. And suddenly my thesis wasn’t a joke to me anymore.
In many poems, like “Dulce Et Decorum Est,” the water imagery is understated; in many others it becomes the central unifying image of the poem. Anyhow, fascinating subject (and quite possibly why I feel so kindly toward Loach!).
That’s why I’m so grateful you posted that Markham poem, Anne–it reminded me that if the rush of recent history makes perspective difficult, the sweep of the years makes it easier to attain through the eyes of others. I know I read this poem written during World War I, and I found myself seeing Afghanistan and Iraq in a new light.
I found these poems at “The Gutenberg Project,” a wonderful online resource dedicated to making great poetry and literature available to everyone, not just geeky
English majors.
Dulce et Decorum est
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! — An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime. —
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my helpless sight
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin,
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs
Bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, —
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
Here’s the link:
http://www.firstworldwar.com/poetsandprose/texts/Wilfred%20Owen%20-%20Poems.txt
And here’s another WWI poem I found when multiple people, searching for her poem when casualties began returning from the Afghan/Iraq theater of action, hit my site by mistake:
THE WIND ON THE DOWNS
by Marian Allen
1892-1953, written in 1917
I like to think of you as brown and tall,
As strong and living as you used to be,
In khaki tunic, Sam Brown belt and all,
And standing there and laughing down at me.
Because they tell me, dear, that you are dead,
Because I can no longer see your face,
You have not died, it is not true, instead,
You seek adventure some other place.
I hear you laughing as you used to,
Yet loving all the things I think of you;
And knowing you are happy, should I grieve?
You follow and are watchful where I go;
How should you leave me, having loved me so?
We walked along the towpath, you and I,
Beside the sluggish-moving, still canal;
It seemed impossible that you should die;
I think of you the same and always shall.
We thought of many things and spoke of few,
And life lay all uncertainly before,
And now I walk alone and think of you,
And wonder what new kingdoms you explore.
Over the railway line, across the grass,
While up above the golden wings are spread,
Flying, ever flying overhead,
Here still I see you khaki figure pass,
And when I leave meadow, almost wait,
That you should open first the wooden gate.
This reminds me of Rupert Brooke’s war sonnets. He wrote them early in the war, and some speculate what he might have written had he lived to the end of it. Personally, I love some of his stuff–I got to use “Heaven” in my thesis, and can still quote great swaths of it.
I’m so glad you posted here, Marian–the comments on this blog have reminded me of the magic of poetry, and why I love words. The images in poems are like little pieces of stained glass.
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nice