Book Review: The Shadow People (spoilers)

Art by Jeff Jones

The Shadow People was published fifty years ago and it does not seem to have been reprinted in English; although an electronic version was made available a couple of years ago.  Why should I care about this book?  Well, I heard that it involved elves and the CIA.  Anything like that needs to be part of my life.  (Unfortunately, even though the CIA is mentioned in story, its actual presence is speculative.)  Perhaps more importantly, why should you care about this book?  The Shadow People is one of two Margaret St. Clair books listed in Appendix N.

First, let's talk about the cover.  The illustration is a worthy painting by Jeff Jones, but it's not something created specifically for the book.  The protagonist does use a sword; however, in the book's sixth paragraph, we learn that he has a “luxuriant moustache.”  As Schlock Value is wont to point out, the cover text is equivocal.  The front cover proclaims, “They came from Underearth to take over the world.”  The back cover exclaims, “The invasion of the hallucinogenic people from Underearth!”  Also on the back cover:

They had existed from time immemorial, hidden in a space warp far beneath the surface of the earth. Until now, their only form of nourishment had been a strange hallucinogenic grain.  Now they hungered for human flesh.  The earth was to be their stockyards and mankind their meat. . .

Rather than Tolkien elves, the elves in this book are more like the elves of folklore. They are creepy bastards that reside in Underearth (also called Otherworld).  At times, they venture into the world of men to steal items or people – hardly an invasion.  They consume a grain, atter-corn, which is hallucinogenic (and addictive).  The grain is hallucinogenic, not the people.  Also, atter-corn is not “their only form of nourishment.”  Aside from what foodstuffs they steal, they occasionally eat human flesh and have done so for ages. The elves couldn't form an invasion force if they wanted to, because when they scent their own blood (which has a “faint blue phosphorescence”), they start attacking one another.  So, there is no invasion, no taking over the world, and the earth is not to be their stockyards.  Then there's the “space warp far beneath the earth.”  There's no indication of a “space warp.”  It is possible that Otherworld may occupy a space distinct from physical reality, but it is usually described as something contiguous with our surface.  “Otherworld is big,” one character describes, “bigger than any of us on the surface realize, and it has many entrances. . . [and] runs in a belt around and under our world.”  The upper world is called the Bright World, the Clear World, and even Middle-Earth.

I suppose selling the story as an invasion with the future of humanity at stake is necessary marketing.  The actual story transpires on a much smaller scale.  In essence, the protagonist ventures into Underearth in order to rescue his girlfriend.  Acknowledging the basis of this plot, St. Clair has one of the characters refer to the  protagonist as “The new Orpheus.”  More broadly, the story is a quintessential hero's journey.

There are several types of elves:  white, black, gray, and green.  We are not educated as to the distinctions among them but “Green is the worst.”  One of the antagonists – Carl Hood – is a green elf who passes as human.  Elves and humans can interbreed, so he doubtless has some amount of human heritage.

The story begins in late 60s Berkeley and the hero, a journalist named Dick Aldridge, realizes that his girlfriend, Carol, is missing.  After spending the initial chapter trying to find her, he takes the advice of a woman named Fay and ventures into Underearth via the basement of the hotel where he resides.  Given her name, it will come as no surprise that her elf associations are eventually revealed.  Fay advises him to follow a “cold-odor-moisture gradient” which acts as a path to Otherworld.  Although the path is usually through “a chain of basements and cellars,” it sometimes surfaces.  He comes across one of Carol's earrings; this removes any doubt that Carol has indeed been kidnapped by elves.  Eventually, he finds a sword which turns out to be magical.  I found it suspicious that the hero would have such an easy time seeing in darkness and sensing the gradient, but happening upon a magic sword seemed downright contrived.  Yet it all has a good explanation.  After the Aldridge retrieves Carol and as they approach the water barrier that separates “the Bright World from Underearth,” Carl Hood re-appears.

Hood explains that Aldridge is “of elf descent,” but Aldridge doesn't believe him.  (“Your name – 'Aldridge' was originally 'eldrich,' or elfish – ”)  Fay warned Aldridge not to eat Otherworld food, but Hood causes Aldridge to ingest some atter-corn through a clever tick.  As a result, Aldridge is trapped in Underearth.  Hood also explains that he is the owner of the magic sword and he left it for Aldridge to find.  Since Aldridge can't return, he asks Hood to escort Carol back to the Bright World.  Carol doesn't like Hood, but she falls under his power.  This was all a convoluted plan by Hood to get Carol for himself.

Aldridge has various adventures in Underearth and even encounters two elves “copulating dog style.”  Through a fortuitous accident, Aldridge overcomes the effects of the atter-corn and he returns to the Bright World.  Although it seems to him that he spent only a few weeks in Underearth, nearly three years have passed in the Bright World.  St. Clair's projection of the future was clearly colored by the times in which the book was written.  America has become a police state where everyone is required to wear an “identity disk.”  Fay hides Aldridge in her apartment and manages to obtain an identity disk for Aldridge.  She conveniently works in a data center where she can “forge a record.”  His new identity is Richard Eldridge.  Eventually, Aldridge rescues Carol from Hood.

The Bright World is also called Middle-Earth because there is an over-world beyond human ken.  In the climax, we are treated to this description of this Macrocosmos:

The walls of the room seemed to shake like a curtain made of painted cloth.  Reality – the reality of our world – was being twitched aside.  In that moment I felt – I knew – that everything in our universe – galaxies, viruses, time, matter, energy, space, everything – was nothing but a flimsy cover for the horrors and splendors of a vaster cosmos than ours.  And these horrors and splendors were funneling down indescribably on the spot in which I stood.

One of the problems with The Shadow People is that it continues too long after the climax.  The story could have ended with chapter 16, but let's allow a chapter or two to wrap up the loose ends.  Chapter 18 presents appropriate closure but the book continues for three more chapters.  Perhaps the publisher demanded St. Clair bolster the page count.  A new character, Howard, is introduced on page 155.  Aldridge and Carol believe that Howard works for a “shadowy power.”  Likely possibilities include “[the] Mafia, CIA, [and the] internal-security agency.”  Howard obtained from Hood a small sample of atter-corn.  Howard's employers examined the sample and they want more; in fact, they want to cultivate it.  Hood is no longer around and Howard thinks Aldridge has information about the grain.  Howard addresses our hero as Aldridge, even though his name has been Eldridge since his return from Underearth.  This might be an indicator that Howard is aware of Aldridge's history but, since it's never followed up, it could just as easily be sloppy writing.

In the last chapter, Aldridge and Carol obtain a magic item – the Glain:

It was a dull, translucent pebble, like unpolished moonstone, about an inch and three-quarters in length.  One side was perfectly plain, the other bore a series of three concentric bosses.  There was no other marking.  The pebble had an air of great antiquity, of something that had been formed when tools were few and rude.

When activated:

There was no sense of limit or confinement in it; we stood within a deliciously glowing sphere, radiant as moonlight.  It was no color, all colors, the moon melted up and diffused into a glorious rainbow of colors.  They are different from the colors of the sun.

Regarding the effect of the item:

Carol didn't seem to be standing within anything.  There was no light around her, nothing.  She was just standing quietly in the thickening darkness.  But when I put out my hand toward her, I failed to touch her.  My hand didn't connect with her.  It was like an error of refraction.  She wasn't at the spot where she seemed to be.

The Horn of Roland (spoilers)

Art by Dave Billman

As mentioned in a previous post, Tom Moldvay intended that The Horn of Roland be included in the Lords of Creation boxed set as an introductory adventure.  For whatever reason, The Horn of Roland was published as a separate item.  I examined Roland to see if it addressed perceived gaps in the Lords of Creation rules; alas, it did not.  Regardless, Roland offers a glimpse of how Moldvay intended Lords of Creation to be played.

In most role-playing games, player characters are part of the setting from the start.  In Lords of Creation, Moldvay stated that player characters “begin as 'ordinary' people; strange things start to happen to them; they undergo unusual adventures.”  They are introduced to parallel worlds, alternate dimensions, and pocket universes; they gain extraordinary abilities.  In short, the player characters transition from the mundane world to the “region of super-natural wonder” (to use Joseph Campbell's phrase).

The Horn of Roland is actually a sequence of six related scenarios – a short term campaign, in effect.  The first scenario is intended as a starting point for “newly-created” Lords of Creation characters.  It is a murder mystery.  Of course, there's nothing wrong with a murder mystery in the right context.  However, the cover of Lords of Creation depicts a man and a woman emerging from a portal connecting a fantasy realm to a science fiction realm.  The man has shuriken attached to his boots and the woman is zapping a dragon.  Maybe this seems like an interesting play experience or maybe it doesn't.  In any event, it sets expectations and these expectations do not include a murder mystery.  The mystery is described as “fairly complex” and the GM is encouraged “to force [the characters] to investigate all possibilities...”  (There are seven separate and detailed red herrings.)  A GM can effectively run the mystery thanks to the manner in which Roland presents it; however, the players (who may well have expected to fight robots and dragons) must cope with a convoluted mystery.  I mean, they didn't sign up to play Agatha Christie's Biddies & Belgians.  (That's a thing, right?)

The player characters are attending a gaming convention “in the fictitious town of New Bristol...”  The convention is hosted by the New Bristol Arms, owned by Tom Morgan (evidently an author avatar).  A businessman residing in the penthouse of the New Bristol Arms is murdered, but the police consider the death to be a suicide.  Morgan hires the player characters to investigate (with the consent of the police chief).  I think that Moldvay may have originally intended the mystery to take place in the thirties.  There's an NPC detective whose appearance is based on Humphrey Bogart.  There's an NPC gangster whose appearance is based on James Cagney.  There are German and Japanese agents vying for stolen technology.  Most tellingly, there is an elevator operator.  Moldvay even offers a special trivia quiz that “isn't part of the adventure and in no way affects the experience earned by the characters.”  (Question[s] #1:  Who wrote The Mousetrap?  What novelette is the play based on?  Name two other mystery plays by the same person.)

The players are given some hand-outs, such as the above map.  Unfortunately, there are complications.  On the map, #47, #74, and #95 each appear twice.  Locations #48, #75, #84, and #90 are absent.  (The duplicates of #47 and #74 might account for the missing #48 and #75, respectively.)  Finally, the key lists 101 locations, but the map includes location #102.  I think Moldvay wanted New Bristol to serve as a continuing base of operations for the player characters and a place to acquire equipment.  A venue less expansive than a town may have been more suitable for starting characters; a university, perhaps.

Anyway, during the course of the investigation, the player characters are plagued by a Phantom.  The players are not informed about the reasons for the antagonism of the Phantom until the last scenario.

The murder was committed by a local heiress possessed by the spirit of a witch.  (The victim was descended from the judge who sentenced the witch to death three hundred years ago.)  The mysterious “Cult of the Serpent” was responsible for summoning the witch's spirit and supplying a living vessel for it.  While investigating the seven red herrings, the player characters interact with a long list of townspeople, none of whom are associated with the cult.  If some of the NPCs were cult members, it would have provided players another means to get at the truth.

A non-player character tells the player characters where to go for the climax of the scenario and they get the privilege of watching said NPC conduct the denouement.  Not only must the player characters plod through a complex mystery, but they also get sidelined by an NPC at the end.  Well, the player characters see their Phantom board a “Ghostly Galleon.”  The aforementioned NPC offers them $100,000 to pursue the Phantom (even though he has no reason to do so – nothing suggests he was even aware of the Phantom prior to the end of the adventure).  The heiress, freed from possession, offers her 70-foot yacht.  This leads into the second scenario.  What if the player characters aren't interested in pursuing the Phantom?

     If the characters don't chase the Ghostly Galleon, there is no further adventure...Do your best to let the characters give chase voluntarily.  But if all else fails, the characters are surrounded by a bright yellow light...Each character will have a vision of his enivitable [sic] death at the hand of allies of the Phantom.  Every character who fails to make a Luck Roll feels an uncomfortable urge to chase the Ghostly Galleon.

Please have your tickets ready for the conductor.  Choo-choo!  (Also, how are player characters supposed to know who “allies of the Phantom” are in their visions?  Does the Phantom stand around gleefully rubbing his hands?  Does he give his ally a high five?)

As they pursue the Ghostly Galleon, the player characters have various encounters.  Eventually, in the Bermuda Triangle, “they sail through a swirling tunnel of light” into another dimension.  Then things start to get a little weird.  At night, the yacht is pursued by the Wild Hunt.  The players have no idea why.  Furthermore:

     The characters have to realize, as soon as possible, that they can't harm the hunter.  He is simply too powerful considering the characters' current level of experience.  The characters stand no chance in battle.  Their only hope is to flee as fast as possible.  If they don't flee quickly, the hunter has time to attack, and possibly kill, one or two characters chosen at random before the sun rises and he returns to the clouds.

Fortunately, the player characters meet up with the Flying Dutchman.  He gives them a statuette that keeps the Wild Hunt away, but it is only effective for a week.  The only permanent protection from the Wild Hunt is the eponymous Horn of Roland.  The Dutchman has recently seen it in a bone tower, on a nearby island.  The bone tower is the subject of the third scenario.

Moldvay contributed to The Isle of Dread and the island in The Horn of Roland is what would result if The Isle of Dread met Land of the Lost and they dropped acid.  Yes, there are dinosaurs.  Also on the island are relics of The First Ones, “a strange, unknown race that once inhabited the island.”

The player characters go to the bone tower and fight a wide variety of foes.  They also come across a couple of prisoners, one of whom is Cyrano de Bergerac.  Moldvay must have been a fan of the French duelist; not only was Cyrano featured in Moldvay's The Future King, he warrants a one-page appendix in The Horn of Roland.  Moldvay also modified a ballad from the play Cyrano de Bergerac for Cyrano to recite while he – not the player characters – defeats one of the bone tower guardians.

Even after obtaining the Horn of Roland that acts as permanent Wild Hunt repellent, the player characters have other adventures on the island.  Cyrano, on the other hand, leaves for the moon.  “The same method of travel won't work for the characters,” Moldvay informs us, “unless you want to create a short side trip adventure to the moon, returning the characters to the island after the side trip is over.”  Seriously, going to the moon with Cyrano de Bergerac should BE the adventure.  Aside from Cyrano's own work, inspiration for what might happen on the moon could be gleaned from:  Burroughs' The Moon Maid, Wells' The First Men in the Moon, Baron Munchausen, Kepler's Somnium, Lucian's True History, and The Great Moon Hoax of 1835.  There's even a trip to the moon in Orlando furioso.  (Perhaps the object of the quest should have been Astolfo's horn rather than Roland's.)

On the island, robots have “enslaved” humans.  This is automatically assumed to be a bad thing.  A revolt against the robots is the subject of the fifth scenario.  In order to successfully revolt, the humans need to be armed.  In the fourth scenario, the player characters gather the necessary weapons from the “Caves of Doom.”  Although they don't realize it, the player characters are required to obtain a magic sword – Lightbringer – from a “Bloodstone Cube” in the Caves of Doom.

     If the characters don't voluntarily travel to area D20, then touch the Bloodstone Cube, they feel an unexplained, irrestible [sic] urge to do so.  Give the players every chance to take their characters to D20 and touch the cube.  But if the characters try to leave the Caves of Doom without acquiring Lightbringer, they find it impossible to leave.  No matter which way they go, the path seems to wind around back to the entrance to D20.

The final scenario begins when – after the revolt – Phantoms attempt to steal the horn.  (Remember the Phantom from the first scenario?)  “In the struggle,” the scenario reads, “one of the Phantoms accidently loses a map that gives directions to the stronghold of the Phantoms.”  One might think that the Phantoms intentionally dropped the map to lead the player characters into a trap.  I mean, the Phantoms don't need a map; they can teleport and – even if they couldn't – they still manage to get back to the stronghold without the map.  Yet the map was lost accidentally and thus accurately indicates how to get to bad guy headquarters.

At the Shadow Stronghold, the player characters finally learn why they have been drawn into these scenarios.  The basis of The Horn of Roland is the animosity between the mythological Erebus and Prometheus.  Erebus has Prometheus chained in the Shadow Stronghold.  “Erebus, Lord of Shadows,” we read, “for reasons known only to himself, has decided that the characters are his enemies.”  Actually, although the players never learn this, Erebus wants to destroy all persons who have the potential to become Lords of Creation (such as the player characters).  So, Erebus sent the Phantom(s) and (I guess) the Wild Hunt against the party.  Prometheus “has been helping the characters secretly throughout the adventure.”  The Lightbringer sword is the only thing that can break Prometheus' chains.  Once the player characters free Prometheus, Erebus appears and the two fight.  The player characters get to watch.  The scenario reads, “Prometheus asks the characters to keep out of the battle...”  Erebus necessarily loses.  I would have designed the adventure so that the party fights a group of Erebus' followers while Prometheus and Erebus fight on a different dimensional plane.  Also, what happens in the conflict of mortals would affect what happens in the conflict of immortals.  Then again, I'm used to dealing with players who actually like to have their characters engage in meaningful activity.

The Horn of Roland has aspects of a railroad and forces player characters into inactivity during what should be the most exciting parts of the adventure.  It also has a 'big picture' of which the players remain ignorant until the very end.  Players don't need to see the 'big picture' from the start of the adventure, but enough of it should be presented so that the players have an idea about what is going on and they can interact with the adventure appropriately.  For instance, if the players knew there was an extremely helpful magic sword in the Caves of Doom, then the characters would likely not need to be compelled to find it.  Moldvay has no problem with a mentor NPC giving directions to the player characters (e.g., the Flying Dutchman).  He also has no problem with player characters receiving “visions.”  Why not clue the PCs into the fact they are acting for the benefit of Prometheus (or an unnamed powerful being) who will help help them against their (mutual) enemies? 

* * *     * * *     * * *

Where Fantasies Are Real & Reality Is FANTASTIC

My first exposure to Message from Space was when it played on a double bill with Superman so many years ago.  To some (many? most?), Message from Space is a gaudy Star Wars rip-off.  It's certainly gaudy and it would not have been made except to capitalize on the Star Wars phenomenon but, as Lex Luthor said that very same day:

Some people can read War and Peace and come away thinking it's a simple
adventure story.  Others can read the ingredients on a chewing gum wrapper
and unlock the secrets of the universe.

While my appreciation of Message from Space falls somewhat short of unlocking secrets of the universe, the film offers more than a simple adventure story.  If we divest ourselves of the 'spaceships = science fiction' fallacy and accept the film as fantasy (as the tagline indicates), the film becomes more palatable.  Message from Space was inspired – in part – by Nansō Satomi Hakkenden, an epic of Japanese literature and one of the longest novels ever.  The influence is especially noticeable with regard to what Joseph Campbell referred to as “the call to adventure.”

Message from Space takes place twenty years after the last Space War, during “the times when earthling adventurers roamed the planets of the galaxy seeking riches in the form of resources and colonies.”  The warlike, steel-skinned Gavanas oppress the enlightened Jillucians nearly to point of extinction.  The Jillucian patriarch dispatches eight holy Liabe seeds to locate the assorted heroes who will save the Jillucians – and the universe – from the tyranny of the Gavanas.

The Liabe seeds, with the appearance of walnuts that sometimes glow, make their way to the film's protagonists who, in another context, might be player characters.  However, the meaning of the Liabe seeds (from the protagonists' viewpoint) must wait for exposition from Princess Esmeralida.

If the Liabe heroes (i.e., player characters) are destined to save the universe, then wouldn't that compromise player agency?  Well, yes it would.  As a matter of fact, in Message from Space, three of the chosen characters toss their walnuts* and a fourth declines the honor of being a hero.  This is representative of what Campbell aptly termed “refusal of the call.”  Of course, a story about characters deciding against doing something interesting isn't a worthwhile story.  Eventually, the characters that initially refused the Liabe seeds change their minds and accept their roles as heroes.  So, player agency is still thwarted.  Is that a bad thing?  Not necessarily.

Absolute agency is untenable in a role-playing game.  A player adopts a “role” for his or her character.  After all, we are talking about role-playing games, not agency-playing games.  Agency is limited in that player character knowledge should be restricted to in-game information available to the “role.”  Also, the player imbues his or her character (or role) with a personality and a psychology.  The way a character responds to stimuli – while not scripted – should be consistent with that personality and psychology.  Gygax addressed this issue by penalizing “aberrant behavior” with additional required training time/cost for level advancement (DMG, p. 86).  Of course, for Gygax, a character's “behavior” should be defined by class and alignment.

The notion of consistency should not preclude the organic development of personality and psychology (or “behavior” to employ a convenient term).  Yet, ultimately, it is a player's responsibility to play the role of his or her character with an established behavior and to interact appropriately within the setting.  Likewise, some of the GM's responsibilities include providing an intuitive (if not immersive) setting and accommodating (rather than curtailing) player agency.

Your character should refuse the Liabe seed if the character's established behavior suggests that course of action.  However, there should be circumstances wherein your character would accept the Liabe seed.  Is it an intolerable suppression of player agency if the GM arranges for those circumstances to occur?  I don't think so; I think there is a difference between 'railroading' and 'advancing the plot'.


* not a euphemism

Civil Rights in Trollworld

In the recently released Deluxe Tunnels & Trolls, Section 7 (“The Hostile Opposition”) offers the following statement:

          In fantasy role-playing games, as in all storytelling of heroic derring-do, the good guys battle the bad guys. The forces of order verses (sic) the forces of chaos. If you want to invoke the shade of Joseph Campbell, it’s because solar heroes must slay the evils lurking in darkness to restore light to the world. It is the quintessential Us versus Them...
          For better or worse, 21st Century relativism complicates this simple equation. Monster rights have become civil rights in the Empire of Khazan, and Trollworld harbors many sentient beings who don’t consider themselves monsters...They may, in fact, consider the armies of the “good kindred” to be the monstrous ones when they come rampaging through their territory and looting their dungeon homes.

(See Eric Goldberg's essay, “A Hole in the Ground,” for a similarly 'teratocentric' viewpoint.)  The “good kindred” (also known as the humanoid kindred) consist of T&T 's standard array of player character races:  humans, elves, dwarves, fairies, leprechauns, and hobbs.  However, T&T has never been adverse to 'monsters as player characters'; there are even published adventures intended exclusively for 'monster' characters.  For the 'non-good' kindred, T&T uses the term illkin.  (I would have gone with fellkin.)  The entirety of Section 7 is only three pages;  Section 13 (“Other Playable Kindreds”) provides 23 pages of details about the other sentient races of Trollworld.

The “illkin” are divided into three categories:  familiar, less common (or “scarier”), and extraordinary (or “terrifying”).  For familiar illkin, “Charisma ratings emphasize personality first...,” while for extraordinary illkin, “Charisma ratings reflect implied threat of force...”  Regarding the in-between category, 'less common' illkin, “Charisma ratings immediately favor neither personality nor force, but fear or disgust can be triggered very easily.”  Among the ranks of the familiar illkin, there are centaurs, gnomes, selkies, vampires, et al.  The less common illkin include (but are not limited to) harpies, 'flesh' trolls, minotaurs, and policani (like a centaur, but think 'dog' instead of 'horse').  In the extraordinary illkin category, we find gargoyles, demons, ghouls, 'true' trolls, et al.

Section 13 includes at least one paragraph of information on each of the illkin.  Among various interesting tidbits, we learn that gnomes have a “rather bipolar mix of clever wackiness and entrenched bitterness.”  Also, their collaborations with dwarves “inflate gnomish perseptions (sic) of themselves as one of the unsung greats...”  Rapscallions – “disreputable hobbs...notable but for their scraggly hair and squinty dark eyes,” were known in prior editions as “Black Hobbits.”  Kobolds are “natural shapeshifters, but their choice of forms is limited to small animals like cats, dogs, foxes, and small children.”  Also, kobolds “can briefly project their consciousness into small fires...and both speak and listen.”

Finally, in Section 14, we are given a discourse on Trollworld languages.  We are told:

Many character types are mentioned here that do not appear in the playable list of non-human kindreds.  These sections were originally generated at completely different times.  Because both lists are optional elaborations, we did not try to reconcile the two lists for this book.

Well, the authors can't claim they were pressed for time.

Included in this section is a language chart designed for a d100.  Given that one of the game's  design goals was not to require 'non-standard' dice, this represents a complete betrayal of everything Tunnels & Trolls stands for.  In the fifth edition, Ken St. Andre wrote, “I've tried to keep only 6-sided dice in use in T&T, but multi-sided dice are becoming more available, and I feel their use in this table is somewhat justified.”  In the deluxe edition, no 'justification' is offered.  Just how hard would it have been to create an equivalent table for six-siders?  Not hard at all.  In fact, below is a 'd6-ified' version of the dT&T table.

The dT&T language table has some differences from earlier versions.  Instead of “Orcish,” we have the more politically correct “Uurrk” (also called Uurrkish).  Whereas balrogs (now known as “balrukhs”) and dragons once had distinct languages, they now both speak “flame-tongue.”  Similarly, goblins and gremlins had separate languages; now there is merely “Gobble.”  Leprechauns used to speak the same language as gremlins; apparently, they now speak an Elven dialect.

'The Low Tongues' previously had separate listings on the language chart; now they are grouped as 'animal languages'.  Cats and dogs had different languages; now they share “blood speech.”  Once they had separate languages, but now pigs and pachyderms share “herdspeak.”  “These are not really language names,” dT&T assures us, “but simply descriptions covering a wide variety of noises and body movements made by such animals when they are communicating.”

Although it does warrant a paragraph on page 204, “Wizard Speech” is not listed on the dT&T language table.  Fifth edition T&T – where Wizard Speech is listed on the language table – provides the following definition:

Wizard Speech, despite its name, is not known to all wizards.  As a natural linguistic ability it is so rare that less than 1% of the population of the world knows it.  There is a 13th level spell, however, which can unlock the ability to use Wizard Speech in any sentient being.

(In dT&T, the spell is 10th level.)

Revisionist Mythology II -- The Groundlings Strike Back

In the comments of our last thrilling installment, a dispute arose concerning the veracity of a statement made by Alexis:

“...this insistence that [Star Wars] is ‘the greatest movie ever made’ is merely a bit of social wish-fulfillment...”

The Anonymous Timothy expressed a desire for Alexis to prove this statement; after all, the burden of proof lies with the party making the assertion. Alexis indicated that Alec Guinness' autobiography contains sufficient proof; alas, Guinness' statements are hearsay and we cannot accept them as proof. Alexis then said, “Try Google.” Personally, I take this to be a cop-out. Nonetheless, as a nascent blogger attempting to cater to his audience, I followed up on Alexis' suggestion. (I used dogpile instead of Google, but that's how I roll.)

Of course, nearly every movie has its proponents. (Some wag has even put forth an argument for The Dukes of Hazzard.)

Anyway, this BBC poll from ten years ago seems on-point...and, yes, it tends to support Alexis' position. So, there are (many) people who consider Star Wars to be “the greatest movie ever made.” We may not concur but, to these people, Star Wars is the greatest movie ever made. The world will never come to a consensus as to “the greatest movie” because such a determination is inherently subjective. Certainly Star Wars is a very popular movie but, in terms of cinematic art, it is subject to criticism.

Thus we have an elitist/populist dichotomy; the intelligentsia as opposed to the groundlings, the people who read Proust as opposed to the people who don't and (if I may be permitted once again to invoke Orwell) the Party as opposed to the Proles.

So where does Joseph Campbell fit in to all of this? Well, Alexis suggests the possibility that Campbell may have been misquoted. This is a valid observation and if we expect Alexis to provide proof of his assertions, we should practice what we preach. However, it doesn't really matter what Campbell said because, according to Alexis, Classicist academia considers Campbell to be “something of a whack job.” Thus, the elitist/populist dichotomy is at work again, academics versus the mythology of pop culture. Whether whack job or uncultured dolt, we are back to where we began.

I find Campbell's insight to be fascinating and educational. Without further ado, here are some quotes from Campbell's The Power of Myth.

BILL MOYERS: Do you think...that a movie like Star Wars fills some...need for a model of the hero?

CAMPBELL: I've heard youngsters use some of George Lucas' terms – “the Force” and “the dark side.” So it must be hitting somewhere. It's a good sound teaching, I would say.

…

CAMPBELL: Well, you see, that movie [Star Wars] communicates. It is in a language that talks to young people, and that's what counts.

…

CAMPBELL: ...Star Wars is not a simple morality play, it has to do with the powers of life as they are either fulfilled or broken and suppressed through the action of man.

…

CAMPBELL: Certainly Lucas was using standard mythological figures.

...

I think these quotes give us a good idea of Campbell's attitude about Star Wars.  This movie may no longer 'speak' to Alexis' view of life, but it 'speaks' to a great many others' view of life.

As this post draws to a close, I pose a question. With regard to “social wish-fulfillment,” isn't that the basis of mythology after all?

Revisionist Mythology

The other day, Alexis at The Tao of D&D* trash talked Star Wars. Alexis is kind enough to inform us that any adult who appreciates Star Wars is an uncultured dolt. Joseph Campbell believed that Star Wars re-introduced modern audiences to the concept of the monomyth. Ergo, by Alexis' estimation, Joseph Campbell was an uncultured dolt. If I am an uncultured dolt for liking such a well regarded film, then at least I'm in good company.

Star Wars is an example of intellectual property with significant cultural impact. Sometimes there is conflict between the 'owner' of such a property and the people ('fans') deeply affected by that property; such has been the case with some of George Lucas' efforts to 'revise' certain details of Star Wars. (For the record, not only did Han shoot first, but Greedo didn't get off a shot at all. Those are the facts. Deal.) I am reminded of when Sir Arthur Conan Doyle killed off Sherlock Holmes; public outcry was so great, he was eventually compelled to bring Holmes back. When does should an artist lose control of his creation?

Another intellectual property with significant cultural impact (well, impact to Our Hobby at least) is The World's Most Popular Role-Playing Game. There is occasional discord between the owning Wizards and those who cherish the game's origins. At least we have the Open Game License; the Wizards are free to take the path where My Little Pony leads them and we are free to preserve, if not enhance, what we hold dear.

Han shot first.

The Great Detective lives.

D&D is ours (except for beholders and displacer beasts and stuff).

* Alexis is like Emmanuel Goldstein in Nineteen Eighty-Four. Just as Goldstein served as the focus of the Two Minutes Hate, Alexis is a target for cathartic release. If Alexis did not exist, it would be necessary to invent him.