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When you're raised on the river, washed in the blood
This is a logical train of thought. It starts with Pamela F. Service's Tomorrow's Magic—the recent omnibus reprint of Winter of Magic's Return (1985) and Tomorrow's Magic (1987)—which I picked up from the bookstore this afternoon and have just begun to re-read. The last time I read the books was age eleven, at the latest; I had remembered the post-apocalyptic Arthuriana, but completely forgotten that it takes place in Wales. This reminds me again that between the Prydain Chronicles, The Dark Is Rising, The Crystal Cave, The Owl Service, the Mushroom Planet books, and Howl's Moving Castle, it's probably some kind of miracle I ever realized that Wales was not in fact synonymous with the otherworld. Time out for a fragmentary, tangential recollection of the dream I had last night, which contained Merlin and Nimue (and someone had stolen my face), which zigzags back to wondering whether magical talent / sensitivity in novels and stories usually is ethnically tied: not to pick on Peter S. Beagle, Julie Tanikawa's ability to summon the goddess Kannon in The Folk of the Air; whether that's orientalism or merely a reasonable expectation that a god will listen most attentively to its traditionally affiliated kin-group; e.g., there are not many goyishe golem stories. I am too tired to draw up a proper list in my head (either for or against) and decide to stare at my bookshelves tomorrow. Nonetheless, the sentence that still resolves at the end of this contemplation is: I totally resent my genetic inability to sing golems into being. It's a good thing I like my brain.
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Interesting to read this just as I was researching ghost stories and urban legends from other countries. Ellen Datlow and Nick Mamatas--I think it was them, sorry don't have the linke now--are putting together an anthology of ghost story/urban legend retellings (with emphasis on making these stories feel real again, bringing new life to them). I think most stories were solicited, but they now have an open reading period. Anyway, there's a need for stories from countries other than the US and UK, and I started researching some South American legends. When it came to opening my imagination to the one that caught me, I realized I had to first feel immersed in the land, the culture, the colors of this country--rural village? city? what do the people eat, drink, wear?--then in talking to a friend from Brazil, I got his take and he brought the little magical trickster here to the States and had him at a Bulls game. And this was an easy trip for him; he knew the creature. I think he already understood his tricky heart.
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Awesome. Are you sending them a story?
then in talking to a friend from Brazil, I got his take and he brought the little magical trickster here to the States and had him at a Bulls game. And this was an easy trip for him; he knew the creature. I think he already understood his tricky heart.
Who is the trickster in your tale? Pedro Malasartes? Someone I do not know?
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The trickster is Saci, a one-legged black or mulatto boy with holes in the palms. He's blamed for all kinds of mischievous things, like spilled drinks, burnt dinners, stumbling. The holes in the palms is interesting ... and if I have some time it might start to draw out a story, but I've a feeling I won't make it.
Have you considered writing something for it?
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But I want to read it . . .
Have you considered writing something for it?
I hadn't even known the anthology existed! I'll have to think about it—I don't really have a strong regional current in my work.
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