Ivory and Horn
Posted in Fantasy |
Most of my favorite books have stories behind them. And even though I’ve only started reading Charles de Lint relatively recently, it conforms to the rule.
One of the best series I’ve read is Robert Holdstock’s Mythago cycle, and one day I joined a Yahoo! group dedicated to the writer. While the group is sadly not very active, it did bring one good thing into my life: an author name, recommended as very close in style and themes to Holdstock. That author was Charles de Lint and, even though I don’t think the style is similar, both of them have the same dreaminess around (most of) their books.
I remembered the connection today because I was trying to figure out what the title of the collection I am going to talk about, The Ivory and the Horn, meant. Then I was a bit confused, because Holdstock also has a book called Gate of Ivory, Gate of Horn, and for a second I didn’t know which was which. So, in short, I went out to figure out what was so special about ivory and horn… and the answer came quick. Of course, it’s the same thing that connects the two authors: dreams. The gate of ivory is the one false dreams come through, while the gate of horn is the one true visions come from.
My first contact with de Lint’s Newford was the collection Dreams Underfoot, and The Ivory and the Horn is a sequel of sorts. While you don’t need to know the background for any of the stories, it’s probably better if you read the two collections in order - and if you actually remember the first (which I didn’t). Many characters reappear and their past is sometimes reminisced.
I haven’t read much urban fantasy, so I don’t know how other authors do it, but de Lint manages to mix real life (street kids and bag ladies are almost always present) with magic (dreams that are somehow real, Native American mythology and spirits) and make it work so good.
The thing about these stories is that, as with the previous collection, I can’t remember titles and plots without looking them up. They are mixed up and what stayed with me is the atmosphere. Some of them are happy, some are sad, but they all have that Newford “air”. That’s what struck me ever since I read my first de Lint (The Little Country - not Newford) - the atmosphere is unlike any other book I’ve read.
There’s too many stories to cover all of them, so I’ll just talk about my favorites.
The Forest is Crying is a story about a disenhearted social worker. Yes, he manages to save some children, but what about the many more who just end up back to their squats or abusive families? But then he meets a woman, who leads him to the council of the Kickaha elders and finally to a young girl with an abusive father. The connection between the woman and the girl, though predictable for the reader, is the perfect way to show him that he does do important work. And the story is great because the analogy can be used for virtually any activity without immediately visible results. If you don’t see it, it doesn’t mean it’s meaningless.
The Wishing Well has less magic and more real world. Brenda is a woman with low self-estreem and a history of eating disorders, so she self-sabotages her chances of getting close to a good man who cares about her. Luckily she has good friends. What makes this story is the eponymous Wishing Well, a deserted motel where Brenda retreats to figure out her life, surrounded by the ghosts of old wishes.
Bird Bones and Wood Ash deals with revenge. Abuse is the theme again, and Jaime is a kind of superhero, with powers bestowed on her by anima - woman animal spirits. She avenges abused children, finds help in Dennison, the social worker in The Forest is Crying, takes on more than she can chew and eventually screws up. And it’s not the danger to herself that’s the problem, it’s the fact that she hurt a child she was trying to help. But the traumatic event makes Jamie realize that she was doing an incomplete job and adds another dimension to her “work”.
Pal O’Mine deals with depression and being able to see the magic in everything. Which, as we find out, don’t cancel each other out like we may think. I don’t know what I liked about this. Maybe the sad ending. Maybe because it’s a true story about friends who drift apart. Maybe the fact that people who look happy sometimes aren’t.
The Pochade Box is one of those stores you can really appreciate if you know the characters more in-depth. Maisie, her dogs and her retarded “adopted” brother Tommy also appear in Dreams Underfoot, where they’re trying to build a home on the street. In The Pochade Box their existence has changed - to the better, some would say, but Maisie feels she is being stretched too thin. Jilly Coppercorn, one of the other recurring characters, helps her realize the best way out of the situation. No magic here either, just real life. The same idea again - some of the “happiest” people are also some of the saddest. Society’s ideas about what we need aren’t neccesarily true.
