Kim Batchelor

Writer of magical realism and other imaginative fiction

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May 16 2018

William Butler Yeats

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One writer most influenced the dreamscape of my youth—the Irish poet William Butler Yeats. I read his poems in assigned texts in my high school English class. I memorized two of them thanks to songs by folk singers Judy Collins—the poem “The Lake Isle of Innisfree”—and Donovan—“The Song of the Wandering Aengus.”

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,

And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;

Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,

And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

 

This poem always conjured up thoughts of a place in a clearing in the woods, a place of solitude and contemplation. Who can resist the lure of a small cabin and living ‘alone in a bee-loud glade’?

While Innisfree took me to a quiet cottage in the Irish countryside, “The Song of the Wandering Aengus” presented a mysterious story full of unusual and mystical images. According to Wikipedia, the Aengus (Old Irish: Oíngus, Óengus) is a character from Irish mythology who is a member of the Tuatha Dé Danann—a supernatural race. He is “probably a god of love, youth and poetic inspiration.”

I went out to the hazel wood,

Because a fire was in my head,

And cut and peeled a hazel wand,

And hooked a berry to a thread;

And when white moths were on the wing,

And moth-like stars were flickering out,

I dropped the berry in a stream

And caught a little silver trout.

 

The trout becomes a ‘glimmering girl,’ who calls him by name and runs, fading through “the brightening air.”

Though I am old with wandering

Through hollow lands and hilly lands,

I will find out where she has gone,

And kiss her lips and take her hands;

And walk among long dappled grass,

And pluck till time and times are done,

The silver apples of the moon,

The golden apples of the sun.

 

Two recent books brought Yeats back to mind for me. In the recent young adult novel, The Hazel Wood, by Melissa Albert, is the story of seventeen-year-old Alice Prosperpine, who finds out about her grandmother’s death while on the road with her mother. Her grandmother, a children’s book writer, lived on an estate called The Hazel Wood. When Alice’s mother is kidnapped and taken to a supernatural place where her grandmother’s dark fairy tales are set, Alice is left no choice but to search for her mother with the help of one of her grandmother’s avid readers.

The actor David Duchovny wrote his most recent novel, Miss Subways, based on an obscure play by Yeats that has its roots in the Ulster Cycle of Irish Mythology. In the play, “The Only Jealousy of Emer,” Emer falls in love with the warrior hero Cu Chulainn. When Cu Chulainn inadvertently kills his own son, Emer is presented with a cruel bargain by a faerie Sidhe. If Emer gives up Cu Chulainn and her hope of growing old with him, the Sidhe will let him live. Duchovny’s book, Emer is a 41-year-old school teacher and her writer boyfriend is Cuchilain, otherwise known as Con. The modern Emir is presented with a similar bargain as her ancient counterpart. The Sidhe in this retelling is a doorman, and the bargain is that if Emer gives up her dreams of a life with Con, who is at that moment flirting with another woman outside a restaurant, he will be spared the fate of being hit by a car. Decisions, decisions.

I have no doubt that Yeats helped to inspire my book, The Mists of Na Crainn, and the mystical place I’m often fantasizing about.

 

 

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Written by Kim · Categorized: Celtic, Forest, Imagination, Magical realism, Poetry · Tagged: Innisfree, Song of the Wandering Aegus, William Butler Yeats

Oct 06 2017

The Magic I Find at the Fair

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As I begin to imagine elements of the story at the center of my next novel, the world of a mysterious carnival, I think of the Arbor Fair, a place I created in my book, The Mists of Na Crainn.

While Lyric walked through the forest, Saoirse and Andrew behind her, colors gradually appeared through the slivers of space between the leaves and branches overhead. Clanking and voices came from all around her. As she cautiously moved forward, the colors became a stall of multicolored textiles—rugs and tablecloths and interesting tunics and long skirts. More stalls appeared beside and in front of that one. One stall sheltered by a tarp held glass containers of various sizes. One hung suspended over a small flame that boiled the blue liquid inside of it. As Lyric passed, the woman behind the table dropped powder into its narrow opening. A foamy sheet emerged from the opening and covered the sides.

The booths in the new novel will not be filled with sellers of goods, but perhaps people who can tell the future, who can conjure up tiny milky ways from collecting bioluminescent insects, or perhaps are unusual dancers or contortionists—something mystical and unexpected.

Like many writers, I look to real life and real places for inspiration. Fall brings with it one of my favorite events that may serve that purpose this year: the State Fair of Texas. I don’t ride many rides (except for the giant Ferris wheel) or play games on the midway, though I watch others who do. Instead, I admire the quilts that hang in the Creative Arts building, walk through the barns to see what animals are there to compete, and eat my fill of fair food.

I often wish that the fair was a better neighbor to the communities that surround it, especially because of the communities it brings together. At the fair, rural culture encounters city culture—and vice versa. Who knew there were miniature Hereford cows? Or that llamas wear expressions of constant disapproval? Will one of these animals this year spark an idea of something unique?

The pastimes of many—knitters, photographers, the people who concoct elaborate fried creations—take center stage at the real Texas State Fair. Fewer venues are better for people watching.

My visit usually ends with a trip on a gondola moving over the fairgrounds. As I look down on the lights illuminating the whirling cars and the crowds of people making their way between game booths, I already see a world all its own.

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Written by Kim · Categorized: fairy, Forest, Inspiration, Magical realism, Writing · Tagged: Sidhe, State Fair, State Fair of Texas, Texas, Texas State Fair

Mar 27 2017

Poetry in Shadows: Puppets of the Wayang Kulit

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Ethereal music from bronze instruments plays a tune somewhat discordant to your ears. An oil lamp or single bulb sends out a light projecting images of kings and princesses, clowns and demons onto a white cloth. A dalang is the shadow puppet master of the Wayang Kulit, who, behind the cloth, calls up the spirit of ancestors, following a tradition of more than a thousand years.

The puppets act out scenes from the Ramayana, an epic poem brought to the Indonesian islands of Java and Bali by Indian traders and sailors. Or the Mahabharata, one of the world’s longest poems that also contains the Bhagavad-Gita.

The play will last three to four hours. Careful if you find yourself drifting off. You may find strangers from the play enter your dreams—Semar who is both a clown servant and a god. He serves Prince Rana, reincarnated from the Hindu god Vishnu. The beautiful Sita, Rana’s wife, also appears, as does the magical bird, Jatayu, who dies when it attempts to rescue Sita. Or perhaps members of the Pandawa and the greedy Korawa families play out their rivalry in an epic conflict from the Mahabharata.

No matter the play or poem, you will spend time deep in a forest thick with greenery, filled with creatures hiding where the sun doesn’t linger. The forest is the scene of banishment or refuge.

“All is clouded by desire, Arjuna,” Kresna tells the prince of the Pandawa family. “As a fire by smoke, as a mirror by dust. Through these, it blinds the soul.”

With one movement of a prince’s hand, giants are defeated.

See my post, Water from the Moon, to find out how I was introduced to the Wayang Kulit.

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Written by Kim · Categorized: Forest, Magical realism, Myth · Tagged: indonesia, shadow puppets, wayang kulit

Jun 23 2016

The Otherworld in Killarney National Park

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When I used to imagine Ireland, I had two visions. One was of rolling green hills filled with cows and sheep. Another was of a more mystical place, a land of forests that held secrets amidst the foliage lining paths that weave through the trees.

The rolling green hills of the first vision were prominent as we drove across western Ireland last May, carefully navigating the curving roads. Then, on an overcast day, we happened upon Tír na mBeo, the land of the living, the Otherworld of Irish mythology. Or maybe the luminescent leaves of trees and strands of sunlight through the upper branches of a small ringed forest were just the boundaries of that place known only in legend. Killarney National Park, a stunning gem adjoining the city of Killarney, seemed so different from the miles of green countryside that we’d passed on the way there.

I took photo after photo, but only a few came close to doing justice to the dreamlike spaces within the park. We opted to spend time there immersed in nature rather than joining the traffic on the nearby Ring of Kerry, a 180 or so km drive around the Kerry Peninsula. The hours we spent in the park, a large lake ringed with forest, following paths that threaded through the trees until we ultimately arrived at the Torc Falls, were some of the most memorable and visually stunning of the trip to Ireland.

I found the wood where my fictional character Lyric Doherty lives in a cottage with her father Michael and her brother Padraig. A voice in those woods calls her from sleep to alert her to small gifts that later link her to a lost loved one. I stood at the foot of the mountain where another character, Andrew Devlin, climbs in the evening, hoping to glimpse the sliver of sea that might link him to his mother who disappeared long before. Both characters populate the Mists of Na Crainn, ‘na crainn’ meaning ‘in the woods’ in Gaelic.

The book is still in revision for future publication, and I knew it would never be finished until I actually travelled to Ireland to see the country that inspired it for myself. No matter that the fictional Village Na Crainn is wholly a product of my imagination. Killarney National Park brought into full view the setting of the novel as a gift.

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Written by Kim · Categorized: Celtic, Forest, Ireland, Travel · Tagged: Killarney National Park, myth

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