Pickman's Question
Pickman,
First, though I do love Crowley's wit and literary style in non-fiction, his fiction is just not as good. I would think that readers without a basis in metaphysics probably don't understand his fiction. Moonchild is readable, but it does bog down, because of both esoteric reasons and because he uses the novel as a device to lampoon some of his former colleagues in the Golden Dawn. Oh, I can hardly wait until we get to the Golden Dawn. Many, many members of the Golden Dawn (a semi-secret mystical society that flourished in Victorian England) were writers, many wrote fiction with much occult material. Poet W. B. Yeats was a high ranking member, Charles Williams, novelist, was another, Bram Stoker was rumored to have been a member, Oscar Wilde's wife (whose name escapes me at the moment) was a member, Dion Fortune was a later memeber and her occult novels are as unreadable as Crowleys. Even fantasy greats Tolkien and Lewis were close friends with Charles Lewis and A. E. Waite (famous for his contribution to the Tarot deck) and much valid occult material can be found in their works, despite their strong Christian backgrounds.
From a literary standpoint any forced device will be awkward, be it occult content or whatever. Everything in a story should flow from the needs of the story, or it will feel forced. Novelists or short story authors write stories about people. All stories are about people (even books about rabbits are about people--as in Watership Down-- because the rabbits are people in the books). The occult content or the fantasy content, for that matter, are always secondary. Only inferior stories will start with the idea of stuffing the tale full of fantasy or occult content. Such devices must flow out of the story naturally.
Let me think of stories that, in my own humble opinion (and that's all it is) make good use of the occult. Hmmm?
The first book that comes to mind (and maybe it is because I was on a Native American kick) is Frank Herbert's Soul Catcher--which I just loved. The book is full of Native American mysticism, but it's just a great book about a reluctant kidnapper and the young innocent boy he must sacrifice.
Okay, I'm having trouble this morning thinking of more. I would like to think that my own writings make good use of occult content to further the story.
Here's an excerpt from my novel, Empress of Clouds (Behler). Here the druid priestess, Brythia needs to traverse a great distance immediately and has to resort to the druids' Flying Smoke, which is largely influenced by Castaneda's writing and so helps us get back to our Yaqui friends:
She exhaled deeply and brought the lit pipe to her lips. She inhaled vigorously, drawing the flying smoke into her lungs. She continued inhaling until her lungs burned. She held her breath, holding the smoke tightly inside her. She removed the pipe from her face and blew out a sizeable cloud of smoke, coughing as she did so.
Immediately she repeated this procedure, holding the hot and bitter smoke in even longer each time she did so. The entire time she held a vision of the palace of Lorm in her mind. She visualized the outer fortress walls, the great towers, the gates. She held the image firmly in her imagination as she began to feel light-headed. Shapes seemed to move vaguely in the surrounding darkness of the wooded circle. The air seemed comprised of tiny particles which fluttered and flickered about, and then everything began to move in waves. The blackness of the night sky blended into the tops of the trees which seemed to melt into the grass. A dizziness and vague feeling of nausea took hold of her. Still she did not allow herself to be distracted by the effects of the flying smoke; she kept the picture of the palace there vividly as possible before her mind’s eye.
A strange humming noise came slowly in the background of her attention, growing louder and louder with each passing moment. Now everything was swirling around her, jumbled waves of energy which were once the trees and the sky seemed to lap like water at her feet. Was she standing now? Or no, had she fallen down? Was that the cold earth she felt all about her now? She was having difficulty breathing. The air that poured into her lungs stung and tasted foul. Was she still smoking? She could not be sure. She hung on to the image of the palace; it was her only anchor to sanity. Her regular vision was lost in blurs and a crashing hum of deafening ferocity raged so that all other sound was drowned out. Now there came a sensation of movement and something raced just below her, rapidly, but nebulous.
Then there seemed to be a figure moving towards her in the blurred landscape that surrounded. It stuck her as an entity of some sort, but one which possessed no measurable characteristics which she could hold in her affected mind. It possessed color and movement, but nothing even approaching shape. It flashed brilliantly across her awareness.
"Who are you?" popped up in her mind. Did she ask it or did the entity ask her? She could not be sure. She attempted, at first, to ignore the presence and return her concentration wholly to the palace, but again the question moved across her mind. "Who are you?"
And then another question followed instantly. "Why do you wish to go to this place, this palace?"
She attempted to move her lips to answer, but she found that she could not. If she was making coherent sounds they could not be heard over the din of the incessant humming.
The palace. Ignore the voice in your head and think only of the palace.
"Why? Why? Why?"
The strange voice in her head almost devoured her in its questioning. The humming became the question repeated at an incredible roar. Brythia formed an answer in her mind, and it was shouted with everything she had, "For Tolian."
Her answer now echoed in the humming. She remembered to bring her attention back to the palace. "The palace, the palace, the palace, the palace, the palace" she screamed over and over again.
And then that was all there was. The words ringing throughout eternity. There was nothing else.
The palace. The palace. The palace. The palace. The palace. Her mantra rang over and over again.
A barrage of quick images danced across her consciousness. A rolling sea of clouds stretched out in the darkness below her. A carpet of trees. A flash of light.
Suddenly she felt tears on her check. She felt her foot on solid ground. The screamed mental mantra faded with the sound of a twig snapping under her. The crackle of leaves beneath her feet. The blur of her vision shifted into uncertain shapes before condensing into trees all around her. It was still night. She became aware of the cold wind rushing down on her. She stepped, from the midst of the tall barren oak trees which surrounded her, onto a paved road. She turned right on to the path and continued walking. Her head still spun and a violent wave of nausea took hold of her. She had to stop and vomit.
******
My novel Moonspell, which will be released by Behler in 2006 has my very favorite use of ritual magick in my work. It's too long to excerpt here, maybe some other time.
I'll try and think of other works of fiction with good use of the occult in them, but I certainly welcome anyone else's suggestions.
Okay, next time, we'll return to our Yaqui friends and learn about allies and intention, unless anyone has any other questions, which we will happily address.
Thread Disclaimer: The information provided in this thread is for literary purposes only. It in no way endorses the use of drugs or occult practices.