T-Rex is the thing with feathers
That stands 20 feet tall
And eats 500 pounds of meat per bite
And never stops at all
The Myth of Darth Vader
(With apologies to Albert Camus’ “The Myth of Sisyphus”)
(Some SPOILERS for Rogue One)
The Emperor condemned Darth Vader to live in a castle straddling a river of lava, on a planet where he had killed his wife in anger, and was betrayed, maimed, and burned by his one-time mentor and friend. The Emperor had thought, with some reason, that there was no more effective a way to tether Vader’s loyalty to the Dark Side than to be constantly faced with the worst day of his life.
If one believes George Lucas, Anikin Skywalker, the child who would be Vader, was plucked from enslavement by a Jedi who believed him to be an instrument of prophecy. Presented to the High Council, he was chastised for feeling fear and being too old – things over which he had no control. The Council accepted him only after the Jedi who took him from his home – without informed consent – vouched for his behavior. In this way, Anikin was passed from one form of bondage to another. The rules of the Jedi demanded the abjuration of passion and strict loyalty to the Jedi order. Beyond that, the Jedi held expectations that he would “bring balance to the Force,” without having any consensus on what that meant.
Anikin trained under a system that wasn’t equipped to deal with students with his – or any – life experience. His natural talents and innate power grew, but the yoke placed on him by the Jedi chafed and provided no succor. He had but two friends outside the Jedi order. The first was a woman he knew since childhood, the only woman he knew well. The second was a man who admired his instincts instead of condemning them, and was willing to discuss topics unspoken inside the Jedi orthodoxy. Anikin’s acts of volition, and there were only a few, were considered acts of defiance. He set off to rescue his captive, dying mother. He married the woman he loved. He fought against what he saw as the unlawful arrest of his friend. At this point, he passed to his third form of bondage: accepting Darth Sidious as his master, and embracing the Dark Side of the Force. It is in the Dark Side’s grip that Anikin – now Darth Vader – killed his wife and battled his former friend over the lava flows of Mustafar, resulting in yet another form of bondage: to the machines necessary to keep him alive.
You have already grasped that Darth Vader is the absurd hero, as much through his passions as through his torture. His scorn of the Jedi, his hatred of betrayal, and his passion for the freedom to pursue his own desires won him that unspeakable penalty in which his whole being is exerted toward accomplishing his master’s goals, which are meaningless to himself. If this myth is tragic, that is because its hero is conscious. Encased in black robotic armor, Darth Vader understands that the few choices he exercised led him to this state of utter servitude. A moment of anger and violence led him to become a machine of anger and violence, an attack dog on the Emperor’s leash, kept alive and functional to serve a purpose outside himself.
In those quiet moments in his hell-castle home, when the Emperor has no need of him, Darth Vader may contemplate his fate. He can no longer lie in repose or take his ease as other men. When he is not being used as a blunt instrument, Darth Vader hangs naked in a bacta tank, letting the medicinal organisms soothe what cannot be healed. Perhaps, during those moments, he broods over what could have been had he rejected vengeance, love, or justice. But during those ruminations, suspended like a specimen in a jar, he must also see that in different choices he would have found different servitude. His very conception was by another’s design, he was born into slavery, and at no turn in his life was he left answerable only to himself. And as the fatigue of railing against his fate becomes tedious, he must realize that at that moment, his thoughts are his own. The world inside his tank is the world of his own unfettered imagination. Boredom of monotony alone would inspire him to imagine joy instead of rage. And eventually he would realize that external forces are so intent on controlling his actions that his actions could just as well go on without the presence of his mind. At that moment, he is free. One must imagine Darth Vader happy.
regional differences
“oh hey,” she said, “it’s a really touristy area, but since you’re gonna be passing through anyway, you might as well stop by pier 29, see the dragons. also, there’s a—”
“hold on,” i said. “i knew your city had mountains, but. dragons? uh, actual living dragons?”
“dude, it’s not a big deal. they’re there all the time. of course they’re majestic and everything, but they’re loud and cranky and mostly they lie around eating garbage. now and then the city council will talk about trying to make them roost somewhere else, but—”
“dragons,” i repeated. i knew it was making me sound like a rube, but it was a lot to take in. “you live in a city that has dragons.”
“no, it’s cool, we used to go see them when i was a little kid. it’s worth doing. but that whole area is mostly dragon-themed gift shops, and the commercialization is kind of a bummer. also, sometimes a dragon will melt somebody’s car and it’s a whole problem.”
“fairytale-style, giant scaly fire-breathing dragons.”
“honestly, i forget other cities don’t have them?” she said. “there’s a few other sites on the west coast where they gather. portland calls them wyverns, but that’s a portland thing.”
“chicago’s got, like, bunnies and songbirds,” i told her, “but otherwise it’s just your typical vermin. pigeons, rats, sphinxes—”
“sphinxes? what the hell.”
“oh, yeah, they nest in the el tunnels. sometimes a fucking sphinx will flap down out of nowhere, bring the whole train to a halt until the front car answers a riddle.”
“that sounds exciting,” she said.
“it’s the worst. your train winds up being twenty minutes late, and you just have to hang out hoping somebody up there read their mythology. there’s supposed to be a program where the conductors get trained in riddling, but i don’t know. rahm emmanuel keeps saying it’s not a budget priority.”
“huh,” she said. “guess the grass is always greener and all that. but on some level, it’s nice to remember that even with all these big box stores, the country still has some variety left in it.”
“yeah, did you know that in rhode island they call water fountains ‘bubblers’?” i said.
“whoa, seriously?”
“i read it somewhere. crazy, right?”
“crazy.”
i am here for urbanized mythological creatures
Switzerland has a lot of dragons, but dragons have long since moved on from collecting gold. There’s a purply-scaley one that roosts behind the Mad Mex that refuses to stop hoarding signposts. The city uses banners for the main roads and sells a lot of maps.
Golems love cities–with their stone buildings and sidewalks. There are strict laws about what one is allowed to say to them, because golems tend to be rather literal and very obedient. There’s always one kid who thinks he knows better. He doesn’t.
OH MY GOD THE CHICAGO SPHINXES, DON’T GET ME STARTED. Here’s the thing. When you buy your Ventra card at the machine - which is another one of Rahm’s scams, leasing that out to a private company, wtf was he thinking - it’s supposed to have the answer to the riddle on it, right? The sphinx is supposed to scan the bar code and let the train through.
that never fucking happens. Especially on the Blue Line which is down for maintenance all the time and constantly switching tracks and running shuttles, which means half the time you’ve got a sphinx that came over from the fucking Orange Line or some shit and is full of riddles that only the Irish mooks from Bridgeport understand. Or it’s in Polish only. Or it’s got a glitch that makes it stutter and if you interrupt it, it’ll get snippy and bite your head off. LITERALLY. They hush it up but it happens. Businesses lose millions from sphinx-related tardiness every year.
And then there’s a case back in ‘96 when it was proven after the fact that the “wrong” answer the Red Line Sphinx got was actually A PERFECTLY ACCEPTABLE REGIONAL VARIATION but by then, the Sphinx had already eaten half a car full of drunken Cubs fans. I know, not much of value was lost there, BUT STILL.
You think SPHINXES are bad? Detroit has imps, thousands of them, and you know what they love? Buses. You know the major form of public transit in Detroit is? BUSES. So the drivers have to literally shoo away imps at every fucking stop, making them 30 minutes late, an HOUR late, and it’s not like there’s anything you can DO, because they’re all leftover from when the car companies were big, and ALL OF THOSE FUCKERS CLOSED.
So of course there were hundreds of orphaned imps, and they kept SAYING they were going to reopen the factories, or at least get some good junkyards, but nooooooooo, they never did, so the imps just bred and bred, and now they’re all over every bus and it’s not like you can ever count on getting anywhere on time and long story short, I’d take a sphinx over imps ANY day.
yeah as someone who did high school and college in michigan and now lives in chicago, i have to say that as far as the age-old sphinxes vs imps debate goes, they’re both terrible in different ways. the imps are way more common and they probably have a wider total reach, and oh my god nothing like trying to board a bus already covered in those little suckers when said bus is already forty minutes late—
(sidenote: ugh people from bloomfield hills saying stuff like “well if i lived in detroit, i’d have the sense to carry around a nice heavy club or walking stick—” yeah dude good luck with your walking stick against two dozen imps)
but the sphinxes. let’s not, uh, sugar coat this: the sphinxes don’t just slow commuters, they kill people. and yes, if you know the riddle, you’re fine. but what if someone else offers their answer first? what if you get some overly cocky freshman philosophy major who takes it upon himself to answer for the whole car?
i think in the back of our minds, all chicagoans know that rahm emmanuel’s administration isn’t gonna lift a finger until one of the sphinxes goes after a wealthy tourist and it makes national news. and even then, we’ll get, like, flashy riddle-solving software installed in all the red line trains, and maybe the brown line, but no way is it gonna cover the whole infrastructure.
basically if you ever need to take the green line or the pink line, you wanna start studying your classical mythology and folklore fucking yesterday.
@copperbadge do puns work on Sphinxes as well as riddles?
You bet your sphinxter they do.
(Sphinxes hate that one but they’re obliged to honor it.)
“How are your parents adjusting to Chicago?”
“Honestly, they keep talking about going back to India.”
“The winter got to them, right? Even this spring hasn’t really…”
“It’s not that. I think they miss the Rakshasas.”
“The Rakshasas? You can’t be serious. Who could miss those damn things? My cousin’s wife was abducted by one in Delhi – did I tell you about this? It was practically a whole Ramayana getting her back.”
“Yeah. I think it’s a case of the-devil-you-know. My dad could tell maya-illusion with one glance, and he was wicked with a bow and mace. His neighborhood back home was crawling with those multi-headed kinds, and he’d just draw arrow after arrow, knocking off heads and watching them re-sprout for fun, before he put the poor thing out of its misery and pierced its navel. But his first time riding the L in Chicago, and he almost got eaten by a sphinx. A little kid on the train had to answer the riddle for him. I think my dad even knew the answer, but he couldn’t understand the sphinx’s accent.”
“Ouch.”
“He moped for days after that. Stopped wearing his bow. I think it’s in the hall closet, with the umbrellas. His shoulders are hunched all the time now. For the first time, I look at him and it hits me – he’s old.”
“My uncle has an app on his iPhone. Train timings, bus routes, and a riddle catalog by line.”
“I know. I gave him the app. My mom uses it, but he…Like I said, I think he misses the Rakshasas. He had a reputation back home. He was the one who rescued old men, not the one being rescued. He was kind of a local hero, I guess.”
“Wow. That’s rough. I can see that, too. I’ve lived outside of India longer than I lived there. When I go back… Well, I feel like a foreigner now. More than that. I feel like a phony. Like I’m not a real Indian. I got into a rickshaw with a Rakshasa posing as the driver. My nephew had to pull me out. Nearly lost an arm. Point is, it’s not home anymore. I know this now.”
“Have you heard the rumors that someone smuggled in a mating pair? That they’re breeding them on Devon?”
“You’re kidding me.”
“They say the FOBbies have hunts. A part of me wants to take my dad. Boost his confidence.”
“You don’t want to get involved in this. Jesus, people freak out about zebra mussels…”
“Did you really just say ‘Jesus?’ You *have* gone native.”
“Shut up. Do you think those rumors are true?”
“What if they are? I mean, why are there sphinxes in Chicago? Aren’t those supposed to be Greek, or Egyptian, or something? It’s not like they’re indigenous. They replaced something.”
“So you’re saying maybe they can be replaced too?”
“The world keeps turning. Chicago keeps changing. Who can say what monsters we’ll be dealing with in twenty years?”
INDIANA JONES AND THE LOST LEGACY (Episode 5)
The ice breaks away, exposing an ancient, battered, saucer-shaped ship. Old Doctor Jones swallows a lump in his throat. His eyes inexplicably well with tears.
Many Bothans
Oh my God, no no no, that’s not what I meant! Many Bothans were DYING to give us these plans – they were really enthusiastic about it! Seriously, the Bothans are okay. Everyone’s okay.
The title of this article is nearly irrelevant. Read instead for a perspective on the role of sci-fi/fantasy, and the state of the genre, by one of its modern founding fathers. Interesting, provocative stuff for readers and writers.
So…as some of you already know, we’re in the midst of a health crisis in my family. I don’t usually make this stuff public, but this may have medium-term ramifications for my travel and appearance schedule, so here goes. My youngest daughter has been diagnosed with a congenital heart defect. Fortunately, it’s reparable, and her longterm prognosis is good, but it will require major surgery. I will in all likelihood be spending much of the remainder of the winter and spring in and out of hospitals. Very sadly, this means I won’t be attending the Conference on World Affairs this year. I’m going to try hard to attend Norwescon as usual, since it’s local (and also my very favoritest convention); I may also be at Emerald City for a day or two, since it is likewise local. I will also try my very damnedest to keep Ms Marvel on schedule. However, this is, of course, all subject to the outcome of the wee one’s surgery and her recovery process. Please keep my little pickle in your thoughts and prayers–she’s in good spirits and has been very brave. And thank you to those of you who’ve already reached out–I love you all. xo
