It’s easy for me to say that I’m affected by something. As an aspiring author, such sensitivity to
great stories comes with the territory.
Marvel’s “Red Sonja” Issue #1 confounded my
expectations. Red Sonja is a
swordswoman, a fighter, someone who can hold her own against Conan, her
barbarian alter ego. Yet we find her
befriending a mythological creature—a unicorn—that wouldn’t ordinarily inhabit
Robert E. Howard’s Hyborian Age. And instead
of focusing upon a battle, Roy Thomas and Clara Noto’s story seemed to focus
upon a moment of calm and healing between two battles. Frank Thorne’s artwork emphasizes this sense
of peace and tranquility shared by Red Sonja and the unicorn, and contrasts it
with the inhuman cruelty of Ander of Bezfarda.
But enough of what I think.
Consider, if you will, a few reader reactions to the story.
From Randall Moreau in Appleton, Wisconson: “I’ve just
finished reading Red Sonja #1, ‘The Blood of the Unicorn,’ and I’m left with a
curious, mellow feeling of sadness and strength. There was a lot there and it’s affected me on
a lot of levels. Beginning with the
powerful imagery of that first page: the atmosphere of death and deep
loss. And following the merciful slaying
of her injured mount, Sonja is left strangely sensitized and vulnerable. These carefully crafted givens seemed to open
up something within me, allowing another sense other than my eyes to record and
respond to Frank’s beautiful, moving art and to Roy (and Clara’s) entreating
words. What followed was the
carefully-concocted contrast between violence, fire, and fury, and the mellow,
serene communion of Sonja and the unicorn with the forest. All leading up to that quiet ending. The good-bye.
It hurt…”
From Deby Dunn in Hacienda Heights, California: “The four of
you together (Frank Thorne, Roy Thomas, Clara Noto, and Ed Summer) have done
something for which I will be eternally grateful. In Red Sonja #1 you took a mythological
creature, compounded wholly of clichés, and made it live, entirely
believable. You told the story through
the eyes of the unicorn as well as Sonja’s and, in so doing, you gave him an
elusive germ of personality that exploded like a bomb as he defended his chosen
companion. Anything with a personality
deserves a name. But not just any
name. The name must be light, graceful,
yet strong, as in the unicorn itself. It
also must be unusual and distinctive, so that it will not be forgotten. Such a name is ‘Tabitha.’ It is a feminine name, I know, and….”
One of the story threads running through Steven Brust’s
novel, The Sun, the Moon, & the Stars, is the question of what constitutes
proper art. Or, if you will, real art. Before writing this post, I did a search on
the definition of art. Everywhere I
looked, the definition of art was different. Regardless of its form or presentation, I suspect
most of us would agree that great art evokes a feeling or response from the recipient.
In Deby’s case, she wrote in to suggest
a name for the unicorn, even though she knew how unlikely it was that the
writers would ever bring him back for another story. In Randall’s case, he needed to tell them
that he was “touched” by their story.
There was no logical reason for Deby or Randall to write in
and tell the writers and the artist their reaction to the story. Yet they felt compelled to. When something affects you deeply, it
provokes a change inside you, and you cannot hold it in: you simply must share the
experience with others. That’s the power
of art.
For me, that’s the power of Fiction.
Dragon Dave
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