Sunday, May 5, 2013

Red Sonja Touches People's Lives



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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