Inspired by my recent reading of the Mabinogion, I have launched into a re-read of Lloyd Alexander’s Prydain novels, which were vaguely inspired by it. I invite you all to re-read (or read) with me.
I first read these in the ashram library when I was about ten, but out of order, beginning with The Black Cauldron (book two) and continuing with The High King (the final book), as those were the only ones there. The first works quite well as a first book; the last worked surprisingly well by force of story, though I missed much of the emotional impact as characters whom I had not previously met kept wandering in and getting killed. As a result, when I finally managed to obtain the other books, I knew what happened but not why.
When I finally got to The Book of Three, I was disappointed: after the heroism and tragedy of later books, its light comedy seemed odd and slight. Taran, the impetuous kid Assistant Pig-Keeper for the enchanter Dallben’s oracular pig, wants to be a hero. When the pig runs off, Taran pursues her and runs into the warrior Gwydion son of Don (who is very noble and not at all like the amoral trickster of the same name in the Mabinogion), a chatty but rather sensible girl named Eilonwy, a creature named Gurgi who is vaguely Gollum-like but much less sinister, and a bard, Fflewddur Fflam, who is stuck with a magical harp whose strings break every time he exaggerates.
At age ten, much of the comedy not involving Fflewddur or Gurgi sailed over my head. When Taran encounters the noble hero Gwydion, I identified so completely with Taran that I was indignant at Gwydion for being mean to him. Reading that scene as an adult, it’s actually pretty funny to watch a figure out of grand mythology suddenly saddled with a suicidally heroic child whose life Gwydion is forced to save about three times in fifteen minutes due to Taran’s tendency to leap into counterproductive action.
Also, as a ten-year-old, I was confused as to why the evil queen Achren captured Gwydion and then didn’t kill him, as would have been sensible. As a thirty-six-year-old, I realized that Gwydion is hot and that is why. So many books make so much more sense if you read them with an understanding that sexual desire is a possible motivation.
This first book was nowhere near as much to my taste when I was ten as the more somber sequel, but I appreciated it more now. It’s funny, it moves fast, the comic characters are great, and it sets up all sorts of things which will have fantastic pay-offs later. All the same, I can see why I didn’t re-read it until now.
I first read these in the ashram library when I was about ten, but out of order, beginning with The Black Cauldron (book two) and continuing with The High King (the final book), as those were the only ones there. The first works quite well as a first book; the last worked surprisingly well by force of story, though I missed much of the emotional impact as characters whom I had not previously met kept wandering in and getting killed. As a result, when I finally managed to obtain the other books, I knew what happened but not why.
When I finally got to The Book of Three, I was disappointed: after the heroism and tragedy of later books, its light comedy seemed odd and slight. Taran, the impetuous kid Assistant Pig-Keeper for the enchanter Dallben’s oracular pig, wants to be a hero. When the pig runs off, Taran pursues her and runs into the warrior Gwydion son of Don (who is very noble and not at all like the amoral trickster of the same name in the Mabinogion), a chatty but rather sensible girl named Eilonwy, a creature named Gurgi who is vaguely Gollum-like but much less sinister, and a bard, Fflewddur Fflam, who is stuck with a magical harp whose strings break every time he exaggerates.
At age ten, much of the comedy not involving Fflewddur or Gurgi sailed over my head. When Taran encounters the noble hero Gwydion, I identified so completely with Taran that I was indignant at Gwydion for being mean to him. Reading that scene as an adult, it’s actually pretty funny to watch a figure out of grand mythology suddenly saddled with a suicidally heroic child whose life Gwydion is forced to save about three times in fifteen minutes due to Taran’s tendency to leap into counterproductive action.
Also, as a ten-year-old, I was confused as to why the evil queen Achren captured Gwydion and then didn’t kill him, as would have been sensible. As a thirty-six-year-old, I realized that Gwydion is hot and that is why. So many books make so much more sense if you read them with an understanding that sexual desire is a possible motivation.
This first book was nowhere near as much to my taste when I was ten as the more somber sequel, but I appreciated it more now. It’s funny, it moves fast, the comic characters are great, and it sets up all sorts of things which will have fantastic pay-offs later. All the same, I can see why I didn’t re-read it until now.
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I vote for a Westmark trilogy reread after Prydain!
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---L.
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Then I started over from the beginning, and much became clear(er).
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I don't think I ever caught the first mention of Belin - who Fflewddur swears by constantly - before (he's King of the Sun and consort of the Lady Don).
I always wondered if the Sons of Don were supposed to be immortal (or as good as), like Dallben and Arawn and Achren. (They are immortal in the Summer Country, but it's not clear if they are in Prydain.) Gwydion is referred to as "Son of Don," which implies that he was one of those who first came over from the Summer Country, since they aren't all referred to that way: there's Math son of Mathonwy, and Fflewddur Fflam son of Godo, and, um, that's all the Sons of Don I think are ever named.
If Gwydion is not actually a son of the Lady Don, and therefore extremely old, then of course it is possible one of his parents was also named Don. Or, he could be illegitimate. Alexander never goes into that sort of detail.
Speaking of not going in detail, I don't think I ever noticed just how brief is Gwydion's description of his... enlightenment, or whatever you may call it, in the dungeon of Oeth-Anoeth. And he doesn't seem that much different than before, despite now understanding the speech of all animals, the secrets of life and death, etc.
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:)
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One of the things I love most about the Prydain Chronicles is how the entire series, while being one of the classics of children's fantasy, serves simultaneously as a demolition of the tropes thereof, starting with Taran's expectations of swordplay on the first or second page and continuing right up to the revelations of the denouement. Reality smacking him upside the head is a recurring theme.
Also I love Fflewddur very much, and should probably write more about him.