The Lady of the Green Kirtle:
Green as Absinthe

Previous parts of the series can be read here (Part I) and here (Part II)


The Lady of the Green Kirtle and her mandolin

Ever wonder why The Lady of the Green Kirtle — also known as The Green Witch — seems to have little sprigs of greenery decorating her gown and hair in Pauline Baynes’ illustrations of her?

Well, it’s because of this.

The plant above is Artemisia absinthium, a bushy perennial shrub also known as wormwood. As you can guess by that name, its scent is not pleasant. In fact, it reeks. I know. I’ve grown it. Not only does it reek, it’s extremely bitter, so bitter most animals will not eat it. The plant has many medicinal uses and was also cultivated  to flavor spirits and wine. In late 1700s Switzerland it was combined with anise and fennel, and out of this Holy Trinity, the bright green, mind-numbing, alcoholic beverage known as absinthe was born.

Popular in fin-de-siècle France, especially Paris, absinthe was immortalized forever in the impressionist paintings of Manet, van Gogh, and Toulouse-Lautrec. Back then it was traditional to serve absinthe by decanting a portion into a glass, then slowly dripping cold water into it over a cube of sugar held over the glass’s mouth by a small slotted spoon. The sugar alleviated the drink’s bitterness, the water cut its high alcohol content, and the chill brought out in the absinthe a louche —  a cloudiness derived from chemicals in the herbs that created a pleasant aroma and refined taste. The woman in the gown holding up up the contraption was the very embodiment of this exotic ritual. She was called The Green Fairy, The Absinthe Fairy, or, sometimes, The Green Witch.

So you see where I am going with this, right?

Green Muse, by Albert Maignan (1895). A poet descends into madness in The Green Fairy’s clutches, even burning his own work in the pot-bellied stove.

Absinthe was a drink embraced by the bohemian crowd, artists and writers who enjoyed its little rituals and the special bars and cafes set up for enjoying it. As the painting above suggests it was also called The Green Muse, said to especially befuddle the senses and cause hallucinations leading the drinker into damnation and death. How much of that evil glamor was debauchery rubbed off by the likes of Rimbaud and Oscar Wilde, the high alcohol content of the drink (90–148 proof!) or toxic additives used by unscrupulous brewers remains to be seen, as modern scientific analysis confirms absinthe is no less addictive or hallucinogenic than any other alcoholic beverage. Nevertheless, the beguiling Green Fairy was blamed.

She was a traitorous mistress, leading drinkers to ruin.

Of course, ordinary folk enjoyed the drink too; it was popular throughout the European continent and even in America, where the likes of Mark Twain and Theodore Roosevelt sampled it, thanks to attractive Art Nouveau posters like these.

It’s hard to say if these green-clad, comely maidens are meant to be physical embodiments of the absinthe drink or just indicators of absinthe’s good times. Many adverts of the Victorian Age featured  similar cheesecake  even when they were shilling baking chocolate or sewing thread. Note their red or blonde hair, however; Lewis’ Green Witch also had flowing blonde locks.

Another embodiment of absinthe was this Classical, toga-clad lovely who is wearing a crown of artemisia leaves. The plant itself can be seen to the lower right of the Swiss shield.

The Swiss remained the premier manufacturers for absinthe throughout its Golden Age.

I’ve yet to read, in my admittedly shallow, research on Lewis that he took the template of The Green Fairy and used it for his more infamous Lady of the Green Kirtle. But Pauline Baynes, Lewis’ trusted illustrator, certainly did, going by the witch’s anodyne face and flowing gown with its scattered artemisia leaflets… leaflets which are nowhere in the text of The Silver Chair. Lewis had full approval over Baynes’ depictions, so it’s likely he understood, as a child of the early 20th century,  the visual reference to absinthe and let it stay.

Pernod advertisement showing artemisia leaves and flowers behind the bottle. Note that it says “Drink responsibly” in French at the bottom.

Absinthe culture and its reputation for death and decadence, crime and social disorder, had so permeated the Western world that by 1905, after a particularly violent murder blamed on absinthe consumption, petitions were circulated to ban it in Switzerland. This inspired another outbreak of Green Fairy depictions, this time showing them as deserving victims (pro-ban) or martyrs (anti-ban.)

This one is against the ban, which would have hurt Swiss distillaries the most and cause a major loss of revenue.

Despite posters like these absinthe was banned from Switzerland in 1908, the constitution even being rewritten to accomodate it. Other countries followed suit. The U.S. banned it in 1912 and France, its biggest market, in 1914. It was the end of an era, the decades afterward only cementing absinthe’s reputation as a poisonous, decadent destroyer of lives.

The perfect drink for Lewis’ Green Witch.

Worldbuilding Wednesday 7/13/22: Flowers of Narnia (Narnia XXXVI)


C. S. Lewis went into great detail about many aspects of Narnia, but one thing he didn’t was what kind of plant life it had. We know there was a magic tree that had silver apples and a toffee-fruit tree from The Magician’s Nephew, and white water lilies or lotuses from the Silver Sea of the Utter East, and … um, that’s it. Flowers are mentioned in the text, and depicted in many illustrations of Narnia, but for specific kinds, there’s nothing.

So I decided to fill in the gap with some randomgenned ones.

 

Narnian Flowers

Archenlandean Mazebuttons

Aslan’s Sunbreath

Beeblush

Bowl-of-Joy

Dryad Blood Iris

Ettinsmore Harshberry

Everlasting Summer

Fairynose

Faunhooves

Fiddle-Fax

 Frogtongue

Harespike

Kingscover

Lion-cotton

Maenad Thimbles

Marshdart

Narnian Weaselwand

Reepicheep’s Mouseblade

Telmarine Toad Marigold

Terabinthian Capped Roses

Aslan on Stage (Part IV)

Now we get to the last part of this series, where I’ll look at what Aslan could be, or might be, in some future production.

Take the costume sketch above. This Aslan stands apart from all we’ve seen before, the concept part African and part Indonesian or maybe Ceylonese. He brings to mind the Indian monkey god Hanuman. As is standard the designer included some fabric samples stapled to the corner.

An 18th-century military or pirate look would be nice too. This was a design for another play that had a lion character, but it could work well for Aslan.

Or perhaps the production decides on a Scottish, rather than British, feel?

Or one in which Narnia is stuck in the Tudor Age? Though I can’t see Aslan slouching so nonchalantly on a throne.

Here’s an Aslan that might work for The Horse and His Boy, which had an “Oriental” (Turkish / Indian / Middle East) setting of Calormen. The girl might be Aravis.

Most artwork of warrior lion men was too full of bared teeth, battle fury, and oversized weaponry to convey a convincing Aslan, but this character is thoughtful and sedate.

The world of furry and anthro art opens up more possibilities. This is a nice tribal fantasy look for Aslan, with or without the lion face.

And who says Aslan has to be a male, even? This getup might do nicely for a gender-swapped version. One might have a White Warlock instead of a witch.

With some time and patience, it’s always possible to create your own Aslan costume with some discarded cardboard, glue, and a utility knife.

Worldbuilding Wednesday 7/6/22: Narnian Desserts (Narnia XXXV)

Turkish Delight, as it might have been presented by The White Witch

Turkish Delight is THE most iconic dessert, and most iconic food, of all the books in the Chronicles of Narnia, and I’ll put it up there with Lembas as the most iconic fantasy food, period. In fact, most people today would have never heard of it if not for The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. It would have been relegated to the island of Lost Desserts, like Lady Baltimore Cake and syllabub.

In the book it works as a symbol of temptation, addicting Edward, warping his judgment, and binding him to the witch. And so from how it’s presented most readers would think it’s something super special. But the sad news is, it isn’t. Basically, it’s a semisolid gel, cut into small squares, made from a syrup of starch and sugar, and flavored with various foods of the East: rosewater, bergamot orange, pistachio, dates, walnuts, hazelnuts. The squares, when solid enough to be cut, are dusted with powdered sugar or the like to prevent clinging to each other. Not very appetizing to me. Liberty Orchards of Cashmere, Washington used a similar recipe to create their version, which is widely sold to tourists visiting Washington state. It’s OK, but not worth selling your soul to a witch for.

So, why did Lewis choose this, and not, say, strawberry shortcake or chocolate pudding? It could have been  something he enjoyed in his younger days, and in post-WWII Britain, when the book was written, it likely wasn’t available because of the austerity rations which lasted until 1958. In my opinion, though, it just sounded exotic —  exotic and old-fashioned enough for an inhumanly beautifully White Witch. In other words, an indulgence in Orientalism, which Lewis returned to later with the introduction of the nation of Calormen.

There are other sweets and desserts mentioned in the books, but all are resoundingly British. There are no candy bars, no cookies or eclairs or strudels. There are  fruits endemic to Western Europe (no pineapple or mango), dried dates and figs, marmalades, a sugar-cake, puddings, pies, ice cream, fools, ices, and jellies. Some scholars think this is Lewis’s longing for the lost sweets of his youth: “I myself like eating and drinking, I put in what I would have liked to read when I was a child and what I still like reading now that I am in my fifties.”

Since the movies came  out there’s been an explosion of fan-created recipes, as well as recipe books both official and unofficial.

What desserts might have been served in Narnia by the Narnians themselves, AND be something C. S. Lewis would liked to have eaten? Here’s a randomgenned list.

 

Narnian Desserts

Archenlandean berry biscuits

Caspian’s malted syrup

Chivalry pudding

Coronation cocoa rolls

Dryads’ Cake covered with flower petals from Aslan’s Country

Dufflepud shortbread

Father Christmas’s nutmeg breakfast rolls

Flaming Phoenix jellies

Goat milk sherbert from Tehishbaan

Jewel the Unicorn’s biscuits drizzled in diamond-juice glaze from Bism

King Edmund’s crunchy wafers

Maenad spongecake, served with a sweet wine of Archenland

Milk pudding from Glenstorm the Centaur

Mrs. Beaver’s spiced lemon curd tartlet

Narnian buttermilk bread served with barley sugar ice cream

Queen Helen’s apple and clotted cream biscuits

Queen Susan’s butterhorns

Seafarer’s treacle from The Dawn Treader

Sorloisian camel bread

Strawberry and gooseberry whip from Ramandu’s Island

Tapioca of the Stars’ Great Dance

Telmarine whiskey pudding

Terabinthian spice cake

The White Witch’s scarlet ice

Toffee-fruit bars served at Queen Lucy’s birthday

Tournament buns from Galma

Tumnus’ sweet rum butter shortbread

Winter white chocolate layer cake

Witch Country guardian apple dumplings

Wizard’s ripple ice with plumberries

Aslan on Stage (Part III)

The medium of dance calls for a different approach to the character. In the ballet version of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, the characters do not speak and convey motion only with their bodies. This Aslan  has a more catlike costume, but one that can let him move freely, at least as well as he can with that oversized lion headpiece. Then again, most Nutcrackers and Rat Kings dance competently despite the bulkiness of their getups. Aslan’s tail is long and free, allowing it to lash and twirl around when he dances.

This Aslan dancer is more stylized, with bare legs and feet, fur around his wrists, neck, and head, and a superhero-like costume. (Well, Aslan IS a superhero of a sort.) The tattoos are likely the dancer’s.

Another dynamic Aslan dancer, with three dryads, a leopardess, and an eagle behind him.

There are variations in staging even in the world of dance. This version of the ballet was a street / hip hop one, with sneakers, braids, and sweatpants for Aslan as he battles The White Witch.

As with play versions, some directors judge it better to have Aslan represented by a puppet. Here some dancers are putting him through his paces during practice. The wire and silk construction ensures he won’t be too heavy to carry.

How the puppet worked in the Stone Table scene. The dancers around the table I guess to be the hags, haunts, and werewolves of the story, the evil crowd. But here it’s obvious they’re played by dancers who were in previous scenes, wearing baggy black robes to disguise the costumes they can’t change in and out of. Aslan seems to be giving them a skeptical look. “Really? Is that the best you can do?”

The Dragon Quintet [Reading Challenge 2022]


The Dragon Quintet

Edited by Marvin Kaye
Featuring Orson Scott Card, Mercedes Lackey, Tanith Lee, Elizabeth Moon, and Michael Swanwick
Tor Fantasy, 2006

[ Challenge # 50: A book you started last year and haven’t yet finished. ]

I bought this book a number of years ago because I love dragons, but I never got around to reading it. Last year, 2021, I slated it for my annual Author’s Water Cooler Reading Challenge and started it while on a camping trip to the North Cascades. But, I never finished it that year. This year, I put it back on the list, and finally finished it on another camping trip at the very noisy Deception Pass State Park, in a campsite that was way too close to the highway and the Tomcat jets of the Whidbey Island Naval Air Base. Usually, when a book takes this long to finish, it means it isn’t very good.

The anthology consisted of five “short novels” by acclaimed voices in fantasy fiction, though to me they felt more novelette-sized. IMO most would have been OK with a shorter treatment. Two of the stories were annoying, one disappointing, one all right but nothing special compared to the author’s other work, and one I enjoyed. So it was a mixed bag. The theme was, of course, a dragon or dragons were the central focus, but each author treated it differently.

Continue reading

Stilettopaws

In an alternate movie universe, Tilda Swinton the White Witch wore shoes made from Aslan into battle, not his hair.

Worldbuilding Wednesday 6/29/22: More Narnian Magic (Narnia XXXIV)

Queen Susan's Horn, by Kurt van der Basch

Queen Susan’s Horn, by Kurt van der Basch

Magic is everywhere in Narnia; yet the characters don’t use it in the way the Harry Potter kids use it, or even how a party in a fantasy RPG would use it. Only in the first book is magic used fluently and for purpose by the main characters, in form of Peter’s sword and shield, Susan’s horn and bow, and Lucy’s healing cordial, all of which were gifts to them from Father Christmas.

In the rest of the series magic, unless used by Aslan or his minions, is a thing with dangerous or sinister connotations. Caspian’s half-dwarf teacher makes it clear he’s bucking the tide by saying even a simple spell, and Lucy gets in trouble in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader when she is tempted by the spells in Coriakin’s magic book and the alluring look the sea-girl shepherdess gives her. The rest of the crew narrowly escapes being turned to gold on Deathwater Island and they are later tormented inside the black cloud of the Isle of Dreams. Even the magic feast on Ramandu’s island seems sinister, until it’s OK’d by Reepicheep. (This is another reason why I dislike that mouse. If the Star’s daughter had been merely average looking, would he have ascribed to her such virtue?) Later, the Green Witch’s magic enchants Rilian and nearly enspells Jill, Eustace and Puddleglum into dull acceptance of the never-ending Underdark. In The Last Battle, even Aslan’s magic is made out to be a fraud, by Shift, Puzzle, Ginger, and Rishda. And let’s not forget Jadis and the most powerful magic of all, The Deplorable Word. (There was no magic in The Horse and His Boy, unless you count the Hermit’s scrying-pool which is more of a plot device to tell the reader what’s going on with the battle.) Anyway, the trajectory is clear, particularly if you take into account Lewis finished The Magician’s Nephew after The Last Battle.

Magic means bad news, unless you’re Aslan. Wizards, witches, and magicians in Narnia are to be avoided and not sat down with for tea.

That said, if you want magic in Narnia, here’s more randomgenned spells.

 

More Narnian Magic for an RPG

Rejuvenating Green Elixer: An emerald green potion made from the essence of the bark, leaves, and water pools of the Wood between the Worlds. A single sip carries the drinker to that place.

Queen Swanwhite’s Cape: A powerful relic of pre-White Witch Narnia that was forever lost after Jadis came to power. This cape was made from the white down feathers of Narnian seabirds. It granted awe-inspiring beauty to the wearer and the ability to leave a reflection for a year and a day in any pool of water… a reflection that also acted as an extra set of eyes and ears to eavesdrop on everything around it.

Hornpipe of Trumpkin: Makes even the dourest and stodgiest of dwarves get up and dance when played.

The Terrible Dank of the Underdark: Makes a room and anything in it smell mildewed and moldy. The temperature will be lowered and the air feel damp and chilly. Any light in it is shadowed or works at half efficacy. Altogether the spell creates an atmosphere of gloom and despair.

Sallowpad’s Wondrous Physic: A potion invented by the Raven sage to bring stamina to the body and mental fortitude to the mind, enabling the drinker to travel up to three days without food or rest.

Naiad Hood: When thrown over the head the wearer looks like a naiad version of themselves and gives them swimming and diving ability.

Brittle Portal: There are many doors, both permanent and temporary, into Narnia from other worlds. This spell disrupts one of those doors so it works intermittently or none at all.

Poison Bow: An evil being created this weapon, which is an exact likeness of Queen Susan’s bow. But any creature that uses it even once is horribly poisoned as if from snakebite.

King Edmund’s Circlet: This magical crown was lost after the Pevensies left Narnia. It granted the wearer skill and grace in battle and also the skill to negotiate an effective truce.

Golden Almanac Of Queen Lucy: Another lost item. This book detailed everything that happened in Narnia during Queen Lucy’s reign. It doesn’t contain magic, but magic leaves it preserved.

Wooden Fruit: Makes any kind of fruit the recipient eats taste bitter, hard, and woody.

Yoke of The North: A spell developed by the witches who dwell in that area to force others to serve them.

Father Christmas’s Lapdog: This is a special gift given by Father Christmas to those who are in the depths of despair and feeling all alone. The Lapdog is a magic beast with silky, pale gold hair and large brown eyes. It is intelligent, but not a Talking Beast. It gives companionship and comfort to those who need it most and raises their courage and ability to endure.

The Tisroc’s Libram of the Western Mountains: In Tashbaan this jewel-studded book with golden covers and elaborate illustrations lists everything that is to know about this area of the Narnian continent. Unfortunately, 75% of it is either false or distorted. It’s up to the reader to decide. The book is magic in that it won’t open until the reader recites a spell praising Tash, which would be anathema to Narnians.

Aslan on Stage (Part II)

Liz Crowther as Lucy and Bernard Kay as Aslan on the set of the 1967 television production of The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe

In Part I we got to see a few examples of a puppet Aslan that served as the character in a staged version; now I’ll talk about the human-actor Aslan.

Though puppet Aslan has the advantage of looking grand and mystical — especially accompanied by specialty lighting and sound effects — its use limits Aslan as a character. He’s relegated to a background role. He can’t romp with Lucy and Susan or be bound and stabbed by the White Witch on the Stone Table. (How the puppet managed the latter I’m not sure — maybe it was in silhouette?) Neither can he convey a lot of emotion with his limited movements, leaving it up to the voice actor. Thus, some productions choose to have him played by a human actor.

The photo from the top is from the first dramatization of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, which was a British ITV version from 1967, a mere four years after Lewis’s passing. Sadly, only a few minutes of the show remain, as it was customary at the time for the BBC to film over old videotapes. (That the older episodes of Monty Python were preserved at all was a stroke of luck.) I am not wowed by this dolorous dog-faced boy depiction. It looks like it would really hurt to peel all that hair off after the day’s filming.

So, most productions opt for an Aslan that only suggests he is a lion, usually with brown and gold clothing,  a manelike wig, and accents of fur. Human Aslan, in these pictures, is full of masculine strength and vitality with a touch of human Rock Star.

One costume you do NOT want is this pajama look for Aslan, no matter how young the audience.

Then there’s the Aslan based after the Broadway musical version of Disney’s The Lion King which combines both actor and puppet: the actor wears a headpiece of a lion’s head which is dominant in their appearance but static, while conveying movement and action with their human body.

I think this “double head” version is quite effective, once you get over the initial shock of two faces.

This one is more African-inspired and clearly cribbed from the Disney musical. This might be the moment Aslan shows Peter the distant castle of Cair Paravel and tells him one day it will be his, though Aslan is grinning too giddily for my taste.

A pudgy-faced, scowling Aslan in a very Christlike robe, and an actor with a touch of Jesus in him as well.

This Aslan, from a new, post-COVID, British production (as of May 2022) has both a human actor AND a lion puppet,  the two moving in tandem I expect. The set design is noteworthy too, the “portal” nature of the fantasy suggested by the circular opening in the back, which can also serve as a sun or moon.

Aslan on Stage (Part I)

Poster for one of the many stage productions

When comparing Tolkien to Lewis, Lewis wins in the theatrical department. Every year, around the world, theater groups are tackling The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, creating different interpretations of the same text by their choices of costume, casting, lighting and sets. I can’t see anyone staging The Fellowship of the Ring the same way, even if the trustees of the books would let them. Lewis has the flexibility of being so out-there with his elements of fantasy that audiences have no choice than to be accepting of the stage magic simulating them, from a wardrobe that turns into a snowy forest to a giant talking lion.

The role of Aslan, of course, calls for a larger-than-life, grandiose presence. But how do you simulate a thousand-pound lion deity?

There are only two choices: puppetry, or a costume that kinda resembles a lion deity, like how the dancers in Andrew Lloyd Weber’s musical Cats resembled cats.

First, puppetry.

The BBC version made in 1988 had a decent Aslan puppet. He didn’t move much, but the story was structured so he didn’t have to. I’ve gotta say the head looks frozen-faced here even in a still, though the voice actor did a fine job.

By the time the Disney movies came around CGI had reached the point where a lifelike lion was possible on the screen. But you can’t do CGI on stage, and for a theatrical run it would be too expensive to do a realistic lion that wouldn’t have moved much anyway. So Aslan became super-stylized, which ties into the major suspension of belief issues of staging Narnia anyway.

This Aslan is operated by performers who likely have the toughest job in the show. Like bunraku puppeteers they wear black, and while they are partly hidden by Aslan’s body the illusion is not total by necessity. The designer created a big cat that is imposing and primal, calling to mind a rough metal sculpture. No idea what scene this is though. That’s Peter or Edmund at the left with a Narnian shield, and the woman may be the White Witch, but what is she doing with Aslan’s head?

Another bunraku puppet Aslan, who is missing his legs for some reason. That, along with the exposed ribs, make him look like’s he’s been partially eaten by vultures before his resurrection.

This Aslan required three puppeteers, being almost elephant-sized! But that’s OK, he wasn’t all one unit, but a set of three: head, forequarters, and hindquarters working in close conjunction.

For theater companies with deep pockets, remote-controlled animatronics are likely to be used.

This one has three operators as well, two for the body and one for the head and mouth. The stylization works as the set itself is stylized: the backdrops are made to look like paper trees and buildings cut from the pages of the book.

One disadvantage of an oversized lion puppet is its weight, which is why the designer of this production made an Aslan of lightweight fabric stretched over a wire frame. Downside: his ankles look broken.

Another wire frame Aslan, but instead of nylon fabric, his hide and mane are made of book covers. Not only The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe itself, but the books named in Tumnus’s library and other children’s classics like The Secret Garden.

An Aslan made of a gauzy fabric, which must have given him an ethereal look under the lights. Sensibly, he has wheels to get around.

Then there’s this one, built for a high school production, which is too easy to make fun of, so I won’t.

The oddest production of The Lion, the Witch and Wardrobe I’ve come across is this avant-garde one from Poland, which features a womblike, minimalist white set with a curtain cocoon that can drop down from above. Aslan looks like he’s made out of translucent plastic, operated by droogs. Lighting is used to convey emotion shifts and scene changes.

The woman at the center cupping her ear might be the White Witch, and that might be Edmund at the back with his dwarf captor. But who’s the elven beauty at Aslan’s side?

This might be the master storyteller who narrates the tale. But who is the faceless, gold-suited man behind her?

This might be the Witch Witch with an electrified neon hoop skirt as she is torturing Edmund, who looks to be doing a break dance on the floor. Maybe the black-clad figures are the witch’s wolves? Or her statues? Who knows. Those Poles, always a crazy bunch.