“Go, with the blessing of Zeus upon you.”
Jolt!
Grey daylight.
Normality.
Danae’s bedroom, of all places. What a strange contrast.
It took them a few moments to get over their disorientation, then they all began to speak at once.
“Oh my god!”
“We can get him back!”
“We will!”
“We can get lots of extra apples…”
“I can wrestle Cerberus…”
“I can charm Hades – or maybe Persephone…”
“We need to find the entrance to Hades…”
“Do you think Charon will take a pound coin?”
“We will see the shades of all the great heroes…”
From this cacophony it was Ilia who eventually called them to order.
“Hey!” she said forcefully. “Settle down! There is absolutely no rush! We need to research this really well, and plan it even better. We are going to need money; we are going to need some excuse to give Mum, that’s for sure…”
“Good luck with that one…” said Danae drily. Ilia ignored her.
“We’re going to need…well…so much stuff, not to mention an incredible amount of luck. This will be really dangerous. I suppose we could actually die…” Even though she said this, she did not sound convinced.
“Well, if we don’t break the curse we’ll probably die soon anyway,” countered Leda.
“I know, I know. But obviously we want to be successful. So, we need to give this our best shot. We can start researching and planning straight away and aim for next summer. I think this summer will be too soon.”
Danae deepens her voice and over-articulates when she is trying very hard to impress something, and this is what she did now:
“We are NOT leaving Dad down there for over a year, Ilia!”
“No way!” agreed Leda emphatically.
“Guys, we have no choice! We still have school, and we have a lot to prepare. And we can’t fly until Leda is 14. It’s better we do it later, when we are ready, and succeed, rather than rush in and mess everything up. If we don’t manage this, Dad is going to be down there forever.”
Reluctant as they were to accept it, this made sense to both Danae and Leda, so with little more in the way of objections they agreed – next summer it was.
“So we’ll try to do it all in one summer?” Danae said this as if it were a question, but in fact she was making a statement. “We will get the apples, break the curse and get Dad back from Hades, all next summer?”
Ilia nodded.
“That’s got to be the plan.”
“Cool,” said Danae with a smile and a nod.
“Yeah,” agreed Leda. “The Garden of the Hesperides AND Hades, all in one summer – that’s going to be one awesome holiday!”
Afterword
I am a firm believer that any novel should constitute its own best introduction and that secondary matter, even from the author, should not be engaged until the story has been given a fair opportunity to announce itself. Also, where I have attempted to shape my creation as light and lively and complex, these musings here will be ponderous, and I would not have you form any preconceptions based upon this. If you have finished this narrative and find that you yet harbour adequate curiosity to propel yourself through a few additional pages, please continue.
In truth, were my skill equal to my aspirations for this book, it would require no explanation. As it stands, however, a few words by way of clarification would not be uncalled for, as I believe that what I am creating is in places curious, and in others tedious, but hopefully the whole will entertain, excite and inspire. Its final form is, without doubt, an indulgence and there are many elements which, were I aspiring to create a novel with wider appeal, I would most certainly have curbed. But I have little interest in wide appeal and have, throughout, remained true to my ambitious desire to create a story as a gift for my daughters, albeit in a form that I appreciate.
Although this definitely is not, I have never read a great work that has been easy to navigate; like all good art, the more exceptional the narrative, the more work is demanded of the reader and so, the resulting experience, is a joint achievement, accomplished through the synergy of two creators – not just one. The reward of great literature is that, the satisfaction and enjoyment gleaned are usually in direct proportion to the effort required to navigate it. Reassured by this conviction, I have not shied away from making the story – in places – hard work.
I suppose I could argue from this perspective that, if you did not enjoy the story, it is as much your fault as mine. I do accept, however, that, whatever the post-modernists might have claimed, blame for a boring or predictable tale must lie with its creator. But, in accepting this accountability, I believe that I also retain the right to give some significance to my own aspirations and intentions.
There were many motivations for starting this story, almost all of which were for the sake of my precious daughters. As a creation grows, however, it takes on ambitions of its own and the author, who is at first omnipotent, can become a passenger in his or her own handiwork, as it self-propels to an unknown conclusion – and the conclusion is as unknown to me at this stage as it will be to you. Nonetheless, it is probably a fair assumption that, should any reader find enjoyment in this narrative, they may harbour some passing interest in the ambitions that in part contributed to its form. That is what I will attempt to address here.
Underpinning my motives lies a lifelong desire to create stories that entertain. From a young age I enjoyed creative writing and, since reading Tolkien’s works in my early teens, my efforts were, for a long time, directed towards High Fantasy. The genre, however, proved to be disappointing, for I found Tolkien to be the exception in what was otherwise a field of literature full of poor imitation, cliché and extremely average prose. Perhaps this is to be expected in any area so utterly dominated by a single Titan and, to this day, he remains the benchmark against which all subsequent artists have failed. My own attempts also shared the failings common to the genre.
So, I have harboured the desire to write, but the subject matter has eluded me for decades. Finally, in my forties, I found the inspiration in my three girls and, with a lifelong fascination for the ancient world of Classical Greece and Rome, an idea began to formulate.
Beyond the wish to entertain, the main driver was the desire to make the limited time that I had to spend with my daughters as special as possible – and what better way than to make our holidays part of some fantastic adventure? The imagination is one of the most wonderful gifts that enriches life, so I have unashamedly encouraged my girls to develop this. Additionally, as most of my artistic, historical and philosophical interests and education are embedded in the Classical world, these could act as both fuel and destination for the literary journey. A modern adventure story set within the world of Greek and Roman mythology began to formulate, a story that would fit well with the reality of our summer holidays, which have been spent traipsing around the cities and ruins and museums of Italy and Greece.
As a result, some of this story is genuinely biographical: places we have visited; meals we have enjoyed; experiences we have shared. These shallow roots in our reality are accentuated by the photos, creating a deliberate blurring of reality and fiction, such as is often found in the works of Eco, Marquez and Borges – but more personal than anything they produced. Indeed, with time I expect – and half hope – that some elements of this story will shape my daughters’ recollections of reality, as well as perhaps my own, creating something that never existed except within our collective imaginations.
With regards the magic, this is only partly embellished, as the Greeks and Romans produced some of the greatest works of construction and creation of any era or civilisation on the planet. The celebrated Renaissance artists recognised this and aspired to replicate and recreate it; as such we are indebted to the Ancient Greeks and Romans, not just for
their own incredible legacies, but also for the inspiration they provided to the next-most-important movement that helped shape the development of the Western Civilisation. In the harmony and balance of their architecture; in the beauty and grace of their sculpture; in the complexity and humanity of their philosophy; in these things an immortal grace was achieved that aligns with some concept of Goodness and Beauty that seems, as Plato observed, recognisable to all humans.
To glean an inkling of the extent to which Western Civilisation was shaped by the Classical World, one need only consider the iconic architecture of the 18th and 19th Centuries: the US Capitol, the White House; the British Museum; the British National Gallery; the incomparable central city of Paris. Whether it be on Fleet Street, London, or in the gold mining towns of central Victoria, there is hardly an 18th century public building that is not classical in style, adorned with columns and capitals and pediments. And this infusion is clearly not restricted to architecture or art; indeed, a more important inheritance to us are the principles of democracy, citizenship, tolerance and freedom.
For centuries the best of Western education recognised and explored these truths; I believe it is unfortunate that in the contemporary world of Capitalism such truths can be assigned no fixed monetary value and they are, as a result, somewhat neglected. Before prostituting my intellect to medicine, I studied the Humanities at University for 6 years, during which time the question most commonly asked of me was: “but what are you going to get out of it?” Clearly the inquirer was referring to a career and financial remuneration, because the benefits of immersing oneself in Homer and Dante, Blake and Plato is, in public opinion, inadequate reward. The observation with which I tend to counter this challenge to the value of the Humanities is that, once the Banker or Broker has made his or her millions, what do they like to do with their wealth? Most often they fill their house with art to provide some façade of sophistication, because no one wants to hear about bonds and re-insurance at a dinner party…but I digress; I was supposed to be expanding on my motivations, not irrevocably ostracising this novel from those working in the financial sector.
To the inquisitive mind, the Classical World is readily accessible and its truths remain self-evident – even when we may not understand how. So, another motivation for this story, was to attempt to pass on to my daughters some of the love and appreciation I have for different forms of Beauty, as perception and understanding enhance experience and enjoyment. We may never get to see all of my favourite art and architecture together, but through this story I have a medium to record both the particular work, as well what it is that I appreciate about it, for future reference, should they wish to visit it.
The same stands for the various elements of history and mythology that I have incorporated into the story, because I have always been moved by tales of heroism – especially when they are true. The Spartan stand at Thermopylae, or the destruction of the Athenian Expedition at Syracuse, for example, these events have proven so inspiring over the passing centuries that, though history, they have metamorphosed to legend – and the locations in which they occurred have been aggrandised as a result.
Similarly, there are few more colourful collections of stories than the classical Greek and Roman myths and, because each is anchored in an identifiable location, it allows parts of the world around us to transcend their own reality and become something greater, something more magical than we would otherwise experience. There is a swampy spring in the suburbs of Syracuse, for example, that is rather ugly and unremarkable; but when you learn that here is an entrance to the Underworld through which Hades, having abducted Persephone, carried her off to his home on his four-horsed chariot, then this insignificant bog takes on a completely different identity.
It is in this way that stories, whether they be true or false, enrich the world of human experience. In some way my own stories have done precisely that and, as we have travelled together, the girls and I have joked that in this location, this event occurred; and even though we have all been aware that it was pure fiction, still it embellished the particular location and experience that much more. Additionally, in my narrative, by using the mechanism of being able to communicate with the history of stone and art, it allows me to incorporate virtually any story or history that I wish, be it the destruction of the Minoan civilisation by the eruption of Mount Thera in the second millennium BC, or the funeral of Sir John de Graeme at Falkirk in medieval Scotland.
As such, this story has grown into an indulgent, Melvillian-style compendium of things I love; art and history, myth and reality, beautiful locations and even local culinary experiences. In my aspiration, the end result should lie somewhere between Ovid, Tolkien and Dan Brown – without claiming to compare or rival any of these. But it could constitute something of a travel guide, as the anchor points for almost every feature of the story are real – although in a few places I felt obliged to rename them so that, in the unlikely event this series ever becomes popular, they do not attract unwanted attention.
Having created a modern adventure set against the backdrop of the Classical world, it is worth registering the abstinence that I have felt obliged to maintain. When I first conceived and started writing this story back in 2012, I was unaware of the American author, Rick Riordan, and his Olympian series; my children quickly corrected this failing. However, cognisant of the Tolkien-dilemma within the High Fantasy genre, with great reluctance I decided to avoid the Percy Jackson series, fearing that it might influence my own creations. Therefore, although I own the books and look forward to the day when I can read them, I have not done so yet and, apart from the first film in the series, have had no other exposure to Mr Riordan’s achievements. This limited exposure did reassure me that, apart from the communality inevitable in working with similar subject matter, our narratives in both plot and style are probably very different.
A final note on style. Initially I intended to pitch this story at a maturity level comparable to that of my young, adolescent daughters when I started writing. However, very quickly I realised this was neither possible, nor desirable. In the first instance, I have learned to write in a certain manner and appreciate prose of a certain style; I found it artificial and unsatisfying to try and simplify this. Also, I found that, just as C.S. Lewis noted in his Prologue to The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, children grow much faster than stories so, quickly, my daughters would have outgrown their gift. The end result, therefore, is a prose pitched at adult readers, with enough inter-textual references to both anchor my intent and purpose and, also, to entertain the students of literature who look for such connectivity.
At various points the narrative is intended to be playful, sometimes provocative, sometimes confusing. I explored the use of tenses to convey meaning and, in particular, to both delineate and comment on the antithetical natures of Sacred and Profane, between which this story oscillates. Also, as some previous writers have done, I paradoxically undermined the potential existence of this story within its own fictional narrative. There is purpose in everything – even, sometimes, when I can no longer recall what it was.
So, to the reader, the final thing that I would stress; everything is deliberate.
Jeff MacLeod
Pembroke, Bermuda, December 2019.
About the Author
Dr Jeff MacLeod is an Australian doctor who grew up in Bendigo, Victoria. He first studied the development of Western Civilisation at La Trobe University, then Scottish History and Celtic Legends at Sydney and Edinburgh Universities, before undertaking his medical degrees at Flinders University in South Australia. He has spent his summers exploring the remnants of the Classical World with his three daughters, Ilia, Danae and Leda. He lives with his wife, Marah, in Bermuda, where he still practices medicine, and they have a holiday home in Sicily. He lives by the maxim:
…all experience is an arch wherethro'
Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades
For ever and forever when I move.
- Tennyson, Ulysses
The Progeny of Daedalus Page 26
