Eric Nguyen, Things We Lost to the Water

 Introduction

Opening Passage:

New Orleans is at war. The long howl in the sky; what else can it mean?

Hương drops the dishes into the sink and grabs the baby before he starts crying. She begins running toward the door -- but then remembers: this time, another son. She forgets his name temporarily, the howl is so loud. What's important is to find him. (p. 3)

Summary: Hương's husband Công was a professor in Vietnam; he got into trouble with the Communists, and as a result, he arranged for Hương and his children to go to America in 1979, where they settle in New Orleans. Hương herself spends a long time expecting her husband to follow, writing him regularly; but in fact he refuses to leave Vietnam and eventually remarries.  Starting out from almost nothing, Hương attempts to raise her sons, Tuấn and Bình (usually known as Ben). Tuấn attempts to maintain his Vietnamese identity, getting involved in a Vietnamese gang for a while; Ben takes the route of assimilation, going to college and eventually moving to France.

The title seems to involve a play on words in Vietnamese; nước is the word you use when speaking about a country but literally means 'water' or any water-like liquid. If you are asking a man about your age what country he comes from, you say something like, Anh đến từ nước nào?, which literally means, What waters are you from? Leaving nước Việt Nam and coming to nước Mỹ (America), the family has lost a lot -- a husband and father, most notably, but along with him a lot of their Vietnamese roots, and the story explores their different ways of trying to remedy this lost. This works better with Hương and Tuấn than with Ben, I think. I don't know if it is intentional, but in all of his relationships Ben sends up red flags; he is the sort of person who is superficially nice, but uses his people for dealing with his own psychological issues. The way he's handled, I am again not sure whether it was deliberate to represent him as such, but in real life a Ben would be a nice neighbor but not someone you would want to be involved with. He goes to France to deal with his lack of a father (something he himself admits) and falls in with a strong masculine figure, Michel, with whom he has an affair, which is flag one; Michel is a Communist, which is flag two; and despite the fact that it is supposed to be a passionate affair and Ben early on even thinks of it as love, the strongest evaluation he ever gives Michel is that he is kind and has grand ideas, which is flag three. Kindness is important, but if that's the best you can say about your sexual partner, that's not actually a good sign. All of this is just an example of why Ben is the most exasperating character, and heading for disaster -- for others if not himself -- but this line is not followed and, as I said, I don't know if it was ever intended. The tale is disrupted by another disaster, in which Hurrican Katrina hits New Orleans, and the family now has to face building yet again, having yet again lost things to the water.

The book is a nice, smooth read; it stays enjoyable all the way through, despite the fact that it sometimes deals with characters who are not themselves completely pleasant. It does not entirely avoid the stink of writing workshop. Every so often it flattens to the sort of technically competent but committee-bland style that infects works of a certain kind, handling a scene or description in exactly the way a thousand other books do, using exactly the same techniques to do it. Like many modern works written in the same general environment, it overemphasizes character arc, sometimes passing quickly over genuinely interesting parts of the story in order to do so. It also has the odd romanticizing of a particular type of literary culture that reminded me of the old joke that literary fiction is fiction written about the kinds of people who write literary fiction. Nonetheless, these weaknesses are not front and center; this is a book of a clear and interesting idea handled well and interestingly.

Favorite Passage:

He rummaged through the pockets of his suitcase until he found it and ran outside, feeling the small metal chain jingle in his hand. When he opened the screen door and let it swing closed behinid him, he found his brother wasn't there anymore. The bike leaned agains thte house and next to its front wheel sat an envelope. Tuấn looked out into the streets and there was nothing. The night was silent. No cars, no people, no animals, no Ben. Ben was gone. Ben disappeared. Like he wasn't even there, like he never was. Not at race. He was so much like his father. (p. 242)

Recommendation: Recommended; it's neither long nor difficult, but makes for an enjoyable short read.

*****

Eric Nguyen, Things We Lost to the Water, Alfred A. Knopf (New York: 2021).

Anna Russell on Wagner's Ring Cycle

 

Well worth watching, if you've never done so.

July 4th

 We are now a mighty nation, we are thirty---or about thirty millions of people, and we own and inhabit about one-fifteenth part of the dry land of the whole earth. We run our memory back over the pages of history for about eighty-two years and we discover that we were then a very small people in point of numbers, vastly inferior to what we are now, with a vastly less extent of country,---with vastly less of everything we deem desirable among men,---we look upon the change as exceedingly advantageous to us and to our posterity, and we fix upon something that happened away back, as in some way or other being connected with this rise of prosperity. We find a race of men living in that day whom we claim as our fathers and grandfathers; they were iron men, they fought for the principle that they were contending for; and we understood that by what they then did it has followed that the degree of prosperity that we now enjoy has come to us. We hold this annual celebration to remind ourselves of all the good done in this process of time of how it was done and who did it, and how we are historically connected with it; and we go from these meetings in better humor with ourselves---we feel more attached the one to the other, and more firmly bound to the country we inhabit. In every way we are better men in the age, and race, and country in which we live for these celebrations....

[Abraham Lincoln, 10 July 1858, Speech at Chicago, Illinois, Collected Works, Volume 2, p. 499.] 

At the present time, about 248 years after the beginning, the United States is a mighty nation of about 340 million people, and we own and inhabit somewhere near six percent of the world's dry land and an even larger share of the world's habitable land, having added Alaska, Hawaii, and various islands to its bulk, as well as having regularized some borders and territories that were still in flux in Lincoln's day. There were only 32 states in 1858, Minnesota having just been admitted in May. We are the world's fourth largest country by land area, the world's third largest country by population. We cover just under two percent of the entire earth's surface and have just under five percent of the world's population. We are by far the world's wealthiest country, having about one and a half times the total wealth of the second wealthiest country. We are an agricultural superpower, the largest agricultural exporter by monetary amount (about eight percent of the entire world market) and the second largest by tonnage; we are an industrial superpower, the second largest manufacturing exporter (about 16 percent of the entire world market). And, of course, nobody needs to be reminded that we are a military superpower.

It has been a rocky road the entire journey. Just three years after Lincoln's speech, Lincoln became President due to carrying the Electoral College, having received almost no votes at all in the South, and the United States collapsed into a terrible and brutal civil war. But here we still are, and still a republic, and no power in the world strong enough to threaten us, except ourselves. Republics require a few things to endure: a brutal honesty and frankness, a fortitude to endure difficulties without tantrums, a sense of honor and a desire to uphold the traditions of one's liberties, a ruthless vigilance against statist intrusions on the power of citizens, a willingness to put country above faction and constitution above party. All of these, I fear, have taken a severe beating in the past few decades. But they have not completely vanished, and as long as they have not vanished, there is still great hope for the future.

Logres, Book I (The Devil's Son), Chapters 13-18

Chapters 7-12

 Chapter 13

Even in this first year of its existence, the company of the Round Table accomplished things of great valor, and too many to count. Hardly could a book hold all the adventures of Sir Ulfius, or of Sir Ector, or of the brothers, Sir Breunor the Knight Without Fear and Sir Branor the Brown, or of Sir Segurant the Knight of the Dragon, the son of Sir Branor, or of Sir Abiron, or of Sir Caradoc Short-Arm, or of Sir Caradoc the Thirteenth, the Knight of Great Size, or of Sir Meliodas, Sir Guiron the Knight Courteous, and Sir Danyn the Red, in keeping the peace and fighting the enemies of King Uther Pendragon. Their fame spread to all the lands thereabout, and as their feats grew more renowned, the kings of neighboring nations began to imitate them, creating their own companies of knighthood.

Within the court of King Uther were more than a few who had no love for Merlin, however, and, conspiring together, some of the barons came to the king and asked about the vacant seat at the Round Table. "Surely," they said, "it should be given to some worthy knight, so that the Table might be completed."

The king explained that according to Merlin it would not be filled in his own time. "No name appears on the table for this seat," said the king. But the barons laughed. 

"Cannot anyone sit at a table? Can it really be the case that no one in the kingdom is worthy?" they asked. "Surely there could not be better men than exist now. We cannot know until it has been tried."

Then King Uther Pendragon said, "I will not try it, lest it anger Merlin."

"At least let us try it," they said.

"I would be interested to see it," the king admitted, "if it did not seem against the spirit of Merlin's instructions."

The barons, however, replied, "They say he knows everything that happens in the kingdom. If we try it, and he knows about it, and there is some problem with doing it, he would no doubt come and stop us. Let us try this next Pentecost feast."

This seemed a reasonable argument to the king, so he granted his permission, although he still had some doubt in his heart about how Merlin might see it.

At Pentecost the king, the knights, and the people came together. Rumors had already spread about the trial of the seat, as well as many rumors about Merlin himself -- that he was dead, that he had gone mad in the wilderness, that he had been exorcised and sent to hell.

The fifty sat at their seats. Then the king asked who there would volunteer to try the seat, saying that such a man should be a stouthearted knight of good service. And one of the barons who had originally proposed the trial spoke up immediately and volunteered. Coming to the fifty, he said, "Good brothers, I will join you at your Table."

Then he sat at the place at the Table that had no name. All of those there watched to see what would happen, and in the next moment they arose to a man with a distressed cry. Like lead into a lake, the baron who sat at the vacant seat sank into the ground and disappeared before their eyes. Everyone was in a great confusion about what to do, and so they remained until the quinzieme of Pentecost. On the fifteenth day, Merlin came. 

King Uther went out with joy to meet him in person, but when Merlin saw him, the child put his hands upon his hips and said to him, "Must I give instructions on every little thing? You did badly in letting anyone sit at the vacant seat."

"I was misled through bad advice," said the king.

Merlin replied, "When men are misled, they have usually first misled themselves." And the king conceded that this was perhaps true.

Then the king asked, "What has become of the man who sat in the seat?"

But Merlin replied, "It is pointless to inquire. Spend your attention on those who sit licitly and gather them together for the great feasts."

"Can I be forgiven for this failing?" asked the king.

"When cherry trees give fruit in winter, we can believe no harm was done except to the fool who sat in the empty seat," said Merlin. And the king, taking this to be the same as saying nay, was saddened.

Then King Uther Pendragon ordered built a great hall to hold the Round Table, and decreed formally and by law that once it was completed, the knights of the Table should meet every Pascha, Pentecost, Hallowmas, and Christmas, and that to the next Christmas feast the knights and barons should bring their their wives and sons and daughters. 

Chapter 14

In the meantime, however, word had come that many Saxons had united under captains who were dissatisfied with the peace, and had invaded the lands from the Humber to Alba. They then sought to seize Eboracum, also known as York, as well, but as the city defenses held against them, they attempted to besiege it. King Uther Pendragon marched with all haste to the succor of the city, and, not waiting even a moment, assaulted the besiegers. The fighting was heated and difficult; many a man on both sides was run through by steel before the day had finished. Back and forth the battle went, but in the end it began to tip in favor of the Saxons, and the Britons were forced to withdraw northwestward to a hill-fortress, which had once been an outpost-fort of the Roman legion that had been stationed farther north at Isurium Brigantum. There they were besieged by the Saxon host and the king was afraid for his men.

One of the lords who was with the king at that time was Gorlois, Duke of Trevena, which is also called Tintagel, in Kernow, who had aided Uther and his brother in the fight against Hengist, and the king asked of him what counsel he could give.

"My counsel," said Duke Gorlois, "is that we are better served by taking up our arms and descending in wrath upon the Saxons than by sitting on this hilltop. They believe us to be well-bottled, and no doubt are complacent at what they assume to be victory near at hand. Let us then take our fate into our hands like men and fall upon them suddenly and as quietly as we may. If all goes well, they will be bewildered and confused."

"This seems our best choice," said King Uther, "although it also seems full of risk."

"Then let the men prepare their souls properly," said the duke, "and have a righteous penitence, asking God's pardon for anything they have done amiss. If God is with us, how can we fail? And if he does not choose to take our side, the men will fight more fiercely and do more harm to the foe if they are clamed in spirit."

The king and his captains agreed with what Gorlois had proposed, and in prayer the men humbled themselves before God. When the prayer was finished, they took their arms and descended in stealth down the hill. So quietly did they go that they soon found themselves in the midst of sleeping Saxons, and they had a merry swordplay, and many a sword cut flesh in the slaughter that ensued, as the Britons thrust their glaives into the chests of their Saxon foes, sparing neither spearman nor captain. The captains of the Saxons were taken prisoners to Londinium, later to be ransomed.

At that time, King Uther reestablished peace in the north and confirmed many lords in their lands, from the Humber even into Alba. He then returned south to Cardoel, and Duke Gorlois, covered in honors, to Tintagel.

Chapter 15

The next Christmas was a great gathering, for, receiving the king's invitation and command, the knights and barons brought their wives and children to Cardoel. Among them was Gorlois, Duke of Treven, who came with his son, Cador, and his wife, Igraine, who was sister of Gerrens, the King of Dumnonia in the westernmost parts of Kernow. When the king saw Igraine, he was astounded, and fell in love with her at once, but kept his countenance. Over the course of the feasts, however, she became aware that he often was looking at her, and she blushed. She was, however, a good woman, and therefore she avoided his presence as much as she could.

King Uther, however, was a man who was not without a sense of strategy, and, taking thought of what he might do to win her, he sent jewels to every woman at the feast. Great was the cheering of the king's name afterward among the ladies of the court, and, knowing that he had sent jewels to every lady, she did not dare refuse the gift. But she could not help but think, and she knew rightly, that the jewels that were sent to all the ladies were sent precisely so that she could not refuse hers.

At the end of the feast, the king begged all of the knights and barons to return with their wives and children at the Paschal feast, and so great had been their enjoyment at the Christmas feast that they were happy to give their assent. When Duke Gorlois left the feast, the king accompanied him a short way, showering honors upon him. He was greatly flattered by the king's attention.

When Easter came, they knights and barons gathered again with their families, and this time King Uther Pendragon gave Duke Gorlois and his family pride of place at the feast. He also gave them gifts, and Igraine dared not refuse the gifts in front of her husband. Her husband did not see it, but Igraine knew Uther's love for her, and she did not know what to do, for she was tempted, but loyal to her husband, and she could think of no one to put off the King of Logres and Duke of Britain.

Afterward, however, King Uther Pendragon was miserable from his love for Igraine, and in private consulted Sir Ector and Sir Ulfius, asking them what he should do.

Then Sir Ector said, "If you keep bringing her to court and showering her with attention, people will notice, to her dishonor and to yours."

"What then shall I do instead?" asked King Uther. "I can neither eat, nor sleep, nor ride, nor hunt, nor in any way divert myself when she is not near. I think I will die for love of her."

"If you will listen to my counsel," said Sir Ulfius, "it would be a strange thing to die for a woman, particularly when there is no need to stand waiting for death. At the next great feast, summon a court, letting everyone know that it will last for fifteen days, and this will give you time finally to speak to her and let your love be known. And, for my part, I have never known a woman who could easily defend herself against gifts of splendid jewelry, given both to herself and to those around her, and you are able more than others to give such gifts."

"You are right," said the king, "and I beg your help in this. Take from the coffers of my Wardrobe whatever you deem appropriate, and speak on my behalf to her."

So the king summoned the court at the next great feast for a fortnight and a day, and every day of the session gave to his supporters, including the Duke of Trevena, some fine jewel. Sir Ulfius for his part made occasion to speak with Igraine, bringing additional presents and sugaring them with fine words, but she would accept none of them, until finally she said, "Why do you keep giving me these things when I will not accept them?"

Then Sir Ulfius said, "How can I give you anything when you own all of Logres?"

"What does that mean?" she asked.

"Do you not have the heart of the King of Logres, whom all obey?"

Then Igraine said, "Lord have mercy! Can any true king have such treachery in him as to shower my husband with favor while shamefully trying to defile me? Sir Ulfius, never speak to me again of these things, or I will tell my husband of it, and he would surely kill you for it."

But Sir Ulfius replied, "It would be an honor to die for my king, but I know you joke in this matter because never was there a lady who could refuse a king's love, against which there is no defense."

"I will defend myself, nonetheless," said Igraine. "I will never again go to a place where I know the king will be." And to back her claim, she left at once.

Sir Ulfius returned to the king and told all that had happened. Then King Uther replied, "A good woman indeed would answer this way, for a true lady is not lightly overcome."

On the feast at the eleventh day, Sir Ulfius brought the king a golden cup decorated with many jewels in a beautiful pattern, saying, "My lord, send this cup to Igraine, asking the Duke of Trevena to bid her to take it and drink it for love of you."

So the king called Gorlois near, giving him the cup, and asked him to send the cup to his wife Igraine so that she could drink for the love him. And Gorlois, recognizing no bad intention, and thinking this another example of the king's favor to them both, called a trusted knight, whose name was Sir Brastias, directing him to give the cup to his wife so that she could drink for the king's love.

Sir Brastias obeyed. On hearing the message, Igraine flushed alternately white and red for shame, but she did not dare disobey her husband in front of the knight, so she took it and drank of it, then attempted to return the cup to Sir Brastias.

"I believe you were intended to keep it," said Sir Brastias. Then Igraine sighed and set it aside, and Sir Brastias returned to the duke and the king, thanking the king on Igraine's behalf, although she had in fact said no word at all. Later Sir Ulfius went to her and found her angry of countenance.

"How is it that I am besieged on every side by everyone?" she said furiously. Then she said, "Your lord may be treacherous enough to send me a cup, but he will get little good of it, for I will tomorrow tell my lord of the treachery that you and your lord have perpetrated on him and on me."

"I cannot prevent you," said Sir Ulfius, "but you have fire in your hands. Such a deed may not have consequences as benign as you hope." But he left her and returned to the king.

Then King Uther Pendragon grew merry and took the duke by the hand, saying, "Let us go see the ladies."

Igraine could do nothing but endure the rest of the day. But later the duke found her in her room weeping. He took her in his arms and asked her of her sorrow.

Igraine replied to him, "The king that is my lord and yours has said that he loves me, and all of his recent favors have been to the end of growing closer to me. I have tried to have nothing to do with him and his gifts, but you have made me to take his cup and drink his love. I will have any rest from him and from Sir Ulfius, his counselor, and therefore I can neither eat, nor sleep, and I beg you to take me back to Tintagel, for I fear that I will die from shame of this."

The duke was at this as wrathful as a man may be, and he sent secretly for his men throughout the town, telling them to prepare to ride and ask him no questions why. Thus Duke Gorlois and his wife Igraine and all their men, not heeding the command of the king, which had been to stay until the quinzieme of the feast, and without petitioning for any permission to leave, rode home to their own lands.

 Chapter 16

When the morning came and King Uther Pendragon learned that the Duke of Trevena had fled, he was sad and ashamed, but held himself wronged. He called his counselors, asking them if they knew why he had left despite the king's command, but they had no answer.

The king said, "You can all bear witness that I showered him with favors more than any other." They all assented to this and wondered aloud why the duke had acted so dishonorably. Then King Uther said, "Unless you deem some other way better, I will send after him to return, both him and his wife, and make amends, and if he does so, we will have done with it." They agreed on this plan, and King Uther sent two reliable men to Trevena with his message.

When the messengers came to the duke, however, Sir Gorlois refused utterly to return, saying, "I will not return to one who has done to me and to mine in such a discourteous and dishonorable manner." Then he sent them back to Cardoel with his refusal. 

The duke, however, was pensive a long while after, and then called his own counselors together. He told them everything that had happened, and the reason for his flight from Cardoel. "I beg you, and charge you by the fealty you owe me, to aid me in defending my lands. For as Uther is a man used to having his will, he will come against me; and as he is neither fool nor coward nor weakling, I do not know how he shall be held off. Then they all swore to defend him and his, even if it put all their lives and goods in jeopardy.

When the messengers returned to Cardoel and gave Duke Gorlois's answer, everyone was astonished, for they knew nothing more than what had been said out loud, and could not imagine what could cause such a lack of courtesy. Then King Uther Pendragon said to all his counselors and barons, "This impudence cannot stand. I beg you, and charge you by the fealty you have worn to me, to aid me in redressing this dishonor that the duke has done."

They swore to support him, but some of the cooler heads begged him first to send formal warning to the duke and give him forty days to make some sort of reparation. To this the king, who perhaps did not wholly wish to go war over this, agreed. The messengers were sent back with this message.

Duke Gorlois in the meantime had been considering the options available to him. He only had two castles that were sufficiently fortified and prepared against the kind of force that the king could muster, the castle of Dimilioc and the castle of Tintagel at Trevena. Of the two, Castle Tintagel was the greater and had the more defensible location, and therefore he put his wife and his daughters there, with a special bodyguard of ten knights, while he prepared to defend his lands from the forward castle of Dimilioc; lands that neither Dimilioc nor Tintagel could adequately defend, he regarded as if they were already in Uther's hands, for he could not stretch his forces so thinly as to defend them all.

At the end of the forty days, having received no answer, the Pendragon gathered his forces in the Duke's territory and began to lay it waste. The key question of strategy, however, was whether Dimilioc or Tintagel should receive the brunt of the invading force. Most of the barons agreed that Dimilioc was the better choice, but the king, still unsure, asked Sir Ulfius.

"I do not understand," said Sir Ulfius. "Do you think that we would fare better if we seized Tintagel first, perhaps because the duke will not expect it?"

"I think that I do not know what I will do if I do not see Igraine," said the king, for his scouts had brought him the news that Igraine was at Tintagel.

Sir Ulfius replied, "Men must endure not having what they cannot have. Our concern in this present matter is the Duke of Trevena, and you must let nothing distract you from the aim of defeating him."

With a sigh, the king agreed to this, and his forces assaulted the fortress of Dimilioc.

Chapter 17

While Dimilioc was not so advantageous a position as Tintagel, it had been built well and was well stocked. The king assaulted it many times with sappers and siege towers, but each time the defenders were able to repulse the assault. The king grew furious, and distressed from the fact that it seemed that meeting Igraine again was farther and farther away. At times, when alone in his pavilion, he would weep. He attempted to hide it from his men, but such a thing cannot be wholly hid in a camp, and the people around him were greatly puzzled. Finally Sir Ulfius came to him and demanded to know his sorrow.

"You already know it, my friend," said the king; "I am so full of love for Igraine that I am now dying. I cannot eat, I cannot drink, I cannot do anything."

"You would have to have an extraordinarily weak heart to die from love for only one woman," said Sir Ulfius. "Nonetheless, I will tell you what you must do, if you are so serious about it. Send for Merlin and if you promise to give him whatever he wishes, he will no doubt give you the solution to your problem."

Then King Uther said, "It is true that there is nothing that the child cannot do. But he surely knows my distress already, and I am afraid his angry at me for having given permission to try the perilous seat at the Round Table. Nor do I know where he is. And will he not be angry at me for loving the wife of a liegeman? I cannot send for him."

To which Sir Ulfius replied, "I do not know whether Merlin is angry or not, but I know that he has in the past shown love and favor toward you. I am certain you will soon hear tidings of him."

The knight left the king, wondering whether he might not find Merlin himself. As he was riding on another errand, he came across a man by the side of the road, who shouted, "Sir Ulfius, I would like to speak to you."

Sir Ulfius looked at him closely, but did not know him. But the knight went over beside the man and dismounted, asking him what he wished to say.

"I am an old man," said the man, "a very old man, an ancient man, as you see with your own eyes, but I was considered wise even when I was a child, and I think I am no fool now. Not long ago I was near Tintagel and I met someone who told me that your king loves the duke's wife, and is now destroying the country for her. If you will aid me, I will acquaint you with this person, who I believe can aid you."

Sir Ulfius was surprised, and, wondering somewhat, he asked that the man acquaint him with this person who knew something so secret.

The old man said, "Well and good, but I wish first to hear what gift the king would offer in return."

"I will ask," said Sir Ulfius. "Where shall I find you when I have his answer?"

"In this vicinity," said the old man; "if you return soon, either I or my messenger will be here."

Sir Ulfius returned to the king with what haste he could, and told him everything that had happened.

"Do you know this man?" asked the king.

"No," said Sir Ulfius, "but I suspect that the person of whom he speaks might be Merlin."

Then, after Mass in the morning, the king and Sir Ulfius rode out together, and the king was merrier than he had been in a long time. 

They had not ridden long when they passed a man both lame and blind on the road, who shouted after them, "Sir King! I beg you, give me something, so that I may pray in thanks for you, and, God willing, you may accomplish all your heart's desire."

Then King Uther Pendragon laughed and, looking at Sir Ulfius, he said, "They do say that the prayers of those in need go up to God. Will you do me a favor, Sir Ulfius?" Sir Ulfius of course assented, and the king continued. "Then go back to that cripple and sit beside him; tell him I have sent you to him to assist him, if he thinks he can accomplish my desire."

So Sir Ulfius did as he was asked, turning back to go and sit beside the man both blind and lame. When the man heard and felt Sir Ulfius sit near, he asked him what he wanted.

"The king has sent me to assist you," said Sir Ulfius, "so that by your prayer he may accomplish his heart's desire."

The lame man laughed. "The king is swifter of mind than you are," he said. "I was sent by the old man that you met before. Go back to the king and say that he will meet him soon."

When Sir Ulfius returned to the king, the king said, "Have I not sent you to the crippled man, to assist him?"

"And so I do," said Sir Ulfius. "He has sent me to tell you that you will soon meet the old man I had met before."

"I have no doubt of it," said the king, "for it is clear that the lame man and the old man you met before are the same man, and both are Merlin, going and coming as he pleases."

While the knight and the king were out riding, the child Merlin came to the king's tent and asked where he was. So they sent out messengers to let the king know that Merlin awaited him at his tent, and King Uther Pendragon therefore returned to camp. And the king ran to Merlin with great joy, arms open wide, and embraced the child. 

Merlin said to Sir Ulfius, "You see that, as I said, he is swifter of mind than you, since he knew so quickly that I was both the old man and the lame one."

Sir Ulfius did not respond, but said to the king, "You should let him know of your problem."

And the king replied, "Do you think he does not already know my heart?" But he said to Merlin, "I beg you, help me to have the love of Igraine, for without it I will die."

"I do not understand this," said the child. "Such a desire is surely not good and should just be cast aside. That way you may avoid the snares of the devil."

"How can I cast aside what is part of my very depths?" asked King Uther.  "Tell me how to have the love of Igraine and I will give you whatever you want."

"You should promise no one to give what they want until you know what they want," replied Merlin. "But you are the King David of this age, and I will accept your offer. You shall have Igraine's love, and I shall have in return what I want. You must swear it by a holy oath."

So King Uther Pendragon had the reliquaries and Gospels brought, and the king and the knight swore on relic and book that they should honor the agreement.

Then the child said, "Your lady is true to God and to her lord. But get your armies ready for battle, which they will surely fight tomorrow without you, for we shall ride out, and I shall give you an appearance of the duke, so perfect in resemblance that his own mother would swear that you are he. And Sir Ulfius and I shall take the form of his closest counselors; I shall be Sir Brastias and Sir Ulfius shall be Sir Jordanus.  In that guise we will find easy entry; it will lie with you to convince the lady, which is an art I do not have. If you do not succeed at it, we will have to take more tangled paths, but you will have the lady's love in the end."

Chapter 18

In the morning, King Uther, Sir Ulfius, and Merlin rode out. When they were near to Tintagel, Merlin went out to a sea cave nearby and, when he returned, gave to the king and the knight each an herb they had never seen. "Rub this on your face and hands," he said. They both did so, and when they were done, lo! King Uther Pendragon looked exactly like Duke Gorlois and Sir Ulfius looked exactly like Sir Jordanus. Merlin, too, in the twinkling of an eye took on the appearance of Sir Brastias. Then they waited until the night was near to falling and rode to the gates of Tintagel. Merlin shouted to the ostiary, and when the ostiary peeked out, he saw Sir Brastias and Sir Jordanus accompanying the duke, so they opened the gates.

"We are on a mission of secrecy," Merlin in the form of Sir Brastias said to the porters. "Do not let the report of the duke's return be rumored abroad."

The King Uther Pendragon in the form of Duke Gorlois went up to the chambers of Igraine, where they made merry with wine and dinner, and Igraine was greatly delighted, because she thought the king to be her duke.

But late in the night, news spread around that the Duke of Trevena had died in battle, and came soon to the town. When the porters of the castle Tintagel heard about it, they passed it on to the stewards, who ran up to the bedchambers.

"Arise, lord!" they said. "There is a rumor going around that you have died, and you must quickly make clear that it is false."

And King Uther in the form of Duke Gorlois leaped up and took leave of Igraine, and with Merlin in the form of Sir Brastias and Sir Ulfius in the form of Sir Jordanus rode out of the castle.

Then Merlin said to the king, "Do you agree that I have kept my part of the covenant?"

And the king replied, "I do, and I will keep my own part, on my crown."

"You have engendered a son on Igraine by your actions," said the child, for he took his own form again. "You will give him to me at the time I ask him of you."

"So be it," sad the king.

They soon came to a river where Sir Ulfius and the king washed off the semblances of Sir Jordanus and Duke Gorlois,. Then they returned to camp, which was in a state of excitement because Duke Gorlois, having received information from an unknown source that the king was not with his army, had assaulted them, thinking that they would be unprepared, and had died in the battle. He had fought well, but been thrown from his horse into the midst of the infantry. Then he was overwhelmed, for while the mounted knights would have spared him for his noble office and person, the foot soldiers did not know who he was.

And King Uther Pendragon, having thus defeated the Duke Gorlois, was somber and pensive at the news of the duke's death. 

to be continued

Although She Feeds Me Bread of Bitterness

 America
by Claude McKay 

Although she feeds me bread of bitterness,
And sinks into my throat her tiger’s tooth,
Stealing my breath of life, I will confess
I love this cultured hell that tests my youth.
Her vigor flows like tides into my blood,
Giving me strength erect against her hate,
Her bigness sweeps my being like a flood.
Yet, as a rebel fronts a king in state,
I stand within her walls with not a shred
Of terror, malice, not a word of jeer.
Darkly I gaze into the days ahead,
And see her might and granite wonders there,
Beneath the touch of Time’s unerring hand,
Like priceless treasures sinking in the sand.

Sublimity and Arguments from Evil

When people give arguments from evil, I always say that you should look at the ethics being assumed, and the reason is that almost always -- not always, but commonly enough that it should be your presumption until proven otherwise -- the ethics assumed is either completely incoherent or has features that make it very undesirable or difficult ever to apply consistently. Arguments from evil are often based on a very clear, or at least vivid, sense of something; but when people try to articulate this, they struggle even to be coherent. This is as true of philosophers as of anyone else; arguments from evil are often plausible to people, but only if you don't look under the hood. And yet, it's not as if arguments from evil are completely unfounded; they are clearly getting at something that people are genuinely recognizing, which is why they often have so much purchase. Call this the Puzzle of Arguments from Evil (PAE).

I think one can make sense of PAE by recognizing that the reason people have difficulty articulating a moral account that can ground an argument from evil is that they are trying to ground it on the wrong kind of concept. The fact that you find, over and over, that arguments from evil break down into a moral incoherence despite being onto something that obviously should be taken seriously, is that people assume that because they concern evil that the key concept is the good. They then take a conception of moral goodness and try to macguyver it, rig it, to convey what they are actually trying to convey, and since the concept is not well suited to that, the results are rarely good. I think this is a point at which Hegel and the Absolute Idealists were actually correct: the key issue in arguments from evil, and theodicy in general, is not the good but the sublime. This is the solution to the PAE: people are trying to rig up moral goodness to handle a job for sublimity.

Why would someone do the difficult work of trying to climb a mountain, or going out to sea? Necessity could be a reason, but it's not a very inspiring one. One of the key justifications of doing and enduring difficult things is sublimity -- you climb the difficult mountain, you endure the difficult trial, because, having done it, the success is sublime and makes it worthwhile. The problem people are trying to articulate in arguments from evil is not usually -- outside of some very narrow philosophical contexts -- the bare existence of badness. What they are trying to articulate is that they don't see that there is any complete context in which you could set the trial and difficulty of a world filled with evils that would be sublime enough to make the trial and difficulty worthwhile. It's the worthwhileness in particular that is the source of the problem: how can it be worthwhile to endure a world with such evil in it? That this is the real issue is, I think, especially obvious with arguments from natural evil, but it is also clearly the case with many arguments from moral evil.

There are, of course, a few exceptions; sometimes it's really just revulsion at a very specific evil that is the motivator, and sometimes moral goodness itself does play a genuine role in the argument in a way that is not incoherent. But even these would often be better framed in terms of sublimity, that there is no context sublime enough to turn endurance of this or that kind of evil into a trial or sacrifice that is worthwhile. And of course, we see that this is also really the issue addressed by theodicies -- they attempt to identify something sublime enough. In any case, thinking in terms of sublimity bypasses completely the point that usually makes either arguments from evil or theodicies break down into incoherence.

The Earth to Steep

 The Fields at Evening
by Gordon Bottomley 

The dew-light lingers yet --
A grey bloom on the meads --
While here and there a jet
 Of moon-pale cowslip cedes
 A scent none heeds 

 Of hay-time yet to come:
 Adown the ebbing wold
 Belated wild bees hum,
 Smeared on the thighs with cold
 Mellifluous gold. 

 A soft-brown thrush, content,
 Threads through the thin green blades;
 Dim opal cobwebs, rent,
 Fling flashing filmy threads
 In tender shades 

 Upon its sides; a thrush
 Flutes in yon night of firs;
 Some slow stream's fading flush
 Quivers and disappears
 Afar; nought stirs.

The cloud-faint purple hills
 In gloom are folded deep;
The breath of night distils
A sense of airy sleep
The earth to steep.