i was so pleased to learn that my newest fantasy favorite, patrick rothfuss, is also a long-time fan of peter beagle, who i hold in very high and fond esteem. because of this, i was moved to read beagle's the last unicorn again, this time with eyes fresh from all the lilting wonders of rothfuss' the wise man's fear.
it's amazing to discover the powerful influence beagle has on rothfuss' voice. the last unicorn, a story about the only unicorn left in the world who goes on a quest to find what befell the rest of her kind, is an unapologetically short book whose music sparks lovely echoes all throughout rothfuss' massive ongoing trilogy.
i've always found it sad that among fantasists beagle has gained little commercial success for his work despite all their critical acclaim (and yet this very irony grants him cult status in the genre). for all that, however, the undeniable beauty of rothfuss' books and his presence in the bestseller lists confirm for me, more than anything, the potency of beagle's magic, which as a seed has grown forth over the years to quietly nourish a forest of worlds.
let me end this now with a repost of an excerpt i blogged years ago from the last unicorn, every reareading of which leaves me with a golden ache every time.
-------------------------------------------------
June 15, 2008
I have never known a time when this story has not touched me, whether in writing or in film, and I doubt if such a time will ever come.: )
Schmendrick dreamed that the unicorn came and stood by him at moonrise. The thin night wind lifted and spilled her mane, and the moon shone on the snowflake crafting of her small head. He knew it was a dream, but he was happy to see her. “How beautiful you are,” he said. “I never really told you.” He would have roused the others, but her eyes sang him a warning as clearly as two frightened birds, and he knew that if he moved to call Molly and Lir he would wake himself, and she would vanish. So he said only, “They love you more, I think, though I do the best I can.”
“That is why,” she said, and he could not tell what she was answering. He lay very still, hoping that he would remember the exact shape of her ears when he did wake in the morning. She said, “You are a true and mortal wizard now, as you always wished. Does it make you happy?”
“Yes,” he replied with a quiet laugh. “I’m not poor Haggard, to lose my heart’s desire in the having of it. But there are wizards and wizards; there is black magic and white magic, and the infinite shades of gray between – and I see now that it is all the same. Whether I decide to be what men would call a wise and good magician – aiding heroes, thwarting witches, wicked lords, and unreasonable parents; making rain, curing woolsorter’s disease, and the mad staggers, getting cats down from trees – or whether I choose the retorts full of elixirs and essences, the powders and herbs and banes, the padlocked books of gramarye bound in skins better left unnamed, the muddy mist darkening in the chamber and the sweet voice lisping therein – why, life is short, and how many can I help or harm? I have my power at last, but the world is still too heavy for me to move; though my friend Lir might think otherwise.” And he laughed again in his dream, a little sadly.
The unicorn said, “That is true. You are a man, and men can do nothing that makes any difference.” But her voice was strangely slow and burdened. She asked, “Which will you choose?”
The magician laughed for a third time. “Oh, it will be the kind magic, undboubtedly, because you would like it more. I do not think that I will ever see you again, but I would try to do what would please you if you knew. And you – where will you be for the rest of my life? I thought you would have gone home to your forest by now.
She turned a little away from him, and the sudden starlight of her shoulders made all his talk of magic taste like sand in his throat. Moths and midges and other night insects too small to be anything in particular came and danced slowly around her bright horn, and this did not make her appear foolish, but them most wise and lovely as the celebrated her. Molly’s cat rubbed in and out between her forefeet.
“The others have gone,” she said. “They are scattered to the woods they came from, no two together, and men will not catch sight of them much more easily than if they were still in the sea. I will go back to my forest too, but I do not know if I will live contentedly there, or anywhere. I have been mortal, and some part of me is mortal yet. I am full of tears and hunger and the fear of death, though I cannot weep, and I want nothing, and I cannot die. I am not like the others now, for no unicorn was ever born who could regret, but I do. I regret.”
Schmendrick hid his face like a child, though he was a great magician. “I am sorry, I am sorry,” he mumbled into his wrist. “I have done you evil, as Nikos did to the other unicorn, with the same good will, and I can no more undo it that he could. Mommy Fortuna and King Haggard and the Red Bull together were kinder to you that I.”
But she answered him gently, saying, “My people are in the world again. No sorrow will live in me as long as that joy – save one, and I thank you for that, too. Farewell, good magician. I will try to go home.”
it's amazing to discover the powerful influence beagle has on rothfuss' voice. the last unicorn, a story about the only unicorn left in the world who goes on a quest to find what befell the rest of her kind, is an unapologetically short book whose music sparks lovely echoes all throughout rothfuss' massive ongoing trilogy.
i've always found it sad that among fantasists beagle has gained little commercial success for his work despite all their critical acclaim (and yet this very irony grants him cult status in the genre). for all that, however, the undeniable beauty of rothfuss' books and his presence in the bestseller lists confirm for me, more than anything, the potency of beagle's magic, which as a seed has grown forth over the years to quietly nourish a forest of worlds.
let me end this now with a repost of an excerpt i blogged years ago from the last unicorn, every reareading of which leaves me with a golden ache every time.
-------------------------------------------------
June 15, 2008
I have never known a time when this story has not touched me, whether in writing or in film, and I doubt if such a time will ever come.: )
Schmendrick dreamed that the unicorn came and stood by him at moonrise. The thin night wind lifted and spilled her mane, and the moon shone on the snowflake crafting of her small head. He knew it was a dream, but he was happy to see her. “How beautiful you are,” he said. “I never really told you.” He would have roused the others, but her eyes sang him a warning as clearly as two frightened birds, and he knew that if he moved to call Molly and Lir he would wake himself, and she would vanish. So he said only, “They love you more, I think, though I do the best I can.”
“That is why,” she said, and he could not tell what she was answering. He lay very still, hoping that he would remember the exact shape of her ears when he did wake in the morning. She said, “You are a true and mortal wizard now, as you always wished. Does it make you happy?”
“Yes,” he replied with a quiet laugh. “I’m not poor Haggard, to lose my heart’s desire in the having of it. But there are wizards and wizards; there is black magic and white magic, and the infinite shades of gray between – and I see now that it is all the same. Whether I decide to be what men would call a wise and good magician – aiding heroes, thwarting witches, wicked lords, and unreasonable parents; making rain, curing woolsorter’s disease, and the mad staggers, getting cats down from trees – or whether I choose the retorts full of elixirs and essences, the powders and herbs and banes, the padlocked books of gramarye bound in skins better left unnamed, the muddy mist darkening in the chamber and the sweet voice lisping therein – why, life is short, and how many can I help or harm? I have my power at last, but the world is still too heavy for me to move; though my friend Lir might think otherwise.” And he laughed again in his dream, a little sadly.
The unicorn said, “That is true. You are a man, and men can do nothing that makes any difference.” But her voice was strangely slow and burdened. She asked, “Which will you choose?”
The magician laughed for a third time. “Oh, it will be the kind magic, undboubtedly, because you would like it more. I do not think that I will ever see you again, but I would try to do what would please you if you knew. And you – where will you be for the rest of my life? I thought you would have gone home to your forest by now.
She turned a little away from him, and the sudden starlight of her shoulders made all his talk of magic taste like sand in his throat. Moths and midges and other night insects too small to be anything in particular came and danced slowly around her bright horn, and this did not make her appear foolish, but them most wise and lovely as the celebrated her. Molly’s cat rubbed in and out between her forefeet.
“The others have gone,” she said. “They are scattered to the woods they came from, no two together, and men will not catch sight of them much more easily than if they were still in the sea. I will go back to my forest too, but I do not know if I will live contentedly there, or anywhere. I have been mortal, and some part of me is mortal yet. I am full of tears and hunger and the fear of death, though I cannot weep, and I want nothing, and I cannot die. I am not like the others now, for no unicorn was ever born who could regret, but I do. I regret.”
Schmendrick hid his face like a child, though he was a great magician. “I am sorry, I am sorry,” he mumbled into his wrist. “I have done you evil, as Nikos did to the other unicorn, with the same good will, and I can no more undo it that he could. Mommy Fortuna and King Haggard and the Red Bull together were kinder to you that I.”
But she answered him gently, saying, “My people are in the world again. No sorrow will live in me as long as that joy – save one, and I thank you for that, too. Farewell, good magician. I will try to go home.”
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