Winter Mythologies & Abbots

Hello Gentle Reader

Clio, in Greek mythology is the muse of history. Her name comes from the root Greek word κλέω/κλείω; meaning: ‘to make one famous,’ ‘to recount,’ or ‘to celebrate.’ In my childhood I was fascinated by Greek mythology. The ancient Greek Gods acted like mortals. They waged war; they loved not only each other but mortals – of the same gender at times; they were hurt; they felt jealousy and envy. In all the Greek gods were capricious creatures. Zeus was both a tyrant and a whoremonger; at times I had pitied his wife Hera, for her eternal sufferings of a unfaithful husband – but these sympathies were short lived; as she had turned out to be as erratic as her husband, releasing her wrath in the forms of cruel punishments, on those who were seduced by the God of lightning and storms. The other Olympians were no different. They loved, they fought, and they lusted and were hurt. Their stories befitted myths and legends. Then came lesser gods; Pan the patron god of shepherds and spring; Iris messenger of the gods; and the muses. At first glance the Muses struck me at the time as personifications of the arts. They were patrons of lyrical poetry, heroic or epic poetry, dance and theatre (both tragic and comedic). It was not until I came across Clio and Urania that I took the muses as more, then just Apollo’s fan girls. Clio and Urania stuck as me two personifications of more intellectual movements. They were not interested in writing love poems; nor were they interested in acting out comedies or tragedies; nor did they dance. Subjects that I am not overtly enthused over; or minimally enthused over at best. Urania, and her earthly globe, tracked the heavens above in ancient times. Those who were dearest to her, necks were sore from looking up to the night sky. Yet their thoughts and imagination carried them to the heavens. As I got older though, I realized the subject of the stars, was not something that I would be able to comprehend or grasp. Though my eyes continually gaze towards the sky: catching a glimpse of a shooting star, or spotting with the greatest concentration a constellation, my abilities to comprehend the physics and the actual scientific concepts that take place in the great void of space, are beyond me. Still the moon and I have a passionate love affair. Clio on the other hand was a muse that was near to my heart. History is a subject of the utmost interest to those that can get past the dryness of the facts and the dates. History has the word story in it. The story in history pertains to the battles fought – both won and lost; but also to the people that populate the times that have since passed. History is filled with righteous characters: Joan of Arc; stoic yet charming individuals of wit: Queen Elizabeth I (The Golden Age); idealist men whose dreams were birthed out of bloody revolutions: Lenin; but also monsters and darker creatures: Joseph Stalin and Adolf Hitler. Still history is populated by a variety of characters. They are human; they are flawed; and their lives are outlaid before us, both what has been documented, but also has been theorized and gossiped about. This is why writers and historians, both take up the pen and scour the past, for both creative purposes, and intellectual purposes, and discuss times now come and gone. They discuss our advancements, and how easily we fall back into beings no better than savages. As the saying goes: those who don’t learn from history are doomed to repeat it.

Pierre Michon turns to the lives of others to write his books. In these endeavors he becomes not just a writer, but a chronicler, an archivist, a detective, and a historian, in order to write the portraits of the individuals he is writing about. From famous artists, to poets, to figures from a personal history; to now monks and abbots; who have since fallen into obscurity. Michon’s prose is sardonic, and intensely lyrical in often long and dense sentences. His works and narratives not concerned with the interior world; that other authors would be more focused on. His work is more focused on the details of the surface; and the secrets that hide below. This is where Michon deviates as a narrative prose writer, and becomes more of a portraitist in prose. His work is speculative about the people he writes about, and digressive; this is where the biographer and Michon deviate from the path of writing about individuals and the lives that they seek to write about. This makes Michon a difficult author to quickly categorize accordingly. His subject matter is remote, and at times even obscure and parochial. His sentences are dense, and intense in their vehement use of lyricism in his work. They are plotless, and often given no actual history lesson on the subject matter. As a reader, we just come into the episodes of these individuals’ lives, and as quickly as we have entered, we depart with jovial enthusiasm on a whirlwind of text and prose.

“The Eleven,” which is about a painter’s portrait of the eleven members of the Public Safety Committee, during the reign of terror, is one such example of the writers, intimidating remote nature of his subject matter. After a few tries at the novel, I was forced to call it quits, and decided it was not worth the try or the bother at the moment. One day perhaps I will go back to the novel and tackle it once again. At the moment it cannot be seen in the foreseeable future. Redemption between myself as a reader, and Michon as a writer came with his purely fictional novel “The Origin of the World,” which details a school teachers burning desire and lust for a local woman. The novel showed to me what Michon was capable as a writer and why he was highly regarded and respected by the French literary scene; and those that have read his works in English translation, and celebrate them.

“Winter Mythologies & Abbots,” has left me once again uncertain with Michon. It was less dense then “The Eleven,” on the surface; but it suffered the same drawbacks, which “The Eleven,” had as its own flaws. There is no history lesson with this book. I walked into the book knowing that the subjects discussed, were obscure monks, bishops, saints and abbots. What I had hoped and expected however, was a history lesson to some degree of these individuals. Instead as a reader, I was led through their times (when they were not entirely certain) and walked their paths, and had their meals. But beyond that there was nothing to say about them. It started off promising however with the short tale: “Brigid’s Fervor.” The tale recounts Brigid a young woman, recently introduced to Christianity and Catholicism by Saint Patrick. However, Brigid wonders increasingly about God, and when he will show himself. Saint Patrick quickly tells her that all mortal beings meet him in their death. Brigid, devote or curious beyond satisfaction, commits suicide in order to see her lord. The tale is quick and short. That being said in the few short pages, Michon covers more ground then most authors; and quickly disputes a need for verbosity. Rather he uses laconic style of writing with lyricism, to ensure that more meaning can be taken from the prose then just what is superficially bared.

As the book progresses however, the interest grows increasingly bare, and uncertain. Characters come and go without much of an introduction, nor do they leave much of an impression. To a degree I felt that in order to have fully understood or comprehended the book, I should have done some prior research into Church history as well as Martyrology or the legends and myths that engulf much of the earlier centuries of Church history. This however is also what interested me into this book. The myths the mythologies and legends of saints. The stories that surround these people of holiness. Where the heavens and the earthly realm, merge for only the quickest moments. Such as Saint Patrick cleansing Ireland of snakes. Still after reading “Winter Mythologies & Abbots,” I did not discover myths or anything new or exciting. I felt that after a while, I began to grow bored with the historical stories, that I was reading, and fact and fiction could no longer be separated. There is no doubt in my mind that Michon is a good or great writer. But his work is for the finely tuned. His portraits either interest a reader or do not. Which is unfortunate in this case; seeing as “Winter Mythologies & Abbots,” held such promise in the beginning. That being said it could use a second read or a third read before judgment can truly be passed on the book.

Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
*And Remember: Downloading Books Illegally is Thievery and Wrong.*

M. Mary