Iskald at Home in the World

by Don Webb

Thank you for the explanation of “The Three Kings,” Slawomir; it’s eloquent and carefully considered.

One thing, at least, we can all agree upon: all the characters can be interesting. And I include even some we hear of only second hand, such as the femme fatale that Iskald meets in the distant southern regions. And I regret the disappearance of young Xunnax, who woud have made a fine companion for Iskald. One could easily go on and on.

Your view of Iskald as an emigrant is both interesting and disquieting:

Losing a home, a language, a culture is akin to losing your status as a human being. Learning a new culture and language is doable, of course, and many are very successful at it — but what is learnt isn’t inherent. We can’t learn to be Canadian or American — we can only learn how to act like they do. Home is elsewhere.

Of course, all culture is learned. Thinking of any as “inherent” takes a first step on a very slippery slope. At the bottom of that slope, all other cultures but the one we happen to be born into constitute a fall from primordial innocence. To imply that they are a fall from humanity itself sets alarm bells ringing. Nostalgia gets stretched all out of shape when Poland — or Canada, or the U.S.A., or any other country — becomes a cultural Garden of Eden.

Oddly, perhaps, the various kingdoms of Iskald’s world differ very little in culture: everyone speaks the same language, and the citizens do more or less the same things. When Iskald becomes a tourist or itinerant swordsman rather than a slave, he might as well be at home.

In point of fact, Iskald is not an emigrant; he’s a displaced person. Slavery dispossesses him of his property and social status. His story, then, centers on his turning his back on Nekrya, where he might have become a prince, and going home to reclaim his childhood.

Indeed, he discovers that he can “go home again”: back in Lyons, he picks up where he left off, only a few years later. What difference does his experience in Tha-kia, Nekrya, and elsewhere really make? I can’t say.

[Laela] represents a false hope, however, because regardless of how happy he would be with her, Iskald would always be a stranger in [Nekrya].

It is possible to take the story that way, if you want, but it’s entirely arbitrary. Nothing in Iskald’s or Laela’s character justifies that conclusion. In short, then, the decision comes from outside the story; it’s entirely yours.

And the fact that the story is entirely yours represents both a problem and an opportunity:

I have some ideas regarding it; they mostly have to do with tightening and restructuring certain parts.

I apologize for speaking bluntly, but the talent you’ve displayed before “The Three Kings” deserves no less. Your plan is timid and a formula for disaster. You can do better.

As it stands now, “The Three Kings” is not a novel; it is a narrative outline of a series of stories that, taken together, form the history of Iskald’s Wanderjahre. And it has only one character: the godlike, omnipresent narrator, who reigns with omnipotence.

What really has to be done? Remember our official motto: “Poems are not made with ideas; they are made with words.” And in the Second Quarterly Review we heard words of wisdom about the meaning of stories large and small.

With that in mind, go back to what I said at the beginning: all the characters can be interesting. Realize that opportunity. Set them free and let them come to life. Listen to them speak as they tell their stories. You’ll know you’re succeeding when they begin to surprise you. After all, that is God’s formula for creation; no others work as well.