Mortal Love [Paperback]

MORTAL LOVE is an adult fairy tale or myth. It probably helps to have some knowledge of The Maginogi and other Celtic tales, as well as the poems of Yeats and the writing of Robert Graves. Understanding who Tristan and Isolde were and the Pre-Raphaelites won't hurt. Else, how can one put this convoluted tale in perspective?

For example, just try to identify the protagonist. Is it Daniel, the reporter on Sabbatical in modern day London? Or Val, the sedated grandson of the artist Comstock (who is yet another candidate) who knew Swinburne? Perhaps these men are all incarnations of someone else? And what about the girl Larkin. Who is she? Drifter, bewitched, cursed, or a shape shifter?

I bought this book and read it because a critic writing for The Washington Post Book World described it as `sublime'. I suppose that terminology fits, but it occurs to me that unless you are fairly well read in literature, and perhaps an English major, you may not get some aspects of this mysterious tale.

I'm not sure I got it, but over and over throughout the book I experienced "recognition' or "deja vu" regarding various people, scenes, and items of interest to the protagonist of the moment (at least three deconstructed and overlapping tales are told) such as green absinthe, apple blossom flowers and owl feathers. One of the characteristics of myths is their episodic nature. They seldom make sense to the rational mind. They appeal to the artistic side of the brain.

Do you know who Blodeuedd was? Her name means flowers in the old Welsh. She was the wife Math and Gwydion of conjured out of flowers for Llew Llau Gyffes. She did not choose her husband and when she fell in love with another, she was punished by being turned into an owl. The Pre-Raphaelites were interested in art created before Raphael rediscovered perspective i.e., art without perspective whose content reflected mythical tales and the hidden (occult) world visible only to those with eyes to see. They were also interested in Theosophy.

LIke the mythmakers of old,Elizabeth Hand employs skillful use of language (incredible metaphors), characterization, irony, and other narrative devices. As a result, she has written a fine and scholarly bit of literature. If you are interested in 19th century art, Jungian archetypes, and the masks of the Gods (and Goddesses) you will probably enjoy it.

I won't waste your time on a recap of Mortal Love's plotline. Take it from me, Elizabeth Hand writes a good multi-layered olfactory-pleasing book; her descriptions of fragrance and the stirring way they affect the senses lingers in memory with the redolence of the Spice Market in Istanbul. Her prose regarding the other senses singes the reader with a sting like the after image of a neon sign on the retina or the swipe of the finest velvet on naked skin. As the implementers and manipulators of these sensations, all Hand's major characters are extremely and painfully human (except, of course, the supernatural entities that are never quite defined) with weaknesses that we can all relate to and cheer on as they support and move the more sinister and intriguing aspects of the plot along rather nicely. In a nutshell, (or should I say acorn?) Hand's musicality implodes the brain with phrase after phrase of imagery that colors emotions and thoughts with a rainbow palette of intensity I can only imagine is like an LSD trip.

On this level, the novel surely succeeds--the reader, never bored, flips from one point of view (there are three masculine protagonists) to another, from one century to another with great fascination, wanting to know, to discover and finally to understand. In the same way that the object of the men's affections, called many names throughout the different time periods, entices the men who seek her out, wanting to capture her on canvas, in print and of course, between the sheets, we are also enticed to the point where we want to pinpoint her genus and specie. We realize from the start that the woman is not human, and we are given hints as to what exactly she is and what exactly her motivation might be, but mysteriously this is never fully resolved. A little investigative work is necessary to at least grasp the essence of the associated myth and even this does not tie up all the loose threads that run through this novel like the frazzled end of a bolt of cut fabric, albeit a lovely rich brocade. Ms. Hand was kind enough to explain to me that Larkin embodies many mythical creatures emanating from a fairy world with little contact with the more fragile human existence.

There is so much that is not explained and this adds to the slightly fogged out feeling that we share with the male protagonists as they interact with this supernatural situation. I speak of allusions to the scissors of Dr. Learmont, the green light, the fantasy world glimpsed by all the artists and sought after---metaphors for the creative process? I am uncertain. From Larkin's obsessive objective, who was Val and how were we to make the connection? The character of Juda---sometimes a woman, sometimes a man, sometimes as fluid as water---acts as a sentinel of sorts; Ms. Hand likens her to Puck, mischievous yet responsible for Larkin's escape from the other world. Nevertheless, as fun as this novel is, I would have totally enjoyed more of an explanation, or at least another chapter that would have gained me more insight and more of Hand's deliciously edgy phrasing.

As far as the storyline, however, none of this really matters. As she does in Waking the Moon and the Glimmering, Hand compels us to enter this strange world where we are left a little mystified yet are better for the journey.

I thoroughly enjoyed the otherworldly quality of this read and recommend it to anyone who likes a glimpse at the creative process. The interplay between real historical characters and those crafted by Hand works well as do the backdrop of the insane asylum and the labyrinthine back alleys of London. Hand does a fine job of capturing the despair and frustration of each of the men as they lose what they think they desire most.

As my knowledge of Welsh myths is slim, I would have appreciated some of Hand's insight in an afterward, maybe an explanation of the myth of Blodeuedd or the connection to the Dog that Jumps Down. Fans of 'Waking the Moon', will surely enjoy this novel especially with its cameo of Balthazar Warnick, but, they like myself and the male protagonists will find themselves craving more to make the entire sensory experience click with that satisfactory flash of ultimate understanding.

Elizabeth Hand, who famously dealt with the Mother Goddess myth in *Waking the Moon* and the cult of Dionysus in *Black Light*, here tackles the subject of the fatal muse: the White Goddess, the lhiannan-sidhe, the Belle Dame Sans Merci. *Mortal Love* drifts back and forth between several periods of history, between men throughout the years who have fallen under her seductive spell. Along the way there are Hand's usual lush fruit-metaphors and insect-metaphors and jewel-metaphors, and as always her prose is an intoxicating fever-dream of a read.

Writing-wise, I think it was probably better than *Waking the Moon*, but I have to admit I liked *Moon* better. *Moon* had sympathetic, every(wo)man sorts of characters who felt like old friends at first sight. *Mortal Love* has several characters who could be interesting, but she doesn't spend enough time with any of them to truly show us what makes them tick, and none of them feel as tangible as, say, Sweeney Cassidy. Still a good book, though, and a wonderful job of using faery material without making it cute or childish in the least, retaining the deadly mystery of the old tales.