Spoiler Shelf: Phantom vs. Faces (Round 2)

And here it is, part 2 of my comparison of twisted love between Gaston Leroux’s The Phantom of the Opera and Till We Have Faces by C. S. Lewis.  This week I will summarize and comment on the endings of both these stories as well as the handling of love, twisted and not.  With the direction established, let’s get going.

In my opinion, the ending of a story is one of it’s most important aspects.   A strong ending can make even stories we didn’t like before that ending into a beautiful piece of literature (as is the case for me in Where the Red Fern Grows) or can damage what used to be an excellent tale (see my Spoiler Shelf on the Prydain Chronicles for an ending I thought dissatisfying).  What’s more, the ending of a story often establishes the author’s view of a subject.  If the first Twilight book had ended with Bella dying or at least accepted the wisdom of the Edward’s decision to break up despite her grief, the message would have been totally different.  Point is, endings can make or break a story.

And Phantom’s ending is really the straw the breaks the camel’s back.

Now, before I go further, I must remind you (as I forgot to last week) that this post will be full of spoilers, and not just any spoilers but perhaps the worst kind as I’m spoiling the ending.  Okay, warning is over.  Back to Phantom.

Throughout The Phantom of the Opera, the titular Phantom, Erik, is built up as a genius, powerful maniac of tragic past so obsessed with Christine that he would kill to have his way.  Because he was born hideous, he was rejected by his family, became a circus show, and then, when he finally found a place he could be a twisted as he wished, his superior feared his genius and tried to kill him.  Erik is not a healthy person.  Unfortunately, his brought-up-in-a-loving-home rival, Raoul, is not that much better (as I discussed a bit last week), so I can’t say I favored either of them, but at least the Phantom we had established as a crazy, twisted lover who would stop at nothing to obtain the person he desires.  Too bad that’s all thrown away.

At first, I thought Leroux was writing a fitting ending.  Erik kidnaps Christine and threatens to kill everyone in the opera house, including the two of them, if she does not become his wife; meanwhile, Raoul and the Persian (YAY!) sneak into Erik’s house to rescue Christine.  The two men end up, however, trapped and nearly drown.  Christine, who had attempted suicide earlier, promises Erik that if he frees Raoul she will not kill herself and will be the Phantom’s wife.  Erik agrees and spares the Persian and Raoul.  The Persian is then released, having to abandon Christine and trust the insane Phantom’s word that he will not kill Raoul (Leroux 210-296).  The Phantom won.  In a sweep of tragedy, twisted love conquered… until the next chapter, where we learn that right after the Persian left and Erik imprisoned Raoul, the Phantom returns to Christine, gives her a kiss on the forehead and then she returns the kiss and cries for him.  Apparently this so moves Erik that he becomes, in his own words, “no more… than a poor dog ready to die for her,” releases Christine and Raoul, and wishes them happiness (301-302).  He then relates the events the Persian before dying of grief.  Yep.  The fearsome Phantom, the insane, obsessive Phantom who was willing to kill anyone, including the one he desired, to have his victory is instantly transformed by a kiss on the forehead and tears.  What?

Now I don’t think that ending necessarily bad, especially as I am a Christian who holds that Christ can and has and does redeem even the most vile of humans.  However, with what the story had built up, especially concerning Erik, to suddenly give it such an ending falls into an anti-climactic mess.  In a different story, I might have thought that ending beautiful, but here it felt like a slap in the face.  All that build up, all that emphasis on Erik’s obsession and insanity immediately thrown out because of “my mother never loved me, but you kissed me and cried for me.”  Even the Phantom’s insistence that Christine truly cared for him or pitied him becomes untrustworthy because earlier Erik has shown to have been capable of deceiving himself into thinking Christine loves him (Leroux 248).  Also, despite how Leroux writes it, it’s not even a happy ending as Raoul is only a lesser Erik, so twisted love wins anyway just in a manner that makes it seem like it’s a good thing.  The entire ending, when taken in the context of the whole story, rings false.  

Which really is a shame because with a different ending I might have actually liked Phantom  I can even think of two examples.  First, and my preferred, would be that Christine had not tried to kill herself earlier and/or Erik ignores her pleas and kills Raoul.  Then Christine, overcome with grief, commits suicide, and it is only then, holding Christine’s lifeless body in his arms, that Erik realizes he was wrong, falling into despair himself, eventually to death.  

If you still want a happy ending, first tell the story from Erik’s perspective so that we have an emotional connection with him, witnessing his growing obsession with and adoration of Christine, and we don’t see Raoul in such a creepy light.  Then, when Erik spares and release Raoul, Christine lives but becomes a true living corpse, in contrast with Erik’s mere appearance of one.  Over time, her emptiness pains Erik’s heart.  Then, unable to bear the lack of her voice, her smile, any sign of life in her, and realizing his Christine is dead without Raoul, Erik at last releases her, knowing the woman he loved cannot live if she is with him.  Either one, a tragic ending of twisted love’s victory or twisted love’s realization of what destruction it has incurred, I think would have brought more satisfaction than Phantom’s true ending.

Although, I’ll admit I might just prefer those options because Till We Have Faces does both.  Lewis broke Faces into two different parts.  In part one, we have the tragic ending with Orual having suffocated any healthy love and relationship she has even held and hid behind a physical veil and the mental veil of queenship while blaming and condemning the gods. That conclusion alone would have been powerful.

However, there is a second part.  This part follows, over a passage of time, the queen’s confrontation with the destruction she has caused.  Orual even dreams of Psyche, of Psyche performing impossible tasks made possible because Orual takes the toil, danger, and pain in Psyche’s place.  Eventually, Orual is summoned to a court before the god and the dead, where she makes her case, reunites with her deceased tutor, the Fox, faces her inner ugliness, and finally realizes her folly (Lewis 253-298).  Then, she witnesses Psyche’s final trial, for they were indeed real.  All along the way, Psyche is tempted by illusions of ones she loves, including the Fox and Orual, and Orual’s heart breaks, for she sees what torture she forced upon her sister.  Seeing the apparition of herself cry out so desperately to Psyche, now knowing the evil such cries beget, Orual can only pray that Psyche will overcome them, and so the girl does with tears streaking her face.  When the illusions fade, Orual says to the Fox, “Did we really do these things to her?… And we said we loved her.”  The Fox replies, “And we did.  She had no more dangerous enemies than us” (301-302).

Then, Psyche returns with something in her hands.  Orual goes to meet her and falls to the ground, ut Psyche lifts her up and hands Orual what she, Psyche, in her final trial fetched, “the beauty to make Ungit [Orual] beautiful” (305-306).  All her trials Psyche did for Orual’s sake.  Psyche, who loves Orual with true love, suffered for her sister and sought what would make her sister beautiful, and it does make her beautiful.  Both inside and out.  In a scene I cannot quote for it contains too many beautiful words to fit here, Orual is redeemed by the admittance of her own sin and Psyche’s love.  At last, ugly Orual’s heart is transformed, as is her appearance, and, in one of the most telling phrases of Orual’s change, upon seeing her’s and Psyche’s reflections, she sees that they are “both beautiful (if that mattered now)” (307-308).

In part 1, twisted love seems to win, but Lewis, a Christian who knew the redemptive power of Christ’s true love, does not end his story there.  Instead, true love, sacrificial love, triumphs, and Lewis concludes his story as one not just of destruction but of restoration and healing.  Faces is a story of fall and redemption, of the perversion what what is good and then its restoration.  This is a story of tikkun olam, a Jewish phrase meaning “putting back into harmony everything that is broken.”  Beautiful.

Why, Phantom, do you feels so empty in comparison?  Should not your similar ending have brought such beauty?  One main reason I can give is that the characters never feel the consequences of their actions, so any “redemption,” especially one so rushed and without an foreshadow or build up, fails to satisfy.  We barely feel Christine’s despair or the Phantom’s hurting heart.  We never even see Raoul’s reaction to his brother’s death.  It’s as if consequences don’t touch the characters.  Orual’s actions, however, impact her, and we feel it.  She dwells upon the results, justifies herself, as if we are the judges, runs away, hides behind a veil, refuses to face her own evil, and then, when at last she confronts her brokenness, she does not break down at once, but in pieces till her last defenses crumble and she stands naked before herself and us.  She sees her own wickedness, and then she sees Psyche and real love, and Orual’s heart finally breaks.  Orual has fought this entire time; we have seen the disastrous results, and now, at the end of all things, she humbles herself, admits and submits, and she is transformed and restored.

This is the Christian narrative, and it is both the most personal and universal of stories, for redemption is the world’s story, the story of all you who have removed your veils, and it is mine.  And it is beautiful.

Leroux, Gaston.  The Phantom of the Opera.  London: Penguin Group.  2008.  137.  Print.

Lewis, C. S.  Till We Have Faces.  New York: Houghton Harcourt Publishing Company.  1984.  Print.

Spoiler Shelf: Phantom vs. Faces (Round 1)

Yes, you read that title correctly.  This week, we have part one of a two-part examination of Leroux Gaston’s The Phantom of the Opera and C. S. Lewis’s Till We Have Faces.  Any who have read my past posts know I prefer Faces to Phantom, as I hold that Lewis’s story triumphs over Leroux’s in all facets of literary and storytelling element.  This post and the next will only delve into one, however: twisted love in both stories.  Under that category, I will address two main aspects characters/relationships and the endings of the stories.

So, let’s begin with mutual summaries of the plots, for those who might have forgotten or might be uninitiated.  

The Phantom of the Opera tells of an opera viscount, Raoul, and his love for an opera singer, Christine.  The two, childhood friends, reunite after several years and rekindle (or stoke) their affections for each other, but in the background is Eric, the titular Phantom, who also loves Christine with an obsessive passion, and he is willing to do anything to make her his.

Till We Have Faces is told by Orual, princess of Glome, who was rejected by those around her for her ugliness.  When she finally finds people who accept her, most notably her step-sister, Psyche, Orual finally finds happiness until the fateful day when Psyche is chosen as a sacrifice to the god of the mountain.  Orual travels to the place of sacrifice to give Psyche a proper burial but instead happily finds her sister alive and well .  The event becomes the trigger of Orual’s downfall as her twisted love destroys that which she wished to protect.

Now that we have crossed that ground, let’s begin with this post’s topic, the characters and their relationships, beginning with The Phantom of the Opera.

I cannot understand why Leroux told his story from Raoul’s viewpoint.  When compared to the Phantom, he is far less interesting, and I can’t help but see him as a lesser stalker.  Yes, we probably all know that the mad Phantom is an obsessive stalker, but Raoul is too.  After Christine rejects Raoul, a third party’s statement sends him chasing after her, hiding in the alleys of the streets on which she has been seen to catch a glimpse of her (Leroux 91-104).  I’ve been the target of similar actions, and it was NOT romantic.  There was a guy who took interest in me and started showing up wherever I went, even once entering my apartment without my permission with the support of a “helpful” third party.  The whole situation terrified me.  I felt hunted.  Thankfully the guy was genuinely nice, so when I eventually did confront him, he stopped.  It’s one thing to go to a social event when you hear your crush is going to be there; it’s another to chase after her wherever she goes at the event, any other place, or wherever!  Especially if she’s already said she doesn’t want to see you anymore, as Christine did.

It even felt as though Leroux was trying to justify Raoul, as Christine pretty much just brushes it off.  Furthermore, his suspicions of Christine’s being in a dangerous situation prove true, as if that makes his stalking and jealousy all better.  Seriously, guys (and girls), if you’re afraid your crush might be in a bad situation, mention it to the person directly.  Stalking is just no.

A similar situation of suspicion arrises in Faces, after Psyche has said she is the wife to a god.  Orual understandably struggles with the situation.  She knows the girl to be mentally sound but also fully convinced of what she has declared.  After a couple chapters of mental wrestling and discussion with her other two important relationships, her Greek tutor, the Fox, and her sword instructor and royal guard, Bardia, Orual concludes either Psyche to be duped by a thug or married to a monster.  In the end, Orual tells herself, it doesn’t matter which.  Psyche must be saved!  But this intervention, completely against Psyche’s will and only accomplished by driving the girl into a corner, brings nothing but disaster.  Orual tramples Psyche’s will, as well as assumes away some other evidence presented to her, and forces intervention because it was for Psyche’s “own good” (Lewis 117-174). 

While Raoul’s assumptions prove correct, his intervention also was forced.  Intervention can be good, especially in life-threatening situations, but it can be bad or even dangerous, especially if you’re backing the other person into a corner because you “know better.”  Even before evidence arises that Christine's life might be in danger, Raoul assumes it to be so and tries to intervene.  He should have let her make her adult choices and feel the repercussions rather than push his “help” on her.  Eventually, should he only have sought friendship with her, she might have sought him out anyway, or she might have had to face the consequences of her foolishness, but we'll never know, will we?

This hints towards another of Raoul’s negatives; he is self-centered and self-righteous.  When Christine rejects him, saying it would be dangerous for him, he accuses her of purposely leading him on and slanders her to her face (91, 111).  Also, he enters Christine’s dressing room when she isn’t there (for the second time, I might add) and pouts after another rejection.  Then, when Christine returns, Raoul hides in her closet and upon hearing her utter “Poor Erik” immediately resents her, saying that he is the one deserving of pity, not this “Erik” person. (Leroux 112-114).  Raoul cares more about his own feelings than anyone else.  He’s even willing to kill to satisfy his own emotional longing.  When the Phantom spies on Raoul from the Viscount’s bedroom balcony and Raoul shoots at the Phantom, Raoul is questioned about the situation, and he says it was his “love rival” at whom he shot and that it’s a “pity” that Erik wasn’t killed (162-165).  I believed Raoul shot in self-defense until those two quotes.  Rather than an innocent lover, Raoul is like the Phantom, obsessive, possessive, and willing to do anything to obtain his desired Christine.

Now, I have read it claimed that this negative portrayal of foolish Raoul was intended by Leroux and that it was rather Christine’s relationship with Erik that held greater depth and importance.  My rebuttal to this is, if that was the case, then (1) why wasn’t the story told from Erik’s viewpoint, and (2) why did Raoul win?  By following Raoul, we are privy to all his selfish thoughts.  If we had followed the Phantom, not only could we have actually seen some of this assumed depth with Christine, Raoul could have been foolish and naive without being creepy.  He could have simply been a hopeless romantic, but by being in Raoul’s thoughts, we are exposed to how horrible he is.  And yet, he gets the girl.  Unless Leroux intended some (too) well camouflaged satire, this story’s ending, where Raoul and Christine live happily ever after, promotes twisted, possessive love (more on that next week).  Such a result I cannot accept, as it goes against the compassionate, self-sacrificing love to which Christians are called.

Let’s now turn to Orual and Psyche.  Orual loves Psyche, both in a motherly and sisterly sense, but it’s a selfish, possessive love.  Psyche, on the other hand, loves Orual but does not idolize their relationship.  She stands against Orual even when Orual thinks her crazy.  It is only when Orual threatens to kill herself that Psyche breaks (Lewis 158-167).  In my opinion, this actually shows that Psyche, too, loved her sister too much in that she disobeyed the god’s one command for the sake of her manipulative sister, but it also shows Psyche’s willingness to sacrifice for the sake of those she loves.  Psyche does not put her own good before Orual’s while Orual preys on this love, tainting it, as she does every instance of love in her life.

Speaking of other relationships, let’s look back at Raoul.  In Phantom, Raoul’s most important relationships are with Christine and his older brother.  By pursuing Christine and the Phantom, Raoul worries his brother, the brother wondering if his younger sibling might be crazy.  Eventually the brother, trying to stop Raoul’s foolishness, dies by the Phantom’s hands.  For all we know, this means nothing to Raoul, for we never see or hear about any reaction.  For the sake of his desre, Raoul destroys his close relationship with his brother and, as if it means nothing, goes and somehow lives a happy life with Christine, as if that relationship alone were invincible.  

In total contrast, all of Orual’s relationships crumble due to her possessive, obsessive love.  She frees the Fox from his position as a slave, but despite his longing to return to Greece, he remains with Orual.  Why?  Because she asks, she admits, like a child, “Do they mean you’ll leave me?  Go away?”  He speaks of his desire, a desire stronger than fear of death, to see his homeland, but after a while he changes his mind, this time using that danger of death as an excuse to stay (Lewis 207-210).  He loves Orual.  When she, now queen, makes herself so vulnerable to him, how could he, the loving tutor and grandfather figure that he is, leave her?  And so, he remains her captive. With Bardia, Orual develops romantic love for him, but Bardia is devoted to his wife, and Orual knows she cannot compete.  Instead, she shackles him to his work, draining him and leaving him too tired to spend time with his family (258-261).  She wants Bardia, so she keeps him to herself however she can, poisoning any pure love for him she might have held.  All her close relationships, Psyche, the Fox, and Bardia, Orual’s possessiveness twists.  She tries to “protect” Psyche but threatens and manipulates her; she “frees” the Fox but keeps him on a leash; she “loves” Bardia but destroys his health and happiness.  Every relationship Orual touches withers as she sucks all the love out of them like a parasite.

This is how a twisted view of love truly works.  It cannot be isolated.  It must spread, poisoning every relationship.  And that is one reason why Till We Have Faces surpasses The Phantom of the Opera.



Leroux, Gaston.  The Phantom of the Opera.  London: Penguin Group.  2008.  137.  Print.

Lewis, C. S.  Till We Have Faces.  New York: Houghton Harcourt Publishing Company.  1984.  Print.

Spoiler Shelf: The Letter That Started It All

The following is the word-for-word* transcription of the letter I started, but never finished, which first prompted me to consider starting a blog.  In writing it, I discovered the extent of my desire for dictating my impressions of the stories I read, when I found myself 6 pages in and only half done.  I did not wish to send my friend a 12+ page letter, so the letter remains unfinished, though in my possession.  I had intended to edit down the content, but time passed, and I began this blog, where the edited material shall be instead (hence the similarity/quotations of some points in my posts).  Now, two points: first, THERE WILL BE SPOILERS both for the stories mentioned and for my next two blog posts, and second, my thoughts today are not quite so emotionally charged as they were upon first writing the letter.  I have since been able to take a more distanced approach of one story, especially upon rereading it in order to have a more balanced view.  So, without further ado, let us dive into the letter that started it all:

*A few names have been removed for privacy reasons and spelling errors have been corrected, but besides that, word-for-word

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May 10, 2014

Dear X,

I have been meaning to write to you recently but had been undecided as to the content until I finished a certain, well-known classic book.  If, from that statement, you reasoned I'll make that book the topic of this letter, you are half correct.  I do wish to discuss the book, but primarily in comparison with another book, one I recently finished rereading, that addresses the same topic as the prior-mentioned classic: twisted love.  Both stories you know, or have at least heard of, but while their subject matter is related, their approaches to the subject of twisted love is very different, as are the skills of the authors behind the stories.  I suppose that's enough of an introduction, so let's move on to the comparison between C. S. Lewis's Till We Have Faces and Gaston Leroux's The Phantom of the Opera.

I believe in my last letter I mentioned I was rereading Lewis's Till We Have Faces, but in case I forgot to mention it, I will say that a few weeks ago I finished my third read through of the story; my first time being in literature class last year at R.  As you might be able to tell, and perhaps already know, I love that book!  I wrote to you about the impact the story had on me in realizing how I, like Orual, had become obsessed with my close relationships, such as my friendship with you, and how I was hurting myself and my impression of you.  Even now, a year later, I see myself, or at least my past self, in Orual.  As I read through, I found myself meditating on that time, feeling so thankful for the book, and really thinking about real love and what love means.  In other words, it's a story I can connect with, immerse myself in, and makes me think about myself and reality.  It's a powerful story to me.  However, Lewis did not just write a story; in my eyes and mind, he practically wrote a person.  That statement probably sounds silly, but I really think it's true.  Each time I read Till We Have Faces, Orual seems to become more and more real.  When I read the story, it doesn't feel to me like I'm reading a fictional narrative but the real account of an actual person's life.  I feel like I'm reading about a smart, rational, but sensitive person, driven to cling to any love or acceptance due to rejection from everyone around her and a sense of inferiority and worthlessness.  She wants a place because she has always felt pushed aside for her younger sister.  She is hurt and craves love, and when she receives some, she clings onto it, onto those pieces of joy and acceptance.  However, because she is afraid and insecure, she hangs on too tight, becoming jealous and obsessive, which eventually strangles any pure love she held towards others and twists it.  It's a tragic story of a real person with real emotional and mental pain that led to poor decisions and deception that had real, horrible consequences.  Perhaps I am reading things into the narrative, but as I contemplate Orual, those are my impressions.  The feeling of reality is boosted by Lewis's personal, natural-sounding writing style and the insertions of little cultural bits sprinkled throughout the story, as if Glome had been a real place.  What's more, Lewis wrote Orual's thoughts, how she came to those thoughts and her influences, in a matter that really seems/is logical.  We completely understand Orual's thought process and sympathize, even agree, with her.  Orual feels real, more so than any other fictional character I think I've ever encountered.

Finally, I wish to touch on the consequences of Orual's thoughts and actions as well as the story's ending.  I don't know if you've read the book, so I'll try not to say too much, starting with the consequences in the story.  I should probably mention that in discussing Orual's consequences, I will touch on the impact of other characters' thoughts and actions as well, as they influenced Orual's thoughts and actions in turn.

To summarize the ingredient of "consequences" in Faces, as far as I remember, pretty much every conversation or action has consequences.  Even things that, when read the first time, see to just be on the side are brought back up and have direct influence on the story, whether with plot or Orual's character.  The interactions between Orual and the three men closest to her, her father, the Fox, and Bardia, provide the best examples.  Their words shape Orual's view of the world, one which I think reflects lewis's own pre-Christian confusion of "reason vs. myth/super-naturalality", her view of her self, and impact her actions.  Each of these secondary characters, with their distinct attributes and human interactions, are irreplaceable in the narrative for their influence on Orual.  Other characters of more distant relation (in terms of human relation, not bloodlines) and less frequent appearance, like Orual's sister Redival and the girl's old gossip caretaker, are essential and distinct in their influence, their words and actions directing the flow of the narrative river.  However, (of course) it is Orual's actions, thoughts, and the application of those in relation to Psyche that are the most distinct in terms of consequences.  How Orual interacts with Psyche ends up destroying the relationship they had, and Orual's thoughts following impacts not only her own character but also the entire country of Glome.  Her thoughts and actions changer her country!  Rather interesting it is, though, that Lewis pretty much glosses over these changes to to nation, focusing on the destruction that Orual brings to her personal relationships.  Every single relationship of any significance mentioned in the story is ruined and twisted by Orual, the consequences of her thoughts and actions.  For most of the book, twisted love has triumphed, and we sympathize, pity, and reprimand Orual, for she sowed the seeds of destruction and reaped it.  In other words, Till We Have Faces is a record of twisted love and "real" (feels real) characters whose thoughts and actions have real, even far-reaching, consequences leading to a fitting climax and conclusion that I won't discuss here in case you haven't read the story.

These points in Faces pretty much describe everything lacking in Phatom.  My favorite summary of Phantom's issues in to say that it suffers from the same problems I hear most often when describing the Twilight series: two guys in an unexplainable love with a blank-slate female in a story where a side character is more interesting and the conclusion falls flat for lack of consequences.  Unlike with Faces, I will not spend much time on each point, as there isn't much to talk about, and I have no hard feelings about "spoiling" the story, not that there's much to spoil.  Actually, saying that there's not much to talk about is a bit too harsh, but I stand on my point about spoiling.  Most people know at least the general idea behind the plot, the solution to the mystery of the phantom, if you will.  Any other potential moment of tension or mystery, or rather most other, is ruined by the author himself.

I suppose this point, this destruction of tension, would be a good start for discussion.  I know it's not from the list of Twilight problems I mentioned, and not having read Twilight or watched the movies, I cannot say if this point applies.  However, this is not an academic paper and I do not want to skip this important point nor have to rewrite these late two pages for the sake of structure.  I ask you, as my reader, to forgive this selfish decision.  Now then, onward!

To understand better my problem with the lack of tension in this story, we must address the genre of the book.   The Phantom of the Opera is primarily a romance.  However, this is a point I wish to discuss later as this topic of tension relates more to the story's secondary genre: mystery.  Within the mystery genre, what makes a good mystery?  In my opinion, it is not the idea of the audience getting to try and solve the case before the detective (which would exclude most, if not all, of the Sherlock Holmes mysteries) but rather the author's ability to keep the reader in suspense.  We want to know who did it, how and why.  We want to know if there will be more thefts or murders or whatever.  We want to know if justice will prevail and the criminal stopped, but we won't know unless we read.  Solving mysteries along the way beside the detective is what makes us read all the in between stuff and is a large appeal of many mystery masters like Agatha Christie, but it's the answers to the questions who, how, why, and what happens next that the reader is searching for.  The tension of not knowing the answers and always feeling like a piece is missing or just out of reach is the great fun of a good mystery.  Now then, if the questions and tension of finding answers is what makes a good mystery, what makes a great mystery?  The answer is the same for every great book: even when you know the answers, even when you know what will happen, the story still takes you in.  I know many people do end up getting sucked time and time again into even bad, poorly written stories, otherwise Phantom and Twilight wouldn't still be around, but please hear me out.  The point I am making is that a truly great mystery can pull you into the mystery even when the tension is, supposedly, gone.  My example is Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Lewis Stevenson.  Although I knew the story, although I had seen more than on adaptation of the story, although I knew the answers to just about every questions a mystery addresses, I was still sucked in.  I knew the answers, but I was still caught up in the mystery: finding clues, seeing foreshadowing, accompanying the "detective" as he tried to find the answer.  The tension that should have been gone grabbed me and kept me hooked.  For that reason alone (and there are others) I think Jekyll and Hyde can be considered a great mystery.

So after all that discussion about mystery stories, what about Phantom?  How does it measure up?  Well, right from the start it faces the same problem Jekyll and Hyde does: pretty much everyone knows the solution.   Everyone knows the identity of the Phantom, or at least has a general idea.  With this, the tension is already weakened.  However, even if this were not the case, Phantom would not be a good mystery, let alone a great one because Leroux did not know how to write tension... pretty much at all.  To illustrate, I wish to address a non-mystery scene.  The illustration involves two of the three main characters, the protagonist, Raoul, and the object of the story's love triangle, Christine.  In this scene, Raoul, wishing after much effort to finally separate Christine from the Phantom, confronts her on the identity of this supposed specter.  Christine complies, describing the first encounter she had and everything between then and now.  She confessed and re-confesses that she loves Raoul but says she cannot be with him for fear of the Phantom.  Raoul responds by declaring they should run away together, escape the Phantom, and be free together.  Christine, who has been nervous all day and constantly checking Raoul's words and actions in case the Phantom might overhear them (in fact she brings Raoul to the roof of the opera house so they can converse in secret), agrees to run away with Raoul after a performance the following night she promised the Phantom she would do, if I remember correctly.  Okay, so, looking at this scene, it had potential for great tension, wondering if they might succeed or perhaps be stopped as they try to run or even before they get a chance and however many other possibilities might be there.  Where did the tension break?  Right.  From.  The.  Beginning.

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And there you have it.  As I said, the letter remained unfinished, and while I might have writing something following this last paragrapm (it's been nearly a year, so I don't know), I cannot find it.  I hope the overly-long paragraphs were not too out-putting, and I pray you had a wonderful Christmas and do have a Happy New Year, 2015! :)

Sincerely,
V. A. Boston

Spoiler Shelf: The Chronicles of Prydain vs The Lord of the Rings

Last post, I discussed a novel series called The Chronicles of Prydain, and while I spoke of enjoying the stories, I mentioned there to be two major issues I encountered.  The first involved the generic nature of the fantasy world.  The second I shall unpack in this post.

Before I go on, I wish to give fair warning.  As the post title says, from here on out there will be spoilers.  If you intend to read either Prydain or The Lord of the Rings, I suggest you skip this post until you finish them.  Finished reading or simply don’t care about spoilers?  Okay.  Then let’s move on.

In case you somehow did not gather this from the previous post, I like The Chronicles of Prydain.  I love the characters, the connected themes gave me an increased appreciation for theme as a whole, and the varied plot lines kept me interested in the events.  I think they are excellent children’s literature.  However, there is one part, a vital part, of the series I thought poorly done: the conclusion.  More accurately, I do not think the ending is necessarily bad but rather badly executed.

Looking back up to the blog title, you might have figured out the nature of the ending.  This story, just like The Lord of the Rings, ends with characters, including main characters, leaving Prydain for another land where there is no pain, suffering, or death.  To be more specific, any evidence of magic, including people who can use magic, and the descendants of Prydain’s version of the Dúnedain, must leave Prydain after the Death-Lord, Arawn, is destroyed.  Like the elves leaving Middle Earth, it is time for the rule of men and for magic to leave for the “Undying Lands,” with the main character offered a place on the ship for the service he has done in the war.¹ The major difference between the two endings, though, is that while Frodo left Middle Earth after his duty was fulfilled, Taran remains in Prydain, feeling he has duties he must not abandon.

Right off the bat, you might understand some of my frustration.  Already the land of Prydain has a sense of a generic, fantasy world.  Now, at the end, there’s a near copy of Tolkien’s ending.  However, while this does bother me, I can forgive Alexander due to just how different the stories themselves are.  The Chronicles of Prydain is far from a Lord of the Rings knockoff, even with some strong similarities.

No, my issue is not that Alexander wrote the ending like Tolkien’s trilogy’s but that he executed it poorly.  The ending comes out of nowhere!  Not once in the whole story has there been even the hint that, with the Arawn killed, magic and those who use it must leave Prydain, and because it was so sudden, the ending left me totally unsatisfied, which is perhaps the worst feeling upon which a story can end.

Contrast that with The Lord of the Rings.  From part one, we know the elves are leaving Middle Earth.  Frodo and Sam encounter and befriend a troop of elves who speak of soon going to Grey Havens to sail to the West.² Then, after the ring is destroyed and Aragorn (now King Elessar) marries the elf Arwen, Arwen tells Frodo he is welcome to take her place on the ship, should he choose it.  After this, the hobbits end up accompanying the elves Galadriel and her husband as they head in the direction of the Harbor.  All this keeps telling us that the elves are leaving.  Magic is departing from Middle Earth.  The Third age is ending, and it is time for the Age of Men.  Frodo’s fate has been foreshadowed.

Then, after reclaiming the Shire from Saruman’s scouring and during the description of the next few years, we realize not all is well.  Over time, Frodo has become increasingly sick.  The wound he received from the Nazgul on Weathertop in The Fellowship causes him pain and illness, even with the ring destroyed.  He has suffered so much, all for the sake of going back to his simple, peaceful life, and yet he can never return.  He can never go back.

Therefore, when he tells Sam he shall accompany Bilbo to the Undying Lands, our hearts are broken with Sam’s because we don’t want Mister Frodo to leave, but we know he must.  If ever he is to find healing, he must go.  And so we let him.  With shattered hearts and tears soaking our cheeks, we watch him sail away.  Then, when Tolkien writes “Frodo… heard the sound of singing that came over the water.  And it seemed to him… the grey rain-curtain turned all to silver glass and was rolled back, and he beheld white shores and beyond them a far green country under a swift sunrise,” we cry tears of joy, for we know.³ We know Frodo can finally rest.

In that moment, we know the story has earned this ending.  In Prydain, there is no such sense.  Because there was practically no build up into this ending, I felt cheated.  What is this other land?  Why do they have to leave?  There had been no sign that such a thing was or had to happen.  It didn’t make sense.  The only consolation I could find upon later consideration is that the ending fit the tone of the final volume.  The last volume of The Chronicles of Prydain is a story about loss, sacrifice, and knowing you must still live.  Even with a broken and heavy heart, there are things that must be done, promises that must be kept, and so we must live on.  However, even without the out of the blue ending, I think that message had been transmitted.  We didn’t need a sudden twist ending without foreshadow.  We didn’t need an ending that had not been earned.

Satisfaction in stories comes in receiving what was deserved, and as much as I love The Chronciles of Prydain, I do not think the story, or we readers, deserved that ending.

¹Alexander, Lloyd.  The High King.  New York: Henry Holt and Company, 1968.  Print.

²Tolkien, J. R. R.  The Fellowship of the Ring.  New York: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1987.  Print.

³Tolkien, J. R. R.  The Return of the King.  New York: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1987.  Print.