Stories

I watched Avatar last night. It was everything I'd heard it to be: visually stunning and predictable. A friend called it what might happen if you tossed "Dances with Wolves, Pocahontas, Ferngully and various Miyazaki films into a blender and pulsed." That's about right. And yet, I loved it.

Before I get to the meat of this, I have to give the story tellers props for putting me on the most believable alternate planet I have viewed since I first saw The Dark Crystal. I also thought the Na'vi were a believable fantasy race. Sure, they were 75% American Indian with a few dashes of Arab and African thrown in for good measure (just in case we missed apologizing to anyone we've pissed off in the last 300 years), but they worked as well as many races I've read in books. And it's terribly common (guilty too) of taking what we know about this world and altering it just slightly to make it somebody new, so I give them credit for taking the time to develop and show the same sort of background I might find in a book. It made me care...and that's important in a story with which we are all very culturally familiar.

Which brings me to the meat. Avatar was predictable, and this wasn't a bad thing? No.
I'm a tree-hugging, pagan-leaning, anthropologist at heart, and thus the story of progress-against-(in this case literally) Mother Nature and ethnographer-falls for the study subject and becomes more like the subject than the establishment are always appealing.

It got me thinking about something we'd discussed on the first night of class, back in September. There are only so many stories. Just as there are archetypal figures, there are archetypal stories. Certain of these types are always going to work for certain people, so of course I went to sleep last night, making a list of what else will work for me, so long as the story isn't poorly constructed in addition to following a predictable pattern.

I have come up with the following things, and gods help me if a story has more than one of these. It could have flying pink kittens, I would probably still gush over it.

1. The noble savage (agh, kill me now...I am a product of American literature...you win Prof Olson, you win) ;

2. Good ol' Sacred Earth. This, of course, is rarely without the noble savage, but I think I can list them separately 'cause they are not necessarily dependent on one another;

I think I enjoy noble savage/sacred earth stories because it becomes easy to cast one group, or character, as the bad guy, responsible for bringing "civilization" with its accompaniment of pollution and culture-crushing values to the scene.
Cheering against this villain, allows me to feel righteous (as awful as that sounds). Not that I don't drive as much as the next 21st century American (less than some I'm sure, but still...like my car). I don't always do well with not wasting, etc. It's my favorite sort of escapism.
I can also channel my Great White Guilt in these stories. I have taken my ancestors' poor decisions up like a cross. I should really let it go, but it dogs me, and I don't know why. I just always like to see a supposedly dominant power go down in flames for their narrow-mindedness/fear and shallow goal-driven lunacy.
This also sets up a values fight. Almost always: possible financial gain v. things that matter to the soul. It's nice to imagine a world where financial gain isn't always going to come out on top as the most important thing.

3. A redemption story (especially if a character dies to redeem his or her actions, allowing the hero/ine to do what they need to do: RIP S. Snape.);

The reasons for enjoying redemption are a maybe a little more difficult. I have long been aware that few things warm the cockles of my heart more than a "me for him" sort of situation. (And not in a lover/beloved sort of way. That still leaves a wreck of a person behind, and I can't stand to think about it.) If a character who has been a consistent thorn makes a sacrifice, I go all mushy. Maybe I just want to believe in the good in people. I'm guilty of being a Luke Skywalker. "There is good in him. I feel it." It seems like there should be more, but I don't know what it is yet. I've thought about this one for years, and have yet to come to the bottom of it.

4. I also like a good pilgrimage: hero/ine goes away for one reason or another and returns changed and strong. Related to this, there is the story of finding voice and the ability to do what one did not think one was capable of doing.
I love this because I firmly believe in the changing power of an out-of-the-box experience. My enjoyment of this story is firmly rooted in art behaving as life should. (Now, if only my life could move through its current "learning" phase into the "found voice and strength" phase in a classy montage with some uplifting music. I'd like to put in a request for the lovely choral music from The Lion King when Simba is running back to Pride Rock. Thanks.)

(Included as sub-categories of the pilgrimage are the sibling story and the mentor-student story. A split in either important relationship can cause the pilgrimage, and the end point of both--after voice is found--should properly be a laying aside of pride and learning on both ends. It doesn't always happen that way, but then the reader/viewer learns something. That's worthwhile too.)

So thank you, movie with rainforest-dwelling phosphorescent humanoids for reminding me that "predictable" isn't always bad. Sometimes "predictable" just means "archetypal", and that takes a story from boring to important, whether or no the visuals are mind-blowing.

Ways of Knowing #1

Of all the classrooms, in all the universities in the country, I had to walk into this one. And it was right! Sure...it's going to be some pretty fluffy learnin', but I've got a BA in English. I remember fluffy learnin'.

In which you read something and sit around a table and talk about it for several hours. I found myself writing down things JN was saying just because, not even because they were necessarily going to be pertinent. This, I feel, must be a good sign.

The difficulty I already know I'm going to have with this course--a course about "Great Stories", archetypes and "restorying" the world--will be keeping a healthy distance from it. So far, the things we have been assigned to read have felt like things I would choose to self-therapy my way through my current personal situation as well as all the build up from the past. (Using the phrase 'build up' makes me feel like my life is hair that has been overly styled.)

There were times, the other night, as I listened to my classmates speak in wise and complex sentences, that I felt just as I had in my philosophy of religion course as a first year in college: in over my head with nothing to add but overly personal details.

This is going to be good for me. Whoa what? Yes. This will, in fact, be good for me.

I have, in the past, approached education from the back of a draft horse. I am lookin' down on the world, 'cause I'm such a big fat smarty pants. Education was what I did. I looked for knowledge as a way to set myself apart from (and often above) the unbathed masses. (Holy hubris Batman!) This time around, the feeling is different. I am entering into a something very purposefully. I am driven by a goal that feels like something beyond myself. This, of course, also sounds New Age-tastic, but it's the only way I can phrase it right now.

I am beginning to understand the concept of Call. I still thumb my nose at the church-hiring process, (the concept of "receiving a call" as though from god, and not from a bunch of men and women sitting around a table in a church basement), but as I begin my religion-studying, I find the word popping into my brain more often with less sneering.

It is because I would like, someday, to be able to sit down with someone and lead them through their own personal version of Inanna's story--or Christ's--leading someone out of their own underworld. 'cause if I can get off my own damn meat hook/cross/tree of life/what-have-you, I can only hope to give someone else the spiritual/archetypal tools to do the same.

But this set of thoughts is exactly why keeping a healthy distance from the material is going to be difficult. It will be hard to discuss the archetypical importance of Odysseus' journey when I'm thinking very obviously of my own seven years lost on Calypso's island.

It will take focus, but focus has been distinctly lacking as of late. I look forward to it.