AKA: The paper that I wrote instead of following a Meaningful Hint from my professor.
The backstory with this is that when I was graduating BYU with my Bachelor’s Degree (a 4-year degree, for those not familiar with the terminology) I took my English Capstone class from someone who was extremely into Jazz. Now, I like Jazz, but not enough to try to weave it through an English paper. I had known for about a year already that I wanted to write it on something Tam Lin related.
So I did.
This is my actual final English paper from my actual final English class. And if you like this, you should read the book that come out of it: Oak and Ivy.
IMPORTANT NOTE: If you want to quote this (for some reason, I can’t think of why you would, but people keep surprising me) please email me before you do and get permission. #nopiratesplease
Rebekah Isert (and Mitzi the Cat)
ENGL 495
April 18, 2018
Bards, Pictures, and Old Ladies: Helpers in Retellings of Tam Lin
Every story begins with crisis. The hero or heroine begins their journey, and something goes horrifically wrong, threatening to change their universe forever. There are many ways the story can diverge after the crisis point, but often the Author gives the hero a little help by pointing them in the right direction, or giving that valuable piece of insight or information that lets them know which way to go. At first blush, the help the characters receive can seem like a cop out, or an uninspired piece of Deus Ex Machina—a randomly supplied solution to an unsolvable problem. If it is clumsily done it can be hard to suspend one’s disbelief. However, if the help is provided in a way that blends in with the story, such as providing the clues through helpers along the way, the helpers can provide a facet to the story that may end up meaning more to the audience than the main characters themselves. In Scottish folklore, the ballad of Tam Lin is a wild ride of adventure. As with many folkloric ballads, there are several different versions of the story with a smaller or larger cast of characters. E.B. Lyle, in “The Opening of “Tam Lin” describes the basic story as that of Tam Lin, and how Queen of the Fairies wants to use him as a “tithe to Hell” (Tam Lin). However, he is saved by the heroine Janet, who by holding onto him and laying claim to him renders Tam Lin ineligible for the sacrifice. The most common version that is circulated and used as source material for later retellings is the 1792 version published in Johnson’s Museum, labeled for consistent identification as “Child Ballad 39A” (Acland). This version will be the base source material for our purposes.
Fire and Hemlock by Diana Wynne Jones, The Perilous Gard by Elizabeth Marie Pope, The Mirk and Midnight Hour by Jane Nickerson, and The Dark Realm by Anthea Sharp are four retellings of Tam Lin that follow the story quite closely, and are solid narratives in and of themselves. However, something that they all have in common with each other and not with the original ballad, is that in each novel there is some sort of element that helps Janet and Tam Lin in their quest, often by giving key hints or offering special insight that aids the hero on their way. Although there is always a risk associated with the inclusion of a supporting character, as they might unwittingly lessen the crisis that is facing the main character, I suggest that the opposite is true. In each of the novels that I have previously indicated, the supporting “helper” characters not only help the main characters on their way, but ultimately help the audience grow as well, particularly as we, as the audience, are taken from “regular fiction” to fantasy in every instance, or from our own world to one that includes magic that we (and the main characters) are unfamiliar with. The use of a supporting character, while not used in the original ballad, helps the audience make the transition between worlds smoothly, while introducing vital information and often giving context in each case. In each novel, the influence of the helper varies, due to the method of help provided (an old photograph in Fire and Hemlock versus a full-blooded Bard in The Perilous Gard, for instance) but the effect is the same: the Janet character is able to save Tam Lin. We will examine the way that each novel helps the audience transition from real-life to fantasy, look at an important instance from each book where this supporting element makes a vital difference in the book, and finally examine briefly whether or not the exposure indicates the actual importance of the supporting role.
In Diana Wynne Jones’s Fire and Hemlock, the book opens with the main character Polly, Fire and Hemlock’s Janet, in a period of transition. She is about to go away to another year of college, and is apparently doing everything she can to procrastinate packing. She looks up from her book to her wall, where there is a large color photo. She remarks, “There had been a time, some years back, when she had gazed at that picture and thought it marvelous. Dark figures had seemed to materialize out to its dark centre—strong, running dark figures—always at least four of them, racing to beat out the flames in the foreground. There had been times when you could see the figures quite clearly. Other times they had been shrouded in the rising smoke. There had even been a horse in it sometimes. Not now… It was a haunting picture. It was called Fire and Hemlock” (Jones 3-4). This picture is a central image throughout the story, and as we find how Polly got it, how it changes throughout the story according to what is happening in the book, and how it reminds Polly of her long forgotten past, it morphs from a convenient or central image into a mainstay of the novel and how we as the audience can track much of the ensuing fantasy. The way that it wakes Polly’s mind up to her “double memories”, which allow her to save her Tam Lin counterpart, lends itself to the supporting role as no other character in the book does. The photograph supports the audience as we transition from assuming that this book is based in our normal, magic-less world and are able to swallow the many, sometimes unbelievable, revelations. We see these revelations through Polly’s observations about the painting, and our perspective and knowledge is broadened as well, especially as we are taken through the introduction to and then results of magic in the novel. As a rhetorical device, the use of the photograph is a particularly strong move, as in a novel it is generally considered an unwise idea to “info-dump” on your readers, giving them all the necessary information to understand the novel all at once. Rather, by giving the information to them piece by piece makes it easier to remember, but also makes connections much clearer to each other, and the reader can experience the character’s journey with them. If we look at the experience of reading the book as a whole, John Dewey’s words, from his article “Having an Experience” offers this insight, “An experience has pattern and structure, because it is not just doing and undergoing in alternation, but consists of them in relationship” (44). More than simply not info dumping, the fact that Jones uses this painting as a metaphorical mirror to what we learn about the characters aids us in our understanding of the plot, and what is going on magically, thus creating a fuller and deeper experience.
The Perilous Gard also makes use of a supporting role, but uses a human character rather than an object. Elizabeth Marie Pope describes Randal through the eyes of his master, Sir Geoffrey, “He’s a minstrel—one of the old wandering breed, always on the road. I took him in one harvest time years ago when he came ill with the fever to my door in Norfolk, and he’s been drifting back now and again ever since. Don’t be frightened when you see him…The fever nearly killed him, and he never got his wits back properly afterward” (21). Randal has an interesting role, being familiar with the legend Tam Lin from the start—which in the context of this story is a true account that nobody believes is real—and is able to give Katherine Sutton, The Perilous Gard’s Janet character, the information that she needs. He is able to do this without attracting attention to himself because of his mental state. We find out later in the book that the Lady—the Queen of the Fairies—purposefully snapped his wits, as she wished for him to continue his visits, but not have any of his otherworldly stories about the fairy folk believed in the human world. However, Katherine not only finds meaning in his ramblings, but each turn in the plot is usually driven by one of Randal’s revelations, or is aided by him in some way. The first part of the plot includes Christopher’s (the Tam Lin character’s) niece disappearing, and it is only through Randal that Katherine and Christopher realize that she was kidnapped by the Fairies, who were going to use her to pay the tiend, or the “Tithe to Hell” (Tam Lin). Christopher offers himself to the Fairies in his niece’s place, putting him into jeopardy. When the Fairies also abduct Katherine, because she knows of their existence, she sends word to Sir Geoffrey to come rescue both her and Christopher through Randal. When Katherine gets to the point where she needs to know how to leave the Fairy realm and free Christopher, Randal is able to recite the necessary lines to inform her of how she should go about it. All of these things are possible because of who he is and how people see him, which make him an extra special supporting character; however, the information he gives Katherine and Christopher is often not immediately clear, allowing the characters a chance to grow as they have to puzzle through Randal’s words. Again, Dewey’s words come to mind, and we see how Randal makes many of the necessary connections that make the resolution of the story so satisfying; however, an added perspective can be contributed by Burke, who remarks, “form in literature is an arousing and fulfilling of desires: one part of a work leads the reader to anticipate another part and to be gratified by the sequence” (1964b 104). In essence, Burke is saying that when we construct a narrative, events occur in an action-and-consequence style, which, when fully resolved, can be very satisfying. The reason why Randal is so satisfying as a supporting character is because of this particular principle—because he helps set up problems and expectations for solving the problems, but ultimately is also the key to having it all work out right in the end. The Perilous Gard also has an interesting hurdle between reality and fantasy, and that is the inclusion of Christianity alongside the obviously pagan Fairy religion. Although Randal does not have much interaction with this issue, we see how Katherine takes his knowledge seriously, as she later equates the fairies’ tithe with the Crucifixion of Jesus Christ, trying to convince the Lady that through Jesus’s atonement, Christopher did not need to be killed, as Christ’s sacrifice covered all mankind, and kept a kind of magic in the earth. Although Katherine’s suggestion is ultimately rejected, the Lady also does not appear to discount this particular connection. Pope seems to use it as an explicative passage, for the audience to better understand what is going on with Christopher and the type of sacrifice that he is being asked to make. This is a point where the support of Randal helps Katherine to shine on her own, and make her own steps forward, and not have everything solved for her.
One of the issues that an author can encounter, however, is when they want the focus to be on their main character and no one else. To illustrate this in more detail, I will cover The Dark Realm by Anthea Sharp and The Mirk and Midnight Hour by Jane Nickerson in conjunction with each other. As opposed to The Perilous Gard and Fire and Hemlock, there was not such a strong correlation between the supporting, exposition-carrying character as there was in the first two novels that we examined. It is arguable whether or not they exist in the within the confines of the story—in The Dark Realm, there is a bard character who presents a reality of what will happen should Jennet not defeat the Queen, and gives her the vital information in the same way that Randal does. However, because he has already made a bargain with the Queen, the bard, Thomas Rimer, is effectively useless for anything but information. This, in conjunction with appearing for the first time over halfway through the story—although we hear about him before then—makes him a less effective supporting character, no matter how much Jennet likes him. In The Mirk and Midnight Hour, there are multiple characters that give Violet (the Janet character) the snippets of information that she needs, whether to be safe, or insights about other characters, or even offer her protection. These include her family’s slave, Laney; Miss Rose Jewel, a dying gossip in the town; and bees that come at her call, and in the end save her from a dangerous situation with a man in the latter part of the book. Each of these elements helps Violet in her quest to save Thomas Lynd from the Voodoo practitioners, this story’s version of Fairies. None of these supporting characters are as strong influences, individually or collectively, as the painting in Fire and Hemlock or Randal in The Perilous Gard. However, despite the lack of exposure that these elements have in each story, they are examples of the supportive role.
According to Robert Heath in “Kenneth Burke on Form,” “Form consists of the expression of an idea in such a manner that the expectations of the audience are met by the resolution of the idea. Herein is the universal appeal of form” (404). Simply put, even if our idea of a supporting role is not presented how we think it should be, it does not mean that it is not present. Rather, what matters is the fact that the support is true to its role once it is presented. In the case of The Dark Realm, Thomas Rimer is able to impress upon Jennet and Tam Linn the gravity of Jennet’s situation, especially where Tam Linn did not previously understand. She is the one who is at first at risk of falling victim to the tiend, and would thus be the one to die. Thomas is the one that sets Jennet and Tam—and the audience—straight in what is going on in terms of plot, making sure that everyone knows what Jennet and Tam have to defeat by the end of the book and precisely what is at stake. There are a couple of reasons why this example of a supporting character might be viewed as less than effective. Firstly, Thomas is a rather benign character, and does not seem to be invested enough to actually doing anything to help Jennet or Tam other than giving them information. This may be in part because of the curse that he himself is under, but it sends a crack through the complete picture of his supporting role. Secondly, Thomas has made a bargain with the main villain, which undermines his believability as a truly good character. Because of this bargain, the trust that the audience has in him is undershot, and a suspicion of double-crossing follows him as he gives the heroes information. Thankfully, neither of these reasons is realized and, true to the supporting role, Thomas gives them enough information to help them on their way, provided that they can figure it out for themselves. In this way, he completely fulfills the expectation of the audience. What throws Thomas onto unsteady ground in terms of being “supportive” is his standing between the heroes and the villains. Thomas also fulfills the role of bridge between fantasy and reality. Although it is late in the novel, he is the one who reinforces the idea through exposition that magic, and not just advanced science, exists in their world. By still existing in the game that Jennet’s soul gets trapped in, despite his body having died in the real world, he is a living testament to that magic, and it is impossible for Jennet and Tam to deny it. These elements continually reinforce Thomas’s character in his supportive role, although he is not as strong of a case as Randal or the Fire and Hemlock painting.
In The Mirk and Midnight Hour, the issue of less-than-supporting characters is even more pronounced. Although there are many people who are feeding Violet information, including some of the antagonists, none of them do it very consistently, which leads Violet to assemble and make sense of a lot of the information herself. Though this does wonders for her development as a character, it seems to detach her from the rest of her community as a whole. Violet also has non-human helpers: the bees that appear in this story. Like the painting in Fire and Hemlock, these bees cannot be called characters like Randal or Thomas Rimer, as they do not verbally impart information to help Violet. Additionally, unlike the painting in Fire and Hemlock, the bees come closer to being a Deux Ex Machina than a supporting character. We first come in contact with the bees right after a disturbing incident involving one of the antagonists of the book. The bees come to Violet after she recites an incantation, and contrary to what might be expected she is calmed and reassured and is able to continue on her way. Later on, in one or two separate encounters, the bees act in a limited instructive role such as pointing out a direction that she should go or highlighting an object. They are the most active at the end of the book, during the rising action to the final climax during an encounter with that same antagonist as before. The bees form a protective shield, ready to defend Violet again. At first encounter, it would be easy to discount the bees’ necessity, or even acknowledge their role as part of Violet’s support system. However, because they do support Violet in her quest and accomplish the particular purpose that they are presented for, the bees are an effective support mechanism. They are also a particularly interesting example of being a bridge between fantasy and reality, because of their odd behavior. Their “magical” quality is introduced in the novel long before any of the magic from the villains, and it is through this small step that the audience not only sympathizes more with Violet, because she is special, but also is able to accept more of the threatening magic in the book as it comes. This expectation setting fits in directly with Heath, as the audience’s expectations are first set, and then developed and fulfilled throughout the rest of the book.
One of the issues that this study creates is why is there a need for supporting characters at all? What is the point, since the novel, or short story, or whatever we are reading is focused on the main character anyway? One answer to this, of course, is the necessity of having support characters present a more well-rounded main character to the audience. One of many issues people have with Sherlock Holmes, for example, is that he is almost completely autonomous, and does not need to rely on anyone, to the point that many adaptations portray him as either a very proud fellow or with mental health issues. By having a support system for the main character, there is a element of humility and dependence in the main character, which often makes them more likable in both to the audience and the other characters. This aids the author in presenting a desirable story with characters that the audience can invest in. Kenneth Burke comments “It is easy to state the difference speculatively, schematically, in the language of criticism—but only the arts can saturate themselves with such changes of attitude imaginatively, personally. And surely this is their great virtue, as regards their contribution to the arts of the living” (1964a 158-9). These examples, whether their direct influence is great, like Randal, or small, like the bees, are varied, but they make a difference in the main characters’ personal development. By accepting the help of the supporting characters, not only is the main character showing humility, which has moral consequences for the audience, but also adds the ability to relate to characters, helping the audience see themselves in the story.. No art is ever just art, and we see that in these adaptations of Tam Lin.
Works Cited
Acland, A. “Tam Lin.” Tam Lin Balladry, 1997, http://www.tam-lin.org/.
Burke, Kenneth. “Art and the First Rough Draft of Living.” Modern Age, 8:2, Spring 1964, pp 155-165.
Burke, Kenneth. “On Form.” The Hudson Review, 17:1, Spring 1964, pp 102-109.
Dewey, John. “Having An Experience.” Art as Experience, Milton, Balch & Co, New York, 1934, pp 35-57.
Heath, Robert. “Kenneth Burke on Form.” Quarterly Journal of Speech, 1979, pp 392-404.
Lyle, E. B. “The Opening of ‘Tam Lin.’” The Journal of American Folklore, vol. 83, no. 327, 1970, pp. 33–43. JSTOR, JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/538780.
Jones, Diana Wynne. Fire and Hemlock. Firebird, 2012.
Nickerson, Jane. The Mirk and Midnight Hour. Ember, 2015.
Pope, Elizabeth Marie. The Perilous Gard. Houghton Mifflin, 2001.
Sharp, Anthea. Feyland: The Dark Realm. CreateSpace, 2011.