A Voyage to Arcturus by David Lindsay (the false prince series .TXT) 📕
Description
On hearing the title A Voyage to Arcturus, one might picture an astronaut strapping themselves into a rocket and flying into space for a swashbuckling adventure. Nothing could be further from what this book actually is.
Voyage is in fact a fascinating, bizarre, bewildering, and thought-provoking sort of acid-fueled Pilgrim’s Progress: a philosophical allegory told through the frame of a psychedelic gender-bending journey to an alien planet.
After a terrifying séance, the protagonist, Maskull, is offered the chance of an adventure on a different world. He agrees, and the reader follows him on his blood-soaked path through lands representing different philosophies and ways of life as he searches for the world’s godhead, Surtur. Or is it Crystalman?
Voyage features fiction wildly ahead of its time, and is hardly classifiable as either science fiction or fantasy; one might even say that the book is better approached as a philosophical work than a straightforward narrative. It’s not a book for a reader seeking simple fiction, but rather for a reader seeking a thoughtful, imaginative, and totally unexpected exploration of philosophy and of life.
Decades ahead of its time, Voyage was praised by contemporaries like C. S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien, and by modern authors like Clive Barker and Alan Moore. Many modern reviewers consider it a masterpiece of 20th century fiction and the work of an underappreciated genius. A century later it boasts a significant cult following, having inspired movies, plays, albums, and even operas, as well as a modern sequel by famous literary critic Harold Bloom—the only work of fiction he ever wrote.
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- Author: David Lindsay
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The corpse lay underneath the tree with its face upturned. Maskull viewed it attentively, and as he did so an expression of awe and wonder came into his own countenance. In the moment of death Crimtyphon’s face had undergone a startling and even shocking alteration. Its personal character had wholly vanished, giving place to a vulgar, grinning mask which expressed nothing.
He did not have to search his mind long to remember where he had seen the brother of that expression. It was identical with that on the face of the apparition at the séance, after Krag had dealt with it.
X TydominOceaxe sat down carelessly on the couch of mosses, and began eating the plums.
“You see, you had to kill him, Maskull,” she said, in a rather quizzical voice.
He came away from the corpse and regarded her—still red, and still breathing hard. “It’s no joking matter. You especially ought to keep quiet.”
“Why?”
“Because he was your husband.”
“You think I ought to show grief—when I feel none?”
“Don’t pretend, woman!”
Oceaxe smiled. “From your manner one would think you were accusing me of some crime.”
Maskull literally snorted at her words. “What, you live with filth—you live in the arms of a morbid monstrosity and then—”
“Oh, now I grasp it,” she said, in a tone of perfect detachment.
“I’m glad.”
“Well, Maskull,” she proceeded, after a pause, “and who gave you the right to rule my conduct? Am I not mistress of my own person?”
He looked at her with disgust, but said nothing. There was another long interval of silence.
“I never loved him,” said Oceaxe at last, looking at the ground.
“That makes it all the worse.”
“What does all this mean—what do you want?”
“Nothing from you—absolutely nothing—thank heaven!”
She gave a hard laugh. “You come here with your foreign preconceptions and expect us all to bow down to them.”
“What preconceptions?”
“Just because Crimtyphon’s sports are strange to you, you murder him—and you would like to murder me.”
“Sports! That diabolical cruelty.”
“Oh, you’re sentimental!” said Oceaxe contemptuously. “Why do you need to make such a fuss over that man? Life is life, all the world over, and one form is as good as another. He was only to be made a tree, like a million other trees. If they can endure the life, why can’t he?”
“And this is Ifdawn morality!”
Oceaxe began to grow angry. “It’s you who have peculiar ideas. You rave about the beauty of flowers and trees—you think them divine. But when it’s a question of taking on this divine, fresh, pure, enchanting loveliness yourself, in your own person, it immediately becomes a cruel and wicked degradation. Here we have a strange riddle, in my opinion.”
“Oceaxe, you’re a beautiful, heartless wild beast—nothing more. If you weren’t a woman—”
“Well”—curling her lip—“let us hear what would happen if I weren’t a woman?”
Maskull bit his nails.
“It doesn’t matter. I can’t touch you—though there’s certainly not the difference of a hair between you and your boy-husband. For this you may thank my ‘foreign preconceptions.’ … Farewell!”
He turned to go. Oceaxe’s eyes slanted at him through their long lashes.
“Where are you off to, Maskull?”
“That’s a matter of no importance, for wherever I go it must be a change for the better. You walking whirlpools of crime!”
“Wait a minute. I only want to say this. Blodsombre is just starting, and you had better stay here till the afternoon. We can quickly put that body out of sight, and, as you seem to detest me so much, the place is big enough—we needn’t talk, or even see each other.”
“I don’t wish to breathe the same air.”
“Singular man!” She was sitting erect and motionless, like a beautiful statue. “And what of your wonderful interview with Surtur, and all the undone things which you set out to do?”
“You aren’t the one I shall speak to about that. But”—he eyed her meditatively—“while I’m still here you can tell me this. What’s the meaning of the expression on that corpse’s face?”
“Is that another crime, Maskull? All dead people look like that. Ought they not to?”
“I once heard it called ‘Crystalman’s face.’ ”
“Why not? We are all daughters and sons of Crystalman. It is doubtless the family resemblance.”
“It has also been told me that Surtur and Crystalman are one and the same.”
“You have wise and truthful acquaintances.”
“Then how could it have been Surtur whom I saw?” said Maskull, more to himself than to her. “That apparition was something quite different.”
She dropped her mocking manner and, sliding imperceptibly toward him, gently pulled his arm.
“You see—we have to talk. Sit down beside me, and ask me your questions. I’m not excessively smart, but I’ll try to be of assistance.”
Maskull permitted himself to be dragged down with soft violence. She bent toward him, as if confidentially, and contrived that her sweet, cool, feminine breath should fan his cheek.
“Aren’t you here to alter the evil to the good, Maskull? Then what does it matter who sent you?”
“What can you possibly know of good and evil?”
“Are you only instructing the initiated?”
“Who am I, to instruct anybody? However, you’re quite right. I wish to do what I can—not because I am qualified, but because I am here.”
Oceaxe’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You’re a giant, both in body and soul. What you want to do, you can do.”
“Is that your honest opinion, or are you flattering me for your own ends?”
She sighed.
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