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Dec. 23rd, 2004 10:19 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
liptonrm_backupIt's that time of year again when all good countries historically influenced by European imperialism celebrate Christmas. Mother Nature has deigned to celebrate with us as she has dumped snow all over the eastern U.S. of A. in order to ensure that all of us have a nice, white Christmas, whether we want it or not. Thankfully, I definitely want it;-).
I love the Christmas season. I love the cold and the snow, the lights flickering from trees and houses. I love the warm, quiet family moments when we gather together and read the same stories and listen to the same music and feel a sense of unity. I love that everyone is always giving things to other people, whether it be cards or cookies or hugs or smiles.
Yes, I'm waxing rhapsodic but for all of the complaining I've done this year about the costs and obligations of the season there truly are reasons why this holiday, above all others, has remained my favorite throughout the years. And, in the spirit of this holiday, I would like to share with you all one of my favorite Christmas passages. It is from The Dark is Rising by Susan Cooper, the second book in The Dark is Rising sequence.
A little background. Will Stanton, the protagonist of the tale, has recently learned that he is the youngest of a group known as the Old Ones, a circle of beings who are not quite human and who strive through the long years to protect humanity from the Dark. On Christmas Eve Will and his many siblings go carolling and during that time Will has an experience wherein he obtains the knowledge he will need to complete his own quest as an Old One. He is 11 years-old and this is his Christmas.
They sang "The First Nowell" as their last carol; they made their farewells; they were out again in the snow and the crisp air, with Merriman's impassive polite smile disappearing behind the Manor doors. Will stood on the broad stone steps and gazed up at the stars. The clouds had cleared at last and now the stars blazed like pinpricks of white fire in the black hollow of the night sky, in all the strange patterns that had been a complicated mystery to him all his life, but were endlessly significant now. "See how bright the Pleiades are tonight," he said softly, and Mary stared at him in amazement and said, "The what?"
So Will brought his attention down out of the fiery black heavens, and in their own small, yellow, torchlit world the Stanton carollers trooped home. He walked among them speechless, as if in a dream. They thought him tired, but he was floating in wonder. He had three of the Signs of Power now. He had, too, the knowledge to use the Gift of Gramarye: a long lifetime of discovery and wisdom, given to him in a moment of suspended time. He was not the same Will Stanton that he had been a very few days before. Now and forever, he knew, he inhabited a differen time-scale from that of everyone he had ever known or loved. ... But he managed to turn his thoughts away from all these things, even from the two invading, threatening figures of the Dark. For this was Christmas, which had always been a time of magic, to him and to all the world. This was a brightness, a shining festival, and while its enchantment was on the world the charmed circle of his family and home would be protected against any invasion from outside.
Indoors, the tree glowed and glittered, and the music of Christmas was in the air, and spicy smells came from the kitchen, and in the broad hearth of the living room the great twisted Yule root flickered and flamed as it gently burned down. Will lay on his back on the hearth-rug staring into the smoke wreathing up the chimney, and was suddenly very sleepy indeed. James and Mary too were trying not to yawn, and even Robin looked heavy-lidded.
"Too much punch," said James as his tall brother stretched gaping in an armchair.
"Get lost," said Robin amiably.
"Who'd like a mince pie?" said Mrs. Stanton, coming in with a vast tray of cocoa mugs.
"James had six already," said Mary in prim disapproval. "At the Manor."
"Now it's eight," said James, a mince pie in each hand. "Yah."
"You'll get fat," Robin said.
"Better than being fat already," James said, through a mouthful, and stared pointedly at Mary, whose plump form had recently become her most gloomy preoccupation. Mary's mouth drooped, then tightened, and she advanced on him, making a snarling sound.
"Ho-ho-ho," said Will sepulchrally from the floor. "Good little children never fight at Christmas." And since Mary was irresistibly close to him, he grabbed her by the ankle. She collapsed on top of him, howling cheerfully.
"Mind the fire," said Mrs. Stanton, from years of habit.
"Ow," said Will, as his sister thumped him in the stomach, and he rolled away out of reach. Mary stopped, and sat gazing at him curiously. "Why on earth have you got so many buckles on your belt?" she demanded.
Will tugged his sweater hastily down over his belt, but it was too late; everyone had seen. Mary reached forward and yanked the sweater up again. "What funny things. What are they?"
"Just decoration," Will said gruffly. "I made them in metalwork at school."
"I never saw you," said James.
"You never looked, then."
Mary prodded a finger forward at the first circle on Will's belt and rolled back with a howl. "It burned me!" she shrieked.
"Very probably," said her mother. "Will and his belt have both been lying next to the fire. And you'll both be on top of it if you go on rolling about like that. Come on, now. Christmas Eve drink, Christmas Eve mince pie-Christmas Eve bed."
Will scrambled gratefully to his feet. "I'll get my presents while the cocoa cools off."
"So will I." Mary followed him. On the stairs she said, "Those buckle things are pretty. Will you make me one for a brooch next term?"
"I might," Will said, and he grinned to himself. Mary's curiousity was never much to worry about; it always led to the same place.
They pounded up to their respective bedrooms, and came down laden with packages to be added to the growing pile beneath the tree. Will had been trying hard not to look at this magical heap ever since they came in from carol-singing, but it was sorely difficult, especially since he could see one gigantic box labelled with a name that clearly begain with a W. Who else began with W, after all ...? He forced himself to ignore it, and resolutely piled his own armful in a space at the side of the tree.
"You're watching, James!" Mary shrilled, behind him.
"I am not," said James. Then he said, because it was Christmas Eve, "Well, yes, I expect I was. Sorry." And Mary was so taken aback that she deposited all her parcels in silence, unable to think of anything to say.
On Christmas night, Will always slept with James. Both twin beds were still in James's room from the time before Will had moved up to Stephen's attic. The only difference now was that James kept Will's old bed piled with op art cushions, and referred to it as "my chaise lounge." There was something about Christmas Eve, they both felt, that demanded company; one needed someone to whisper to, during the warm beautiful dream-taut moments between hanging the empty stocking at the end of the bed, and dropping into the cosy oblivion that would flower in to the marvel of Christmas morning.
While James was splashing in the batroom, Will slipped off his belt, buckled it again around the three Signs, and put them under his pillow. It seemed prudent, even though he still knew without question that no one and nothing would trouble him or his home during this night. Tonight, perhaps for the last time, he was an ordinary boy again.
Strands of music and the soft rumble of voices drifted up from below. In solemn ritual, Will and James looped their Christmas stockings over their bedposts: precious, unbeautiful brown stockings of a thick, soft stuff, worn by their mother in some unimaginably distant time and misshapen now by years of service as Christmas hold-alls. When filled, they would become top-heavy, and could no longer hang; they would be discovered instead lying magnificent across to foot of the beds.
"Bet I know what Mum and Dad are giving you," James said softly. "Bet it's a-"
"Don't you dare," Will hissed, and his brother giggled and dived under the blankets.
"G'night, Will."
"'Night. Happy Christmas."
"Happy Christmas."
And it was the same as it always was, as he lay curled up happily in his snug wrappings, promising himself that he would stay awake, until, until ...
... until he woke, in the dim morning room with a glimmer of light creeping round the dark square of the curtained window, and saw and heard nothing for an enchanted expectant space, because all his senses were concentrated on the weighty feel, over and around his blanketed feet, of strange bumps and corners and shapes that had not been there when he fell asleep. And it was Christmas Day.
-Susan Cooper
MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL!!
I love the Christmas season. I love the cold and the snow, the lights flickering from trees and houses. I love the warm, quiet family moments when we gather together and read the same stories and listen to the same music and feel a sense of unity. I love that everyone is always giving things to other people, whether it be cards or cookies or hugs or smiles.
Yes, I'm waxing rhapsodic but for all of the complaining I've done this year about the costs and obligations of the season there truly are reasons why this holiday, above all others, has remained my favorite throughout the years. And, in the spirit of this holiday, I would like to share with you all one of my favorite Christmas passages. It is from The Dark is Rising by Susan Cooper, the second book in The Dark is Rising sequence.
A little background. Will Stanton, the protagonist of the tale, has recently learned that he is the youngest of a group known as the Old Ones, a circle of beings who are not quite human and who strive through the long years to protect humanity from the Dark. On Christmas Eve Will and his many siblings go carolling and during that time Will has an experience wherein he obtains the knowledge he will need to complete his own quest as an Old One. He is 11 years-old and this is his Christmas.
They sang "The First Nowell" as their last carol; they made their farewells; they were out again in the snow and the crisp air, with Merriman's impassive polite smile disappearing behind the Manor doors. Will stood on the broad stone steps and gazed up at the stars. The clouds had cleared at last and now the stars blazed like pinpricks of white fire in the black hollow of the night sky, in all the strange patterns that had been a complicated mystery to him all his life, but were endlessly significant now. "See how bright the Pleiades are tonight," he said softly, and Mary stared at him in amazement and said, "The what?"
So Will brought his attention down out of the fiery black heavens, and in their own small, yellow, torchlit world the Stanton carollers trooped home. He walked among them speechless, as if in a dream. They thought him tired, but he was floating in wonder. He had three of the Signs of Power now. He had, too, the knowledge to use the Gift of Gramarye: a long lifetime of discovery and wisdom, given to him in a moment of suspended time. He was not the same Will Stanton that he had been a very few days before. Now and forever, he knew, he inhabited a differen time-scale from that of everyone he had ever known or loved. ... But he managed to turn his thoughts away from all these things, even from the two invading, threatening figures of the Dark. For this was Christmas, which had always been a time of magic, to him and to all the world. This was a brightness, a shining festival, and while its enchantment was on the world the charmed circle of his family and home would be protected against any invasion from outside.
Indoors, the tree glowed and glittered, and the music of Christmas was in the air, and spicy smells came from the kitchen, and in the broad hearth of the living room the great twisted Yule root flickered and flamed as it gently burned down. Will lay on his back on the hearth-rug staring into the smoke wreathing up the chimney, and was suddenly very sleepy indeed. James and Mary too were trying not to yawn, and even Robin looked heavy-lidded.
"Too much punch," said James as his tall brother stretched gaping in an armchair.
"Get lost," said Robin amiably.
"Who'd like a mince pie?" said Mrs. Stanton, coming in with a vast tray of cocoa mugs.
"James had six already," said Mary in prim disapproval. "At the Manor."
"Now it's eight," said James, a mince pie in each hand. "Yah."
"You'll get fat," Robin said.
"Better than being fat already," James said, through a mouthful, and stared pointedly at Mary, whose plump form had recently become her most gloomy preoccupation. Mary's mouth drooped, then tightened, and she advanced on him, making a snarling sound.
"Ho-ho-ho," said Will sepulchrally from the floor. "Good little children never fight at Christmas." And since Mary was irresistibly close to him, he grabbed her by the ankle. She collapsed on top of him, howling cheerfully.
"Mind the fire," said Mrs. Stanton, from years of habit.
"Ow," said Will, as his sister thumped him in the stomach, and he rolled away out of reach. Mary stopped, and sat gazing at him curiously. "Why on earth have you got so many buckles on your belt?" she demanded.
Will tugged his sweater hastily down over his belt, but it was too late; everyone had seen. Mary reached forward and yanked the sweater up again. "What funny things. What are they?"
"Just decoration," Will said gruffly. "I made them in metalwork at school."
"I never saw you," said James.
"You never looked, then."
Mary prodded a finger forward at the first circle on Will's belt and rolled back with a howl. "It burned me!" she shrieked.
"Very probably," said her mother. "Will and his belt have both been lying next to the fire. And you'll both be on top of it if you go on rolling about like that. Come on, now. Christmas Eve drink, Christmas Eve mince pie-Christmas Eve bed."
Will scrambled gratefully to his feet. "I'll get my presents while the cocoa cools off."
"So will I." Mary followed him. On the stairs she said, "Those buckle things are pretty. Will you make me one for a brooch next term?"
"I might," Will said, and he grinned to himself. Mary's curiousity was never much to worry about; it always led to the same place.
They pounded up to their respective bedrooms, and came down laden with packages to be added to the growing pile beneath the tree. Will had been trying hard not to look at this magical heap ever since they came in from carol-singing, but it was sorely difficult, especially since he could see one gigantic box labelled with a name that clearly begain with a W. Who else began with W, after all ...? He forced himself to ignore it, and resolutely piled his own armful in a space at the side of the tree.
"You're watching, James!" Mary shrilled, behind him.
"I am not," said James. Then he said, because it was Christmas Eve, "Well, yes, I expect I was. Sorry." And Mary was so taken aback that she deposited all her parcels in silence, unable to think of anything to say.
On Christmas night, Will always slept with James. Both twin beds were still in James's room from the time before Will had moved up to Stephen's attic. The only difference now was that James kept Will's old bed piled with op art cushions, and referred to it as "my chaise lounge." There was something about Christmas Eve, they both felt, that demanded company; one needed someone to whisper to, during the warm beautiful dream-taut moments between hanging the empty stocking at the end of the bed, and dropping into the cosy oblivion that would flower in to the marvel of Christmas morning.
While James was splashing in the batroom, Will slipped off his belt, buckled it again around the three Signs, and put them under his pillow. It seemed prudent, even though he still knew without question that no one and nothing would trouble him or his home during this night. Tonight, perhaps for the last time, he was an ordinary boy again.
Strands of music and the soft rumble of voices drifted up from below. In solemn ritual, Will and James looped their Christmas stockings over their bedposts: precious, unbeautiful brown stockings of a thick, soft stuff, worn by their mother in some unimaginably distant time and misshapen now by years of service as Christmas hold-alls. When filled, they would become top-heavy, and could no longer hang; they would be discovered instead lying magnificent across to foot of the beds.
"Bet I know what Mum and Dad are giving you," James said softly. "Bet it's a-"
"Don't you dare," Will hissed, and his brother giggled and dived under the blankets.
"G'night, Will."
"'Night. Happy Christmas."
"Happy Christmas."
And it was the same as it always was, as he lay curled up happily in his snug wrappings, promising himself that he would stay awake, until, until ...
... until he woke, in the dim morning room with a glimmer of light creeping round the dark square of the curtained window, and saw and heard nothing for an enchanted expectant space, because all his senses were concentrated on the weighty feel, over and around his blanketed feet, of strange bumps and corners and shapes that had not been there when he fell asleep. And it was Christmas Day.
-Susan Cooper
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Date: 2004-12-23 04:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-23 04:24 pm (UTC)*hugs*
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Date: 2004-12-23 04:49 pm (UTC)This is a very fitting passage, thanks for posting it. :)
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Date: 2004-12-23 05:04 pm (UTC)I think they recently did a reprint of the series in paperback, I remember seeing them at a bookstore not long ago but with different covers and bigger pages. I've recently begun collecting them in harcover from Amazon.com as it is too precious to see fall apart in the way that my father's Narnia books fell apart when I was reading them as a child.
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Date: 2004-12-23 08:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-24 12:30 am (UTC)Ah well, anyway...as the Brits say- Happy Christmas Megan!!! Enjoy the snow, because this is the one time of year I think most of us Northerners welcome it. Even more so because it's not a hindrance, once we're all together with family, and staying in one place for an extended period of time. (Personally, I have little to complain about since my commute to work, home, or school is so miniscule!)
We'll have to discuss New Year's plans later... Have fun!!!