For lack of better candidates, someone’s parents jokingly named the Norse God Loki as the child’s godfather. He decides to take this seriously.
The whole thing got started because my
dad was a professor of Norse Mythology.
When I was born he and mom had both just gotten jobs at a new
university, which meant moving to a new town where my parents didn’t
know anybody. That was my dad’s excuse for naming an ancient
Scandinavian trickster god as my godfather.
He claimed it made sense at the time; apparently I was something
of a trickstery child myself, always getting out of my playpen and
into strange places, or making rude noises at hilariously inopportune
times, or crying for no discernible reason and laughing for no better
one. Plus, it was pretty soon apparent that I had inherited my
grandmother’s bright red hair. So my dad liked to call me a child
of Loki, which amused my mom. It didn’t amuse her so much when he
told her dad, after he got a bit too pushy about me not having a
godparent yet, that in fact I did have someone looking after me and
his name was Loki Laufeyson.
Still, even my mom didn’t expect
anything more to come of that than a bit of a row when my grandfather
got home and looked a few things up, so they were both completely
stunned when Loki himself showed up on the doorstep a few hours
later.
I was much too young to remember that
particular meeting, but from what I found out later, I can imagine
something of how it went. Loki would have looked like a tall, lean
man with hair like fire. Not red hair like mine, which isn’t even
really red but orange-ish; this was hair in licks of red and orange
and yellow, really like fire. He would have had eyes like fire opals,
strange and glittering from one color to the next. And he would have
had scars running along the tops of and bottoms of his lips, little
rows of puncture marks, white and old but still clearly visible. But
the rest of him would have looked handsome and charming, like a movie
star, only better. He would have looked like what movie stars dreamed
of looking like, and he would have flashed my mom a brilliant
gleaming grin when she opened the door.
one of my favorite things is how badgers and coyotes will hunt cooperatively. as in not just like happening to go after the same thing at the same time but actually combining efforts to bring down prey; coyotes are faster and can chase down prey species, while badgers are adept at digging them out of their burrows
You’ve been sent into an alternate dimension where music is magic: choirs can change the weather and orchestras can topple castle walls. With your digital music device (iPhone, MP3 player, whichever), you’ve just become the most powerful wizard in the world.
*Becomes invincible playing Harder, better, faster, stronger*
A thoughtful discussion of writing and translation that articulates some of the joy (and challenge and struggle) in finding the right word to express meaning. As much about writing and how a story is told as about translating the Odyssey and the culture of classical studies.
Tell me about a complicated man.
Muse, tell me how he wandered and was lost
when he had wrecked the holy town of Troy,
and where he went, and who he met, the pain
he suffered in the storms at sea, and how
he worked to save his life and bring his men
back home. He failed to keep them safe; poor fools,
just moving along like everyone else 