Led Astray

by Jean Roberta

As far as my father was concerned, rock-and-roll was a fad that couldn’t disappear fast enough. My mother had acquired a Master’s degree in English in 1944, and as far as she was concerned, fantasy stories were for children.

Some time in the 1960s, someone gave me The Hobbit for Christmas, and then I discovered The Lord of the Rings novels. And I loved reading with Beatles music as a soundtrack. I read a review of their music by a critic who admired their “Anglo-Saxon melodies” (reminiscent of the Angles and the Saxons who invaded Britannia in the fifth century of the Christian Era?). I convinced myself that their version of rock was medieval enough to accompany a multi-volume quest saga. (See footnote at end.)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jZzEvqDQflA

Some background: After The Hobbit was published in 1937, J.R.R. Tolkien worked on the long sequel which was to become The Lord of the Rings until 1949, but apparently the concept had been brewing in his mind since 1917, when he returned home from the Great War.

After numerous disagreements and negotiations with publishers, the whole saga was published in three volumes between summer 1954 and autumn 1955. The books were hardcover, and they didn’t attract a lot of attention at the time.

In 1965, Ace Publications of the U.S. republished the books in paperback with no legal permission from the author or the British publisher. Ace claimed that the existing copyright did not extend to the U.S., and therefore they were not breaking any laws. Tolkien complained, so Ace gave him some money in compensation. Tolkien then signed a deal with Ballantine to bring out the “legitimate” American paperback version.

I ended up with two paperback volumes with matching cover art, and one that looks like part of a different series, the Ace version. By that time, university students had discovered The Lord of the Rings, and the characters entered the counterculture. Although the convoluted plot could be seen to defend the grim necessity of war (especially if an evil wizard is trying to retrieve a ring that corrupts almost everyone who tries it on), it was somehow interpreted as a disguised protest against American military involvement in Vietnam. (Never mind that none of the political events of the 1960s were thought of in 1917.)

The whole panorama of imaginary races, cultures, cities, countryside, and thrilling battles could be made relevant to the life of any reader. As a high school student, I thought institutional oppression was the bane of my own time, and Tolkien took me away to a milieu in which individual heroism could save the day. And the little people called hobbits could discover their heroic potential.

Speaking of panorama, I had no idea what kind of landscape had originally inspired The Shire, homeland of the hobbits. So I gazed out the window of my family home at the mountains of southern Idaho, and imagined this sagebrush-studded terrain populated by characters from the novels. Chinx Peak, at the other side of a valley that was about two miles wide, could be made to substitute for Mount Doom, especially if I imagined smoke and lava spewing from its top.



[The Sawtooth Mountains of Idaho]

In vain, my parents tried to interest me in “better” reading and listening-matter. My father once asked me to write a book review that would explain why I liked Tolkien’s work, but that sounded like an exercise in frustration, since he could always say I hadn’t convinced him that the books were worth reading. My mother suggested that in due course, I would “mature” enough to prefer realistic fiction.

My father probably would have forbidden me from playing Beatles records if my mother hadn’t liked them too. So he (a die-hard philistine who couldn’t sing a note or play a musical instrument) played Bach, Brahms and Beethoven on the stereo when my Beatles records weren’t offending his ears. He would then ask me pointedly if I liked the symphony du jour. I usually did, and I told him so. I just didn’t see why I had to choose between musical genres

Like other parents of teenagers, mine were clearly afraid that my interest in fantasy could warp my mind so much that I wouldn’t be able to function in the real world. As for what rock music could inspire me to do, that didn’t bear thinking about. The words and the music both seemed like a Ring of Power that my parents wished I hadn’t picked up.

Was I completely corrupted by the culture of my youth? You be the judge.

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This passage is from the Wikipedia article on The Lord of the Rings:

“Following J.R.R. Tolkien’s sale of the film rights for The Lord of the Rings to United Artists in 1969, rock band The Beatles considered a corresponding film project and approached Stanley Kubrick as a potential director; however, Kubrick turned down the offer, explaining to John Lennon that he thought the novel could not be adapted into a film due to its immensity. The eventual director of the film adaptation, Peter Jackson, further explained that a major hindrance to the project's progression was Tolkien's opposition to the involvement of the Beatles.”

How Time Makes Fools of Us All

by Jean Roberta

What would I know of fads? I like to think my taste in most things (clothes, literature, art, music) is “classic,” but sometimes this just describes the fads of yesteryear.

When I began writing stories with explicit sex scenes, I hoped that erotica wouldn’t turn out to be a fad. So far, I’m keeping my fingers crossed.

The presidency of Donald Trump is one fad that I (and many others) hope will end as quickly as an English teacher can spell “IMPEACH.”

The trouble with any fad is that no one knows when or if it will end. Motion pictures with sound were described as a silly fad when they were new. After all, "silent" movies with a musical accompaniment were universal, since they didn’t require the actors to speak in any human language.

Rock-and-roll was described as a vulgar, passing fad by harrumping adults in the 1950s and even the ‘60s. In the mid-sixties, there were three major bands that I knew of, and they were often compared, as though only one could survive for another year. They were the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, and the Dave Clark Five. No one knew at the time which of these would turn out to be a fad.

School dress codes of the time were unbearable. Teenage girls were universally criticized for wearing skirts that showed their knees. The conservative types (and even leering boys) who assessed the moral fiber of each miniskirt-wearer didn’t understand that when a handful of designers have launched the latest style, manufacturers start producing it, and soon nothing else can be found in the stores. Short skirts weren’t all about sexual availability. And when girls were sent home to change clothes, what were they supposed to change into? Pants/trousers were considered even less suitable for school than short skirts.

At the time, my mother told me that men’s trousers had always been fairly baggy, and always would be. Apparently she hadn’t looked at any all-male rock band on TV. Nor had she noticed Henry VIII showing off his legs in a pair of hose in a full-color reproduction in a coffee-table book we had, titled World-Famous Paintings.

I was told that university education (and worse, professional training) for women was a passing fad that would have to give way to reality. How could women possibly become doctors or lawyers? Well, okay, there might be a few, but those gals were clearly freaks who were probably infertile.

Here is a passage from my historical novella, The Flight of the Black Swan, in which Emily the narrator contemplates a possible career as a couturiere for the drag queens who are her shipmates. She has shockingly chosen to wear men’s trousers, altered to fit, instead of the fashionably voluminous skirts of the 1860s.

As I stood at the rails, admiring the view, or wandered about the ship in search of occupation, men consulted me about fashion and adornment. Could I make a gentleman’s waistcoat out of brocade, assuming there was some to be had in the Bahamas? Would I consider making a lady’s gown to a man’s dimensions out of an old sail which could be dyed a beautiful dark blue once indigo was procured? Did I think pearl or diamond jewellery to be better suited to a rather sallow complexion? Did I not think that parting one’s hair exactly in the middle made one’s nose look too long?

Watching the clouds, my companions sighed about the virtues of fine cotton: its softness against the skin, its fresh smell when freshly-ironed, its fluidity, its elegance, and its scarcity since the beginning of the American war.

Early in our voyage, I asked Roger and Martin about our mission. “Husbands,” I asked them, “are we to settle in the Bahamas? And how will we survive?”

Martin cleared his throat. “We may do, Emily,” he told me, “but first we need to intercept a blockade-runner.”

Roger had explained to me that the attempts of the Union government to cut off supplies to the Confederacy were regularly thwarted by cleverly-manned schooners from the southern states which sailed to Nassau to trade cotton and tobacco for items more useful to the southerners. He hadn’t told me that few of the Green Men valued the life of a darky more than a bale of cotton or a pound of tobacco.

“Cotton?” I shrieked, completely out of sorts. “Are we sailing to the New World like adventurers of old just to steal a shipload of cotton? Are you stark raving mad?”

“Get hold of yourself, Emily,” admonished Roger. “Have you never heard of expeditions to the Far East for spices and silk? Some adventurers made fortunes for themselves and improved the lives of all their countrymen. And cotton is not all we need. Tobacco, especially in a good cigar, makes men more amiable. The best physicians attest to this. Green Men aren't spartans, dear. We need beauty and pleasure as much as we need air.”

His argument was persuasive, if lacking in moral rigor. So we were not all set on defending universal freedom after all.

Now I knew that I could earn my own fortune as a dressmaker for men, who would pay me in coin and in adoration if I could dress them in ladies’ attire – and gentlemen’s suits as well. For an instant, I imagined myself as a designer to rival Monsieur Worth in Paris. I could ease my conscience by repaying my parents for the extraordinary expense of my education, which had caused them hardship.

(If you would like a link, try copying this: http://www.amazon.com/Flight-Black-Swan-Jean-Roberta/dp/159021417)

As we all know now, the American Civil War—like other wars—was a passing fad because one side won. (And as is often the case, the side that won the first battles was not the side that had the last word, so to speak.)

Keeping up with fads is as tricky as balancing on an endless tightrope. Anyone who grabs hold of the latest thing is likely to be considered ridiculous, especially after the fad has passed, but those who don’t even seem to know what the latest thing is seem dense or deliberately ignorant.

Is erotica about Bigfoot or dinosaurs a fad that has passed? If so, I hardly noticed it.

Excuse me while I go scroll through various social media to find out what is trending so I can explain why I’m “above” being influenced by particular fads.