One spear
in the onslaught of fantasy currently storming the market is the re-visioning
of world myths and legends. From long to
short form, stories from our collective past are now fair game—with political
agendas and without, quality and otherwise.
After an affecting experience visiting Greece, Nina Allan re-visioned
the Arachne myth and wrote a fine novella, “Spin”, in 2013. A fantasy story set in a near-future version
of the country, it’s an example of literature that makes the phenomenon viable.
“Spin” is
the story of Layla, a gifted young weaver who leaves her poor home in the
countryside of Greece for life in Atoll City (a futuristic veneer for
Athens). Her mother executed when she
was young for political subversion, Layla’s uncanny talents as a weaver leave
her exposed to a similar fate if she is not careful—the regime mindful of
unnatural talent that might upset their control. Life in the big city troublesome, both
socially and personally, Layla struggles within herself to find the source of
her craft, as well as meet the demands of those around her, particularly a
family that asks her to heal their terminally ill son. Layla eventually finds peace within herself,
but in a manner that only hints at the original Greek myth.
If not the
conclusion, then the strongest
quality of “Spin” is its prose. Elegant
through the transitions, lucid in dialogue and stream of thought, and at all
other times lush and sensual to the point of tactility, the narrative is
polished to high shine. The street-side
descriptions of Atoll City, the tapestries Layla creates, her inner monologue,
and the experiences she has with other are spellbinding.
If there
are any issues about Spin, it may be
its occasional airs. Layla’s talents as
a weaver not enough (nor the subsequent space for sub-text), Allan adds a layer
of overt literary and poetic discussion that is intended to fill out the artistic
agenda—the theme of creativity, as it were.
The works of specific poets and the idea of poetry discussed in less
than subtle tones, the narrative occasionally veers into pretention, per the
following example:
“I’ve always felt safer with pictures, with colours,” she
said. “When you make an image it’s just that: an image, and an image is only
what you make of it. People can say what they like about it, but they can’t
really accuse you of anything. Words are different. Words are so final, somehow.
Once you’ve said them you can’t take them back. You’re stuck with them forever.
And people can use them against you any time they like.”
Perhaps
I’m being pedantic, but words can be just as subjective as images, perhaps more
so. Poetry itself is among the most
subjective forms of writing we have, not to mention perspectives on past
conversation. (At times, what was said
in an argument can be argued about more than the subject of the actual
argument.) From the novella’s
perspective, the overt discussion of poetry undermines the profundity of the
discussion to some degree. That being
said, “Spin” is the story of a young woman for whom the discovery of such ideas
may indeed be as effortless as presented.
I recall my own youth when the language of life seemed to be written in
big letters, this criticism perhaps too harsh.
Regardless,
“Spin” is a beautifully prosaic novella that tells of a young woman finding
something within herself in a near-future vision of authoritarian Greece. The conclusion a finely tuned transitory
moment (and no, Layla doesn’t become a spider), the reader is left to think how
it feeds back through her story, but more importantly to ponder its
implications for her future. Lila
Garrot at Strange Horizons dislikes this aspect of the ending, but I find
the slingshot an effective one wonderfully open to interpretation—just like the
original, proving the revisioning of myths in modern fantasy can be done with
relevancy.
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