Doomsday on Monday

I'm attending a very interesting class about fantasy and science fiction. Basically it is a good thing: the lectures have been fascinating and thought-provoking. However, on Monday a course mate and I are going to have a presentation which, as usual, makes me panic and nearly lose my mind (ironically, at the moment my biggest concern is that I’m not panicking enough which means everything will go horribly wrong). We’ve been preparing the presentation for weeks already and I don’t know what to do now – everything is ready but I’m sure I’ve forgotten something. Of course I could (and should) practice but that just makes me panic even more.

So, I decided to do something useful instead.

I learned to say Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch. Almost.

It won’t help me on Monday, though.

Condolences

Even if there is much to say it's best to remain silent if the right words cannot be found. If you can't say anything, don't - or turn to someone who can.

'But for long years we healers have only sought to patch the rents made by the men of swords. Though we should still have enough to do without them: the world is full enough of hurts and mischances without wars to multiply them.'

'It may be that only a few days are left ere darkness falls upon our world, and when it comes I hope to face it steadily; but it would ease my heart, if while the Sun yet shines, I could see you still.'

'Let us not speak at all! I stand upon some dreadful brink, and it is utterly dark in the abyss before my feet, but whether there is any light behind me I cannot tell. For I cannot turn yet. I wait for some stroke of doom.'

'Yes, we wait for the stroke of doom,' said Faramir. And they said no more; and it seemed to them as they stood upon the wall that the wind died, and the light failed, and the Sun was bleared, and all the sounds in the City or in the lands about were hushed: neither wind, nor voice, nor bird-call, nor rustle of leaf, nor their own breath could be heard; the very beating of their hearts was stilled.

This is the ending. Now not day only shall be beloved, but night too shall be beautiful and blessed and all its fears pass away!

- J.R.R. Tolkien: The Lord of the Rings (The Return of the King)

Deep and dark are the fears now yet not invincible. What has been done is done. What matters is what we choose to do next.

My condolences.

Nordic noir

It is November and that alone is reason enough to treasure certain things we in Nordic countries share. There are several things we have in common and not all of them can be reduced to our location far up here in the north wherefrom all light has fled by this time of year. I’m very fond of our neighbors and love to be a part of Fennoscandia both culturally and geographically. (By the way, my feeling of unity is sometimes compromised by the fact that Finnish language greatly differs from the others and belongs to a different language family. But since I love our language I can cope with that – and thank God all us Finns learn Swedish at school!)

Now let’s get to the point.

There is one thing about Nordic culture that I greatly enjoy and admire – and it’s also a thing we in Finland cannot take part in. What I mean, of course, is Nordic noir. If you’re familiar with Beck, The Bridge or at least the Millennium trilogy, you know what I mean. It’s really fascinating and gripping and I’d love to have something like that in Finland too. But for some reason we just can’t do it. It simply doesn’t work. The attempts are awkward. They’re hard to take seriously. I don’t mean to offend those who write these books or make these films and series; I’m just wondering why this genre is unreachable to us. I don’t read crime fiction much (and if I do I prefer the old style such as Agatha Christie’s) so there isn’t much I dare say about that, fearing that I might misjudge something. However, I love especially Stieg Larsson’s books and Bridge-series and as far as I know there is nothing in Finland that compares. We should be on the top of our game when it comes to the themes Nordic noir usually handles but no… We are masters of all that in real life but not in fiction.

P.S. Today, November 6^th, is the official Swedish Day in Finland. Heja!

Night's Plutonian Shore

If I knew why this came to my mind right now I’d tell you. But I know not.

For some reason I started to ponder my weirdest dreams and the top three list I came up with is the following.

3. The scary dream

This dream is probably the most awful one I’ve ever had and yet nothing really happens in it – as far as I know anyway. It is either morning or midday, a very nice and bright one too. I go for a walk as I usually do; there is one very narrow and silent walkway (part of which is almost like a path) that I like especially much. This is the road I head to. The next thing I remember is coming home in the middle of the night, it is pitch dark – and I have no idea where I’ve been all that time and what has happened. Usually that walk takes about 1.5 hours but now the whole day has gone by and I have no memory of it. I feel awful and scared. I know something hideous has happened but I don’t know what it is.

2. The horse dream

I’ve always loved horses and I used to take riding lessons, take care of horses and help at stables – it was my dearest pastime for seven years but then school started to take too much time and I had to quit. Anyway, a couple of years ago I had a dream where I rode in a forest where I had often ridden before. Even though the forest was the same it was somehow not the same – you know the way familiar things and places sometimes become strangely unfamiliar when we dream. The mare I rode was the eldest of the stable and very dear to me. I rode without a saddle, it was a fresh morning and the forest was peaceful. The mare stopped all of a sudden. I dismounted and stroke the horse. Then I took off her bridle, kissed her and watched her walk deeper into the woods. I stood there for a while the bridle in my hands and then walked back alone. It was a beautiful dream though a sad one.

1. The swan dream

The strangest of all my dreams took place in a cave deep under mountains. There was a serene, subterranean lake and everything in the cave was bluish, even the light. I had a little boat and I was rowing. It was rather cold and the walls were covered in ice crystals. I kept rowing until I saw two swans, snow white with a touch of silvery shimmer. They were fair to look at but seemed to be frozen; I am not sure because a flow under the surface was stirring my boat and I could not stop. The swans were left behind and the stream took me on, where, I do not know.