After the Eclipse, by Tom Rymour

Walton recommended a rare treat of a book, and I’ve managed to steal enough time, and let Dorje get up to just enough havoc in order to finish it.

The treat in question was After the Eclipse by Tom Rymour (published by Discobolus). The author’s name (real name Tom Learmont) is apparently derived from Thomas the Rhymer, a 13th century Scottish seer, who’s most common fictional incantation is in a popular Scottish ballad where he has an encounter with a faerie queen, gets carried away to to her Elfyn world, and returns seven years later as a prophet, unable to tell a lie.

Lyrics to the ballad Thomas Rhymer Child #37

True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank,

A ferlie he spied wi’ his ee,
And there he saw a lady bright,
Come riding down by the Eildon Tree.

Her shirt was o’ the grass-green silk,
Her mantle o’ the velvet fine,
At ilka tett her horse’s mane
Hang fifty siller bells and nine.

True Thomas, he pulld aff his cap,

And louted low down to his knee:
‘All hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven!
For thy peer on earth I never did see.’

‘Oh no, O no, Thomas,’ she said,
‘That name does not belong to me;
I am but the queen of fair elfland,
That am hither come to visit thee.’

‘Harp and carp, Thomas,’ she said,

‘Harp and carp along wi me,
And if ye dare to kiss my lips,
Sure of your bodie I will be.’

‘Betide me weal, betide me woe,
That weird shall never daunton me’;
Syne he has kissed her rosy lips,
All underneath the Eildon Tree.

‘Now, ye maun go wi me,’ she said,

‘True Thomas, ye maun go wi me,
And ye maun serve me seven years,
Thro weal or woe, as chance to be.’

She mounted on her milk-white steed,
She’s taen True Thomas up behind,
And aye wheneer her bride rung,
The steed flew swifter than the wind.

O they rade on, and farther on–

The steed gaed swifter than the wind–
Untill they reached a desart wide,
And living land was left behind.

‘Light down, light down, now, True Thomas,
And lean your head upon my knee;
Abide and rest a little space,
And I will shew you ferlies three.

‘O see ye not yon narrow road,

So think beset with thorns and briers?
That is that path of righteousness,
Tho after it but few enquires.

‘And see not ye that briad braid road
That lies across the lily leven?
That is the path of wickedness,
Tho some call it the road to heaven.

‘And see not ye that bonny road,

That winds about the fernie brae?
That is the road to fair Elfland,
Where thou and I this night maun gae.

‘But, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue,
Whatever ye may hear or see,
For, if you speak word in Elflyn land,
Ye’ll neer get back to your ain countrie.’

O they rade on, and farther on,

And they waded thro rivers aboon the knee,
And they saw neither sun nor moon,
But they heard the roaring of the sea.

It was mirk mirk night, and there was nae stern light,
amd they waded thro red blude to the knee;
Fow a’ the blude that’s shed on earth
Rins thro the springs o that countrie.

Syne they came on to a garden green,

And she pu’d an apple frae a tree:
‘Take this for thy wages, True Thomas,
It will give the tongue that can never lie.’

‘My tongue is mine ain,’ True Thomas said;
‘ A gudely gift ye wad gie to me!
I neither dought to buy nor sell,
At fair or tryst where I may be.

‘I dought neither speak to prince or peer,

Nor ask of grace from fair ladye:’
‘Now hold thy peace,’ the lady said,
‘For as I say, so must it be.’

He has gotten a coat of the even cloth,
And a pair of shoes of velvet green,
And till seven years were gane and past
True Thomas on earth was never seen.

-from F. J. Child’s The English and Scottish Popular Ballads, version C

Without giving away too much, the book is set in a future Zimbabwe (Rhudisa) after an apocalypse around the time of Rhodesia’s Unilateral Declaration of Independence (the book was published in 2004, but I’ve heard that it may have been written around the time of the UDI, and there’s a reference to it being published in 1995). The book satirises many aspects of society, such as racial stereotyping, sexual behaviour and religious beliefs. A small wealthy black monarchy rules with an iron fist over a vast poor white underclass. Worship of ancestors and belief in spirits is the orthodoxy, while Christianity, as the religion of the underclass, simply focuses on one particular ancestor, the Baba Jesus, while accepting all the other spirits and ancestors. The most heinuous crimes are those of gastronomy and, yes, mastication, and citizens walk around with their mouths (oral orifices) politely kept out of site. Public sexual orgies are common.

The action follows a rural white, January Beeswax, who, after an encounter with a spirit leaves his rural birthplace, and becomes embroiled in the tumultuous affairs of the ruling black class.

The ending I found a little disappointing, and the book is riddled with typos (I stopped counting at 7), perhaps not surprising for a small publishing house (whose only other book seems to be another. upcoming, novel by Tom Rymour), but I enjoyed the book, and will read his new novel. Walton compared the novel to a work by Ursula Le Guin, and while I get the similarities (and perhaps more importantly it had the desired effect of getting me to read the book immediately, just like those “best since Tolkein” lines on the back of a book used to get me the first 10 or so times), I wouldn’t use that description. Both authors use the conventions of science-fiction in a similar, rather loose manner, but many of Le Guin’s works explore Taoist, anarchist, feminist and psychological themes as well as the sociological themes central to this book.

The book scores a highly credible 7 in my rating scheme.

Urgent reading done, I can return the book to Walton and go back to Dhalgren, by Samuel Delany, a rather slow moving science fiction book that’s been hyped as one of the greatest novels of 20th Century American literature (by the Amazon editorial team), and compared to Dune by that oh so deceitful jacket cover. It’s quite a monster of a book, so after 400 pages or so I’m not even half way, and still haven’t got a strong opinion, but I’m intrigued enough to keep going.

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