February 23, 2004
Lord Tennyson & The Looney Female Obsession
Yeah, I know I already wrote something about "The Lady of Shalott." This is different. Shut up and read it.
On the surface, “The Lady of Shalott” is a rather ridiculous poem. I’ve read three different versions of the Arthurian legend in my (short) time: I read the Howard Pyle version (which is more traditional) quite a long time ago and don’t remember it very well. More recently I read T. H. White’s The Once and Future King (which is my favorite, being more satirical in nature . . . I strongly recommend that you read the provided excerpt, if you never have), and Stephen Lawhead’s Pendragon Cycle (which attempts, sometimes successfully, to combine the fantastic elements of the story with some degree of historical accuracy and a distinctly Christian worldview).
I don’t remember the episode described in Tennyson’s poem from any of those versions, so I’m not entirely certain where it came from, and lack, perhaps, some key background information. As such, this is how the poem appears at first blush: There is a random woman stuck in a random tower on a random island near Camelot. Apparently she is the only one in the tower. I don’t know how she manages practical necessities (like food) but she is under some kind of enchantment, so perhaps that accounts for it. Her job is to sew what she sees of the world in her magic mirror into a tapestry that she is weaving. There is a window within glancing distance, but she can’t look out of it or a curse will fall on her . . . for some reason. One wonders about the wisdom of having said window at all, but I digress.
So as she sits here, who should happen along, but Sir Lancelot himself! The description is stunningly dramatic. You can just picture him (only when you do, you shield your eyes, lest you be blinded in the glare) galloping in slow motion, armor sparkling and glistening like mad in the sunlight, long, flowing hair blowing out behind him in a shimmering wave, peasant girls swooning right and left. Now, I have been told that females, like jackdaws and raccoons, are fascinated by shiny things. I cannot speak one way or the other as to the veracity of this statement, but in the case of the Lady of Shalott, Lancelot’s radiantly shining armor seems to have turned her head a bit. Unsatisfied with the fleeting glimpse she got in her mirror, she goes to the window. Now, this is obviously a big mistake, because all hell breaks loose inside her little tower and she knows her days are numbered.
I am reminded, somehow, of the story of Eve from Genesis. She, too, was forbidden to do one specific thing, she, too, gave into the temptation and did it anyway, and she, too, was cursed to die as a result (but did not die right away). The only real difference, in this case, is that there the Lady of Shalott has no man to drag down with her . . . Lancelot having wisely continued on his merry way (his doom will be along soon enough, and it will be in female form, of course). However, also like Eve, the Lady of Shalott can’t stay in her nice, protected sanctuary anymore now that she has looked out of the window and seen the real world.
I’d like to imagine that her next move is entirely her own decision and has nothing whatsoever to do with the curse. She’s going to die, that’s certain, but what she does until then is entirely up to her, I think. So, what does she do? She slaps her name on a boat, climbs in, and floats herself in the general direction of Camelot. And she dies on the way.
I think she’s sending a message to Sir Lancelot, in typical female fashion. Sure, he was just galloping along innocently, minding his own business, but (to her mind) look what he caused! She has to die now, and it’s his fault. So her final act is to lay a guilt trip on him. She’ll float her carcass down to Camelot, and he’ll see that she’s dead, and then he’ll be sorry. Logically, it wasn’t his fault, and it wasn’t his problem, but the Lady of Shalott is clearly the emotional type . . . no logic in this one, fellas, and he’ll be made to feel that it was his responsibility just the same.
But we men have the last laugh in the end. Like a typical male, Lancelot totally misses the point of the entire message and (ironically) remains blissfully ignorant of his own role in the tragedy. Sure he seems a little melancholy for a few minutes when he sees her there, but, judging by what he says at the sight of her, I’m guessing he’s just mourning the passing of a pretty face. Moral: Women are subtle and vindictive. Men are oblivious and self-centered and not terribly bright. Men win.
Maybe my assessment of this poem is a bit fanciful, and maybe not, but one way or another, I really like the poem. It has a beautiful and prolonged rhythm in each "stanza" with its four rhyming lines, “Camelot,” three rhyming lines, and “Shalott.” The descriptions are full of colors and characters and settings that are brighter and larger and clearer than real life. And it’s actually a fairly good King Arthur story with its magical enchantments, knights in shining armor, and fair damsels in lonely towers. I enjoy those elements, as long as I don’t think about them too hard, and “The Lady of Shalott” is a highly enjoyable piece of escapism for me.
Posted by Jared at February 23, 2004 01:34 AM | TrackBack