|Thaliad (Montreal: Phoenicia Publishing, 2012)|
Art by Clive Hicks-Jenkins
See Clive's posts on Thaliad here
Book design by Elizabeth Adams
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In THALIAD, Marly Youmans has written a powerful and beautiful saga of seven children who escape a fiery apocalypse----though "written" is hardly the word to use, as this extraordinary account seems rather "channeled" or dreamed or imparted in a vision, told in heroic poetry of the highest calibre. Amazing, mesmerizing, filled with pithy wisdom, THALIAD is a work of genius which also seems particularly relevant to our own time.
Lee Smith is the award-wining author of 16 books of fiction. She is a recipient of the Academy Award in Literature from the American Academy of Arts and Letters, the North Carolina Award for Literature, and a Southern Book Critics Circle Award.
|Vignette for Thaliad by Clive Hicks-Jenkins|
. . . reminiscent of heroic epics (Homer meets Gerald Manley Hopkins), and packed with fairy tale and mythic references, Thaliad recounts the aftermath of a fiery apocalypse, and the perilous journey of a band of children led by a girl whose prophetic visions guide them to a sanctuary on the edge of a lake. Here, they confront the challenges of re-creating the world – a world illuminated by hope and love.
Youmans has given . . . a wondrous text filled with richly layered and evocative poetry. Like a bardic tale, it demands to be read aloud. The images of nature are sensual, fertile, a source of healing. Violence is hammered into fierce staccato rhythms and Thalia’s ecstatic visions soar with heat and light as the human spirit is consoled by the divine. We are not spared the hardships of the journey, but through the storyteller’s voice we have confidence in our destination—it is this commitment to the angels of our better nature in Youmans' sublime poetry that gives Thaliad its power to inspire hope out of fear and love out of hate.
Recounted 67 years later by Emma, a teenaged librarian who roves the wastes with sword and gun in search of unrescued books, the Thaliad fuses several out-of-vogue elements--formalist verse, narrative poetry, classical epic--to a familiar science fiction trope. What grows from this grafting is a weird, fresh, magical thing: the story of a new world rooted in the ingenuity and optimism of "one who / Was ordinary as a stone or stem / Until the fire came and called her name." --Jeff Sypeck, from Quid plura?
The epic form is not an easy one, and in lesser hands this audacious project would have failed . . . but Marly makes it work. The subject matter, postapocalyptic survival, is grand enough to merit the form she's chosen--and the children's journey is told with deep sentiment but no cloying sentimentality. This is a beautiful and powerful book--worth owning, worth reading and rereading. I am so glad that it exists in the world and that I can turn to it, time and again, glorying in the language and the hope.
--Rachel Barenblat, "Marly Youmans' Thaliad," from Velveteen Rabbi
|Vignette for Thaliad by Clive Hicks-Jenkins|
--Caustic Cover Critic
--Damian Walford Davies
Co-director of the Centre for Romantic Studies at Aberystwyth University (Wales), Damian Walford Davies is the author of three collections of poetry, editor of many collections of essays, and author of a monograph and many articles about the Romantics.
|Vignette by Clive Hicks-Jenkins|
A remarkable and daring work of interstitial art: an epic poem of the new future than demands you read it on its own terms, and rewards you greatly for it.
More to the point, it's believable: an artifact of a dystopian future that combines the best of epic poetry with modern fiction.
By turns funny, insightful and deeply moving. I'd love to hear it read aloud.
Ellen Kushner is the award-winning author of six fantasy novels and was the host of WBGH's Sound and Spirit for 14 years.
|Vignette by Clive Hicks-Jenkins|
Marly Youmans has always had a flair for the mythological, but it is new to add the apocalyptic. Thaliad marries the end of the world to its new beginning, and does so by joining children’s literature with adult literature. The City of Ember, The Giver, The Road, The Tempest: Youmans merges genre with the symbolic truths about our lives, and comes up a long blank verse poem that speaks to suffering and hope, to cruelty and to resurrection. If we feel that the world has been lost, Youmans reminds us that “God is otherwise than what you dream / And knew your secret name before the shear / Of light, explosive kiss that birthed the stars. . . . / He calls your glowing name and bids you rise.”
Author of four books of poetry, Kim Bridgford is an award-winning poet, editor of Mezzo Cammin, founder of the Women's Timeline Project, and director of the West Chester Poetry Conference.
|Vignette, Clive Hicks-Jenkins|
This is a brilliant and imaginative work. It's a writer stretching and doing something creative and different. And Youmans is poet enough to pull it off beautifully... Verdict: I loved this. Who the hell writes a post-apocalyptic ...novella in blank verse? Obviously, someone inspired by a non-commercial muse. Thaliad is beautiful and touching and deserves a wider audience. Highly recommended!"
--Inverarity 24 October 2013
Modern-day epic poetry of the destruction of our 21st century world and the seven children who escape toppling mountains and the great inferno. One hundred pages of mesmerising iambic pentameter surge and swell, plunge and soar the journeying through the children’s grief and the rotting remains of what was our civilisation until at last (very) few of the seven triumph over danger and lingering evil and grow into adulthood to parent a new, post-apocalyptic future for humankind. Blank verse on grand scale, heroic imagery, narrated by the latter day Bard of the Clave tasked with preserving the best of old-world literature and recording the history of the new. Wise beyond her years but, so endearingly, as susceptible as any 19-year-old to charm spun by a stranger with eyes “green as Glimmerglass in a storm.”
--Karin Schimke, Not now, darling, 8 December 2014
Marly's writing swept me into another world with her beautiful language and her storytelling magic. Here's one of my favourite passages:
The glare threw flames of dazzle, dazzle cast
Uncanny aura, aura beckoned dream,
And dream was drowned by day and brought tide
Of gold in spilling flood, to flood the mind
Until no mind was minding anything
But lapping radiance, and radiance
Ruled Glimmerglass and flashing form, the form
Of something weird, making and unmaking,
Unmaking Thalia till Thalia Was
Empty husk, and husk was packed with sun,
And sun was sealed in trembling dark, and dark
Arose in dreams, and dreams made lucent night.
(from Chapter XVI, page 62-3)
To me, these words seem like waves repeatedly washing ashore. That repetition and rhythm made me think of The Kalevala, a 19th-century work of epic poetry compiled by Elias Lönnrot from Finnish and Karelian oral folklore and mythology.
--Marja-Leena Rathje, at on printworks and other passions 20 January 2013
Selections from Thaliad
from XVII, The Bridal May:
If only, he repeated with a laugh.
If we, when we were children wandering,
Had gone as far as Patagonia
Or borrowed ships and sailed away to sea
To China, Congo, Singapore, Japan,
Or stopped in port at Ivory Coast or Guam
Or India or islands no one’s seen,
If we had come to find the world a waste
Where nothing grew and no thing held out hope,
If we had tilled a countryside of ash,
If we had eyed a land of pillared ice
And sucked on snow for all our nourishment,
If we had stumbled onto foreign thrones
Or else been captured, forced to toil as slaves,
I still would be your love, and you be mine.
And so they married in the gothic church
With Thalia presiding like a priest
To read the liturgy and hear the vows
And write their names inside the record book
With those of many who had gone before
And married in that ceremonial
And sacred space while saints and angels stared.
Maid of honor and best man played florist,
Picking flowers from a ruined garden,
And served as guardians of wedding peace,
Their bows and shotguns left beside the door.
Words echoed, wavering in emptiness:
And in accordance with the purposes…
First miracle at Cana, Galilee…
And in accordance with God’s holy word…
To live together in the covenant…
Be faithful as long as you both shall live…
The angel with the shattered face let in
The sun and, once, a wobbling butterfly
That made a patch of white inside the room.
Beyond the doors, the end of May was gold,
Abundant living dust, persistent seed,
Such lushness as they’d never seen before
And hardly recognized for what it was—
The promise harvest years would be ahead,
For conifers and oaks, the hickories
And walnuts, spruces, pines were blossoming
And clouding air with fertile shining silt
That somersaulted in a beam of sun,
That changed the spiderwebs to something rich,
That kissed the surfaces of Glimmerglass
And turned its scalloped border into gold,
That moved across the air as if alive,
The landscape’s bright epithalamion,
The simple golden wedding of the world.
Excerpt, part IV of Thaliad in qarrtsiluni
Passage from Thaliad (from I. Luring the Starlit Muse in Mezzo Cammin (scroll down, as it's after eight poems)
from XXI, (Samuel and Thalia, after tragic events):
Then Samuel in sorrow vowed to her
Now I will leave and find another place,
A village where my heart is not in earth,
And Thalia replied to him with truth:
There is no other village, is no place
To find where your dead heart is not in earth.
And still he moaned his lot, exclaimed with tears,
I want to go where ground is not a waste,
And where my life is not a ruined town.
And Thalia with mercy answered him:
In time you will begin to heal your heart
And all that seems a waste will bloom once more.
But he went on in anger, blaming God,
The strangers who had maundered into town,
The grave that meant a stone around his neck,
Until she spoke in haste against his words:
For you there is only this blood-drenched ground,
The murdered life that is your freight of guilt,
Also the murdered life that is your own,
The world that you create by how you act
Or see or how you dream the world to be,
Your world that’s ruined everywhere like this,
Which you yourself have caused to be a waste,
Which you yourself have scorched with inner fire.