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incandescensI wonder if I could launch a theory that Sapphire and Steel was shoujo in concept, even if it did come from 1980s Britain, with a younger Joanna Lumley and David McCallum? (Younger, at least, than they are now, though older than they were on New Avengers or Man from Uncle.) Stories about nursery rhymes and victims of war, dead animals and past murders, photographs and history and traps and things moving through time and trying to break through the fabric and reach in.
My favourite -- hm. I love the first of the six stories, and always will, partly because of the nursery rhymes that ran through it. Time trying to break into an old house, using the rhymes from centuries ago as patterns to reach through. But I think my favourite is the fourth -- and certainly reading notes on the Fatal Frame computer game today has only reinforced these current feelings. A creature trapped in the first photograph ever taken, reaching through other photographs, even trapping others in them, and finally caught inside a kaleidoscope of mirrors. Images, images.
---
Lament for Eorl the Young
Where now the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?
Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing?
Where is the hand on the harpstring, and the red fire glowing?
Where is the spring and the harvest and the corn growing?
They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow;
The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow.
Who shall gather the smoke of the dead wood burning,
Or behold the flowing years from the Sea returning?
-- J. R. R. Tolkien
My favourite -- hm. I love the first of the six stories, and always will, partly because of the nursery rhymes that ran through it. Time trying to break into an old house, using the rhymes from centuries ago as patterns to reach through. But I think my favourite is the fourth -- and certainly reading notes on the Fatal Frame computer game today has only reinforced these current feelings. A creature trapped in the first photograph ever taken, reaching through other photographs, even trapping others in them, and finally caught inside a kaleidoscope of mirrors. Images, images.
---
Lament for Eorl the Young
Where now the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?
Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing?
Where is the hand on the harpstring, and the red fire glowing?
Where is the spring and the harvest and the corn growing?
They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow;
The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow.
Who shall gather the smoke of the dead wood burning,
Or behold the flowing years from the Sea returning?
-- J. R. R. Tolkien
