Fantasy in Modern Life
By Daniel Wikey
QuailBellMagazine.com
Once upon a time, there was a young man who lived in a busy village by the sea.
“Fairy tale time” was over; he was quite sure of it. Postmodern technology seemed to have wiped that sense of wonder clean from the public imagination.
One day, he walked to work. Buildings crept into his line of sight. Marvels of architecture that perhaps grew from tiny industrial seeds into towers of metal and granite.
QuailBellMagazine.com
Once upon a time, there was a young man who lived in a busy village by the sea.
“Fairy tale time” was over; he was quite sure of it. Postmodern technology seemed to have wiped that sense of wonder clean from the public imagination.
One day, he walked to work. Buildings crept into his line of sight. Marvels of architecture that perhaps grew from tiny industrial seeds into towers of metal and granite.
He saw a large gate--was it simply a demarcation of entering a new place, or was it a symbolic hearkening to folkloric thresholds or portals to other worlds? Could it be both?
A sky-scraping bell tower tolled the time. It kept the world up to schedule, but could the young man detect some whimsy in its design? Perhaps even a Rapunzel lived in its lofty chambers...
The young man, his eyes having been opened to the implicit magic-evoked by these structures, saw this building not as grouped rooms holding books but as a vessel of knowledge; it contained not simply ink and paper but narratives and stories used to educate, escape, and construct perspectives.
Landscapes, too, appeared to him as they never had before; meadows, trees, and gardens not simply existing but also alluding to the Edens of myth.
Landscapes, too, appeared to him as they never had before; meadows, trees, and gardens not simply existing but also alluding to the Edens of myth.
What's that noise? The bubbling brook seemed to whisper to the young man as he crossed it. And what was that hanging doo-dad? A bird feeder? A bell? A fairy's house?
Spanning over a cavern, a bridge ran from one side to the other. No trolls lived under this bridge; a cheery lantern illuminated any unknown mysteries.
Even after returning home, everyday objects reminded him of the fantastical.
Even after returning home, everyday objects reminded him of the fantastical.
A road map guiding journeying travelers reminded the young man of treasure maps of lore; instead of "X" marking the location of gold hometowns and monuments representing a journey's goal.
Myths may not be circulating as much as in the classical era, but the young man realized stories were still being told—the childhood book of stories and the novel he was currently reading serving as evidence.
Storytellers may not enthrall and enchant listeners at the salons of antiquity, but people still flocked to dramatic or comedic tales, the young man realized, getting caught up in plots exotic or familiar. Movies are just as important as ancient stories (the fact that he owed a fine for keeping these past their due date proof of their implicit value.
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