King O'Toole and His Goose
In this story, the king meets Saint Kavin, who's disguised as a common boy and claims he makes his living "By makin' old things as good as new." I could definitely see that spun into an urban fantasy story, about a morally flexible guy who makes his money with a signature of old magic and street magic. I figure he'd end up taking on a job and not really giving it much in the way of a second thought—till it turns out he just rejuvenated something very old and very bad, and set the stage for all sorts of trouble.
Try to say that one five times fast. Or even just once, kind of slowly. I wasn't sure about this story when I first started it, but it ended up being possibly my favorite I've read all year. I love the bones of the story: the idea of a cowboy in a fantasy world, mixing genres like that, and his team-up and dynamic with the Gruagach, the way he set off on a revenge plot for and with the Gruagach so readily. It would probably make for a longer work than this assignment allows, but I still think I could do something with the genre-mixing, especially the cowboy.
I think this is the third time I've read this story, and every time, it's even more frustrating than the last.
But this time, it triggered a different thought. If the prince loved and treasured and trusted Gellert so much, how come all it took was the sight of a little blood on the dog's fangs to send the prince off on the idea that the dog had surely murdered the prince's infant son? I like the idea of the protagonist being allies with someone with this rough, disreputable history, working together and getting along well enough but still not quite trusting him. And I like the idea that when something goes wrong and circumstances make it look like he could be the one to blame, could've relapsed, the MC automatically suspects him despite herself. Could be a fun and messy dynamic to look at.
During most of this story, Ivan was just trying to get home, and all sorts of things kept getting in the way—robberies, murder, all sorts of stuff. If I were to use this tale as the basis for my retelling, I'd probably use that loose interpretation for the main concept, sticking with the idea of someone just trying to get home after a long and rough time away, but deterred by all sorts of stumbling blocks.
When introducing Andrew Coffey, the narrator notes that the guy was "always stumbling up against some tree or stumbling down into some bog-hole that by rights didn't ought to be there." I like the idea of a protagonist who's attuned or connected to some kind of supernatural flux, and is constantly having to deal with weird occurrences that seem to crop up in his or her presence.
That said, I also love what happened next: Andrew Coffey hears a voice talking to him, and turns to see who it is. And we get this gem: "But when my grandfather clapped eyes on him, he knew him for Patrick Rooney, and all the world knew he'd gone overboard fishing one night long years before." The idea of someone who died in the protagonist's hometown suddenly appearing to the main character really appeals to me: it's practically calling out for a small-town setting where the otherworldly brushes elbows with the painfully mundane every day. The fact that it's not just the spirit of Patrick Rooney, but somehow his glaring, pallid reanimated body, is even better.
I've always loved changeling stories, and the idea of twin changelings is even better. The first question is what would happen if only one kid got swapped, so one twin is human and the other is subtly but decidedly not. But that might not work out as well in a story this length, so instead, it might be fun to dig into the horror roots that're practically begging to be dug out of this story. The Wise Man said it best when he told the stressed out mom to listen to see if her twins said anything after she set up a trap: If you hear them speaking of things beyond the understanding of children, go back and take them up and throw them into the waters of Lake Ebyr." I like the idea of an older sister (or even a couple of older siblings) slowly realizing the younger siblings aren't who they're supposed to be anymore, and struggling to figure out how to grapple with that. Like I said, the key here is that slow-dawn horror atmosphere.
Image Credit: Pair of Flintlock Pistols by Gerrit Penterman the Elder, via Walters Art Museum. Source: Wikimedia Commons.
No comments:
Post a Comment