Into the Wild: A Cautionary Hero's Journey

"There is a wonderful image in King Arthur where the knights of the Round Table are about to enter the search for the Grail in the Dark Forest and the narrator says, 'They thought it would be a disgrace to go forth in a group. So each entered the forest at a separate point of their choice.'" ~ Bill Moyers, The Power of Myth

Into the Wild, a 2007 film directed by Sean Penn and based on the book by Jon Krakauer, tells the true story of Christopher McCandless, a young university graduate who embarks on just such a pathless journey. McCandless leaves behind a safe law career and a mystified (but abusive) family to strike out on the road with no money, no companions and no destination. He hitches rides throughout the US, experiencing remarkable and awe-inspiring natural wonders, challenging his greatest fears and living off the land and the hospitality of those he meets. For Christopher, a student of Thoreau, London and Tolstoy, this is the only way he can live an authentic life true to himself.

You'd be right to think this is a beautiful story about the rewards of leaving society's conventions behind to find your own true happiness. But the story comes with a tragic and difficult ending, one that provides a cautionary note. After embarking on his great Alaskan Adventure, an attempt to live off the land in the Alaskan wilderness, Christopher dies of starvation, weak, cold and alone. He is only 24 years old.

Christopher's story, which clearly embodies a "follow your bliss" philosophy, loosely fits with our Cambellian idea of a Hero's Journey. I don't want to claim knowledge of Christopher's motivations, feelings and experiences, but if we consider the film's presentation of his story, it becomes clear that a real life hero's journey can be fraught with danger and can leave us with very conflicted emotions at its outcome.

When Christopher embarks on his adventures, it would be natural to assume that he was following a call to adventure, a yearning to be on the road. But as the story develops and we discover that he lived in an abusive household with some pretty big skeletons, it becomes clear that Christopher is actually attempting to escape from his perceived reality. He rebels against the values his parents represents, to be sure, but he also shows a desire to become invisible. He arranges his disappearance so that his family is never able to find him and he makes no real attempt to stay in touch with his loving sister, even though he appears to have had a close relationship with her. He also leaves behind his name, introducing himself as "Alex" to those he meets. "Alex" is short for "Alexander Supertramp", a new identity he creates for himself.

Alex meets several people along his journey who offer him sage advice. Jan and Rainey are a hippie couple travelling the road in their painted motor home and we can see them as parent figures for Alex, especially when we learn that Jan has an estranged son Alex's age. When they ask Alex why he burned the last of his money, he claims that having money makes him feel "too cautious." Even though she and Rainey live a life on the fringes of conventional society, Jan still has her feet on the ground. She suggests to Alex that "a little caution is a good thing."

Later Alex is employed by Wayne, a happy-go-lucky wheat farmer who treats him much like a younger brother. Here we see Alex spending his days working hard and his nights drinking at the local bar with Wayne and his  buddies. In one scene, Alex, after having a little too much to drink, explains why it is so important to escape from society - to get away from the hypocrites, the parents. Wayne tells him that to fall too deeply into that way of thinking is a mistake, that he can't be "juggling blood and fire all the time." What he is really suggesting is that in order to move forward, Alex needs to find a balance in his life and an ability to let go of the past.

Finally, Alex is taken in by Ron, an elderly man who lives a quiet and lonely life. Ron's scenes with Alex are some of the most moving in the film. He reveals that fifty years before his wife and son had been killed by a drunk driver and later explains the nature of forgiveness to Alex, suggesting that to forgive is to love, and when you love on that level you invite "God's light" to shine on you. In their final scene together Ron asks Alex if he'd be willing to take Ron's name, if he'd allow Ron to adopt him as a grandson. Alex blithely suggests they should talk about it when he gets back from Alaska and Ron graciously hides his tears and lets Alex go.

All of these people could be considered guides on Christopher's hero journey and like guide figures, they come into Christopher's life at opportune moments. But ultimately, Christopher is unable to hear their wisdom and integrate it into his life. At this point, he is so disconnected from and distrusting of people that he cannot hear the truth in what they are saying. In fact, every time Christopher leaves people behind, we get the sense that he meant a lot more to them than they did to him. Although he seems to genuinely like and appreciate the people he meets, there is a wall inside him that keeps him from forming too close an attachment.

At one point in the film, Christopher rejects his possible union with the earthly feminine. While living at Slab City with Jan and Rainey, he is introduced to Tracy, a young songwriter who develops a clear interest in  him. Although he spends a lot of time with her and seems to, at least in small part, feel the attraction that is between them, he is unwilling to make love to her when she offers herself to him. In denying this communion, Christopher further isolates himself from the living world around him and loses the opportunity to become grounded in the earthly processes that define our lives.

Ultimately, Christopher leaves all of these guides behind to start his Alaskan Adventure. At first, he is happy and successful, foraging for food and lodging in an abandoned bus used by local hunters as a makeshift shelter. But very quickly we realize that Christopher is far out of his depth on this adventure, and slowly we see this realization dawn on him as well. He loses a vast amount of weight as his supply of rice diminishes and  finding food becomes more and more difficult. He is able to kill a moose, but with only second hand knowledge of how to properly smoke and preserve the meat, it all spoils and he is forced to watch as the wolves and eagles finish the carcass. Finally, he decides to make the trek out  but the frozen river he had traversed in the early spring is now a rushing torrent of water that is impassable. Christopher finds himself locked in the wilderness with no return available to his former world.

Things go downhill quickly at this point, and ultimately Christopher ingests a toxic substance (the book and film differ on how this happens) that prevents the digestion of food. In a sequence that is terrifying and tragic to watch, we see him grow even skinnier and even weaker, until his final act of zipping himself into his parka and stretching out on a mattress becomes heroic in and of itself.

Why do I consider this story a cautionary hero's journey, rather than a failed and foolish one? Christopher's courage in stepping outside of the safe confines of society is something we can all strive for. In the two years he spent following his dream, he arguably packed in more experiences than many people do in a lifetime. And in his final days, his short journal entries and margin notes in his books show that he finally did come to the wisdom that had eluded him for so long: that life must be shared with others to be truly meaningful. His final understanding that "happiness is only real when shared with others" is profound for someone who, for so long, was attempting to cut himself off from all human attachment.

But the tragic fact remains: Christopher didn't have to die. If only, we say to ourselves, if only he'd listened to those guides that life gave him. If only he'd been truly moving toward something rather than running away. If only he'd been able to open himself up to attachment. If only that hard-earned wisdom hadn't come too late. We're left wondering what incredible wisdom of his own Christopher could have brought to the world if he'd been able to successfully make his return journey.

Ultimately, Into the Wild offers important and complex insight into what it means to integrate a hero journey into a personal life. To be sure, it strikes a note of caution but, even more importantly, it advocates living a courageous and inspired life. In a world that encourages conformity, that is a message we could all do with hearing a little more often than we do.

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Once Upon A Time: Bringing fairy tales to life

Over the past few weeks, I've been lost in fairy tale land. Not only have I been reading the actual Grimm's fairy tales for my Fantasy and Science Fiction class through Coursera, but last week I talked my hubby into going to see Hansel & Gretel (finally, a fantasy movie he didn't hate! But that's another story...). And on top of all of that, I've been watching the first season of the ABC drama, Once Upon A Time. They do say things come in threes, right?

Once Upon A Time (now in its second season) is essentially a live action retelling of the Disney versions of fairy tales, with a little Grimm thrown in as well. The idea is that after Snow White and Prince Charming were married and had a child, the Evil Queen cursed the land, banishing all the fairy tale characters to live in a land without magic. And what's a world without magic? Ours, of course. Now in the real world, the characters have no memory of their past.

The show moves back and forth between telling the characters' back stories (taking place in fairy tale land) and their current reality. The main plot revolves around Emma Swan, the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, who was shipped to the real world in a magic wardrobe before the curse could take effect. Unfortunately, when she got here she was put into the foster system (it doesn't get much more real world than that) and when we meet her on her 28th birthday, she is clearly hardened, closed off, and lonely. As the pilot opens, she is found by her son, a son she had put up for adoption when he was a baby. He knows what is going on in Storybrooke (with the help of a big book of fairy tales) and wants her help. In an ironic twist of fate, his adopted mother is Regina, the Evil Queen.

It's an interesting premise that the Once Upon A Time writers have created. Half of the fun of the show is seeing how they are going to retell the familiar stories, and what twists they are going to include, both in the fairy tale land and in the real world. It's great fun to see your favourite characters on screen (I'm looking at you, Belle), both in fairy tale land and in the real world. I particularly enjoyed the clever little details that were included. The characters' names are a prime example - Rumplestiltskin becomes Mr. Gold; Little Red Riding Hood is Ruby; the face in the Evil Queen's mirror is Sidney Glass (and he's the editor of the local newspaper, the Daily Mirror); Jiminy Cricket is Archie Hopper. Fun stuff to geek out over.

But does the show have anything to tell us on a deeper level? Yes, I think it does. The fact that the fairy tale characters are sleeping, so to speak, in the real world and unable to remember their true selves is representative of society as a whole. We all have these deep, archetypal forces at work within our psyches, and yet most of us have yet to acknowledge or work with them. Just as her unremembered past pushes Snow White inexplicably toward Prince Charming, so do our unacknowledged archetypes drive our actions. If we don't understand where these actions are coming from, they can seem entirely mysterious.

The focus on Henry's struggle to convince Emma that the fairy tales are indeed real has additional implications. Generally speaking, in North American society we've lost the ability to read the truth in myth and fairy tale. We would prefer to live in the practical real world, as opposed to the intangible world of myth. Emma is entirely representative of most adults. And the fact that it is a child who sees the underlying truth in the situation is important as well. Children tend to believe all is possible, something we cast aside as we "grow up" and are forced to live in "reality". They also tend to have much more natural imagination than many adults. Accepting the magic in fairy tale and myth requires tapping into our inner child and accessing the magic of childhood.

I would guess that Once Upon A Time resonates with viewers because its stories are all filled with hope. At every turn, whether in fairy tale land or in the real world, whenever hope seems lost, something good is waiting just around the corner. Many of the fairy tale characters didn't get their happily ever after in fairy tale land, even before the Evil Queen's curse, and there is a latent hope within the show that their happy ending is waiting for them in the real world. There is a sense of optimism in Once Upon A Time that is rather infectious, and isn't that what so many of us are looking for as we continue to face the uncertainty of life?

Ultimately, Once Upon A Time is a lot of fun, and I truly think that's really the best way to approach it. I'm looking forward to diving into season two, either through re-runs or on DVD. And when I do, my inner fangirl will be dancing with joy.

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Are stepmothers really so evil?

When I fell in love with my husband eight years ago, I took on a much-vilified role, at least in Western society. I became a stepmother.

I wouldn't have said those words at the time. Instead I came up with a host of other labels to categorize my new relationship with my husband's children: a young aunt, hip big sister, good friend, and even positive female influence. It wasn't until my husband and I married that I reluctantly took up the mantle of stepmother, and even then it was more because of this new "legal" relations we all had to one another.

I had all sorts of reasons for believing that I wasn't a stepmother. With only 15 years between myself and my oldest stepdaughter, I was too young to take on that label. I told myself I didn't want to be their "mother" in any form or fashion - that wasn't my job. I didn't want to make my stepdaughters uncomfortable by making it appear that I was trying to replace their mother. I didn't have a fractious relationship with my girls - instead we all just acted like good buddies. All good reasons for avoiding the stepmother label.

Or so I thought.

Over time, I faced a great deal of anxiety about my role in our family. My own parents are high school sweethearts who have been married for almost 40 years and there are few divorces and remarriages in my extended family. None of my friends were stepmothers, and I found myself without a frame of reference and with no one who could truly understand my feelings, challenges, frustrations and uncertainties. As I often do in such situations, I sought help in the written word, first online and later in books.

It wasn't until I read Stepmonster, by Wednesday Martin, that I realized how deeply I had been affected by the constant maligning of stepmothers in western myth, stories and media. It was entirely subconscious, yes, but it was there. All those reasons that I thought were so valid for not taking on the stepmother label were really just a way to avoid all the baggage that it carried.

Martin, in her opening chapters, explores the history behind the "evil stepmother" image, touching on biology, sociology, and of course, psychology. I had picked up the book hoping to get some confirmation of my feelings and ideas on how to become more at peace with my role. Imagine my surprise when I found her referencing myth and stories to explain why stepmothers are often so reviled, and why they so often revile themselves. Using primarily the Grimm fairy tales, Martin shows how these stories developed out of biologic conflicts, contributed to a widely held stepmother archetype, and ultimately, impact the personal psychology of the family. As Martin points out, many stepmothers are struck with self-doubt and self-loathing right from the start because of the power of these stories. These stepmothers often have no positive example to move toward and instead are running away from the evil witches so familiar from their own childhood stories.

Martin delves into a multitude of reasons as to why these stories present stepmothers the way that they do. She pulls the stories apart in an attempt to understand the actions of all involved, but with an emphasis on the stepmother. The question why does the stepmother act the way she does? may not seem revolutionary, but stop and think about that for a moment. How often do we question the stepmother's actions in these stories, with an eye toward understanding her and her seemingly incomprehensible actions?

This week I found myself turning to the source material of Martin's arguments: the Grimm stories themselves. As I read them, I was struck by one key aspect (which Martin also identifies): the struggle for resources that is a thread running throughout most of the stories. Whether it is for food, gold, power, or even a higher place in society, the loss and gain of these resources is what drives most of the stories. Even among family and friends, there is competition for resources that in some cases leads to death. It seems clear that these stories developed in a time and place where the struggle for survival was keenly felt, where death was always just around the corner. Indeed, a sort of every man for himself attitude is prevalent in Grimm.

At first glance from our more comfortable modern North American times, it seems absurd that stories that came out of such a society should affect us so deeply today. Stepmothers today are generally not facing the same utter starvation (and death) that Hansel and Grethel's stepmother faced when she forced them out of the home. And yet....can we deny that there really IS a competition for resources between the stepmother and her stepchildren? As Martin points out, what we compete for today is simply different from what we competed for in the past. Instead of bread and cheese, now we compete for money, time and attention. It may not be acknowledged, but that latent sense of competition is indeed there.

The stepmother archetype is a very clear example of how the stories of our past affect us today. If we look only at the surface, they have the ability to colour our perceptions and create negative subconscious impressions and feelings. And yet, like all stories and myth, there is that sense of truth that sits at their heart. If we look more deeply, if we choose to carefully consider where the stories came from and attempt to understand the underlying psychological forces at work, we can find a greater truth that can lead to a greater understanding of ourselves and those around us. By understanding why the stepmother acts as she does, we can approach her (and ourselves) with compassion. By understanding why the stepmother is presented as she is, we can approach her stepchildren (and their fears) with compassion. Putting the two together can result in a deeper, more complete recognition of the emotions and challenges faced by both the stepmother and the stepchildren.

For myself, this realization of the power of story has led me to embrace what it means to be a stepmother. Yes, I am a stepmother, with all the unique joys and sorrows it brings. And I am no longer ashamed to say it.

Note: After publishing this post, a new children's book came to my attention. It's called My Fairy Stepmother, and features the stepmother as the hero. Here's to the creation of new narratives!

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Is The Hunger Games a Modern Version of Star Wars?

WARNING: This post contains spoilers about The Hunger Games and the Star Wars trilogies.

I arrived a bit late to The Hunger Games party - I just finished the trilogy last night. I read the initial book, The Hunger Games, a few months ago prior to seeing the film. It was as good as all my Twitter buddies were saying it was, so I went ahead and ordered the final two books from the library. After a month or so of patiently waiting, the books fortuitously arrived together (let me tell you, THAT doesn't happen often!) and I buckled down and started reading.

In just the first few pages of Mockingjay, the final book in the series, I had a sudden realization. I was reading a take on the Star Wars story, which of course is itself a spin on the "hero overthrows a tyrant" story. However, there is a key twist: while Star Wars is an optimistic look at good versus evil, The Hunger Games is a far more complex, and ultimately cynical, assessment of society.

Although I don't necessarily agree with Mike Ryan's matching up of characters in Star Wars and The Hunger Games (although I do admit to a moment of glee when the rebel strategist in Mockingjay presents a 3D, holographic map of the Capitol), I do agree with this statement: "The Hunger Games doesn't have the wide-eyed optimism of Star Wars, that's for sure." This is exactly what I quickly realized Mockingjay, as Katniss finds herself immersed in a rebel world that is, in its own way, just as controlling as that of the Capitol.

At first it appears that the leaders of District 13 have taken such direct control of their citizens with good intention: they must ration food in order to keep everyone alive, no one is wanting for their basic needs and the society seems well ordered and effective. But as Katniss chafes against the constraint, the reader also gets an eerie sense that something isn't right. The torture and mistreatment of Katniss' styling team from the Games is our first confirmation that District 13 is in no way, shape or form a utopia. As the book continues, the evidence continues to pile up, culminating in the rebel leaders' decision to bomb innocent children as well as their own medics (killing Katniss' sister in the process) in order to secure President Snow and the Capitol and quickly end the war. The reader is almost not surprised when President Coin, the victorious rebel leader,  suggests implementing a Hunger Games competition involving the children of the Capitol, as a way to appease the suffering of the rebel community. The cycle begins anew.

In the Star Wars films there is absolutely no question of the rebels' morality. They are fighting for good, they fight nobly and with honour, and their leaders, including Princess Leia, are trustworthy. The character who faces the most indecision about joining the rebel army is Han Solo. But his is a journey of self-discovery where he learns the value of personal sacrifice to a cause greater than yourself. It is a different thing entirely from not believing in the cause or disillusionment in the rebels themselves.

Another major difference between these two trilogies is in their endings. Star Wars gives us an incredibly hopeful, uplifting, and inspiring ending. The rebels have destroyed the Death Star, defeated the Emperor and redeemed Darth Vader. Return of the Jedi ends with a giant party and the reappearance of two of the films' most beloved characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi and Yoda. The fact that they return as spirit-like entities is evidence of hope even beyond death.

The ending of Mockingjay is something else entirely and almost feels unsatisfactory by comparison. There is no big party, no reunion of old friends, no true happily ever after. Even the resolution of the love triangle between Katniss, Peeta and Gale seems arbitrary and somewhat false. Yes, she moves away from Gale because she cannot reconcile the ethics of his actions, but at the same time, she and Peeta don't seem to fit quite right together either. They are both damaged goods, so to speak, and it is clear from the somber tone of the epilogue that, although they love each other, they are probably too damaged to truly embrace their future. The best hope we have in the epilogue is that of the children.

I believe this change in focus, from seeing good versus evil as a simple call to action to seeing it as a more complex ethical dilemma, is a natural transition given the state of our world today. It has become painfully clear to most of us that there are no easy answers in life, no simple solutions to ethical minefields. Attempting to do right in the world can (and often does) quickly go wrong, especially when it involves violence. We live in a world of drones, suicide bombers, and a seeming abandonment of wartime "honour" (think Guantanamo). While Star Wars simply challenges its viewers to join the fight against evil, The Hunger Games asks readers to question their own ethics and forces us to ask ourselves difficult questions. Most specifically, does the end justify the means?

Katniss herself, as the heroine of the story, does not escape reproach. In fact, she has a fairly constant internal dialogue questioning her actions and condemning herself for the deaths she feels she has caused. And there is no easy answer here either. Yes, it is true that her kills can be grouped under the guise of self defence during wartime, but at there is something unsettling about it all the same. As readers and viewers, we tend to be more comfortable with a more sanitized version of war - war that does not include less-than-honourable fighting tactics and the killing of civilians. One of the most difficult actions for me to reconcile was Katniss voting for the Hunger Games but then reversing her decision and assassinating President Coin. Our ability to cheer on our heroine for making the right choice and rejecting the need for revenge is tempered, in my opinion, by her final act of violence.

Plutarch's statements at the end of the book sum up this sense of uncertainty: "Now we're in that sweet period where everyone agrees that our recent horrors should never be repeated. But collective thinking is usually short-lived. We're fickle, stupid beings with poor memories and a great gift for self-destruction. Although who knows? Maybe this will be it, Katniss...Maybe we are witnessing the evolution of the human race. Think about that." There is hope that the human race may be moving in a more peaceful direction, but it is a tentative hope at best.

To be clear, this cynicism in no way makes me dislike The Hunger Games. Instead, I think it makes the story far more complex and forces the reader to think critically about themselves, society, and the world itself. This is a good thing. I'm glad that The Hunger Games is considered young adult fiction, as it is doubly important that these ethical debates are had by young people.

And on that note, I don't dislike Star Wars for its (somewhat) naive optimism either. Both are needed, I think, in today's world. We need the call to do good that Star Wars gives us, but tempered by the realization of ethical complexity offered by The Hunger Games. Both have value - especially to youth. As seen in Mockingjay's epilogue, they are our hope and our future, and we need them to be both inspired and clear-eyed.

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My thoughts on Snow White & the Huntsman

I admit I'm a sucker for movie trailers. It doesn't matter if it's in the theatre or on a new DVD, I would never dream of missing them. My favourite trailers, hands down, are for fantasy films. I love getting a glimpse at how different directors employ special effects and visuals to show the relationship between dark and light - a common theme in fantasy. Fantasy films, for obvious reasons, allow directors so much more in the way of poetic license.

I love films that look like art, like paintings. Brotherhood of the Wolf was probably the first film that opened my eyes to this way of filming. 300 is another favourite. Even the recent Captain America movie had a great matte feel to it, like very rich comic art.

Of course, my penchant for fantasy trailers has also meant that I've seen some pretty awful films. Last year's Red Riding Hood being one of them. And I've also dragged my poor, fantasy-hating husband off to numerous snorefests. Tonight he rather uncomplainingly (at least until about half way through the movie) accompanied me to see Snow White & the Huntsman.

I didn't have high expectations for the movie - it was one that I thought would be more visually appealing than truly substantial. I certainly wasn't expecting much of the acting, particularly with Kristen Stewart in the cast. I also figured it would be lacking in writing and direction as well. But I was counting on it being striking to look at.

For the first 30 minutes, I thought my expectations might be met. Charlize Theron was stunning on screen, and the cinematography and art direction were quite interesting. Unfortunately, it all went downhill as soon as Kristen Stewart came into the picture. OK, maybe that's not fair - it wasn't entirely her fault. It's just that, as soon as her character entered the storyline, the movie fell into one unimaginative cliche after another.

Actually, it was even worse than that. Some films can smartly play homage to great movies of the past. Quentin Tarantino is a master at this. But instead of simply honouring the great fantasy films of the past, Snow White & the Huntsman blatantly ripped them off. I was utterly shocked to watch Snow White galloping away from a string of (I think I counted nine) dark riders, while mounted on a grey steed. She then rode her horse into a bog and watched it disappear. Neverending Story anyone?

It got worse. From this point on I counted stolen plot devices and visual images from Game of Thrones, Princess Mononoke, Return of the Jedi, the Wizard of Oz, more Lord of the Rings (check out the tree on Snow White's shield), and even Cate Blanchett's portrayal of Elizabeth. Here I was hoping to see something new and original and instead I saw some of very brash plagiarism.

I had another major problem with this film. One of the first lessons I learned back in my junior high creative writing classes was "show, don't tell." In fact, this is one of the things I love about myth and fairy tales. They don't spell everything out - instead, they use metaphor to help you reach a dream-like understanding of the truth.

The writers of Snow White & the Huntsman chose to interrupt the flow of the film to constantly have characters explain to the audience what was actually going on. In addition to being irritating and clunky, this actually ruined one particular scene that otherwise would have been the highlight of the entire film.

As Snow White enters the Sanctuary, the home of the fairies, she is greeted by a mystical white stag. Anyone with even a limited exposure to myth would have recognized the stag for the magical being he was, and would have correctly interpreted the meaning of the scene. But leaving nothing to chance, the writers had one of the dwarfs keep up a running narrative. Ugh.

The one thing that kept this film from being unwatchable was Charlize Theron's portrayal of the evil queen. She was not only brilliant, her mere presence on screen overshadowed the rest of the cast and the film itself.

It's too bad - I was looking forward to this one as I thought it had some real potential. It always seems like a greater disappointment when you can easily see how a bad film could have been brilliant.

For a comical review of Snow White & the Huntsman, check out this one by theonering.net.

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My Introduction to Hawaiian Myth

Last month my husband and I took a trip of a lifetime - we cruised from Vancouver, BC to the Hawaiian Islands, made four stops while in Hawaii, then cruised back to Vancouver. Neither of us had been to Hawaii before, and we booked the trip 15 months in advance. To say we were excited is a bit of an understatement!

Although we did some research about the islands we were visiting and what to do there, we didn't really put a lot of time into learning about Hawaii's history or their stories. I always intended to, but somehow other priorities always seemed to get in the way. I think there was also a small sense that, since we were still travelling in the US, how different could it really be? I know, I know. Call us naive!

Luckily, the cruise line that we were on has a "travel guide" that accompanies every cruise. The job of the guide is to give talks and presentations that help passengers better understand the history, culture, geography, and people of the place you are visiting. We were incredibly fortunate to have Kainoa as our travel guide - a native Hawaiian who can trace his family's presence on Oahu back 600 years.

We went to see Kainoa's talks almost every day. And considering we had 10 sea days and he spoke twice a day, this added up to quite an opportunity for education! We learned about each of the cities we were visiting, their history and what things to see in the surrounding areas. We learned about the geographical history of the islands, Captain Cook's visit, the history of the monarchy and how Hawaii moved to statehood, the attack on Pearl Harbour, and the biological diversity of the islands. I'm rather sad we missed the talk on the migration of the Polynesians to the islands, as well as the history of the lei and the hula, but it was tough to fit everything in.

For both myself and my husband, we found that learning so much about Hawaii from such a charismatic speaker and within days of our visit really brought us much more enjoyment once we got there. We recognized landmarks, knew some of the stories our tour guides on the island were telling, and were better able to remember the history and put it all together with what we were seeing.

But for me, I think the best part was hearing the mythic references in Kainoa's talks. It was an entirely different experience to hear someone talk matter-of-factly about myth, rather than reading it off the printed page. It reminded me of how myths are meant to be enjoyed - through story, song, poetry, and perhaps most importantly, out loud. It struck me once again how myths can be so simple and yet so complicated. Here's an example:
At one of our talks, Kainoa was discussing taro, and how it is a staple of the Hawaiians' diet, much like potatoes are in North America. The traditional baby food in Hawaii is a kind of mashed or liquefied taro, which from the pictures looked a lot like pablum. 

Kainoa related the simple story of the mother and father goddess whose baby was stillborn. They buried the baby in the ground and from this spot the first taro plant grew.
For me, this story was completely familiar - so similar to many of the agricultural resurrection stories. But then Kainoa said: "This story reminds us that Taro is our elder brother. As Taro takes care of us, we must take care of Taro."

It sounds so simple, right? But this totally blew my mind in that way that myths have a habit of doing - such a simple revelation but such powerful ramifications. In all my readings of agricultural myths, I'd never quite heard it put this way before, and suddenly I had an entirely new appreciation of the stories. It was a lightbulb moment!

There were many other fascinating tidbits of myth, from the volcano goddess Pele's ire at a geothermal plant being built on her mountainside (several accidents and a lava eruption resulted in the cancellation of the construction) to the birthing stones where noble mothers would come to give birth to their children. And lots in between.

And all of this doesn't even touch on the monarchy. I found their history to be incredibly interesting, and it's easy to see that King Kamehameha the Great has already reached mythic status (he reigned in the 1700s). The Hawaiian monarchy is spoken of with great respect by the Hawaiian people, and their annexation to the US was considered a sad and solemn event by the people we talked to.On a side note, did you know that the only royal palace located on US soil is located in Honolulu? It's called 'Iolani Palace, which means "hawk of heaven". We were lucky enough to visit and tour it. I can't recommend it enough if you're staying in the city.

Overall, this trip brought home a really powerful reminder. To really enjoy your travels, learn the history, culture, myth and stories of the places you are travelling to. Wherever possible, talk to the people themselves and hear their stories from their own lips. The world of myth shouldn't just be read about in scholarly books. It should be lived!

I purchased two books about Hawaiian myth while on the islands that you might be interested in: Hina - The Goddess and Ka Honua Ola: The Living Earth.

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Listening to the Wisdom of Our Elders

My husband and I saw the new 3D version of Titanic last night - probably not the best thing to watch right before we head out on a cruise to Hawaii. But that's another story!

This is only the second time that I've seen the film, having somehow missed the Titanic craze when I was a teenager. It's not a bad film by any stretch; it brings great humanity to a larger-than-life tragedy. It covers women's rights, the destructive class system, the folly of human hubris, and the call to live a different life from what society has laid out for you. Not to mention that little love story involving Kate and Leo!

But what has struck me the most, both times I've seen the movie, is the character of the elderly Rose. Perhaps it's my own close relationship to my grandmother that makes me gravitate to her, but I think it is incredibly refreshing and fascinating to see a representation of an elderly woman who is vibrant and willing to share the story that shaped her life.

Too often when we relate to our mothers and fathers, grandmothers and grandfathers, we see them as we always have - in their roles as caregivers. We have a difficult time seeing behind the wrinkles to the young men and women they once were. Men and women with stories, secrets and adventures.

I was lucky to always have a close relationship with my maternal grandmother. I was raised listening to her stories of growing up in Depression-era Vancouver, Canada. I was able to imagine my grandmother and my great aunts wandering the streets, stealing apples from fruit trees when they were hungry, and walking to Stanley Park with their pot of stew on a Sunday afternoon. The twinkle in my grandmother's eye when she talked of the boys she "went with" before my grandfather was in the picture made smile, and more importantly made me realize that she too was once a young woman, intoxicated with life.

I also listened to the stories of my great uncle, my grandmother's brother who was killed in World War II. I read his letters, sent during training in England and later from Italy, where he died. I had a picture of him on my desk. I not only learned a lot about him, but I also learned a lot about my grandmother. I couldn't imagine how difficult it must have been for her to lose him to war.

It's well known that in traditional societies elders are respected and their wisdom is valued. It's also clear that we've lost this, to a great degree, in western society. But what really scares me is that we're also missing out on their stories - and we're risking losing them forever. We flock to the theatres to see the human side of epic historic events and yet we forget that these stories are living in our own homes, if we only thought to ask.

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