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Mysterious Feelings: A Review of Paul Bowles' "The Circular Valley"

Paul Bowles’ short story “The Circular Valley” tells of an ancient valley that is home to jungles, cliffs, waterfalls, a long-abandoned monastery, and the ghostly entity known as the Atlájala, who can enter the minds of living creatures and experience their feelings. For many generations, friars came to live and die at the monastery as the Atlájala observed them, believing them to be creatures devoid of meaning. Until one day, when the Atlájala happened to stumble into the mind of one of the young friars and was instantly met with intricate thoughts and feelings it had never known before. Engrossed in the new sensations, the Atlájala became fixated on humans, preferring to possess them over all other animals to continue satisfying its desire to experience new complex feelings and emotions. Eventually the friars left the monastery, coming to be replaced years later by various bandits and soldiers, with each group providing new sensations for the Atlájala to enjoy. Many more years passed before new humans finally entered the valley: a man and woman in a romantic relationship. After following the couple around for a day, the Atlájala learns the woman is cheating on her husband with the man, and despite the man’s pleas, struggles with the idea of fully separating from her husband. Only when the two of them are riding out of the valley does she finally agree to be with the man so long as they can leave their current lives behind, as she cannot bear to live with both men in her life. After the man refuses, the donkey he is riding spontaneously jumps over a cliff, killing him. The Atlájala then enters the mind of the woman and feels that she is happy, and is pleased that it was able to help her.

In “The Circular Valley,” Paul Bowles ingeniously sets up the concept of a mysterious supernatural entity through the Atlájala by utilizing incredible worldbuilding and the passage of time, the Atlájala’s link to emotion and spirituality, and the Atlájala’s lack of defined abilities. The worldbuilding in the story is one of the most compelling elements thanks to the fantastic descriptions that help characterize the Circular Valley: this secluded piece of land, hidden away from the rest of the world, acting as the perfect home for a free wandering spirit such as the Atlájala. Bowles’ wonderful use of imagery allows the reader to easily visualize the valley’s great sense of verticality with all its black cliffs, sloped hills, waterfalls, and downstream rapids (7-8). The abandoned monastery sitting alone on a clearing perfectly between the towering mountains and the low sprawling jungles immediately gives off a mystical feeling of awe (7), clueing the reader in that this is a beautiful, sacred, and mysterious place that exists in a separate plane from the greater world around it. The way Bowles depicts the passage of time throughout the story also greatly adds to the scale of the Atlájala’s presence in the Circular Valley. The Atlájala existed in the valley before the monastery was ever built (8), it was there when the monastery was occupied by the friars (8-9), it was there years later during the time of the bandits and the soldiers (9), and it remains to see the man and woman at the end of the story (10). The exact amount of time between the eras of the valley is never specified, instead it is left to the reader to infer that many years—centuries even—have passed between each one, perfectly contributing to the sense that the Atlájala is a being on a scale much greater than humanity. The descriptions of the monastery becoming more dilapidated as time passes (11) also help to effectively convey the passage of time.

The Atlájala’s ability to move into the minds of animals creates the interesting dynamic the spirit has with the humans it encounters, as we get to experience the emotions of the characters through the wonder the Atlájala feels whenever it possesses a new person. While that sense of wonder is transcribed expertly the first time the Atlájala enters the mind of a human with the massive revelation that humans are “rich and complex” (8) with feeling, the pinnacle of these moments comes from the possession of the man and woman near the end of the story. Upon entering the man, the Atlájala is overwhelmed by a crushing feeling of intensity for the woman and her beauty; she is the only thing that exists to the man (10). Through the woman, however, the Atlájala becomes exponentially aware of the physical world around it with all its possibilities and freedoms (10). This dynamic creates the perfect contrast of desire between the two characters, all channeled through the perspective of the Atlájala, made even better by the woman being the first female the Atlájala has ever encountered (10). The other interesting aspect of the Atlájala’s possession ability hinted at by Bowles comes through the friars. Unlike every character who comes after them, the friars can detect the Atlájala’s presence within their bodies, with the first friar the Atlájala possesses going so far as to beat himself to cast the entity out (9). This brilliantly suggests that the Atlájala is a being very closely related to spirituality, creating the opportunity for speculation that the more enlightened characters in the story have reached a spiritual level close to that of the ethereal plane the Atlájala resides in.

Going along with amazing opportunities for speculation regarding the Atlájala, the end of the story makes the reader question just how much power to influence the physical world the Atlájala possesses. Before the ending, the only true physical effect was on the friars, but while they were aware of the Atlájala within them, their reactions to it were completely of their own volition; the Atlájala may have found enjoyment out of the new torturous sensations, but it did nothing to cause them (9). However, when the donkey the man is riding suddenly jumps over the cliff, Bowles states that the Atlájala “had been able to help” (12) the woman, implying that the Atlájala physically influenced the donkey to jump, whether by scaring it in some way or directly controlling it. With that amazing yet horrifying implication in mind, the Atlájala goes from a simple observer to a being much more powerful than originally led on. If this truly is the case, then the Atlájala is made more intriguing by how it chooses to rarely intervene with human affairs, and how it is stated that it will likely never do so again (12).

Bowles, Paul. “The Circular Valley.” The Big Book of Modern Fantasy, edited by Ann and Jeff Vandermeer, Vintage Books, 2020, pp. 7-12.

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Uniquely Cliché: A Review of Michael Moorcock's "The Dreaming City"

Michael Moorcock’s novella “The Dreaming City” follows Elric, last Lord of Melniboné, in his quest to slay the usurper of his throne, his cousin Yyrkoon, and rescue his beloved, Cymoril. Elric carries out this mission by gathering bands of mercenaries to attack the last remaining city of the Melniboné empire: the Dreaming City of Imrryr where Cymoril is being held captive by Yyrkoon, but not before visiting Imrryr alone prior to the attack to see Cymoril for himself. Upon reaching her, Elric learns Cymoril has been placed under a sleep enchantment by Yyrkoon, and Elric battles his way out of the city by using the power of the cursed sword Stormbringer and the demon Arioch to cut down his foes. Upon returning to Imrryr once again during the raid a few days later, Elric finally has his battle with Yyrkoon, and they each render themselves puppets of evil magics in an attempt to defeat one another, with Elric eventually gaining the upper hand. Before Elric can claim victory however, Yyrkoon pushes Cymoril towards him, where she falls onto Stormbringer and dies. Distraught, Elric retreats from the city with his mercenaries, most of whom are killed off by dragons in the process. After reaching a safe harbor, Elric throws Stormbringer into the sea, wishing to be free of its terrible power, but ultimately he is too weak to carry on without the sword at his side, and he falls into the sea to retrieve the blade, shackling himself to it once more.

In “The Dreaming City,” Michael Moorcock skillfully crafts an engaging fantasy world through the use of a questionably sympathetic hero, epic battles with swords and magic, and the admittedly stereotypical fantasy depiction of two men controlling the fate of a maiden. The function of Elric as a morally-gray to even slightly evil protagonist is one of the best aspects of the story. Not only does Elric’s callous attitude towards others drastically set him apart from the cliché pure and incorruptible fantasy hero, but it also allows Moorcock to flesh out the world of the story through the dark and disturbing magics employed by Elric. The best example of this can be found in the second chapter when Elric battles against Yyrkoon’s guards, where he summons the demon Arioch who breaks the soldiers’ spines and sucks out their souls (110). The gruesome descriptions given during this scene do a fantastic job immersing the reader, while also reinforcing the idea that Elric is more of a modern-day anti-hero since the honor in his quest of slaying an evil ruler and rescuing the woman he loves is juxtaposed only by his lack of morality. Other such convincing displays of this can be found when Elric lashes out at Tanglebones for failing to bring Cymoril to him, even after Tanglebones remained dutifully loyal to Elric after his throne was usurped (113). Moments like these are littered throughout the story, and they make the plot much more engaging since following a character with notable flaws is much more interesting than following the typical virtuous fantasy protagonist. Oddly enough, these flaws also make the death of Cymoril feel more justified, especially in the context that Stormbringer is fated to destroy everything around it, including Elric himself (115). It creates a satisfying moment that shows how no good can come from lusting after power, and is more fitting than stories where the love interest dies for the sake of shock value.

Moorcock’s vivid descriptions of epic duels fought through the use of terrible magics also make for some amazing highlights in the story that help to bring the fantasy world to life. Any creative writer knows how difficult moment to moment action scenes can be to convey in an effective manner, but the combat in “The Dreaming City” stands out as extremely striking due to the energy that the descriptions bring to the table. Elric’s aforementioned battle where he is aided by Arioch is a standout example, with Elric’s demonic chanting to summon the “Duke of Hell” (110) effectively showing the hatred Elric feels for those who stand between him and his goals. The most sensory brawl in the story is also fittingly the duel between Elric and Yyrkoon, where the clashing between Stormbringer and Mournblade nearly cause Elric’s body to go numb as the swords roar against one another, with the wicked power of Stormbringer pulling Elric into the conflict, “He was no longer his own master—the blade was deciding his actions for him" (114). The fantastical elements at play in this scene alone are enough to convey the climactic battle at hand, but the descriptions elevate it to the next level. However, even the fights in the story that lack a major reliance on magic are still conveyed in an engaging manner. One such example is when Elric kills the eunuch archer who is guarding Cymoril’s chambers, where the simple descriptions of flying sparks and swinging steel (108) are enough to draw the reader in, as Elric still has to go through the process of carefully outmatching the eunuch in skill during their duel, even if it is clear from the beginning to the reader that Elric will win.

As cliché as it is, the quest of a hero to rescue a damsel in distress does help to appropriately ground the world in the fantasy setting, while also serving as a noble goal for Elric to have as his focus throughout the story. In a way, the mission to save Cymoril is ultimately the main redeeming factor to Elric’s character; if his sights were just set on killing Yyrkoon to reclaim the Ruby Throne, then he would seem like nothing more than a power-hungry tyrant, even if he is the true ruler of Imrryr. This dynamic is thus what allows for Elric to be such a compelling character to follow, as once Cymoril dies, he truly has no goal left, and would have completely given up if not for his genetic weakness shackling himself to Stormbringer (119). With all that being said however, the phallic imagery of two men battling for the fate of a women using swords—swords that are, funnily enough, literally controlling their every move (115)—cannot be overlooked as an unfortunate, classic display of patriarchal control over women.

Works Cited

Moorcock, Michael. “The Dreaming City.” The Big Book of Modern Fantasy, edited by Ann and Jeff Vandermeer, Vintage Books, 2020, pp. 102–119.

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Tense Isolation: A Review of Victor LaValle's "I Left My Heart in Skaftafell"

Victor LaValle’s short story “I Left My Heart in Skaftafell” shares the first-person experiences of an African American man as he journeys through the remote European nation of Iceland. Inspired to leave his home of New York and travel to the island country by a dream, the narrator buys a pass for a one-way bus tour around the island, traveling from city to city while exploring and observing the scenic nature of mountains and wilderness. Not long after beginning his journey, however, the narrator notices he is being stalked by a man-sized troll, later revealed to be named Gorroon. After confronting the troll one night in a hotel, Gorroon tells the narrator that he plans to eat him, and implies that there is no hope for the narrator to escape his fate. Terrified, the narrator contemplates what to do before finally deciding to face the troll head on. After reaching Skaftafell National Park, the narrator follows a trail up a mountain, with Gorroon slowly pursuing him the whole way. Upon finally reaching the summit, the narrator and Gorroon begin their final battle, where the narrator decides that he refuses death, and locks himself in an eternal struggle with the troll, their bodies eventually turning to stone and becoming one with the mountain.

In “I Left My Heart in Skaftafell,” Victor LaValle expertly uses love and race to create feelings of isolation in a foreign land while also effectively utilizing the fantasy genre to showcase the unexplainable prejudices faced by people of color. From early in the story, an intense tone of loneliness is established through the narrator’s constant thoughts of love and the woman he left behind in America. He tries writing a postcard to his lover, detailing his worries regarding the troll that is following him, but in the end, he is too convinced that he wants to be alone to mail it, although he ironically acknowledges his desire for companionship immediately afterwards (725), showing just how much his loneliness is burdening his mind. After Gorroon reveals his plan to kill him, the narrator tries writing a second letter to apologize to his lover for leaving, but by that point his penmanship is illegible due to the bumpy bus ride combined with his shaky nerves (728), demonstrating how the looming threat of dying alone has made the narrator regret his decision to abandon what may have been a successful marriage with someone he truly loved. One last detail to note is how towards the beginning of story the narrator remarks that most of the people traveling alongside him on the bus are couples (724), bringing effective juxtaposition into the story by creating an image of a lone man surrounded by love.

The other key factor in the story’s tonal isolation are the descriptions of the other travelers the narrator encounters during his travels through Iceland, many of whom are of ethnic European descent: Germans, French, Italians, and native Icelanders (723-725). This clear divide in race cements the narrator as a stranger in a world far away from where he would normally call home. These feelings of isolation create tension which is used to establish the fact that the narrator has nobody he can turn to for aid in his struggle against Gorroon; he is alone and must rely only upon himself to handle the conflict he faces. It is questionable as to whether or not this is meant to imply that the other travelers in the story do not help the narrator because of his race, but it is more likely meant to be a tool used to create metaphysical distance rather than suggest prejudice. This concept is strengthened by the fact that the narrator is also aware of a divide between himself and the ethnic Africans that he comes across (724), as the narrator remarks on their lack of cultural familiarity to him, given that he is American. The narrator also notes that the native Icelandic people that he meets are more concerned with his personality than his race; they appreciate his quiet, polite demeaner when compared with other loud, bashful Americans, as it appeals to their reserved culture (723-724), furthering the idea that the differences between the narrator and those he meets are not meant to create a sense of disdain, but to establish distance.

The fantastical plot of a black narrator being stalked by a troll creates the perfect allusion for the story’s central conflict: unexplainable prejudice. When Gorroon first tells the narrator of his plan to eat him, the troll doesn’t give any particular reason, he simply states it as if it were a fact. Gorroon does, however, stoke the narrator’s fears, telling him that he can, “smell your blood from here” (727). This disturbing form of threatening is likely LaValle’s way of alluding to the constant threat of ambiguous prejudice people of color face in the modern-day world. The troll doesn’t have any reason why he should choose to eat the narrator over any other traveler, just as many people with racial biases often don’t have specific reasons for their discrimination; both are cases of blind hatred with no insight as to who is actually being targeted. The anxiety Gorroon’s threat causes the narrator is also equivalent to the anxiety felt in the real world. Gorroon tells the narrator that it will be apparent when he comes for him (727), leaving the narrator to live in fear that he could be attacked at any moment, once again mimicking the concern people of color feel knowing that they could be targeted for harm and harassment at any moment due to the color of their skin. The impact of this fear is even demonstrated when the narrator fails to visit the island of Papey to see the puffins because he is held back by his fear of being attack by Gorroon (727), just as the same fear has the potential to cause some people of color to live more reserved lives, limiting themselves on what they have access to out of fear of being attacked.

Works Cited

LaValle, Victor. "I Left My Heart in Skaftafell." The Big Book of Modern Fantasy, edited by Ann and Jeff Vandermeer, Vintage Books, 2020, pp. 723–731.