by Adam Roberts
2 This should be ‘eaves’.
Some letters between A. R. R. R. Roberts and C John Lewis The Genesis of the Sellamillion
Cedric John Lewis was perhaps the most famous of my grand-uncle’s many friends. He has, of course, subsequently gained worldwide celebrity as the author of a Fantasy sequence of his own – the ‘Nerdia’ books: a series of children’s fantasy adventures about two boys and two girls who clamber, with some difficulty, through a magic sock-drawer in an interdimensional wardrobe, thence into the magic kingdom of Nerdia where they meet the gentle though dispute-prone Lion Aslef and the Wicked Queen Feminist, who is evil, wrong, misguided and I-want-my-supper-on-t’table-when-I-get-in. Not all admirers of these books realise (so cunningly and cleverly did the author conceal his spiritual aim) that Lewis wrote them as allegories to express and prose-lytise his own religious faith, with Aslef representing The Christ. The books in the sequence are: Volume 1, The Passion Of The Lion, The Wicked Jews Who Murdered Him, and The Wardrobe; Volume 2, The Boy And His Horse And The Unspeakable Immorality They Got Up To Together Because They Did Not Attend Properly To The Commands of Leviticus; Volume 3, The Voyage Of The Duty To Tread down Upon Heretics; Volume 4, HIV Is God’s Plague On The Immoral and the final volume, Worship My God Ye Infidels Or You Will All Burn Forever. He, and the other members of the ‘oinklings’, corresponded extensively with my grand-uncle during the composition of his Fantasy writings; and from this extensive correspondence I have selected a few letters that cast, I think, an interesting light on the production of the Sellamillion itself.
My dear AR
I’d be very grateful if you’d let me know your opinion of the following, which I found in the Library’s Casanova MSS archive yesterday. I hope to include it in my forthcoming Venetian Jokes:3
—I say I say I say, my Doge has no nose.
—No nose? How does he smell?
—Lacking a nose he cannot smell at all, which is if anything a boon when we consider the notoriously unpleasant odour associated with the Venetian canals.
By the way, how’s your Fantasy epic proceeding?
Best wishes,
C
Dear C John
Thank you for the joke. Very droll.
I’m glad you ask about the Fantasy epic. I confess I’m having a spot of bother with Nonwin about the follow-up to the Soddit and Lowered Off the Rings. He wants another of the same stamp, and won’t take no for an answer. Worse than that, he won’t take ‘yes, in a year or two’ for an answer either. I tried explaining to him that the conventions of academic publishing permit an author a dozen years to assemble material and another seven to write it up, but he spoke scornful words in reply.
Apparently the marketing department has a slot with the Fantasy Book Club – Not So Much A Club, More Thor’s Hammer!! (I give you the exact title of this organisation, down to the last exclamation mark) for February, and the sequel must be ready by then. What am I to do? My imagination is utterly mined out and exhausted. What shall I do?
Warmest regards, A
Dear AR
I advise prayer. In fact, I’ve just published the enclosed little book, The Joy of Grace and the Gracefulness of Joy, with Christian Publishing Inc. I make so bold as to send you a copy in the hope that it is of some devotional use. In particular, I’d like to direct your attention to Chapter 5 Those Who Say ‘Christ’ instead of ‘The Christ’ Will Go To Hell For Evermore and Chapter 11 God Was A Carpenter, which means that All Articles of Woodwork and/or Furniture Are Sacred, Therefore Anybody Defacing, Denting Or Mistreating Woodwork Will Go To Hell For Evermore. I hope it is of some use in your dealings with your publisher.
Best Wishes,
CJL
Dear Lewis
Thank you for the book, which I shall read at my earliest opportunity. I note with particular pleasure the topic of Chapter 14, God Created Man in His Image, but Some Men Look Exactly Like Monkeys For Crying Out Loud, Hairy Knuckle-Dragging Weirdos That They Are: a Paradox in the Conflict Between Christianity and Darwinism Addressed. It is about time somebody got to the bottom of that particular theological conundrum.
Here’s news: I’ve just had the strangest conversation, on the High Street. To be honest I’m not sure what to make of it. I was walking along on my way to college this morning when I was stopped by a tall, handsome blonde-haired chap wearing plenty of velvet and a monocle. He said ‘excuse me,’ and was most polite throughout; but he insisted that he had read my published Fantasy books and they were ‘often wrong’. He added that I had done very well, by and large; but that there were certain crucial errors in the text.
I demurred, obviously; and suggested that I might be permitted a little leeway with my own fictional inventions – hoping to imply that, as author of these fantasies, I can hardly be ‘wrong’. At this he gave me a very strange look, and thrust into my hand a sheaf of unbound manuscript. ‘You’ll perhaps find the following notes I have made on the genuine mythology of interest,’ he said. I thanked him and tried to decline the gift, but he wouldn’t take the papers back. When I asked to whom I owed thanks for this unusual gift, he replied that his name was Terry (I think), and that ‘no thanks were necessary’ beyond the correction of certain misapprehensions about the nature of Upper Middle Earth. Then he said goodbye, linked arms with a beautiful but vacant-looking young woman, and walked away.
And do you know the strangest thing of all? The beautiful young woman with whom he departed had only one hand. Is that not strange?
Better go and look at this manuscript. Best wishes,
A
3 Lewis’s Venetian Jokes was eventually published by the Oxford Open Press Syndicate in four volumes under the title Parlo Parlo Parlo: the Jokes of Venice. Unfortunately, Lewis’s policy of translating not only the jokes but also the surnames of the original creators of the jokes led to difficulties when an over-zealous copyeditor overapplied the system. Lewis wanted the name of the celebrated lover ‘Giacomo Casanova’ rendered as ‘Jack Newhouse’; but in the first edition it was instead rendered throughout as ‘Fuckall Barrethome’. The entire print run had to be pulped.
Part 1
Ainusoul: the Music of the Ainu
[Editor’s Note: the ‘Ainusoul’ was the earliest element in my grand-uncle’s personal mythology, dealing as it does with the creation of Upper Middle Earth, the coming of Evil into that world, the creation of elves and various other things. It is, strictly, a separate thing from the ‘Sellamillion’ proper, which concerns that magic artefact known as the Sellmi. I print the ‘Ainusoul’ here in six sections, beginning with the first. Obviously. It exists in a remarkably finished form, perhaps the result of many separate processes of revision and polishing; the contrast with the later material in the ‘Sellamillion’ is very noticeable. Well, I noticed it anyway. And you will notice it too. I mean, if you want to. I’m not instructing you to notice it or anything. Only if you feel like it. Really, it’s up to you.]
The Creation
In the beginning, ’twas Emu, or Ainu, the one, that in Asdar is called Rhodhulsarm, and verily he ’twas, was rather, for he was without form and escheweth the vacancy of Chaos. Yea, verily, even unto the vacancy thereof. And He did call in veritude with Furious Wrath and a Mighty Wind, which did Blow Mightily, and He did Summon with Wormwood and Gall the Cornet, Flute, Harp, Sackbut, Psaltery, Dulcimer and a really pretty quite impressive variety of brazen instrumentation, actually. Then sayeth Emu, ‘Behold! I shall Spew Ye From My Belly and Devour you thereof, and cry in a big voice.’ And the Holy Spirits that are called valpac, gathered about Emu and their names are Gion, Poll, Gorge, Thingo, and Moregothic. And the Creations of Emu, the holy souls called valpac, sayeth, ‘What Shall ye Cry?’ And He replieth to them, ‘He that diggeth a pit shall fall into the darkness thereof. A bundle of Myrrh is he who smiteth me, with the gnashing of teeth and the wailing of flutes from the bowels of wailing and the chins of gnashing. For how agree the kettle and the earthen pot together? Yea, verily, ev
en unto the agreeing thereof.’
And his Creations said to Emu, ‘Do what?’
And Emu said, ‘Didn’t I just explain it?’
And the Holy Spirits did reply, ‘Yeah, great, great, what was the, er, middle bit again?’
And Emu said, ‘Just sing. I’m going to sing the cosmos into being and your job is to sing backing vocals. OK?’
And the Holy Spirits replied ‘Ahh’ in tones of dawning comprehension.
And so they sang.
But one Spirit among the Backing Singers of Emu was not pleased with the harmony, and this was Moregothic. He said, ‘What’s all this then? Are we just going to be singing all through eternity, is it? Can’t we have a breather, maybe a drink?’
And Emu said, ‘Just get on with the baritone line, for crying out loud, you’re spoiling the close harmony.’
And Moregothic said, ‘My throat is hurting.’
And Emu said, ‘Well that’s your own fault, now, isn’t it? I told you, sing from the chest, from the chest, laaa! like that, not the throat, you’ll be giving yourself polyps if you’re not careful. And if you do, don’t say I didn’t warn you, don’t come crying to me, or croaking, don’t come croaking to me if that’s what happens.’
And Moregothic said, ‘So, just out of curiosity, really, I’m wondering why an all-seeing, omniscient and all-powerful God of Goodness would allow something like oesophageal polyps to develop in the first place?’
And Emu, colouring a little, said, ‘That’s just part of my ineffability, isn’t it?’
And Moregothic said, ‘You what?’
And Emu repeated, in a tight voice, ‘My ineffability.’
And Moregothic, though he seemed to be nodding in agreement with this Divine pronouncement of the ultimate mysterious and transcendental unknowability of God’s Will, yet he said under his breath, ‘No effing ability, more like.’
And Emu said, ‘I heard that! I heard that, that’s no way to talk to your Supreme Being and, I might add, Creator, though I’ve got no thanks off any of you for that. Just a couple of words, thank you never hurt anyone, gave you the best years of my omnipotence and this is how I’m repaid.’
And Moregothic said, ‘Well if you’re going to be like that, I’m off.’
And Emu said, ‘Well, go off then, see if I care.’
And Moregothic said, ‘I will.’
And Emu said, ‘Go ahead then.’
And Moregothic said, ‘I will.’
And Emu said, ‘I’m all-powerful, I could create a million more Backing Singers for my song if I wanted to.’
And Moregothic said, ‘If you’re so all-powerful, how could it be that you’ve mistaken me for somebody who gives a toss?’
And so it was that the great cleavage occurred between the Almighty Emu and the Dark Lord Moregothic.
Of the Coming of the Elves and the First Wars of Good Against Evil
So it was that Moregothic fled the realm of Asdar and came to Upper Middle Earth. And Upper Middle Earth had been sung into existence by Emu and his subsidiary spirits, the valpac, and accordingly it wasn’t terribly well defined – very beautiful, I’m not denying that, lovely in a sort of haunting way, but not very precise, if you see what I mean. Lots of mist, a bit of sky, but when you tried to pick out specifics it all sort of blended in. A bit melty ice-creamy, if you know what I mean. A little bit too much late Monet. Cotton-woolly. Candy-flossy. You get the picture.
And Moregothic said, ‘Blimey, this is something of a bodge job, isn’t it?’
And he realised he was talking to himself.
So Moregothic made for himself followers. He took the earth of Upper Middle Earth (the earth after which the land was, I suppose, named); and because it was only song and without words, it could be impressed with a great many different interpretations; and so Moregothic did create creations with it. Creatures, I suppose you could call them, which is, I suppose, where that word comes from. That had never really occurred to me before.
First he created four dragons. First, he made the Dragon of the East, who was a league from snout to tail, with blazing golden scales and scarlet eyes. And he made the Dragon of the West, whose skin was blemishless and blue-purple, and whose eyes were bright with the silver of the evening star. And he made the Dragon of the North, who was ice-white, with breath that chilled and claws that shattered the strongest metal. And at the last he made the Dragon of the South, who was wine-coloured with olive-coloured eyes, and wings as wide as stormclouds; and his nostrils shed lightning upon the sky that fell in thorn-shapes through the darkening air. And these four mighty dragons reared from the dust in glory.
And Moregothic had brought over from Asdar one of the junior valpac, who had elected to rebel against Emu, and to share in the labours and share in the triumph of Moregothic. And this being was called Sharon, for nobody seemed to realise that this was a girl’s name. And Moregothic made him his lieutenant.4
And then he blew his breath into a fistful of earth, or something along those lines, and created a mighty army of evil creatures, that he called Orks. He intended fully to call them Awe-Inspiring Warriors of Darkness, but breathing in to speak this terrible name a fragment of dust flew up his nose, causing him to half-cough, half-snort, and so they were ever after known by that noise.
Now, the four great dragons were the mightiest of Moregothic’s creations; and their being contained the greatest proportion of the earth of Upper Middle Earth and the smallest proportion of the breath of Moregothic; and ever after they were the least bound to his will, the most ornery and independent. And the Orks were the least part fragments and motes of dust from the original matter of Emu’s song, and were the largest part breath and spittle of Moregothic, and they were the most bound to his will and the evilest.
The Dragons took wing and flew. But they found the air through which they passed a bit neither-this-nor-that, a bit to-be-frank-with-you-vague; and they conversed amongst themselves saying, ‘This is the problem with creating a world with nothing but music, very pretty but not specific enough. What’s needed here are some words – give the song some shape, meaning and so on.’
And so, as they flew through the air, the Dragons spoke. And they spoke forth the sun, to burn light and heat upon the world. And they spoke forth the high air, which is blue fire and blue smoke; and they spoke the lower air, which is clear; and they spoke the mountains, and the restless oceans that chafe against the girdle of the land. And they spoke glaciers, and towering waterfalls, and deserts of sand and deserts of hard rock.
And Moregothic saw all this and, though he was surprised, yet he said, ‘That’s more like it, some structure – that makes it all much clearer, yes. Words are much better at doing that than just music by itself, as it turns out.’
Now Emu in Asdar had his sleeve tugged by his Holy Ones, and they said, ‘Er, Mighty One, have you seen what Moregothic is doing over in Upper Middle Earth?’
And Emu, looking round, said, ‘Good grief. No, this won’t do at all.’
And he dispatched the Spirits of the valpac to Upper Middle Earth. There they found a land carved from the rugged beauty of the poetry of dragons: they found mountains like massy clouds brought down to the horizon and condensed into granite. They found wildernesses of pebbles, and deserts of red grit. They found a coastline where the sea was mad in its rage and headbutted the land over and over. And they found mighty waterfalls hurling themselves over the raw cliff in two thousand white twining lines from the black pool above, like the tentacles of a great albino sea creature.
And, seeing this, the valpac spoke words of their own. For though they could not undo the speech of the Dragons yet nevertheless what they spoke chimed contrapuntally with the Dragonwords.
They spoke woods, and rolling grasslands, and the mild beasts of earth and forest. They spoke rivers that rolled as vowels down the flanks of clover-covered hills; they spoke fish that darted as consonants within those waters. They spoke birds that jewelled through the air, and butterflies w
hich wave greeting at the world as they fly; and these birds and these butterflies are words that seem brief yet contained great wonders. And at last they spoke people to live in these beautiful places, whom they called elves, which, in the primary speech of creation, meant words.5
And the valpac departed and returned to Asdar.
The first Elves were made in the new land between the mountains Ered Loonpants and the Capital Sea. These were the Tree Elves, and they were a beautiful people, tall, with large eyes and large ears, with wide smiles and dark hair. And the first king of these Elves was called Tuoni Bleary, the King of the First Elves. And the land was called Blearyland; and in the mornings and the evenings, in memory of the original wordless song of Emu, the land was spread with cloth of mist and haze that spilled the sunlight in gold and honey, in topaz and blood. And when the sun had risen, or had gone quite behind the horizon, the land acquired the harder-edged loveliness that the Dragons had given it. And because the elven peoples thought the most beautiful views happened during the fuzzy, bleary, unfocused dawn and dusk, they did praise it in an imprecise song:
Look: I believe, very much, you know, in beauty
And I think it’s important to recognise
The very important role played by, you know,
the beauty community. Indeed.
And the Elves built a great city amongst the trees of Hipinonsens, north of the great forest of Taur-ea-dor-pants, and this city they called Tonjon, though the other races of Upper Middle Earth tended to call it Elftonjon, which means ‘spangly top on taur-ea-dorpants’.
And King Bleary said, ‘Like, you know, this is a terribly encouraging development, which represents a year-on-year increase in city-ness in the Blearyland area in real terms.’
And Robin ‘Goodfellow’ Cük, Prince of Elves said, ‘Indeed, hmm, huarr, gnarr, ashahahaha,’ and did make a strange high-pitched keening sort of noise.