All posts by Deirdre Straughan

Ivaldi: Table of Contents

Available chapters are shown as links below.

Book 1: True Seaborn

The City of Light 01Light

supplement: The Ivaldin Calendar

The Font of Knowledge 02fontknow

Overnight Success 03Overnight

Bard in a Gilded Cage 04Bard

More Tales from the Font of Knowledge 05MoreTales

Carilla and the Long Arm of the Law 06Carillalaw

Chitra Has an Engagement 07Chitraengaged

Book 2: Teja

Red-Headed Stranger b201red

Kanya’s Story b202kanya

Harem Childhood b203harem

The King’s Birthday Feast b204bday

The Gift of the Moon b205moon

Flight from Ivaldi b206flight

A House in the Hills b207hills

Disappearance b208disapp

Blood b209blood

From the Lost Papers of the Six-Fingered Mage b210papers

Strange Tales in the Hills b211strange

The Demon-Killer b212killer


Extras: Creation x_creation| Ancient History x_ancient| About Magic x_magic | About True Seaborn x_seaborn


Book 3: Meshvir

A Wand’ring Minstrel Eye b301eye

The Hall of the Mountain King b302hall

The Embassy from the Golden Land b303embassy

The Deathbed of a King b304deathbed

Taking the High Road b305high

My Darkest Hour b306darkest

Reunion b307reunion

(Untitled Chapter)

Interview with Chitra

Interview with Janse

(Untitled Chapter)

Bonding

The Thundering Herd

Return to Meshvir

The Field of Kings

Conversations Before a Battle Battle

The Victory Feast

Memory

Fiction: Ivaldi

I began Ivaldi during my undergraduate years at the University of Texas at Austin. Douglass Parker, a professor of Classics, taught a course in Parageography – the geography of fantasy worlds. The reading list ranged from The Odyssey to Tolkein, and I remember vividly the day Dr. Parker came bounding into class, waving a book and exclaiming, “You all have to read this!” It was Umberto Eco’s The Name of the Rose, just published; that was my first exposure to Italian literature.

The major project for the semester was to develop your own fantasy world, and document it – in some form other than narrative fiction. Some students drew maps and charts and plans; I wrote a guide to the city of Ivaldi.

Throughout the course, Dr. Parker also shared with us snippets (mostly in the form of poetry) from his own created world and the adventures therein of his alter ego, Dionysius Simplicissimus Periphrastes. His documentation was rich and fun, but sometimes short on detail. So in the final exam, which consisted of questions on the world DSP found himself in, we were expected to simply make up whatever we could not have deduced from the documentation. I don’t remember exactly what I said about DSP, but it must have been scurrilous, because I do remember Dr. Parker’s notes on the returned exam: “Lies! Slander, all of it!” But he gave me an A anyhow. <grin>

I’ve been working on this novel in fits and starts ever since, and it’s still not quite finished – maybe about 15% remains to write, and I’ll do yet another revision as I start posting it here (again; it’s been available off and on for years, depending on web server space). To get started, go to the table of contents.

Doug Parker probably figured out long ago that one of the characters is him.

NYT article on the Parageography class

 

Also: how my hero got his name

The Ivaldin Calendar

The Ivaldin year consists of eight months of 45 days, each divided into nine morens of 1, 2, 3,… 9 days:

One Month

Moren 1 Day 1
Moren 2 Day 1 Moren 2 Day 2
Moren 3 Day 1 3-2 Moren 3 Day 3
Moren 4 Day 1 4-2 4-3 Moren 4 Day 4
Moren 5 Day 1 5-2 5-3 5-4 Moren 5 Day 5
Moren 6 Day 1 6-2 6-3 6-4 6-5 Moren 6 Day 6
Moren 7 Day 1 7-2 7-3 7-4 7-5 7-6 Moren 7 Day 7
Moren 8 Day 1 8-2 8-3 8-4 8-5 8-6 8-7 Moren 8 Day 8
Moren 9 Day 1 9-2 9-3 9-4 9-5 9-6 9-7 9-8 Moren 9 Day 9
High Holiday
Low Holiday

Two days of every moren are business and school holidays, but most shops remain open for the “low holiday.” Certain other days are sacred to particular gods, when rituals are performed in their honor.

There are four seasons: Bursat (the monsoon), Chhota Garm (warm), Tand (cold) and Bara Garm (hot). Each is two months long (thus, the months are called First Bursat, Second Bursat, First Chhota Garm, etc.). The calendar is adjusted to fit the seasons, with the New Year and the month of First Bursat beginning with the first rainfall. At the end of Second Bursat, when there has been no rain for five days, the rains are considered to be over, and First Chhota Garm begins. After two months, First Tand begins, coincident with the winds’ shift from the eastern sea to the cold northwestern mountains. Bara Garm begins when the wind shifts again, to blow from the warm south.

At the change of months there are five holidays in a row (9-9 to 3-1), to make up for the previous long morens of work. No one remembers how this peculiar calendar came about, but the Ivaldin insist that they like the varied rhythm it gives to their lives.

In Italy, Dyed Hair More Common than Natural

(for women)

I read somewhere that an astonishing proportion of Italian women dye their hair – was it 60% ? Wouldn’t surprise me. Look around you on the Milan metro any crowded morning, and it’s hard to find a woman who doesn’t dye her hair. There are plenty of blondes, few of them natural. A woman’s hair color is strictly her own choice and I have nothing to say against it, but I am perplexed as to how to handle the obviously old ladies who dye their hair blonde, red, etc. I’m not sure whether they simply like their hair that improbable color, or are trying to look younger than they are. Should I offer them a seat, or would they consider that an insult?

I saw an old lady on the street once whose hair was dyed blue. Not little-old-lady style blue-rinsed silver, but bright royal blue. I liked her instantly. I’m also fond of the ones who just leave their hair alone; they look a lot better than the dyed ones. I resist the impulse to congratulate them on their good taste.

“One theory on hair dye / hair styles is that older women want to hang on to the hair that they had when they felt their most attractive. Hence in the UK you will see a fair number of 50’s hair do’s on elderly ladies now…

The argument (which I subscribe to) about blonde is that as you get older your skin tone changes and blonde is more flattering to it! Though you should never go blonder than the colour you might have been as a toddler/small child.

I plan on making my hairdresser a major beneficiary of my disposable income until my hair is white enough to go really white – my Grandmother had lovely white hair which she wore in a chignon until her death at the age of 97!!!” – Judith

Is Football Worth It? The Cost of Stadium Violence in Europe

^ carabinieri arriving for a soccer match at Milan’s San Siro stadium

I used to believe that spectator sports were a way of channeling the mob’s inherent violence into vicarious forms of conflict. “Supporting” a team means joining a sort of artificial tribe, comprised of that team’s fans. You signal your membership in the tribe by wearing the team colors, chanting the team chant, and despising rival tribes. The teams on the field play out a ritualized battle in which one side wins and the other loses, with more or less actual violence and possibility of injury, depending on the sport.

Unfortunately, nowadays the tribes no longer leave the battle to the teams on the field. While in England for my MBA residential school, I had time one evening to do my usual hotel thing: flipping channels on the TV. One program showed a town’s preparations for a football (soccer) match. A trainload of fans were met at the station by mounted police in riot gear – even the horses had plastic shields over their eyes. The crowd was escorted off the train, with mounted police leading, and more walking alongside. The road from the station to the arena was lined on both sides with police, standing shoulder to shoulder in flourescent yellow jackets; the visiting fans had to walk straight along the road to the arena.

Inside the arena, a police chief remarked to the TV crew that there were 100 seats unsold for the match, so they would be able to create a buffer zone between the opposing fans. I didn’t stay with the program to see what happened, but later on saw footage of rowdy fans (faces electronically blotched out) being dragged away by police.

Some games in Milan involve similar preparations: busloads of police arrive well before the match begins, and are presumably dispersed throughout the stadium to maintain order. For games when certain nationalities of foreign fans are expected, the mayor orders all bars nearby not to serve beer after a certain time.

If I were a housebreaker, crime boss, etc., I’d be delighted to know that I could get on with my trade in peace during football games, when the bulk of a city’s police force are busy keeping the fans from killing each other.

However, I am only a taxpayer, wondering how much all this is costing me. Is football worth the cost to society, even for those who care about the sport? A few years ago, in an effort to curb stadium violence, the then-minister of sport in Italy threatened to have the games played in empty stadiums, viewable only on TV. How is it “sport” when we must go to such lengths to prevent the audience getting hurt?

The whole concept of “supporting a team” seems very artificial to me. I can understand rooting for one’s national team during the Olympics or the World Cup – at least you have a passport in common with them, and perhaps a language, culture, and history (although the increasing phenomenon of athletes migrating, to countries where they can be better supported for an Olympic bid, or get a spot on a less-exalted team, calls that into question). In a sense, you are cheering your country’s ability to produce good players – there are worse national traits to celebrate.

But it’s rare for a “local” professional football team to have a single player from the city that they supposedly represent – many of the players won’t even be from the same country. So, when we cheer for AC Milan, what are we applauding? Berlusconi’s ability to buy good players? Given the mysteries shrouding the origin of his personal fortune, this is not something that makes me cheerful. Still less do I feel that football is worth getting violent about, unless maybe I could beat up Berlusconi.


Feb 9, 2003

I wrote the above a few days ago, inspired by the TV show I saw in the UK. Today Milan’s two home teams, AC Milan and Inter, are playing each other in Milan’s famous San Siro stadium. We saw six large buses and assorted other vehicles full of police heading that way. Then, as we entered the metro station at Piazzale Lotto (closest stop to the stadium), we were suddenly confronted with several dozen riot-geared police. We had had the ill luck and bad timing to arrive just as a subway train pulled in, carrying fans of both teams. To avoid trouble, they had been put into separate cars, with police escort. The police cordoned off the station so that one group was forced to wait while the other group exited, each side singing rude songs and shouting slogans at the others. The rowdies were, predictably, young men, but the groups included women, and some confused and frightened looking children. The rest of us stood and waited until both packs of idiots had left the station.