What’s with all the classical allusions in Leepike Ridge? And what allusions am I missing?
These are variations on a question I usually field from those among my readers who happen to qualify as “adult.” Librarian types. Teacher types. Friendly parent types. And as it just cropped up again in ye olde bloge comments (shout out to Ben Hoyt, Kiwi), I thought now would be the time to fire up an answer.
I’ll start by telling a little story about me. (Thrilling, yes?) One night, while brushing my teeth, with every intention of schlumping off to bed, a line occurred to me. That line was the first line of Leepike Ridge:
In the history of the world there have been lots of times and lots of onces and every time has had a once upon it.
I hadn’t the faintest idea to which story that line might belong, but I knew that if I went to sleep without writing it down, it would vanish forever. So I, with cheeks full of minty, plaque-fighting foam and a toothbrush dangling from my lips, schlumped off to my computer instead of to bed.
I wrote down the line. It seemed lonely, so I gave it a couple paragraphs to provide company and moral support through the long night. Those paragraphs quickly turned into pages.
Eventually, my wife came back downstairs and wanted to know why I was still up, and why my mouth was still full of toothpaste. Leaving my line and its friends on the screen, I went to bed.
In the morning, I had a serious puzzle facing me. I still liked the opening line. I even liked the pages that came with it. But I had virtually no idea what the story might be. Over the next few days, I made my decision. I was going to rip off The Odyssey. And Tom Sawyer. And I might even borrow a bit from Robinson Crusoe.
Tom Sawyer and R.C. provided flavor and the occasional element, but The Odyssey gave me my structure, my tension, and my eventual resolution.
Sidenote: Stealing ideas from contemporaries is rude and tasteless. Stealing from the long dead is considered literary and admirable. The same is true of grave-robbing. Loot your local cemetery and find yourself mired in social awkwardness. But unearth the tomb of an ancient king and you can feel free to pop off his toe rings. You’ll probably end up on a book tour, or bagging an honorary degree or two.
Back to The Odyssey. It’s certainly high on the oft-alluded-to list of biggies, but I wanted to change things up a bit. I’ve always thought that what made that story work was the tension on the home-front. Penelope and Telemachus are powerlessly awaiting Odysseus’ return while locust suitors leech (to mix my invertebrate imagery) on their dwindling wealth (each pursuing Penelope’s hand as a means to total takeover). Incidentally, it’s important to note that if Penelope had married one of these cerebral suitors, Telemachus would have almost certainly ended up dead.
In response to the suitors, Telemachus goes out in search of his father. As does Tom in Leepike Ridge. The tension that drives the reader’s desire for a homecoming is the same—the home is under attack. But the solution is not quite the same. Tom returns, having realized that he is his father’s remains. And he brings a friend. Purely for fun, Reg is named Reginald Fisher (King Fisher—Fisher King). This is because I have always thought that the Arthurian and Fisher King legends function with a lot of the same tension and the same yearning for a return and a homecoming that Homer used so well with Odysseus. So Tom (Telemachus) returns, realizing that he is Odysseus, and he brings the Fisher King with him. It’s not profound. It’s just fun. I was amusing myself, and playing around with names and structures and allusions makes me say, “Oh, neat.”
As to explicit allusions, I lost track of a lot of them. Argus— Odysseus’ faithful dog (yes, he had to die). Old Nestor—the man Telemachus first visits when searching for his father. Jeffrey Medon Veatch—Medon is a suitor that dodges execution in the homecoming of Odysseus. (Veatch is a street in my town that has always made me smile.) Phil Leiodes—Leiodes is one of Homer’s leading baddies. Theodore Dolius Hammond—the middle name belongs to a friend of the Greek fam (flagging the fact that Tom is Odysseus, not Ted). All the bowling alley villains are named for Odyssean hardships (Lotus, Cy, Sirens, etc.—but to be quite honest, I completely forget why I named one Pook). The family bed is used as a turning point the way it is in The Odyssey (and one of the posts is carved like a tree), and Tom’s coming up through it again flags his typological and thematic identity/role.
And I like crawdads.
So there. I’ve tipped the cards of my own amusement. Who says a little grave robbing can’t be good, clean family fun?
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