“But Renee helped me find my bones!”
“Because she wanted what was best for you, and life was best. If it hadn’t been for her, you wouldn’t have died before, so she helped give that life back to you. She felt she owed it to you, to make up for the way she had ruined a fine man. She didn’t know you would bring her back, too, and didn’t know how to handle it. She had expected you to return to life, slowly forget about her, and find someone new. Then she would have done the right thing at last and made up for her cruel lies.”
Jordan considered that. “But she really didn’t try very hard to convince me.”
“What use?” Ivy asked. “Your mind was closed. And she’s a proud woman. She wasn’t going to beg. She never begged in her life; she just did what she had to. So when you rejected her—”
Jordan was stricken. “True, true! I have wronged her!”
“Well, you didn’t know. You’re sort of proud, too. But now it’s all right. You can go to her!”
Jordan seemed awed. “All that she’s done—she did for love of me! Even her cruelest lies! I was too ready to believe in her guilt!”
“Well, so was I,” Ivy said. “Until Hugo explained it all to me. But of course, I’m only five years old; I don’t understand about romance.”
“All those centuries!” Jordan lamented. “What Renee told me is true; she was miserable because she could not marry her true love—who was me! I must beg her forgiveness!” He got up and hurried in the direction Threnody had gone.
Pook started to follow, then decided not to; some scenes were better without audiences. “I guess she’ll forgive him,” Ivy said with satisfaction. “She can change her form; she can change her mind, too.” She looked around. “Oh, I’ve just got to hug somebody! You!” And she hugged Puck, the little ghost horse. “And you.” She hugged Pook, and Peek, and even the nose of the moat monster. “But not you,” she decided, encountering the zombie.
She looked toward the orchard; did she see two figures merging behind the trees? She realized that she would not see Jordan again after this day, for Threnody would never enter the castle alive. Not with her curse. She might be demon-spawned, but she had love and conscience and surely a soul, and she didn’t want the castle to fall. The happy couple would have to go elsewhere, and that meant Pook and his family would go, too. Ivy knew she would be very sad about that when she got over her present happiness.
“I suppose I’d better tell my folks about why we’ve lost two ghosts and a dragon and why the castle shook,” she said to herself. She didn’t relish the prospect, but it was best to get it over with early.
She went inside. Things had settled down somewhat now. Her mother was sitting pensively, while Baby Dolph was fussing in his crib. “What’s the matter, Mom?” Ivy asked, willing to postpone the inevitable a little longer.
“He’s so restless,” Irene said. “I don’t know what’s the matter. I thought it was because of the earthquake tremor, but that’s past now. I’m at my wit’s end!”
Ivy studied her little brother. She had resented him from slightly before the moment he arrived at the cabbage, but had never really looked at him. He was an ugly thing, sort of bald and fat and toothless and drooly, and she couldn’t see why anyone would want to pay so much attention to him. But the story of Jordan the Ghost and Threnody the Demon-Spawned was fresh in her mind, and she had just had a lesson in prejudice. If Jordan had been ready to believe the truth instead of the cruel lie told to save him—
Suddenly Dolph reminded her of Threnody. It was a completely incongruous impression on the physical side, yet a profound one emotionally. Why did her helpless, roly-poly baby brother remind her of that beautiful woman?
Well, there was one way to find out. Ivy moved closer to the crib and concentrated, enhancing the baby’s qualities. “What’s his talent?” she asked.
“We don’t know, dear,” Irene said. “Sometimes it takes years to discover a person’s magic talent, and there’s no guarantee it will be worthwhile.” Irene was really worried about that, Ivy saw. She didn’t want any child of hers to have a poor talent.
“He’s trying to do his magic,” Ivy declared, trusting her little-girl intuition. “But he can’t quite do it yet, so he’s frustrated.” Ivy was something of an expert on frustration.
Irene smiled, not taking her seriously. Adults could be especially annoying that way. “Whatever you say, dear.”
Ivy continued her concentration, knowing that something was bound to show. It always did when she willed it so. She was sure there was some reason Dolph reminded her of Threnody, and sure she could make this apparent if she just intensified it enough.
Suddenly there was a wolf cub in the crib. “Say, look at that!” Ivy exclaimed, pleased.
Irene looked—and screamed.
In a moment Daddy King Dor and half the personnel of the castle were in the room. They were all edgy because of the earthquake—maybe it should be left at that?—but it was too late. Startled by the scream, Dolph had changed back into a baby. “Aw, you missed it,” Ivy said petulantly. “Dolph’s a changer.”
Irene calmed down enough to pay attention. “A what?”
“Like Threnody. Only he’s fast. He does it in an instant, not an hour.
He—” “Who?”
“Threnody. That’s a long story.” Ivy looked again at the baby, who was now peacefully sleeping, satisfied with his effort. Dolph no longer looked as disgusting. “Maybe Dolph has demon blood in him.”
“Not from my side of the family!” Irene snapped.
“I wonder if he can diffuse?” Ivy mused.
“Instant form-changing?” King Dor asked. “If he’s a werewolf, that’s one thing, a minor talent. If he can change instantly to any form, that’s another.”
“Oh, sure, it’s any form,” Ivy said with certainty. “He just needs a little help to get it started. He’s only a baby, you know.”
Dor picked her up. “I hadn’t realized that,” he said with a straight face, teasing her in the nice way daddies had. “I thought perhaps he was an adult, like you.”
“Oh, shut up, Daddy,” she said, kissing him on the cheek.
Irene exchanged a glance with her daughter. “Any form? Changing himself? That’s Magician-caliber talent!”
“At least,” Ivy agreed. She had discovered it, so now it was to her credit, and the greater the talent was, the better.
After that the discussion became animated, and Ivy was left out of it. But she didn’t mind that, either. She could handle a few more days of neglect, until the matter of the ghosts blew over. It might be interesting having a brother who could become any creature in an instant. She could show him how to reach the high cookie jar by changing into a snail and crawling up the wall, so they would never starve between meals. Or how to become a little dragon, and breathe fire to toast marshmallows and give people hotfoots. The possibilities were endless!
Yes, life was bound to get more interesting soon.
Author’s Note
In the last Xanth novel, Dragon on a Pedestal, I used a number of puns contributed by fans, listing the credits at the end, and suggested that this was punnishment enough. But before that novel was published, fans had sent many more puns. Some sent whole pages of them—a veritable Pundora’s Box. I used about fifty of those suggestions and give due credit here. But this resulted in such a concentration of puns in the first chapter that the publisher suffered pundigestion. You see, I have many young readers, who write to me in much greater numbers than the older ones do, but they are really not the largest audience for Xanth. Despite appearances, Xanth is intended mostly for adults, which may be why the kids like it. The question was whether that plethora of puns would alienate more people than it pleased. So—that chapter was deleted, because it isn’t good form to annoy more readers than strictly necessary, even in Xanth. The present version of the novel begins with what was originally Chapter 2.
But for those of you who can’t live without knowing what was in it,
here is a summary of the missing chapter. On the eve of her baby brother’s arrival, Ivy went to visit her Grandfather Trent, along with Grundy and Stanley. She got them all into enormous mischief, but the timely arrival of a package from her pun-pal Rapunzel helped them survive it, along with Tangleman, who is a tangle tree transformed into a man.
Now, though most of these puns have been deleted, I’m leaving their credits as originally listed so you folk who sent them in will know they really were there. This may seem peculiar—but what did you expect from Xanth? And those of you who remain out there, bursting with puns—stifle them, because there’s only so much of this nonsense anyone can take. By the time Lye burns into print, I should have completed the following Xanth novel, and plans are inchoate beyond that, so any puns you might send are apt to be wasted anyway.
Are you ready? Here are the credits, real and potential, for Lye, and if there is some overlap, it is because a given pun may have been suggested by more than one person. David Branson suggested deadstock, pun-pal, crab-grass, fris-bees, demon-stration (which I modified for my own sinister purpose), baseball bat, the night mare being out of her gourd, air waves, outcry, and worry wart. Andrea DeSimone and Laura T. Maberry collaborated to suggest sound of mind, shadow of a doubt, clinging vines, cat o’ nine tails, scaredy cat, dumb bells, screaming meanies, copperhead snake, snake-eyes, and kitty hawk. Martin Musick suggested the dark lantern, kitty hawk, headstone, bear witness, and worry wart. As you can see, I used three of his in a bunch, and there’s a reason. I had a request from a fan who was organizing a Dungeons and Dragons type game using a Xanth setting: could I provide some challenges for entry into the Good Magician’s castle that hadn’t already been published, since all the gameplayers had read all the Xanths already? So I listed the ones used in Dragon, which had not yet been published, and then sat down and made notes for the equivalent scene in Lye, which novel I hadn’t even started. I have never-failing inspiration, which makes me virtually unique among writers, but this was a strain. So I checked Mr. Musick’s list of about ten notions, selected three, and built my scene around them; then I sent off the information to the fan and later wrote that scene when I came to it in the novel. I hope they had a successful D&D game; I never heard. Most fan-puns I include as a courtesy; in this case, they were a real help.
But back to work here. Greg Burns suggested the gold fish, silver fish, hedge hog, hem lock, horsetail, horse chestnut, honey comb, and golden rod. Dave Schwartz had the living room; David Miles the seeing-eye dogwood tree; Katherine A. Lowe the bum steer; and Bryce Cockson suggested the catch-your-breath. Karen Vinyard suggested that a girl be turned into a tree to be a companion for Justin Tree; I thought it was a good idea, but didn’t manage to fit it in this time. Diane Le Roux inquired why Justin Tree didn’t become a man again in the Time of No Magic, so that is explained here. She also asked a number of awkward questions about the centaurs’ aging rate—obviously it is the same as the rate for human beings, contrary to what Bink believed in Xanth 1—and how come the Siren could look at the Gorgon in Xanth 2 and not in Xanth 6? Well, I think that when the Gorgon was young, she only stoned male creatures, but when she matured, so did her talent, so she stoned everyone. After all, we don’t want any sexism here; everyone should suffer alike. And other awkward questions that, um—look, Diane, I’m awfully busy at the moment, trying to type a manuscript, so if you’ll just go on to the next author in line and ask him or her some awkward questions instead, that’s a good girl …
Michael Saul, also focusing on the Gorgon, asks how Dor could see her wink, in Xanth 3, when her face was invisible. Ah, Michael, see that line over there that Diane is standing in? Just take your place behind her, and don’t shove. (And I think I’d better wrap this up and get out of here before those fans reach the head of that next line and spring those questions on that next author. I wonder who he is? Let’s see, if it’s alphabetical … that must be Poul Anderson of the Society for Creative Anachronisms—you know, the folk who dress up in armor and authentic medieval swords. Yes, I’d definitely better get out of here!) (Then again, maybe I should shunt those fans to the author on the other side. That looks like Isaac Asimov, whose Foundation’s Edge is, at this writing, just about to blast Xanth 7 off the bestseller lists. But his line is so long that my fans will never reach the head of it. Well, now …)
Terry Cook suggested that King Trent turn a tangle tree into a person. Keith Helgason suggested both Ivy’s talent and Dolph’s talent, after I had worked them out myself, but before the novels were published; evidently great minds work in similar ways. Richard Rails suggested the leather-strip body armor for the warrior; that’s not a pun but a useful device. Penny Jacob suggested the dirty mind, after analyzing her father’s nature. Charles Cohen suggested that I include elves in Xanth, and it did seem to be about time for them. Chris McVetta described the contact lens bush. Ginger Gibson suggested Xantha Claus. I regret I was not imaginative enough to fit him in here, but what do you expect from someone named Pier Xanthony? And perhaps I should catch up on an overdue credit: I borrowed the name of a fan in Estonia, Martin Roogna, to use for Castle Roogna, way back when. Mr. Roogna says he’s not sure he has ancestry quite like that, but who knows?
So much for the credits; let me ramble on just a bit more before I meander off to my next novel. Xanth has been quite successful as a series, making all the bestseller lists. It seems that ninety-nine percent of its readers love it; the other one percent review it, accusing me of things like reveling in sexism and execrable puns. However, Patchen Review did say: “Hostility from serious reviewers to Anthony is out of all proportion; perhaps it stems more from jealousy than lit crit.” I do work hard at what I do; a storm came up and splattered water through the cracks in my study while I was typing Lye, so I had to prop an umbrella over my desk to keep the page dry, rather than interrupt my schedule. That happened to be the scene in which Jordan is recovering from getting stoned. No, I never get stoned myself, pun or no pun, and that’s no lie; I don’t believe in zonking out my mind for anything short of a medical emergency.
I’ve been writing about fifty letters a month, mostly answering Xanth fan mail, and that interferes with my paying writing, so I’d like to cut it down. Let me address here some of the questions my fans commonly ask me, so you won’t have to write to inquire. Such as:
What other books are similar to Xanth? Well, none, really; I seem to have the execrable pun fantasy market to myself. But though I have not read Asprin’s Myth series, I have met the author and understand his puns are almost as bad as mine, so you might try his Myth Conceptions or others and see for yourself. There’s also quite a bit of humor in Adams’ Hitchhiker’s Guide series. If you like candy landscapes and are truly young at heart—in the four- to eight-year-old range, I’d say—try Gruelle’s Raggedy Ann series. Moving up from there, Baum’s Oz books are good, and Alexander’s Chronicles of Prydain. Eddings’ Belgariad seems closest in tone and competence to Xanth, but without the puns; you should like it. Then there is Hambly’s Darwath trilogy, and McCaffrey’s Pern series. My daughter Cheryl also recommends the Doctor Who books; I don’t, but Cheryl is thirteen and I’m forty-nine, so she may know better than I do. After that you’re ready for the hard stuff; you can safely sample anything put out by this publisher, and proceed with caution to the offerings of other publishers. Along the way, do try the Elfquest comics by the Pini couple; there seems to be a fair overlap in readers between Xanth and the Elves, and these are not cheap or inferior offerings.
Why don’t I write more novels featuring Dor and Irene as teenagers, or King Trent, or Bink, or the centaurs, etc.? Every fan seems to have his favorite character and would like to see a series of novels centering on that one, forever unchanging. I refuse to do this, because in Xanth, as in Mundania, life is not a static thing. It keeps moving into new territory. I’m not a formula writer; I like each story to be different and original within the limits of the larger framework. So new characters constantly appear, and old one
s gracefully fade out. That’s just the way it has to be, folks. Xanth has a few constants, such as the geography, the puns, the magic, and the struggle to get into the Good Magician’s castle; usually there is a serious romance, and the conception, organization, and literacy are better than the critics choose to perceive. Beyond that, anything can happen.
“Dear Mr. Anthony, I’m 13 years old and I want to become a writer …” This is a direct quote from a letter I received today, as I was typing this Author’s Note, and it is typical of a number of requests I receive. A high percentage of my fans want to be writers, so they ask me for advice. That’s sensible, and I’m not disparaging this approach, but it’s a hellish thing to answer. I’ll try to digest it into a nutshell. First, catch your rabbit. That is, read a lot, become familiar with your subject, learn your syntax and spelling, and LEARN TO TYPE. Editors are a peculiar breed; they don’t know how to read a handwritten manuscript. Go to the library and read a good book on the subject of writing, such as one by Jack Woodford, and pay attention to what it says. Then write, rewrite, re-rewrite, and revise until it’s the best you can do. Get a copy of Writer’s Market or similar, find several good prospects, and ship your manuscript to the one that appeals to you most. In the genres of fantasy and science fiction, Del Rey Books will consider your manuscript.
Good luck, you fool; the odds are still a hundred to one against you. It took me eight years of trying to make my first sale, and I was twenty-eight years old at the time. If you are better than I am, you may do it faster. If your interest is easy money, be advised that the average writer’s earnings from writing put him somewhere below the poverty level; even if you are successful, you will probably be lean and hungry. (Now do you see why I don’t like to answer this question? I really don’t like reducing thirteen-year-old girls to tears, and no part of this is a joke.) Oh, sure—I’m not starving, any more. But I got lucky. You can count on the fingers of one foot the contemporary fantasy writers who are more successful than I am. But it did take time and luck.