The Shannara Chronicles: Twisting Stories

*This post is about twists, so unmarked spoilers all over the place.*

Remember all the furor over the end of Game of Thrones, over The Last Jedi, over a hundred hundred sequel flops? Why do these controversies happen? is it just because white men can't handle a story that breaks the mold? While that is a component of the rage, it isn't the trigger. The story of Rey's parentage was badly mishandled in the Star Wars franchise.  The movies set up one thing, and then delivered another. 

But wait, you say, is that bad? Lord of the Rings sets us up to believe Gandalf is dead, and then he suddenly reappears not only alive but more powerful than before! At the end of the Fellowship of the Ring, it seems like Sauron has already won: having killed both Gandalf and Boromir (in the original British version, which the movies follow as well). The reader is questioning whether they want to read the second book, but of course you have to know how it ends.  You have to keep reading to know whether, and how, the unlikely heroes will beat the horrific odds. I've seen several commentators make a list of the "rules for good twists".  Now, I'm not going to say that making these rules is a bad thing: but when it comes to writing, rules exist to be broken. A twist that breaks all or most of the rules is not necessarily bad. There is however one important rule for a twist: it has to be earned. 

The reason why the ending of Game of Thrones was so hated is simply that they ran out of time. They'd committed to eight seasons of a certain number of episodes: and then wrote a script that took longer than that. Here's the thing: it could have worked. See, it's not as if Danaerys' madness wasn't foreshadowed to some degree: it was. When she crucified the Masters in Meereen, she took her crusade for the liberation of slaves too far. It had seemingly not occurred to her that justice and revenge are not the same thing. As the old saying goes: an eye for an eye, makes the whole world blind. So, the "Dany goes mad and kills everyone" twist was earned. 

The part that wasn't earned, was the part before that. The part where Dany, for some inexplicable reason, can't wait for Jon to show up and ride Rhaegal. It's sloppy, it looks like they finished the Battle for Winterfell (episode title: The Long Night) and then realized "wait a minute, we didn't kill Rhaegal!" You know bro, he's CGI.  You could just change the episode so that he doesn't take off, without reshooting any footage (and then cut that nonsensical line about how Jon isn't going to ride him). You could have him and Jorah Mormont both expire at the same time, so that Dany can't run to save her precious child because she is in mortal danger.  You know if you really wanted to twist the knife, which you should since this is GoT and everything. The Battle would honestly have felt better if Rhaegal had died. It didn't quite feel devastating enough because virtually all of the major characters were alive at the end. Rhaegal's death wasn't earned, and so everything that proceeded from that event didn't feel earned either. 

So finally, that brings me to the quirky Kiwi-made Shannara Chronicles. Now, they're based off a book series which I haven't read: so keep in mind that I'm solely analyzing the tv show here. The show is mediocre, but not on account of it's writing. It has some questionable cinematography choices, and the acting is a bit inconsistent. The plot is essentially a series of twists, most of them devastating.  One of the best, is when Cephalo saves the group from cannibalistic trolls at the cost of his life. Cephalo, up until this point, has been a self-centered swaggering rogue. 

Or at least, that is what all the characters think. But, this isn't the whole truth. Cephalo isn't truly selfish in the conventional sense, he's concerned for the welfare of the group over that of any individual member. He's a leader in a cutthroat world of thieves and killers. Would he sell Eretria into slavery? absolutely. Not however, for his own benefit. He would do it only for the benefit of the group.  He hasn't yet, because he sees that having her in the group benefits them more than selling her would: she is, after all, an excellent thief. He doesn't care very much about abstracts like "all of humanity". But, if he's a member of a group then he will do whatever it takes to see them through. When the heroes start to treat him as a proper member of their group, despite all the times he has betrayed them, he responds by dying for them. The twist, serves his characterization.

A second rule for twists, is that they must support one of the story's themes.  Cephalo's sacrifice underlines the message of the show: which is that the way people act, is partially a mirror of how they've been treated. This is what the show's hero, Wil Ohmsford, knows that other characters do not. He realizes that the only way to expect others to be good, is to treat them as if they have the potential to be good. This is an extension of his deepest desire, although he doesn't realize it: to be a healer. It also makes him stand out from everyone else in the world. Other people treat each other with suspicion, with the expectation of being hurt. And so, all the races hate each other. And so, Rovers prey on the innocent travelers and nobody can stop them. And so, the vaunted cities of elves and humans crouch in fear behind their walls. What they all don't know, is that this fear and this attitude was the very thing that destroyed the great civilization of old. 

Now the idea of an ancient advanced and glorious Empire is a cornerstone of medieval fantasy: and medieval fantasy is very much what the Shannara Chronicles is. After all, in the real Middle Ages there was indeed an ancient advanced Empire: the Roman Empire. But in the Shannara Chronicles, that ancient advanced and glorious Empire is America. It's not completely clear how long ago the apocalypse happened, but it can't have been that long. Exposed metal hasn't yet rusted, so it was less than a thousand years. It was a man-made apocalypse too, that much is clear. The degrading remains of unused chemical weapons still litter some areas. Though the show was shot in New Zealand (same place where they made Lord of the Rings, you can even recognize a few locations), the landscape is clearly intended to be the Western United States. 

Thus, unavoidably, the theme of this show speaks directly to a modern audience. Cephalo sacrifices himself because he cares about the group, but also because he has been treated like he was capable of that by Wil. The second season (spoilers) reveals that Wil is not just any random kid. He is a member of the titular Shannara bloodline, which means that he has powerful magic within him. The most powerful magic in the world, in fact: the sole force capable of destroying demons (rather than just sending them to hell) or of resurrecting the dead. And indeed the force that protects and enables all life in this place. But this show avoids the usual problem with this sort of character construction: which is that the audience feels like "oh, so Wil was just that way because he was magic".  

Another character in the show, one who is not special at all, really takes Wil's philosophy to heart. A character Wil met only once: Ander Elessedil, King of the elves. Facing the existential threat of the demons Ander decides to reach out to the gnomes even though they are traditional enemies of the elves. Slanter, the gnomish leader, has been imprisoned in the castle since killing Ander's brother Aine a few years ago. Ander decides to use him as leverage to get the gnomes' help against the demons. As Ander takes Slanter back to the gnomish lands however, they run across some gnomes killed by demons. Slanter asks to be unchained so he can perform last rites. Ander decides to allow it. Slanter takes the chance to escape. But, a day later he shows up again with an army in tow. Having been treated with grace by a man he wronged, Slanter decided to help against the demons of his own volition: and indeed, becomes devoted to Ander. 

With this philosophy of treating others as though they have the ability to be good, along with a healthy dose of canny diplomacy, Ander successfully unites the gnomes, humans and elves. This despite the machinations of General Riga and the magic-hating Crimson cult, which ultimately cuts his reign tragically short. Yet even in such a short time, he truly undid the decades of emnity between the races and proved himself a greater King than his father. How? Ander convinced them all it was in their personal interest to work towards a safer and more tolerant future together. They do so, even in his absence. Indeed, Ander's death ensures that his dream will come true: because the elven throne passes to Mareth, who chooses Wil as her partner. 

Twists can be hard to do. That doesn't mean you shouldn't do them. It means you should edit after you write. You can easily fix a bad twist in the edit. You should also be more careful what you commit to when making television. Despite the fact that The Shannara Chronicles ends on a cliffhanger, it is a much better ending than Game of Thrones. The cliffhanger-twist ending feels earned: and so it is satisfying even though it creates curiosity. I actually want to read the books to find out what happens (and if the story is vastly different in the books, I might actually be disappointed).  That's a pretty good recommendation for what is obviously a low-budget show aimed at teenage girls.

Demystifying Revelations: Re-appropriation

Ah Revelations, aka the Apocalypse of St. John of Patmos. The favorite text of cult leaders and demagogues the world over. That book that mainline Protestants try to pretend doesn't exist. It's a fantastical almost nonsensical prediction of the end of the world...or is it?
Not so fast. Taken out of it's historical context, this text is a complete mystery. It reads like the ravings of a madman or a really bad LSD trip. But let's take a trip back in time to the early 2nd Century AD, and let's meet our author.

He's a small man, with curly brown hair and brown eyes like most of his countrymen. He's young, and wears an undyed tunic although his well-groomed nails and lustrous hair speak to his status. A cloak in faded red and brown drapes over his chair, with the simple brass shoulder pin still attached. Most would call it a fibula, but Ioannes would chew you out for using that Latin word. He scratches furiously on the papyrus, but his handwriting is surprisingly legible despite his speed. Still, the letters trip over each other in their haste to reach the end of the page. Despite his youth, you know he is already an accomplished writer. The chain that hangs around his neck holds a cross, but it's tucked inside his tunic near his heart. Ioannes is a quiet and meek man, a man you would never have noticed if he didn't go to Penelope's house for church. He winces. He'll need his wrist wrapped when he's done but you know better than to interrupt him. He's rewriting his book, his Apocalypse. It's the hot new thing up in Athens they say, a short text that reads like the ravings of a street-corner soothsayer. A fair number of them are little more than that. But not the one Ioannes is writing out now, you know. You corrected his first copy, and you know it's message.

It is a call to revolution, against Rome. He's writing an Apocalypse in order to maintain some deniability, after all most such writings are in fact just meaningless fancies. Yet, when this hits the streets it will be a match to set this tinderbox on fire. Up in Ephesus you heard about some kid who set that huge Roman temple on fire. Hellas has never borne the Roman yoke easily, and Rome has always been ambivalent about it's feelings towards the people of this peninsula. On the one hand, they revere your ancient culture: and on the other it is a threat to their power. There have been other rebellions against Roman rule of course, but none got very far. Right now, Rome controls something all-important. You pull a drachma from your purse, there, the face stamped onto it's surface: Alexandros o Megas, Alexander the Great.

You smile, and look at Ioannes. He is about to commit the greatest heist in history without breaking a window or flashing a knife. It's a simple enough trick, childishly simple in fact. It was inspired by the Rabbi whom Penelope managed to bring in from Antioch, who gave a sermon on the story of Abraham sacrificing Isaac. He explained that the shining ram which God gave to Abraham to sacrifice instead of Isaac was the Egyptian god Ammon, whom Abraham had been sacrificing to out of fear and habit. Ioannes had pulled out his tablet and scratched that into the wax. He carried that with him wherever he went, for he always said that one could never predict inspiration. Then he'd scratched "they say Alexander is the son of Ammon" in the wax, and grinned at you with fire dancing in his eyes. You looked at him confused, and then you realized. The key to defeating the Romans was to take Alexander away from them: and the key to doing that was to use this Jewish story. Alexander was the son of Ammon, the lamb is the son of the ram. You take out your stylus and raise an eyebrow. Ioannes nods, you can write something. You write "Christ is the lamb of God" on his tablet. his eyes get large, and he nods. He likes the idea. The code isn't hard to break, but they won't be able to prove anything either. It's a perfect crime really, one that the victim won't even know is happening. By merging Christ and Alexander, Ioannes can steal the symbol of your culture back from the Romans right under their noses. The ancient prophecy that he who controls Alexander's body shall rule Asia is as true now as it was when it was made. We cannot steal his physical body, lying in state in Alexandria. But we can steal his literary body, by stealing the most famous text about his life: Plutarch's Life of Alexander. We can simply substitute the personified city of Jerusalem for Princess Stateira, and lift the wedding scene from Plutarch, as our ending. This is the story Ioannes is now copying out. He stops, and looks up at you with a tired smile.

Revelations is not the only Plutarch rip-off, although it is certainly the best-crafted one. It is also the most historically significant one. What John of Patmos did here, is extremely clever. He re-appropriated the figure of Alexander right under Rome's nose.  The text never explicitly says that The Lamb is Jesus, nor does it introduce The Lamb in any way. It expects you to know who this is: because John's original readers did know. They had a picture of him in their pocket. It is a merging of Jesus and Alexander: and by merging the two figures, John is stealing Alexander back from Rome. Rome quite literally stole Alexander's body: The Emperor Augustus had his own head affixed to a copy of Alexander's statue. He also metaphorically stole Alexander by claiming the titles that Alexander had used: "son of Ammon", being one of them. Thus began the cult of the Roman Emperors, which became the source of conflict between Rome and Judea: which became the foundation for Christianity.

But, when John set pen to paper, there was no such thing as "Christianity".  There were Jews who believed that Jesus was the Messiah, and gentile converts who looked to Jesus as a prophet of a new age. As soon as John of Patmos was done with his manuscript however, Christianity had emerged. From what? from the union of Alexander, the representation of Hellenism as a philosophy, and the city of Jerusalem as the representation of Jewish culture. A part of Christianity that many have tried to deny, because it is in some ways uncomfortable. Yet, one cannot deny it when confronted by the Lamb. This name derives from the story of Abraham sacrificing Isaac: which is one of a few stories that is told twice in the Toraic narrative. In one story, no ram is mentioned and Isaac seems to die. The text cryptically says that Abraham "and his family" returned to their home. Many have read this as the "bad ending", where Abraham abandons God and kills Isaac who is God's gift: preferring instead to retain his polytheistic lifestyle. The other story mentions the shining ram that suddenly appears caught in the thorn bush, and explicitly says that Isaac comes home with Abraham: because the ram was sacrificed instead. Now, like all biblical stories there is more than one possible interpretation here: but a very likely one is that we are dealing with a story about choosing between God's gifts, and appeasing other gods.

The writers of the Old Testament took an interesting view of the many gods that were worshiped by other peoples: a view more reminiscent of the one that the ancient Persians had, than of the conventional interpretation that Jews and Christians today have. Today, we ascribe no power to the statues of gods that we find in the ruins of ancient civilizations: we use them, but merely as symbols. Some more conservative cults view ancient (or modern) gods as demons or lies of Satan. However, the ancient writers do not attempt to deny the existence or power of other gods, nor do they attribute them to a semi-divine evil. The gods of the Canaanites and the Egyptians, the Assyrians and the Hittites are all real, to the ancient Jews. These are all powerful divine entities, with the very real ability to help and harm people.

Today we ask people if they "believe in" God, but that would have seemed an absurd question to ask someone in the ancient world: as indeed it would still be an absurd question in say Japan or India. Ancient people, like modern Hindus or Shinto practitioners, didn't "believe" gods existed: they personified and worshiped forces that did exist. People didn't worship every god of course, just the ones they needed favors from or needed to ward against. The Jews worshiped only their own deity, the personification of their own civilization: and believed that this deity took care of all of their needs. But, it was difficult for the early Jews to always maintain that belief. Thus the story of Abraham and Isaac. Presumably Abraham has been sacrificing to Ammon, the god of the sun, so that his cattle will have water. Perhaps he doesn't even view it as worship, since he detests Ammon and the sun (being a herder and all).  This would then be why God asks Abraham to sacrifice Isaac. But, in the "good ending" story: God gives Abraham the choice to sacrifice Ammon (who was often represented as a ram, or ram-headed) instead, to fully trust that God will take care of him.

This interpretation is clearly what the writer of Revelations had in mind, because understanding the character of The Lamb requires this interpretation. The shining ram that Abraham sacrifices is not just a random animal but a god, a god who had a child. Now the child isn't specifically the historical figure that we know as Alexander. Alexander was only one incarnation of Ammon's child. Ammon was the King of the Egyptian Gods in the New Kingdom period: better known to you probably as Ammon-Ra. His son was the Pharaoh of Egypt. Now, there hadn't actually been a Pharaoh of Egypt for a while when John of Patmos penned his book. But, partially because of the practice of mummification, people didn't really think of them as history. Alexander himself, dead for several hundred years, looked like he would wake up from a nap at any time. We have Julius Caesar's astounded description of his three hundred year old corpse: wavy strawberry blond silver-streaked hair, light olive skin, dark brows and eyelashes, chiseled features, a smile still hanging on his perfectly curved lips.  It's hard to think of a body this well preserved as dead, much less as a historical figure.  That was, of course, the point. And it is exactly this which John of Patmos is using. In his time, people still believe in the power of Alexander, in the power that owning his body has: and this is the source of the Romans' hold on power in the lands outside of Italy. Their claim to legitimacy rests on claiming that they are the rightful successors to Alexander and the Ptolemaic dynasty: chosen by the god Ammon. And it is that claim which Revelations undermines. It claims that Jesus is instead the rightful successor to Alexander and the Ptolemies: that Jesus is the true son of Ammon. Ammon who is now one with God, having been sacrificed by Abraham: according to the logic that the Romans themselves used in sacrificial rituals.

This brings me to the reason that this book is included in the Bible. Christians do not believe that the holy book comes straight from the mouth of God. Divinely inspired yes, but written and crafted by mortal hands. The Bible was put together at the Council of Nicea, centuries after the gospels were written: and most of the gospels weren't written at the time of the events they depict. John of Patmos himself was writing almost a century after Christ's death. No church, to my knowledge, disputes these facts about the Bible. At first blush Revelations seems to have almost nothing to do with the rest of the books in the Bible. This is the reason that mainline Protestants tend to ignore it: it seems like it has no real reason for being included. But it does.

This book created Christianity as a separate phenomenon from Judaism. Jesus did not create a religion, nor was he trying to. He was a Jew, and he saw himself as a reformer: perhaps as a Prophet, in the mold of Samuel and Elijah.  Paul and Thekla weren't creating a religion either: they were leading a revolutionary and counter-cultural movement. Religion and politics went hand in hand in Ancient Rome, to be loyal to the Emperor was to worship the Emperor. Mystery cults of particular gods, in the time of John of Patmos, were all the rage: cults devoted to recreating and sharing in a particular god's mythology. People of all backgrounds and all types were participating in these cults: and there were fashionable ones, like the cult of Mithras. Because of this context, any counter-cultural movement was necessarily religious. Secular societies, such as the Stoics, simply could not mobilize in any meaningful way. Stoic resistance to the excesses of the Roman Empire was frequent, and constant: but completely futile. Religions however, had threatened Rome since it's early days: even if they had also been it's salvation in times of crisis. 

The first Christians knew very well the story of the Parthian mother goddess and the Galli.  In the 3rd Century BCE, even as the flesh-and-blood Alexander marched across Central Asia, Rome was sacked by the Celts. With the city in flames and it's government in disarray, the fledgeling republic turned to it's sacred heart: the Sybiline prophecies. Supposedly these scrolls foretold the city's destiny. Though in reality it's likely the prophecies were an invention, used by the city's elite to convince the rest of the people that whatever happened was destiny. Of course, that works as long as you actually manage to achieve world domination. In any case the scrolls supposedly said that the city needed a statue of this Parthian mother goddess and a group of her priests, the Galli, to care for it. The political motivation for this has been obscured by the centuries, but presumably there was one. And, as it happened, one was available: thanks to Alexander torching Persepolis.

 The statue was one thing, the cult another. Bringing a new god into Rome would ordinarily not be seen as a bad thing, and bringing in a mother goddess seems like a sensible idea when you need to rebuild a city. But this mother goddess was something that Rome was not ready for. She wasn't Demeter or Hera, goddesses who were powerful but who supported and upheld the masculine paradigm that dominated ancient Greece and Rome (and indeed much of the ancient world). Her cult was akin to, and probably an offshoot of, the cult of Kali-maa in India: a cult still very much alive today. It's unique feature is that it believes, not in feminine equality, but in feminine supremacy.  The foundational myth is of the war goddess Durga transforming into the bestial Kali to battle a demon so strong all the other gods working together couldn't have defeated it. The battle is epic, for the demon has many forms and many lives. Finally it is dead, but Kali is overcome by bloodlust and does not stop her rampage. Afraid that she will kill all the other gods, her husband Shiva lies down in her path. When she steps on him, she realizes her mistake and stops. Now, one must understand that Shiva is the god of death: one of the strongest and most worshiped gods in the Hindu pantheon. Death submits to Kali: and this is the ironclad basis of this cult's belief system. The feminine ability to create life cheats death of it's power over humanity: allowing all things (Hindus believe) to go through the cycle of reincarnation. Kali incorporates all that is terrifying, and all that is amazing, about the reproductive process: and the cult of Kali sternly teaches men to accept the process in all it's horror and glory, as Shiva did. This was the goddess which the Romans now had to reckon with.

But the Parthians had taken things one step further from the Indians. The landscape of Northern India is dotted with citadels constructed by Kali-worshiping princes, so fanatically devoted to their goddess that they fought to annihilation rather than be conquered by the Mughals. But the Parthians had one-upped their southern compatriots thousands of years earlier. The Galli were not simply priests, they were eunuchs. Not men who had been enslaved and forcefully castrated: no, these were free men who had castrated themselves in a public ceremony. Even their home society had trouble accepting them. But, the awful power of their goddess could not be denied: she kept the fields fertile and the rivers full. If Parthia had an uneasy relationship with this cult, Rome was going to have an even more troubled time.

Rome was founded on a firm belief in the supremacy of masculine excellence. Young and vigorous men were the source of Rome's glory, it was believed: and very few had dared to question this.  The practice of castrating men was taboo in Rome, even if wealthy Romans frequently had eunuch slaves just like everyone else. Eunuchs were objects of scorn, even if they hadn't chosen their situation. When the Romans witnessed the initiation rites for the Parthian goddess, they were shocked and disgusted: the citizens very nearly revolted. This was given the provision that no Roman citizen could join the cult. However, even in the beginning there were Roman men who looked not with disgust but with jealousy. As the centuries wore on, there were more and more petitions from Roman citizens to join the cult. Yes, Roman men petitioning the state to let them castrate themselves. Eventually, the Emperor reluctantly agreed to let even Roman citizens into the cult.  Christians were around by this time, and they saw this. The power of this mystery cult to both induce ideological change in individuals, and to force the hand of the mighty Roman Empire, was lost on no one. 

Don't you think it's odd, that the bringers of the apocalypse are horsemen? I did. Why should they be horsemen, in a book full of monsters and talking animals? why something as mundane as horsemen? The answer is that they are horsemen, because they are Macedonians. They are Alexander's chief generals: Ptolemy, Parmenio, Cleitus and Seleukas. It's not even that hard to work out which is which. Parmenio is Death: for he was killed on Alexander's orders.  Ptolemy is War (Conquest): for he was the one most renowned for his military might. Cleitus is Famine: because he razed Thebes, and because of his scorched-earth campaign in Central Asia. Seleukas is Pestilence: because the Empire he created after Alexander's death was seen as a bastion of immorality and decadence. Stealing these four would furthermore have been just as important as stealing Alexander because they are pivotal to Alexander's legacy.

Alexander could not have done what he did without them: without their skills and their support. The story of Alexander is not simply the story of a single remarkable individual: although the real Alexander was indeed remarkable. It is the story of many remarkable individuals working together towards a common goal. Ptolemy is rightly revered for his own deeds. The Egypt that he chased the Persian garrison out of in 334 BC was a nation hurting from betrayal and languishing in obscurity. It's economy was in shambles, it had no military of it's own, and it was culturally stuck in the past.  By the end of his life, Egypt was the economic and cultural powerhouse that it had traditionally been once again, and with the military power to back that up. Parmenio was an old man in Alexander's time, a friend of his father King Philip. He had accompanied Philip through all of his exploits, and then went on to ably defend Alexander's rear. His death was a tragedy worthy of the stage: his son Philotas committed treason, so Parmenio had to be killed in order to prevent a blood feud.  Cleitus might have had a mean streak (and a drinking problem), but he was an inspirational leader to his own soldiers and a street-savvy politician whom several future Roman Emperors took as a role model (including arguably the greatest: Trajan).  Seleukas was also an able ruler and a shrewd diplomat: unifying a dizzying variety of ethnic groups under his banner, and allying himself with a young Chandragupta Maurya, before anyone else had realized this eighteen year old pretty-boy prince was a force to be reckoned with. He poured his share of the war booty into artistic projects, some of which still exist in some form. He was also a great city-builder, probably responsible for three of the four cities that bore the name "Alexandria", and definitely responsible for Palmyra. If Alexander had never existed, these four men would still be remembered for their own deeds and qualities. But because they were his generals they had a ludicrously outsized impact on world history: to the point where it's easy even for modern commentators to forget these were men.

But what does any of this have to do with modern society? I'm talking here about events that took place at least 2,000 years ago. Because Revelations is an example of something that some postmodernists have attempted to argue is impossible: re-appropriation. An extraordinarily successful example. Love it or hate it, Christianity is one of the most wildly successful social movements in all of human history: and John's little book is one of the major reasons why. For all it's weirdness, it made a convincing argument: the Emperor in Rome is no true successor to the great Alexander, Jesus is.
Indeed, Revelations managed to so entangle the myth of Alexander with the myth of Christ that Christianity actually co-opted Alexander's cult: the cult of Sol Invictus. Ever wondered why Christians end prayers with the word "Amen"? I did. It's the Hebrew form of the Egyptian name Ammon. This practice is a holdover from the cult of Sol Invictus.  That is not to say this hasn't created problems. Indeed many of the problematic ideas in Christianity, modern or historical, can be traced to the cult of Sol Invictus. And, as ideas about sex and therefore marriage changed: people reinterpreted the wedding imagery in Revelations, leading to anti-Semitic ideas like that Jerusalem needs to be conquered by Christians before the Apocalypse comes (double whammy, misogyny AND anti-semitism). However, Revelations still provides a fantastic example of how to re-appropriate a symbol, and of just how powerful actually pulling that off can be.

The Negotiation: Moving Past Mass Atrocities.

 Anduin Wrynn is the new, young, High King of the Alliance. Anduin's unique life story is important here. At the age of only seven, he-just like his father Varian-was thrust into the position of King. While he had a regent, the knight of Lordaeron Bolvar Fordragon, Anduin was forced to learn how to lead at this young age thanks to the machinations of Lady Katrana Prestor. With the help of a hero of the Alliance (the player character of WoW), Anduin was able to uncover the mystery behind his father's disappearance and Lady Prestor's identity. It turned out, she was the black dragon Onyxia: and that she was the one who had kidnapped Varian. Who, it turned out, was alive although not quite well.  Able to step back a little, Anduin was nevertheless a political force to be reckoned with on the world stage: and not one who necessarily toed the Alliance line. More than once, he intervened with attempts to make peace between the Alliance and Horde. He also developed an affinity for wielding the cosmic powers of Light and Shadow. Most of his attempts at peace were short-lived: but, each was better than the last.

Anduin was even unafraid to oppose Varian: and not without merit on occasion. When the disappearance of King Magni Bronzebeard in Ironforge led to a dwarven civil war: Varian came with elite Alliance assassins to kill Moira Thaurissan, who had taken over Ironforge. The trouble was that Moira was King Magni's only child: and dwarven society misogynist enough that it was an open question whether she or her uncle Muradin had the better claim to the throne. Falstad Wildhammer meanwhile believed that neither was fit for the throne, and sought it for himself. Anduin saw a different solution: King Magni after all was not technically dead, just unable to rule.  And so, he stopped his father from killing Moira Thaurissan. He then proposed that the dwarves install a council in which all three tribes had a voice: which would govern the day to day affairs of the dwarves. Ironforge would be open to all dwarves, and the seat of dwarven power. All the dwarven leaders, and Varian, saw the wisdom in this proposal. Emboldened by his success with the dwarves, Anduin attempted to end another war without bloodshed: but this didn't go so well. In fact it went massively not well and [spoiler alert!] got Varian killed. But, Anduin learned from his mistakes: guided by the draenei prophet and leader, Velen. At the same time, Velen also took his magical training to the next level: well, next several levels actually. Anduin at age 20 talking to Saurfang is not only a gifted priest, but a canny leader and seasoned diplomat. Still, he has the idealism of the young. Saurfang could not be more different.

Varok Saurfang is a contradiction. Like all orcs, he believes that a glorious death in battle is what will imbue his life with meaning. However, he struggles with PTSD. He is one of a dying breed: veterans of the first Orc invasion of Azeroth. For perspective: that means he's almost as old as Anduin's grandfather. Indeed, it is partially his PTSD which has caused him to be where he is right now talking to an Alliance High King. When the Warchief set fire to Teldrassil he heard the screams of the Night Elves: and remembered the screams of draenei children he and his fellow orcs killed in Shattrath City thirty five years ago. He snapped, refusing to strike down the Night Elf leader Malfurion Stormrage. The Warchief, Sylvanas Windrunner, branded him a traitor: and let him be captured at the Battle for Lordaeron. This was how he first encountered King Anduin: as his prisoner. But after Saurfang revealed that he wanted to lead a rebellion against Sylvanas: King Anduin let him go. So, Saurfang stands in this tower speaking to a man he owes a debt to. He is also a father who has lost his son, and indeed who believes his son superior to himself: for his son Dran'osh died with honor in battle opposing a threat to the entire world. Not dissimilar from how Varian Wrynn came to view his own son, after they were reunited. Anduin sees in Saurfang more than a little of his father. This surrogate father-son relationship is what makes their deeply vulnerable conversation possible.

Anduin poses a question to Saurfang. If we overthrow Sylvanas, he asks, what kind of Warchief will you be? Saurfang does not answer the question. Instead he offers to Anduin his own self-loathing. This is not simply because Saurfang is depressed: this is a calculated move. In order to overcome the past and move the Horde towards it's highest ideals: the past must be faced and dealt with. The fact that the Path of Glory on which the orcs walked in order to invade Azeroth was paved with the bones of the draenei they had slaughtered: this must be put out in the open. This is not an apology. You can't apologize to someone for invading their kingdom and murdering their grandfather: which is precisely what the First Horde did. You can however face what you have done and take responsibility for it, in front of a representative of your former enemy. Anduin responds to Saurfang in kind: for the Alliance is not innocent either. Again though, this is calculated. Anduin decides to admit specifically to the abandonment of Quel'thalas. Arthas, having picked up Frostmourne and leading the Scourge was nevertheless not the Lich King yet when he invaded the elven kingdom. He was, technically speaking, the King of Lordaeron: even if the still living citizens of that Kingdom no longer acknowledged him as their sovereign. This means that the Alliance of Lordaeron is in fact responsible for the invasion: and thus Prince Kael'thas was justified in joining the Horde.  Now, this is the first time in the entire game that any character from the Horde has taken responsibility for the first invasion, or any character from the Alliance has taken responsibility for Arthas. Indeed, other characters prior to this had explicitly disavowed responsibility for these particular events: blaming the Burning Legion for both crimes. But now as Anduin and Saurfang stand here: the Legion has been defeated, if not totally eradicated.

Anduin is positioning himself as a new kind of King: setting out to topple old assumptions about what it means to be a leader and even what it means to be a man. He tried to be a Warrior-King like his father: that lasted for all of five seconds at the Battle for Lordaeron. Realizing that he was not helping by trying to wield a sword poorly: Anduin set it down and healed his comrades instead. Not only did this save crucial lives, it also improved morale: and the Alliance was able to win the day. But the people of Stormwind still need a warrior-leader: someone who can stand on the front lines where the troops can see them. Luckily, on Kul Tiras Anduin found someone who could do just that: Taelia Fordragon, daughter of his old regent Bolvar. She has a warrior's heart, like Varian and unlike Anduin. Alongside her mount Galeheart, she has become a formidable force for law and order on the docks in Kul Tiras' capital Boralus. She is able and willing to solve problems with force, when that is what the problem requires. This is not however the traditional role for a Queen of Stormwind. It will take the people of that Kingdom some time to adjust to their new rulers, but they will. Anduin has already proven that his powers and approach are effective enough to warrant a break with tradition. 

Varok Saurfang can't do this. He is too old to successfully complete the process of redefining what it means to be an orc or a member of the Horde. But he can start that process with his death. His own death, and no one else's.  He does not tell Anduin this, but it is clearly what he is thinking about. The Horde has a tradition called Mak'gora: a ritual combat to the death. Any leader of a member race can challenge the Warchief to Mak'gora. But, everyone knows that Sylvanas will cheat because the whole reason they are here is that she has no honor. If Sylvanas cheats, Saurfang will certainly die. He will probably die even if she doesn't.  So the way to make his death meaningful is to expose how little Sylvanas cares for her own people: the Forsaken, and those of various other races who have also remained loyal to her. He can do that by preying on her arrogance, by embarrassing her in front of a crowd. She'll need to defend her actions, and in doing so she will mock those loyal to her. Saurfang can leave an example to follow so compelling that others will be able to do the work of redefining the Horde.

Others, like the young troll who idolizes Saurfang: Zekhan. Others, like the old Warchief Thrall: who has in the past few years been forced to face his own mistakes, and his own flaws as a leader. Others, like Lor'themar Theron: the Regent Lord of Quel'thalas, who betrayed his longtime ally Sylvanas to stand with Saurfang. Others like Thalyssra, the leader of the Nightbourne elves who recently joined the Horde.  Most especially, others like Baine Bloodhoof:the High Chieftain of the Tauren people, whose father Cairne helped establish the current Horde back at the time of the Third War. Whether the mantle of Warchief passes to Thrall or Baine, Saurfang's example will be their guide. That means they cannot go back to the way things were. They will be held to the standard that Saurfang held himself to. Because, you know, spoiler alert: Saurfang does indeed die.

Anduin and Saurfang cannot erase the atrocities committed. But they can agree on two important things: Azeroth is their home, and that the future is not determined by the past. Now this is opposed to Sylvanas: who sees the notion of "home" as irrelevant, and who is letting her past dictate her future. She has refused to grow beyond the suffering that Arthas inflicted on her, and so she is letting Arthas define her: even though Arthas is long gone. She reveals in a cutscene that she despises her fellow Forsaken for finding new places for themselves in the Horde and reasons for continuing to exist. She destroyed the Undercity, the home that the Forsaken had constructed in the sewers under Lordaeron's palace. She refuses to die, but refuses to live: a trap many of us, myself included, have fallen into as well. But it's important to swerve away from that and grow beyond your trauma: because then your pain becomes something you can use. Saurfang's empathy for those who have suffered is born from his guilt about the atrocities that he committed. His empathy is also the very quality that makes him so beloved among the Horde. Anduin's profound love for others is born from his personal suffering: and his love for others is the source of his immense power as a priest.

Anduin is not the first Wrynn that Varok Saurfang has inspired by accident. The Lich King killed and raised Varok's son Dran'osh. The heroes of the Horde (the player characters) went with Saurfang to destroy him and take home his body. His bravery, after all, merited a proper funeral. Muradin Bronzebeard tried to block the way. Until, that is, King Varian showed up. Now Varian usually, understandably enough, hated orcs. But Varian instead bid Muradin to stand down and "let a grieving father pass".  As a father recently reunited with his son, Varian could suddenly empathize with Varok Saurfang. He could see him not as an orc, but as a father. Having come back to Stormwind to find that Anduin had ruled capably in his absence, Varian understood for the first time how terrible it would be to lose his son. He could project his feelings for Anduin onto Saurfang, erasing the racial emnity between them for one moment. Furthermore, Varian could compare Dran'osh Saurfang to his own father: both were leaders who stared death in the face with pride and defiance. He could understand for the first time how his father felt as they stared death in the face: how he felt love, not hatred, in his final moments. So he could let go of his own hatred of orcs, because his father had not died hating them. He could instead honor his father by following his example. Which, when the Burning Legion returned to Azeroth, he did. Indeed Varian did not simply die with defiance and with love in his heart for others, but like Dran'osh Saurfang, willingly embraced such a death.

So, as Anduin and Saurfang stand in this tower confronting the ghosts of the past: they are honoring Varian by following his example. Indeed, they are taking his example and applying it on a greater scale. He confronted and overcame his own personal trauma, his own personal fears and hatreds. Saurfang and Anduin are dealing with mass traumas here. It is not enough to confront them on a personal scale, they must do so on a mass scale. It is necessary to defeat Sylvanas that they confront both the legacy of the First Horde, and the legacy of Arthas: both the atrocities committed by the Horde, and those committed by the Alliance. The atrocity of action, and the atrocity of apathy. Sylvanas after all, is not simply an individual: she represents an ideology.  She believes hope is a weakness, home is a lie, relationships are tools. She has not overcome her trauma, and is trying to drag others down with her. She was created from Arthas' invasion of Quel'thalas, and she represents a continuation of the First Horde's legacy. To stop her, Saurfang and Anduin must commit to overcoming these atrocities.

There is a reason we use the word "atrocity".  It is because these are actions you cannot apologize for or compensate: they involve loss of life on such a grand scale, or inhumane actions that cannot be justified by reason. It is tempting to think that you can, but in doing so you would devalue human life and human dignity. There can be no reparation. There can however be a confrontation, and an acceptance. No human society after all is entirely innocent of atrocities: the scale, nature and frequency might vary but all societies have had their darkest hours. We cannot justify abuse, but we can understand it: we can empathize with those who have hurt us. This is our greatest gift as human beings, although it is one we do not use as often as we should. I can look at the man who assaulted me and understand that he was just as much a victim of the Patriarchal system as I was. I can understand that he acted not out of malice but out of desperation, having been told that sex was the way to get the validation that his mother and his peers were not giving him. I also knew then as I do now that his satisfaction would have been short-lived and hollow if I had given in. So too, I can look at a homophobe and see, not as monster, but a person who has doubts about his or her gender and sexuality just as I do. I can oppose that person because they are dealing with their problems in an unhealthy way rather than because I hate them. And only by doing this can we move past these traumas. 

What we need in order to have this conversation, is three things. 1) to recognize that we have experiences in common which transcend the boundaries of identity. 2) to recognize that we share a home: earth. and 3) to recognize that the future is not determined by the past.  We need to be willing to share deeply with each other: to share not only the things we're proud of but the things we are ashamed of or afraid of.  We need to be willing to take responsibility for both our actions and our failures to act. We need to have this conversation, or the sins of our past will continue to haunt us because we will continue to be traumatized by them: both those who committed the atrocities and those who they were committed against. Only by taking responsibility can we move beyond the trauma.  This simple short film from a video game shows us what that conversation about the atrocities in our past looks like. It is an amazing example of what is possible in games, when developers have the courage to actually tackle a complicated theme like "how do we move past mass atrocities?" It is a perfect example too of why we need media despite all it's problems. We need these models, these test-runs, these myths.

The Legend of Zelda: Fantasies Games Sell.

So I was watching a video today that talked about the disturbingly colonialist underpinnings of many sandbox games. I just recently started playing Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess for the first time, so that was fresh in my mind as I watched the video. At the end of the video the narrator posed a question: is it possible to make a sandbox game about exploration and building that doesn't have these colonialist underpinnings? Well, let's think about what characteristics such a game would need to have.

1) the player character would be a local inhabitant of the world the game takes place in. In most games of the genre, the player character is a foreigner. Changing this element immediately eliminates the problem of the player's goals clashing with the goals of the local inhabitants. If the player is a local, his or her goals presumably match up with at least some subset of the other local inhabitants. Any conflicts with the other local sentient beings are re-contextualized as tribalism rather than colonialism.

2) the game is not framed as a struggle between the player and the natural world. Rather, another force could be present in the world which the player is struggling against alongside the denizens of the natural world. Conquest or taming of the world is not framed as the reason for building and crafting. That is not to say that the natural world can't and shouldn't be hostile in some respects. Wild animals after all, are indeed dangerous. But they shouldn't be the most common enemies in the game.

3) the incentive structure of the game promotes sustainable practices. It shouldn't ask the player to harvest an ever-increasing amount of resources from the environment, and should provide a reason why the player would invest resources in the environment. In general it should encourage the player to invest in future gains, rather than try to gain as much power as possible in the short term. The player should be able to trade power now, for more power later on.

Now, not only do the Legend of Zelda games (with the exception of Majora's Mask and Link's Awakening) do all these things: they actually invert the convention entirely. Gannon, the villain, is the protagonist of any survival game: someone from another world who has come with dreams of conquering Hyrule and uses environmentally destructive technology in order to do that. It's Link's job to make the game Gannon is playing into an unwinnable survival horror game. Of course, Link is a Hylian and there are other species in Hyrule. However, Link has a choice about how he wants to deal with these other species. The Garudo in particular have been hoodwinked by Gannon: they think he's one of them, and he's promised to lead them to a glorious future and blah blah blah. But the games usually give you a choice about how to deal with the Garudo: do you kill them because they are hostile towards you, or do you find a way to reveal Gannon's deception to them? Twilight Princess takes the anti-colonialist themes even further, because the invaders are not just Gannon and his armies. The Twilight realm as a whole is invading Hyrule: led of course, by Gannon. You have to work with Midna, the eponymous Twilight Princess, to stop the invasion.

The characteristics normally ascribed to heroic male characters in video games are given to Gannon here. Gannon is physically strong and tough, and emotionally aggressive. Link on the other hand is physically weak, and emotionally gentle. Link makes up for his physical weakness with agility and cleverness. However, his gentleness is not cast as something he needs to make up for. Link does not need to be aggressive because HE is not under threat. Link is the immortal Hero of Time. Gannon is not a personal threat to his life. If Link dies this time, he will be back to try to stop Gannon again. This also incentivizes Link to think about the long term, and to invest in the world. Link will be there when the seed he just planted is old: whatever he does now, he will deal with the consequences of those actions in the future.

The infamous death by cuckoes mechanic reinforces the idea that Link should strive to live in harmony with nature as much as possible. And it underscores that Link's apparent weakness is not really a weakness at all. A single cuckoe after all, is not a threat. But a swarm of them is. Link won't win against Gannon through personal heroics. Link's job is to be a focus for all of Hyrule's power. He's a silent protagonist not simply because it's easier for the player to project themselves onto him that way, the game's narrative actively requires the erasure of Link's personality. Each game is the story of Link becoming the Hero of Time, an archetype rather than a person. He makes this choice again, and again and again: trading his own autonomy for the continued freedom of Hyrule and choosing to live multiple lives even though he knows he will not have freedom in any of them.

Link's sacrifice of his personality occurs as he gains more and more power. This is a highly unusual setup in a game. Normally we would expect that the hero's personal attributes would start to take on more and more significance as he gains power: as happens in games like The Witcher and Assassin's Creed. As you go on in the games, the personality that you give to Geralt through the games starts to have bigger and bigger effects. He has a network of friends and enemies, allies and rivals. In The Witcher 3, Geralt must guide another character on her path to mastering magical powers and in this scenario the characterization the player chooses to give Geralt actually determines the ending of the game. But Legend of Zelda does the opposite. As Link becomes more powerful, he also becomes more and more the archetypal Hero of Time. In other words, his legend begins to eclipse him.

At the end of the day, all stories are about real life: and The Legend of Zelda is no exception. Sure, it wears the masque of an ancient mythology: an Edda from a long-lost civilization. However, only a little investigation reveals that it is very much a product of it's time: whether this was the intention of it's makers or not.

This is not a story that could have been created anywhere except 1980s Japan. It was created as the last survivors of WWII were retiring from the workforce, the last people who remembered Japan's Empire. It was also at a time when Japan's industry was plateauing, having reached the point where it could no longer grow unchecked. Japanese auto makers were now facing stiff competition from western companies like Ford, Chevrolet, Volkwagon and Fiat. Japanese computer makers now had Microsoft and Apple to contend with: and ultimately most chose to flee the market rather than deal with those two. The liberalization of China was also a problem for Japan. It was time for Japan to confront their history: but it was still too painful to talk about openly. The Legend of Zelda was not originally made for a western audience, although the newer games including Twilight Princess were very aware that western gamers would be playing them. It was originally made for Japan's domestic market: an attempt to satisfy the insatiable appetite that Japanese youth had for hard games. The original Legend of Zelda was hard. It was so hard that few westerners played it, it was simply beyond what they were willing to invest in a video game. Asian gamers dominate in gaming competitions not because Asians are somehow better at gaming: but because Asian cultures value games more. Video games in Japan are not simply entertainment.

Much ink has been spilled about why video games are so often violent. However, there is a reason that is not often discussed. Video games offer an outlet for warrior cultures to find expression: without the devastating loss of human life and destruction of resources that real warfare brings. The world is too economically interconnected to make warfare a good idea in most cases, and prosecuting a war has become increasingly difficult for both economic and social reasons. The tide of popular opinion too has turned against warfare: traumatized by the World Wars, Vietnam and Afghanistan. But, it would be a mistake to leave the martial traditions of the past behind. Discipline, bravery, persistence, strategic thinking, and managerial skills are all as important for us today as for anyone in the past. Our grandfathers weren't wrong when they said the army builds character: nothing turns a teenager into an adult quite like military training. But, we can get this training without needing to join the real military. From the point of view of our brains, what happens in the game is the same as what happens in real life. But the fact that you can turn off a game allows for your brain to process what happens to you in the game better. It's hard to process what is happening when you're actually at a protest, in a potentially life-threatening situation. You can train yourself to do the right thing in that situation by playing games which you can pause or turn off. That is the reason we have games in the first place: they are training for real life. People talk about putting games into education as if games weren't inherently educational: when in fact, a well designed game is one of the best educational tools humans have ever developed (you know, for actually mastering skills and concepts: which is not the goal of most educational systems irl but that's another conversation).

Now, the world is sometimes violent: and very often violence occurs when we least expect it. You can be walking down the street and get mugged, or you can be having an argument with your mom and she hits you. Knowing how to act in these situations can mean the difference between getting hurt more, and resolving the situation. We need violent games in order to train ourselves for those moments when we encounter violence, as we all inevitably do. Of course, having peaceful games is hardly a bad thing. What games should be critiqued for is not how much violence they contain, but how they teach the player to deal with that violence. Here again, The Legend of Zelda stands out from other games. Sure, there are times when Link must simply kill creatures with a weapon. There are many more times however where Link must solve a puzzle instead: i.e. he must think strategically in order to avoid getting hurt more. Now when I was a kid playing these games on a neighbor's console, this made me put down the controller and think. This was something I could do in my everyday life: when I saw people getting mad at me, I could think strategically to solve the problem. I didn't have to just take whatever they dished out to me, I could avoid getting hurt by taking actions of my own free will. I didn't have to let anyone hurt me. 

I know, a grand revelation. In my defense, I was ten years old. It had not yet occurred to me that emotions had internal rather than external causes. I have a learning disorder. It causes me not to express my emotions in ways that others can understand, and to not understand how others express themselves. I have trouble reading body language: gestures, tone of voice, etc. This is of course a major problem when you grow up as a woman in our society, because our society assumes that women have a preternatural gift for social situations (they don't, they just have more practice). So, you know, I was bullied as a child. I also saw my parents struggle through their own emotional issues: partially caused by my Grandmother's vain attempts to properly raise three extraordinarily intelligent and creative boys. In her defense, her own mother's parenting skills were absolutely atrocious.  My mother and I also clashed frequently, our personalities are in some ways too similar. This idea that I could control how I felt, that I could act to control what happened to me, this was a powerful revelation.

Make no mistake, The Legend of Zelda is a Japanese game: even though the titular Princess is given a very western name ("Zelda" is from German, originally a nickname for "Griselda"). A western game would certainly never feature the name of a character who isn't the player character in the title: but that's exactly what happens here. The player character is Link, but it's called the Legend of Zelda. Link is the one who does everything, but it's called the Legend of Zelda. Why? What could possibly possess them to create a game with the name of the female lead in the title, but have you play as the male lead? This again drives home the erasure of Link's personality and identity. He doesn't get his name on the story that he is the hero of. This is a mirror of Japanese stories, specifically stories about samurai. The stories are often named after Daimyos, even when the Daimyo in question barely makes an appearance in the story. Why? because samurai were extensions of their Daimyo. They swore oaths of loyalty binding their family to the service of a particular Daimyo. They traded independence for status, protection, and clarity of purpose. This is what Link does too. However, the story is updated for a modern audience.

Link pledges himself not to a mortal lord, but to the Goddess Hylia. This recasts Link's actions as something acceptable in the modern age. The game is, after all, questioning Japanese imperialism: and the samurai-daimyo relationship was the foundation of that imperialism. But the game cautions us not to leave behind the virtues of the samurai even as we acknowledge that the relationship was fundamentally flawed. The total commitment that samurai gave to their lord did genuinely make them better people: unafraid of death or hardship, able to cooperate without jealousy, discreet with information, and focused on spiritual rather than material advancement. It probably was genuinely fulfilling for many of them to have such a clear purpose for their lives, to have such a clear explanation for their existence. A samurai existed to help his lord succeed. Questions of morality were besides the point for him. He wasn't going to be rewarded in the afterlife based on whether he was a good person or not. He was going to be rewarded in the afterlife if he served his lord well. Of course, this amorality is exactly what was so horrific about this system.

The Sengoku Jidai was marked by the sorts of atrocities you normally hear about in connection with colonial regimes: but committed by members of the same ethnic group as the victims. The combination of amoral samurai, self-indulgent daimyos, and primitive rocketry was a peculiarly bad one from the perspective of preserving human life. It was like the Reign of Terror in France, spawned from a populist revolution and concerns for ideological purity: but instead of lasting for a decade, it lasted for centuries. That is not however to say that the traditions which originated in this period should be rejected out of hand. They should be updated, taking into account modern values and understandings of the world. This period after all, marked the beginning of what we now call Japanese culture. 

The Princess Zelda of the title in the Legend of Zelda is an avatar of the Goddess Hylia: as is Midna, the Twilight Princess. Unlike the samurai of old, Link's submission is a personal choice rather than something he is forced into by his heritage: and it is an act of worship. Link does not need to ask whether what he is doing is right, because Hylia would never ask him to do something that was wrong. Not because he doesn't care about being a good person. Not only does the game incentivize playing Link as a good person, it outright disallows many bad actions. No one is more aware of how cruel children can be than Nintendo after all. Many players have noted the seeming romantic undertones in adult Link's interactions with Zelda: but also that Link has canonical love-interests (who are not Zelda) in many of the games. This seeming mistake is resolved when we realize that Zelda is a Goddess' Avatar. Although we often don't like to admit it in the West there is quite a bit of overlap between romance and worship: indeed, from the brain's perspective there is likely little difference.    

The interactions with Midna are even more clearly BDSM-esque, they only get away with it because Link is in wolf form when he interacts with her. Midna is both annoyingly bossy, and at the same time genuinely trustworthy. Far from selling us a power fantasy like most games do: Twilight Princess goes out of it's way to humiliate the player. In most games, cool mounts like a wolf are a sign of success in the game. In this game, you are the cool wolf mount. Midna riding you serves to drive home the overall message: you are here to serve, not to be served. But, like any good dominatrix, Midna does not simply humiliate you. She gives you a clear sense of purpose. She lays out for you exactly what you need to do and, if you trust her, you can easily do everything she asks of you. She's always there when you need to be reminded of what you're doing. This genuinely helps when the game starts throwing things at you that are panic-inducing: like an attack on your home village. Having Midna in your ear then doesn't seem so annoying. Letting go and trusting Midna allows you to move through the game's complicated levels quickly and gracefully: so quickly that your conscious mind gets left behind in the dust. That feels genuinely good. This game may not be selling you a power fantasy, but it is giving you a sense of empowerment all the same.

Like I said, these games could only have been made in the 1980s in Japan. They are unavoidably products of their place and time. They are also auteur games: the product of one man's vision even though many many people worked on them. The credit for their daring should go to Shigeru Miyamoto. Japan, unlike any other country, can support auteur game developers: it's domestic market for games is just that big. While not every game needs to be an auteur game, the industry needs auteur games just like the film industry needs auteur films. Why? because auteur films turn film geeks into filmmakers. Studying them teaches you how to make films. Likewise with auteur games: studying them teaches you how to make games. Playing Fortnite for thousands of hours won't teach you how to make a good Battle Royale: but playing Smash Brothers will. Why, because Smash Brothers is the carefully constructed and curated product of Masahiro Sakurai's vision. Masahiro Sakurai, who was one of those teenage Japanese boys that bought the original Legend of Zelda in 1986. It's not an accident that people like work at Nintendo: the company has obviously set itself up to be a haven for them, significant in an industry where auteurs generally have a hard time.  There is no equivalent to the Oscars to reward individual artistic achievement in video games.

Unlike auteur films however, auteur games can be accessible to regular people. Indeed they can often be more inclusive and accessible than the "generic" junk that pours out of big studios. So-called "generic" games are not really generic: there's a definite slant to them, a definite ideology they have. And that ideology is not harmless. When the Islamic State parodied Call of Duty in a recruitment video, the many people who saw this video on youtube had a wake up call. Now, this video was reaching for low-hanging fruit. It wasn't about to recruit me into a weird death cult. It was aimed at the incels; the lonely, disaffected and immature Gen Xers who hang out in the darkest recesses of 4chan. There's a whole host of reasons why these men feel the way they do: from the personal (undiagnosed learning disorders), to the social (the lingering stigma around BDSM), to the political (the loss of male privilege in the era of Roe vs Wade). But regardless of what their problems might have been, the Islamic State knew what fantasy to sell them: the same one that Call of Duty and other AAA games like it sell. Come to us, they said, and you too can be a warrior chosen by God to dominate both armies and women. Sure, it's the same fantasy that militaries have used for centuries: starting with Cyrus the Great back in the first millennium BCE. But for precisely that reason, it is something that modern media needs to question: not blindly repeat. Why do we default to this fantasy? Why is this the central fantasy in nearly every RPG or exploration game from GTA to CoD to the original Assassin's Creed? are there other ones that people will find just as compelling? The Legend of Zelda's stunning success proves that there is.

Beren: Myths, Masculinity and Metaphors

Beren Erchamion is one of the heroes in The Silmarillion. He is a failure.  He fails at every task that is put before him.  Sure, he survived the valley of giant spiders called Nan Dungortheb (the name means Fear-Shadow Valley): although obviously not through any skill of his own because he doesn't have any. Certainly, he cannot claim to rival the likes of Maedhros or Fingon. Yet he earns the love and respect of people of far greater social status and accomplishments. Surely Luthien, Princess of Doriath, has better options than this loser right?

When Beren asks for Luthien's hand in marriage, we get a pretty typical fairy-tale response: her father, Thingol, sets Beren a seemingly impossible task (in this case, obtaining a really shiny gem called a Silmaril). But Tolkien then immediately upends our expectations, by having Beren openly mock Thingol's greed. Now, quick background for those who haven't read my other posts on the Silmarillion: Thingol is the King of the Sindar elves, and the most powerful elven ruler in Middle Earth. Thingol would have been within his rights to chop off Beren's head right there. Fortunately for Beren, he's not that kind of guy. Still, mocking the guy you hope will agree to be your father-in-law in front of his whole court is maybe not the best life decision there Beren.

Or is it? Why is he saying this? is it just because he thinks Thingol is shortsighted and greedy? is it because he thinks Thingol is overrated? is he trying to get himself killed? No, he's saying this for Luthien. She presumably isn't all that happy that her father has decided to sell her off for a fancy gemstone, or that he's trying to get rid of her boyfriend. Now, JRR Tolkien put the name "Beren" on his tombstone, and the name "Luthien" on his wife's.  So, this is clearly Tolkien dunking on ancient myths like the story of Jason and Medea, and on the real-life fathers who actually did do this. He's pointing out how misogynistic this setup is, because it implies that the woman's value is the same as that of the object. The value of a Silmaril can be quantified: an expert in gemstones could assess it, and assign a price to it. A really high price, but a price nonetheless. Thingol is therefore setting a price on Luthien: which is tantamount to slavery. A person's life has no price, it can't be assigned a value.  Sure, you can assign a price to a person's labor: tally up all the hours of work and assess how dangerous or strenuous it was. However, that is not equivalent to the value of their life. A person's life is, in the most literal sense of the word: priceless. Luthien is a woman, not a rock. Beren is demonstrating here that her will is more important to him than Thingol's approval.

How does Beren fare? well, he does manage to wrest a Silmaril away from the big bad Morgoth: but for his trouble he gets his hand bitten off by a giant wolf. The hand that was carrying the Silmaril. Now, if Beren was a hero in a Greek myth he would either try to trick Thingol, or try to slay the wolf and retrieve the jewel. But Beren is not the hero of a Greek myth. He comes back to Doriath empty-handed. Now again, this doesn't seem particularly smart.

Why come back, if he hasn't succeeded? Because all along, he wanted Luthien to be the agent of her own fate. Luthien is very talented, and extremely capable: and Beren knows this. He saw it in her as she was dancing and singing. She does not know her strength yet however. She does not think she is capable: she calls herself a nightingale. A small and timid bird. But the elvish word for nightingale literally means "daughter of twilight", and the word Luthien means "enchantress".  Twilight in elven culture has a special significance: as it is the time when the sky resembles the one the elves first awoke under, before the sun and moon existed. Indeed, the sun and moon were created within Luthien's lifetime (although before Beren's time).  Her nickname therefore means more than she realizes. This feeling of hers is understandable, she's comparing herself to her mother: a perfectly normal thing for a girl to do. But Beren isn't comparing her to her mother, or to her father, or to anyone else. None of us can see ourselves accurately. Looking from the outside, Beren sees her as she truly is: both her virtues and her flaws. He wants her to make all the important choices, he wants to follow her.

Beren gets the nickname Erchamion meaning "one-handed", presumably from Thingol's jeering courtiers. This is, for elves, a fairly vicious insult. It's a constant reminder of his failure, of how incapable he is. A constant reminder, that he is powerless to get what he wants: that in the eyes of the world, he is not worthy. But Beren is not the kind of man to pity himself. His mind isn't focused on their words as he kneels before the King, to him all that matters is Luthien. She is inspired by his fearlessness and humility, and angered by the way the others are treating him. She won't get the Silmaril to buy her freedom: but she will do it to teach her father a lesson. And so she does.

What lesson?  That compared to his daughter, the Silmaril is worthless. It only caused suffering for Beren and for her: and ultimately it will only cause suffering for Thingol himself. In trying to sell off his daughter, Thingol has put that price on himself. He will later be betrayed and killed by a group of dwarves, so they can have the Silmaril. By undervaluing his daughter, Thingol diminished himself. The slave owner, is only worth as much as he believes his slave is worth: but the slave is worth more.

Now Thingol is not a villain: like most of the characters in Tolkien's stories he is a well-intentioned person blinded to the harm his actions cause by a variety of factors. The most important in this case, is his social position: Thingol is a King. Of course he is tempted to view his daughter through the lens of how she can help him gain or maintain power. He probably wanted her to marry his faithful herald Mablung, or perhaps his cousin Thranduil (yes, Legolas' father), or perhaps a son of his brother Olwe.  Maybe he was open to her marrying a human, but Beren would not have been his choice. Although Beren is royal, his father Barahir is the King of the Bëorings, he's the second son. In addition, Barahir has lost his lands to orcs and most of his tribe has been killed. And they're too far away to be of any use to Thingol as allies. Beren is no hero, and won't inherit anything. To Thingol, he's not worth much.

But to Luthien, Beren is worth risking everything. Why? because he understands what is truly important in life. He is a true hero, not because he is capable of great deeds: but because he has the courage to face the truth, to show himself as he really is. She's a Princess, she's used to having people kiss up to her. But it says something about her that she prefers honest Beren to her father's courtiers: even the kindly and talented musician Daeron. He has the courage to allow her freedom: unlike her father who is trying to use her to advance his political goals. Beren doesn't just accept that she has a will of her own: he actively wants her to exercise it. To him, that is not an annoyance or an inconvenience: it is a good thing. He doesn't just recognize that she is capable of doing things he can't do: he actually wants her to do them.

He is surely aware that he will inevitably live in her shadow: the power imbalance in this relationship is legitimately hilarious. Not only could Luthien kill him before he knew what hit him, she also wouldn't have to. I mentioned earlier how she defeated the Big Bad of the story: Morgoth. How did she do it? she did a magical dance and he fell asleep. Luthien has supernatural powers of seduction and persuasion inherited from her mother, Melian: who is an actual angel. Charming Beren would be ridiculously easy in comparison. But, she doesn't need to do that even because this man will treat her right without being told to or threatened or charmed or anything. He will love her because she is more capable than him in every way, not despite that fact. She would never need to violate his autonomy, because he would never even think of violating hers. Because he will humiliate anyone who tries to negate her will without her needing to ask: no matter who they are or what the consequences of that action might be. Because he has no trouble showing the world how vulnerable he is, and indeed how incapable he is. 

Why? because Beren knows a secret, a secret that many people never learn. A secret that isn't really a secret, just something that most people never realize because they are often told the opposite. Your value as a person does not depend on what you accomplish. You are valuable, too valuable to be assigned a price, simply because you are human. There is a corollary to this: the only thing necessary for you to be worthy of love, is to be loving. You do not need to be impressive, invulnerable, or fit some vision of perfection. You simply need to care about others, and some of those others will care about you. Beren knows that his value does not depend on him obtaining a shiny jewel from the devil. He knows that he is valuable simply because he exists. He knows that the only thing he needs to do to be worthy of Luthien's love, is to love her and show her that in everything he says and does. He may be a loser, but that is irrelevant.

So he embraces the insulting nickname he was given: and it loses it's sting over the years. It becomes a name associated with a loving husband and father, a gentle, passionate, humble man. He becomes a hero, not because he accomplished anything: but simply because of who he is. In a world of men who take what they want by force: Beren dares to admit that he cannot take what he wants, to instead be open to what others are willing to give him. In a world of men who will coldly take advantage of your weakness: Beren dares to show everyone how easy he is to hurt, and to not take advantage of others.  In a world of men who take away others' freedom for their own gain, Beren dares to defend other peoples' ability to make their own choices at the cost of his life. This inherent heroism heavily influences Beren's son Dior. Dior who will give his life so that his daughter Elwing can escape the siege of Doriath with the Silmaril, ensuring that it does not fall into the hands of Feanor's sons (who want it for bad reasons). He's one of the only characters in the entire mythos who has direct contact with the jewel, but does not become obsessed with possessing it (the others being Luthien herself, Eärendil and Elwing).  This can only be the influence of Beren.

Luthien's nickname isn't the only one with multiple meanings. See, "Eru" is a title for God: meaning "The One".  Erchamion therefore could mean "Hand of God".  This fits in the end. Beren disrupted the complacency of Doriath, questioning the way that the people there thought and acted. Beren's actions had cosmic significance. Thousands of years later, Frodo's life would be saved and the Ring prevented from falling into the hands of Sauron: thanks to the power of Melian the Maia, flowing in Beren's great-grandson Elrond. In Tolkien's narrative, it is women who bestow power on men: and it must be through their own free will. While this is a motif taken from Celtic mythology: Tolkien uses it in a unique way. Luthien is not bestowing power on Beren, but on her son Dior. It is not taken from her during the act of sex or some analog to it (see: Nissa Nissa in A Song of Ice and Fire).  Rather, she gives it through the act of childbirth, the act of creation. This seems to come about as the result of mixing this motif from pagan literature with the idea of the Immaculate Conception. Tolkien's religious beliefs seemed to center around the idea of creation: he chiefly expressed his love of God through love of nature and through the creation of Middle Earth (or "sub-creation" as he called it). The creative process was something he thought and wrote a lot about.  It was something which he felt the modern world was forgetting: like it was forgetting all sacred things. The ultimate act of creation is of course the creation of life. 

But here's the real kicker. In venerating the ability of women to create life: Tolkien also respects them as human beings. Tolkien's women are active agents of their own fate: indeed they and they alone have the power to change a person's fate. This is directly stated in the Silmarillion in the story of the Fall of Nargothrond. Orodreth, who has the gift of foresight, states that his daughter Finduilas can save Turin from his fate. This is an interesting motif to introduce because it goes against the normal characterization of fate in both Greek and Germanic mythology. In Germanic myth, the gods themselves cannot avoid their fate: and the same is true in Greek mythology. The idea that anyone can change a person's fate or save them from it is a very Christian one: but this salvific power is usually given to a male Christ. Galadriel's foresight saves Frodo and Sam in Cirith Ungol. For love of Arwen, Aragorn refuses the Ring and chooses to embrace his heritage: saving Middle Earth from quite a pretty pickle. Eowyn changes Faramir's fate: in order to marry a Princess, the Steward's son must become a Prince. Aragorn creates the title Prince of Ithilien for him.  Quite a modern notion, which reminds us that these are not ancient legends. 

It is of course understandable that feminists would blame the focus on reproduction for women's woes. However, that's just straight up wrong. There is no inherent reason why an individual or a society which venerated a woman's ability to reproduce would not also value women as human beings. Those two ideas are far from mutually exclusive: either logically or emotionally. When we give a person an award for military service, we do not assume that is all that person is good for. The same is true of giving women praise for reproducing. Likewise, when we award a soldier for military service we do not intend to say that all men should be soldiers. What, after all, is the point of soldiers if there are no farmers? Likewise, when a woman is praised for having children: that need not be the same as saying that all women must have children. It takes a village to raise a child after all: everyone should be contributing to the raising of the community's children, whether they decide to produce any themselves is irrelevant. Quit ragging on women for having kids, and quit ragging on writers who point out the obvious: that creativity is a feminine thing. They are not the problem.   

The conceptual link between sex and conquest is the foundation of women's oppression, not the focus on reproduction. We speak of the male sex organ as a weapon, and of penetrative sex as akin to killing. We've gotten hung up on those metaphors, repeating them over and over and over again: until we find it very hard to think in any other terms. No wonder then that men rape women solely to prove that they are men. No wonder then that media portrays women as sex objects: prizes to be won. Even media made for and by women: like "If you liked it then you should have put a ring on it". Note that Beyonce speaks of her body as "it", not "me".  No wonder that any trait deemed feminine is demonized. To be feminine is to be marked for slaughter: and to be a victim is to be emasculated. 

We do not however have to keep using those metaphors. Our language has a fantastic (indeed, mind-boggling) capacity for metaphor creation. We could speak of the vagina as embracing the penis: a metaphor both kinder and more accurate. Vaginas are not just holes after all, they are active organs. Explicit language need not be unkind language. 

We all have the ability to make new metaphors for ourselves, simply by speaking or writing. And many of us do this all the time. Our language even has a simple word for this process of creating new metaphors, a word with no really good translation in any other language as far as I'm aware: kenning. It's a present participle of the archaic verb "to know" which still has the same form in modern German: kan/ken. This is also, by the by, the reason we maintain a distinction between "able to" and "can".  If you can do something, then you know how to do it (but might not be physically capable): if you are able to do it, you are physically capable (but might not know how).   To make a metaphor for something, is to demonstrate that you know it. Or, as Einstein put it, "if you cannot explain it simply, you do not really understand".  As Einstein was a native German speaker, it should be assumed this was in fact exactly what he meant. Science is how we come to know things: but art is how we know that we know things. 

Creating new metaphors is how culture shifts and changes over time. Myths are the way that we encode and teach metaphors. Nietsche said that myths were useless because the metaphors they encoded were no longer applicable to modern people. Tolkien said: no, we simply need new myths. Yes, the metaphors encoded in the myths of olden days are well...strange and distasteful to us now. But we still need things in that style, of that kind: myths encoding new metaphors. Children still need heroes to look up to. Teenagers still fall in love with heroes and heroines. Adults still need models for how to deal with the situations they encounter in their lives.  The failure of our society to recognize the value of Tolkien's women shows only how deeply entrenched these old ideas encoded in old myths still are. But the true heroes in Tolkien's stories do not fail to recognize the value of these women: this is what sets them apart from the other characters in these stories. Furthermore, their brand of masculinity is precisely the antidote to the toxicity that permeates our society. Beren is a modern man, make no mistake: for Beren is Tolkien himself.

The Conclusion of Game of Thrones: No Mere Man can be King

People are scratching their heads over the twist ending of Game of Thrones. Jon choosing duty over love, wasn't a huge surprise (if a little trite imo). Neither was Queen Sansa. We all saw that coming a hundred miles away. But then we get [spoiler alert!!!!] King Bran? what? 

True, he is perhaps the ultimate representation of all the people who were marginalized under the previous system. But, Bran is also already ridiculously powerful. Not only can he see the entire past, he has probably influenced it. His abilities as a warg mean he can be anywhere at a moment's notice. His abilities as a greenseer mean that he knows everything that happens. There's no possibility of a misunderstanding like what caused Robert's Rebellion, not with Bran around.  This much, Tyrion knows when he chooses Bran. What he doesn't know, is that he has made the best possible choice. Bran is functionally immortal (he can prevent himself from dying by warging, and if he hooks himself up to the weirwood network he will definitely be immortal). He is all-seeing, all-knowing, all-powerful, and immortal. Sound familiar?

Bran may once have been a boy pushed from a tower: but he has become much more than that. He left that behind when he took the weirwood paste, and began to train as a greenseer. Bran is not chosen because he represents the marginalized, nor is he chosen because he 'has the best story'.  Bran is chosen because he is not a man. The gods of Westeros are just as mysterious and about as physical as the gods that people believe in in the real world. Except, for Bran. He has gone beyond humanity: he knows things that no human could know, and he has done things which no human could do.  He is indeed the ultimate cheat. He has transcended humanity and become a god.

This move is a recognition of the inherent problem in monarchy: and a solution to it that follows logically from that recognition. The inherent problem with monarchy is the problem of succession. Not simply the problem of multiple claimants to the throne, since that can be dealt with just by clearly codifying the rules of succession. Rather, the problem is that succession needs to take place at all. A monarch who earns their title through whatever means obviously deserves it in the eyes of the common people. Otherwise, they wouldn't give him or her the title. But the very power which is the just reward for the deeds of the founding monarch, will almost guarantee that his or her successor is not worthy. At the very least, this person will have to look for a way to prove him or herself. Most likely, they will be completely blinded by their privilege and emotionally immature. The best solution is therefore a monarch who will live forever, who will never need a successor. That necessarily means, it cannot be a human. The squabbling nobles of Westeros need some authority to rule over them: otherwise they will simply fight to annihilation. Bran is perfectly capable of keeping the peace among them: indeed is probably even more capable than any of the previous kings of doing this.  He can intervene directly, at a moment's notice: no matter what the situation is. He does not need a court, so court intrigue cannot happen.  He can be everywhere at once, know everything that is happening, and act on it. 

He is ideal in another way as well: he has no agenda of his own. The very trait that the author of our article complains about, is exactly what makes Bran the perfect choice. He is indeed a boring character. But that is perhaps what makes this the most daring subversion of all in terms of literature. Yet, it isn't so much a subversion of a fantasy trope as it is a subversion of expectations. The original fantasy story after all ends with a man who has no personal agenda being crowned King. And in the case of Aragorn, that is indeed the reason why he is worthy. All of Aragorn's actions until this point have been at the behest of Elrond: who was essentially blackmailing him by withholding the privilege of marrying Arwen.  Aragorn effectively has no agency even in the moment when he refuses the Ring. This too is a consequence of Elrond's emotional blackmail, and indeed is probably the reason why Elrond resorts to this. If he takes the Ring,  Elrond will keep Arwen from him. Elrond can't afford to have Aragorn do what Isildur did: so he makes the hard choice to blackmail his adoptive son.

But wait, you say, Aragorn is an interesting character. True. Much of that has to do with perspective. We see him through the eyes of Frodo, his companion. The Game of Thrones TV show however uses a 3rd Person Omniscient perspective. Which, if you think about it, can only be the perspective of one person: Bran himself. It's a good twist, because if you actually thought about it: you would have seen it coming. This can only be Bran's story, because he is the only person who could know about all of the events which take place in it. Of course it's going to end with Bran on top. He does kind of meander through the story, relating to us all the things which other people did but which had only an indirect impact on him. Yet, each action taken by any of the characters in the story pushed Bran further and further towards the center. 

Bran is ideal for this position because he cares solely about the long-term welfare of the realm. Although Varys is the one who was always saying "I serve the Realm": it is Bran who has been doing that. Varys was self-evidently serving the Targaryens, probably because he is a Targaryen (see an interesting thing about castration is that it stops you from going bald: so why does Varys shave his head? obvious answer: his hair is white, it would give him away as a Targaryen).  How has Bran been serving the Realm? largely by giving people important information. Yes, he has served mostly as a plot reveal device. That makes him a counterpoint to Varys, the ultimate keeper of secrets. Bran has been notably free with information, unlike Brynden Rivers aka the previous Three-Eyed Raven: who was probably in league with Varys this whole time (as he is also a Targaryen, albeit a bastard one).  

Do I think that this is also how GRRM is going to end the series? actually, yes. Bran's full name is Brandon Stark: a name with an enormous amount of in-universe historical weight behind it. GRRM goes out of his way to build up the legend that surrounds this name in the very first chapter of the book. A name like this must obey Chekov's famous rule: "if there is a gun shown in the first act, it must have gone off before the third act is finished".  Here the "gun" is a name, but the same principles apply. Even moreso, because the name isn't only significant inside the fictional world. It's incredibly significant in the real world as well. In the Mabinogion, there is High-King Bran the Blessed of "The Isle of the Mighty" (a translation of "Prydain": the old Welsh name for Britain). This figure is further identified with the Fisher King of the Arthurian legends. 

Two significant things identify Bran of ASOIAF with this figure from Celtic legends: his handicap, and his powers. Bran the Blessed gets shot in the foot, and the Fisher King is wounded in the leg. Our Bran similarly suffers from nonfunctional legs. In this era, "leg" and "foot" were often euphemisms for another part of the male anatomy that lies adjacent: and our Bran also has this problem (medical realism in fantasy ftw!) Bran the Blessed is the original owner of a magic cauldron capable of resurrecting the dead, and the Fisher King owns the Holy Grail.  Our Bran may or may not have the power to resurrect the dead (some people speculate that he played a role in Jon's resurrection, although neither the books nor the show confirms this): but he certainly knows the secrets of life and death. Like most figures in the Mabinogion: Bran the Blessed was originally an ancestor-deity, demoted to the status of hero by Christian missionaries. 

Furthermore, our Bran does indeed fit the archetype of the Fisher King: a King whose health is intimately tied to that of the land and vice versa. Bran is quite literally connected to the land through magic, just as the Arthurian Fisher King is. While this was a common trope in Celtic mythology generally, it became particularly associated with the Fisher King in the Middle Ages. And, like Bran the Blessed in the Mabinogion, our Bran is a guardian of the land: calling on it's strength to combat those who would conquer it and destroy it. His status as a cripple, also both foreshadows and reflects the brokenness of Westeros itself. Like Bran, Westeros will always be a broken land: after the ravages of Aegon's conquest, the Long Night, Robert's Rebellion and finally Danaerys' Conquest. After so much war on such a grand scale, the land cannot go back to being the same as it always was: just as Sansa cannot go back to being a "Little Bird".  But it will live again.

The Westerosi legends about Brandon Stark, or Bran the Builder, are similarly larger-than-life. If Bran the Builder was indeed real, and did indeed do the things he is credited with doing, then he wasn't a normal human. Supposedly he built the Wall, and Winterfell. The first task alone would take well more than a human lifetime, and the second likely would as well: especially given the technology they have. A complex of buildings the size of Winterfell with it's extensive fortifications could take up to a century to build, easily. Granted that ice is easier to work with than stone, but building the Wall would still have been the work of at least a century given the size of the thing. Even assuming crews of thousands working on the castle and the Wall at the same time, this is still a feat of several human lifetimes, and making that assumption would be ludicrous. There's no way the Starks had enough manpower, even factoring in Giants, to do that given the available technology. But, that's not to say that Bran the Builder didn't do this. It is instead to say that Bran the Builder never truly died.   

Basically, anyone with a good knowledge of fairy tales should have seen this ending coming a hundred miles away. But that is exactly why it is a good twist. It isn't what we expect, yet after it has been revealed: it's obvious. Of course, how many people are even passingly familiar with Celtic mythology? not many. That is probably exactly why George R. R. Martin chose it. Just like Tolkien before him: he's taking little-known tales and weaving them into his narrative. Given that Martin chose to style himself after Tolkien, it's not unreasonable to think he may have the same intentions. It is also not unreasonable to say that Martin is less trying to tear down fantasy as he is trying to tackle the problematic misunderstandings or misuses of fantasy tropes that have occurred in the half-century between Tolkien and the present day. Indeed, just from the map of Westeros: we can see that Martin's project is explicitly the same as Tolkien's. 

Tolkien's goal was, according to himself, to construct a coherent mythology for England.  The Mabinogion and Celtic legends are necessarily a part of that: and Tolkien did use them. He also used a wide variety of other Germanic sources, as well as the Bible. In a way though, he failed spectacularly. He did indeed succeed in creating mythology, but not specifically for England. It's a mythology that ends up being applicable to anyone of European or Semitic heritage: rather than English people specifically. Martin however lifts plots directly from English history, and situates his narrative in a facsimile of England. In it's beginning A Song of Ice and Fire even seems like alternate history rather than fantasy. One can even go so far as to say how a situation like the one that we see at the beginning of Game of Thrones would occur: if Charlemagne's daughter Clothilde had married Emperor Constantine of the Eastern Roman Empire, and the Holy Roman Empire had never been established. That's how we would end up with a place name like "Westeros" as well as spellings for names like "Margaery" and "Aeron" for familiar names Margery and Aaron: if there had been more Greek influence from the Byzantines as languages like Frankish and Anglo-Saxon were first being recorded. As the story goes on Martin leave history behind and turns more towards mythology: but the narrative always straddles that line. 

Thus, this ending works especially well: because it brings us back to something that is recognizable to the England of the present day. The form of government that Westeros ends up with is precisely that which the actual country of England has. Parliamentary democracy is an English invention, perhaps the single greatest invention to ever come out of England (which is saying a lot because a fair few number of cool things have been invented in England).  But, there is a unique twist to England's government. England is one of the few countries in the world which actually has a state religion. This often goes unrecognized, because they don't force everyone to follow said religion: but nevertheless, it is true. The monarch is the head of the church, and the monarch is also the source of legitimacy for the English government. Thus, the source of the English government's legitimacy is ultimately God. In electing Bran as King, this is also precisely what the Westerosi have set up. In some ways in fact, it's even better: since no faith or institution to spread that faith among the people is required. Why is this a great thing? it offers Westeros the one thing it needs more badly than anything else: stability.

The common people of Westeros suffer when the lords fight, no matter how just the cause might be. What they need more than anything else, is peace and stability. That is what a King offers the common people of Westeros: he keeps the lords from fighting amongst themselves, while his dynasty lasts. Bran offers the guarantee that there will never be a civil war in Westeros again. Furthermore, in the event of an invasion: Bran does not need to call upon the strength of the peasantry to fight it off. He can weaponize the land itself. Under Bran's protection, Westeros can go about it's business safe from both internal and external threats. 

This may sound like an apology for monarchy. But it's actually not. It's actually the opposite. It is a recognition of the fact that an ideal monarch is inhuman. Bran does not feel the human emotions and desires which drive most of us. He himself says at one point "I don't want much of anything now".  Like most everything Bran says, that's a massively loaded statement. Even his most admirable trait, his ability to forgive those who wronged him, is also a sign of his inhumanity. His limitless capacity to forgive others mirrors that of God in the New Testament. A normal person, like Sansa, doesn't forgive people her abusers: she sics his dogs on him. Bran openly empathizes with Jamie Lannister by saying "the things we do for love": the very statement that Jamie made right before pushing him from the tower, but now changed to include himself. It could not get more godlike than that: and Nikolaj Coster-Waldau's double-take was spot on, in case you missed the meaning. Bran isn't referencing anything in his story here: he hasn't personally done terrible things for love of someone (the worst thing he's done was warg into Hodor, which wasn't nice but is hardly comparable to what Jamie did). Jamie does terrible things for the people he loves, but nobody else at that table does: being willing to set aside his morals to please others is Jamie's unique flaw.  But Bran says "we", speaking as if he and Jamie are not different individuals. This demonstrates his inhuman universal consciousness: i.e. that he thinks like a god, not a human. When Jon greets him by saying "you're a man now!"; Bran replies "almost".  He isn't saying that he's almost grown up (he's what, eighteen at this point? older than Jon was when he took his vows with the Night's Watch anyhow): he's saying that he is human on the outside, but not on the inside.

Theon was never an excellent fighter, and was an even worse strategist: until the Battle of Winterfell that is. Here, he fights to defend Bran: employing a strategy Sun Tzu would have been proud of, and with superhuman skill. He's shooting with about 90% accuracy, in a snowstorm, in the dark, with a flaming arrow: a feat that should not be possible. Since we have Arya shooting at about 60% accuracy (much more realistic, given that they have to use unaerodynamic arrows) in the same episode we can't chalk this up to the directors not knowing how bows work. This is clearly a tool of characterization. This change in him can only have one cause: religious zealotry. Especially since the show was kind enough to include a comparison character in the same episode (Berric Dondarrian), there really can be no argument here. Theon and Berric both show a total disregard for their personal safety as they fight (there's a reason R'hollor has had to bring Berric back 19 times), and fight at full strength with injuries that should incapacitate them. This goes well beyond the zeal someone would display for a lover or family member. Again, the show was kind enough to offer a comparison in the form of Jorah Mormont. He visibly fails as he takes more and more blows to protect Danaerys, to the point where she is actually half-carrying him and all he can do is let her use his body as a shield. Berric however, is throwing wights in a frenzy until the moment when Sandor pulls him into the safe room, at which point he dies. Theon, after hours of nonstop pitched battle, charges full-tilt at the Night King with barely a pause for breath. The reason for Theon's zeal? Bran forgave him for his ill-fated attempt at capturing Winterfell. Theon's zeal too demonstrates Bran's inhumanity, i.e. his divinity.

Bran's unique capabilities make him ideally suited to leading Westeros into it's new order.  By definition, he cannot do as previous leaders have done. He is incapable of the swaggering grandiosity that Robert used to drum up popularity among the common folk: nor can be play the Game of Thrones like Cersei did. But he does not need to. The Game of Thrones is over. Bran does not need a Hand to enforce his will for his only desire is to protect life. Bran does not need a Spider to bring him whispers, for he is the literal and figurative spider who knows all secrets. The Westerosi call their Kings "your grace", but Bran can be truly gracious to them in a way no one else could: as he was to Theon and to Jaime. He is not a King to love like Jon, nor a King to fear like Aerys. He is a King you can forget even exists, but who is always with you. You cannot serve him or betray him: for there is no separation between you and him. To serve him is to serve yourself: to betray him would be to betray yourself. Yet, he knows you as a being separate from himself, more deeply than you know yourself: and knowing you perfectly, he loves you. He will remember you perfectly, and so through him you will have eternal life. Those who were at the Dragonpit did not know this consciously about Bran: but deep down they did know. They chose him unanimously, without discussion, on the suggestion of a prisoner whom none of them had any reason to trust. As Bran himself knew they would before he came to that meeting. 

What can we learn? After all, we do not have kings. Or do we? More often than we think, people try to set themselves up as Kings: often because that is how we choose to see them. We crave the stability which an absolute ruler can bring. But, we should remember that no human can truly handle absolute power. It is not that power corrupts: rather it is that power magnifies all things. Yes, you can do a lot of good if you have power. Your flaws are also magnified and cause a lot of evil. Very often, when we see passionately loving people like Jon, we want to give them absolute power. But, that impulse is a mistake. They are not more capable of being a good ruler just because they are good people. Only a god can have absolute power, because only a god truly has the capacity to wield it responsibly.