Odd title. Morbid sounding.
I stumbled upon an adaption of several (too few) of Oscar Wilde's brilliant short stories by P Craig Russel in the National Library yesterday. One of the stories was "The Selfish Giant". Glancing through, I was reminded of the beauty of the story I'd read as my teenage years were slipping away, the last few drops of youthful idealism evaporating in the blazing heat of grownupness.
The boy who brings about the Giant's conversion, who the Giant waits many years for while allowing the children to overrun his garden, reappears and bears marks of the stigmata. The Giant, now old, is angered and threatens harm on those who wounded the boy. The idea of paradise being like a garden is so appropriate for this story.
Unfortunately, "the Happy Prince" was not among the stories in the library books. There is a scene at the end of the story, where after the swallow has died from exhaustion and the cold and the heart of the Prince/Statue breaks from sorrow, the mayor and his entourage condemn the sight of the dead bird and the scruffy statue, and have them thrown with the rubbish, into the furnace. As in the story of the Selfish Giant, the heroes of the story are rewarded with paradise for the good work they anonymously did, for the love they showed each other.
The earliest of memorable literary death scenes that I can recall clearly is the ending from Watership Down (written by Richard Adams). Hazel has grown old, the warren is doing well, and it's a beautiful day in the English countryside. El-ahrairah appears to him, and invites Hazel to join him in a better place. It's clear to us that El-Ahrairah, portrayed earlier as the legendary hero, the prince with a thousand enemies, is also the Black Rabbit of Inle, a being who seemed an enemy to be feared and avoided. Hazel notices how tired his old body feels, leaves it behind, and finds himself with new strength and leaps into the sky with the black rabbit.
Death, the delightful lass from Neil Gaiman's Sandman series, is first introduced in a story titled "the sound of her wings". The story exudes Mary Poppins - with the reference to "feed the birds", and the location she meets with Morpheus in. In the story, Death brings dream along with her on her rounds - when she takes people of varied shapes, sizes, faiths. Two are memorable. The baby who asks "is this all I get"? And the elderly man, recalling the prayers of his jewish faith to be recited at the end of his life. "The High Cost of Living" mini-series was another brilliant story revolving around Death - there's again a sense of Mary Poppins, wide-eyed innocence, and the idea that life is really a treasure and death helps us realise it's worth. After Morpheus' life is taken by Death at the end of "The Kindly Ones" story arc, a new arc titled "The Wake" begins - and is amazingly wonderful as a read - pulling back ideas and characters from the earlier issues. I dare say such richness of storytelling around the idea of death, with few macabre aspects, will be hard to find elsewhere.
The Sandman story arcs were good and are an unqualified must-read. But the standalone stories are often superior. In one, Facade, Death comes at the end for a metamorph - who's led her life in seclusion and misery, and delivers this memorable quote which is apparently based on something Terry Prachet wrote:
"When the first living thing existed, I was there, waiting. When the last living thing dies, my job will be finished. I'll put the chairs on the tables, turn out the lights and lock the universe behind me when I leave."
Back in my army days, the call for Lights Out could be a blessing - when the work was done after a long hard day and one was dying for sleep in a clean bed...... or a curse - when there was much left to be done in preparation for exercises or inspections the following day.
When death comes calling, some don't want to leave. Others are pleased and relieved. It all depends on how one has lived one's live in each moment of now. Give me pleased and relieved any day.
