The Mystery of Chapter 3

I dreamed last night about rainbows -- or at least, two ends of one. I was distracted in the dream by some drama I can't remember, and suddenly I looked up to see a faint glimmer of watery color off at the distant horizon. Following it with my eye, I saw the bare suggestion of the entire arc across a vast expanse of sky. The two ends were the most distinct part, and there appeared to be a rainbow within a rainbow. I'm not sure what I felt other than a mild frustration at not being able to see the whole thing more completely.

It may be all the stormy weather we've had recently that suggested this image to my sleeping brain. I remember looking at the sky the other day and thinking conditions seemed right for a rainbow, though all I saw were some scraps of clouds. When I lived in Florida as a little girl, I saw a lot of vivid rainbows; I remember one in particular that I happened to see through the rear window of our family car when we were returning home from the grocery store one evening. It was enormous and very bright, and something about the fact that it was behind us, boldly transforming a rainy sky into something breathtaking behind our backs, has made me remember it all this time.

I remember watching the vision slowly fade and feeling very wistful. That's when my mother told me about the pot of gold you would find if you could only get to the end of the rainbow before it disappeared. That story filled me with the pure and intense yearning you only feel for things that are slightly out of reach. Sometime soon after that I found a picture book featuring a group of children who were chasing the rainbow in pursuit of that very same gold. It had lovely illustrations of the ever elusive rainbow and the plucky children, always arriving a little too late.

Years later, I see a similarity between this emotion and the plight of the unfortunates in Dante's Purgatorio who spend their days contemplating ripe, glistening fruit and sparkling water that have been strategically placed just outside their grasp. (These people were being punished for gluttony, according to Dante. If Purgatory turns out to be real, the tree that blocks my path will most likely dangle Reese's Peanut Butter Eggs and Chocolate Ecstasy ice cream cones.)

Come to think of it, this pursuit of the rainbow is also very similar to the story of the Holy Grail, which appears as a sudden, piercingly sweet vision of loveliness floating above the heads of the court at Camelot. It glides about provocatively before disappearing as suddenly as it came, leaving everyone dazed and creating a delicious unrest among the knights, who are now filled with an overpowering longing to seek it to the ends of the earth.

I'm getting ready to work on the third chapter of my dissertation, which deals in part with the Grail Quest as a labyrinthine journey. Dante will be in there, too. Since finishing my proposal in December, I've left the dissertation strictly alone, waiting for the right opening to find my way back in. In the last week or two, I've noticed my energy for the project returning. For some reason, Chapter 3 has seemed daunting, and the whole idea of the labyrinth in the Middle Ages almost too weighty and complex to think about. That's actually a little strange considering how I love the Grail story and am intrigued by Dante's geography. Certainly writing Chapters 1 and 2 depleted my resources, but in all the months since finishing I haven't felt the slightest urge to jump into Chapter 3 -- none at all until now.

It could be that something is slightly off in the way I approached the first two chapters, and I have gotten off the path a little. It could also be that there is something in this chapter that is too difficult tackle head on. I've been approaching this as an intellectual problem when it is of course more than that (every dissertation is, I think). That could be the reason for dreaming about rainbows on the eve of picking things up again.

Ordinarily I don't like to talk about what I'm working on while I'm doing it, so this kind of self revelation is unusual. If you've ever wondered what it would be like to write a dissertation (an idea that probably occurs to very few people, actually), now you know the truth: scholars are often just as clueless as everyone else.

On the other hand, it could be a lot of fun to unravel The Mystery of Chapter 3. If I were writing a Nancy Drew book, that's what I would call this. Maybe Nancy Drew (another favorite from my childhood) is a good model for the duration of the effort. As I recall, she always got her answers, and didn't stop until she did.

Sympathy for Lancelot

" 'Lancelot, this forest is vast and labyrinthine in its depths; a knight can ride a whole day long and never find a house or refuge.' " -- The Quest of the Holy Grail, Matarasso translation.

This week I've been reading the Grail legend. There are many versions of the story, but this version treats the Quest as a spiritual journey of Christian knights, most of whom fail miserably in their attempts to find the Grail. Perceval, Bors, and Galahad are the most virtuous knights and the only ones to succeed; two of them achieve a mystical state that makes ordinary life impossible thereafter. They never return to Camelot.

I first read this story when I was nine. I remember the set of maroon bound classics, which had everything from Alice in Wonderland to King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. I ate the books raw; it was extreme pleasure, a whole vista of imaginary realms accessible only through the mind's eye. Especially, I remember the King Arthur stories. I sprawled on the living room floor on a rainy Sunday (much like today, actually), lost in a landscape unlike anything I'd come across before.

The Arthurian world was somehow adult in a way other stories were not. For one thing, the main characters were all adults. For another, it was a mysterious, indeterminate place, full of chapels, monks, references to the Pentecost, and other Christian symbolism, but it had an otherwordly, somewhat eerie atmosphere. A mysterious cup, draped in white samite, floats over people's heads in the dining hall at Camelot, striking everyone dumb and filling the hall with an incredible sweetness. A hand and forearm, clothed in (what else?) samite, passes through a chapel, bearing a candlestick and perplexing Sir Gawain and Sir Hector. Belligerent knights appear out of nowhere, visions abound, hermitages hidden deep in the forest harbor strange ceremonies. Everything happens; nothing is explained.

I know these stories are likely a mix of myths and legends from several sources, an explanation that accounts for the layers of meaning but doesn't diminish the magic. I also understand the archetypal nature of the symbols -- the Grail itself, the lances, the swords, the castle, the maidens -- and of the Quest, a type of story that appears in many guises. The Grail Quest is a type of labyrinth. (Or is it a maze? Very important question.)

Finding an edition of this story that is like the one I remember (that first book being long gone) has been a quest in itself; "the right version" has taken on aspects of the Grail in both allure and elusiveness. The translation I'm reading comes very close; the elegant diction has the right solemnity and tone. I always pictured the events taking place in a misty, watery sort of atmosphere, either because the book created that impression or the day I started reading it was (in my memory) dark and rainy.

The characters, though, raise more questions than they used to. Aha! Rather than seeing just a group of knights, I am noticing how tortured Lancelot is, how hearty and plain-spoken Gawain is, and how agreeable Hector is. Galahad and Perceval are virtuous and irritating, though Perceval does have the decency to be nearly seduced by a woman who is not at all what she appears to be. He makes a hairsbreadth escape in an episode that also features a winged serpent and a lion.

I feel bad for Lancelot; I think his passionate love for Guinevere is what makes him human. His suffering is more compelling than Galahad's cool composure, at least so far. Galahad, the perfect knight, is the product of another illicit union, that of Lancelot and Elaine. He waltzes into Camelot and usurps his father's position as foremost knight, and that is supposed to be right and just. All I can think of is how hard that must be for Lancelot, and how annoying complete virtue is when you really think about it.

What it amounts to is that I can't enter the story the way I used to. I was once enchanted by the difficulty with which the Grail was achieved. I still am, but now I'm wondering if I would really want to be one of the knights who found it but never came back. Poof, enlightenment, and poof, you're gone. Ouch. I think the Grail is something different for me than it is for those knights, and I'm working that out bit by bit. That's why it's in my dissertation. That and the fact that I'd still like to know what samite is.