Six Sentence Sunday: Palakainen

A simple concept: six sentences to win you over. Here's mine, from "Palakainen," one of the stories from Unikirja. As a special treat, you can read the entire story at Mythic Journeys. See the rest of the titbits at Six Sentence Sunday. And think about buying the ebook version of Unikirja. Kiitos.

 Swanlike she was born, swanlike did she grow, with white hands and a graceful neck and eyes that looked unblinking at you. The servants, who all grumbled day and night about their work, would give her the best of the cream, the finest weaving, the sweetest olut brewed for her. Her brothers and sisters too, who should be jealous of the attention our little star received, instead protected her, coddled her. Her sisters did the mending rather than let her prick her fingers. Her brothers gathered kindling, which should be her job, carried hay to the cows in winter, rather than let her chap her hands. Swanlike they stayed, white.


Palakainen she was named, our little tidbit, our little treat...

Tuesday's Overlooked Film: Jade Warrior

FUN WITH SLEDGEHAMMERS OR
"IN SEARCH OF THE SAMPO"

When did these filmmakers look into my dreams? I am, perhaps, one of a small number who form the ideal audience for this film that spins together Finnish mythology and wu xia action, but I’m sure its magic will appeal to a wide audience—if they can get over the strangeness of the concept.

Admittedly it sounds a bit esoteric: a mixture of the ancient Finnish story collection, THE KALEVALA, and the sword and sorcery of early China—with a little modern Helsinki life thrown in, too. The film opens on the provocative image of a woman with a lock tattooed on the back of her neck. We see her lover wrap his arms around her, then title cards begin to tell us of the ancient story of the Sampo, awkwardly translated on this Bonzai Media DVD as “the happiness bringing machine.”

Well, sort of.

The Sampo was the magic mill forged by the mythic smith Ilmarinen. Out one side it produced salt, out another flour and out the third side, gold. With refrigeration and various chemical preservatives, we forget how important salt has always been as a preservative. Flour—well, the bread is the life. Gold’s value is still clear to us. The point is the same. Everybody wanted it, everybody fought over it, and consequently, it was reduced to rubble.

Next there is the story of Loviatar from the 45th runo of THE KALEVALA. She’s the mother of the nine diseases, the last of which is too horrifying to even have a name (although later in the book, they’re defeated by the eternal sage, Väinämöinen—yes, it does begin to sound like a J.R.R. Tolkien saga; where do you think he got a lot of his ideas?). The filmmakers present this tale as an Chinese legend, however, where the ninth son is a demon so evil that he steals the Sampo.

This conflation is not as whimsical as it first appears. Many scholars have argued for an Asian connection to the story of the Sampo (the most accessible information in English can be found in Juha Pentikäinen’s KALEVALA MYTHOLOGY, Bloomington, Indiana: Indiana University Press, 1989). Although the Sang Fu [“Sampo”] Temple in Tibet turned out not to be the direct link many eager readers hoped for (see, for example, Helsingin Sanomat’s article “Was the Sampo in Tibet?” ), there is much to connect these seemingly disparate cultures. There may even be a rough parallel between Loviatar’s nine demon sons and the nine major dragons in Chinese mythology (or their nine children).

In the movie, this connection between the two cultures comes through most often in the stoic taciturnity of the characters who feel they must accept fate. There’s the abrupt Ronja (Krista Kosonen) who comes to Sang Fu, the antique shop, to unload the belongings of her ex, the morose blacksmith Kai (Tommi Eronen). We get voiceovers from the archaeologist Weckström (Elle Kull), but her quick eyes say more than her words. The only voluble talker is her partner, Berg (played by the delightful Markku Peltola, best known to American audiences as the nearly silent Man Without a Past in Aki Kaurismäki’s film of that name—I swear, the little plastic duck by Kai’s forge must be a nod to that master of filmmaking himself and his film HAMLET GOES BUSINESS, where the melancholy Dane is the scion of a rubber ducky-making business). Berg becomes convinced that Kai can open the mysterious metal box whose polygon shape his workshop echoes.

The two cultures are linked more directly through trips to the past in both ancient Finland and China. It takes longer to tell than it does to see it—there’s the 2000-year-old man clutching that iron box with Chinese lettering on top, then there are Iron Age Karelians meeting up with a wolf who has two warriors with consummate fighting skills on his heels. One of them is the lovely Jingchu Zhang (RUSH HOUR 3) who plays the titular warrior, Pin Yu. As details accrue, it becomes clear that we’re dealing with a narrative of reincarnation and of karmic checks and balances. While the enigmatic Berg taunts Kai into getting in touch with his mystic past as the descendent of the mythic smith, that past gradually begins to impinge on the present of all the characters, much to their surprise. Kai relives a past life when he was Sintai, the son of a smith with an appointment to meet a demon—until he gets sidetracked by the oldest story of all, love.

There’s an elegiac beauty to this film that its €2.5 million price tag would seem to make impossible. Yes, there’s digital enhancing, but a lot of the credit is due to the detailed vision of every scene and also to the fine cast, in particular Tommi Eronen, who seems to have done yeoman’s work getting in shape for both the smithing demands and the martial arts. While this is not the nonstop fight fest that many wu xia films become, the fight scenes work to direct conflict and add a poetic melancholy. Unlike Ang Lee, Annila understands that wiring should enhance the athleticism of a leap, not replace it. The visual aspects of the fights are well thought out, too, complementing the physical repartee with details like Zhang’s fan-like weapon and a variety of swords. In one scene, Eronen wields a kantele (the traditional Finnish lap-harp, also celebrated in THE KALEVALA) both for its plaintive music and for defense.

Not surprisingly, language plays a huge role in the story, requiring the Chinese actors to speak a few lines in Finnish and the Finnish actors to speak Mandarin. While there is some awkwardness involved on both sides, they do surprisingly well (although Eronen’s Mandarin sounds a little too deliberate and awkward at times). For most audience members in this country anyway, both languages will likely seem impenetrably exotic, but their blending does work as part of the thoughtful blend of cultures, myths and times. There was supposed to be an official Region 1 release in the works (no sign at IMDB though) but you can find it on Amazon and eBay; with luck this film will get to an audience who can appreciate its intricate mysteries, millennia-spanning romances and choreographed fights.

When’s the last time you saw a good sledgehammer fight anyway?

[NB: This originally appeared in Up Against the Wall, but I've trotted it out as I need to write about this film some more; plus I am lazy. And busy. So, nyeh!]

Publication: Finnish Charms

I had nearly forgotten about this: the Mythic Journeys folks have been going through some interesting transitions (which seems entirely appropriate) but the journal is back at last. I gave this paper at the Forging Folklore Conference at Harvard University in May 3-5 2007. Great conference! Peg and Hannah put together a terrific bunch of presenters including Ron Hutton (whom I teased about Kyrie whose voice always accompanied him on Historyonics), my mentors Steve Mitchell and Joe Harris, and the fabulous Byron, whom I met for the first time there. Before I gave the paper, I played the kantele and sang. Yes, me -- singing. I wasn't sure I'd do it until I opened my mouth. Good to do things that terrify you now and then. Love the image they chose.

Finnish Charms:
Appropriating Folk Magic from
the Kalevala and Kanteletar

By K.A. Laity

Kylä vuotti uutta kuuta,
miero päivän nousendoa.
Miepä vuotin minjoavani,
miepä vuotin minjovani.

The village waited for the new moon.
They said my brother would return
empty handed when he was off hunting.
They were wrong. The eagle caught the duck.

Värttinä, “Kylä vuotti uutta kuuta”

Truly they lie, they

Talk utter nonsense
Who say that music
Reckon that the kantele
was carved by Väinämöinen…
out of  a great pike’s shoulders…
no, music was made from grief
molded from sorrow…
so my kantele will not
play, will not rejoice at all…
for it was fashioned from cares
moulded from sorrow.                                               

My Kantele, Kanteletar 1:1

One of the least well known of modern reconstructions of folk magic must certainly be the realm of Baltic magic found in the ancient texts of Finland, but it has found a perhaps surprising popular resurgence in  recent years. The reprinting of Kati Koppana’s Snakefat and Knotted Threads has brought a handbook of folk magic to a new generation of reconstructionists, but the nineteenth-century collections The Kalevala and The Kanteletar continue to provide a rich supply of magical practices.  While originally the outgrowth of a rising sense of nationalism in nineteenth-century Finland, the two collections of myth and folklore also record a number of magical charms that give some insight into the ancient practices of the Finns, since lost in the (relatively) late conversion to Christianity and the long-practiced denigration of the indigenous tongues particularly by Swedish and then Russian political control...[read the rest and check out Anya's essay on Egypt, too]

A Taste of Unikirja: Vipunen

In order to give people a little sample of my collection, Unikirja, today I want to offer one of the stories that previously appeared in print. "Vipunen" is based -- oh, so loosely -- on Runo 17 of the Kalevala. That runo has been interpreted in various ways, including musically by Estonian composer Veljo Tormis. My version is a comic one; a hiker falls into the mythic realm (i.e. into Vipunen's belly with Väinämöinen, the ancient rune singer) and is unprepared to deal with what transpires:

"Well, quite a way to meet!" the old man said warmly, as if for the first time, but I could only glare at him. How long had we been down here? How long had I been down here — he could have been here for centuries for all I knew. It felt like days but looking at my watch — if the time was still right — who knew with all these strange things going on; it appeared as if it were only half past four. But was that day or night? And why did that pool smell like something gangrenous had recently choked out its life in the black waters?

In the cavern my exhalation of disgust and annoyance echoed on for long after I had shut my mouth, the quiet susurrations crawling away from me like escaping mice. It was a very creepy moment. I looked over at the old man who seemed, at first, to have nodded off. I studied his clothes. They were not from this decade. To be charitable, they were not from this century, unless he was one of those re-enactor types or perhaps a folk-dancer. Well, that seemed more likely an explanation for the red skull cap, the wooly tunic and the cross-tied leggings. Was he actually wearing birch bark shoes?! Heavens! Well, that would have to be folk dancing. I don't think anyone's re-enacting the Kalevala, unless the folk movement here in Finland has taken a new and horrifying turn... [read more]

The Kalevala and Kanteletar

One of the difficulties involved in introducing my story collection Unikirja has to do with most people's unfamiliarity with The Kalevala and The Kanteletar, the twin tomes of Finnish myth and folklore. The stories and songs that make up these collections are very old, but were gathered together in the nineteenth century as a surging sense of national pride grew. The tiny nation straddles the dividing line between the Baltic and Scandinavia, and had been dominated alternately by its two larger neighbours Sweden and Russia.

A doctor with a fascination for folklore, Elias Lönnrot set out to collect examples of the old tunes and stories that people told to try to capture what he saw as a vanishing way of life. In The Kalevala, he arranged these stories in runos to link together story arcs. You can read an English version online, but let me acquaint you with some of the recurring characters who show up in my stories.

Väinämöinen is the eternal sage. After Ilmatar the goddess gives birth to the world, he is the first human born. He knows all manner of magic. I've always found it fascinating that much of Finnish magic comes from know the true names of things and being able to sing them. At one point, Väinämöinen faces a young challenger who thinks he can take on the old man, but he gets sung right into a swamp. The panicky Joukahainen offers his sister's hand in marriage, which starts another theme for the old magician: he never gets the girl.

Aino is the sister offered to Väinämöinen. Her parents think it's an advantageous marriage, but the beautiful young maiden finds little appeal in being joined to the ancient sage and finally drowns herself to escape. She comes back, however, as a salmon to taunt Väinämöinen, so she lives again. Väinämöinen's mother suggests he should go north to find a bride instead.

Louhi is the witch of the northern lands. There's a great split in the Kalevala between the people of the south in Kaleva and those in the north, so they're always portrayed as adversaries. Louhi, while seemingly as powerful as Väinämöinen, inevitably the stories depict her as "evil" which just sat wrong with me. As you might guess from our name, Louhi's Daughters, my friends Minna and Kasha shared the opinion that we were getting a rather one-sided view of Louhi and in our performances we tried to give a more balanced picture of this amazing woman. Our very first performance together was a retelling of the Aino story, which also proved a resonant touchstone for Unikirja.

While The Kalevala has a series of narrative threads, The Kanteletar is a looser collection of songs grouped by who sings them, i.e. men, women or children. There are also a number of ballads that would be sung by everyone. Not surprisingly, one of the songs is all about the kantele. The name of the collection is kantele plus the feminine ending, so you might think of "Kanteletar" meaning the spirit of the kantele, the source of all the songs.

Tomorrow and Sunday, I'll offer a taste of these stories.

My Kantele

What is the kantele? The short answer is the national instrument of Finland, a lap harp traditionally with five strings. Of course, that has changed much over the centuries: 5, 10 and 15-string kanteles are common (and often electric!) and there are even grand concert kanteles. Above is a picture of my very first kantele, Louhi, a 10-string made by the wonderful craftsman Gerry Henkel. That's our cat Kipper sitting in the case my dad made with just an outline of the instrument. It fits perfectly! I now have six kanteles, including one I built myself (with a lot of help).

You can hear and see a kantele in this Kantele-TV video by Outi Sané (I helped edit the English subtitles). She explains a little more of the history, too.

In The Kalevala, Elias Lönnrot's collection of Finnish folklore (more about that very soon), we learn that the first kantele was made from the jawbone of a pike, with a maiden's hair for strings. When the ancient sage, Väinämöinen played it for the first time, not only did all the people stop and listen, but even all the forest creatures gathered, too, unable to tear themselves away from the magic in its strings.


Here's Gerry's kantele that captures the look of the jawbone kantele. He sent it to me while I was at a writer's colony working on some of these stories. It was one of the most wonderful gifts I have received.

I have learned over the years, partly with the help of my first teacher, Kasha Breau, with whom I later played in a group called Louhi's Daughters with our friend Minna Popkin; then as a part of the Maine Kantele Workshop, where I learned an awful lot in a very short and intense time -- and made a lot of new friends as well as that kantele.

But as my pal Lani has noted, the kantele itself is an amazing teacher. With the five string it is not possible to play a wrong note, and you can learn much from just noodling on it. I'm no professional, but I love to play and will be doing so at my signing later this month.

One of the stories in Unikirja, simply entitled "The Kantele," demonstrates this magic. But when a little girl seems to develop a preternatural skill at playing the instrument, her mother begins to worry -- particularly as she seems to have also developed an invisible playmate...