Sadness is, perhaps, not an emotion that is often associated with the myriad feelings surrounding generative AI. Anger, despair, fear, suspicion — these will likely be familiar to some. I must confess, I do not as of yet truly understand the more positive emotions some seem to have toward AI LLMs, and so I will not speak to them. Sadness, though, is perhaps not the most obvious emotion — and yet I think it is the one that best describes how I feel about generative AI, and how I have felt for some time. Or, rather better, how I feel…
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Every year, I like to write a little postscript to my September Series posts — something that, while it might be congruent with them in some way, is nonetheless a digression. This year, given that the Series has been comprised entirely of creative works by me, I wanted to do something a little different, and something a little self-indulgent — I wanted to write up a few comments on each piece, to explain something of their origins and what I was interested in working with. This is, of course, a wholly unnecessary exercise in many ways. Ideally, each piece should…
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By Khazad-dûm, the black pit rank,Hewed dwarf and orc in vengeful rage.To gaping gate the shortbeard sprang,Spirit raising, eyes a-blazing,Axe-stroke hewing, orc-king falling.Yet sudden stopped he at gateway’s edge,Flames espying, shadows crawling.‘Not now,’ Dáin said, and back he stepped.By Ravenhill, green-mound rising,Stood dwarf and elf, grim-grudgeful waiting.With ringing voice the fullbeard spake,Of hoard-gold glowing, glory growing,Mattocks raising with new-king’s raving.Yet doubt remained in dwarf-lord’s mind of⏝king’s-wrath heedless, violence staving.‘Not now,’ Dáin said, and held his step.By Erebor, grey mountain bare,Pressed man on dwarf in desperate strife.In fortress mouth the whitebeard stood,Red-axe swinging, war-cry ringing,Forward pressed the foe to breach the…
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I’ve always loved the drama of Holy Week. The hollow triumph and fleeting glory of Palm Sunday, that passes from earthly and impermanent celebration into passion and betrayal and loss. The uncomfortable weight and rising tension that builds through Monday to Wednesday. The almost painful intimacy of Maundy Thursday, as the New Covenant supersedes the Old and the great sacrifice commences. The dreadful grief and highest sorrow of Good Friday. And then, of course, the stillness and deathly rest of Holy Saturday, that in turn (as the sun sets and the world is cast anew into shadow) sees light burn…
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But the “consolation” of fairy-tales has another aspect than the imaginative satisfaction of ancient desires. Far more important is the Consolation of the Happy Ending. Almost I would venture to assert that all complete fairy-stories must have it. At least I would say that Tragedy is the true form of Drama, its highest function; but the opposite is true of Fairy-story. Since we do not appear to possess a word that expresses this opposite—I will call it Eucatastrophe. The eucatastrophic tale is the true form of fairy-tale, and its highest function. The consolation of fairy-stories, the joy of the happy…
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