Dear colleagues, in this talk, I'd like to introduce the writer very much less well-known than Tolkien,
the Gwynn or Pullman Violet Needham, whose work is forgotten except to members of the Violet Needham Society and or a few of my generation.
But mediaevalist may enjoy reading her romances for children.
I have not investigated the society, nor would I call myself an expert in the enormous and growing field of fantasy for children.
However, this writer has been a favourite of mine for some time and I've been rereading some of her books with great pleasure.
Caroline's call for contributions to the Oxford Fantasy Podcast has persuaded me to come out of hibernation and offer you a short entertainment.
Violet Needham first published the Wood of Wind Tree in 1944.
I've chosen this one amongst several that I possess because I happen to notice somebody saying she set her romances in Rory Tamia,
having been influenced by the novels of Anthony Hope, you know, snobbery with violence.
Be that, as it may, in my view, this is simply a reason the enchanted forest of Brazil yonder would be too easy to get to in the 20th century.
Brittany is part of what is now France, accessible by car or bicycle from the nearest town.
Even worse, when they're in the Middle Ages and came away disappointed.
He says. Needham does not disappoint.
And in any case, Mauritania has always been much harder to get to being apparently somewhere in southeastern Europe and thus more remote.
Even if it were real. In the opening chapter, the scene is set just on the verge of mystery as follows.
South and west of the castle stretch, the woods of Whineray,
the danger spot of the Empire Woods so vast that an army might in camp there and not be discovered unless the Lord of Whineray kept ceaseless watch.
It is with this Lord and his two daughters that our story is concerned.
Before I continue, I want to set out a few of the things that need amuses to invoke the pervasive and enduring genre of romance.
First, this is a question about the identity of both heroes.
Naming is a dominant theme of mediaeval romance, as I argued in my first book, namely naming a nameless nurse in Mediaeval Romance 2008.
Typically, Needham offers the theme in an unusual and quite distinctive variation.
The hero is named in the first chapter, but the reader doesn't know he's the hero, and nor do the characters who are talking about him.
Then he's introduced in romantic incognito in the second chapter.
But neither we nor those same characters find out until much later that the two are identical.
The other hero, a boy doesn't know his own full name.
This is a matter of great danger because he's at risk of being murdered.
So, too, is the adult hero.
In fact, he chooses his own pseudonym on arrival of the Lord of Windows Castle and ultimately finds the true name that identifies him with his family,
both real and adopted. The key to the mystery is the boys inherited birthmark, a useful plot device familiar to storytellers since olden times.
This talk is not a synopsis of the plot, so I'll pass over the ramifications.
As in many adventure stories, great men and sometimes women intrigue and scheme to get power.
Dastardly deeds include murder unless the good characters managed to prevent them by nightly combat that sort of thing more elusive.
If the magic of the woods mysterious, yes, but all the marvellous things that happen,
they're all to do with the virtue of the principal characters, the sympathetic ones that is.
Two of these are the young girls, daughters of the Lord Warden of the Forest.
They knew that the place is friendly to its own and so it proves, though we never witness an actual miracle or any actual magic there.
This is very reminiscent of something Helen Cooper has remarked.
A hero may have a magic ring, for example, but it's in fact his own nightly qualities that effect his triumph over enemies and other difficulties.
Cooper's book, The English Romance in Time 2004, has a section entitled Magic that does not work,
and she previously published an article in Mediaeval and Humanistic Her with this title in 1976.
Wherever we are, Needham doesn't actually tell us it's Mauritania.
So how can we be so sure? It's clearly not Britain, so it must be somewhere in Europe.
The fact that there's an empire means it's not necessary to say which country or even which continent.
I'm aware that somebody is currently working on the theme of place in children's literature and focussing on British sites,
I believe, but I haven't seen anything of it yet. It's clearly somewhere vaguely exotic.
Morton's dog is called Took. The hero's horse is called Black Sultan, but Needham doesn't overdo it.
Most of the human names are pan-European. Philippa, Gertrude, Theodore Hubert Oliver.
It would probably not be useful to try and identify what kind of religion obtains and story says to compare it with various European church practises.
It must be broadly Roman Catholic because of things such as shrines, pilgrimage, the canonical hours and so on.
Anyway, the time is quite clearly before the Reformation.
It occurs to me that not everybody knows about Hope's Mauritania novels, so may not immediately place the team's work there wherever it is.
Other possible names might include Transylvania, although this is now thought of as a place where vampires,
et cetera, are found, Transylvania is at least a real place historically.
It might be interesting to mention Philip Pullman's Rus Kaavya here, but we are told exactly where and when that is.
Unlike Needham's nameless and timeless realm, but discussion of this and other such fictional locations would be for another time and another project.
The important thing is to my mind that Needham invokes the romantic other well and makes it familiar to us.
The book raises questions about the meaning of certain words, magic, mystery, marvel.
Although there are no miracles, Needham's readers are made aware of some of these meanings.
Miracles and mystery happen in the readers minds rather than in the story.
There's a mysterious hermit, a secret underground passage, a devil's pool and Abbey, a city with its bustle.
The Empress Court, some armed bandits. But there are no unicorns or witches.
The horse, the young Theodore Burrows somehow finds its way safely and unguided through the forest to the castle.
But it doesn't speak to the little girl's enormous faithful dog has no more than canine powers.
The only dragon appears on the flag.
They are not told why the woods, although in some uncanny way, kind to wintry folk, were not safe for solitary travellers.
The woods are central to the story and provide almost all its mystery.
Although the main sphere of action is described with almost geographical precision, the wider world is less identifiably drawn.
We're not told the name of the Empire, nor even which Century West appears to be in.
The setting is broadly feudal. Even the capital where some of the characters travelled to meet the Emperor is not given a name.
The Emperor is merely your majesty. Were shown exactly which track to follow, follow through the forest, to the abbey, to the Hermitage,
to the neighbouring estates, but were not told exactly where the forest wind tree like Brasilia and actually is.
It's like a real world set into an unreal world. A comparable situation is we can feel ourselves very much at home in one of Tolkien's places,
the Shia are familiar with the hobbits, houses and surroundings.
Then as soon as we step out of the shower where somewhere we could never have imagined.
In my naming and nemesis, I cited a remark about place names in the preface to Henry James novel Roderick Hudson,
he regrets giving a name to his peaceful rural New England community can conquer.
But his town is situated in America and we all know where that is.
So it's the reverse of Needham's geography. In fact, James would have had to rewrite the passage on the first page of Chapter one.
He says that amongst Cecilia's misfortunes was the fact that she lived in Northampton, Massachusetts.
Just say she lived at a peaceful rural community, can conquer would sound odd, and calling it nondescript would not quite work either.
Northampton is too well drawn. And in any case doesn't have to be made mysterious.
Needham is careful not to introduce into textual references.
Nobody talks of Lancelot or Roland. So the cultural landscape is neutral, except for some religious details.
A Dominican priest mention of knowns the shrine of Saint Mary Maudlin.
St. Martin is mentioned, but only for St. Martin's summer.
Reference to a Jack in the box, for example, reassures us that the children know the same games that we know, which makes them more real.
The characters, thanks to the illustrations and some description of dress and behaviour, a good quality pretend mediaeval without being over-the-top.
I can't show you the pictures because the edition I'm using is still in copyright.
Although the language is slightly I, it's clear and neutral, it's a refreshing lack of grammar ceasefire cliché,
the girl's father says, God bless my soul when he's astonished.
And as a warning, be careful should you come across him not to let him see you closely?
This works well. The children are educated as befits their station.
The girls, because it's proper for the children of lords to be able to read and write, even including some Latin.
They'll be able to help with management of the castle and household. Needham doesn't patronise her readers by explaining Latin.
But rights as if this is perfectly normal in our society,
the boy learns more Latin and even some Greek because until he ran away, he was destined to become a monk.
It's the younger daughter who finds the boy wandering lost in the forest,
looking for the Lord of Winfrey to beg for his protection and honourable employment.
She brings him into her father's castle. Others sympathetic themes the elder daughter must marry well because the Lord has no male heir.
He hopes to find her a husband who will be a powerful ally.
His wife is dead and both his sons died young. He cherishes the girl all the more because of this.
The daughters are brought up and companions by the Lord sister,
a pleasant woman who takes little part in the plot but is a necessary piece of furniture.
There's no wicked stepmother.
The elder, now 16, and a good churchgoing damsel, was attracted by the life of the nuns when visiting them on a brief family pilgrimage.
She says she'd rather enter a nunnery and take her husband.
My father is reluctant to force her into marriage against her will and hopes to persuade her.
In spite of his desire to keep her with him, the younger daughter is a seven year old scamp with admirable qualities.
Apart from the wonderful with the title, she's the real heroine, and much of the story is driven by her exploits.
So here are the themes in common with mediaeval romance.
Love, of course, with a happy ending in this case.
Courtesy country of noble behaviour more than one quest that I have not explored here, but they play their part in the story naming and nameless ness.
Forest and court settings date uncertain.
Plus several kinds of mystery, as in all good fiction, there's plenty of coincidence.
But whether the book counts as fantasy, I don't know.