"All that mankind has done, thought, gained or been: it is lying as in magic preservation in the pages of books."
-Thomas Carlyle

by Paul Lytle

In a letter once, C. S. Lewis explained the difference between a myth and an allegory. A myth, he writes, is "a story out of which ever varying meanings will grow for different readers and in different ages," while an allegory is one "into which one meaning has been put" (quoted in Glover 37). His description of a myth cannot help but to remind us of the Arthurian Legend, which seems to have lost no literary force in the eight centuries since Geoffrey of Monmouth gave us his Historia Regum Britanniae. New meanings are constantly coming out of the tale, and each author seems to find something different when looking upon the legend. Arthur's enduring popularity has transformed him into a hundred different kings and warriors, some that do not resemble the others except in name. The historical Arthur, whoever he was, has mixed so long and so thoroughly with the very essence of Fantasy literature that he has, according to J. R. R. Tolkien, "emerged as a King of Faërie" (29).

The end result of this is that there is no Arthur at all, and no Arthurian period. He has become an archetype of the charismatic leader, but how each author interprets that is wholly his own.

It is perhaps this unique freedom that so attracts authors to the Arthurian tale. After all, if writing a fictionalized book of Thomas Jefferson, it would be very difficult for a writer to impose his own political thoughts into Jefferson's mind. The reader would pick up on it instantly, so long as he knew even a little about Jefferson. But in Arthur we have a historical figure about whom we know nothing, with some vague texts from the medieval world that are easily adaptable.

In other words, writers find in the Arthur Legend a good story with characters that are basically blank canvases. They can be molded an infinite number of ways without destroying that core story. The archetype is there, and "[e]ach draws from the common story according to the measure of his understanding. . . . What each in his turn makes is to be judged in its own light" (Lawlor xxxi).

The changes made to the common legend are interesting in and of themselves. And by changes, we should not be overly concerned with simple plot changes made to shorten the legend or spice it up, since these changes are made most often to make a particular book distinct from others. But instead, we should look at changes in character and personality. These changes can tell us a great deal about the author who is adding his name to the legend of Arthur.

But to take on this task, we must first decide on a standard by which these changes will be judged. After all, we have just finished saying that there is no true Arthur, so how can we speak of changes Marion Zimmer Bradley makes to a character who does not exist? It is true "that there is no one version of Arthurian material towards which all others must aspire" (Lawlor xi), but we still might find a base legend in Sir Thomas Malory's Le Morte D'Arthur. This compilation of legends seems to have solidified a group of characters and events from which others might choose. Even those authors who claim to be using older texts, such as Bernard Cornwell, are really reacting against the Malory version of the legend.

We need not take this concession to its extreme, however. When the general perception of the legend conflicts with Malory, we must declare that perception as the "norm," and the works that agree with Malory in these sections must be seen as still making a change. The primary example of this that we will explore is when Stephen R. Lawhead makes Merlin a Christian. Malory makes him a Christian too, but we are used to Merlin being known as a Druid. Lawhead had to make a conscious decision to write Merlin more in line with Malory. It is that conscious decision that we are seeking in each author. Lawhead's choice tells us something of him (as we will see later), and the choices of others reveals the writer.

These choices usually appear in a few major categories: politics, religion, and women, and we will examine each in turn.

Feminism

Marion Zimmer Bradley has made her name famous for a simple idea: tell the Arthurian Legend through the eyes of the women characters. Though her version of Arthur is the most extreme example, it is not uncommon for the modern author to seek to make the female characters stronger.

This trend is a strange one, since Malory's women are remarkably strong in and of themselves, and it is odd that modern feminism would try to fix something that was not broken.

While Guenever is not terribly formidable in the book as far as physical strength goes, Malory does make her instrumental for the creation of chivalry. She is really the voice of civilization, along with Merlin, in the court. Left to their own, the knights would have simply slain everyone, but Guenever is the one who encourages them to protect the innocent.

And there by ordinance of the queen there was set a quest of ladies on Sir Gawain, and they judged him for ever while he lived to be with all ladies, and to fight for their quarrels; and that even he should be courteous, and never to refuse mercy to him that asketh mercy. (Malory 1: 104)

Though chivalry is officially established by Arthur later, this admonishment of Gawain is really the first such command in Camelot, and it comes from the Queen.

As for the other women, Nimue is strong enough to defeat Merlin without much effort, and then is strong enough to take his place in the court. She saves Arthur's life on several occasions, such as when Morgan (another strong female character) tries to kill Arthur with an enchanted robe or when Arthur has lost his sword to Accolon.

Though we are entertained with an unlimited supply of unnamed "damosels," they do not seem to be referred to as such because of sexism, but mere practicality. After all, if they had been named, the character list for the book may have been three times the length, and Malory would have resorted to a few more dozen Elaines and Isouds.

On the other hand, Malory well knows that women are the only power that can combat these great knights. It is no accident that a woman brings down Camelot — it is simply that no man has the power to do it. Likewise, on the Grail Quest, the knights are ever challenged by women. Percival is even criticized for underestimating women. A maid tempts him, and he foolishly thinks that, because this woman had such power, that she must have been sent by a fiend. The man with him is amazed at his blindness and reveals that "that gentlewoman was the master fiend of hell, the which hath power above all devils" (Malory 2: 290). Percival was almost lost because he decided that the maid before him was a simple woman that could never defeat a knight.

Yet still do authors feel obligated to "strengthen" the women in the story, either under the false impression that all literature from the past is exploitive toward women or a general interest to promote modern feminism. Even Lawhead, easily one of the most Conservative of the recent writers to write Arthurian Legend, makes his Gwenhwyvar a warrior.

Some of the other examples are more extreme. The film King Arthur, like Lawhead, makes Guinevere a fighter. The difference here is that the film, while toughening up Guenevere for a modern, democratic audience, has cut out every other strong woman from the cast. There is no Nimue or Morgan here, only a warrior Guenevere.

Bernard Cornwell creates perhaps our best version of Guinevere. We experience the tale through the eyes of one of Arthur's warriors, named Derfel, who distrusts Guinevere from the very start. This small detail does something interesting to the story. Since we already know Guenevere to be an unworthy wife (as well as a follower of Isis), her betrayal of Arthur (though this betrayal is more a part of the Mysteries of Isis than a personal one) is no real surprise to anyone but Arthur. But while most authors put Guenevere on a pedestal and watch her fall, this Guenevere starts on the floor. That beginning, narratively, gives Guenevere the chance to redeem herself without putting the reader on a roller-coaster of character development.

Her redemption comes in war. Despite Derfel's warnings that "the shield wall is no place for a woman" (Cornwell, Excalibur 224), Guenevere joins the army against the Saxons at Mynydd Baddon. She admits that her betrayal "was nothing but ambition" (Cornwell, Excalibur 225), and she is seeking redemption. It is her strategy that saves the two that day, again reviving the warrior-queen motif from the other works mentioned. But even though she has taken a more subservient role, she will still not accept any sort of male god, but continues to worship "The Goddess, . . . [though n]ot Isis" (Cornwell, Excalibur 227-8), as though the confession of a god would be too much of a concession to men.

Bradley's The Mists of Avalon is obvious in its feminism, and only a little really needs to be uncovered in this forum. A simple read reveals most of it. But there are subtleties at work here. First is the transfer of power from the Merlin to Viviane. Lest too much be placed on the back of Merlin — a man (even though he was defeated fairly early in Malory) — his role and even his dialogue is given over to the Lady of the Lake. When Arthur gets the sword and scabbard from the Lady of the Lake in Malory, Merlin asks him, "Wherther liketh you better, . . . the sword or the scabbard?" (Malory 1: 57) Of course, he is trying to explain about the healing power of the scabbard. But in Bradley, the line goes to Viviane in almost the same language. "‘Which do you like better,' asked Viviane. ‘The sword or the scabbard?'" (Bradley 205) This is a very subtle change, and most would pass over it, but it represents a great difference in the two works. In Bradley, when dealing with Avalon, you are dealing with a woman. The men have little or no power there, and therefore it is for Viviane to ask the question, not Merlin.

There is another subtle change that is made for the benefit of Gwenhwyvar, even though Gwenhwyvar is a villain in the novel. In Malory, we are told that Arthur marries Guenever because of love. He says that "this damosel is the most valiant and fairest lady that I know living, or yet that even I could find" (Malory 1: 92). But Bradley changes it and has Arthur marry Gwenhwyvar so that he might get her father's horses. He even freely admits cheating on her, telling her that he has "had other women, as do all men" (Bradley 334). The latter might be accurate with Malory, for Arthur does have at least one illegitimate child besides Mordred, but the former is completely new. The reason is simple. Bradley wants to give Gwenhwyvar an excuse for her infidelity, even though she is a villain in the story. We cannot look at any woman in The Mists of Avalon and identify a total villain, even though we see it in several men.

Modern Politics

It is quite common now to see Arthur portrayed as a lover of democracy or a believer in some modern political movement (such as running trials with modern rules of proof). These books are primarily written for Americans, who are seen as fiercely wary of monarchies, and so these politics are used to Americanize Arthur and make him more adaptable to the modern audience. Still, Malory portrays Arthur as a feudal king, who does not seem to have any inclination to establish a trial by jury.

Peter David, in Knight Life and One Knight Only, places Arthur in modern America. While entertaining, David's own politics seep through into the books, sometimes with rather humorous results. Arthur runs for political office in these books (of course as an Independent, since most Democrat writers are too scared to actually label their characters as Democrats, even though those characters line up with the Democrats on every topic).

A few of Arthur's positions are particularly strange. For one, he is in favor of abortion, and would have the man pay for it every time "[b]ecause the man can't share the physical pain and hazards of the abortion" (David, Knight Life 176). Now, David makes a good case as to why Arthur would be in favor of abortion (primarily because he came from a time where unwanted children were left in the fields to die from exposure), but where David got the idea that men should take responsibility for the abortion seems strange, especially since the choice remains completely the woman's. "If . . . the woman decides to have an abortion, the man should bear that cost" (David, Knight Life 176). Perhaps David could justify this according to chivalry (aiding women or something of that nature), but that would be a stretch. It does not matter, because he does not explain it in any way. Instead, we are forced to believe that David himself is suggesting laws using Arthur as a mouthpiece.

In the same speech, gun control comes up, and Arthur suggests that "[a]nyone who owns a gun should have to belong to a militia" (David, Knight Life 177), of course referencing the mention of a militia in the Second Amendment. It is difficult to believe that any medieval king would advocate disarmament, especially one who took, in part, a bunch of peasants from all over Britain to drive back the Saxons. David is not really concerned with what Arthur would truly advocate, but what he himself wishes to advocate.

Percival, in David's version, is a Moor. There seems to be no reason for this save political correctness, though it is not without precedence in Malory. When battling against Rome, Gawain defeats a Saracen, who converts to Christianity and joins Gawain. When they return to Arthur, Arthur does not seem to care at all about his race or former religion. He immediately "let him anon be christened; and did do call his first name Priamus, and made him a duke and knight of the Table Round" (Malory 1: 190). So when Percival in David complains that "it was some sort of dirty secret that the court of Camelot numbered a dark skinned man among its membership" (Knight Life 97), it is an unfair and unjust challenge to the original legend. Again, the modern author is trying to fix a perceived problem that does not really exist.

In One Knight Only, Arthur gives up the Presidency to save Gwen. David's belief is that, originally, their marriage could have been saved had Arthur concentrated on her rather than the kingdom. One of his staff advises him that he has "never done anything in [his] life for [him]self" (David, One Knight Only 162), and that he should resign to regain his love. This is part of a post-Vietnam theme that the individual is more important than the group, and this conclusion would have surprised Malory and his version of Arthur. But the modern age sees something romantic in harming the whole for the benefit of the one, and so David's Arthur acts.

In the film King Arthur, Arthur is a follower of Pelagius, who becomes a convenient "source" for the beliefs of the film makers. While it is possible for Arthur to have followed Pelgius (though Pelagius might prove too early for that sort of relationship to have existed), it is highly unlikely. Indeed, the only reason to even mention the name is to make Arthur more democratic and tolerant of other faiths without it being completely anachronistic. Under the name of Pelagius, Arthur can let his knights worship as they please without the slightest effort to "save" them (I, personally, would think a real friend would try to save his friends from eternal damnation) and speak of freedom and equality. These aspects would please modern Hollywood, but Arthur might have been thought a little strange if he actually believed these ideas. We will try to avoid the hypocrisy of such a great believer of equality accepting rule over all of Britain.

In Avalon, Stephen R. Lawhead gives us a version of Arthur that proves more realistic than the others. As in David's novels, Avalon tells of Arthur's return to reclaim the throne of England. But this Arthur is no modern democrat. While the Prime Minister is trying to form a Democratic Republic in England, Arthur (James in the novel) is trying to defend the monarchy. He says that "True Sovereignty, however, is only ever a gift from Almighty God, who alone raises up and establishes those who will wield power in his name" (Lawhead, Avalon 217). At the advocation of Divine Right, the modern eyes may grow wide, but here we have a view that Arthur would have probably professed. The reference to the Christian God might not be historically accurate; we do not know, but a returning King Arthur would probably not, as David desires, have much time for the modern political system.

Faith

The Arthurian Legend has taken on a new conflict, and that is one between Christianity and paganism. Many authors like to set the story against that base conflict, which just becomes an additional trial upon the land. Ironically, that conflict is not present in Malory. Malory makes a little of how the Round Table welcomes men of all nations and religions, but even Priamus became Christian before joining, so that boast is never really tested to the fullest. Even Merlin, rumored to be "begotten of a devil" (Malory 1: 138), is a Christian in Malory, despite the more well-known convention that he is a Druid or even the last Druid.

Lawhead is the only one who gets this right, even though his version will have to be seen as a change for our purposes, since he is departing from the standard tradition. In his series, Merlin is a Christian, though still a Druid. In Merlin, Hafgan, another Christian Druid and also Chief Druid, explains that "[f]rom ancient days [Druids] have sought knowledge so that [they] might learn the truth of all things" (Lawhead 40). That search has led several of them to Christ, and there is no contradiction for Lawhead.

Of course, he has made Merlin a Christian not to restore the vision of Malory, but because he himself is Christian. His faith is a constant force in The Pendragon Cycle, especially in the conversion of Taliesin in its first volume by the same name. In Avalon, James' faith is taken for granted. The only real question is whether he is Catholic or Protestant.

Bradley is just as obvious (and much more vicious) in the other direction. We can tell very easily who the villains in this book are from the first time they invoke the name of Christ. Being also a feminist reading of the text, all women get Bradley's sympathy (even Morgaine) except Gwenhwyvar, because Gwenhwyvar is the only Christian amongst the major female characters.

In this text, Arthur's great sin is that he broke an oath with Avalon by flying a Christian banner over his army rather than the pagan Pendragon. This act alone causes Morgaine to fight against him, and to turn away from Kevin, the Merlin, who is not so offended as she. Meanwhile, Morgaine lectures Gwenhwyvar to not speak against the pagans because they never speak against Christianity.

Even hotheaded Balin has become a symbol of Christianity's evil. In Malory, he is merely a murderer. He blames the Lady of the Lake for his mother's death, and so he chops her head off. But that is not enough for Bradley. She wants Balin to be on a Christian quest to destroy pagans. After the murder, he wants to kill Morgaine also, saying, "Let me have that one too, my lord Arthur, purge this court of all their evil wizard line" (Bradley 500).

The Grail Quest will be difficult for someone who is writing an anti-Christian novel, since there is little way to draw Christ out of the Grail. Bradley does it by making the Grail, in reality, "the cup of the Goddess . . . is the cauldron of Ceridwen, wherein all men are nourished and from which all men have all the good things of this world" (Bradley 770). The ignorant Christians only believed that it was the Grail. We have moved the magic of the Grail from God to the Goddess, and made the Christians to appear foolish in the process.

Cornwell makes the Grail into a cauldron also, but not to make Christians into fools, but to remove the magic from the tale. Cornwell is writing a tale with as few anachronisms as possible, and so he cannot have the Grail floating through the court and such. Instead, Merlin is seeking "[t]he Cauldron of Clyddno Eiddyn[,] one of the thirteen magical Treasures of Britain that had been dispersed when the Romans had laid waste Ynys Mon" (Cornwell, Enemy of God 30). They do find the Cauldron, or at least a cauldron, since, without real magic in the tale, it is impossible for the reader (or Derfel) to know for sure.

As for Arthur, he too seems to occupy that neutral place between Christianity and paganism, for he is an atheist. One character explains that "Arthur doesn't believe in the Gods. . . . He doesn't even believe in that milksop God the Christians worship" (Cornwell, The Winter King 113). And the narrator, Derfel, begins as a pagan, later becomes Christian, and is leaning back by the end of the three-volume work.

Cornwell proves much more fair than Bradley. In his works, there are Christian fools and pagan fools, and good on either side. Galahad is a very good Christian and good friend, while Derfel himself proves to be the best in paganism. If Bradley wanted to be taken seriously about her "all Gods are one" business, she might have done better with this approach instead of demonizing Christians.

Conclusions

With just a few examples, we see an Arthur that is contradicted so many times as to be reduced to nothing but a name and a symbol of something better. And since we do not even know who the true Arthur was, much less his personal beliefs, we cannot say that any of these versions are correct.

But with the unknown comes greater freedom, and authors are able to see in Arthur what they wish to see, and convey that vision to their readers.

It is for this simple reason that Arthur will continue to be retold for countless future generations. Truly, his tale is one "out of which ever varying meanings will grow for different readers and in different ages."

Works Cited

Tolkien, J. R. R. "On Fairy-Stories." The Tolkien Reader. New York: Ballantine, 1966. 3-84.

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