...does it take to get to the...
...tootsie roll center...
You know what? Never mind. I don't need to know that badly.
"What is it, Ed? Do you have any inkling at all?"
"Psychologically I suppose you could call it a persecution complex," I said slowly. "I believe in things I never used to."I like that bit. It reminds me of the piece when Corwin is discussing his memory loss in Sign of the Unicorn, and of the exchange in Hangman about the Hermacis complex. It strikes me as distinctly Zelaznian, in that the protagonist is trying to make sense of the unknown by trying to define it in terms of his existing schema. People do that all the time, indeed, I’d go so far as to call it as one of the defining characteristics of humanity, but it’s a trait that’s seldom well-depicted in genre works. It goes back to what I love about Zelazny’s writing. It always reminds me of a line from a different Ganelon: “Their voices lack the thrust and dip of men chewing over their words and tasting them.” When reading Zelazny, I always feel that he’s fully thought through the ramifications of what he’s telling us, that he’s tasted his words before sharing them with us.
Zelazny likes to develop different systems of magic, but his emphasis is on systems. He feels the magic should be worked out and contain no contradictions. It should run more like science and not be too supernatural in which anything goes. That route leads to magic being a crutch to move the plot along. He also likes to use the mystery plot. He feels that there is an elegance to having a puzzle overlaid on a fantasy or SF novel. The mystery helps build the mythic elements in fantasy, but is also akin to the process of discovery in science.I like it when my fantasy worlds make sense. God knows the real world doesn’t.
"The artificial Earth-memories are still strong, then. Ghast Rhymi said you would remember eventually, but that it would take time. The false writing on the slate of your mind will fade, and the old, true memories will come back. After a while." Like a palimpsest, I thought-manuscript with two writings upon its parchment. But Ganelon was still a stranger; I was still Edward Bond.Zelazny’s knowledge was so broad that it’s certainly possible that he would have encountered the concept of the palimpsest elsewhere. However, as Yama likens a mind with false memories to a palimpsest in Lord of Light
She stood high upon a boulder that overhung the stream. She was dressed like a man in a tunic of soft, velvety green, crossbelted with a weapon swinging at each hip, but her hair was a fabulous mantle streaming down over her shoulders and hanging almost to her knees in a cascade of pale gold that rippled like water. A crown of pale gold leaves the color of the hair held it away from her face, and under the shining chaplet she looked down and smiled at us. Especially she smiled at me-at Edward Bond.
And her face was very lovely. It had the strength and innocence and calm serenity of a saint's face, but there was warmth and humor in the red lips. Her eyes were the same color as her tunic, deep green, a color I had never seen before in my own world.
Strange to relate, I felt sure of myself as I walked up the sloping ramp in the darkness. Ahead of me, around a bend, I could see the glimmer of firelight, and I smiled. It had been difficult to speak with these upstart woodsrunners as if they were my equals, as if I were still Edward Bond. It would be difficult to talk to their witchwoman as if she had as much knowledge as a Lord of the Coven. Some she must have, or she could never have managed the transfer which had sent me into the Earth-world and brought out Edward Bond. But I thought I could deceive her or anyone these rebels had to offer me.
The small cave at the turn of the corridor was empty except for Freydis. Her back was to me. She crouched on her knees before a small fire that burned, apparently without fuel, in a dish of crystal. She wore a white robe, and her white hair lay in two heavy braids along her back. I stopped, trying to feel like Edward Bond again, to determine what he would have said in this moment.
Then Freydis turned and rose. She rose tremendously. Few in the Dark World can look me in the eye, but Freydis' clear blue gaze was level with my own. Her great shoulders and great, smooth arms were as powerful as a man's, and if age was upon her, it did not show in her easy motions or in the timeless face she turned to me. Only in the eyes was knowledge mirrored, and I knew as I met them that she was old indeed.
"Good morning, Ganelon," she said in her deep, serene voice.Ganelon is startled, but recovers himself and makes his pitch. They both want to destroy the Coven, so if Freydis wants the rebels to succeed, it’s in her best interest to tell everyone that he’s Bond.
And such minds, with their new powers, would develop tools for those powers. The wands. Though no technician, I could understand their principle. Science tends toward simpler mechanisms; the klystron and the magnetron are little more than metal bars. Yet, under the right conditions, given energy and direction, they are powerful machines.Each author posits system of magic that is logical and follows its own internally consistent set of rules, but I find Zelazny’s approach superior. I think Zelazny would use magnetism as an analogy, that we don’t fully understand the mechanism of the wand, but it appears to function in a fashion similar to magnetism, so we’ll use magnetism as a metaphor to describe it. With Kuttner, he’s essentially saying that the wands are elaborate magnets.
Well, the wands tapped the tremendous electromagnetic energy of the planet, which is, after all, simply a gargantuan magnet. As for the directive impulse, trained minds could easily supply that.