Crazy Christmas Characters: Snegurochka

In America, you love snow. But in Soviet Russia, snow loves you!

Featured image: “Snegurochka: Snow Maiden” by Irina Skorohodova.

Snegurochka is a character from Russia. She is unique among the companions of Saint Nicholas, and I am grateful for her existence because she adds some needed diversity to the main cast of my upcoming novel Son of Hel. Although originally associated with Christmas, Snegurochka is, since the Soviet regime suppressed Christmas celebrations, now more closely associated with New Year’s. It is New Year’s Eve as I write this, so it seems an appropriate time to discuss this character.

Snegurochka, or Snegurka, is the “Snow Maiden,” who comes from a fairy tale. In some versions, an elderly couple created her from snow because they had no children. In others, she is the daughter of Ded Moroz, or “Grandfather Frost,” a god of wintertime. At the age of fifteen, she met her untimely demise either when her friends challenged her to leap over a fire on St. John’s Day or because she fell in love.

Whichever version you prefer, she melted tragically, like Frosty.

As he is usually depicted, the Russian character of Ded Moroz is a man with a full, white beard and a long robe, and he hands out presents at Christmastime (or now on New Year’s). This figure clearly draws from St. Nicholas, but has become completely decoupled from the original saint, becoming instead a personification of the season, rather like the character of “Father Christmas.” Snegurochka has accompanied him since around the late nineteenth century.

Being sweet-tempered and tasked with assisting the gift-giving, Snegurochka is unique among the characters associated with Santa Claus or a Santa Claus-like figure, in that she is not menacing and does not dole out punishment.

She is a popular character in Russia. She has been the subject of opera, ballet, film, and animation. A Soviet-era cartoon about her, Snow Maiden, from 1952 may or may not be in the public domain; the information I have found is confusing and seems to suggest it is considered public-domain in Russia but not the United States—however that works.

In the world of Son of Hel, I attempt to collapse together as many similar characters as possible, so I assume the Ded Moroz whom Snegurochka accompanies is actually St. Nicholas, though the real Ded Moroz, the winter god, is somewhere in the background, having been responsible for bringing her to life for the sake of elderly couple who carved her out of snow, much as Zeus brought the statue to life for Pygmalion.

Although Snegurochka is usually depicted as sweet and warm, her backstory suggests something different: Since she died once before from falling in love, I suppose that she must be cold and distant, not because she wants to be, but because it is necessary for her survival. Thus, I depict her as aloof from the other inhabitants of the North Pole, avoiding both affections and warm places. She eats only cold foods, stays away from fires, and often walks alone in the freezing arctic night.

The basic premise of the book is that the misfits of Santa’s workshop must band together to save Christmas (and win a war): Krampus is the last child of the old gods and a reluctant servant of St. Nicholas; the “Captain” is a reindeer who wears a lead mask over his radioactive nose and shuns company to avoid inflicting others with the radiation sickness that killed his parents; and Snegurochka keeps others at a distance to preserve her own life.

Snegurochka, as you can see in the image above, is usually depicted in a long, blue coat with braided blond hair. Since the sequel to Disney’s Frozen recently appeared, I will mention that I was recently discussing Christmas legends with an associate who asked me if Snegurochka was the inspiration for the Disney princess Elsa. I had no certain answer, but thought it probable.

‘Jake and the Dynamo’ Now on Sale

Due to circumstances beyond my control, I don’t have internet access.on my PC and won’t until the new year. However, I am popping in from my phone to announce a few things.

First, I am currently making progress on Son of Hel. I was admittedly in something of a post-partum depression after getting Rag & Muffin out the door, but that’s over now and the new story is well under way.

Second, I received an update on Dead to Rites, the sequel to Jake and the Dynamo. It should of course have been released already, but it is now out of my control, so all any of us can do is be patient. I think I shouldn’t announce exact details, so I will simply say I’ve seen progress. I haven’t received a release date yet.

Third, Jake and the Dynamo is now on sale for Christmas, as L. Jagi Lamplighter has announced. Since the second volume is going to drop soon (no, really), now is a great time to introduce yourself to the wacky world of bonecrunching action and zany comedy that is this fast-paced magical girl harem series.

Fourth, I’ll have a review up as soon as I’m back online. Stay tuned!

Sneak Peak: ‘Son of Hel’

This is a draft of the first chapter of Son of Hel, my novel currently in progress. It is rough, so naturally contains some overused words or wordy phrases. This is to show the expansion of the concept over an earlier version of the same work. There is of course no guarantee that any of the following will be in the final.

I’d like to see that land beyond Pole. That area beyond the Pole is the Center of the Great Unknown.

——Admiral Richard Byrd.

#

It was the End of the World.

It was a place few mortals had seen—and most who had seen it had not survived to tell. At the pinnacle of the Earth, the Arctic Ocean’s surface turned to ten feet of ice, but beneath that ice, the deep waters still flowed. At the Symmes’ Hole, the very lip of the world—a vast opening 16,000 miles across—the water poured over a great cliff down into the planet’s interior in a massive waterfall that dwarfed every other spectacle on the planet. Deep in the world’s crust, in mazelike caverns fed by this tumbling sea, were light and life and vast civilizations that the men of the surface, crawling like maggots on a corpse, could hardly dream of. The water flowed through these subterranean networks like blood through the arteries until it at last emerged at the Symmes’ Hole of the south, a never-ending waterspout thousands of feet high.

But the Symmes’ Hole at the North Pole was not a mere void: Standing in its exact center, jutting starkly into the sky and supported by no one knew what, was the Black Precipice, a dark, windswept mountain tall enough to rival Everest, entirely of lodestone. This mountain it was that caused all compass needles to point inexorably north.

Though enormous, the Black Precipice was invisible from the distant lip of the Symmes Hole, shrouded as it was in a thick ring of icy mist. Few explorers had glimpsed this terrifying mountain, and most who had, had soon met their deaths in the bottomless drop of the waterfall. Though clever in his inventions, man had not yet built the flying ships capable of crossing that chasm and landing safely on the Black Precipice’s craggy cliffs—so those who dwelt on its rough and barren slopes remained, for the time being, unharried by the rapaciousness of human greed.

Continue reading “Sneak Peak: ‘Son of Hel’”

Crazy Christmas Characters: St. Lucy

I missed it unfortunately, but yesterday was the feast day of St. Lucy, or St. Lucia. Because her feast day falls within Advent, she has been pulled into the world of Christmas lore.

St. Lucy is a Christian virgin and martyr of Syracuse said to have lived from 283 to 304 and to have died under Diocletian. She refused to burn incense to the emperor and was condemned to a brothel. When soldiers came to take her, they found they could not move her, even when they tried to drag her away with oxen. They then attempted to burn her alive, and she miraculously survived, but died from a sword thrust.

She is a patron saint of eye diseases, and images of her holding eyes on a plate have been part of her iconography for a while, but the legend that her eyes were gouged out during her martyrdom apparently appeared only in the fifteenth century.

According to legend, she delivered food to the Christians hiding in the catacombs. To light her way, she wore a wreath on her head with candles affixed to it, and this is why her feast day is celebrated with children crowned in wreaths and candles, often with one particular girl chosen as the honorary St. Lucy of the year. This is particularly popular in Scandinavia, and according to Britannica, the celebration of St. Lucy marks the beginning of the Christmas season in Sweden.

Traditionally, the girl playing Lucy wears a white robe, a red sash, and a wreath of evergreen Lingonberry branches. Pepparkakor, or gingersnap biscuits, are also associated with her holiday.

I am not at present clear on how old this tradition is; a few glances around indicate that the Advent wreath with the four candles is originally a Lutheran tradition—though most Lucy wreaths I’ve seen have five or seven. I will have to dig deeper before I can say whether the St. Lucy wreath predates the Christmas wreath or vice versa.

St. Lucia procession in Sweden
Photo by Claudia Gründer

Particularly fascinating about St. Lucy is that this distinctive appearance of her processions—a girl in a white robe with a wreath of candles on her head—has (apparently?) become associated with the Christkind, or Christ child, in some places, especially Germanic countries.

The Christkind, or Christ child, was intended by Protestants as a replacement for St. Nicholas—but instead of turning the focus to Jesus as was probably intended, the Christkind ironically became a separate figure, usually played by a girl or woman with curly hair, sometimes with a tall crown of gold but often crowned with a wreath and candles.

And that’s why you don’t mess with Christmas characters: When you try to get rid of them, you just end up creating more.

I’m still uncertain about what originated where and when, but at least according to Chris Marchand, it was the Protestant image of the Christkind that informed the image of St. Lucy. Given the late—and Protestant—origin of the the Advent wreath, this seems plausible, though I previously assumed it was the other way around.

Basically, if I understand aright, the unorthodox depiction of the the baby Jesus as a candle-headed girl got folded into the image of the young woman saint who was already a part of the Advent season. Incidentally, Marchand mentions that St. Lucia has also taken on the role of a gift-giver, sometimes giving presents exclusively to girls.

At the moment, I confess I’m unsure what to do with either St. Lucia or Christkindl in the world if Son of Hel, the Christmas-themed novel of Krampus as his motley crew of St. Nicholas’s companions tasked with saving Christmas, but I feel an obligation to work these characters in somehow.

Comic Book Review: ‘Amulet,’ Volumes 1 to 8

Amulet, written and illustrated by Kazu Kibuishi. 8 vols. New York: Scholastic | Graphix,

Amulet may be both the best and the worst thing to happen to children’s comics in the last ten years.

We have here before us one of the most ambitions, beautiful, and arresting graphic novel series for young readers that anyone has ever made. Although it starts with a bang and immediately sucks the reader in, by the time it reaches its not-conclusion in the most recent volumes, the story has petered out, suggesting that its fledgling creator was not quite as prepared to tackle this epic story as he at first appeared to be.

An underground city in Amulet
Epic.

Kazu Kibuishi has few titles to his name; in fact, he’s known for Amulet and almost nothing else. Nonetheless, he was the editor of the Flight anthology, which is still just about the best thing that’s ever happened to comics. Over time, Flight morphed into Explorer, an anthology aimed explicitly at young readers. At a time when so much of fiction for children and youth is designed for political indoctrination, Kibuishi appears to be a man concerned for what children actually need—good, solid stories full of heroes and villains and serious decisions that transcend the fads and fashions and worries of the moment.

Mechs walking through a rugged landcape
Amulet transcends itself.

That being said, in spite of what are apparently the best intentions, he appears in Amulet to have bitten off more than he can chew.

When Amulet made its debut in 2008, it shot to the top of the New York Times bestseller list, and for good reason. With a unique art style that finds a happy medium between careful detail and the overly simplified “CalArts” style, Kibuishi presents a tale for children that pulls no punches and reads like horror: The first volume opens with a young girl, Emily, watching helplessly as her father falls to his death. Two years later, she moves with her family into the decrepit house once owned by her eccentric great-grandfather; there, she finds a magical amulet, and shortly thereafter, a tentacled abomination grabs her mother and hauls her through a door in the basement. Emily and her brother Navin chase the monster into a parallel world called Alledia, a world full of robots, Rube Goldberg machines, and deadly monsters. Emily’s amulet grants her telekinetic abilities, but it also talks to her, playing games with her mind and constantly tempting her to sell her soul for power.

Emily on the deck of an airship
Emily gets all tempted and stuff.

Although intense for children, that’s seriously good stuff. The first volume of Amulet will leave your fingernails ragged and make your butt sore from sitting on the edge of your seat.

Although unable to equal the raw intensity of Book 1, the subsequent volumes are mostly pretty good. Starting off as a brooding horror, Amulet later settles into a more conventional epic fantasy with steampunk trappings. Emily, Navin, and their mom meet a wide array of characters including elves and furries, all while getting caught in the middle of a war involving kaiju and humongous mecha. Emily gains greater and greater power while also coming increasingly under the influence of the sinister voice that speaks to her through her magical stone.

Emily speaks to her dead father
Difficult subjects for children.

The great flaw of Amulet is that Kazu Kibuishi is clearly a huge fan of fantasy and science fiction. He has obviously consumed a large number of popular works in these genres, but like other enthusiasts (I am thinking particularly of Christopher Paolini’s Aragon or the late Monty Oum’s RWBY), he has consumed more works than he has digested. Kibuishi borrows elements form Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, The Matrix, The Last Airbender, and probably a host of other sources, but has not given sufficient thought to how these various elements might fit together.

Throughout the series, a careful reader will notice problems in consistency. For example, midway through the series, we learn that the elvish empire has destroyed a city called Frontera. A couple of volumes later, a handful of protagonists use their wiles to finagle their way onto a commercial airship headed for Frontera—because Kibuishi did not, apparently, consider how a major war and the total destruction of a city might disrupt commercial air traffic.

That particular detail is forgivable, but the series goes completely off the rails at the end of Volume 7. Although the entire series had represented this alien world of Alledia as steampunkish in technology, at the end of the seventh book, the heroes are suddenly boarding a spaceship.

When I read that, I thought Kibuishi was making a major mistake. That he took two full years to release the eighth volume deepened my suspicions that he had written himself into a corner he couldn’t get out of. Nonetheless, I crossed my fingers and held out hope that he knew what he was doing.

He didn’t know what he was doing. I am virtually alone in this (simply look at the glowing reviews on Amazon ), but the eighth and penultimate volume of this series is an unbelievable letdown.

This series has over seven volumes established a particular character as a major villain. The heroine deals with that villain anticlimactically. The series has promised us a major war between a ruthless invading force and a ragged band of rebels. The war ends anticlimactically without a major battle. The characters who blasted off into space were trained mech pilots on their way to pilot mechs in a last stand against implacable invaders. Instead of fighting from their mechs, they spend most of the volume visiting a farm while riding dirt bikes.

There’s a major fight in which many people die—and it happens entirely off the page. That is an astounding blunder for a series that has until now been full to the gills with heavy action.

I honestly don’t know what to make of this. In spite of some plot holes and rammed-together fantasy tropes, Kibuishi seemed, up this point, pretty good at avoiding the kinds of elementary mistakes he blunders into in the eighth book. He promises at the end that Book 9 will finish off the series—though he took a long time to release Book 8, and it’s anybody’s guess when the final volume will appear.

One thing Amulet has regardless of the story is gorgeous, carefully detailed artwork, although that is largely due to Photoshop rather than Kibuishi’s line work. Still, multiple full-page or two-page spreads are arresting with their sweeping views of rugged landscapes, airships, and fantastical cities. The art alone makes Amulet worth it.

Also, in spite of my criticism, this is the kind of series that will make you neglect your obligations: I sat down with all eight books and plowed through the whole thing, forgetting other duties in the meantime. Even the weak penultimate volume still offers a fair amount of entertainment, though it resolves several conflicts without sufficient drama. I will undoubtedly devour the ninth and final volume when it appears, whether I like it or not.

I do recommend this series, but it’s shaping up to have a poorer conclusion than I’d hoped for.

Photograph

Crazy Christmas Characters: Krampus

Gruß vom Krampus!

Today, as I write this, it is Krampusnacht, so now seems a good time to discuss Krampus, who will be one of the major protagonists in my next novel.

Krampus is one of several bogeymen who orbit Saint Nicholas in the legendarium of the Germanic and Francophone peoples. For whatever reason, Krampus has gained a lot international popularity lately, eclipsing the similar Belsnickel and Knecht Ruprecht, who were, until recently, probably the most popular such characters outside their regions of origin. This is due in part to the internet, but also to the revival of traditions surrounding Krampus in Austria and Bavaria.

Krampus leads children to hell

If I were to guess, I would suppose that it is his distinctive appearance that makes Krampus popular. The typical “companion” of Saint Nicholas is a bearded and rough-clad character whose dark and shabby appearance contrasts with the saint’s bright and festive one. These figures tend to have similar accoutrements—chains, a wicker basket, and a whip or switch or bag of ashes or some other device to punish naughty kids.

Krampus pulling a woman's hair

Krampus, however, is a slavering, horned demon-like creature with a long tongue. He still has the switch and basket, but he is considerably more striking and terrifying in appearance than most of his counterparts.

Worth noting, however, is that people outside the areas of Austria and Bavaria frequently confuse Krampus with similar characters called perchten, who are associated with Frau Perchta, a hobgoblin-like witch who comes around at Epiphany (and whom I’ll discuss in another post). The perchten are her minions, similar in appearance to Krampus and celebrated in similar fashion with dress-up and physically intense parades. I am informed that a lot of images or descriptions of krampuslaufen—Krampus runs—that one sees on the internet are actually perchtenlaufen.

Krampus leads a string of naughty children

Although these two creatures have migrated to different parts of the calendar (Krampus before the Feast of St. Nicholas and Perchta around Epiphany), the similar features suggest similar origins or at least a lot of trading. This is typical of folklore, with concepts dividing and combining and dividing again.

And if we want to get picky, we could also ask whether Krampus and the Buttnmandl, a monster made of straw and wearing huge cowbells, are really the same, or different. The answer is that there’s not really an answer: Trying to define these things is like a fanboy trying to explain away inconsistencies in his favorite franchise. For this reason, too, someone like me who wants to write a novel on all this folklore has to quit at some point, or lump together as many of these characters as possible, lest the cast be overwhelmed with too many, too similar monsters.

In any case, the website SaltzburgerLand explains:

A Percht is not a Krampus, even if similarities certainly exist. Confusing the two is hardly possible, even though the Krampus is on the go only up to 6th December, with the Percht being around only after Christmas. The name is derived from the mythological figure “Perchta”. Both beautiful and ugly Perchten travel around in the harsh nights between Christmas and the Epiphany with the slogan: “To peace, to rhyme and to health”. They should exorcise the dark and cold winter with loud bells and chase away any evil spirits.

The same website helpfully explains the traditional equipment of someone dressed as Krampus:

Tradition dictates the Krampus’ equipment: a fur suit usually made from goat or sheep skin. Large, heavy rumble bells carried on a wide leather belt around the middle of the body. A rod of thin Birch branches or a cow’s tail. And of course the elaborately carved mask. Each Pass has nowadays their own style and sometimes the masks are modern and zombie-like, or, as with the Rauriser Devils, strictly traditional. In the Rauriser Traditional Pass the masks are carved by the members themselves and painted with red, white and black colours. They must meet certain criteria, such as the red fabric tongue and specific arrangement of the horns from a goat or a ram.

The origins of Krampus, like all these characters, are obscure. But they all serve a similar role: They are bogeymen, creatures that threaten children with punishments. The great folklorist Jacob Grimm also saw all these characters as related to household goblins such as kobolds and brownies.

One of the reasons I want to write a novel of Krampus even though Krampus stories have been done (perhaps done to death) a lot lately is because, so it seems to me, nobody who gives these characters a modern take wants to treat them with any respect. Brom in his admittedly entertaining novel Krampus the Yule Lord depicts Krampus and Santa as the last remnants of an ancient rivalry between Norse gods, and the comic book Krampus features a Hellboy-like Krampus unwillingly serving an entire organization of Santa Claus-like characters.

Krampus Comic Book Cover

For whatever reason, nobody seems to want to write a story in which Santa Claus is actually St. Nicholas, the St. Nicholas, with all that might imply, or depict Krampus as his servant, reluctant or not, rather than his enemy. Nobody except me, that is.

The reason for this, in Brom’s case at least, probably arises from a decidedly modern hostility toward Christianity, so moderns pit Krampus against St. Nicholas as a supposedly freer, naughtier, less stuffy alternative.

The only problem with that is that Krampus is a decidedly Christian character: The reward/punishment dynamic of the saint and his sidekick developed in a Christian context. In fact, one thing Krampus does, often not mentioned in today’s essays on the subject, is demand that children pray. If they say their prayers, they can escape his wrath. Some of the Krampuskarten, those grotesque but whimsical postcards from the nineteenth century, depict Krampus demanding prayers from children.

Krampus may have some pre-Christian origin (the claims across the internet that he’s the son of Norse goddess Hel have no backing that I know of), but that origin is lost, and even if we could see such a hypothetical pre-Christian Krampus, he would have changed so much that we wouldn’t recognize him.

Crazy Christmas Characters: Hans Trapp

Now that I have Rag & Muffin out of the house, I am turning to research for my next book, Son of Hel. For that reason, the blog is, appropriately, turning Christmasy as I present some of the fruits of my research.

My thoughts from the beginning were that I would combine together as many folkloric characters as I could, both to keep the cast from getting unwieldy and because I work on the assumption that if folklore were real, many disparate but similar legends would probably have the same origins. However, when it comes to weird Christmas characters, so many of them are so bizarre that they deserve to stand as individuals.

One such is Hans Trapp, a character from the  French-German border, which is a breeding ground for crazy Christmas legends. I’ve only begun to think of what use I’ll put him to in Son of Hel, but he definitely has to go in there.

The story is that Hans Trapp was an evil sorcerer who practiced witchcraft and served the devil. Excommunicated by the pope, he either went mad or gave his evil full reign: Disguising himself as a scarecrow, he murdered a young boy by skewering him on a stake and took him home to devour him, but died from a lightning bolt before he got his first taste of human flesh. Now, he roams the countryside at Christmastime in search of naughty children to devour.

Like most of the “companions of Saint Nicholas,” as they’re sometimes known, this a variation on the bogeyman, a character to frighten children into being good. A few essayists identify Trapp with Le Pére Fouettard, “Father Whipper,” another French Christmastime bogeyman I’ll discuss in a later post. Although their supposed origin stories are different, Trapp and Pére Fouettard certainly share a penchant for cannibalism.

Interestingly, Hans Trapp appears to be based loosely on a real individual. The real man is Hans von Trotha, who, at least according to Wikipedia, was a nobleman of the fifteenth century who got into a land dispute with an abbot. The act that turned him into a folkloric villain was probably his decision to dam a river above Weissenburg, cutting off the water supply. After the abbot complained, he tore down the dam—and flooded the town.

Regardless of who was in the right in the initial land dispute, he does sound like kind of a jerk. Pope Alexander VI summoned him to Rome; he refused to go, accused the pope of certain crimes, and got an excommunication for it. He died a natural death, after which the excommunication was posthumously lifted.

He is supposed to have stood two meters in height, which might explain why he became depicted, at least sometimes, as a scarecrow. In other depictions, he is similar to other of St. Nicholas’s companions, with ragged clothes and a full beard—that is, basically a dark version of the saint.

Trapp’s exact role in Son of Hel is yet to be determined, but a war between good and evil elves forms part of the background, so I might have Trapp in an alliance with the villains, making him a sort of counterpart to Krampus and the other misfit heroes.

‘Rag & Muffin’ Is Finished (for Real this Time)

Rag & Muffin is finished. It’s done. It’s out of my hands and off to the publisher. It’s been through the editor, through the proofreader, and then back through me. That’s it.

I edited this one to death and then continued editing after it was dead. By the end there, I might have been doing more harm than good, so that meant it was time to get rid of it.

I have no word on a release date, but at least the book is now on someone else’s desk instead of mine. Now that that’s gone, I can work in earnest on Son of Hel. I’m still in the research phase of that one.

Rag & Muffin
Phase:Editing
Due:5 years ago
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