|
The Wake |
| 2026-01-11 |
The Wake
Have you ever played Britannia? The Welsh flee to their tall hills and leave the plain to the Romans. Then things somehow repeat, Roman grip suddenly relaxes and Anglo-Saxons come in. Then 1066.
Paul Kingsnorth, what a grand name, you trapped me in the mind of Buccmaster, or was it in a fen in Anglia? "Fugol, Fugol" You say I see "Fugol" — "Look up!" — "Ah, Vogel!" — "Ja, you bird brain"
I have spent a whole book in the savage pride of freely holding three oxgangs, followed by a dane kid and a cottar. Surrounded by Esels, the only other emotion I knew was ire.
Madness exposed in asymmetry by the wisdom of servant woman, by the determination of a man fallen from his horse. My old gods are thy deofol, is thy world simpler than mine? When did my Anglo-Saxon panoply went out of fashion, how could it ever wipe thy smirk away?
The stupor in The Buried Giant was kindlier to awaken from. Dankvoll for the punch in the gut, thankful for the escape to the fen, the Waldgang.
Septentrion King, I'll read "Against the Machine" next.
