I'm looking for an honest literary appraisal

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I'm looking for an honest literary appraisal

Postby Weaverofwiles » Sun Jun 14, 2009 11:32 am

Hello ladies and gentlemen of every race and people, whether ye be Valar or hobbit! This is actually my very first post. Greetings to all in Arda!

I am writing a literary work which is in likeness to Tolkien's works, though different. The context of my story requires much explanation but I have not written too much yet, although there is enough substance to critique. I am hesitant to simply paste it here, however I strongly crave feedback. If you are interested in providing me with any such help, I may end up pasting it here if there are enough people willing to help!

I hope that people will be mature enough to critique and not to criticize.

My humble thanks,
Frank
Weaverofwiles
Petitioner to the Council
 
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Postby SilverScribe » Fri Jun 19, 2009 1:46 pm

Hello Weaverofwiles, Mae Govannen and welcome to TORC. :)

I'd love to read what you have. I'll be on holiday shortly and will have some time to relax and do some reading, so if you're still game for some feedback, I'm game to give it a try.

:D:D:D
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A song for our Fallen, but not Forgotten . . . Galadriel's Lament
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Postby Weaverofwiles » Fri Jun 19, 2009 2:03 pm

Mae Govanon indeed. Here it is. I should like a very detailed critique letter by letter if one may say. Don't be afraid to say exactly what comes to mind, for I am open to suggestion whether it be positive or negative.
There are still several things I want to iron out but hopefully you can point out some things which I have not yet seen grammatically and conceptually.

You will notice a dividing line. That's because I work on two strands at once, so that is a part later part in that chapter. I wil provide context following the first critique so that it is exactly how a first-time reader would read it as one that reads Lord of the Rings without having read the Silmarillion.

I hope it is an enjoyable read. Many thanks! You are permitted to suggest a particular direction and your views as well!

Lucere the Magnificent

The tale of the Wanderer begins in the Sweorcan woodlands, on the outskirts of the mercantile fort-city of Somerkand, in the womb of a mislead mother. Moon was gaining on Sun in the race of time as thick white clouds closed in from East and from West. Wearied of her trekking, having spent her days neither with food or water nor in the company of man or woman, she sat under the shadow of a great tree among sinewy roots. As she studied the tree, it towered over her ant-like body and seemed to have no zenith. There was a certain majesty to this tree, for its gigantic boughs seemed to arch over the breadth of the dense forest, as if to embrace the other trees, young and old. Scanning the environs, no end could be seen in any direction, little light seeped through the thick and highly elevated foliage. A chilling breeze was about, progressively heightening to gusts. The rustling of debris and the whistling of winds reminisced the groaning of beasts and of charming voices. She knew then that this was no ordinary tree or forest for that matter. Ill boding loomed. Madness overtook her as she dashed in every direction to make an escape, but Mother had other plans for the young adventuress; she arrived always at the foot of the tree. When energy failed her madness, she sensed great unrest in her womb, and she readied to undertake a great labour as best she could.

In the midst of this labour an owl descended from the tree exclaiming in booming words, "Hearken, lass. Be not afraid, I bring favour from the Father. Your child is a treasure more valuable than gold; the light to chase away the gloom. Great shall be this child, of splendorous wealth and power and of piercing wisdom. However, heed his brothers, for they bear no like wisdom. This child you shall name Lucere, for he will bring both peace and strife among peoples, and his son will be to the eye, falsified. Go now, and herald this message to your people!" The owl then masked its face with one wing and vanished.

Bewildered, the mother looked down at her newborn child and exclaimed great joy, perceiving with her own eyes the little golden haired infant. The tree's massive appendages now swayed as if to be entranced. Rejuvenated, she hastily rushed to the tree, carved in the name of her son and fled. The tree now appeared sinister and to be peering down with a constricting intent in its boughs. With one fell swoop, she lay unconscious and the infant hurled into the air. She was never seen again by mortal eyes. The immense trunk split open like a mouth, wherefrom shot out six broad vines in the twinkling of an eye snatching the child, subsequently returning to the tree's gut as quickly as the vines had lashed. Little was known of Lucere's mother save this account engraved on a stone tablet which now appears in the Annals:

Into the eerie ventured, odious gazes focused. The forest beckons. Beguiled by its siren discourse, she propelled forward unquestioning the fey, bound to chains of mystery. Vision harrowed, bloodshot eyes. As these legs wither, attempt to slither out of tangles. Failure. Into rue the soul is passed, and consciousness gives. Bound astray, fay she lay, staring into infinity.

So it was that the young Lucere was stolen by Fate from the grips of the Earth and had entered the ethereal realm of Bonte, where substance and spirit are one and divine. None descried or heard of the madness and reverie which gripped him in the transition betwixt, nor did he have any recollection of the happenings. Once his senses hearkened anew, all appeared dark and murky before him, and he knew not wither he had been taken. Naught but gloom shrouded his thoughts, so that confusion, fear and trauma had overwrought him to tears. Though he did not know his mother, he grieved for her and craved for her affection. Finally a simmer of hope kindled his heart; the constant blare of a raucous noise interrupted his thoughts. Lucere came about, and became disgusted with his own self-pity and despair amid the darkness. He sprung to his feet, filled with the confidence and the courage of a lion. He made toward the sound with purposeful strides, off and away with the tangled cobwebs and the critters lining the wet rock walls. Round him were busy thick and hairy legged spiders and bats uttering thrown screeches. Lucere zeroed his vision forward and that was the direction of the growing mist. Curiosity overtook him as the raucous sound became discernible: the noise of a waterfall, as it were.
Behold! Before him verily was a waterfall flowing from the heights above. Below was naught but air for many a meter. In the distance were thick white clouds and eagles soaring the skies in wavy patterns above other noble-kinded birds and birds of prey. Hawks and falcons among others there were flying below the eagles, surveying the horizon for predators and prey. Surely enough, those keen-eyed birds caught glimpse of Lucere’s little frame. Into the clouds they vanished. All was still for a moment, and Lucere had lost them from sight. The birds suddenly emerged, diving toward an unsuspecting Lucere at nearly absurd velocity. Lucere prematurely lunged so as to avoid the oncoming assault. To Lucere’s astonishment, the birds halted their charge, nodded towards the heavens and swerved skyward, issuing shrilling caws on their ascent.
At length the heavens roared. The fall pummelled the depths no more; cracking sounds overtook the airs as the waters froze into limpid and glassy icicles. Lucere stepped forward toward the edge in awe. Behind him the portal to the cave was sealed by the rapid proliferation of the sparkly ice. A second roar was heard, and patterns were woven in the ice, forming spiralling stairs through the clouds to the depths below, far beyond the eye. A third roar was heard, and an icy bridge with marvellously sculpted rails rose from below, halting to fill the gap as ice collided with rock, none the harder substance.

So it was that Lucere embarked on the ice-bridge and made his way toward the spiralling staircase. At once came a choice to make: to venture above where the wondrous eagles had gone, where the heavens roared and where his skyward gaze would not trouble his beating heart or to venture below where surely there must be solid ground to subdue his fear of heights.
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All was still, for Sun did rise. Soon his gleam shone on the realm, blinding any who dared gaze in defiance of his glory. His rays caressed all living things under his dominion, and they awoke from their nightly slumber and rose to greet his warmth. One voice however, silenced the harmony of sounds, for it thundered like rushing waters, yet was as soft and soothing as ripples. A silhouette rose from a seat aloft. Forth it came until the rising Sun made visible a noble woman robed in raiment befitting only a goddess. At once, the gathering bowed their heads as they ceremoniously placed straw before her bare feet as she walked toward Lucere. The lot then hastily formed a ring about the two and humbled themselves to their knees in unison.
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Weaverofwiles
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