I decided to keep this section separate, and attempt closer but less tormented readings of Stopp't-clock Yard, John Uskglass and the Cumbrian Charcoal Burner, and The Ladies of Grace Adieu. In the years [!] since the first version of this article appeared, I've managed to disperse the majority of my Sandman agita [1], and I contrived to remember how consistently untrustworthy all Clarke's narrators really are, so I hope everything here reads a little less weirdly more smoothly. Let me know what you think!
I think this might actually be a short story about the compelling and mutually-penetrative interactions that occur between stories and the people who create them; in The Ladies, characters draw a line between themselves and the world of ancient folklore, and then walk along that line on a path of liberation and power. If these characters had no venerable fairy tales in which they could place their faith, presumably, they would lack the ability to write the story of their rose-colored future. Practically, though, The Ladies of Grace Adieu is an account of three female magicians who manage to summon the Raven King, and all his strange and beautiful magic, while their 'professional' male counterparts are still embroiled in public debate over: 1.) Whether or not the Raven King exists or ever existed, and, 2.) Whether or not the Raven King's magic is or was real. This is, of course, a concrete explanation of the thing (common, vulgar belief) that in Clarke's fiction separates 'the magicians' from 'the professionals.'
The story itself is a little Austeny, and ladies themselves are even Austenier — but they are (at a bare minimum) feminists, and they find very serious joy in the fact that the only man to whom they will ever be beholden is the King of Magic himself. According to those terms, the Raven King releases the ladies from potential domestic misery by handing them the opportunity to become independent, practicing magicians. He does this by existing (see above). It seems, according to the lyrical except from Catherine of Winchester's book of magic, included as the story's epigram, that the Raven King is a kind of door through which any English person must step in order to acquire her (or his) magical birthright:
Above all remember this: that magic belongs as much to the heart as to the head and everything which is done, should be done from love or joy or righteous anger. And if we honour this principle we shall discover that our magic is much greater than all the sum of all the spells that were ever taught. Then magic is to us as flight is to the birds, because then our magic comes from the dark and dreaming heart, just as the flight of a bird comes from the heart. And we will feel the same joy in performing that magic that the bird feels as it casts itself into the void and we will know that magic is part of what a man is, just as flight is part of what a bird is. This understanding is a gift to us from the Raven King, the dear king of all magicians, who stands between England and the Other Lands, between all wild creatures and the world of men.
John Uskglass comes to the ladies in a flurry of wings and starlight because their cause is just — they're attempting to protect two small children from murder at the hands of the children's awful uncle cousin and his terrible friend, a couple of good-for-nothing soldiers eager to inherit the family fortune. The Raven King helps the women dispose of the horrible men in a barbaric and appropriate way, and then, for an instant, he enters their lives and admits them into the eternal kinship of his many magician-subjects. Or, conversely, by opening their hearts to the certainty of the Raven King's existence the women effectively summon him, returning him to the English earth for a brief moment — something no other magicians in any of Clarke's other stories were ever able to do.
Clarke contrasts the delight and triumph of the ladies' magic with the phantoms and confusions perpetrated by Gilbert Norrell and his pupil, Jonathan Strange, who's just beginning his distinguished career as a salaried government magician at the time the story is set. In the midst of the British campaign against Napoleon, Strange is drawn to the village of Grace Adieu by his brother-in-law, a rector who longs to marry one of the titular ladies. Strange disapproves, of course. He correctly guesses that the ladies have killed a man with magic (something a gentleman would never do), and when he meets them on an oddly-lit morning upon an empty meadow, he attempts to condemn them for what he imagines to be their sin. This is what one of the ladies tells him:
"Poor man, you cannot even reconcile what you believe in your heart to be true and what you are obliged to write in the quarterly reviews. Can you go back to London and tell this odd tale? For I think you will find that it is full of all kinds of nonsense that Mr Norrell will not like — Raven Kings and the magic of wild creatures and the magic of women. You are no match for us, for we three are quite united, while you, sir, for all your cleverness, are at war, even with yourself. If ever a time comes, when your heart and your head declare a truce, then I suggest you come back to Grace Adieu and then you may tell us what magic we may or may not do."
It was Strange's turn to be silent. The three ladies of Grace Adieu wished him a good morning and walked on. Mrs Field alone favoured him with a smile (of a rather pitying sort). [2]
This story is also remarkable for its emphasis on the Raven King's humanity as the source of his power. At one point, one of the ladies tells the children, who are being brought up as magicians, a story about John Uskglass's hypothetical childhood. It's an obvious, nursery-bound fairy tale, wearing a skin of household English humor, but the moral at the end is like no other: You have nothing to fear from anyone or anything, from men or from monsters, from any kind of danger the world can produce, the ladies tell the children, as long as you have magic. In its inescapable grasp, you are protected and completed, forever — alone or in anyone's company.
ETA 31 MAY 2011:
1.) I just noticed that this story features a cameo by Childermass (under the name "Jack Hogg"), who is posing as Captain Winbright's servant in order to keep an eye on Strange and probably also to buy/steal some or all of the late Mr. Enderwhild's magic books for Norrell.
2.) There is also another, almost unnoticeable character in The Ladies, whom no one in the story can properly describe or identify ("[w]here is the thin dark figure — whether boy or young woman I do not know, for no one saw very clearly – who sat in the gig?"). The character shows up only a couple of times, but nobody knows if it is a man, a woman, or a child, or what business this person had in Winter's Realm, or where he or she went at the end of the story. For some reason, my mother thinks this character is King Auberon's servant Robin Goodfellow. I don't know who I think it is.
3.) My mother also wants you to know that she thinks Jane Tobias is secretly Catherine of Winchester, or perhaps some other ancient, quasi-sacred personage sent out of the mists of antiquity by the Raven King specifically to protect & educate the two little orphan children, whom my mother believes will grow up to be two of England's greatest magicians. Why so awesome, Mom?
I decided that this story was medieval Christian propaganda. Nearly everything about it is impossible, even on the grounds of its own fiction: for one thing, Saint Bridget probably wasn't a nun at all, or even a Catholic, but a magician-queen or goddess from Celtic mythology cannibalized by the church in the fifth or sixth century [3]. For another, the falling-into-a-stone-crevice part seems to have happened to Sir Gawain first. Also, even if Christianity were real, it wouldn't work like that. Would it? (Although I think it does sort of resemble the idealized mechanism of Christianity, as far as most of its practitioners are concerned: You hate someone, you whine to heaven about him, and then the most conveniently-located mountain falls on his head.)
Then, the jewels and the deer hunting and the Catholicism don't necessarily signify. And John Uskglass is conspicuously silent because he isn't really there.
Or, perhaps the story is meant to humanize the Raven King to his subjects. His hypothetical buffoonery might be reassuring [?]. It would tell his people that in addition to being their king and an awesomely powerful magician, he's also a familiar sort of man who is capable of being possessed himself — the ownership of the king and his people doesn't need to proceed in only one direction. He can be laughed at and mocked; it makes no difference, and won't displease him. He chose the northern English for a reason, and stories like this might be pleasant diversions from the obvious fact that, broadly speaking, the Raven King wields the power of a god. Whee! Such a pleasant diversion of a story! Lock the door and shut the windows before you tell it! [4]
I think Stopp't-clock Yard may be the very first published entry in the Strange & Norrell canon. Technically, the Black King in this story is Gaiman's Dream, but he's so very, very Uskglassy that he almost manages to reflect himself up off the page. No one that I know can decide for certain whether Clarke's King Morpheus is the chicken or the egg, but for the sake of argument, I'm going to say: He's the chicken! (Or the egg.) I assume that the story was written in 1994 or 1995 since the collection was published in 1996, which would fit with Clarke's timeline; Strange & Norrell famously took ten years to write. And given the fact that Clarke wrote so frequently about fairies and didn't really mention the Raven King until the publication of Strange & Norrell, I think it's certainly possible that her Morpheus could be a proto-Uskglass.
Physically, King Morpheus and the Raven King resemble one another, but with the human advantage going to John Uskglass. Dream takes his power from mankind, but he isn't a man himself. Their powers are also similar — when Mr. Newbolt meets Morpheus in a dream set in Leicestershire, he notices that Morpheus appears to be made out of the same material as the air and the earth and that he manifests his feelings in the weather. Of course, the recurring motif of the Raven King's presence in Strange & Norrell is expressed through the dramatic transubstantiation of his humors in the weather, and when the primary characters are drawn to the final scene in the novel where the return of English magic is finally accomplished, the Raven King is present in the sky and in the birds etc., and in the questions they ask each magician in his or her turn.
Also, in S&N, Strange sees this mural depicting the two Kings of England in Windsor Castle:
In the middle [of the mural] were two kings seated upon two thrones. On each side stood or knelt knights, ladies, courtiers, pages, gods and goddesses. The left-hand part of the painting was steeped in sunlight. The king upon this side was a strong, handsome man who displayed all the vigour of youth. He was dressed in a pale robe and his hair was golden and curling. There was a laurel wreath upon his brow and a sceptre in his hand. The people and gods who attended him were all equipped with helmets, breastplates, spears and swords, as if the artist wished to suggest that this king only attracted the most warlike of men and gods to be his friends. In the right-hand part of the painting the light grew dim and dusky, as if the artist meant to depict a summer's twilight. Stars shone above and around the figures. The king of this side was pale-skinned and dark-haired. He wore a black robe and his expression was unfathomable. He had a crown of dark ivy leaves and in his left hand he held a slim ivory wand. His entourage was composed largely of magical creatures: a phoenix, a unicorn, a manticore, fauns and satyrs. But there were also some mysterious persons: a male figure in a monk-like robe with his hood pulled down over his face, a female figure in a dark, starry mantle with her arm thrown over her eyes. Between the two thrones stood a young woman in a loose white robe with a golden helmet upon her head. The warlike king had placed his left hand protectively upon her shoulder; the dark king held out his right hand towards her and she had extended her hand to his so that their fingertips lightly touched.
Some of John Uskglass's retinue look like characters from Sandman. Especially the cowled monk, who is probably Destiny, Dream's older brother. I suppose the starry woman is Death? Or Delirium? (My expertise on the subject of the Endless isn't vast.)
There's the affecting image in Strange & Norrell of John Uskglass sitting still as a statue in the darkness upon a black throne, waiting to be welcomed into the hearts of his people; when King Charles II visits Morpheus's palace in Stopp't-clock Yard, he perceives Dream as a tall, pale king sitting on a black throne, angry and alone in the darkness.
John Uskglass has a special power over dreams ("I came to them out of mists and rain; I came to them in dreams at midnight"), as he does over most things. Dream, being Dream, is made of them.
The most convincing evidence, of course, is this:
"In the waking world snow falls directly to the ground or is carried on the wind, in accordance with the rules and protocols of the waking world. In the Dreame-Countries the snow falls and returns into Morpheus. It melds with his white skin in accordance with the rules and protocols of that world. Morpheus's face glistened with snow. He parted the snow to get a better view of Paramore." — Stopp't-clock Yard
"The wind shook the falling snow and made it spin and twist about. ...Briefly, the snow and the shadows seemed to form a picture of a thin, dark man in a greatcoat and boots. The next moment the illusion was gone." — Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell
I don't know any other kings in all of English literature who could be made out of snow in such a matter-of-fact way — and believe me, that's a broad field to choose from.
But, close as the similarities are [5], an exact replication of one character in the other would be unfortunate because:
1.) Dream's primary motivation for living is to hook up with clearly inappropriate women.
2.) Somehow, Dream died. His throne is now occupied by his foster son.
3.) no
What strikes me most about Stopp't-clock Yard is the deftness of Clarke's characterization. If he had been even slightly relatable, or even really knowable, the Raven King could've become a horrible nightmare of promiscuous, irritating Romantic heroism — but she pared him down until he was almost a gravitational force (with pretty hair, granted). And although Clarke's version of Dream isn't human at all, he's emotive, ponderous, and sympathetic enough to be nearly adorable. That's perfectly appropriate to Gaiman's canon, but it would've destroyed Strange & Norrell. Really, I think it comes down to the stars-for-eyes conceit: Dream couldn't be himself without them, but a starry-eyed John Uskglass would be someone else entirely.
[1] I realized that:
A.) Gaiman is eternally preoccupied by both large-R and minor-r romance, and if I'm going to benefit from his writing at all I'm just going to have to deal with it. Quietly.
B.) Sandman is not a manga. Its text ≠ its art.
C.) Why does Dream live in a giant penis, again?
[2] PWNED!!!!1!!!!!!!! In addition to being very beautiful, this story was also very cathartic. I just wish one of the ladies had beaten Strange over the head with a hammer or something.
[3] Yes, I know St. Bridget was supposed to be a nun who was named after the pagan Bridget, but please don't attempt to tell me anyone actually believes this. "Oh look, we've got a saint right here who's the exact inverse of your dirty heathen goddess! But with the very same name! What a coincidence! Don't make me get out the hammer."
[4] I am all with the southern English on this one. As the old saying goes: "You can never be adequately terrified of a man whose office could be best described as 'Emperor of the Universe.'"
[5] Notice also that in Mr. Newbolt's dream of the Duchess of Cleveland's pearls, King Morpheus's revenge sort of resembles the method by which the gentleman acquired Stephen Black's true name.
