My English teacher, when I was in the eighth grade in Lexington, Kentucky, had a Ph.D. in (I kid you not) mythological birds. The woman was, in a word, eccentric, but she was also a great teacher. (What she was doing teaching junior high school was beyond me.) The focus of the class was literature. Early in the school year, we had a unit on Edgar Allan Poe’s The Raven. The teacher (whose name, sadly, I have forgotten) required that each student memorize and recite before the class one verse (of the student’s choosing) from that classic, dark poem. For each additional verse memorized, extra credit would be given. And if any student memorized and recited the entire poem, that student would be awarded an “A” for the entire year and would be excused from all other classwork and homework. The teacher said, “Of course, none of my students have ever memorized the entire poem, and I’m sure none of you will either.”
Was she kidding? Challenge accepted!
I, of course, memorized and recited the entire poem. As it turned out, I was the first of her students, in all her history of teaching, that had done so. I was also the last. She told me she would never propose that challenge again . . .
For the rest of the year, I quite happily sat in her class and read whatever I wanted (which actually included all the course work, plus Tolkien, Burroughs, Stoker, and Shelley). And at the end of each semester, I happily accepted my “A.” (Just for grins and giggles, I took the final exam, and only missed one question.)
I adore The Raven (even though “what there at is” is, in my not-so-humble-but-almost-always-correct opinion, kind of a cheap rhyme for “window lattice”). The poem is masterful and haunting and deliciously dark.
At an even younger age, I developed a fascination for mythology—Greek, Roman, Hindu, and, most especially, Norse. My interest predated my obsession with comic books (and TV superheroes), e.g., Batman, Superman, the Flash, Green Lantern, Spider-Man, Captain America, Iron Man, and, of course, the Mighty Thor. I was reading Bullfinch’s Mythology in first and second grade (along with Dr. Seuss). I watched or read any retelling of The Odyssey. My parents bought me a series of books retelling the stories of Thor, Loki, Odin, Freyja, Sif, Frig, Baldur, Siegfried, and Brunhilda.
I was, in a word, hooked.
In 2019, my lady wife and I went on a cruise to the Norwegian fjords. In preparation for this voyage, I studied Norwegian. I had zero intention of speaking to anyone in Norwegian (and, indeed, I did not), but I wanted to better understand the culture by learning the language. One of the many fascinating discoveries I made in that study is that the Norwegian word for “victim” is “offer.”
A victim is an offering.
(We had a wonderful time on the cruise, by the way.)
An Enchantress of Ravens ties in with my novel, The Sweet Sister, though only tangentially. But my research for that book (The Sweet Sister) engendered in me a fascination for ravens. They are quite fascinating and oft-misunderstood creatures. Ravens hold a place of significance in many cultures and mythologies.
Which brings me back to my eighth grade English teacher with the Ph.D. in mythological birds. Her doctoral dissertation happened to be on—you guessed it—ravens. She told us that the raven is not an actual flesh-and-blood-and-beak-and-feather bird, but a purely mythological creature. Like the punk kid I was (and, in many ways, still am), I felt compelled to show her an encyclopedia entry on the common raven. (Yes, children, this was in the primordial past before the internet when we poor, benighted humans had to look stuff up in printed books, instead of on a smartphone.) Even presented with that article (which included a photograph of an actual raven), my teacher informed me that ravens did not exist in North America. Once again, I showed her the text to the contrary. She then told me that ravens are extinct in North America. When I showed her (again) the same text stating to the contrary, she declared categorically that the encyclopedia was out-of-date.
Ah, well . . .
Never let the truth get in the way of the narrative?
While, technically, it is true that any print encyclopedia entry can be out-of-date the instant it is published, ravens are most definitely not extinct in North America (at least, as of this writing).
However, she was still a great teacher. Without her influence I would never have read anything by Maxim Gorky, and I would be the poorer for it.
As an added bonus, An Enchantress of Ravens finally answers the burning question that I’m absolutely certain has been on everyone’s mind since reading The Sweet Sister: How did Winslow Abbot obtain the ravens, Bran and Badh (pronounced “Bov”), on such short notice? I mean, that is the burning question that’s been on everyone’s mind, right? Well, even if it hasn’t precisely been burning, at least now we have the answer . . . (if you read this book).
For those who are police-detective-TV-show-challenged, “M.O.” stands for modus operandi, which (for the Latin-challenged), means, “method of operation.” In other words, how someone (usually a criminal) typically does things.
On another note, “UVMA” is the official acronym for the “Utah Veterinary Medical Association.”
Many works of fiction declare that they are, indeed, “works of fiction,” and that any resemblance to “actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.” Well, that’s not entirely true with this story. There is one very real person depicted in this novel: Dr. Willie Lanier, D.V.M. Willie is currently (as of this writing, but then, that might be out-of-date by the time one reads this) the Chief Public Health Veterinarian for the State of Utah. He is also a great guy. Willie frequently sits next to me (once again, as of this writing) in the baritone section of the Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square. Willie has graciously consulted on veterinary matters in three (so far) of my novels. He has also consented to his depiction in this story.
I hope you enjoy my offering.
In the immortal words of Noah, “Eyes tasty!”
C. David Belt
December 2021
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Unwilling Child 