The Aeneid and Zombyes
Ywis, lyk unto an awkward silence duringe a date, a blogg wythout newe poostes seemeth to strecche on forevir. O gentil rederes, it payneth me soore that Ich have but litel tyme for to update thys litel blogg. For the labour of a Clerk of the Kinges Workes ys lyk unto a well-sellinge series of fantasie novels: it hath no ende, nor evir shall, for economique necessitee presseth yt into endlesse servyce.
Moost nightes, whanne Ich have back to my couch ycome, Ich kan do litel moore than cheque myn accounte on the livre de visage and listen to a fyne ballad of Siena & The Devyce, and then to bed. So gooth the lyf of a minor functionarie.
Al is wel besydes the grete bisynesse. Thomas ys wyth my Lord John of Gaunt. My Trespuissant Lord King Richard semeth to be unusuallye chill about everythinge sithen we did return from Las Vegas and he did winne back hys crown. In deed, just yesterdaye King Richard hadde Bolingbroke ovir for dinner and seyde sum thinge lyk, “It is a goode thinge that we have decyded to pardon yow completelye for the acciouns thou didst take ayeinst ower royal crown and person yn the mercilesse parlement; thynk how terribel yt wolde be if we were merelye buildinge up ower power secretely and plotting revenge upon thee!” And then he laughed ful deepe and called for wyne and spicez.
At Oxenforde, litel Lowys semeth to fare ful well. He hath founde newe freendes and ys doynge wel in his classes. He boardeth yn a smal hous yn towne yclept the Maison des Animaux, and telleth me many a storye of mirth of the aventures that he hath wyth hys freend Pluto, the whych ys a grete janglere and a goliardeys.
Whanne Ich do have sum tempus liberum, Ich have usid yt to speke wyth myn literarye coterie. Ich have had greet solaas and mirthe by joyning the conversaciouns of the Domesdaye Groupe in London, and eek have embarkid on many projectes and conversaciouns wyth Virginia Wulfstan. She and hir goode husbound are plannyng a maner scriptorium for the publisshinge of bookes, and Ich have had the gret honor of beinge consulted about their initial titles. Thei shall call thys grete enterprise the "Hrothgar Presse."
Yet Virginia Wulfstan and Ich have arryved at sumdeel of a disacordaunce. For Ich have founde a newe maner of makynge the which deliteth me wyth greet delite. In thys newe kynde of booke, the writere taketh the weightie werke of an auncient auctor of much renowne (or paraventure a well-knowene romaunce) and mixeth yt wyth whimsical tales of the supernatural. Methinketh that swich a combinacioun shal be lyk unto cat-nippe for the loveres of bookes, and shal climbe the bestsellere listes lyk Lancelot into Gueneveres roome. Ywis, paraventure thei may even selle moore copyes than The Mayde Y-Marked wyth Woad in the Shape of a Wyrm and its sequel The Mayde Who Kikked at the Apiary.
Heere ys a smal ensaumple of the maner of booke about which Ich do speake. The followinge are top-secret proposales the which we haven receivid from manye a woulde-be wryter of bookes:
*The Aeneid and Zombies: In thys sequel to the moost-loved epique of classical tymes, the howlinge soule of Turnus gooth nat to helle but rathir infecteth the manye deade left from the horribel werres that the booke doth narrate. Zombie Pallas, Zombie Mezentius on hys Zombie horse Rhaebus, and Zombie stag-of-Tyrrus-that-Ascanius-accidentallye-killede, all lumber wyth muchel gore and litel speede Aeneas-toward. Aeneas hideth wyth the men of Troye in a shoppinge mall, in which he saith to them “Peraventure oon daye yt shall do us goode to thinke upon thes tymes,” and hys men saye to hym, “Peraventure oon daye ye shal get a newe lyne.” And then thei shal maken good battel ayeinst the Zombies, bewieldinge the many wepens that are redily founde yn an anciente Etruscan shoppinge malle. Many a zombie is slayne wyth a club of golf, a baseballe bat, or a smalle terracotta figuratyve sculpture. At the ende of the greate tournement ayeinst the undeade, Aeneas sheweth his hardinesse and knighthede by backinge ovir the last of the zombyes wyth a truck, commetinge upon which deede of chivalrie he saith: “Hic sunt lacrimae rearended!”
Swich are the maner of bookes that I wolde have the Hrothgar presse printe wyth its shinye newe technologie of litel metal letteres. And yet Virginia Wulfstan insisteth that the Hrothgar presse sholde nat prynt swich thinges, but rathir sholde prynt her owene werkes of “alliterative modernisme.”
Par ensaumple, she hath a book ywrit clepped Towardes the BoneHouse, in which Byrhtnoth "The Unspellable" of Ramseye ledeth hys warriors ayeinst the cruelous and fiendliche warryors of the Viking Danes, the which have a light-house ycaptured. A grete feeste of beef playeth sum keye role, for Ich know that in oon sectioun, Byrhtnoth saith to his men, “Ower high-courage sholde growe hardere, our heartes growe keenere, and ower mood-for-fight growe mightier, the moore that we eate of boeuf en daube.”Certes, thys beth a grete booke, and yet why beth ther nat room for bookes of classiques plus zombyes?
What thinketh yow, lordinges? What pleseth yow moore, the bookes of classiques updatid humorouslye, or the booke of the battel of the lighthouse? Ye maye eek wisshe to maken mencioun of yower owene proposales for bookes of machaup in the commentes.
Until nexte we meete, ye have my gretest thankes and affecioun.
post scriptum: Ich truste that ye shal nat telle Gower of thys mattir, for he ys lyk the biggest ripper-offer yn the wyde spanne of the erthe. Oones he herd of thys, we wolde see bookes swich as Exhaustiveleye Boringe Discussiouns of Penitential Theologie in Tetrameter AND HIPPOGRIFFS.