I don't know what made him try again, but I'm glad he did.
"Mythago Wood" was a landmark in modern fantasy, a book that attempted to fuse the dream-like ambiance that suffused the faerie worlds of Lord Dunsany with the long ago world of Irish and English mythology, setting it all in an extremely weird forest and simultaneously trying to remind us that most myths aren't built on super-pleasant foundations and just because something might seem like a dream, let's not forget nightmares are considered dreams too. Rooted in what felt like both the historical and the collective unconscious, it didn't feel like a whole lot that came before it and I feel like a decent number of authors mulled over it for quite some time before attempting their own pale copies of it, not even coming close to capturing Holdstock's vision. Which is okay, because Holdstock didn't really capture his vision either.
For all the many, many things that "Mythago Wood" did right, it still felt like an awesome idea wedded to a so-so execution, with his fascinating concept weighed down by what amount to a rather pedestrian plot that boiled down to two guys fighting over a girl, even if the girl was technically mythological. The scenes just outside the mysterious forest were great, but inside it just felt like a giant forest that went on forever and had tribes of primitive people wandering across it randomly. It's quite possible the disconnect boils down to my imagination of what the book was like not quite living up to what the book was actually like, but reading this book makes me think that maybe Holdstock reread "Mythago Wood", somehow looked ahead to the future to see what I thought of the book and realized that I was right in every way and then proceeded to write the book that he thought would give me a satisfying reading experience, despite the fact that I'm somewhat hard to please.
All I can say is good job, Robert Holdstock of the past (which, sadly, is all he exists in now, having passed away a few years ago), because you've succeeded beyond anything I could have imagined.
What I thought was going to be just another romp through the ancient forest winds up being deeper, stranger, more frustrating but far more complex and personal than anything the first book accomplished. It improves on "Mythago Wood" to such an extent that it makes you wonder if this was what he really wanted to do and that the plot of the first book was just a bone he threw to the fantasy fans thinking that's what they actually wanted to see, or if that was simply a dry run or rough draft for what he was doing here. Beyond the fact that he writes in English and uses sentences and paragraphs, there seems to be no real consideration made to the general fantasy audience who might have been intrigued enough by the first book to try this one. I'm not even sure who this would really be for, as the people who enjoyed "Mythago Wood" for the plot might be turned off by how impenetrable this can be, and the people who thought the mythological stuff was just some pretentious fluff to liven up a walk through the woods are going to quail in horror at how deeply this rolls in that mud, and goes beyond.
The first book needed to exist for this one to happen because I can't imagine how he would have gotten this one published with all the rampant layers of symbolic strangeness going on every page. Still, you need to read "Mythago Wood" to get some idea of the setting and what you're going to be in for, as that book is far more user friendly. This one starts out following Tallis, a young teenage girl living in the 1950s at the edge of the wood. She's fascinated by it because it's dark and weird and mysterious, but also because her brother disappeared into it when she was very young and eventually she becomes convinced that he's inside there somewhere still alive. With the first part of the book taking place nearly entirely outside the forest, Holdstock ups his game with the prose (which wasn't half-bad to begin with) adding on so many layers of atmosphere as Tallis lingers at the very borders, occasionally wanting to venture in but never quite daring to go all the way, that for a long while you may wonder if the book is going to be so busy setting the mood that it's going to forget that the plot eventually needs to start. But he manages to match the eerie danger of our first view of the forest and add onto it the view of a young girl inexperienced in history so that all the various mysterious happenings seem even stranger, infused with a menace that can't quite be quantified.
But he's got more tools in the box this time out and is not afraid to use them. While the first volume relied on old journals and glimpses of unexplained people, this one doubles down by including not only those aspects but the masks that Tallis makes, dredged somewhere from deep memory, and the folk songs that she somehow knows, as if they've always existed forever. The cumulative results winds up being wonderfully effective, so that by the time we first re-encounter the house that we became so familiar with the first time out, now completely absorbed by the wood, it's like seeing an old friend altered almost beyond recognition. And when the mythagos start to cohere, these glimpses seem to be torn less from a cursory reading of some old book he took out from the library and tap into the truths of a different history. And that's right before Tallis might accidentally screw everything up. Still, turning the book into a rescue mission instead of a love story ups the stakes to a more effective degree, with the forest established as a place where you either don't get out, or it doesn't let it out.
But it's not a rescue mission without an actual rescue and in the second part we go into the woods themselves. And everything is different. Gone is the feel of an endless walkabout with the odd sighting of people dressed in furs who say things that don't always make sense (also known as getting lost in New York City) and in its place is a prose that brings us to a place dripping in history, but not the kind of history that you read about in class when your teacher assigns you yet another boring chapters on whoever the heck the Romans were . . . it's the history that exists buried inside all of our stories, the nugget from where all those stories spring, altered over the years like some million year pre-language game of telephone. For the first time the forest feels both primal and primordial, steeped in age and fresh because the myths haven't become myths yet. He brings us to a character that was only mentioned in "Mythago Wood" and even with him being our guide it doesn't help make matters anymore understandable.
And let this be said, he will lose you here. I did my best to follow along with the stream of it, the tracing of the threads of where we've come from and how they all lead back to the idea of the ur-myth but I think in the best tradition of James Joyce that unless you are Robert Holdstock you are not going to fully figure this book out. The second part of the novel is so immersed with wrestling with notions of where stories come from, and how those echoes trickle down to the present day, that it will either make or break the reader, with the latter being convinced that they are reading nothing more than a stream of consciousness costume pageant performed in pantomime, rife with symbols that barely have any meaning to the actors themselves but whose motions are so deeply felt that they can't conceive of even acting any other way. Its both unsparing and harrowing in depicting the kind of life that would lead to people being forced to tell stories to explain a world that makes zero sense to them and showing us a world where telling stories may be the only way to truly cope, when the alternative is killing each other. And frankly, murder is often the easier option, since it's one less mouth to feed (or in some grim cases, an extra meal). Spirits dance and caper and kill and are only fulfilling their own roles, and even those spirits are afraid of other forces that stalk them, a counter-tale to keep them in check or perhaps the future bearing down to make them unnecessary.
It will no doubt be a turn off to a lot of people but if you find yourself at all on the same wavelength of what this story is attempting to tell you then you're going to devour it. You have to accept that it's a story that isn't going to give you a literal meaning but is instead going to track in symbols and masks, in new ways of looking at a world that doesn't like to be stared at, to look and blink and look away and then try to describe what happens in that moment where you can't see anything. It reaches its climax in a lengthy scene that could be gibberish but might also ride a mainline of pure feeling, where Holdstock finally taps in what he had been seeking to do since the very first page of the first book, somehow bring across the desperate wailing euphoric terror of what it feels like to create the very first myth and impose even the smallest iota of understanding onto a world that won't even give you a clue if you're anywhere close to the mark. He goes deep here, and what he dredges up can't be properly explained. It feels utterly personal and becomes bracing in how far its willing to go, to give us a sensation reminiscent of a dream you keep having where its a place you know you've been to before, that you both recognize and can't even remember visiting. The place is the memory we all share.
As I've been saying, this is one of those books that you will either love and make your friends doubt your taste, or vice versa. You either feel this one or you don't. And there's no shame in this not being your thing, but if it touches you may have moments where you wonder about the ultimate source of every story you've ever read, or perhaps more concretely, watch poor Tallis stand on an hilltop and watch the results of a bloody battle so far back in memory that you can't even see a glimpse of it through the mists and perhaps wonder if we've never left the forest at all, and are still struggling to figure a way out.