The Domovoi in the Oven

I read an amazing book last weekend, The Bear and the Nightengale, by Katherine Arden. And I mean 'amazing' not in the sense of 'really great' or 'awesome sauce,' as we use it today, but in the original, medieval sense, "overwhelm or confound with sudden surprise or wonder." 

The surprise and wonder come from the fairy tale story, with its beautiful setting and magical creatures. The best of fairy tales, and this is one, evoke those feelings.

The confounding and dreamlike confusion comes from being thrust into the completely foreign world of medieval Russia, in the far north, at a time when Christianity was new and the same people went to church on Sunday and left crumbs for household spirits.
Reading the book feels like you're sitting around the fire with Vasilisa, the herione, listening to her nurse's fabulous tales of the Winter King, being amazed while the winter wind howls outside. Under Arden's telling, you can feel the winter wind and the struggle to survive, where the lives of the whole community lie on the knife's edge between survival and starvation. 

There are many things to love about this book. One is the very human complexity of the relationships. The wicked step-mother is no caricatured Disney villain. She is ripped from relative luxury in the Kremlin and sent to marry an older man in the wild and freezing north and her 'madness' comes, in an odd sort of way, from the best of intentions. Her daughter, Vasilisa's step-sister, is beautiful but kind, in a way that fairy tale step-sisters seldom are, and she loves both her mother and Vasilisa sincerely. In general, each member of the extended family is trying, in their own way, to do what is best and to take care of each other--but, as in real life, intentions and actions get horribly muddled. It is a complex, nuanced characterization of family. The plot is well crafted and suspenseful as well.

But the true protagonist of the novel, and the reason it amazed me so, was the landscape. In an interview with Krista Tippett of On Being, Irish philosopher John O'Donohue, speaking of his own landscape of Western Ireland, said, "landscape wasn’t just matter, but that it was actually alive. What amazes me about landscape — landscape recalls you into a mindful mode of stillness, solitude, and silence, where you can truly receive time."


That is the the amazing part of The Bear and the Nightengale, the part that draws you in. The setting, the characters, the plot: all of these are shaped by and interact with the landscape. The people exist in a way that requires them to have transactions with the landscape, to negotiate the materials of safety and life, to watch it closely to see whether it is giving or taking away life. Thus, it is not surprising that the people believe in more concrete manifestations of the landscape, like the domovoi (household guardian) who lives in the oven and, for an offering of crumbs, will help with the mending and housework and guard the door. (The domovoi was my favorite of the supernatural creatures...I totally want one, but I don't think our oven is big enough. Maybe they come in a modern teacup size? I'm with the step-mother on the bannik issue--guardian or not, having a spirit watching you take a bath would be a little creepy.)

The domovoi. Vladimir Chernikov
See what I mean? It would be awesome to have a domovoi. He could help with the dishes, make sure I didn't burn anything, and he could totally play with the cat and keep Bob from breaking stuff all the time. Although, maybe we already have a domovoi and that's why Bob breaks stuff at night, because he was chasing the domovoi. Maybe it isn't Bob stealing all the bread, it's just a hungry domovoi. Now I want to get a nightvision camera in my kitchen.

Per Mr. O'Donohue, "it makes a huge difference, when you wake in the morning and come out of your house...you are emerging out into a landscape that is just as much, if not more, alive as you, but in a totally different form, and if you go towards it with an open heart and a real, watchful reverence, that you will be absolutely amazed at what it will reveal to you." 

Rusalka, found here.
Wouldn't she make an awesome friend? She's
a great swimming coach, has a sweet comb,
and will mostly try not to eat people,
if you ask nicely and hang out sometimes. 

This sense of "real and watchful reverence" pervades the characters of Pyotr Vladimirovich's household, most of all in his daughter Vasilisa. As a child, she befriends a rusalka, a sort of succubus-like figure who entices and drowns young men, a friendship made of promises and gifts--in other words, a relationship. These spirits, these manifestations of the landscape, become her friends, alive and interdependent. It is a strange and beautiful thing to read about--in short, amazing.

The Bear and the Nightengale is an excellent tale that surpasses the standard of the genre by creating complex, nuanced characters and puts them in a landscape that has truly come to life. The culture of this period of history was fascinating and mostly unknown to me before I read it (pro tip: there's a glossary, which I didn't find until the end of the book and which would've been helpful sooner). I highly recommend it, particularly here in Texas when a hint of arctic air is most welcome.


For fun, here's a poem I wrote on topic a year or so ago. It is said that the rusalka was once a jilted lover, which explains her vengeance upon young men.








Rusalka

My eyes once were full of stars,
  My heart hooked to the rising moon,
Before he cast me into the river
  With his rough farmer’s hands,
Eyes dead like winter.

Red hair twined among the reeds
   While his face faded above
And the cold water claimed me.
   Madness here, beneath the river;
Time slithers in the silt.

Dark thoughts nibble at my toes.
   All I can remember is my hate.
I am waiting     waiting      waiting,
   Swirling vengeance in the current:
When you come to fish.

Come on, wade in:      closer.      There:
    Red hair twined among your ankles,
Pulling you in, dragging you to my bed.
   Men keep fishing, and I’ll keep catching--
Until one of them is him.