Flight to hollow mountain: the Talamadh: volume 1.

Mark Sebanc, Flight to Hollow Mountain, The Talamadh: Volume I, Grand Rapids, Mich., 49503 Eerdman's, (255 Jefferson Ave. S. E., 1996, 412 pages, U.S. $25.00.

REVIEWED BY DAVID BERESFORD

The Flight to Hollow Mountain is a very fine book written in the genre of adult phantasy such as Tolkien's Lord of the Rings, but in a style that is truly unique to Mark Sebanc.

It is a story about a small village in Lammermorn that must flee from impending enslavement by an industrialized, predacious empire. The rise of this empire has disordered the harmony of a world that has been maintained for several hundred years by an unbroken succession of Hordanus. These are a type of chief priest who have charge of the Talamadh, a harp that embodies this harmony.

Two boys, Kalaquinn and Gally, discover that an attack is to be made on their valley, and they warn the village to flee to the wilderness. A remnant of survivors and their aged Hordanu barely escape destruction from their enemies, yet find that in the wilderness they must battle dark creatures made bold by the weakening harmony of the Earth and the descending reign of evil. The book traces their flight to safety, and their struggle with the temptation to acquiesce and make peace with the victorious army -- a peace offered at the price of betraying their Hordanu and surrendering the Talamadh.

Besides simply trying to stay alive, Kalaquinn and Gally are given the task of finding the true heir to the throne. Ferabek, the de facto emperor, in the best tradition of despots everywhere, has slaughtered the entire lineage of the rightful king, all except the infant prince who was hidden from him.

The world under Ferabek is described in terms reminiscent of Blake's Jerusalem: his followers "despoiled the lush valley of the Dinastor, razing the forests and fields to make room for noisome, fuming smithies and forges, befouling the air and water." In contrast is the description of Lammermorn, the last stronghold to fall before Ferabek: "Sweeping down to the shore on either side of them were witch elms and sugar maples. There were wild cherry and wild pear trees pricked out with spring blossoms .... all around the ground was splendidly carpeted with shepherd's purse and cinquefoil ...."

Besides being an adventure story, this book is very instructive. It is a study of those who remain faithful when falsehood is in the ascendancy. Ancient prophetic texts both warn of impending danger and offer hope that sustains the intrepid band through their peril. For Catholics today, this is an important lesson. There is no shortage of soothsayers preaching despair. Revelations of the "true inside story of the Vatican," people invoking "the spirit of Vatican II," left-and right-wing dissenters, and a host of modern Gnostics all indulge in false prophecy which leads not to courage and cheerfulness but to fear and oppressive gloominess.

One delightful aspect of this novel is the use of a sprig from a rowan tree, or mountain ash, to protect its wearer from harm. There is a legend that the Cross was made from rowan wood, and consequently this tree was reverenced throughout Europe. This illustrates the Catholic understanding of the sacredness of simple things, a sense very evident throughout the book.

This book mingles the realities of life and death, truth and goodness. I remember reading an old tombstone from the last century that had two names on it. One was a young woman twenty years old, and the other was a two-week-old baby. A young farm wife died in childbirth and her daughter died two weeks later. The tragedy still seemed fresh. All around me nature was vibrant and alive. The headstone was covered in moss and lichen, and the wildflowers bloomed in noisy profusion, covered in bees and flies and a myriad of other insects. The elemental nature of our Catholic religion was very evident there. Sebanc has captured this same atmosphere of tangible reality in his book. Children live in this world; this is the real world. Modern sophisticates live in a world of jaded pleasure, not joy; this is not reality. Sebanc has written a fairy tale rooted in reality that shames the so-called realistic novel.