If you know me at all, or even a little, you know that I have a love of words. Long ones, short ones. Weird ones or normal. This love of words translates into a love of literature. I have many favorite October writers and genres, but one author above all others can lay claim to being my very favorite. I am talking of course about Mr. Washington Irving, and my favorite work of his is the Legend of Sleepy Hollow. October is not complete without reading or watching this story.
Last year, I got lost in the book. This year it has been the film. I have watched it twice so far and feel repeat viewings in my October future. Normally I like Tim Burton, but I do not much care for his adaptation of Mr. Irving's story. True, there are elements of the macabre in it, but not to that extent. I much prefer the cartoon Disney version of the tale.
The story by Mr. Irving is to me, a perfect encapsulation of all my favorite October things. There is history, lyricism, superstition, calmness, plenty, harvest, stories, romance, comedy, foreboding, and mystery. Each wonderful idea, mixed together to produce a timeless tale. Plus, Bing Crosby is the narrator and the voice of Ichabod. So really, how can one go wrong?
From the very opening of the cartoon book, I am hooked. By the time Bing says "If we could but journey back to that remote period in American History," I am already lost in the story. I am a rapt listener sitting by the fireside, hanging on every word. "Nestled deep in the low rolling hills, in a sequestered glen sits a quiet peaceful place and yet somehow foreboding. For it abounds in haunted spots, twilight tales and local superstitions." How can one not be transported with words like that? One of my bucket list items is to type out those words, laminate them, and then go on a driving spree in New England during the fall to find just such a spot. Then I will take out my trusty dog-eared copy of the tale and read it by firelight.
I love the fact that Ichabod is not the typical leading man of stories. He is not muscled like Vin Diesel. He doesn't make ladies swoon like Cary Grant. He is not a millionaire playboy like Tony Stark. Instead he is a skinny man with a long snipe nose, shovels for feet and a voracious appetite. As Mr. Irving so eloquently puts it, "one might mistake him for a scarecrow eloped from a cornfield." I think another reason that I like Ichabod so, besides his wonderful name, is the fact that he is a learned man. Schoolteachers were looked on with higher esteem than they are now and he traveled the country lending his learned services to the country folk. It was a different time. A time when they used words like odds bodkins and gadzooks and that suits me just fine.
Ichabod is a fish out of water. We learn with him as the story goes. We see how the town runs, who the popular players are and how country life moves. People work, but they also play. They gather together rather than isolate themselves behind things. One of my favorite scenes is when Ichabod is daydreaming behind his school desk. His classroom is run riot, but as Bing puts it "Ichabod filled his mind with many sugared thoughts and hopeful suppositions." Swoon. I would love to call my daydreams that, many sugared thoughts and hopeful suppositions. Language has been lost I think. We need to bring back those hopeful suppositions.
But words aside, lets get to the good part. Ichabod attends the Van Tassel annual Halloween frolic. Never before have I so wanted to crawl into a book. The dancing, the merry making. The people, the food, the cold night air, kept at bay by the lantern light and barn doors. Ahhhh. We get to be a fly on the wall as Brom Bones spins his tale of the Headless Horseman. We get to separate ourselves from Ichabod and wander the room. This story is not new, it is an oldie but goody. People lean in to hear more and let their imaginations run away with them. Some laugh, some are wary, some are waiting for Brom to get to the good part. But poor superstitious Ichabod. He is not in on the joke. He is getting more frightened by the minute. He won't have the luxury of going home in his nice safe minivan, with the doors firmly locked and the windows rolled up. No, he has to travel by ancient steed through a darkened forest all alone.
Brom spins his story well and we follow Ichabod out into the night. "The sky grew darker and darker as one by one the stars winked out their lights and the clouds obscured the moon from sight." This is the story Ichabod has found himself in. He is in a waking nightmare. He could just shrug off the story, but what fun would that be? His imagination has run away with him far before he even ventured out. It is not a matter of if things will happen, only when.
My favorite part is when poor Ichabod starts to hear things. The reeds along the route sound like hoof beats. The frogs sound like they are croaking him a warning. He scars himself silly only to find that it is nature and not a phantasm. He beings to laugh at his own foolishness. It is that unhinged laughter that only comes about when you know you are being ridiculous. But sadly, he isn't. His laughter turns to screams of fright as the Horseman finally makes his appearance. Over the roads they fly. Gaining ground and losing it. Soon the covered bridge is in sight. Safety at last. Contrary to what we think will happen, Ichabod makes it across the bridge and the specters power is evaded. But the story has one more turn, the Horseman flings his fiery pumpkin head and we know no more of Ichabod.
This vague ending is one of my favorite things. Usually unresolved stories drive me crazy. But this, this one seems right. The next day, only Ichabod's hat is found, next to the shattered remains of a pumpkin. Realists say that he found love a few towns over and is living a good life with a fine family, but those superstition loving Sleepy Hollow folks know better. The Horseman got him and let that be a lesson to all unbelievers. The reader simply has to choose which story to believe and be satisfied. Did Ichabod survive? Was the Horseman really Brom Bones, or was it a true specter? No one knows and that is what makes it delightful.
It is a great tale and does not diminish with the years or multiple readings. As Bing says, "He had a way with the yarn did Mr. Irving. " and I couldn't agree more.
No comments:
Post a Comment