A - Z Challenge: DALÍ

SPAIN

"I don't do drugs.  I am drugs." - Salvador Dalí

I love Dalí, but I'm not sure if I love his paintings, or if I just love him.  He's one of those figures who is so ridiculous, you just can't help but like him.  Also, his gravity-defying mustache makes him a winner.

After Pablo Picasso, Dalí is probably Spain's most famous artist, best known for his work The Persistence of Memory, often referred to as "that painting with the melting clocks."  There was a giant mural of it in my high school, so after seeing it every day, it's one of my favorite paintings.  Do I have any idea what it means?  Nope.  But the melting clocks are fascinating.

The Persistence of Memory, completed 1931

Dalí was a surrealist, so he was into abstract ideas and images that weren't grounded in the real world.  A few weeks ago, I was lucky enough to visit the Dalí museum in Barcelona, Spain, where I got to see (and even touch, when it came to sculptures) some of his lesser known works.

To the left, you'll see Automobile Giving Birth to a Blind Horse Biting a Telephone.  (Sorry for the poor quality photo, but photography isn't my strong point).  Not sure what it means, if it means anything at all, but I think the title is hilarious.  Also, very straightforward.

Look familiar?  Dalí had quite a few obsessions, or so I gathered from my visit to the museum:  horses, rhinoceroses, and melting clocks.  The melting clocks are definitely what interest me most.  Time melting away…Very cool.  Also, interesting tidbit:  the 20s (during which Dalí worked) marked the beginning of the world's obsession with time and prolonged youth (think works like Twilight Sleep or Tender is the Night).  It's when time phrases became an essential part of our vocabulary:  kill time, keep time, out of time, etc.  So I have to wonder if Dalí, who finished The Persistence of Memory in 1931, was commenting on this phenomenon.

He was also fascinated by horses, apparently.  An entire room of the museum was dedicated to his paintings and sculptures about horses, many of them from famous stories.  This painting features Don Quixote and Sancho Panza.

There was also a little hall dedicated rhinoceroses.  When I saw Midnight in Paris, I didn't realize that he was, actually, a little obsessed with rhinoceroses.  But alas, I was mistaken.  Enjoy this awesome scene from an awesome movie, featuring Adrien Brody as Salvador Dalí:

WRITING

Picture prompts?

One of Dalí's paintings would be awesome inspiration for a picture prompt.  I would love to read a story, or even a full length novel, based on The Persistence of Memory.  Even just a world based on it.  Who knows?  Maybe one day I'll try my hand at writing it.

Barcelona: Urban Fantasy

This past weekend I once again journeyed away from Sevilla, this time flying to Barcelona, which is located in lovely Catalonia.

Casa Battló at night.

To say the least, it was a busy weekend.  We spent the better part of each day on our feet, hurrying from one architectural marvel to another, and only calling it quits after the sun set.  Yup, absolutely exhausting.  Thankfully, my friends are, well, my friends…And that means that an evening curled up  with good books while feasting on bread, cheese, chocolate and cheap champagne is just as good (probably better) as a night at a discoteca.  So we were nice and rested for the next day's adventure.

Our program guide, Antonio, introduced Barcelona as a city of fantasy and magic.  At first glance, that's a little difficult to see.  After all, Barcelona is a huge metropolitan city, complete with skyscrapers, flashy lights, and an upscale shopping district.

But that's what's special about it.  The fantastical is subtly woven into the modern city, making Barcelona a living example of urban fantasy and maybe even magic realism.

Let's take a stroll, shall we?

Casa Battló on the right.  Notice the scaled roof.

We exit the hostel and there, just a block away and standing on a perfectly normal street, is the Casa Battló, which in my opinion belongs in some sort of twisted Candyland.  The walls are supposed to look like a garden, while the balconies and columns are meant to represent bones. Kind of creepy, right?  The roof is scaled, like the back of a dragon, and the chimney is San Jorge's sword--being plunged into the dragon.

The dragon is the symbol of Barcelona, and it's everywhere (but still subtle enough that you have to look for it).

The roof of La Pedrera.

Then just a few minutes away is La Pedrera, another house by the same architect (Antoni Gaudí, the man behind all of Barcelona's most famous sites).  Again, it's a palace on a normal city block, easy to miss.  It's most interesting feature is its roof, which looks like an alien desert.

La Sagrada Familia

And of course, there's Barcelona's most famous tourist attraction:  the Sagrada Familia, a cathedral designed by Gaudí in the late nineteenth century, and is still under construction today.  It's interesting, for sure, but like most of Gaudi's work, I don't know if I'd call it gorgeous.  (Personal opinion).  To me and my writer's mind it would make an awesome palace for a villain.  I can easily imagine an evil queen standing in the tower, peering at her kingdom with disdain.


Magic and fantasy are everywhere:  in the design of the sidewalk, the fountains that dance to changing colors, the paintings that line Las Rambas.

As I said, Barcelona brings urban fantasy into the real world, so the city got me thinking about writing in the genre, especially because my WIP is, among other things, urban fantasy.

Why does it appeal to us?  What makes it special?

I'm no expert on urban fantasy (my current WIP is my first venture into it), but I might have a little insight.

In general, people like cities.  For hundreds of years we have been migrating to them, usually in search of work, or in order to escape the trials of country living.  We're naturally drawn to them, usually not because of aesthetic appeal, but because of the opportunities they offer.  Yup, cities are goldmines of opportunities, and not only in real life.  Plot and character-wise, they're invaluable.

You aren't going to find a character like this in the countryside:

Not gonna lie, this guy was probably my favorite part of the trip.  He was standing at the highest point of the Parc Güell, playing guitar in front of an elevated cross, while singing "Jesus Christ Superstar."

As for plots, cities tend to provide more opportunities for your characters to do different activities (just like in real life).  They can go to a nightclub; they can be pickpocketed on the metro; they can get lost in the slums; and so forth.

A bar in Barcelona called "Bosc de las Fades,"
which translates to "Forest of the Fairies."
Yup, it's enchanted forest themed.

For this reason, cities are prone to stories.  Real stories.  History happens everywhere, of course, but it's concentrated in the cities.  Where did the French Revolution start?  Paris.  What about the birthplace of American independence?  Philadelphia.  The conquest of Mexico?  Tenochtitlán.

But where does the fantasy part come in?  Well, cities offer opportunities, but once you throw in elements of magic, those opportunities become endless.  Absolutely anything could happen.

Of course, there's more.  Urban fantasy allows us to bring magic into our own lives.  While deep down we realize that we probably won't ever be whisked away to Middle-earth or Narnia, we can go to cities like New York.  Like London.  Like Barcelona, where it's easy to imagine magic happening all around us, though we may not be able to see it.


And no matter how childish it is, we always hold onto that hope that someday the fantastical adventure will be ours.  At least, I do.  In Tangiers I hoped to find a magic lamp.  In Rome I wanted some angels and demons (get it?).  And in Barcelona, I was just itching to fight off a dragon.

Barcelona viewed from the Parc Güell.  I can easily imagine a dragon soaring through that sky.

We like magic, so the idea that it can be threaded into modern society is highly appealing.  Which is why people come to Barcelona.  Let's face it:  you don't come to Barcelona for traditional Spanish culture.  You won't find the narrow winding streets (try Toledo), flamenco (that's Andalusian), bullfighting (it's banned in Catalonia), or even Spanish (the official language of Catalonia is Catalan).  No, people flock to Barcelona for the fantasy, for the magic.

Unfortunately, I didn't find any fairies or dragons (I guess I wasn't looking hard enough.  Or I'm just a silly muggle).  Though I'm in Istanbul this week, so you can be sure that my quest for a magic lamp will be renewed!

Enough of me!  What about you?  Have you ever been to any "magical" cities?  Or if not, which ones would you like to go to?  What are your favorite urban fantasy books?

The Inquisition: Surreal Sci-Fi or Gothic Horror Story?

I've been in Spain about a month and already I've been to two Inquisition museums.  (Not by choice).

Now here's a little history lesson.  (If you don't care, scroll down for the writing part.  But keep in mind that history is one big epic story, so as writers, we can learn from it, and we should definitely appreciate it):

Spain is a very Catholic country, but it wasn't always.  In fact, it was controlled by Arabs from North Africa for almost 800 years, which meant that a large percentage of the population practiced Islam.  It influenced architecture, language, food, and more, and those influences are still around to this day.

At this point, Spain didn't exist.  It was a bunch of small kingdoms up until the 1400s, when one of historys' most famous couples got married:  Ferdinand II and Isabella I.  With their marriage, they united Castile and Aragon, two of the biggest kingdoms, and from there, set out to "reconquer" the kingdoms still controlled by the Arabs.  In 1492, the last Arab city (Granada) fell, and for the first time, Spain was united under one monarchy.

Yet Ferdinand and Isabella, nicknamed the Catholic Monarchs, sought to secure their new country with more than political unity.  They wanted religious unity, as well.  So they set up the Holy Office of the Inquisition to seek out falsos conversos, generally Muslims or Jews who claimed to have converted to Christianity, but still secretly practiced their original religion.

But the Inquisition was used for far more than that.  It was frequently an excuse for something else, like personal vengeance or commercial gain.

So how did the Inquisition work?

Enter Diego, a wealthy merchant.  His competitor, jealous of his success, informs the Holy Office of the Inquisition that he has reason to believe that Pablo is secretly practicing Judaism.  Why?  Because he never buys pork.  In reality, Diego just doesn't like pork.  (This is the case with Natalie Portman's character in the movie Goya's Ghosts).

He doesn't know why he has been summoned by the Holy Office, and when he shows up, the inquisitors don't tell him.  Not for awhile, anyway.  When they do, he tries to explain that it's a simple misunderstanding.  He's a very pious Catholic.  But the inquisitors have already confiscated his property, and they don't want to release him.

And here's where it gets gory.  In order to get Diego to confess that he is secretly Jewish, the inquisitors subject him to torture:  the rack, the wheel, etc.  They believed that a confession gained through torture was hard evidence of someone's guilt, because if they were innocent, God would give them the strength to withstand the pain.

Now let's say Diego caves.  Even though he isn't Jewish, he tells them he is.  OK, so enough with the torture, but now he's stuck in a tiny dungeon cell until it's time for his public auto de fe, a trial that most often resulted in public humiliation, but could also end in punishment as severe as burning at the stake.

Now onto writing.

Since being in Spain, I've visited two Inquisition museums.  To my surprise, they were completely different, though they both told the exact same story.

Gothic Horror

The first one we visited while in Córdoba, a city about an hour from Sevilla.  It was a small museum, situated on a tiny street, with only about five rooms; but by the end of it, we all felt a little nauseous.

Why?  You can probably guess.

This museum focused heavily on torture, and it had on display dozens of different devices.  (Yup, we asked.  Not recreations.  That was an authentic guillotine I tripped on.)  Lining the walls were drawings from the time period that showed the devices at work.  Honestly, these were the most disturbing part.

Notice the "Do Not Touch" sign.  "Do not put your hand in the spiky wardrobe!"

Then there was the atmosphere.  To enter and exit the exhibit, you had to pass through black veils that hung over the doors.  Once inside, the lights were dim, giving the rooms an eerie reddish glow.  They were small rooms, too, perfectly square, with very low ceilings.  There was no background music, no television screens.  Not even a guard to keep you grounded in the present.  Just you, your friends, and the Iron Maiden.

Overall tone of this museum?  The Inquisition was dark.  Scary.  Bloody.  Nothing short of a gothic horror story.

Notice the red light and the chandelier in the background.  Both set the mood:  dark and scary.
(Sidenote:  I tripped on this thing.  Thank goodness it wasn't on something with spikes, though.   Nothing was behind glass, or even roped off, so if you tripped and fell onto the Judas Chair, sucks for you.)

Surreal Sci-Fi

The second museum was in Sevilla.  It's located in what's left of the Castillo de San Jorge, which used to house the Holy Office of the Inquisition in Sevilla.  So this is the real deal.  Where it happened.

Kind of dreamlike, right?

But what happened?

Unlike the museum in Córdoba, this one housed very few artifacts.  Almost none.  Instead, this museum utilized video to emphasize the mental and emotional components of the Inquisition.  And not the kind of video you'd expect, either.  These were surrealist clips, no more than a few minutes long.  What do I mean by surrealist?  Well, one showed a naked man in a fetal position, floating in a black void.  A bunch of different angles, close-ups, etc., until finally he grew smaller, and smaller, and smaller…

Nope, there was no plaque with an explanation.  No words at all.

The other part of the museum focused on spaces.  Here's where the stables were, and here was the kitchen, and here were the cells.  No complete walls remain, so they're just spaces marked by walls that are two feet high.  There is nothing in these spaces, either.  They're a hundred percent empty, and dare I say it?  Yes, walking through them was somewhat surreal.

Notice the lighted boardwalks.  Almost futuristic.

Now for the atmosphere.  Lots of television screens with strange videos.  Lots of glass, including a glass ceiling.  A lighted boardwalk that went over the ruins.  Huge spacious rooms that allowed for an echo.

As I toured the museum, I felt like I was floating through a dream; or better yet, a surrealist painting like Dali's The Persistence of Memory.  Very strange.

Overall tone?  The Inquisition was bizarre.  Kind of like a surreal sci-fi story.

So which is correct?  Which is better?

Is the fake skeleton really necessary?
No, but it's all part of the genre.
Like a horror writer, the museum is
trying to create a certain atmosphere.

Well, they're both correct, that's for sure.  They tell the same story.  Same setting, same characters, same plot.  The big difference is the genre, which sets the tone:  the content, combined with the dim lighting, of the museum in Córdoba pinned the Inquisition as a gothic horror.  But based only on the museum at the Castillo de San Jorge, I'd file it as sci-fi, or maybe magical realism.  Very different genres.  Very different messages.

Is one better than the other?  Well, let's see.

As writers, we have to be aware of our genre and the expectations that go along with it.  What mood are we trying to convey?  When is it a good idea to combine genres?  And if we want to do that, how can we do it well?

The best way to figure that out is to read books within your genre.  Lots of books.  And as you read, pay attention to the tone.  Is this the tone you want for your story?  Does it work well?  Or will something else work better?  Make your story stand out?

All in all, it depends on your focus.  The museum in Córdoba focused on torture, and the physical horrors of the Inquisition; but the museum in Sevilla wanted to explore the mental and emotional side, so it sought to create a hazy dreamlike atmosphere that left its visitors a little confused, a little shocked, but with a better understanding the quiet chaos and perpetual fear that went along with the Spanish Inquisition.

Same story, different messages.  Is one better than the other?  That's for the visitor to decide.

Combining Genres

So what if these two museums were combined?

Surreal Sci-Fi + Gothic Horror = ?

Well, I'm not sure there's a name for the result, but when I first thought about this question, my mind immediately went to the movie Pan's Labyrinth.  If you've never seen Pan's Labyrinth, you should.  It's a fantastic movie set during the Spanish Civil War, and it combines the above elements.  (OK, so fantasy instead of sci-fi, if we're going to be nitpicky.)  The blend of genres works perfectly for this movie.  The dark fantasy elements express the characters' fear, and their attempts at coping with the horror and violence of the period.

In Summary

Know your genre.  Know your tone.  Know your message.

And perhaps most importantly, don't be afraid to experiment.  Maybe write a few pages intending it to be in one genre, then try in another.  Heck, I wrote half a book as a YA paranormal retelling, only to then try writing a few chapters of the same story as a MG fantasy adventure.  Very different tones, very different messages.  (Ultimately, I went with the MG fantasy adventure.)

Whew, this is a long post! 

Your thoughts?  Are you familiar with two versions of the same story with very different tones?  What are they?  Which do you like better, and why?