Hello! Sunday was the opening of RAL‘s Juried Members’ Spring Show. My Handsome Assistant and I attended, albeit briefly, because of a combination of scheduling conflicts and also enough antihistamines to sedate the Cloverfield monster. (I had two paintings selected for the show — one acrylic, the other casein and gold leaf.)

While we didn’t get to stay for the award ceremony, it’s always great to see the artwork itself. Since this is one of RAL’s bigger shows, there are pieces that cover pretty much every combination of genre and material. If you’ve never been, I recommend it. If you can’t attend, you can explore the exhibit online.

Right now, I’m about to go pick strawberries and peas, feed the crows, and plant a rosebush. Here’s hoping today is treating you well!

It’s the first of the month! Did you remember to say “rabbit, rabbit?”

How’s it going?

As I write this, it’s almost 90° F. My cats are yelling at me for reasons utterly inscrutable. My bearded dragon is demanding to go for a walk on the deck. My Handsome Assistant is at his other job, the one that does not entail handsomely assisting me. Nonetheless, the garden is looking wonderful and all is well.

The hydrangeas and roses are full of buds, the strawberries and blueberries are laden with immature fruits, and the beautiful irises my Handsome Assistant planted are vibrantly blooming.

These are sterile bearded irises (Iris × germanica), which aren’t native to this area. We do have our own native species, the blue flag iris (Iris versicolor), which typically grows in wet areas. A lovely art gallery near here has a beautiful water garden just full of blue flag iris.

Irises bloom in spring and summer, so this is prime iris season and an excellent time to look into the mythology, folklore, and magical uses of these lovely flowers.

Iris Magical Properties and Folklore

First, let’s start with the name: Iris. These flowers are named for the Greek goddess Iris, who was a messenger between the gods and the rest of the world. She traveled on a rainbow and it was said that brightly colored flowers sprang up everywhere she stepped.

In ancient Greek legend, it was also said that iris flowers were one of the flowers gathered by Kore and the nymphs before she was abducted by Hades to become Persephone.

Irises are not only showy flowers, they’re one ornamental flower species that actually comes in pretty much every color. Many flowers (roses and sunflowers being particular examples) just don’t have the genes to produce certain color pigments, but irises boast a very impressive color palette.

(This is also why all of those ads for blue rose or sunflower seeds are scams. The closest thing you can find to a “blue” rose is probably best described as a sort of lavender shade, not an actual blue. Any photo of a blue rose or sunflower is of a flower that has either been artificially colored with dye or manipulated with image editing software.)

The roots of some varieties of iris are heavily used in perfumery. Called “orris root,” they are often used as a fixative and base note for perfumes and incense. The essence of the roots is said to smell like violets, and is commonly the source for natural “violet” perfumes.

Orris root is also a flavoring ingredient, particularly for gin. Iris roots contain some quantity of the toxic glycoside iridin, but the roots of perfume and flavoring varieties are relatively low. Other varieties, like the blue flag iris, contain much more iridin and should not be consumed.

Irises are sometimes used in land remediation. Yellow iris, in particular, is used to clean up polluted waterways since it’s excellent at snatching and holding on to nutrient pollutants (think things like fertilizer runoff from agriculture) that would otherwise fuel dangerous algal blooms and fish kills. Unfortunately, they’re so good at this that they’ve become a bit of a problem in some heavily polluted areas — the nutrients they grab onto fuel their growth so much, they can actually clog waterways.

Irises have a long history as an image of nobility and authority. They’re the origin for the fleur-de-lis of French heraldry, where each “petal” represents a sector of society: the peasantry, the nobility, and the clergy. In the 15th century BCE, Pharaoh Thutmose III conquered Syria, which had an abundance of native irises. He brought the flowers back to Egypt, where it became a symbol of power and authority.

In Asia, irises are more likely to connect to the idea of banishing evil. One variety of Chinese iris, Iris anguifuga, was thought to keep snakes from entering anywhere it was grown. It grows during winter and becomes dormant in spring and summer, during which snakes can sneak into the garden again. The ground roots are also used as a remedy for snakebite. In Japan, irises were associated with exorcism.

In addition to authority and banishing, irises are also frequently connected to death. They’re a common flower to plant in Muslim graveyards in Iran, and the ancient Greeks also would plant these flowers on graves in the hope that the deity Iris would come to escort the deceased to the afterlife.

Overall, culturally, irises seem to be a very commanding flower. Even in areas where they aren’t specifically connected to the idea of authority, they’re associated with commanding evil or unwanted things to leave, or making requests of the gods themselves. If you look at an iris, this makes sense — they stand tall and straight, with large, showy blooms like flags.

Magically, irises are typically used for purification and wisdom. Orris root, specifically, is frequently employed in formulas for meditation, divination, and love-drawing. In Hoodoo, orris root is a very common love herb.

Irises are ruled by the Moon and Mercury, and connected to the element of Water.

Using Irises

As with many other plants, one of the best ways to work with iris is to grow it. Since it has a firm reputation as a plant for authority and keeping evil away, it’s a good candidate for growing around the edges of one’s space.

Of course, you can also always work with orris root. One common way to employ it is as an ingredient in incense, magical powders, and container spells. Use chips of the root in herbal sachets or jars or grind it into a fine powder for powders and incense. While it seems to have a very iron-fist-in-a-velvet-glove presence, this isn’t exactly an ingredient for “asking politely.” It has a reputation as a persuasive or commanding herb.

I also feel that orris root is a power herb, if only through its very commanding properties and presence. Remember, from France to ancient Egypt, the iris flower was a symbol of power and authority. Add it to magical mixtures to increase their power.

Orris root powder is also used as-is in some traditions. Take a pinch of the powder and blow it onto a significant other’s clothes to keep them faithful and ensure that they return your love. However, particularly given orris/iris’s commanding nature, it might be best to do this with some kind of consent from your partner.

Considering the herb’s connections to authority and love, it seems like a natural choice for formulas related to popularity and charisma. A “queen bee” sort of herb, if you will.

I love irises. I think they’re stunningly beautiful and come in an amazing array of colors from deep reds to bright blues. The availability of sterile iris varieties also means that you can enjoy them with less fear of them taking over your garden. Worse comes to worse, if you end up with too many bearded irises, dig them up and dry chips of the roots for use in magical or meditative formulas.

A baby, stolen from his mother by a bloodthirsty goddess.

Human populations driven to war by an ancient entity.

If these don’t sound like the mythological Irish hero Cú Chulainn‘s story, you’re not wrong exactly, but they are what opens the action in Paul J. Bolger, Barry Devlin, and Dee Cunniffe’s Hound.

This is a retelling of the life of Cú Chulainn, but reframed to suit the constraints of a graphic novel. The artwork is gorgeous and heavily stylized, and the story does a very good job of hitting the high points. Some artistic liberties were taken, which the book acknowledges — the story is framed as told by the Morrígan, who outright says that there are many versions. “But remember… I was there. They were not.”

Hound is ultimately a tale about destiny. Who controls it? Do we, or are the wheels set in motion long before we’re able to make our own decisions? How do we win against the whims of forces beyond us? Can we overcome our innermost nature? How do you struggle against a god?

First, the art style. The book is illustrated entirely in black, white, and blood red. The linework is sharp, evocative of danger and madness. The characters also all have visually distinct appearances — there’s no “same facing” here. Not only do they have distinct faces, they have unique hair, tattoos, and jewelry, too. This is important, because the story moves quickly and people can come and go in a blur.

Many characters were blended or altered in order to make a smoother, more cohesive story. Some of the mysterious elements of the original (like Deichtine giving birth to Cú Chulainn, who has multiple foster parents) are greatly simplified (Cú Chulainn is kidnapped and raised by the Morrígan, who uses this time to plant the seed of his madness). This isn’t entirely a bad thing — Cú Chulainn’s story is long and complex, with many figures who come and go and have their own, branching stories. Condensing it into a graphic novel requires a bit of ingenuity.

As a graphic novel, it’s excellent. The story is ancient, but it feels fresh. The artwork suits the material. The artistic liberties that were taken with the story help to make it a cohesive, self-contained novel.

From a mythological perspective, it also seemed like some liberties were taken in places where they didn’t quite make sense. Aífe (Eva in the book) is an entirely different character. Rather than being a woman warrior who nearly bests Cú Chulainn in single combat before he creates a diversion, she’s Scáthach’s rebellious — and kind of whiny — daughter. Rather than Cú Chulainn demanding she bear him a son after he defeats her, the two of them get hot and heavy during a hunting montage. Rather than Cú Chulainn giving her a gold ring and telling her to send his son to find him in seven years, she’s butthurt that Cú Chulainn left her for Emer and sends the boy to hunt him down herself.

It’s understandable that a modern telling of Cú Chulainn’s story, where he’s the hero, wouldn’t want to include him demanding Aífe sleep with him in exchange for her life. Nonetheless, I don’t feel like this telling of the story really did her justice. She’s Scáthach’s rival. A legitimate threat, to the point where Scáthach drugs Cú to keep him safely out of the battle. A woman warrior capable of defeating Cú Chulainn. A lot of that was lost, I feel.

King Conchobar is also very different. By all accounts, he was a good king. In Hound, he’s portrayed as almost peevish. This worsens as the story progresses and he develops a grudge against Cú over Emer. Here, it’s the king who sends Cú to Scáthach as punishment.

A significant part of Emer‘s character was lost, as well. In the original, she tells Cú that she’ll only marry him when he proves himself worthy. She isn’t engaged to a king — in fact, kings turn down her father’s offer of her hand, because they know Cú wants her and know better than to get on his bad side. In Hound, it seems that Emer is flattened and her agency taken away. There, she’s engaged to the king against her will, who rejects her when she falls in love with Cú. This takes place over a couple panels’ worth of a travel montage. Why do they fall in love when she’s shown doing nothing but complaining and apparently has complete disdain for Cú? Your guess is as good as mine.

Perhaps my biggest character gripe is the Morrígan. In Hound, she is decidedly one-note. Almost more cryptid than deity, she is a shapeshifting entity who is dissatisfied with the lasting peace among humans. She kidnaps Cú in order to make him her warrior, to stir things up. She instigates the cattle raid to cause war. She has no motivation here other than to cause bloodshed. Alas, every story like this needs a villain, and she’s set up to fit that particular bill.
(She’s also portrayed as a single entity, rather than a triple goddess, but that’s not really an issue.)

I do like how Hound treats Scáthach (simplified to Skye), however. She isn’t portrayed as “comic book hot.” There are no spine-snapping poses, skintight outfits, or fight-inhibiting titties here. Her strength is not an informed characteristic — she exudes it. She is a powerful figure. She has a wild, animal sensuality that is far removed from standard comic heroines. This is a woman who can and will use her thighs to crush a skull like a watermelon. (And she’ll put you through a training montage until you can do the same.)

As for the other characters, I wish I had more to say. At one point, we’re introduced to a five-man band of Scáthach’s students, but they don’t end up being as significant as I expected. (The only exception is Ferdia.) The story, as dense as it is, moves much too quickly to really become invested in many of Cú’s relationships. People die left and right, but in a way that’s hard to care about.

Ferdia, on the other hand, is treated well. He’s portrayed as a boisterous bruiser, a fitting blood brother for Cú, who is capable of holding his own even without the divine favor Cú has. He’s Medb’s champion, but he’s not a villain. He’s strong, handsome, honorable, and his final meeting with Cú is appropriately upsetting. He’s given weight in a way that the other characters — even some very important ones — are not.

This is not to complain about the story itself, however. Like I said, there are limits to portraying a tale like this in a graphic novel format. Some characters need to be simplified, and others removed. That said, I do think there are some places where this simplification wasn’t strictly necessary or could have been handled differently. (Cú having to leave Emer would’ve been more impactful if she were closer to her original portrayal, for example.) It’s likely that the only way around this would be to split Hound into multiple volumes so everyone could get some more page time and character/relationship development.

I know what you’re probably thinking, though.

“Okay, so this is Cú Chulainn in a visual medium… What about the warp spasm?!”

Don’t worry. It doesn’t disappoint. You know how horror stories are always scarier before you actually see the monster? In Hound, the artwork does a great job of suggesting and evoking without fully showing. Your imagination can fill in the details, and that’s always scarier than anything anyone can draw for you.

I absolutely recommend this book to readers who are interested in Irish legends, or for whom the story of Cú Chulainn resonates. I wouldn’t, however, recommend it to people looking for a historically faithful representation of the tale. It’s a beautiful book and, as long as it is respected as a dark fantasy adaptation of an ancient story, it’s extremely enjoyable.