This gorgeous and moody piece illustrates a chunk of my backlist. Two guesses which one.
Cross on the temple. Not really sure why, but I can only assume it’s Sarasti. Unless it’s from one of the few short stories I’ve missed.
Makes me think of the narrator from “Repeating the Past.”
Is it from “A Word for Heathens”?
After Sarasti’s meds get switched and he dies?
We have a winner – James.
Polish translation of “A Word for Heathens” will be published on http://www.polter.pl on Saturday.
Damn, that didn’t take long at all. I didn’t think anyone had even read that story. (For those of you who aren’t James, it was originally published in ReVisions — an anthology of alternate-history tales — edited by Julie Czerneda. And it can be found with the rest of my backlist, here.
The artist for this evocative little number is Karolina Jędryczka, and more of her stuff can be found here, and I don’t know much about art but I know what I like.
And now I’m going to go hang Ms. Jędryczka’s painting in the Gallery. Just as soon as I finish today’s batch of Squidgate Thankyous (20% done so far!)
I’d never had gotten it if I hadn’t spotted the cross-shape on his temple.
“I’d never had gotten it if I hadn’t spotted the cross-shape on his temple. ”
Oh crap, I didn’t even notice that. Good catch!
Very nice painting, too. I like it a lot!
plate of shrimp
You’re not messing with my faith though, Watts; I’ve been huffing magnet-dust just this morning.
HahA! The author is dead. I maintain that ‘Makes me think of the narrator from “Repeating the Past.”’
Peter thought: “I didn’t think anyone had even read that story…”
I did. Last year. When I first came on. That was one of the first on your backlist page that caught my eye…heathens and all…
Speaking of old stories… not killer whale war, but a dolphin war!
And here it is!
Rereading “a word for heathens”, last night, (the word “Praetor” morphed into “Peter”) as the heathens and pagans of the pre-Christian British Isles experienced, those were the “Burning Times”…
The matter of heathens, fiery faith, frightfully fried humans, and residence in temporal lobes, this “god” of the mind for some reason seems to be possessed of “maleness”.
Christianity and heathens/pagans/savages go together like peanut butter and jelly.
Wherever Christians went, there were heathens that were in need of conversion. For example, in 1819, the American Protestant Missionaries came on over to the Kingdom of Hawaii to help the Natives see the light. As well as making sure females wore big ole Mother Hubbard dresses over their naughty nakedness.
In “defense” of the American Christians, two things positive came out of their prothesyltizing ways. First, in 1820 they created a written form of the Hawaiian Language, and by 1860, Hawaiians were amongst the most literate people in the world at that time. Second, Queen Ka‘ahumanu defied the Kapu System, a strict, mean, religious code of the Hawaiian-Polynesian Culture.
The Kapu System allowed for human sacrifice, men and women couldn’t eat together, and death penalty condemnation for such transgressions as not prostrating one’s self in the presence of royalty,
or daring to allow the king’s shadow to fall upon your prostrated form.
For Pete’s sake, women couldn’t even eat bananas!
What is the point of my typed words? It took a “woman” to put a stop to the nonsense of a male created religious code. It probably helped that Queen Ka‘ahumanu was the favorite wife of Kamehmeha I, that, and the fact that she was tall and beloved by her people.
Just like two of my ancestors who stood up to the male dominated religious view, one was banished (Anne Marbury Hutchinson, an American Jezebel), the other hung (Mary Barrett Dyer, Quaker Martyr, sometimes mistakenly identified as the daughter of Lady Arabella Stuart). Time and again I see
women getting fed up with the religiosity of the maleness.
God may reside in the temporal lobes, but I am coming to the conclusion that this religiosy nature resides somewhere on that Y-chromosome. Women are usually on the short end of the stick when it comes to religious codes, laws and constricting conduct. Men are the ones with the stick. Men are
men because they got that Y-chromosome.
This religiousy-gene is perhaps dormant and is switched on when the temporal lobe is tickled, thereby releasing the god of the maleness.
Y chromosomes aren’t shared in the gene pool. That’s all.
(please correct me if I’m wrong)
I don’t know why they wouldn’t be. Dad passes ‘em down the line just as often as Xs. (Of course, it’s not the chromosome itself that gets “shared” in the offspring — it’s the individual genes/clusters that get sliced and diced between male and female contributors — but then, that’s true of every chromosome).
Oh, sorry. What I really mean was that Y chromosomes never do this homological recombination schtick that all the other chromosomes do. Wiki says I was partly wrong , they do cross over, but only a tiny part. The citation linked from that section in the wiki article  seems like an impenetrable wall of text, but very interesting one.
I have a feeling that being complete schmucks is somehow linked with how Y chromosomes are somewhat like the genomes of rotifers. They can only be passed down through cloning and never recombinate with fellow chromosomes, which are now actually their adversaries.