Out of the Silent Planet? A tentative note on the Fauns' names in Prince Caspian

 

 

Some years ago, when teaching C S Lewis to undergraduates at university, I re-read the Narnia novels, and was puzzled by a list of names of fauns whom Prince Caspian meets, in the novel that bears his name (published 1951). Caspian is meeting the old Narnians, now in hiding under the rule of his cruel uncle. All at once, music is heard, and the little fauns appear, and begin to dance in a circle. "They footed it all round Caspian to their reedy pipes." They are:

Mentius, Obentinus, Dumnus, Voluns, Voltinus, Girbius, Nimienus, Nausus, and Oscuns.

Why nine of them? It's a highly significant number, and Lewis, who was steeped in Mediaeval literature, would have been entirely alive to the resonances of three, seven and nine. It seems curious to mention them at this point, when we never hear from them again. They sound a bit like Mr Tumnus (everyone's favourite), and are certainly Latinate in form. But what do they mean?

Lewis had by this point already written his science fiction novel, Out of the Silent Planet, which was published in 1938. In it, Earth is "the silent planet", because it has no ruling spirit, unlike the other planets, who all communicate with each other. In the list of fauns, "Dumnus" is the third. Now, Lewis was not entirely particular when it came to his names (unlike J R R Tolkien), and quite happily mingled etymologies and cultures. 

I wonder, then, if Dumnus could be read as a pun on "dumb", silent? And, since it's the third planet in, could it not be "the silent planet"?

This, then, would suggest that the nine fauns are representative of the nine planets, and their dance is a cosmic one. Michael Ward, in Planet Narnia, argues convincingly that the seven Narnia books are representative of the seven mediaeval planets. Could Lewis here be hinting at his planetary design? He may be punning in Latin, or he may be punning in English. Hence, my explanations are entirely tentative... and there may be a system to them that I can't yet discern. Or there may be none. Anyway, it's fun to think about. But much further research is needed.

Here's a few thoughts:

Mentius - as Mercury, the messenger god. "Mens, mentis" is mind, and Mercury comes to earth as swift as thought.

Obentinus - as Venus. Various possibilities occur: "obeo" can be used of heavenly bodies setting, and Venus appears at sunset; it could also be a hint towards "obedience", and you pay "obeisance" to your courtly lover; and there's also the closeness of the fricative "v" to the plosive "b". 

Dumnus - our silent planet.

Voluns - Mars - "volens" is willing; "volans" is flying; "volvens" is rolling about; but Mars is also Mavors in ancient Rome. A difficult one, this. He wasn't particularly willing, though he is willful; so I thought this might be more to do with him being rather "vol"atile; it could also (see below) point to the Volsci, a warlike tribe who inhabited ancient Italia. Camilla, the warrior maiden, is of the Volsci in the Aeneid.

Voltinus - Jupiter - the "volt" is a unit of electrical energy; perhaps a reference to the great god's thunderbolt?

Girbius - Saturn - is "gir"dled by rings...I have been unable to find any Latin word that begins with "girb". This is the most puzzling of them all, and the hardest to fit into the scheme. I think of "gyre" and "gimble" too. A "gyrfalcon" has the Latin name Falco rusticolus, and Saturn was a god of the countryside; "Falco" is also from the Latin "falx", or sickle, and Saturn was associated heavily with sickles. 

* AL suggests "How about a play on the medieval palindrome "In girum imus noctes, et consumimur igni" whereby girum is used for gyrum = the rings of Saturn." - I like the sound of this, and most probably C S Lewis would have known of this lovely palindrome, the lament of the moths: "We go round and round in the night and are consumed by fire". Of course, that's what the fauns are doing, going round and round.

Nimienus - Uranus - "nimius" means "too much" - perhaps a pearl-clutching reaction to scatalogical puns on Uranus? 

Nausus - Neptune - you'll be sea-sick if you're not a good sailor and pray to Neptune.

Oscuns - Pluto - the mouth of the underworld is in the Bay of Naples; the Osci / Oscans were a tribe who lived in Italy whose territory included the Bay of Naples; they, like the Volsci, assimilated with the Romans. "Osculo" is also kissing; it might be a bit of a stretch to say that this is the kiss of death, but hey, it's just for kicks.

* GMcP suggests "Oscuns - the Obscure planet", as oscuro is obscure in Italian." Also quite believable.

An enjoyable parlour game, and if anyone has any thoughts, I'd be delighted to hear. 

By Philip Womack, 2025.

From Spare Oom to War Drobe by Katherine Langrish: review

 My review of Katherine Langrish's lovely book about Narnia, From Spare Oom to War Drobe, is in this week's Spectator. Read it here.

C S Lewis biography by Alister McGrath

I've reviewed Alister McGrath's new biography of C S Lewis, author of a now ignored epic poem called Dymer - oh, and something called the Narnia series. Read it here.

Avengers Assemble an Ikea Bedstead - sorry, they come together. Review.

Avengers Assembling

Mash-ups entice us. When I was a child I used to imagine that all the books I read interacted; somewhere, there existed a world where Snow White drank tea with Alice, and Gandalf the Grey companionably locked horns with Sparrowhawk over a game of wizard chess; Middle Earth was just a boat's ride away from Narnia, in my supra-fictional framework.  There is a lot to be said for cross-hybridisation. I haven't read Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, but it seems like quite a funny idea. But in my experience, those mixtures tend not to work, as some part of the original artistic whole is invariably compromised. Gandalf the Grey looks a little greyer beside Sparrowhawk. Dumbledore wouldn't even get a look in.

Avengers Assemble is different, of course. (When I first saw the film's title I thought - Avengers Assemble what? An Ikea bedstead? That's pretty damn hard, but  a whole film about it? Really?) The heroes already exist in the same comic book universe. Bringing them together is a fan's dream. It also stems from the childhood need to collect all your playthings into one big meta-playground. The film sees Earth under threat (again) from the usual mysteriously motivated aliens with big weapons, and an energy source called the Tesseract, a hyper-cube that can open portals into other worlds. If it falls into the wrong hands... well, you can probably guess. Oh, and Loki, Thor's brother, (a fantastic Tom Hiddleston, who really ought to be given his own film) struts around smiling a lot and looking inscrutable because that's what monstrous evil people do, isn't it?

There are three problems with Avengers Assemble. But first, let's get the good stuff out of the way. Joss Whedon manages to leaven proceedings with a bit of wit - if it was a curry it would be a lamb korma. The actors give it their best shot, too, with some particularly good lines from Chris Hemsworth as Thor, and everyone yomps and punches and fixes things (there's a lot of fixing things) with aplomb.

So. The first problem is that the threat is so vague. Oh dear, the earth's under attack, again. What is it this time? Giant scaly flying tortoises? Sigh. Things that are alien have all but ceased to be frightening: things are much more scary when they come from within.

The second is that though the film consists of one frenetic scene after another, it actually manages to drag. That's largely because of its entirely predictable arc. Yes, there is a bit of friction between the Avengers; yes, there will be a moment when everything looks like it's going to fail; but yes, of course, it doesn't. And the film itself knows this. One of the characters (with whom I think the director thinks we have a lot more sympathy than we actually do) says to Loki that he'll never win. We know this. That's partly why we're watching this film; we don't go to watch superhero movies to see the world blown up. But the film would have had more of a hook if the threat felt genuine; the villains more pressing; the tensions less contrived.

The third problem relates to the assembling (I ought to call it mustering, really) of the heroes. Though the film managed not to spend too much time on their back stories, and getting them all together, there really were too many of them to care about. And since they're all super heroes - bar Black Widow and Hawkeye, who as far as I can see are just pretty handy in a fight - it's not that interesting watching them fight. The film does a good job of adding some spark to the battles, particularly with the Hulk. Ultimately, though, one can't help but feeling that these uber-men ought to be kept apart.

A much more interesting proposition would be to see Loki having to become good. That I'd love to see - the monster redeemed. The problem with heroes like Captain America is that they're just too damn boring. It's the same as Galahad, or Jesus Christ in Paradise Regained. You need your Lancelot, just as Milton knew that Satan was more interesting to write about. So, Marvel, I ask you: give Tom Hiddleston a chance. Avengers Assemble might be a comic book fan's dream - but maybe it should have stayed that way.

Read my review of Thor