If I Were a Wise Man

In the early 1990s, if the earth had rotated just slightly faster or slower, or perhaps if the wind had blown a little more or a little less, or, most likely, if I had not read one book or another, I would be a Medievalist. That is to say, if my life had gone a certain way, I would be an expert in Medieval literature somewhere. When I entered college, I was fascinated by the pre-Renaissance world, and still have a CD of songs by Hildegarde Von Bingen to prove it.

But I attended a liberal arts college, and they were determined to show me more of the world. In a class on poetry, we studied works by Christina Rossetti, and it is at this woman's feet that I lay the end of my career in academia.

Rossetti is best known as the author of the lyrics to "In the Bleak Midwinter," and perhaps also as the sister of Dante Gabriel Rossetti, a flamboyant painter and one of the founders of the dramatic Pre-Raphaelite movement. Christina spent her life in a High Anglican religious fervor that reportedly prevented her from marrying and also contributed to the deeply felt poems she wrote. Dante was more of a Byronic figure, pledging his devotion to Elizabeth Siddal, a woman who died an early death due to a laudanum addiction. Dante buried some of his poems with her, but later decided he wanted them back, so poor Lizzie was disinterred.

It is because of the Rossetti clan that I decided the medieval world was actually of little interest to me because it lacked the one thing that makes life worth living: stories. We know so little about lives before widespread literacy and the printing press, and we have to be cautious about forcing our narratives back in time. Maybe a serf from 1100 was as psychologically developed as any one of us, but because he or she could not write, and in fact would not have anyway unless it was in service of the church, we don't know, and never will.

And so, my interests sprang forward, and I started loving Modernist art and film and design. But I can still appreciate Christina's words as sung in hymn form, the description of the frozen world, the stirring evocation of the Nativity, the prayer for worthiness. May God continue to give us writers the means and ability to tell all of our stories.