I was just asked rather gently by a friend (who’s read the Under the Poppy manuscript) why, on this blog, puppets are so very much to the fore, since the novel itself is really “about” the trio of Rupert, Istvan, and Decca, about love, sex, war, betrayal, prostitution (of many kinds), the human ability to haul to the brink of shivering ruin everything that is most precious. . . .”The puppets are part of a much larger story,” my friend said. “A really cool part, but still.”
I guess my answer is that this blog is a kind of playground, a different way to explore the whole realm of puppetry that continues to enthrall me: the conception and manipulation of a wholly artificial object that comes to seem, and be regarded as if if it were, really alive. (Actually, isn’t this exactly what fiction does, or aims to? We read about made-up people, and worry and wonder and care about them as if they were truly real.)
So I talk about contemporary examples of that same enthralling stuff: like Suzie Templeton’s gorgeous “Peter and the Wolf” that I watched on PBS – I loved her waif-y, wary Peter – or the long puppet performance history still evolving in Parma (thanks, Sharon Que, for the heads-up!).
But I could also talk about how the Under the Poppy vibe, that perfume brew of artifice, lust, longing, fear, and devotion to art, reminds me of the famous Chat Noir, that echoes Torch with a Twist, that makes me think of Dances of Vice, that reminds me of Joe Stacey’s outstanding score for the Under the Poppy trailer. . .
. . .because it’s all one place really. The puppets are the avatars, the people are the actors, the reader is the audience and accomplice both. Which makes the writer – who? Or what? You tell me.
