The term comes from ancient Greek theater, which often employed this technique–probably because the audience was known to get violent when the show didn’t end the way they wanted it to. Basically, a crane–the “machina,” or machine–would lower an actor playing the role of one of the gods–the “deus”–who would then resolve everything and tie up all the loose ends without the heroes having to do anything.
Sound unsatisfying? Yeah, I think so too. That’s why it’s often used as a derogatory term, much like Mary Sue. HOWEVER, it can be done well. As always, your mileage may vary, but here are some examples that pull it off:
WARNING! SPOILERS!
Watership Down: A girl saves Hazel from her cat. Satisfying because it makes sense from the girl’s point of view, and humanizes the story by showing that it really does take place in our world.
The Hobbit: The eagles arrive out of nowhere to turn the tide of the Battle of Five Armies just at the critical moment. Satisfying because it’s a cavalry ending as well, though some fans don’t like it.
Lord of the Rings: Again, the eagles swoop down and save the day, this time by rescuing Frodo and Sam from the fires of Mount Doom. Satisfying because after coming this far, we really don’t want a downer ending.
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone: Harry is saved by his mother’s love. Satisfying because of the symbolism and the power of love.
Lord of the Flies: Just as the boys are about to kill each other, a military ship arrives out of nowhere and rescues them. Again, satisfying because of the symbolism, as well as the collective “what have I done” moment.
Schlock Mercenary: Many, many occasions. Satisfying because it’s brilliantlylampshaded.
Monty Python and the Holy Grail: “…the animator had a fatal heart attack! The cartoon peril was no more!”
Raiders of the Lost Ark: The Nazis capture Indiana Jones and get the Ark of the Covenant, but when they open it, a supernatural force kills them all. Satisfying because it squares with Indy’s general MO and his pattern of spectacular failures.
The War of the Worlds: The humans are utterly powerless to stop the aliens, but they all die off from germs. Satisfying because of the underlying message.
Does this mean that it’s a good idea to write off any criticism that your own work suffers from a Deus Ex Machina? Probably not. This is one of those things that readers tend not to notice when it’s done well. If your readers notice it, chances are that something is broken.
As you might guess, there’s a lot of gray area as to what constitutes a Deus Ex Machina, and what is actually something else. Generally, if the ending is properly foreshadowed, either by a Chekov’s Gun or by good character development, it’s not a Deus Ex. The foreshadowing removes the “out of nowhere” aspect that readers find so unsatisfying.
Foreshadowing is one way to fix a Deus Ex Machina. Another way is to toss out the ending and rewrite it from scratch, starting at the point where hero starts getting sidelined. According to Dan Wells’ seven point story structure, the hero should typically spend the first half of the story reacting to the villain, and the second half getting the villain to react to him.
There are lots of other ways to fix a Deus Ex Machina, but those are probably the biggest ones. If you have any other suggestions, by all means, suggest away.
June, 1863. In a bid to destroy the Army of the Potomac, Robert E. Lee invades Pennsylvania with an army of 70,000 men. Using the mountains to screen his movements, he advances toward Harrisburg, fully expecting to secure a victory that will end the American Civil War.
But two weeks into the campaign, Stuart’s cavalry still hasn’t reported back, leaving the Confederate army blind. Deep in enemy territory, with reports of the Union advance beginning to trickle in, Lee moves his forces to converge on a small town named Gettysburg.
In the titanic clash that follows, friend will fight against brother, generals will knowingly send thousands of men to their deaths, and the fate of the United States of America will lie in the hands of farmers and mountain men, immigrants, West Point classmates, and a New England professor.
This book is awesome. Epic, in the best and truest sense of the word. I’m not a civil war buff, but it reduced me to tears. The scope is tremendous, and yet at the same time the characters feel like real people.
For some, like Chamberlain, the war is about slavery and equality–something that disturbs him when he comes across a black man for the first time. For others, it’s about states’ rights and self-government. But for most everybody else–including Robert E. Lee–it’s about a myriad of other things, like honor, duty to country, boredom, a desire to prove one’s manhood, and a hunger to be part of something greater.
What’s remarkable is how so many good people, who more often than not respect the opposing side and hold them in the highest regard, end up getting swept into such a horrific and bloody battle. No one, especially the generals, have the power to prevent any of it–all they can do is leave it in the hands of God. And the tragedy of it all is summed up so perfectly in the film rendition of this book, when General Armistead reaches the high-water mark of the Confederacy and falls, only to hear that his friend and classmate on the Union side, General Hancock, has fallen too (skip to 23:15):
“Not both of us! Not all of us! Please, God!”
I’ve been to Gettysburg several times, and stood on the ground where the most critical parts of the battle were decided. And yet, I feel that living as an expat on the other side of the world has given me a much greater appreciation of my country’s history. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons why this book was so moving to me at this time.
Here are some of my favorite quotes:
He was a man to depend on, and there was this truth about war: it taught you the men you could depend on.
According to the now retired General Schwarzkopf, The Killer Angels is “the best and most realistic novel about war that I have ever read.” You really get a sense of what it’s like to be in command–what it’s like to depend on the actions of your men, and what goes through your mind as you lead them. The only other novel I’ve read that comes close to capturing that is Ender’s Game.
If the war goes on–and it will, it will–what else can we do but go on? It is the same question forever, what else can we do? If they fight, we will fight with them. And does it matter after all who wins? Was that ever really the question? Will God ask that question, in the end?”
Robert E. Lee’s words after the Confederate defeat on the third day. There is, of course, some criticism about how much artistic license Michael Shaara took in portraying the central historical figures. Regardless, this novel gave me a much greater respect for Lee and his men. There are no “bad guys” in this book–and therein lies the heart of the tragedy.
In the presence of real tragedy you feel neither pain nor joy nor hatred, only a sense of enormous space and time suspended, the great doors open to black eternity, the rising across the terrible field of that last enormous, unanswerable question.
Well put. I’ve never experienced any tragedy on the scale of the American Civil War, but I do know what it’s like to lose family and loved ones, and this captured a bit of that for me. I can only imagine what it must be like to experience the tragedy of war.
This novel is a classic. If you have any interest in American history, it is absolutely a must-read. And even if you don’t, if you enjoy reading stories about war, whether modern, historical, or fantasy, you will almost certainly enjoy this book.
My muse is about fifteen years younger than me and three thousand years older. She listens to my philosophical dabblings like a younger sister, but is a lot closer to the pulse and rhythm of this world than I have ever been.
She has a soft spot for Homer and the old Greek epics (I suppose that’s right around the time when she got her start at being a muse), but she’s been deeply in love with space adventures since the days of Wells, Burroughs, and Heinlein. Her love of the stars must have started back in the days of the Greeks and Romans, because that’s the only thing that’s ever on her mind. She’s definitely a night owl and I think she spends her nights stargazing while I’m asleep.
In contrast to my blunt, forward, and sometimes overly-aggressive manner, she doesn’t really speak to me unless she knows that I’m listening. She doesn’t slap me upside the head to get me working, and she usually doesn’t come to me until I’ve been slaving away for a good long while. If I choose not to listen to her, she shrugs and walks away without an argument.
As much as I love to toy with ideas, she likes to touch, taste, see, and smell things directly with her own senses. She’s the kind of person who would take off her shoes to walk barefoot in the grass, even if it makes her late to where she’s going. She’s easily distracted and she never really lets me know where she’s going until we get there. However, if I listen and humbly follow her, she always leads me someplace worthwhile.
My muse is very mischievous. Her favorite thing is to give me random flashes of inspiration when I’m in the middle of something else. I can’t tell you how many crazy ideas I’ve had while driving on the highway, or taking a class, or working a mind-numbing job. She teases me, too–if I don’t write everything down in the moment of inspiration, she won’t tell me again until I fall on my knees and beg her.
My muse looks young and innocent, but don’t be deceived. She’s a wanderer who isn’t likely to settle down anytime soon. Blood, violence, battle, and death excite her. She gleefully urges me to torture and confuse my characters as much as I can. Still, deep down, I think she wants the good to win out in the end, and the evil to be revealed for what it really is.
I have no idea why she chose me out of all the writers out there, but she’s been with me long as I can remember. Whatever I do and wherever I go, I know she’ll always be there.
Wow. Ray Bradbury, one of the greatest writers of our time, just passed away at the age of 91. The news is affecting me a lot more than I thought it would.
My first exposure to Bradbury’s work came in seventh grade, when I read Farenheit 451 as part of the required summer reading. Most of the books I read in middle school and high school were quite forgettable, but that one stuck with me, especially the scene with the professors scholars sitting around homeless in front of the fire.
Later in college, when I was just starting to find my footing as a writer, I read Zen and the Art of Writing, and it had quite a positive impact while I was still largely insecure about my own writing. The most memorable piece of advice I gleaned from it was to write about the stuff that really moved me–to infuse all my writing with passion, and not give a damn about those who told me otherwise. That helped give me the strength to tell the stories that I love, which is now a huge part of everything I do.
My favorite Bradbury work is his collection The Martian Chronicles. The stories in that book are just amazing, and infused to the core with passion. I remember breathlessly reading the one about the astronauts who land on Mars, only to find a beautiful Ohio village populated with all of the friends and family that they’d left behind. Wow.
Whenever I pick up a Bradbury story, it’s like having this little old man clasp his hands on my shoulders and, with a gleam in his eye, shake me until I’m sure I’ll never forget it. Every story is like a roller coaster, with stunning heights, beautiful views, and drops that make you scream for your life. It’s awesome.
It brings tears to my eyes to know that he’s gone, but they’re bittersweet tears of the best kind. The man had a rich, full life, and lived to see his work appreciated for how great it truly is. At 27 novels and over 600 short stories, with more than 8 million copies in print in at least 36 languages, he has truly left us a great wealth of literature. Some mourn that the world is a poorer place because of his passing, but I rejoice for how rich the world is because he lived at all.
Goodbye, Ray Bradbury. Your stories truly changed the world.
I’m a huge fan of this trope, as you may be able to tell if you’ve read any of my books. It’s a special form of foreshadowing that lends a mystical, otherworldly flavor. It’s also something that we can relate to: how often have you had a dream that was so powerful, so moving, that it just had to mean something?
When played straight, this trope often implies some sort of all-seeing being who sent the dream on purpose. However, this doesn’t have to be the case. I often find it much more satisfying when we don’t know where the dream came from. It’s very easy to shatter the sense of wonder by over-explaining things, especially when it comes to the dream world.
Of course, the character doesn’t just have to dream of things to come to capture that sense of wonder. They can also dream of times gone by, discovering something previously unknown about the past, or dream of the truth, working through a previously unsolvable problem in their sleep. The mystical, otherworldly flavor still holds true for all of them.
As you might expect, this is a fairly common trope in fantasy. Some prominent examples include:
Lord of the Rings
The Silmarillion
A Game of Thrones
The Black Cauldron
American Gods
Most of the Redwall books
Dragonsflight
Watership down
Why is so popular? Even though dreaming is such a common, universal experience, it’s still shrouded in mystery. It resonates deeply with us because we can all relate to it, and at the same time it opens all sorts of windows into the fantastic because there is so little we understand.
Like I said before, this is sort of a pet trope for me. Consciously or not, I tend to throw in at least one dream sequence in every book I write. It seems to have worked pretty well so far, so I don’t think I’ll be changing that anytime soon.
Unless you have an unhealthy aversion to kissing books, you’re probably familiar with Slap Slap Kiss. It’s common in genre romance, but you’ll often find it in science fiction & fantasy too. When done well, it’s a great way to make sparks fly, but when done poorly…I think you can fill in the rest.
The basic underlying concept is that love and hate are just two sides of the same coin. Both involve strong feelings for another person, the kind that drive you crazy and make it hard to think straight. According to this theory, it’s a lot easier to fall in love with someone you hate than to fall in love with someone you don’t really care about. And once you fall in love, the rest is easy. <snark!>
Of course, it’s possible to go too far. There’s a fine line between “all’s fair” and kicking the dog, and if you cross it…good luck. Alternately, if the slapping doesn’t cross the line, but the kiss doesn’t live up to expectations, it’s also going to fall flat. And if the main reason you invoke this trope is because the plot demands it…let’s just say, you’re doing it wrong.
In general, I think it’s important to keep the following in mind:
The attraction needs to be properly foreshadowed. If the characters start slapping each other without even a hint of sexual tension first, no amount of backpedaling is going to make up for it.
Neither of the characters should tear each other down. There’s a big difference between a slap and a punch (and a roundhouse kick, for that matter). Even though the characters may abuse each other, they have to have at least some mutual respect. After all, Han still called Leia “your highness,” and Leia still complimented Han on his “bucket of bolts” (albeit sarcastically). Once the respect is gone, so is any hint of romance.
The kiss needs to be proportional to the slap. Lots of slap with an innocent little peck is going to feel anticlimactic, while a tap on the chin with a giant make out moment immediately afterward is going to feel melodramatic. The two need to be balanced in order for the trope to work.
The couple should have at least something in common. “Opposites attract” is often just an excuse for shoddy character development. In real life, if the two people don’t have at least something in common, value-wise and personality-wise, the romance is pretty much doomed to fail. As always, however, Your Mileage May Vary.
Finally, even though there are a lot of reasons to hate this trope, there’s a reason we keep coming back to it. What that reason is exactly, I can’t say, but I know it when I see it. After all, you really shouldn’t over analyze some things. Like this video:
At the crossroads of Europe and Asia, Christianity and Islam, the progressive West and the reactionary East, the peoples of the Caucasus lie poised between three empires and their own dreams of independence. And at the city of Baku, where the ancient and unchangeable desert meets the oil rigs of the Caspian Sea, young Ali Shirvanshir has fallen in love with Nino Kipiani, a Georgian and a Christian.
A timeless story of forbidden love, Ali and Nino is both the Romeo and Juliet of the Caucasus and the national novel of Azerbaijan. It is as much a romance as it is a story of the clash of cultures and identities in our rapidly changing modern world. Above all else, it is a beautiful and haunting tale that will leave you dreaming with your eyes open and yearning for lands that you’ve never seen.
This is, quite possibly, the most perfect book I have read all year. I picked it up in Tbilisi from another TLG volunteer on Sunday, and I finished it at a breathless sprint on Wednesday. But while the story was good, it was the writing itself that really captivated me. The simple yet surprisingly rich descriptions of the alien cultures, so dreamlike and yet so straightforward, often to the point of being shocking–here, let me give an example:
“Shamil’s Prayer!” called Iljas Beg to the musicians. Immediately a wild melody arose. Iljas Beg jumped into the middle of the hall. He drew his dagger. His feet moved in the fiery rhythm of the Caucasian Mountain Dance. The blade glittered in his hand. Nino danced up to him. Her feet looked like small strange toys. Shamil’s Mystery began.
We clapped to the rhythm of the music. Nino was the bride to be abducted…Iljas put the dagger between his teeth. Like a bird of prey, his arms outstretched, he circled round the girl. Nino’s feet flew whirling round the hall, her supple arms depicting all stages of fear, despair, and submission. In her left hand she held a handkerchief. Her whole body trembled. Only the coins on her cap lay quietly on her forehead, and that was the correct way–this is the most difficult part of the dance. No one but a Georgian girl can do such fantastically quick turns and not let even one coin on her cap tinkle.
Iljas raced after her. Without stopping, he chased her round and round. The wide gestures of his arms became more and more dominating, Nino’s defensive movements more and more tender. At last she stopped, like a deer overtaken by the hunter. Closer and closer Iljas Beg circled. Nino’s eyes were soft and humble. Her hands trembled. A wild, short howl from the music, and she opened her left hand. The handkerchief fluttered to the floor. And suddenly Iljas Beg’s dagger flew onto the little piece of silk and nailed it to the floor. The symbolic dance was finished.
By the way, did I mention that before the dance, I gave Iljas Beg my dagger and took his? It was my blade that pierced Nino’s handkerchief. It is best to be on the safe side, for a wise rule teaches: “Before you trust your camel to Allah’s protection, tie it fast onto your fence.”
The whole novel is like that, and it’s awesome. The narrative passes from one description to the next, and you feel almost like you’re caught up in a dream, reading a fairy tale. It’s only the railroads and oil rigs, the mention of Paris and London and Moscow, that make you step back and realize that this isn’t a fantasy novel, but something set in our modern world.
And yet, even though it feels like a fairy tale, the author gets a surprising number of things right. Georgians really do have some of the most beautiful eyes of any people. I haven’t yet been inside the sulfur baths at Tbilisi, but everything else in Said’s description of that city is more or less correct. Kakhetian wine really is the most famous within Georgia, and probably the whole Caucasus as well.
The most gratifying thing is to see how it all comes together. Even though the descriptions sometimes feel as lavish as a Persian rug, no word is wasted–there is a good reason for every tangent, solidly grounded in the story. There are plenty of red herrings and Chekhov’s guns to make the plot twists thoroughly satisfying. But never at any point did I feel compelled to try and predict what would come next. I enjoyed the story so much, I was barely aware of the fact that I was reading.
Whether you’re looking for an exotic romance, or you just want to explore a culture thoroughly alien from your own, Ali and Nino is a book you will thoroughly enjoy. If, like me, you have any interest in the Caucasus, you probably won’t be able to stop coming back to it. And if you’re just looking for a good read, I can think of few books that are more perfect than this one.
Last week, I blogged about the Three Faces of Eve trope. But if we’re going to discuss power trios in any depth, we first need to examine the classic Freudian Trio, one of the most prevalent combos and, in some ways, a precursor to all others.
As you might expect, the Freudian Trio borrows heavily from Sigmund Freud, specifically, his theory of the Id, the Ego, and the Superego. The main idea is that the human mind is divided into three parts: the Id, which comprises our basest animal instincts; the Superego, which comprises our concepts of morality and social norms; and the Ego, which struggles to find a balance between the two.
In the Freudian Trio, these elements of the psyche are represented by:
The Kirk (Ego): A pragmatic, free-wheeling character who takes the lead and mediates between the other two. When the the group is in conflict, often resolves it by taking a third option, though this often makes him seem morally ambivalent. In a five-man band, this is the Hero.
Each of these character archetypes are fascinating in their own right, and deserve to be examined in much greater depth. However, in the Freudian Trio, it’s the combination of the three that proves so fascinating.
When faced with an interesting moral dilemma, the McCoy often wants to screw the rules and run in with guns blazing, while the Spock advocates caution, reminding us of the prime directive. Or maybe the McCoy is paralyzed by indecision, while the Spock is the only one cold enough to make the sadistic choice. In either case, the way the Kirk manages to resolve it will almost always reveal something deeper about the world or human nature.
The thing that’s truly amazing is how prevalent this trope is in fiction. To name a few:
Star Wars: Han (Id), Leia (Superego), and Luke (Ego), also:
Star Wars: Emperor Palpatine (Id), Grand Moff Tarkin (Superego), and Darth Vader (Ego).
Ender’s Game: Peter (Id), Valentine (Superego), and Ender (Ego).
Lord of the Rings: Gollum (Id), Sam (Superego), and Frodo (Ego), also:
Lord of the Rings: Gimli (Id), Legolas (Superego), and Agagorn (Ego), also:
Lord of the Rings: Dwarves (Id), Elves (Superego), and Humans (Ego).
Arthurian Legend: Sir Gawain (Id), Sir Lancelot (Superego), and King Arthur (Ego) (I would argue that Guinevere fits the Id role better, but I’m not an expert).
The Dark Knight: The Joker (Id), Harvey Dent (Superego), and Batman (Ego).
The Matrix: Neo (Id), Trinity (Superego), and Morpheus (Ego).
Shaun of the Dead: Ed (Id), Liz (Superego), and Shaun (Ego).
Fullmetal Alchemist: Edward (Id), Alphonse (Superego), and Winry (Ego).
The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya: Haruhi (Id), Yuki (Superego), and Kyon (Ego).
Final Fantasy VI: Kefka (Id), Leo (Superego), and Emperor Gestahl (Ego).
Final Fantasy VII: Barrett (Id), Cloud (Superego), and Tifa (Ego).
Myst: Achenar (Id), Sirrus (Superego), and Atrus (Ego).
Starcraft: Zerg (Id), Protoss (Superego), and Humans (Ego).
Homestar Runner: Strong Mad (Id), Strong Sad (Superego), and Strong Sad (Ego).
The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly: Tuco (Id), Angel Eyes (Superego), and Blondie (Ego).
20,000 Leagues Under the Sea: Ned (Id), Conseil (Superego), and Aronnax (Ego).
Twilight: Jacob (Id), Edward (Superego), and Bella (Ego).
Archie Comics: Veronica (Id), Betty (Superego), and Archie (Ego).
Sometimes, the villains come from a dysfunctional or broken Freudian Trio, where one of the three died, was kicked out, or was never part of the combo in the first place. When this happens, it’s called (aptly enough) a Evil Duo. Examples include Pinkie and the Brain, Lex Luthor and the Joker, and Kefka and Gestahl (though that particular duo was very, very, VERY short lived).
Finally, it’s worth pointing out that the Freudian Trio is so common, it even occurs in real life. Perhaps the best example of this would be World War II, where Churchill was the Id, Stalin was the Superego, and Roosevelt was the Ego. With quotes like “never, never, never, never give up,” Churchill practically embodied the McCoy (his drinking penchant also helped), while Stalin, with his fanatic adherence to communism and his “million is a statistic” approach to the revolution, was as cold and calculating as you can get. FDR was the one who held the alliance together, and it was only after his death that the Cold War really broke out.
Of course, it’s possible that we only see this trope everywhere because our brains are programmed to see it. But if that’s true, it makes for an even stronger argument that the Freudian Trio plays on some powerful, universal archetypes.
Sid Meier’s Alpha Centauri is, without a doubt, the best strategy game I have ever played. I have many fond memories playing it into the early morning hours while I was in college.
The last time I played this game, it quite literally consumed my life. I eventually had to delete it from my computer just to keep up with my schoolwork.
But wow, it’s so good. And the best part, in my opinion, is the story. Unlike other 4x strategy games, where everything is basically up in the air, Alpha Centauri has a very distinct storyline full of interesting twists and turns.
It starts out with a colony mission to (where else?) Alpha Centauri that fractures into seven factions, based not on ethnicity or nationality, but on ideology. These are: the scientists, the religious fundamentalists, the communists, the free-market capitalists, the diplomatists, the militarists, and the environmentalists.
The last faction is my favorite, because the planet itself is a character in this story. As you settle and explore new territory, you come across giant patches of fungus and swarms of hostile mind-worms. The more the game progresses, however, the more you realize that the fungus is part of a giant neural network, and that it’s trying to communicate with you. When you finally learn to communicate back–THAT’S when things get interesting.
Oh man, I love this game. It’s a science fiction classic, reminiscent of Orson Scott Card and Arthur C. Clarke. I just hope I can exercise some self-restraint this time–but hey, if I can moderate how much time I spend on Minecraft, surely I can do the same with Alpha Centauri.
Medea Cafe & Bar, a popular expat hangout in downtown Kutaisi. It’s also something of a landmark because of the conspicuously English street sign.
That’s Georgian for “I ♥ Kutaisi.” Like the New York City ad campaign on which it’s based, it’s become a part of the local culture. You can see it on billboards, street signs, stickers, t-shirts–unlike the US, where it’s uncool to wear a band’s t-shirt at their own concert, everyone was wearing their “I ♥ Kutaisi” shirts at Kutaisoba last week.
So since I’ve been living here in Kutaisi for almost three months, I thought I’d give you all a virtual tour of the city–or at least the downtown area, since Kutaisi is really more like a very big village with a city in the middle. But that’s why I love it.
Tsitelikhidi, or Red Bridge Station.
Our tour starts at the main marshrutka terminal downtown, Tsitelikhidi, or Red Bridge Station. The place is a wonderfully chaotic mess of taxis, buses, and marshrutkas, while their drivers pass the time by smoking cigarettes and yelling at each other. Old women wander around the crowds selling khatchapuri and lavash, while people are constantly coming and going. Interestingly enough, this is also where you can find one of the largest concentrations of apothekas (pharmacies) in the city.
I bought an earwax removal kit from this apotheka, along with a bulb syringe obviously meant for babies. The pharmacist thought that was hilarious.For street performers in Kutaisi, the accordion is the instrument of choice.
The sidewalk leading away from the station leads into a long narrow corridor typical of most Georgian street markets, with stalls and vendors packing every available space. Here you can find cookies, ice cream, and cold drinks, both soft and hard; candles, religious icons, and other “souvenirs,” as the vendors like to call them; cheap plastic goods from China, wrapped in dusty plastic; freshly killed meat hanging from butcher’s windows; and all sorts of other random things. But as busy as this place seems, it’s nothing compared to the main marketplace.
I have no idea what’s all on this frieze, but it looks pretty cool. Also, bangs are very much in fashion.This is actually a pretty good place to buy a belt.
The corridor opens up at the end of the block, to a tunnel which leads underneath the main road (Rustaveli, named after the great medieval Georgian writer) to Mirzani restaurant on the far side. At the mouth of the tunnel, tarps and blankets stretch haphazardly over vendors selling clothes, cheap shoes and cigarettes. Further down the tunnel, you can find more clothes, belts, brassieres, more shoes, and all sorts of fabrics.
We continue past an old building with a giant frieze, presumably depicting scenes from the history of the city. There’s a lot of history to choose from–Kutaisi was the capital of ancient Colchis, and a major regional center throughout the Middle Ages, when locally-born King David the Builder united all of Georgia, turning it into a “land between two seas.”
Alas, no hot peppers.This is where you come to buy flour.The candle-like stuff hanging from the top is churchkhela, strings of hazelnuts dipped in congealed grape extract. I assume the jars immediately beneath them contain wine.
Next, we take a left and promptly get lost in a giant bazaar. Here, you can find all sorts of fruits and vegetables, beef and chicken, bread and cheese, wine and beer–basically, anything that you would usually get from a grocery store in the US. Georgians have grocery stores too, but the bazaars are usually cheaper and fresher. Plus, they’re a whole lot more fun. I’ve heard that you can haggle with the vendors, though the prices are so low (1.5 GEL for a kilo of apples) that I’ve never felt a need.
Rustaveli Avenue.Las Vegas casino. Gambling is big in Georgia.The book market. If I could read Georgian, this is where I would spend most of my time.
We spend a little bit of time wandering around before going to the main city park. Heading up towards Jatchviskhidi, you can find all sorts of pawn shops, casinos, and money exchanging places, while near the library (at least, that’s what I think it is) there’s a mini-bazaar with all sorts of books. Of course, that’s one of my favorite places to check out!
Along Rustaveli Avenue, however, the city takes on a pleasant European feel, with attractive cobblestone streets, wide boulevards, and Napoleonic architecture. Here, you’ll find the opera house, the mayor’s mansion, and the central school (of 44 public schools citywide).
The view from just outside Medea Cafe.One of the many flower gardens in central park.One thing Georgians (or at least, Kutaisians) know how to do right is their public parks.
Next we come to Bulvari, the main central park of Kutaisi. On a hot, muggy day, this is the perfect place to relax, with shady palm and pine trees, attractive public fountains, and plenty of benches to go around. Vendors sell balloons, candy, and ice cream, while at the center, old men with cheap plastic cars take children for a ride around the main circle.
The new fountain at the main square. Some TLGers think it looks kind of tacky, but I think it’s a pretty good attempt to capture some of Kutaisi’s ancient heritage. There’s certainly plenty to choose from.
The main city square is on the other side of the park, with the theater on the left, the banking district on the right, and a giant fountain in the center depicting replicas of ancient Colchian artifacts found in Imereti province. It’s one of the many interesting ways the city has been trying to reinvent itself since the end of the Soviet Union. The statue of David the Builder that once graced this square now stands in front of the train station, at the end of the boulevard that bears the same king’s name.
You can see the back of Mirzani’s across the river. It’s probably the best restaurant in town.Tetrikhidi (White Bridge), with a wedding party posing for photos.The Kutaisi gondola. I don’t know why, but Georgians seem to have a thing for gondolas.
Looping back around, we return to the Rioni river and the neighborhood immediately surrounding Tsitelikhidi. There are actually three bridges here: Tsitelikhidi (Red Bridge), Rustaveliskhidi (Rustaveli Bridge), and Tetrikhidi (White Bridge), a pedestrian bridge next to another attractive garden. From here, a gondola takes visitors over the river to an amusement park at the top of a hill. On the weekends, wedding parties often stop here to take pictures, then speed around the city honking their horns and making noise.
Bagrati Cathedral in the spring.Close up of Bagrati. The reconstruction is actually progressing fairly rapidly.
Heading north, we pass through the markets again and cross over Jatchviskhidi (Chain Bridge) to the right bank of the Rioni. After passing another curbside station–this one for marshrutkas heading to the northern villages–we climb a 200 step staircase and find ourselves at the foot of Bagrati Cathedral.
Bagrati is a thousand year-old Georgian Orthodox church, the largest and most important in the city. After the Turks razed it in the 18th century, it lay in ruins for hundreds of years. But now, with Georgia’s newly-won independence and the economic boom fueled by the IMF and other foreign investors, the historic cathedral is under reconstruction. I probably won’t be here when it’s finished, but I definitely want to come back and see it when it is.
The view looking southeast.The view looking southwest. The mountains in the distance are the Lesser Caucasus, about 4000 meters above the elevation of the city.View from the steps leading up to Bagrati. Kutaisi has a lot of churches.
Bagrati Cathedral sits on an imposing hill with a magnificent view of the whole city. Here, you get a sense of just how big Kutaisi really is. It’s not a tall city, or a particularly busy city, but compared to the rest of Georgia outside of Tbilisi, it’s pretty huge.
Unlike Tbilisi, however, the city has had very little exposure to the West. People still stop to stare curiously at foreigners, and hardly anyone speaks English. It’s much quieter than Tbilisi, too, with fewer cars, more parks, and lots of gardens and orchards, even in the more crowded districts. People live closer to the land, and travel often to the outlying villages where they still have friends and family.
Perhaps the best way to put it is that Kutaisi still possesses that sense of rustic Caucasian innocence that Tbilisi has since lost. You can hear it in the way people laugh and see it in the way they kiss and are kissed by their children. For a city that was legendary long before the maps showed America as a separate continent, that’s no small thing.
