Because everyone loves a good story
Stage Five: Crossing the First Threshold
Life Lessons in Yosemite
A couple summers ago, my husband, sister, brother-in-law, and I went backpacking in Yosemite, California. I’d backpacked there for 4 days in previous years, so I thought I knew what to expect. I mean, how much harder is it to hike for 8 days instead of 4? Mathematically, the answer is 2 times harder. Realistically, the answer is 3,200 times harder. Math did not prepare me for this. Let me tell you, if I’d known how hard this adventure would be, it would have required a lot more convincing for me to step outside backpacker’s camp the first day. But as it was, I took my first step with blissful ignorance.
The scenery was absolutely to die for, and there were times we nearly did just that. We fought off hordes of mosquitoes the size of pterodactyls, we ate freeze-dried beans for every meal, we scrabbled up mountain trails with a 90° incline, and we did all this while wearing packs that were four times our body weight. But the scenery was terrific.
The last hike was the most brutal. We had saved the most challenging hike for last, so we were already exhausted. Since there was no flowing water on that trail, we also had to carry an extra gallon of water all day. (Did you know that a gallon of water weighs 8 pounds? Did you know that 8 pounds feels like 100 when you’re climbing up a mountain?) I also thought we were low on food, so I didn’t eat much as we toiled upward. Needless to say, I was not feeling like a mighty mountain man by the end of that hike. In fact, I was the last one to reach the top, and I probably looked less like a hiker taking a final step and more like a puddle of primordial ooze seeping my way over the stone ledge.
But we’d made it. And it was worth it.
Crossing the First Threshold
I’m sure you’re wondering why on earth I’m writing about the end of an adventure when this article is supposed to be about the beginning. Let me tell you why. In a sense, the last leg of the journey wasn’t difficult. It was exhausting, of course, but it wasn’t difficult. See, when we took our first step out of backpacker’s camp the first morning, we’d already determined to make it to the top of Cloud’s Rest and back again. We would get to the summit no matter how long it took us. And trust me, it took us a long time. But there was nothing complicated about it because we’d already made that decision when we crossed the first threshold.
In an adventure, as well as in life, the first step is often the hardest to take. Sure, you may be exhausted by the end, making progress just inches at a time. But in a sense, that is still easier than taking the first step, because the first step is the commitment. The next steps of the adventure begin to fall like dominoes, but only after you’ve managed to cross the first threshold.
“Crossing the First Threshold is an act of the will in which the hero commits wholeheartedly to the adventure,” says Christopher Vogler (127). That act of the will must be prompted by something, whether an external event, an internal one, or a combination of the two. Remember when we discussed the hero’s refusal of the call to adventure? Well, something needs to change his or her mind. Sometimes merely meeting with the mentor provides the motivation. Sometimes a circumstance changes or a problem intensifies. It’s even possible that the hero doesn’t choose to cross the threshold but is forced across anyway. In Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Alice doesn’t exactly choose to fall down the rabbit hole; she slips in by accident. But whether by the design of the hero or of some higher power in the story, the hero must cross the first threshold in order to begin the adventure.
Example from The Hobbit
The same is true for Bilbo Baggins in The Hobbit. Upon hearing the dangerous proposition of the adventure, Bilbo has fainted. After he recovers in another room, he creeps back to where the dwarves are talking in the parlour and finds that they are talking about him. Gloin says, “’…As soon as I clapped eyes on the little fellow bobbing and puffing on the mat, I had my doubts. He looks more like a grocer than a burglar!’
“Then Mr Baggins turned the [door] handle and went in. The Took side had won. He suddenly felt he would go without bed and breakfast to be thought fierce. As for little fellow bobbing on the mat it almost made him really fierce. Many a time afterwards the Baggins part regretted what he did now….” (18). He signed himself right up for the adventure. By turning the handle on that parlour door, he crossed his first inner threshold.
Of course, he stalled out once more before actually setting off, but you can read all about that interaction in last week’s post about meeting with the Mentor. When all was said and done, Bilbo rushed from his cozy hobbit hole and into a grand and unknown adventure, crossing the first threshold with—well, if not with confidence, at least with gumption. Little does he know what’s in store for him next.
Today’s Question: In your own life, can you think of a time that you crossed an important threshold? What consequences did it have later on?
Sources
Vogler, Christopher. The Writer’s Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers, Second Edition. Studio City: Michael Wiese Productions, 1998.
Tolkien, J.R.R. The Hobbit. New York: Ballantine Books, 1937.
Stage Four: Meeting with the Mentor
Master and apprentice. Jedi and Padawan. Executive chef and sous chef. Store manager and shelf stocker. As you can see, the world is full of Mentors.
So far in our study of Christopher Vogler’s version of the Hero’s Journey, the hero has received a Call to Adventure and has promptly refused the Call. So how is the story supposed to get rolling again? Enter, the Mentor.
Everyone knows about Mentors because most adventures feature at least one. But why, exactly, is that so? Because Mentors play a vital role in the story: they make sure that “the hero gains the supplies, knowledge, and confidence needed to overcome fear and commence the adventure” (117). Many heroes start out feeling a little unsure and unqualified. It’s a Mentor’s job to make sure the hero overcomes these and other obstacles in order to get the hero out the door.
What Makes a Mentor?
So how do they accomplish this? Often, the Mentor will provide the hero with a physical item that helps throughout the story. It could be a book for wisdom, a weapon for protection, a map for direction, or even just a clue to get them searching. But anyone can go around handing out swords and maps; that doesn’t make them a Mentor. The difference is that Mentors will always impart confidence to the hero, convincing him or her that the quest is possible and necessary. As Vogler says, “Even if physical gifts are given, Mentors also strengthen the hero’s mind to face an ordeal with confidence” (121).
Anyone can go around handing out swords and maps; that doesn’t make them a Mentor.
But although everyone is familiar with the Mentor stereotype, that doesn’t mean that every adventure has to include a wonderful fairy godmother or a shaman-like Yoda. Sometimes the Mentor surprises us by deceiving the hero, making mistakes, refusing to let the hero move on, or turning out to be a bust after all. For example, Oz, the great and powerful wizard, is no more than a blundering, bluffing old man behind a curtain. Not much of a Mentor. However, Glinda the good witch provides “aid, advice, and magical equipment” to get the story “unstuck” (124). Now, that’s a Mentor.
Even Mentors Make Mistakes
In some stories, a Mentor with good intentions gives the best advice he can manage, but it still turns out badly in the end. This type of story is a tragedy. No, really; I mean the genre is that of the tragedy. For example, in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, Friar Lawrence wisely cautions the impulsive Romeo about his newest romantic interest, Juliet. However, the friar ultimately decides to marry the young couple anyway, hoping it will bring peace between the families. He is also responsible for Juliet’s fake death and, indirectly, for the fact that Romeo never got the memo that the death was, indeed, fake. As you know, the warring families did make peace in the end, but only after half of the characters are dead and bleeding on the stage. Ultimately, the friar was right but certainly not in the way he’d planned. Oh well. Romeo wasn’t much of a hero anyway.
Examples from The Hobbit
In Tolkien’s The Hobbit, Bilbo’s Mentor is obviously Gandalf. After their initial meeting in which Bilbo refuses the Call to Adventure, Gandalf continues to mentor him, pushing him away from his familiar way of life and talking about him as though he were a qualified burglar. However, Bilbo remains uncommitted to the Adventure until it’s almost too late. The dwarves have left long before Bilbo wakes up that morning, and he begins to think he’s off the hook. If he’d been more familiar with Gandalf, no doubt he would have known better. Sure enough, just as Bilbo is sitting down to his second breakfast, the wizard arrives, blustering on about the message that the dwarves had left—a message that Bilbo had overlooked. It politely thanks him for his hospitality and expects him to meet them at 11:00—punctually.
“’That leaves you just ten minutes. You will have to run,’ said Gandalf.
“’But—,’ said Bilbo.
“’No time for that either! Off you go!’
“To the end of his days Bilbo could never remember how he found himself outside, without a hat, a walking-stick or any money…running as fast as his furry feet could carry him down the lane” (29-30).
After that final Meeting with the Mentor, Bilbo was off to accomplish the next stage of the Hero’s Journey: Crossing the First Threshold.
Today’s Question: Think of a character who fulfills the role of Mentor. How does he or she provide the “supplies, knowledge, [or] confidence” that the hero needs?
Sources:
Vogler, Christopher. The Writer’s Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers, Second Edition. Studio City: Michael Wiese Productions, 1998.
Tolkien, J.R.R. The Hobbit. New York: Ballantine Books, 1937.
Stage Three: Refusal of the Call to Adventure
Let’s imagine that you’re a hero. Now, some people are born heroes, and others have heroism thrust upon them. You’re the second kind of hero.
So you’re living your life, minding your own business and trying to get from day to day just like the next guy. Your life isn’t perfect, but you have your routine and you’re managing to cope very nicely, thankyouverymuch. Sure, there are problems with the world, with your family, and maybe even with your own personality, although why that’s anyone else’s business is, quite frankly, beyond you. But for the most part, things are fine.
Suddenly you’re presented with a massive choice, an opportunity to make a change not just for yourself but for the world as you know it. It will be drastic, and you will never be the same when (or if) you return. Do you jump on the opportunity without hesitation? Or are you a little hesitant to commit to this mysterious and formidable quest? Most likely, the latter.
The Third Stage
Given that the second stage of the Hero’s Journey is the Call to Adventure, would you care to guess the third stage? You’ve got it—the Refusal of the Call. If you surmised that based on the normal, human reaction to a Call, then you’re a smarty pants. If you guessed that because you read my earlier article where I listed all 12 stages…you’re still a smarty pants, but you kind of cheated too.
Regardless, the Refusal of the Call is a common initial reaction for many heroes from myths to stories to films. “Refusal may be a subtle moment, perhaps just a word or two of hesitation between receiving and accepting a Call,” writes Vogler. “Refusal may be a single stop near the beginning of the journey, or it may be encountered at every step of the way, depending on the nature of the hero” (114).
But doesn’t the refusal make the hero less heroic? I don’t think so. In fact, Vogler says that “this doubt is more interesting than knowing that the hero will rise to every occasion. Such questions create emotional suspense for the audience, who watch the hero’s progress with uncertainty hanging in the back of their minds” (112).
Refusals Come in Different Shapes
Besides, the refusal doesn’t have to be an all-out tantrum. It may be just a brief moment of reluctance, like Jasmine’s slight hesitation before answering Aladdin’s “Do you trust me?” by jumping out a window with him. It could be an internal battle culminating in a difficult decision, like Frodo’s decision to take the ring to Mordor. And sometimes the hero just needs a little more motivation before he will accept the Call. Take, for example, Luke Skywalker in “A New Hope.” He isn’t ready simply to drop his boring but familiar life on Tatooine and follow Obi-Wan, all willy-nilly, into some intergalactic struggle. But when he returns home and finds nothing but the charred remains of his…er, former life, it flips a switch in him. He is suddenly ready to accept the Call to Adventure.
Examples from The Hobbit
In our hero Bilbo Baggins, we find a strong hesitation to join in on the foolhardy expedition proposed by Gandalf and the dwarves. He flat out refuses Gandalf’s original Call by saying, “’Sorry! I don’t want any adventures, thank you. Not today. Good morning!’” (6). The next day, however, the dwarves enter his home, eat his food, and pitch their proposition that Bilbo be the burglar on their adventure “’from which some of us, or perhaps all of us… may never return,’” Thorin adds (17). Bilbo’s Refusal of the Call is more emphatic this time. “At may never return he began to feel a shriek coming up inside, and very soon it burst out like the whistle of an engine coming out of a tunnel.” He collapses on the rug, “shaking like a jelly that was melting,” and later proceeds to sleep through their departure (17).
However, it would have been a short book indeed if Bilbo had stayed home with his warm fire, his arm chair, and his multitude of adequate handkerchiefs. This is why he soon entered the next stage of the Hero’s Journey, which is Meeting with the Mentor.
Today’s Question: Can you think of a hero who initially refuses the Call to Adventure? What is his or her reason for the refusal?
Sources:
Vogler, Christopher. The Writer’s Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers, Second Edition. Studio City: Michael Wiese Productions, 1998.
Tolkien, J.R.R. The Hobbit. New York: Ballantine Books, 1937.
Think Spring: A Small Tribute to the Season
If you were to pay tribute to one facet of spring, what would it be?
I’ve lived for years in both Michigan and South Texas, and I can tell you that spring is a season of hope, wonder, and delight no matter where you’re from.
I know, I know; if you live in the frozen tundra called the North, spring feels like the proverbial carrot dangled in front of the horse—the weary, frozen, hopeless horse, you’d probably like to add. You’re told that if you just keep plodding along week after week, you’ll eventually get to sink your teeth into that most delectable of seasons. You rather doubt it, yet on you plod. Really, what choice do you have? Besides, you tell yourself, there was that one day last week, that 60-degree nibble that tasted of the coming thaw…but that was the day before the four-inch snow dump. The horse rolls its eyes, gives up hope, and plops its rump in the nearest snowbank.
But you know you still love spring.
If you’re from the deep south, you may have blinked and missed spring entirely. I remember one February day several years ago; I stepped outside my Texas apartment and realized suddenly that it was spring! The sun, the smells, the air itself told me so. I was giddy with excitement. So long, sweaters! Spring has sprung! But by noon that day it was already summer, and I needed some sun screen. The mild temperatures seemed to last all of four hours that year, but they were sweet indeed. You southerners may be able to relate.
But you know you still love spring.
See, no matter where you’re from or how dissatisfied you are with the current state of your state, you just can’t help loving this freshest of all seasons.
Here are a few things I’ve fallen in love with again this spring:
*The sight of red-breasted robins eyeballing the ground for worms, even though it’s still snowing
*Little shoots of green peeking through the dirt where you didn’t even know flowers were planted
*Ducks waddling through puddles and quacking like raspy old women who’ve smoked three packs a day since kindergarten
*The smell of fresh, damp earth just starting to warm up in the sunshine
*Canada geese bobbing their heads at you and honking like the squeak of a straw through a plastic lid
I could list many more things I love, but by the time I finished, it would be summer. The Modern American poet e.e. cummings also celebrated his joyful, childlike exuberance about the season in a poem that we call “in Just-”
The poem goes on in much the same fashion for two-ish more stanzas (if you can call the stanzas), but you get the picture. Cummings is excited about spring. I mention his poem to say this: you can’t possibly have stranger and less-relatable aspects of spring to share, so don’t feel shy.
Go ahead—what do you love about spring?
Stage Two: The Call to Adventure
In our last installment of the Hero’s Journey, we looked at the importance of establishing the Ordinary World of the hero. This glimpse into a day in the life of our hero is vital to our understanding of who she is and where she comes from. But every adventure eventually has to move into the world of adventure or else it won’t be much of an…adventure, if you know what I mean. Ergo, the Call to Adventure.
What the Call Looks Like
But what does this Call look like? Well, it can come in many forms: receiving a message or news, a sudden political or personal turn of events, an inner longing to follow someone or find something, one small incident that becomes the last straw, or even the hero’s decision that he has finally had enough of the status quo.
Sometimes the call isn’t the gaining of new information but the loss of something important. “The Call could be the kidnapping of a loved one or the loss of anything precious, such as health, security, or love,” says Vogler (103). The movie “Taken” is an obvious example of a Call to Adventure in the form of a loss because the man’s daughter is, well…taken. However, I am not prepared to comment on the movie itself at this time, your honor.
Look, the Call to Adventure could be as simple as someone literally just calling the hero to join in the adventure. I shall refer once again to Luke Skywalker. (I may do that from time to time because, one, I adore the original trilogy, and two, George Lucas used Joseph Campbell’s stages of the Hero’s Journey as a reference for the plot of Star Wars: Episode IV, “A New Hope.” In fact, Lucas referred to Campbell as “my Yoda.” This is a true saying and worthy of all acceptance. Skeptical? Read the article for yourself. I don’t mind.)
George Lucas referred to Joseph Campbell as “my Yoda.” For real.
Anyway, I digressed from my example. I was merely going to point out that in “A New Hope,” the Call to Adventure was just that: Obi Wan calls Luke from his boring farm life on Tatooine into the adventurous world of the Rebellion. And, five movies and a billion fans later, I’m sure that Luke is glad he accepted.
Examples from The Hobbit
To cite another example that I love, The Hobbit gives a delightful, two-part Call to Adventure. The first call is from Gandalf, and it’s just as direct as Obi-Wan’s. Gandalf says to Bilbo, “’I am looking for someone to share in an adventure that I am arranging, and it’s very difficult to find anyone.’
“’I should think so—in these parts! We are plain quiet folk and have no use for adventures. Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things! Make you late for dinner! I can’t think what anybody sees in them,’ said our Mr Baggins…” (4).
But while Bilbo ducks out of that Call, he gets a renewed Call to Adventure when his house suddenly fills with thirteen unknown dwarves who are under the impression (thanks to a certain grey-cloaked wizard) that Bilbo would be a decent burglar on their quest.
Now, for many heroes, this Call to Adventure is sure to come as a shock. Therefore, most heroes—even the good ones—are likely to meet this Call to Adventure with the next stage in the Hero’s Journey: the Refusal of the Call.
Today’s Question: Think of the Call to Adventure in a book, movie, or story that you know. How is the call presented to the hero?
Sources:
Vogler, Christopher. The Writer’s Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers, Second Edition. Studio City: Michael Wiese Productions, 1998.
Tolkien, J.R.R. The Hobbit. New York: Ballantine Books, 1937.
the cup: a poem for Good Friday
the cup—
as deep as time, yet pre-creation filled
with anger, blood-thick, brimming,
breaking holy heart with plans for man—
cup-fillers—and for One, the Son,
who could not add a drop but did not stop
His dust-designing, Spirit-breathing,
choice-allowing plan to rescue
man.
the Man of Sorrows, Rescuer, foreplanned
Cup-Drinker, staggered by the thought of
fellowship lost with Father—brief eternity—
yearns for mercy, any other way to save
merciless murderers, friendless fiends who
scream for blood on wooden beams.
“Father, let this wrath-cup pass,
yet not My will…” the answer, only
silence.
willing, ready, joy-pursuing,
mercy-laden Lamb, Messiah, stands
and grasps with piercéd hands
the cup of wrath
alone.
then drinking down unmellowed fury,
staggering, certain, undeserving Sacrifice
sufficing holy plan’s demand by
quaffing final dregs and drops, ‘til
righteous wrath is satisfied with
“it is finished!”
my bitter drink exchanged for pain and blood.
His bloody death exchanged for mercy, free and full.
the Father’s mercy calls me, bids me daily look
inside the wrath-cup Christ took, drank, and drained—
forever
empty.
Stage One: The Ordinary World
Luke Skywalker does farm chores for his Uncle Owen on Tatooine. The Pevensie children begin their Narnian adventure in the quiet old house of Professor Kirke. Harry Potter starts out in a cookie cutter house on Privet Drive.
That is to say, every adventure begins in an Ordinary World.
The Importance of the Ordinary
In Christopher Vogler’s book The Writer’s Journey, the first stage of The Hero’s Journey is that of the Ordinary World. “The Special World of the story is only special if we can see it in contrast to a mundane world of everyday affairs from which the hero issues forth,” says Vogler (85). But does that mean it has to be ordinary in our sense of the word? No way. What’s ordinary to Luke Skywalker is certainly not ordinary to us, unless you happen to work on a desolate moisture farm on a two-sun planet. The whole point of the Ordinary World is to show us what reality is like for our hero—just a day in the life, if you will.
Sounds pretty simple, right? But don’t be deceived. The audience may see just a day in the life, but a good writer has much more going on underneath. Since the beginning of a story is the first thing an audience encounters, it’s important to start off right and make it count. That’s why, when it’s done well, the Ordinary World can prepare the audience for the whole rest of the story.
Fitting a Lot into the Ordinary
For example, a good Ordinary World scene will accomplish all kinds of things, like introducing us to the hero, providing a contrast for the Special World, foreshadowing upcoming action, showing us what’s missing in the hero or in the world, and even introducing the theme of the whole story.
Zow! Pulling off a good Ordinary World scene is more pressure than the first day of junior high! But there are still plenty of stories that accomplish all that and more.
In my opinion, two of the most important questions to answer in the Ordinary World are “Who is the hero?” and “What is at stake?” We want to meet our hero, see her reactions, find out what makes her tick. And we want to know what’s wrong in the hero’s world. Is he lacking something? Is his world in danger? “Scripts often fail because the stakes simply aren’t high enough. A story in which the hero will only be slightly embarrassed or inconvenienced if he fails is likely to get the ‘So what?’ reaction from readers” (94). And that, my friends, is not the reaction any writer is going for.
In my opinion, two of the most important questions to answer in the Ordinary World are “Who is the hero?” and “What is at stake?”
Examples from The Hobbit
So, as promised, I’m going to find all 12 stages of The Hero’s Journey in Tolkien’s The Hobbit. Thankfully, this one is easy to find; everyone knows that the Ordinary World of Bilbo Baggins is the Shire. When the story opens, we see Bilbo just chillaxing, standing next to the freshly-painted door of his cozy little hobbit hole. He’s smoking his long, wooden pipe and feeling comfortable and happy. His meals are regular (and frequent), his days are unhurried, and his life is his own. What could possibly go wrong in this sunny little corner of the Shire?
Oh, what indeed?
The fact that his world is so perfect is a hint at what’s at stake for him: an adventure would most certainly change Bilbo’s routine, his personality, and his life. But we have to meet the dwarves before we can discover that the stakes are even higher. And at that point, The Hobbit will progress from the Ordinary World to the next stage: the Call to Adventure!
Today’s Question: Think of the Ordinary World of a book, movie, or story you know. How does it do a good job of introducing the hero?
Sources:
Vogler, Christopher. The Writer’s Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers, Second Edition. Studio City: Michael Wiese Productions, 1998.
Tolkien, J.R.R. The Hobbit. New York: Ballantine Books, 1937.
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