Arthur Does Camelot (review)

In the ever-expanding corpus of Arthurian narrative, Tim Desmondes' Arthur Does Camelot is destined to remain in the margins. This review, then, is destined to be little more than a footnote to a footnote in Arthurian history. As the title implies, this little novel is meant to be little more than a fanciful entertainment; nevertheless, it does make a few promises to its readers, few of which it satisfies with any consistency.

The first promise is implied by the title, the second by the prefatory material, and the third by the no-nonsense, 'Let's get real' style of the narrative—an approach to Arthurian material well within the American de-bunking tradition originated by Mark Twain and continued in the Arthurian novels of John Erskine, both of whom are far more skillful than Desmondes. As an example of the 'let me tell you what really happened' pseudo-insider voice of the narrative, the revision of the Sword in the Stone episode may be instructive. The usual cast is gathered around the usual stone with the usual sword inserted. After several failed attempts to release said sword from said stone, Myrddin commands Arthur to 'withdraw the sword from the stone.'

The Pixie ensconced within knew this was the signal to withdraw the bolt. Arthur stepped up, his boyish features aglow, his muscles bulging through his tunic. He grabbed the sword with two hands and it slipped right out of the stone…. And it was all staged and arranged by Myrddin. Theatricality, intoxicating smoke, high drama. That old rascal Myrddin had accomplished a miracle. Britain had a high king again, a Pen-Dragwn

(p. 64)

And there it is. A little gimmick and a myth is exposed, thudding into irrelevance like the mysteries of The Da Vinci Code. The simplicity of the device is typical of Desmondes' invention, as a legend is exposed to reveal something remarkably prosaic and not terribly clever and not really convincing as an 'insider secret.' Typical, too, is the bombast and redundancy of the prose. Also typical is Desmondes' attempt at sixth-century local color and a linkage of history and legend as he conflates the Pixies and the Picts.

This pretend authenticity is introduced in an 'Introduction' that makes some rather grand claims, although I doubt they are meant to be taken seriously and are in the Arthurian tradition going back at least as far as the Archdeacon Walter and the British book that Geoffrey of Monmouth claims as his source. Desmondes claims to have consulted 'sixth- and seventh-century Latin sources' (p. 1). For those scholars who would be extremely interested in locating these elusive early sources, Desmondes helpfully advises us that they 'were written on parchment and have been preserved in abbeys, monasteries, private collections and museums' (p. 1). A little more precision (even if faked) would have made the argument more persuasive. Desmondes fulfills the promises of this introduction by littering the text with pseudo-Celtic revisions of Arthurian names and allusions to British customs, such as Wicca and the wicker man and a robust sort of justice, as when Octa and Eosa are captured and 'now, enslaved and branded prisoners of the British people, the two English waldas were stripped, painted blue, emasculated and allowed to bleed to death in the presence of all' (p. 41). Public emasculations are remarkably frequent occurrences in Desmondes' Camelot.

Finally, the title leads to the most unfulfilled promise of them all. 'Arthur Does Camelot' implies a roguish romp through the back alleys of Camelot with Arthur as an unlikely Don Juan and Lancelot/Leporello as his partner in a carnival of pan-sexual romps. Unfortunately, while there is a good deal of sex in the book, it is generally perfunctory, pallid, brief, and dull. As a random example, the story of Gwalchmai's father will serve:

Morgan spread her legs to receive the penis of any male who struck her fancy. And from what I've heard, it did not require much...