Authorial Endnotes to Grail

Writing Grail has given me the chance to take on one of my most favorite plotlines in X-Men ever. I'm hardly alone in my fascination. The (Dark) Phoenix Saga seems to make regular appearances in almost any version of X-Men from the "616" (original) universe, to later cartoons, to the Ultimate line, to, now, the films. It's almost as immortal as its subject.

The comics original had all kinds of crazy stuff. Adventures on the moon, space shuttles, space aliens, a telepathic lecher, a disco diva - et al. - and of course, a planet-eating cosmic entity. It was, at times . . . well - silly. One has to take it all with a grain of salt. Beyond the silliness, the basic theme of the Phoenix Saga still stands as a tribute to why X-Men has been popular for over half a century. In Grail, I was able to do the Phoenix Saga as I'd want to tell it. Phoenix is Jean, plain and simple, not a demi-goddess clone of Jean, an alternate personality, or anything else. The "Dark Phoenix" is that part inside all of us that must negotiate the boundaries between right and wrong. As Kurt told Warren near the story's beginning, one interpretation of the Garden of Eden story tells that Adam and Eve fell not because they wanted to be bad, but because they wanted to be good. I find that far more interesting. (Wildly cackling evil geniuses have just never done it for me.) Jean's struggle in Grail is the same one faced by any person in a position of power who takes that responsibility seriously. Where are the lines in the sand? And how much harder to judge when the power is so great?

Jean's choice at the end reflects a theme I've tried to address throughout the novel. Extreme choices may be dramatic, but aren't necessarily mature. As far as I'm aware, in all the various takes on the Phoenix Saga, it's never ended in quite the way it does here. Even Chris Claremont's intended original ending - which had a depowered Jean, not a dead one - had the change done TO her, not by her, and she was depowered completely . . . made fully human.

This leads us to the book's real mystery - not who's haunting the mansion (that's fairly obvious, fairly quickly). The real mystery is why Jean left the plane in the first place - and of course, the reader had the answer (more or less) from Chapter One. She committed suicide, or tried. Scott just wasn't (entirely) right as to why. Yet her sacrifice wasn't noble. It was extreme, an immature choice. Just as Jean choosing, at the end, to become a demi-goddess beyond humanity would also have been a tempting, dramatic - but extreme - choice. A more mature Jean, at that point, chose something else. She came back because she had a responsibility to Scott. (And yes, that's a different choice from the one she made in Climb the Wind, but that was a different situation - and different Scott, as well.)

Eschewing the extreme is found even in the conclusion of the trio storyline. Jean and Warren are inclined to make a (melo)dramatic "one time only" decision that would sound noble, but would (probably) prove impossible to keep. Scott tells them the truth - they'll all end up in bed together again, and may as well acknowledge its inevitability rather than feel guilty when it occurs. Yet he also doesn't attempt (as Phoenix did) to deny the obvious social approbation they might face. So while they'll end up there again, it just won't happen very often - and doesn't really need to.

And I found, after writing this, that a number of readers wanted to know if Jean ever would get her baby, and if it'd be Scott's. The answer it, she will get a baby, but it'll be Warren's, although acknowledged by Scott, and will go on to inherit Worthington Enterprises. Meanwhile, she and Scott will adopt a number of mutant children, including Clarice. In this universe, there will be no Nate or Rachel. It's just too dangerous.

Now, the mythological aspects . . . The Matter of Britain and the Grail Legend are probably better thought of as a matrix of various mythological threads - a web - than a linear progression. It's very hard, now, to be sure what influenced what, and in what order. Some paths of progression are obvious, others not so much so. All that said, let me state that I'm no expert on this mythology, though it's long fascinated me, and I think what fascinates me most is the intersection of Pagan, Jewish, and Christian symbology.

Quickly, and for the curious in-the-know, the texts on which I've primarily relied for imagery (though not in toto) are Chrétien de Troyes' Percival, mentioned by Xavier at one point, and Wolfram von Eschenbach's Parzival. In these earlier texts, it is Percival who functions as the narrator and primary Grail Knight, not Galahad, who is better known via Mallory and Tennyson - or Mary Stewart and Marion Zimmer Bradley. And - we must not forget - Monty Python.

The (wounded) Fisher King is not Arthur, although sometimes they're conflated. The Fisher King is Amfortas, and his brother is the hermit Trevrezent. They lead the Templars, who guard the Grail, and it is a conversation with Trevrezent that grants Percival understanding that he's the one who can (via the Grail) heal the wounded and agonized Amfortas. Likewise, it is Xavier who guides the trio, without necessarily being part of it. (And yes, Logan also functions somewhat in that capacity.)

The nature of the Fisher King's wound is initially aspecific, although it's later linked to the lance that pierced the side of Christ. But really, the character is an amalgam, which is part of why his nature and function are extremely hard to figure out in the mythology. He's many things at once, and none of them adequately. This struck me as appropriate to Scott, who tries to be Scott, Cyclops, teacher, field leader, 'husband,' son, friend . . . he can't make up his mind. His own wounding contributes to his need to please, and thus, until he's healed, he limps along in all his roles. As he says in his final diary entry, he does things because "someone has to." It's only at the very end that he begins to take tentative steps towards defining himself in his own terms. Like Jean, he's finally growing up.

It is Warren (Percival) who unites Jean and Scott (both earlier in the semi-prequel Special, and again in Grail) - and for that act, he is, in truth, the angel/saint who guards the Grail, which isn't power or magic, at all, but selfless love. His mutation makes a lovely symbol for Grail's Percival.

So just what is the specific connection between the Phoenix and the Grail?

Perhaps most obviously, amazing, magical powers of healing are attributed to both mythic figures. Both could bring back the wounded even from the edge of death. Although the Grail is probably best known as the cup used at the Last Supper, as well as the one in which Joseph of Arimathea caught the blood of the crucified Christ, that is almost certainly a later imposition. Originally, it was a platter, and may reference the Cauldron of Cerdiwen. By the Late Middle Ages, both the (Oriental) Phoenix legend and the (Occidental) Grail legend were Christological symbols of both resurrection and redemption.

Yet what particularly interested me is that, in Wolfram, the grail either was or contained the stone lapis exilis. This special blue stone was the very one from which the Phoenix kindled its death flame. Scott's eyes, of course, are blue.

And if Scott is healed by the Grail (Jean), he is also the one for whom Jean chooses (ultimate) death - to give up the power of resurrection and immortality in favor of companionship and love, the greatest healing powers of all.

Acknowledgements: As always, my novels are never just my own work. Quite a number of other people contribute to the final product, and deserve to be thanks for that. Please remember that Naomi Kraus has been a part of this book from the beginning, faithfully editing it, and ridesandruns has also offered some pinch-hit edits and assistance on Trish/TV reporting.

Last, Leslie. Without Leslie, this novel simply couldn't have been written. It's not every author who's lucky enough to have a virologist in her hip pocket, advising and keeping her from making all manner of stupid errors. I hope she's had as much fun playing mad scientist coming up with Legacy as I had writing it. But seriously, the medical material owes entirely to her instruction. I've wanted to take on Legacy for a long time, but didn't want to make hash of it. Leslie kept me from doing that.

Thanks for joining me on the ride. This was the last novel I wrote for X-Men, and I feel it let me go out with a bang. :-)