Father's day: Notable dads in fiction

In celebration of the Father's Day I decided to make a list of the notable dads I've come across in fiction: books, movies, and cartoons.

Warning: spoilers below.

Atticus Finch from To Kill a Mockingbird.

The first name, and I'm already in tears.  

It is a sin to kill a mockingbird. Mockingbirds don’t do one thing but make music for us to enjoy.

This story is so painful and so beautiful that has me in tears every time. Atticus Finch is the widowed father of Scout and Jem. A lawyer who defends a black man in the 1930s., defends him despite the racism of the time, despite the threats against is family, and despite becoming a "nigger-lover." Atticus is also reprimanded by his sister for the way he raises up his children, especially his daughter Scout, who's a free spirit, rebellious, and as unprejudiced as her father. If, for some reason, the reader doesn't fall in love with the Atticus who speaks justice from the pages of Harper Lee's masterpiece, they have no means of escape the moment Gregory Peck appears on screen, exuding humbleness, sorrow, justice, and just incredible acting.

Goriot from Le Pere Goriot.

Oh dear, where do I start? Goriot has to be the most dejected father figure in fiction. Drove himself to bankruptcy to support his two daughters, only to be neglected by both. Set in a post-Napoleonic era, the story of Father Goriot is of love, sacrifice, poverty and greed. Old Goriot, who has once prospered making vermicelli, lives now in a boarding house and continues to dot upon his two daughters, both of them married and living in high society. Devoting his life, love, time and money to his daughters, Delphine and Anastasie, Father Goriot didn't even suspect those two ungrateful leeches would continue sucking his blood even after being married into prosperity and wealth. Delphine has sold her mother-in-law's jewels for the debts of her lover, Anastasie is always short of money, and who has to pull them out of misery? Of course their poor, now sick father, who has to sell the buckles of his shoes to support them. And do they visit him on his deathbed? Or at least his funeral? Pere Goriot is the quintessence of tragedy and sacrifice, and Charles Aznavour's heartbreaking performance makes you want to cross the screen and plant a tender kiss on that old, wrinkled brow.

Robert Quimby from Ramona and Beezus.

I've recently watched this movie and was totally blown away by the amount of sweetness and the incredible characters. Ramona's dad, Robert Quimby (portrayed by John Corbett) has to be one of the best dads in fiction. I had never witnessed such a wonderful, heartwarming, loving relationship between a father and a daughter. Bob always finds time for his daughters, even when he's frustrated with losing his job and the possibility of losing their house. He's a kind, loving, caring father, and he's probably one of the reasons that Ramona is the way she is: funny, dreaming and adventurous. And the enormous painting that Robert and Ramona make at the end of the movie is the reflection of the big love they feel for each other. Such a pity I had never heard of the books before, but now they're on my TBR list.

Mufasa from The Lion King.

Who doesn't remember Mufasa, the great king of the Pride Lands? Who didn't cry during one of the saddest scenes in the history of cinema? Who didn't shed tears when Mufasa's spirit talked to Simba and told him to take his place in the Circle of Life? Mufasa has to be one of the best Disney dads: he's just, fair, honorable, righteous... a true king and just a great dad who finds time to play with his son and teaches him the lessons of life, the most important of them being the balance of the Circle of Life and the respect toward each other. I've always liked Mufasa's wife too, Queen Sarabi, but I'll leave her character for the Mother's Day.

Mr. Bennet from Pride and Prejudice 

Remember Lizzy Bennet's dad? Mr. Bennet, the tired husband of indefatigable and querulous Mrs. Bennet, hiding in his study most of the time, sheltering himself from his family's troubles and his wife's nagging. Maybe not the best father in fiction, but one of the most notable ones. Perhaps if Mr. Bennet had paid more attention to his family, especially the youngest daughters, the Bennets wouldn't face so many troubles and a possible disgrace in a 19th century England, but the readers forgive him his negligence the moment he speaks his famous line, "An unhappy alternative is before you, Elizabeth. From this day you must be a stranger to one of your parents. Your mother will never see you again if you do not marry Mr. Collins, and I will never see you again if you do." This line, followed with Mrs. Bennet's squeal, has to be one of the funniest scenes in the BBC's wonderful adaptation with too-handsome-for-words Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy. But because we're celebrating Father's Day, I shouldn't bypass Benjamin Whitrow, who portrayed Mr. Bennet. A wonderful performance from a wonderful actor.

King Triton from The Little Mermaid.

This is probably the only time when I consider the daughter not worthy of the father. Indeed, I dislike Ariel a lot. A bratty 16-year-old, led by sudden impulses and caprices, mischievous, naughty, deaf to any reasoning, unruly and disobedient. I can't recall a single time when Triton was unjust to her, yet Ariel behaves as if her father is a tyrant when all he wants is to protect his daughters from the dangers under and above the sea. He does let his anger loose and destroys her collection of human artifacts, but let's be honest, the man was tired of chasing his teen daughter across the endless ocean, and trying to reason with her, at the same time ruling a whole underwater kingdom. Besides, she had disobeyed him for the umpteenth time. And as if it was not enough, the bratty princess causes so much trouble, almost gets the kingdom destroyed and her father killed (who sacrifices his life for her ungrateful self). And of course Triton, a great father that he was, not only forgives her, but bestows her with the gift she desired the most: legs and a chance to get married at 17, abandon her family and go live with the hot guy she barely knew and those who hunt her family and friends. A wonderful father, a rotten child.

Jack Torrance from The Shining.

Goosebumps! The Shining is easily one of Stephen King's best horrors. Sent to Overlook Hotel for the winter, writer and concurrently an alcoholic Jack Torrance slowly declines into insanity, and the old ghosts of Overlook do not seem to mind him joining their demented company. As if the book is not scary enough, Jack Nicholson is here to creep us out with his famous "Heeere's Johnny!" as he smashes the door to the bathroom with an axe.

One might wonder what happens to Danny Torrance, Jack's little son, after witnessing his cracked father chase him and his mom with an axe across the empty (apart from the dwellers that never leave) hotel. Well, S.K. gave us the answer in the sequel, Dr. Sleep. My opinion of the sequel: Do not bother. Boring, tedious, and not a bit scary. I mean, not a single bit scary!

Elrond from the Lord of the Rings.

The 6000-year-old immortal elf was not only Arwen's father, but also a father figure for Aragorn, the true king of Gondor.  A descendant of the Maiar, the Lord of Rivendell is wise, righteous, courageous, and stays in the Middle-Earth until the evil is destroyed. Although elves do not show their emotions the way we, the humans, do, Elrond's love and suffering is unquestionable. He'd rather his daughter came with him to Valinor, but he doesn't domineer over her life and doesn't rebuke her for loving a mortal man. Elrond's just too wise to do that: his great-grandmother Luthien once had made a similar choice.

Denethor from the Lord of the Rings.

Alright, I love Faramir. He's my most favorite fantasy character. And I detest anyone who wants to hurt him. So it's obvious that Denethor is not my favorite guy. The way he treats Faramir, his youngest, makes me want to choke him while he chomps on the beef. Denethor was a stronger character in the books; in the movie he's too unlikable, portrayed as weak and cowardly. So I don't necessarily hate the book Denethor. Also, Gandalf's description of Gondor's steward is flattering in The Return of the King: "He has long sight. He can perceive, if he bends his will thither, much of what is passing in the minds of men, even of those that dwell far off. It is difficult to deceive him, and dangerous to try." I wouldn't mind serving to this type of a ruler, but I'd think twice before asking for a father like the movie Denethor. Trying to burn your half-dead son on a pyre while committing suicide is not fatherly.

Kyle Reese and the Terminator from The Terminator and The Terminator 2: Judgement Day.

I decided to discuss both characters simultaneously. The first one, being a human, conceived John Connor, the savior of the mankind, and the second one, a machine, was the only father figure John got to know.

Saying that Kyle Reese only conceived John Connor is actually a harsh understatement. He traveled back in time to save Sarah Connor from a robot that "is out there, can't be bargained with, can't be reasoned with, doesn't feel pity, or remorse, or fear. And it absolutely will not stop." Of course while saving Sarah, Kyle doesn't forget to conceive Johnny, and thank God he was so handsome that she couldn't resist (even though she had known him for just a few hours), otherwise mankind would be doomed.

Now the Terminator from the Judgement Day. Same face, different machine. A machine that realizes the value of the human life while we still don't give a damn about each other. A machine that "would never stop, would never leave [John], would never hurt him, never shout at him, or get drunk and hit him, or say it was too busy to spend time with him. It would always be there. And it would die to protect him. Of all the would-be fathers who came and went over the years, this thing, this machine was the only one that measured up. In an insane world, it was the sanest choice."

p.s. The Terminator, one of the most famous sci-fi movies, is also easily one of the greatest love stories ever told.

Guido from Life is Beautiful.

How to survive in a concentration camp and not even realize you are in one? You need a father like Guido.

This movie is a masterpiece. I have watched it only once and don't think I'll be able to watch it ever again. Too painful. And it's not just about the sacrifice, but how that sacrifice is accomplished. In the end you can't help but feel Guido's exhaustion caused not only from surviving in the concentration camp, but from applying so much energy to conceal the truth from his little son Joshua. Talking, joking, lying, making things up, twisting the truth, everything for the sake of a child who didn't deserve the hell called fascism. It's one of those movies when you can't help telling the characters: "Hold on just a little bit more, help is coming." And Guido, with his resource and quick wit and love for life, is the kind of person who will not stop. Throw him down, and he'll get up, cut his legs, and he will crawl, but if he's still breathing, then he won't stop.

Marlin from Finding Nemo.

Now this dad went to hell and back to find his son Nemo, who had been kidnapped by people who think that smaller creatures have no feelings but are created for their own amusement. Finding Nemo is one of the best cartoons of the 21st century: vivid, adventurous, with a strong message, and some of the funniest characters. Who doesn't love Dory? I admit she irks me a bit, but she plays an important part in finding Nemo.

Marlin is a great father. Overprotective, but he can't be otherwise, considering what has happened to his wife and the rest of their unborn fish-kids. He's probably the most active Disney dad (I know it's a Pixar movie, but Disney is involved, too). While Ariel's, Jasmin's, Belle's, Mulan's fathers play major roles in the lives of their daughters, all of them are secondary characters. But Marlin is the star of the movie, crossing the ocean, escaping wannabe-vegetarian sharks and jellyfish, traveling inside a whale, all the while looking for a needle in a haystack. One of the most loving and brave fictional dads.

I am sure I have missed lots of fictional great dads, so feel free to add some in the comments section.

Happy Father's Day!

Witch Hollow 4 Playlist

Enjoy!

Witch Hollow and the Spider Mistress (sample)

A chapter from the upcoming Witch Hollow and the Spider Mistress. Please keep in mind that the sample is not edited. I borrowed the title of the chapter from one of Blind Guardian's songs (as I often do). Here's the video to enjoy (the song has nothing to do with my book, I just love BG very much):

Thorns

Since morning Eric had been trudging by the West Bank of the Sirtalion. The first hour was spent in the field, where he watched the boys train, but soon he became bored of just sitting on the grass and witnessing how all three young men were simultaneously teaching Martin to ride, and how their constant advice, tips, and commands, instead of helping the young wizard, confused and flummoxed him. Martin asked a few times to be spared horsemanship sessions, claiming that driving a flying vehicle would do more good than riding a horse, but Jack was insistent. Eric shook his head over Jack’s behavior. He had lost the count of how many times he had told Jack to stop picking on Martin and be less harsh with him. In the end, Eric became tired of both the training and Jack, and left the field. Immersed in thoughts, he didn’t care where he was going, unless he stayed on the West Bank. Some time ago, during one of their meetings, the young people came to the conclusion that the East Bank was a place too dangerous for Eric, and he went to live in the blue castle. It wasn’t an unwanted move: both he and Electra were the most contented, as now they needed to take just a few steps to see each other. Eric’s bedroom was on the same floor with the girls’ chamber, just three doors away. It meant that Electra stayed in his bedroom till late at night and left Eric’s side only for the sake of sleeping, not forgetting to give him the potion for his broken arm. Andromeda had promised that the plaster would be taken off in two-three days, and Eric was waiting eagerly for the day to come.

Eric reached a meadow at the edge of the forest and had an immediate feeling of déjà vu. The place looked familiar, yet he couldn’t remember when exactly he had been on the green meadow overgrown with daisies and bluebells that appeared and disappeared inside the soft grass with every breath of the cool breeze. Eric looked into the distance, where a stream of the river was passing across the field. The river at that spot wasn’t the mighty force with the boats and their passengers skimming across its flowing bosom, but a quiet stream with mossy banks, reflecting the hanging branches of the weeping willows.

Eric walked to the rivulet, turned around, and smiled, as he was now standing on the same spot where for the first time he had seen the witch girls ride the brooms. Now he remembered the place: the field, the scenery, the shallow stream. For a long while he just stood there and looked at the forest trees, lining the field, contrasting the meadow’s calmness with their disturbing gloominess. Then he turned around and looked at the East Bank. It had been decided that he wouldn’t go to the other side alone, but Eric remembered about the Enchanted Garden, which was a few steps away from the hill, and his legs took him there on their own. He reached the back of the garden and had to force his way through the withered, leafless bushes with dried branches. Crawling through the shrubs, Eric at last stepped into the garden, although it was hard to call the place a garden anymore. The café had been closed down, because the garden had withered till the last leaf. It wasn’t appealing anymore. Instead of the blooming flowers and green grass, there were dry, gnarled branches and trampled, dead foliage. The once thick grass— soft like a royal velvet—wasn’t stretching across the garden, nor were the flowers encircling the feet of the aspens; the shades of the Siberian shrubs were missing, and the willows didn’t cast their shadows over the beds of the yellow roses. Neither were the larks and rose finches hopping in the grass or perching on the branches, whistling to each other or warbling for their guests.

Eric hadn’t made a few steps when he saw something sparkle on the ground inside the grey soil. He bent down and squinted his eyes. Those were wings shining. Small, almost transparent wings that could belong to a bug or a butterfly. But it was neither a bug nor any other insect. It was a small creature, with head and legs, in a tiny yellow dress wrapped around that tiny body. Eric carefully picked up the fairy and brought the body closer to his eyes. It was dead, no doubt about it. And yet, Eric carefully touched the creature with his finger, hoping it would show signs of life. Eric looked around the garden, and only now noticed a lonely figure in black, sitting by the rocks where once a pond used to be. It was Dinah, sitting motionless and staring at the withered bush in front of her. Eric couldn’t tell if she had fallen into reveries, or if she had seen him. He slowly moved to the broken pond, passing in-between the abandoned chairs and tables, which had been moved to a side and left in the garden, probably in hopes that it might bloom again, or maybe because the café owners didn’t care about the short-lived business that had turned unsuccessful due to the Enchanted Garden ultimately dying and withering away.

Eric stopped some feet away from Dinah. He was thinking whether to start a conversation and what to say. She seemed so sad, so broken and miserable that he wished to hug and console her. But Eric didn’t stir and just looked around, then at the center, where the white arbor used to stand, at the cracked ground, covered with yellowed leaves, and at the dead fairy in his hand.

“I cancelled the wedding,” Dinah said without looking up. Eric said nothing, and after seconds of silence, Dinah continued: “I thought my father would burst out in fury and punish me, but he didn’t even reprimand me. My mother did most of the talking, and crying, and whining. She kept telling me how silly I was to reject Thomas, but I would be silly if I did not.” At last she deigned to raise her eyes to Eric’s face. She looked unhealthy, lips were pale, eyes weary. “I have become so miserable. I don’t even know why I live. What’s the point? My world is breaking down. I have no one in my life, no one who cares for me. My father has estranged himself from us. He almost never talks. Walks silently up and down his study, has abandoned his craft and students, and drinks all day long. My mother continues her same old habits: worries about the most nonsensical things, and doesn’t see that her family is sinking deeper into the swamp. And my brother. He’s De Roy’s right hand now. Put a mask on his face, and he’ll be a perfect sheriff. How did we come to this? And how will this whole story end?”

“Much of its ending depends on us. And our choices,” Eric said without even thinking.

“If we meet during the Hunt, will you kill me?” she suddenly asked.

“No.”

“Then you will let me kill you?”

“You will not kill me.”

“How do you know?”

Eric went closer to Dinah, knelt before her, opened her palm, and put the dead fairy in her hand.

“I didn’t want this to happen,” she said, fighting back the tears. “But I hate them. And I am glad for what will happen to them soon.”

“Why do you let the hate rule you?”

“It’s your fault. You put so much hate inside my heart. You made me so hateful and vengeful.”

The baffled fellow silently looked at her. He knew well Dinah’s capricious demeanor and impulsive character. If she had put an idea inside her head, no one could convince her otherwise.

“You crashed my dreams, broke my heart, filled it with hate, and you dare ask me why?” she said with offense.

“They killed my parents,” Eric muttered. “But not the hate I feel toward them leads me. I am led by hope. Why won’t you do the same? The moment you put aside all your childhood offenses, you’ll see that hate really has no substance. You don’t have to become a pawn in their war. They use you like they use the rest. It is their war, Dinah, not yours or mine; it’s a war of dark creatures who poison your mind to reach their goal. It’s not about giving you a better life as they have promised, it’s about destroying. Or do you think the Dark Master cares for you? Or for your family? He has come to destroy Hollow. Why can’t you see that?”

“And why can’t you see what you have done?”

“Dinah, I am sorry if I have caused you pain. That was never my intention.”

“Why can’t you see how unhappy I am? I told you everything, but my words again fell on the deaf ears.” She went down on her knees to face him and put her hands on Eric’s neck, gripping the collar and dragging him closer. “You could make me happy. I cancelled the wedding just for you. I gave you another chance.”

“You did it for your own sake. Because marrying someone whom you don’t love is wrong.”

“Thomas has sworn to kill you,” she said unexpectedly. “What are you going to do about that?”

“Defend myself, as always.”

“Come with me, and we shall outplay him.”

“What do you mean?”

“They have planned something. But if you decided to join me, we could make our own plan.”

“What have they planned?”

Dinah grinned. “You won’t get anything from me unless you join me.”

“You’ll never change, will you?” Eric said, angered by her selfishness. “Always thinking only about yourself.”

“That’s not true. I think about you all the time. Why are you so cruel? Why won’t you join me and make my life less miserable.”

“Because I have made my choice. And you should make yours.”

“I have made it.” She pulled him closer, reaching out to his lips. Softer than she had thought. So different from Thomas. So much sweeter, longed-for, and desirable.

Eric gently pushed her back. “I am sorry.”

He was so close that his whisper tipped her lips and made them quiver. Dinah looked at him for a second, then slapped him with the whole strength of her hand, and got up. The slap was so strong that the skin felt burning. Eric pressed his lips together and took his palm to his reddened cheek.

“Too many people are after you, Eric O’Brian. You’re not long for this world. I don’t care who it will be—Thomas, Dickens, De Roy, or Morhaug himself, I want you dead!” she burst out, and clenched her fingers. Dinah felt something inside her fist. She looked at the tiny breathless body, then tossed the fairy into the bushes, and stormed away from the garden.

Eric dashed to the withered shrub of lavender, searching for the little creature. It was there, among the faded leaves and grass. Carefully picking up the fairy, Eric put her on the naked branch to be picked up by her friends. Dinah was right, too many people were after him. He should remember about caution and not stay alone on the East Bank. Eric thought he heard footsteps in the garden. He hastily looked around, but there was no one. He strained his ears and waited for the voices and whispers to sound again, but the garden was silent. Just once the metallic gate creaked, when the wind blew through the iron bars. Then silence again. No sound, no soft whispers. The garden had been abandoned by those who could revive the reveries and lead him back into the long-forgotten dreams. Now it was only a dried soil, gnarled branches, and dusty tables and chairs grouped into a pile and left to rust. Not even the constant rains helped the garden. Drenched in gushing water, it would become muddy, but nothing would grow in the slush, and the soil would soon become dry, until the next torrent would plunge the place into a deeper mire.

A loud thunderbolt informed that it was time to leave. Taking the same route, Eric carefully crawled out of the garden, and descended to the meadow. Moving hastily, so as not to be left under the rain, he soon reached the field where his friends had been training, and which was now abandoned by everyone except Jack, who was lying on the grass, hugging Orion’s soft body. Eric looked at the dog and his master. Their eyes were closed, both seemed to be dozing and even when the thunder growled again, none of them showed signs of awakening. Orion yawned once, his white head pressed against his master’s chest, then wagged his tail, and returned to dozing. But when the first drop landed on the dog’s snout, Orion opened his eyes, raised the beautiful head, and whined.

“Alright, boy, I heard you,” Jack muttered, yawning. Orion rose to his paws, approached Eric, and licked his hand. Eric answered the dog’s caress, itching him behind the ear, just what Orion loved.

“You seem upset,” Jack said, getting up grudgingly and yawning again. Another drop hit him on the head; he looked up into the murky sky. “I hate these rains.”

“Let’s go home,” said Eric, and the friends hurried to the blue castle, with the white Setter by their side.