Abstract

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:From Parnassus to EdenChristopher McDonoughFor Rebekah SmithIn these pages some seven years ago, Robert Renehan (1992) discussed the passage from book 19 of the Odyssey in which the young Odysseus’ cousins sing a healing incantation over his wound in the wilderness of Mount Parnassus. 1 Renehan was specifically interested in bringing to light the Old Irish comparanda, so as to display the Indo-European roots of this particular form of magical healing; he was clear in stating, nonetheless, that such practices are found in many other parts of the world. To encounter this custom, however, it is not necessary to study ancient Ireland or Greece, as I discovered by surprise in class one day.When lecturing on the Odyssey in the past, I have always enjoyed lingering over this particular scene, presenting to students Erich Auerbach’s ideas on mimesis as well as more general folkloric material. 2 In addition to the Irish evidence adduced by Renehan, I have usually mentioned anecdotes about the brauchers (wizards) of the Pennsylvania Dutch, some of whom could still blood by chanting—even over the telephone (see Dorson 1964, 115). Thus it was, in the fall of 1995, that I was giving a guest lecture on book 19 for a classical mythology class at the University of North Carolina at Greensboro. I had just finished reciting some of the stories above, when a student raised his hand to ask, “Is that anything like talking out fire?” Before I could respond, another student also spoke up. “I was thinking that, too,” she said.A few others were nodding their heads in recognition, though the majority of the class looked perplexed. I certainly was, since I had no idea what they were talking about. The first student explained that he [End Page 297] was from Eden, North Carolina, a Piedmont town near the Virginia border; that, in this area, there were old women who could talk out fire; that, if a person had been burned, such a woman could be hired to speak to the fire and convince it to leave the body; that his own grandmother was such a woman; and that he himself as a child had had a burn talked out of his hand, which hand—the very hand he had raised!—he now raised again as dramatic testimony of the treatment. A few other students said that they too were familiar with the custom, though none had quite so intimate a familiarity as he.In the days that followed I did a little research on the topic, fearing that I may have been hoodwinked by some true son of crafty Autolykos. But his story checked out: the phenomenon of “talking the fire out of a burn” is well attested in North Carolina and throughout the South. 3 While folklorists have collected many accounts of this type of healing, perhaps the most vivid description is given by Southern writer Harry Crews. In A Childhood: The Biography of a Place (1978 = 1993, 17–170), a memoir of his upbringing in Depression-era rural Georgia, the author relates that, while playing as a boy, he had fallen into a cast-iron tub filled with boiling water for skinning hogs; over two-thirds of his body was scalded and, he recalls, the skin of his left hand came off “like a wet glove.” His family was too remote and too poor for a hospital trip, and had to rely on some makeshift arrangements set up by the local doctor. Shortly thereafter, however, they were visited by a rough character named Hollis Toomey, known throughout the area for his ability to talk out fire. Crews recounts what happened next:Hollis Toomey’s voice was low like the quiet rasping of a file on metal. I couldn’t hear most of what he had to say, but that was all right because I stopped burning before he ever started talking. He talked to the fire like an old and respected adversary, but one he had beaten consistently and had come to beat again. I don’t remember him once looking at my face while he explained: “Fire, this boy is mine. This bed is mine...