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Writers Prompt- a tarot card of “the master”
The heroes in popular culture are never masters, no, for we mortals are prone to identify with someone still learning and struggling, just as we are. The master is someone in the wings, seldom on stage, for he knows too much. And too, in his own serene way, he is too satisfied, too untethered from this vale of tears where the rest of us stump through thick grass and groan at all the weeds.
And the master is always self sufficient and alone. Not like protagonists who have to help each other. Dorothy has her tin man, Dek has his legless cheerful android. Gynoid. And if there is a Mother computer it—it—is very offstage, high in orbit maybe.
I guess the master represents that tiny part of us that wishes to be powerful and unafraid. We can daydream, can’t we? In real life, if we approach mastery of some art or craft we can very briefly method act as a powerful know-it-all, but only briefly, because who wants to be dishonest as a lifestyle? No man is a hero to his valet. The wife retorts to fans who come by, “You don’t have to live with him,” and a best selling author and adventurer said, “Everyman’s life, seen from within, is a series of defeats.” That was said by George Orwell, the man I dedicated my graduation project to. Okay, “to whom” I dedicated, for he would tell me not to end a sentence with an infinitive.
I take some delight in getting good at grammar, or writing or something, wearing a medal on my chest, but pulling my sweater out to secretly look at my scars.
I take delight in being human. A lady friend took me to an art gallery affair to thank volunteers. I was her “plus one.” As we walked down the street I couldn’t resist asking, “Is it Okay if I explain art to you, sounding more knowledgeable than I really am, just to have fun?” So ya, I pretended, with her full knowledge, to be a master. We both had a good time.
We need the concept of a master, just as much as we need a hero, for the world is cold and stormy and we need our tales at the hearth. Yes we do. Dad knelt by a big cherry wood radio, I lay by a huge box of a television set, and the world was a braver place thereby. Children need some optimistic bravery, don’t you think?
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Sean Crawford
Calgary
November
2025
Footnote: Dek was a Predator, the runt of his litter; the legless self-described “Synthetic” was played by Elle Fanning, in the motion picture that earned four stars out of four on Roger Ebert’s film review site. No real violence, because only Predators, animals, plants and Synthetics are killed—no humans are harmed. That’s according to the galactic film board’s Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Humans.
I only watched it because of the review: I’m sure glad I did. Here’s the link
Mastery note: The review above is by my favourite living critic, Matt Oller Seitz. He has a master essay on how you (who, me?) can become a good film reviewer. Here’s the link
I also linked the reviewer to my Easter essay on mastery through humble pure truth. Here’s the link
