Miranda Bailey
Independent Study
December 15, 2000

Many legends have been passed down through the literary tradition over the past several centuries, but few have been reinterpreted and studied as much as the story of King Arthur, his court at Camelot, and those who followed him, loved him, and in some cases, betrayed him. Each new era has used the legend to speak to the concerns and issues of its society, and the twentieth century is no exception. Marion Zimmer Bradley is only one of many authors who presents a new perspective on the story, but her retelling stands apart as one of the few that attempts to tackle female issues. In her attempt to create a realistic and empowering portrayal of women, she has used many techniques to give the reader a different view of the Arthurian world.

Her most significant contribution is undoubtedly her use of the goddess religion and the concept of a Triple Goddess within the narrative. The presence of the goddess is evident throughout the work, but it is most prominent in the female characters, as they strive to meet their full potentials as women. A study of these characters, their relationships with their children, and their other endeavors reveals that Bradley creates dysfunctional mother-child relationships within the work in order to downplay the role of mother and illuminate the other capacities of women.

As the role of women continued to evolve and feminism gained ground in the late seventies and early eighties, Marion Zimmer Bradley recognized that the Arthurian legend was ripe for reinterpretation. Drawing on her familiarity with the legend, which she discovered at the age of ten when her grandfather gave her Sidney Lanier's edition of the Tales of King Arthur, her love for fantasy literature, her highly-charged feminist environment, and her knowledge of and experience with Goddess worship, Bradley produced a comprehensive retelling of the legend, which both the general public and scholars soon embraced (Arbur 9).

While the work's entertainment value is obviously high, as evidenced by its prolonged presence on the New York Times bestseller list after its release, scholars more importantly recognize The Mists of Avalon as a fixture of study and criticism in the realms of Arthurian literature, fantasy, and feminist fiction (Arbur 19). Bradley's work is not simply a retelling, but a "profound revisioning" (Spivack 149). Her new vision of the Arthurian world, which emphasizes the female characters, their relationships, and their struggles represents her major contribution to the legend: "Feminist medievalist authors such as Marion Zimmer Bradley . . . create the Arthur story anew from the women's perspective, thus providing a new direction for medievalism different from the belated nostalgia of most male medievalist authors from the past six centuries" (Tobin 148). By taking the legend in this new direction, Bradley frees it from the patriarchal attitudes present in past interpretations.

These patriarchal attitudes have resonated through the literary history of the Arthurian tradition in examples such as Malory, Twain, and White. Pioneering feminist critics Sandra M. Gilbert and Susan Gubar explain this general trend in literature written by men, stating that the male authors' feelings of "fathering" the text reflect their general patriarchal attitudes:

For if the author/father is owner of his text and of his reader's attention, he is also, of course, owner/possessor of the subjects of his text, that is to say of those figures, scenes, and events–those brain children–he has both incarnated in black and white and 'bound' in cloth and leather (7).

Bradley uses Mists then to free these characters, particularly female characters, from patriarchal restraints and reconstructs them with more realistic characteristics, which have also been lacking in the legend.

Prior to Bradley, Arthurian legend portrayed women in a negative and unrealistic light. Marion MacCurdy uses Malory as an example:

In Malory, recurring feminine images appear to have great power over the male characters. Yet these portrayals of the feminine are not 'realistic' in any modern conception of the word. Indeed, they are either extremely negative images or highly positive ones, with no median evident (3).

The negative images MacCurdy refers to include characters such a Guinivere, who is negatively portrayed, for the most part, as fickle and jealous, and as the Eve of Arthur's Eden. Percival's sister, who leads the knights to spiritual enlightenment through her own death, is an example of a positive image. The damage done through the portrayal of Guinivere is obvious; such an image supports the early Christian belief that women are the source of sin and misery in the world.

The positive image is destructive as well, though, because of its unrealistic qualities: "However, the idealized or 'positive' female stereotype can, of course, be as anti-feminist as the previously cited negative stereotypes. It obscures the actual social condition of women and induces them to seek consolation in myths rather than work for social change" (Donovan 6). Bradley succeeds in dismantling both negative and positive images of Arthurian women, and offers a retelling that one critic goes so far as to claim is not just another version, but "the truth". (Arbur 94).

One goal of the feminist retelling, then, is to rewrite history, and Bradley achieves this through her realistic depiction of women, their lives, their roles in society, and their interactions with others. Mists and other feminist retellings must do more that strive for historical accuracy, though; through their realistic portrayals of female characters, they must also empower the female reader, which reflects "the need for female readers to see their own experiences mirrored in literature" (Donovan 15). Bradley offers this mirror, which has always been absent within the Arthurian legend.

Before further examining Bradley's contribution, there is some question whether Bradley can be considered a feminist. According to several Mists scholars, such as Diana L. Paxson, Bradley could never be constrained by its ideals in her writing: "–indeed, she is far too original to be contained by an '-ism'" (113). Although she did not openly embrace the feminist movement, Bradley definitely supported many of their ideals, as evidenced by her words to Paxson: "My current enthusiasms, besides opera, are gay rights and women's rights–I think women's liberation is the great event of the twentieth century" (113).

Moreover, Bradley's lack of involvement in the feminist movement does not mean her work is not feminist. When Bradley or any other author writes, she takes on an authorial persona, a set of attitudes and attributes that serve as the intermediary between the author and the narrative (Arbur 24). Thus, the attitudes present in Mists do not have to mirror Bradley's personal views: "Whatever Bradley herself thinks and feels about feminism is–by the time it has been transmuted during the course of the creative, artistic process–both inaccessible from and irrelevant to the particular fictive work one has at hand" (Arbur 27). Through this authorial persona, Bradley expresses an understanding and even sympathetic view of separatist feminism, a branch of the movement that recognizes the presence of male-dominated institutions in society and believes women must develop their skills in a separate environment (Arbur 25, Hume 255-256).

Though Bradley was not a feminist, then, she was capable of writing a feminist retelling, and a brief review of the changes Bradley makes to the legend reveals her more realistic and feminist portrayal. Ultimately, Bradley made it her task to take a male-centered myth and transform it into a female- oriented one (Tobin 147). Jeanette C. Smith describes the use of woman's point of view as one of the most important four themes of contemporary revisionist Arthurian fantasy, and Bradley's use of a female narrator and female perspectives is her most apparent change to the legend. Bradley opens Mists with the words of Morgaine: "In my time I have been called many things" (ix). Those familiar with the legend recall the several negative portrayals of Morgan Le Fay in Arthurian tradition, and by using Morgaine as a narrator, Bradley allows the character to share her side of the story. We are also allowed to hear from her female family members, Igraine, Viviane, and Morgause, and Queen Gwenhwyfar, and these perspectives help the reader understand these characters' motives and actions.

In contrast, the reader never experiences the thoughts or feelings of the male characters except through their words and actions. They are essentially flat characters, especially in comparison to the female characters. We see this relationship set up early between Viviane and Merlin. During their visit to Tintagel, Viviane's assertiveness is apparent, while Merlin plays a quieter role-- so quiet, in fact, that his presence is nearly forgotten until he suddenly speaks after the conversation has been going on for quite awhile.

When Merlin does speak, Viviane's power in the relationship becomes obvious: Igraine "saw her sister and the Merlin exchange glances, and saw, too, the small gesture with which the priestess silenced the old man" (15). Again, a few moments later, Viviane is the one who speaks while Merlin remains quiet: "The Merlin shook his head, but again it was Viviane who spoke" (17). This scene serves as an example of men's role in the novel as quiet, background figures who are never interiorized and are always described from the strong, female perspective.

Bradley also emphasizes the female perspective through her focus on women's daily lives rather than feats on the battlefield (Smith 133). Other authors have ignored the women, simply leaving them to sit at the castle and wait until the men return. The reality behind these periods of waiting is presented in great detail by Bradley, especially in the scenes at Tintagel. There we see women sewing and weaving, buying provisions for winter, keeping the fire going on cold winter nights, and ultimately, striving to ward off boredom and melancholy. Bradley does not offer a glamorous picture here, but her depiction is realistic and gives the reader a deeper understanding of these women (Godwin 2).

Bradley adds to her realistic depiction by reinterpreting the women of the Arthurian legend as independent and assertive. Viviane's assertiveness is seen in her initial scene with Merlin, which has already been discussed. Igraine's independence is also apparent in several instances, especially in her scenes with Gorlois. He beats her several times, but she shows she is capable of asserting herself if she wishes: "Touch me at your peril, Gorlois, or I shall teach you that a daughter of the Holy Isle is no man's slave nor servant!" (48). Igraine also acts independently and deliberately regarding her relationship with Uther. Unlike earlier versions where Igraine is deceived into sleeping with Uther, Bradley's Igraine makes the decision herself.

Looking at Igraine and Uther's relationship more closely, we see Bradley empowering her female characters through their sexual relationships. Viviane, Morgaine, Morgause, and Igraine all have origins in Avalon, where women have control over their bodies and have free choice about who their lovers are. Igraine reflects on this as she considers her possible future with Uther: "My own mother chose what lovers she would, to father her children, and she was a great priestess of the Holy Isle. Viviane had done the same" (41). Igraine continues the tradition when she sleeps with Uther, and Morgause asserts her sexual independence as well, as she takes several lovers while married to Lot of Orkney.

Moreover, Bradley's characters use sex for power. Igraine recognizes her power over Gorlois and glories in it: " 'I shall be glad to sleep again in a proper bed,' said Igraine demurely, and saw, as she had known she would see, the sudden heat rising in his face and eyes. But he turned his face away from her, and Igraine, having just discovered this power, delighted in it" (24). Upon recognizing her power over Gorlois, Igraine uses it against him: " 'Have you put some spell upon my manhood, you accursed bitch?' . . . With a furious oath, he turned his back on her and lay down again, but Igraine lay awake, shaking, knowing that she had had her revenge" (72). Here, Igraine possesses sexual power, recognizes it, and uses it to her advantage.Another important factor, abortion, is present in Bradley's interpretation. When Viviane becomes pregnant beyond child-bearing years, Igraine questions why she did not abort the child: " . . . why, when she knew she had conceived, did she not take some potion to rid her of the child?" (83). Later, Morgaine considers aborting Mordred, the result of the sacred ritual she shares with Arthur: "She told herself fiercely that it was her own privilege to choose: she was a priestess, and whatsoever she did should be tempered with her own judgement" (222). Though pro-choice ideals did not obtain a popular voice until the twentieth century, Bradley nonetheless chooses to use the medieval world and Arthurian women to speak to this important issue. Bradley feminizes several elements from the Arthurian legend to create a more female-centered version of the legend. She de-emphasizes the brotherhood of men centered around the Round Table and chivalric honor and focuses more of her attention on the communal female sanctuary of priestesses at Avalon. More attention is given to the Lady of the Lake's contribution of Excalibur and Morgaine's work on Arthur's magical scabbard, suggesting that Arthur's power comes from the female power surrounding these objects (Tobin 150). The Grail also becomes more associated with women here. Bradley describes it in Mists as a piece of the holy regalia of the ancient druids kept by the priestesses of Avalon instead of a relic of a patriarchic Father-God religion.

The above examples all serve to demonstrate the feminist qualities of Mists, and while they are an important aspect of Bradley's retelling, the most important development within this reinterpretation is undoubtedly Bradley's use of the Goddess religion in conflict with Christianity. Not only is Mists a feminist retelling, but it is also a historical novel, highlighting the coexistence of the Goddess religion and Christianity in Britain and the eventual transition from a matriarchal society to a patriarchal, Christian one (Volk-Birke 410). Bradley discussed this transition during an interview with Parke Goodwin: "Christians tried to create a patriarchal religion without Goddesses, but the human spirit demands a world-mother" (3). In Mists, Bradley strives to meet this demand by utilizing the research that has been done on the Goddess and recreating the pre-Christian spiritual figure in her work.

Not only does the presence of the goddess serve historical accuracy, but it also aids Bradley in her attempt to create an empowering retelling. Research supports the existence of a Triple Goddess in early civilizations and Neo-Pagans, which are closely affiliated with the feminist movement, have embraced this concept. Bradley comprises the concept, as well, and uses the Triple Goddess as a model of the full potentiality of women.

Using archaeology, contemporary commentaries from the Classical world, and vernacular sources, scholars have concluded that in Old Europe, which included Greece, Malta, Egypt, and the near East, societies and religious practices began with the worship of a Goddess within a peaceful, egalitarian, and matriarchal society (Green 8, Goodison and Morris 6, 11). According to Marija Gimbutas, a well-known expert on ancient Goddess civilizations, the beginnings of goddess worship can be traced back to the end of the Ice Age,approximately 35,000 years ago (222). Focusing primarily on art and symbols on rock, bone, and horn from this period and using myths found in surviving Indo-European texts to interpret these artifacts, Gimbutas concludes that goddess worship originated in the society's reverence for women as the source of life (Everson 277) Interestingly, none of the art from the Paleolithic or Neolithic periods represents men as important figures in the society. Instead, the importance of women and the Goddess is evident in a group of approximately 3,000 sculptures dating back to 27,000-25,000 BCE, which represent the various aspects of the Goddess.

Women's power in these societies was rooted in their invention of agriculture, and it is not surprising that the growth, withering, and regenerative aspects of this activity translated into the earliest religious experience and the three main functions of the Goddess (Gimbutas 222, Everson 278). Gimbutas defines the three roles of the Goddess as Life-Giver, goddess of Death, and goddess of Regeneration, and together they formed the sacred triad, a symbol later used in the Christian faith (Rowley 10). The triangle was a strongly feminine symbol in early societies as opposed to the square, which was associated with male power (Walker 39-40). These triads are usually viewed in one of two ways. In some interpretations, three separate deities come together as the Great Goddess; their powers are separate and distinct, but they remain united. In the other, a common name, such as Morrigan, is applied to all three deities, and She reaches her full potentiality by shape-shifting from one role to another, depending on the situation (Rowley 11-12). All three are important and serve as necessary fixtures of the circle of life and death.

The most popular and studied of these aspects or roles is the Life-Giving goddess, a deity inspired by the mother-kinship system of the society in which the woman as mother was the social center and revered for her ability to create life and ensure the continuance of her line (Gimbutas 225). Representations of this goddess are often referred to as "Venuses," a term criticized by Gimbutas, and are characterized by exaggerated breasts, vulvas, and buttocks, which are associated with regenerative powers (Gimbutas 224-225). Other figures were sculpted as pregnant, and many have icons etched upon them, which serve as symbols of regenerative power. For example, V's represent the vulva, triangles represent pubic triangles, and wavy lines indicate water, which is associated with creation, or the nourishing liquid of the womb (Moane 8, Green 51).

Such representations survive from ancient Ireland, as well, and date back to 7500-3500 BCE, serving as evidence that this society continued the reverence of the Life-Giving goddess, which their ancestors began. Here again, the iconography of female power is prevalent everywhere, including temple and ritualistic artifacts, domestic objects, and primitive objects, such as stones and bones. Geraldine Moane explains how these artifacts reveal the importance of the Life-Giving goddess in these societies: "The goddess was, literally, everywhere, for as Gimbutas points out, it was sufficient merely to carve a triangle in a rock to evoke the birth-giving aspect of the goddess" (Moane 8).

The Irish cemetery, Newgrange, which dates back to 3500 BCE, also serves as a monument to ancient Ireland's spiritual experience. A passageway leads into a chamber covered by a large mound of earth, and the structure suggests the image of a pregnant womb. Within the chamber and passageway, female symbols, such as triangles, spirals, circles, and wavy lines cover the walls, representing the life-giving and other aspects of the Goddess (Moane 8).

Though the Life-Giving goddess is only one part of a spiritual triad, many thinkers, primarily males, have neglected the Death Goddess and the Goddess of Regeneration in their study of the ancient religion. Writers in the 19^th century, such as Johann Jakob Bachofen, helped, perhaps unknowingly, to strengthen this de-emphasis. In Mutterrecht or Mother-Right, Bachofen claimed that these ancient civilizations and their goddess-centered religion emerged from a society where the biological relationship between mother and child was considered sacred (Goodison and Morris 7). Such a narrow understanding of these civilizations neglects the other functions of women and is damaging because it allows men to restrain women in one role:

Another disquieting issue is the appeal to universals, as if human societies all started the same way following a single blueprint, and all women have been essentially the same since the beginning of time. Such 'essentialism' reduces our options, as if there were only one predetermined 'archetypal' path for women to follow; ironically at base the same one which many male thinkers have traditionally allotted to us, that of motherhood (Goodison and Morris 17).

During the past several decades, scholars and feminists have worked to illuminate the importance of the other two deities and open up new paths for women to follow.

Surviving evidence shows that women were not only represented as fertility idols, but also as authority figures in their society (Goodison and Morris 13). Their authority is represented most strongly in the role of their spiritual figure as Goddess of Death, a deity with the ability to take life away and predict the fates of individuals. In ancient artifacts, this aspect is represented by the stiff nude, poisonous snake, and birds of prey, such as the vulture, owl, raven, and crow (Gimbutas 224). The stiff nude obviously symbolizes a corpse, while the poisonous snake was believed to possess potentially dangerous spirits (Walker 58). The vulture symbolism used derived from an ancient Egyptian deity, known as Uatchet, Uachit, or Ua Zit, who was the guardian of death in the cycle of life (Walker 109-110). The owl was associated with the North Wind and considered a bird of death and winter, allied with Crone goddesses. Many believed hooting owls were the ghosts of women who had died during childbirth (Walker 404). Ravens were considered a bad omen and associated with plagues, and the crow symbolized death because of its carrion-eating propensities (Walker 398-408).

Maire Herbert also finds support for the existence and important of the Death goddess in narrative texts written between the eighth and twelfth centuries ACE, which focus on legend. One such text is Tain Bo Regamna, whose central character is the Morrigan, a warrior, and more importantly, keeper of death. Herbert describes this character as a messenger of death, able to predict approaching disaster: "The most striking representations, however, are of the deity [Morrigan] actively confronting a prominent individual with his impending doom" (147). Herbert cites two passages where her role here as guardian of death are evident. In one passage, Morrigan speaks to a warrior as she washes blood from some war gear: " 'I wash the war-gear of a king who will perish'" (147). Later on, she appears at the home of the warrior as the wise-woman: " 'Neither body nor flesh of yours will escape from the place to which you have come, save what birds will carry off in their claws'" (Herbert 147). Another form of the Death Goddess appears in tales from the Tuatha de Danann, which introduce a character referred to as bean sidhe, or banshee, who foretells individuals' deaths by howling (Rowley 12). The appearance of the Death Goddess in these texts and others further illustrates her important in ancient Irish society.

Closely associated with the Death Goddess is the Goddess of Regeneration, who is responsible for new life after death. The two coexist in the Basque Goddess Mari, who is also called the Bird Goddess and the Wielder of Death (Everson 282). Representations of the deity emphasize the bird-like features of her face and the vulva, which are associated with death and regeneration, respectively. She is also often shown with the feet of a bird, and in the form of a crow or vulture. Other forms she takes include the ram, whose horns represent the spiral of regeneration, the male goat, which is associated with sacrifice and death, and the horse, a symbol of the soul's journey towards wisdom and the transition to the other world (Everson 283-284, Walker 376, 378-379). She even takes on aspects of the Life-Giving goddess as a heifer, perceived as a symbol of nourishment, and eggs, which are believed to be the original form of the Great Mother (Everson 284, Walker 5, 284).

Other artifacts reveal additional representations and symbols related to the regenerative manifestation of the Goddess (Gimbutas 226). These include the uterus, pubic triangle, fetus, triangle, double triangle, and bullhead, another triangular form. Representations of frogs and toads were also used because they resembled fetuses (Walker 375). Bees and butterflies are also shown together for it was believed that when bees left the hive, it was a sign that the beekeeper would soon die, and human souls became butterflies during their search for reincarnation and new life (Gimbutas 224, Walker 415). Perhaps the most important symbol of the Goddess of Regeneration is the spiral, which symbolizes death and rebirth and it is found everywhere, including the prominent threshold stones at Newgrange (Walker 14).

Though once the central figure of society and religious experience, the Goddess began to fade into the background as Christianity, officially adopted as the state religion by the Romans in the fourth century CE, spread throughout Britain and Ireland during the fifth century (Green 8). Her followers remained free to worship her, though, and the new faith borrowed much from her for their female spiritual figure, the Virgin Mary. The fourteenth century witnessed the beginnings of persecution of the goddess and her followers, however, when witchcraft, the term applied to Goddess worship, was declared a heretical act, and the first recorded witch trial took place.

Starhawk, a spokesperson for the Neo-Pagan movement, outlines the history of society's persecution of witchcraft. Papal Bull of Innocent VIII continued the tradition of persecution in the fifteenth century, when witches became the victims of the Inquisition. Francesco Maria Guazzo's Compendium Maleficarum and the text Malleus Maleficarum, compilations of accounts of witchcraft, increased the public's fear of Goddess worshipers and fueled existing superstitions (Starhawk 207). Sanctioned and even encouraged by the Catholic Church, many became witch hunters, and their greed led to the deaths of thousands, mostly women and children, during a period now referred to as the Burning Times. America failed to serve as a safe haven, as well, as evidenced by the infamous Salem witch trials and accusations of Satan-worship, which still resonate today. All of these factors worked together to eliminate further public practices of Goddess worship (Starhawk 208-209).

According to Neo-Pagans, Goddess worship did not cease, though, and during this time of persecution, member continued to meet and perform the sacred rituals of their religion. The tradition remained alive as mothers passed on their secrets to their daughters (Starhawk 209-210). With the beginning of the nineteenth century came a revival when Gerald Gardiner, an archaeologist, discovered evidence pointing to the existence of a seventeenth-century secret coven (Scruton). He and Alex Sanders became the leaders of a modern rebirth of the religion, which swept through England and was introduced to Americans by immigrants in the 1960s (Starhawk 214, Harrow 199). By the 1980s, the movement had gained enormous ground, and as of 1994, approximately 250,000 claimed to be members in the United States alone (Harrow 199).

Members, both male and female, refer to themselves as witches. Though aware of the negative connotations the titles carries, they believe the ignorance of former societies and their history of persecution are not reason enough to abandon the name. Instead, they educate the public by stressing their definition, which describes a witch as "one who worships the Goddess, and sometimes also Her Consort, the God; practices magic, and considers her/himself to be following the spiritual path of Witchcraft" ("About"). Witchcraft, "a magical religion with many diverse traditions derived from various cultural sources around which covens and individual practitioners base their practices," is also referred to as Neo-Paganism, or the New Religion. The Old Religion, which predated Christianity, is referred to as paganism, from the Latin word meaning country dweller. Those residing in the countryside continued the Goddess religion longer than city dwellers, thus, the meaning behind the term. "New pagans," then, recreate this Old Religion ("About," Fry 68).

Their restructuring does not include a religion based on dogma, beliefs, or scripture, and without these central bases of reference, several different types of branches of the movement have formed (Starhawk 203). General traditions include Celtic, Circle, Isian, NROOGD (New Reformed Orthodox Order of the Golden Dawn), Shamanic, and Native American. Other traditions are focused on the philosophies of a prominent figure in the history of the movement, such as the Alexandrian and Gardernian branches, based on the philosophies of the founders of the New Religion, Alex Sanders and Gerald Gardiner. 1734, a cryptogram for the name of a Goddess and another branch of the movement is rooted in the British-Celtic practices of a British witch, Robert Cochrane, and the Georgian tradition was started by George Patterson and his followers ("About").

Some traditions are defined by their particular focus within the movement. Members of the Reclaiming tradition believe all life is sacred and apply their beliefs to environmental issues. The NECTW, New England Covens of Traditionalist Witches, specializes in the training of priests and priestesses. The Faery tradition, which Starhawk is a member of, is considered a more risk-taking branch of the movement, and is characterized by the use of faery power and a reverence for sexuality. The Dianic tradition is perhaps the most popular of the numerous branches, though, for it stresses the feminine principle over the male, and has, therefore, drawn many feminists into the Neo-Pagan experience ("About," Starhawk 212).

Feminists and other members have rallied behind the Neo-Pagan movement because of the importance the tradition places on the empowerment of women. In "Witchcraft as Goddess Religion," Starhawk describes a ritual in which members of the coven meet to celebrate each individual and her potentialities:

A woman moves into the center of the circle. We begin to chant her name:

'Diana . . .'

'Dee-ah-nah . . .'

'Aaah . . .'

The chant builds, spiraling upwards. Voices merge into one endlessly modulated harmony. The circle of enveloped in a cone of light. Then, in a breath–silence.

'You are Goddess,' we say to Diana, and kiss her as she steps back into the outer ring. She is smiling. She remembers who she is (Starhawk 202).

Through this ceremony, women are able to discover themselves and free themselves of the constricting roles placed on them by a patriarchal society.

The Neo-Pagan movement takes the reviving of the Goddess seriously, as she represents the "image of legitimacy and beneficence of female power," that has been absent for so many centuries. Her absence has allowed society to restrict women and prevent them from reaching their full potential: "Women are not encouraged to explore their own strengths and weaknesses; they are taught to submit to male authority, to identify masculine perceptions as their spiritual ideals, to deny their bodies and sexuality, to fit their insights in to a male mold" (Starhawk 211). Patriarchal attitudes, cultivated since Christianity appointed women the bearers of sin, have prevented women from stepping outside the traditional mold.

In contrast, Neo-Paganism allows, and, more importantly, encourages women to break free from these expectations and explore the many complex facets of their being:

The importance of the Goddess symbol cannot be overstressed.

The image of the Goddess inspires women to see ourselves as divine, our bodies as sacred, the changing phases of our lives as holy, our aggression as healthy, our anger as purifying, and our power to nurture and create, but also to limit and destroy when necessary, as the very Goddess, we can discover our strength, enlighten our minds, own our own bodies, and celebrate our emotions. We can move beyond narrow, constricting roles and becomes whole" (Starhawl 212).

In recognizing these complexities of their being, women recognize the different aspects of the Goddess within themselves.

Just like their ancestors, the Neo-Pagans worship a Triple Goddess and her functions. Mother, Maiden, and Crone, who direct love, birth, and death, are represented by the waxing, full, and waning moon, respectively ("About," Starhawk 203). In an effort to suppress women, many have focused solely on the Goddess as Mother and revered her as the highest potential of a woman. Neo-Pagan celebrate each face of the Goddess, though, and in doing so, stress the importance of each stage of a woman's life: "Worship of the Triple Goddess, Neo-Pagan women say, enables women to value themselves and their knowledge and experience even when their beauty has dimmed" (Fry 73-74).

This philosophy and its influence serve as a strong presence in The Mists of Avalon. Paula Swilling discusses the debt the legend owes to her: " . . . in her presence, the Arthurian legend has become and archetypal drama, spellbinding and timeless, inspiring generation after generation of artists, poets, and storytellers to recreate her magic" (27). Bradley's work is no exception, as the Triple Goddess comes to life through her female characters and their various stages of womanhood.

Early on, Bradley introduces the concept of the Triple Goddess: " ' She is not yet a maiden, and I not yet a wise-woman . . . but we are the Three, Igraine. Together we make up the Goddess, and she is here present among us'" (23). During the course of the novel, these three characters move through the three stages of womanhood, and in a strong statement against patriarchal attitudes, which exalt motherhood and refuse to recognize womanhood and refuse to recognize the other capacities of women, Bradley creates characters who explore love, wisdom, and self, usually to the detriment of their relationships with their children.

Several mother-child relationships are present and significant throughout the work, and it is perhaps easiest to first recognize and distinguish the two different types, which Sabine Volk-Birke defines: "Even succession and parentage are ambiguous categories which are split into a biological and a spiritual representative" (Volk-Birke 412). Biological relationships are easy to define and exist between Igraine and Morgaine, Viviane and Lancelot, and Morgaine and Mordred, to name a few. The spiritual relationships Volk-Birke refers to involve a surrogate mother, who unofficially recognizes the child as her own for any one of an assortment of reasons. The child's biological mother may be dead, as is the case with Igraine, or the child may be placed into foster care like Viviane's biological son, Balan. Both types of bonds are significant, though, and both are examined here.

Bradley establishes the importance of women as child-bearers early in the novel and continues to make lineage and the creation of heirs issues throughout the work. As the narrative begins, Britain and its leaders are in a state of panic as the death of Ambrosius approaches and he remains heirless: " 'Would that Ambrosius had left a son, then we could all swear him loyalty as High King and choose a war duke for his prowess in the field'" (510). Though Ambrosius wishes Uther to take his place, he is not of royal blood, and this proves to be a major obstacle to his succession to the throne.

Lineage is also important in Avalon, but there, much like ancient Goddess civilizations, lineage is counted through the father: " . . . these Romans counted their lineage though the father; it was silly, for how could any man ever know precisely who had fathered a woman's child" (7). Despite their differences regarding lineage, both societies place great importance on the woman's responsibility to produce heirs.

In Avalon, women are expected to bear children, preferably daughters, who will carry out the plans of the Goddess: "And for the priests and the priestesses there is no tie of marriage. They give themselves as they must, in the Will of the Gods, to bring forth those who are pivotal to the fates of mankind" (59). Against her initial will, Igraine is forced to act as Viviane and Taliesin's pawn as mother of Uther's heir, Arthur. Though constantly controlling the lives of those around her, Viviane feels the pressure of her unfulfilled obligation, as well: "With all her heart she wished that this small solemn girl was her own daughter, that daughter she owed the Holy Isle and had never been able to bear" (121-122).

Women in Arthur's court also take their responsibility seriously and pride themselves in being pregnant. Arthur recognizes the importance of mothering an heir and claims Morgaine should be happy with Uriens because he has many sons, and she is under no pressure to give him another: " 'I sought to find you a kind husband, Morgaine, one who had sons and would not reproach you should you not give him children'" (620). Even Morgaine falls victim to these attitudes and hesitates to abort Accolon's child, believing his birth may increase her worth in her lover's eyes: "Yet if she could bear Accolon a son at this time when the reign went into his hands, how much more would he value her as his queen?" (735). These women are all victims of the accepted idea that women are most valued as mothers.

Gwynhefar perhaps feels the strain most as High Queen, and her obsession with her responsibility prevents her from exploring her other facets as a woman. Gwenhwyfar believes, much like Morgaine, that the birth of a son would demand the love and respect of her husband: "She had thought, if even she bore Arthur's son, then he must give her place show her great respect, not treat her still as that useless woman he had been forced to take as a part of a dowry of horses!" (389). Their attempts to conceive are rarely successful, though, and the few times they are, she is unable to carry the child to term.

Numerous times she refers to her inability to give Arthur a child and her resulting feelings of inadequacy: "Lancelet's son, by her own cousin Elaine . . . was a reasonable heir to the King. But now she felt him a living reproach to an aging queen whose life had been without fruit" (680). Inadequacy soon turns to anger and bitterness towards Elaine and any woman capable of bearing children: " ' . . . but it is always so with women . . . those women who have sons ever think they are the betters of any woman who is barren'" (546).

Ultimately, her attitude and obsession lead to feelings of guilt. She believes a child would distract her from her love for Lancelet: "If I had a child, I would not think night and day of this love which tempts my honor, for all my thoughts would be given to Arthur's son" (441). These very same thoughts are the reason she remains childless, though, according to Gwen:

"Would God punish my child for that?"

"Only you know what lies on your conscience, Lady. And speak not of punishment of the child . . . he is in the bosom of Christ . . . but it is you and Arthur being punished, if there is any punishment, which, . . . I must not presume to say" (391).

Believing that her love and sinful thoughts of Lancelet have damned her to barrenness, she denies her love, and her role as lover. Even when she does explore her love for Lancelet, she is plagued with guilt, so she never finds fulfillment in that aspect of her life.

These thoughts and her fervent devotion to Christianity also keep her from accepting the will of the Goddess and her role as wise-woman. Gwenhwyfar's second strongest obsession is the conversion of her king and the elimination of paganism. Her failure to fully realize this goal soon becomes equated with her inability to give the kingdom a son: "Was she barren, was it the punishment of God on her that she did not strive early and late to bring her husband to be a better Christian?" (329). This belief leads Gwenhwyfar to become even more devout, even to the point of fanaticism, to Christianity and her anti-Pagan agenda, and further detached from the Goddess, thus, rejecting her role as wise-woman. Gwen never fully attains any of her potentials, then, and serves as an example of a weak female character.

Bradley reaffirms this judgment of Gwenhwyfar, claiming that she serves as an example of what not to be: "A lot of people have criticized Gwenhwyfar in Mists of Avalon because she is a very conventional woman, and they say women . . . should all be strong role models. Gwenhwyfar is the woman that every man wants his daughter to grow up and be. . . . And I look at Gwenhwyfar and think, 'My God, I could have ended up like that myself, an absolute idiot.' And too many women are" (Fry 78).

The other major female characters are able to bear children, but for a number of reasons, those relationships are characterized by distance, anger, and resentment. An examination of each relationship reveals signs of dysfunction, but if the women are viewed outside their roles as mothers, it is apparent that their neglect is a result of their explorations of other aspects of their womanhood. Viviane, Igrain, and Morgause are all daughters of Viviane's predecessor, the Lady of the Lake, a victim of death during childbirth. Her death means that Viviane, the eldest of the sisters, must take on the responsibilities of mothering Igraine and Morgause. Igraine recognizes this relationship as she marvels at the power Viviane seems to hold over them: "Or is it that she is the only mother Morgause has ever known? She was a grown woman when Morgause was born, she has always been mother, as well as sister, to both of us" (11).

The dysfunction in both Viviane's relationships with Igraine and Morgause is evident early. Morgause's pain is expressed more subtly through her actions towards Viviane, and she is described as resentful, sullen, and sulky (10). No doubt here feelings are the result of being sent away from Avalon and the only mother she ever knew. Viviane explains that her actions are not those of an unfeeling mother, but a High Priestess: " 'Morgause was like my own to me, the Goddess knows . . . She is not fit. She sees, under the mantle of the Goddess, only power, . . . And so that path is not for her'" (21).

Igraine is more open about her feelings, which are the result of her arranged marriage and Viviane's lack of support: "And why could you not have come before, why did you leave me all alone, to learn to be a wife, to bear a child alone and in fear, and homesickness? And since you could not have come before, why do you come at all, when it is too late and I am at last resigned into submission? (10). Again, Viviane is ruthless, but she must strive for what is best for Avalon and Britain, so that she may take her place as wise-woman: " ' . . . after this I shall hand on my office to some woman younger than I, and become as the Ancient One, the wise-woman'" (21).

Viviane also becomes foster-mother to Morgaine when she takes her from Tintagel to be trained as a priestess at Avalon. Viviane's love for Morgaine is evident: "Only once had she felt this fierce love, this inner pain as if every breath of the beloved was agony–for the daughter she had born in her first year as sworn priestess" (227). She sacrifices this bond for the sake of the kingdom, though, when she knowingly sends Morgaine to participate in the Sacred Marriage ritual with her half-brother Arthur. The consequences of Viviane's actions include both a physical and emotional distance in their relationship. Morgaine is understandably hurt by Viviane's betrayal: " 'Why did you do this to me, Viviane? Why did you use me this way? I thought you loved me?'" (228). Her hurt quickly develops into anger, though, as evidenced in some of her final words before leaving Avalon: " 'I tell you that you have worked upon me and played with me like a puppet for the last time! Never again–never!'" (228). Though Viviane loves Morgaine, her thoughts for the kingdom still come first: " 'Done is done. And at this moment, the hope of Britain is more important than your feelings'" (191).

Viviane has biological children of her own, two sons, Balan and Lancelet, but they are raised in other household by foster-mothers. Viviane is resigned to this arrangement because sons are not needed at Avalon as badly as daughters, but the result is a distant, barely existent relationship with her biological children. Balan, foster-son of Priscilla, appears to possess neither hostile nor affectionate feelings for Viviane, but it is clear he does not think of her as his mother:

"Are you angry with me, Lady, that still I think of my mother as she who died now?" . . .

"The Goddess knows, she was more mother to you than ever I was" (344).

Lancelet's feelings are more negative, though. When he visits Viviane at Avalon, his resentment is apparent in his words: " 'Had you bidden me this when I still starved for your love and approval, madam, no doubt I would have done even as your commanded'" (146). Lancelet feels he has lost his mother to the Goddess: " 'I would rather have a loving mother than a stern Goddess whose every breath bids men live and die at her will'"(144).

It is ultimately Viviane's role as Lady of the Lake and Wise-Woman that prevents her from maintaining a healthy relationship with any of her children, both biological and fosterlings. As ruler of Avalon, she must sacrifice her feelings and those of her children for the good of Britain. As wise-woman, she has the ability to see the bigger picture, and though her actions often hurt and confuse her children, she is taking on one face of the Triple Goddess, the Wise-Woman or Crone.

Igraine' s feelings of resentment have already been explored, and one

might expect she would make an effort to maintain a healthier relationship with her children, especially her daughter Morgaine. Though she showers attention on the young girl during their first few years at Tintagel, her marriage to Uther brings her demonstrations of affection to an abrupt halt. Consequently, Morgaine blames the love between Igraine and Uther for her mother's neglectfulness: "Not that Uther was ever unkind to me; it was simply that he had no particular interest in a girl child. My mother was always at the center of his heart, and he at hers, and so I resented that–that I had lost my mother to this great fair-haired, boorish man . . . . I sometimes thought she hated me" (108-109). Years later, at Arthur's crowning, Morgaine still feels resentment and even unwillingness to see Igraine again: " . . . but that mother has become a stranger to us both. She looked in her mind for any joy in this meeting and found none" (208).

Arthur, son of Uther and Igraine, matters even less to Igraine because he is a boy: "Arthur had returned physically after his long absence, but as all men do, he had grown so far from her that there was no longer any way to reach across that distance" (275). He falls victim to Igraine's inattentiveness, as well: " . . . he began to toddle down after her, crying out, 'Mother, Mother'–he could hardly talk, then–and fell and cut his chin on the stair. I screamed for my mother, but she was on her way to the King, and she called back angrily, 'Morgaine, I told you, look after the baby,' and hurried on . . . . I thought, Igraine has forgotten both of us, abandoned him as she abandoned me (109-110). Arthur recalls these feelings of abandonment when he visits Avalon: " ' I don't remember Uther–my father; not at all. Nor my mother, not really, though sometimes . . . I used to dream I lived . . . with a woman who petted me, then pushed me away'" (201). Igraine regrets the distance between her and her children, but she makes her decision before relationship can even form.

She chooses love because she recognizes that she can reach her full potential as woman in that capacity: "I have always been a child, I have never known until this moment what it was to be a woman" (51-52). The price of her love for Uther is high, though, and she realizes what she will have to lose in order to have him: "She looked at the sticky-handed, sleeping child, her dark hair scattered wildly around her, and at her wide-eyed younger sister, and wondered if, at the call of this thing that had happened to her, she would abandon even these last hostages which held her to the real world. The thought gave great pain, but inside herself she whispered, 'Yes. Even that.' (81). Though Igraine is not a virgin when she sleeps with Uther, she can be viewed as fulfilling the role of Maiden or Lover. Because her first marriage with Gorlois was arranged and loveless, her experience with Uther recaptures her stage as maiden and offers her the chance for true love.

Though a less significant character, Elaine's relationship with her daughter, Nimue, also illustrates how women may neglect their children in order to explore other aspects of their womanhood. Like Igraine, Elaine must give up her child for the sake of love. In her case, however, her sacrifice is less warranted. Morgaine helps her gain the object of her affection, Lancelet, through a spell which forces him to marry Elaine. In return, Elaine has to promise her first daughter to Morgaine as a candidate for priestesshood. Elaine finds little fulfillment in her marriage, but Morgaine holds her to her vow nonetheless: " 'Remember, you made me a vow once–that if I helped you to win Lancelet, you would give me what I asked of you. Nimue is past five years old, old enough for fostering. I ride tomorrow for Avalon. You must make her ready to accompany me'" (629). Elaine too loses her daughter then, in her endeavor to fulfill her role as lover.

All of the above characters focus all of their attention on one aspect of their womanhood, but Morgaine is the best example of a female character who strives to reach her full potential as Mother, Lover, and Wise-woman, and succeeds in her efforts. Her relationship with her biological son, Mordred, is doomed from the moment she equates him with her traumatic experience at the Beltane fires. Up the day of his birth, she harbors resentment for her unborn son: " 'I should have had the sense to be rid of it while there was time!'" (239). Her feelings make it easy for Morgause to take the child as her fosterling. Years later, moments before his death, Mordred echoes Lancelet's words about Viviane when he accuses Morgaine of abandoning her role as his mother to play mother to everyone as the Goddess: "And Gywdion said, looking at me with contempt, 'I needed not the Goddess, but the woman who mothered me'" (866). Both Morgaine and Viviane leave behind those they love for the sake of the Goddess, but only Morgaine truly achieves her potential.

Though her relationship with Mordred is distant and full of contempt, she is able to act as mother to King Urien's youngest son, Uwain: " 'Uwain has been like a true son to me'" (609). It is at King Urien's court that she also finds love with Accolon, the King's middle son: " 'I never knew,' she thought, 'I have never known what it was to be only a woman. I have borne a child I have been married for fourteen years and I have had lovers . . . but I knew nothing, nothing . . . '" (663). Her thoughts resemble those of Igraine when she discovered love, and at the same time, she speaks against the belief that marriage and children define a woman.

Later, after she has lost both son and lover, she takes on the role of death, or wise-woman, when as the leader of Avalon, she must punish Kevin the Harper for his betrayal: "But now she must face Kevin in the person of the avenging Goddess, the Death-crone, the ravening sow who will devour her own young, the Great Raven, the Destroyer . . . " (800). She ultimately realizes that she has indeed become the Goddess in all her capacities: " . . . now she was no longer that Virgin, holding all the power of the Huntress. As the Mother, with all the power of fertility, she had woven spells to bring Lancelet to Elaine's bed. But motherhood for her had ended in the blood of Gwydion's birth. Now she sat here with her shutter in her hand and wove death. like the shadow of the Old Death-Crone" (671).

In all of these examples, we see these women abandoning the roles society tries to force upon them, and seeking out their true selves. All of these journeys, rather they be physical, emotional, spiritual, or all of the above, can be described as stages of initiation, a concept Starhawk discusses in Spriral Dance:

Birth and childhood, of course, are common to all cultures. But our society has not, until recently, conceptualized the stage of initiation, of personal exploration and self-discovery, as necessary for women. Girls were expected to pass directly from childhood to marriage and motherhood–from control by their fathers to control by their husbands. An initiation demands courage and self-reliance, traits that girls were not encouraged to develop. Today, the stage of initiation may involve establishing a career, exploring relationships, or developing one's creativity. Women who have missed this stage in their youth often find it necessary to go back to it later in life. The later stages of life can only fully be experienced after the initiation is completed and an individualized self has been formed (93).

Igraine and Gwenhwyfar both go directly from childhood to marriage. The consequences are clear in Gwen's case; she accepts her role as wife and allows her barrenness to control her life and her happiness. Igraine is more fortunate in that she is able to go back, explore a relationship with Uther, and find some happiness and fulfillment. Avalon is a center of the stages of initiation into all three phases of womanhood. Novices are sent to the House of Maiden and must endure years of silence. From there, they participate in the Sacred Marriage or the Beltane fires, and often move into their stage of mother. And for both Viviane and Morgaine, Avalon holds yet another stage, that of wise-woman and Death-crone. Morgaine journeys the most of any of the characters, both male and female. She leaves her home to be a priestess at Avalon. She flees Avalon to deal with her role as mother at Lothian and later, Caerleon. Left unsatisfied by her relationship with Lancelet, she leaves Arthur's court, and remains lost in the faery country for several years. Perhaps these journeys and her many experiences serve to explain why she is able to become the Goddess in all her forms, as well as serve as a female counter-hero within the work.

Female counter-heroes are also characterized by their journeys:

In their most complete quests, such female heroes, like their male counterparts, are able to undertake journey's to knowledge in which encounters with that which is Other lead ultimately to the decisive encounter with the Self. If completely successful, female (like male) heroes return to their original societies with the prize gift of renewal (Fries 6).

Fries describes the female counter-hero as one who violates the norms of the patriarchy, usually through magic, derives her power from the Magna Dea, or the Great Mother, and is multiple in her manifestations (Fries 6, 12). Morgaine's many different roles have already been examined, and her violation of the patriarchy and its Christian faith is perhaps most obvious at Pentecost, when she becomes the Goddess before Arthur's entire court and takes back the Sacred Regalia. As the female counter-hero in Mists, she serves as the example of the empowered woman that Bradley hoped to convey.

Bradley's female characters are far from perfect, and critics have attacked them, claiming that the presence of such characters subtract from Bradley's vision of an Arthurian world where women are realistic and empowered. In truth, Viviane, Igraine, Morgause, Morgaine, and Gwenhwyfar do reveal their less flattering sides several times, and this is most obvious in their relationships with their children, relationships which they neglect, abuse, and often manipulate for the good of other causes. Once Bradley draws our attention to such blatantly dysfunctional relationships, we have to question why she would construct such negative relations between mothers and their children. In a clear statement about the exalted role of mother and the resulting neglect of other facets of womanhood, Bradley creates characters that deny the restraints of society's expectations and explore new territory within themselves, and in doing so, echoes the ideals of twentieth-century women, striving to reach their full potentiality.

"About the Covenant of the Goddess." Online. Internet. 15 November 2000.

Arbur, Rosemarie. Marion Zimmer Bradley. Mercer Island: Starmont, 1985.

Bradley, Marion Zimmer. The Mists of Avalon. New York: Ballantine Books, 1982.

Donovan, Josephine, ed. Feminist Literary Criticism: Explorations in Theory. Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 1975.

Everson, Michael. "Tenacity in Religion, Myth, and Folklore. The Neolithic

Goddess of Old Europe Preserved in a Non-Indo-European Setting." Journal of Indo-European Studies. 17. 3-4 (Fall-Winter 1989): 277-95.

Fry, Carrol L. "The Goddess Ascending: Feminist Neo-Pagan Witchcraft in

Paxson, Diana L. "Marion Zimmer Bradley and The Mists of Avalon." Arthuriana. 9 (1999): 110-26.

Volk-Birke, Sabine. "The Cyclical Way of the Priestess: On the Significance of Narrative Structures in Marion Zimmer Bradley's The Mists of Avalon." Anglia. 108. 3-4 (1990): 409-428.

Walker, Barbara G. The Woman's Dictionary of Symbols and Sacred Objects. San Francisco, Harper & Row, 1988.