IV. The Magical Virtue of the Analeptic Alzabo

As we learn in the second volume of the cycle, The Claw of the Conciliator, Wolfe’s imagination has only warmed up with the physical encounter of the alzabo. The real magic of this beast we discover in a mysterious concoction that can be derived from ‘a gland at the base of its skull’. In the subsequent three (or rather four) novels now we are introduced to an idea that takes us deep into magical terrain. As we learn that the consciousness of any being devoured by an alzabo is stored in this very gland of the animal’s brain. Thus when an old alzabo is captured, its gland extracted and prepared as part of an elixir - anybody who drinks from this potion will become part of the hive-consciousness originally assembled by the alzabo. The bait eaten by the alzabo doesn’t die, yet its spirits are woven into one within the an- imal. It turns out therefore, as we delve deeper into the universe of the Urth, that it is this notion that resides at the heart of Wolfe’s entire epic: an analeptic concoction that does not only contain the memory of the people devoured by the alzabo, but the entire sapient spirit of these personalities. In essence, we encounter an alchemical procedure by which humans transcend not only their personal consciousness, but their entire notion of self into multiple selves. We literally turn into legion. The price we pay, however, is our own human self.

The hallmark of any great novel, we can say in paraphrasing Gustav Meyrink, is to play a trick on the reader’s mind: By leveraging settings, stories and characters that initially seem familiar, a novel should lure the imagination of the reader away from its habitual paths and out into the unknown. A good novel, according to such standards, acts like a ghoul on our consciousness: It initially presents itself in a familiar shape, only to lead us astray, and to then attack and devour our everyday imagination. And once devoured - we are no longer bound by our old selves, but we can see the world through the imagination of the author. We come together in the text, our consciousness becomes a hive-being.

So here is the connection of the fantastical alzabo with the not-quite-so-fantastical reality of actual ritual magic: When we work as adepts with certain spirits our relation to them very much resembles the act of drinking from the analeptic alzabo. If understanding this process in detail is of interest to you, I recommend reading Wolfe’s epic cover to cover - not as a science-fiction saga, but as a magical primer. Because here is the thing: Once we forge our path into magic deeply enough, we will experience quite similar effects as Severian the Torturer, who at some point stops being Severian the Torturer. And who is to say, who he truly is once he has drunken from the magical potion that contains so many souls? Similarly - who is to say who we are, once we have become familiar with celestial and chthonic spirits? Paracelsus knew a lot about these things. How the soul of the magical operator is changed, when striding out into the depths of magic. For deep magical contact is neither temporary, nor confined to the outside of the circle of the art. True communion, in this sense, means being united with a spirit inside the same alchemical flask, and being put over a scolding fire that burns for a lifetime.

If you are up for the ride, we will explore more of this subject in a future book - and take a closer look at the spiritual process we also hear echos of in the Jewish ibbur or the Arabic manhal. For now, if you haven’t had the pleasure yet, I recommend delving into the depths of Gene Wolfe’s most singular vision. For it might teach you more about the nature of magic than many books that have the word printed in bold on their cover.