The Conjuring Man, page 39
This is indicative of a greater problem.
There has always been a degree of separation between higher academia and the rest of the population. Academia isn’t precisely a closed shop, but it does tend to promote (and grant tenure to) people with a tendency to fall in line. The recent push for more diversity amongst academics is a façade, because while the university will try to look for diversity in skin colour, gender and religion it rarely looks for diversity in thought. It is relatively rare for open conservatives to work in universities and higher education, at least partly because their fellows regard them as evil – however defined – and students, these days, have a nasty tendency to protest conservative professors, a problem made worse by the unwillingness of academic staff to stand up for their professors against the mob. This is incredibly damaging to both student development and the long-term future of the universities themselves. On one hand, for example, if legal students are protesting a professor who defended a guilty man and are allowed to get away with it, it calls into question the quality of legal education in that university; on the other, if universities are unrelentingly hostile to conservatives, conservatives will return the sentiment and work to defund, defang or otherwise penalise institutions they will regard, with reason, as irrational enemies.
These are minor problems compared to the most dangerous one. It is vitally important, if one goes into a high-ranking government or corporate post, to be able to understand someone else’s point of view even if you do not agree with it. The vast majority of the people who voted for Donald Trump did not do so because they were fascist bigoted shitheads, nor were the people who supported Bernie Sanders idealistic communist traitors. They had their reasons for their support that were not, from their point of view, unreasonable, let alone outright evil. If you can declare, without irony, that you “don’t understand how a candidate got elected because I never met anyone who voted for him,” then you have spent much of your life in a bubble and you are dangerously unqualified to make decisions for anyone living outside this bubble. They, in turn, will regard you as a threat. And they will be right.
It is not easy to explain the decline of traditional academic thought and its replacement with something distinctly illiberal, even as it cloaks itself in the mantle of social justice. There are, in my view, two main problems. First, the government’s decision to underwrite student debt ensured that universities could raise fees without worrying about the quality of the finished product. It did not matter, from this point of view, if a newly qualified graduate got a high-paying job or not. The universities got the money from the banks, which had no qualms about offering loans to students with poor (or no) prospects because they were sure the loans would either be repaid or the government would step in and repay the money from taxes. This encouraged the universities to develop courses of little practical value, outside (or even in) academia. The joke about ‘lesbian dance theory’ is silly, but it isn’t as far off the mark as its critics insist.
Linked to this, universities started seeing students as their customers and believing, at least in part, that the customer was always right. Instead of providing firm and fair discipline, university staff started to cave to demands, triggering off a crisis when the universities tried to appease protestors only to discover that each concession only led to more demands and that each surrender made it harder to stand up to the next set of demands.
Second, as universities have always been somewhat isolated from the rest of the country and the world, it was easy for them to lose track of what was actually important. Communism is often called an academic ideology and, in some ways, that’s true. It works brilliantly on paper, but it takes no account of human nature. Academics communists insist that communism has never been done property and in a sense, they’re right. But the very nature of communism means it can never be done right. And many academics don’t realise it because they live in a very artificial environment.
This isolation allows new and seemingly crazy ideas to flourish in universities, provoking derision from outsiders and (as is generally the case when someone is mocked mercilessly) encouraging the university staff and students to double down, rather than re-evaluate their position. The belief these academic ideas are perfect drives academic staff to assume that anyone who disagrees is wilfully wrong, rather than arguing from a different point of view, and therefore deserved sanction instead of praise for pointing out the problems with actually implementing the academic ideas in the real world. This is not, of course, an uncommon problem amongst religious fanatics, who insist that anyone honest who hears about their religion will recognise its righteousness and convert (and anyone who doesn’t is therefore dishonest by definition), but it has no place in a university.
These problems, and others, are undermining the reason for universities to exist. There is an increasing sense that universities are falling apart, that they are not graduating students capable of functioning in the real world, that their staff are irredeemably hostile to the rest of the population and their students little more than footsoldiers for radical revolutionaries intent on burning down the old society on the (historically unlikely) assumption that a world of perfect justice will automatically take its place. This belief is deadly poison to the academic world, the good as well as the bad. If universities are no longer a net gain to society, why bother to support them?
This is a different question to answer. Universities have often been a bastion of academic freedom and intellectual debate, and in the past they have served that role well. They have also allowed students from many different backgrounds to meet and come to know one another, although – for a number of reasons – this never worked as well as advertised. And yes, a university can be a valuable resource. They can be havens of experts in almost any subject, hosts to libraries of rare and valuable books; they can, even, debate topics considered verboten elsewhere. (Why do you think dictatorial regimes spend so much time keeping universities under tight supervision?) But it is starting to look as though universities are no longer worth the price.
Can this problem be fixed?
I think so, if administrators have the nerve as well as the power. We must enshrine free speech in all its manifestations, or, if we must put limits on speech, we must debate and justify those limits ahead of time. We must cut down sharply on administrative bloat, on worthless bureaucrats who add nothing to the university (and actually make it worse, by fuelling contempt for university staff); we must cut down on academic demands that have nothing to do with a student’s particular course; we must reassess tenure so staff who openly misbehave can be fired without a long struggle; we must be willing to expel students who riot, heckle, vandalise or otherwise act badly on campus; most importantly of all, perhaps, we must stop underwriting student loans. And we must apply whatever rules we devise consistently, without regard for race, gender or creed. Nothing undermines the rule of law quicker than inconsistent application.
But that is a little heavy for a light fantasy novel, so I’ll stop now.
And now you’ve read this far, I have a request to make.
It’s growing harder to make a living through self-published writing these days. If you liked this book, please leave a review where you found it, share the link, let your friends know (etc, etc). Every little bit helps (particularly reviews).
Thank you.
Christopher G. Nuttall
Edinburgh, 2022
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If You Liked The Conjuring Man, You Might Like:
A Reluctant Druid
Book I of V of the Milesian Accords
Jon R. Osborne
Cover Blurb
Centuries ago, the followers of the new gods defeated the old gods and the folk of legend, banishing them from the world of man. With their departure, magic faded from the land.
The Milesian Accords had provisions for a new challenge, though, and the Exiled Gods have sent their minions back to our world to seek out a champion to fight for them and a druid able to wield the magic needed to fulfill the challenge.
A descendant of the druid who participated in the original challenge, Liam Knox doesn't know anything about the Accords or his ancestors, but those seeking to maintain the status quo are hunting him, and the beings of myth are doing their best to convince him to help the Exiled Gods return to the world of man, bringing magic back with them.
Liam is faced with a choice he doesn't want, and if he chooses wrong, he risks more than his own life—he could end the world as we know it. And he's running out of time to decide.
Chapter 1
Liam
“Excuse me, Liam?”
One of the joys of working retail, Liam Knox thought, was complete strangers thought they were on a first name basis with you just because you wore a nametag. Some acted like they were old friends, using your name in a chummy manner, while others seemed to hit you over the head with it, as if knowing your name gave them some sort of authority.
Liam looked up from the books he had been sorting, pushing back the reflexive reaction. The young woman standing on the opposite side of the library cart was probably a college student, not surprising since the store dealt in used textbooks. Students came from the handful of small colleges scattered around Peoria, hoping to save a few bucks on the money earmarked for books so they could afford something more fun than Fundamentals of Geology.
Her voice bubbled with perkiness and had a slightly musical lilt that spoke of somewhere in the British Isles. Her hair was a riot of purple and pink, some of it barely contained in her ponytail, and her loose lilac blouse was open over black yoga pants and a pink sports top. Barely standing five feet tall and bouncing in hot pink sneakers, she was the personification of a modern pixie hopped up on Mountain Dew. She even smelled like flowers.
“Can I help you?” Liam tried not to take note of her pierced navel or the swirling tattoos winding up her right hip above the waistband of the yoga pants. He thanked the gods for yoga pants, then felt guilty, chiding himself that she was probably half his age. He made a conscious effort to focus on her violet eyes, which for a split second seemed to glow. He was so distracted, he almost missed her request.
“I’m looking for books about druids,” she said earnestly. Liam couldn’t put his finger on it, but something seemed wrong, as if the girl was out of place among the narrow rows of worn shelves and fluorescent lighting. She regarded him steadily with those bright eyes, the corner of her mouth turned up in a half-smile.
“Do you mean druids in fantasy books, or in games such as Realms of Quest?” Liam tried to put his mind on the job. He normally didn’t pay much attention to the coeds who often came in to Word Nerds looking for cheap books, not even the cute ones. He usually let one of the younger employees deal with them. “Or are you looking for historical references regarding druids, or perhaps something from the New Age section?”
She wrinkled her button nose at the last suggestion. “I mean real druids, Liam.”
Liam arched an eyebrow, wondering if she had been sent to him as some sort of joke. Liam referred to himself as a ‘self-proclaimed druid,’ practicing what some referred to as reconstructed Celtic paganism. It was no secret in the local pagan scene, but he wasn’t heavily involved in the community, at least not anymore. Some of his fellow pagans certainly didn’t consider him a ‘real’ druid, a claim he never asserted. “Depending on who you talk to, ‘real druids’ could cover a lot.”
“I know what it covers.” The purple-haired girl held her gaze on him. As Liam met her eyes, there was buzzing in the back of his brain, and he was struck with double vision. One image of the girl remained normal, except for her eyes, which lit up with a violet glow. The other image gave her skin a greenish-cast, her ears ending in points, and her hair moved in a silent breeze. In the double image, her eyes also glowed with an inner light. He thought he could hear a whisper in his mind, the same musical accent.
“Knox, aren’t you done shelving those books yet?” Clark Hayes, Liam’s boss, emerged from the back room, frowning. Liam’s awareness snapped into focus, the double vision gone, and the murmuring voice silenced. Blinking away a wave of dizziness, Liam fought the urge to shake his head. Clark didn’t add the unspoken ‘I don’t pay you to chat with coeds’ as he tried to straighten the perpetually-crooked tie he wore like a badge of office.
The young woman turned to the manager, cocking her head to one side, still smirking. “Liam is busy helping a customer. Surely that’s more important.”
Again, Liam could have sworn her eyes had a light of their own, beyond anything which could be attributed to weird contacts or naturally bright irises.
“Of course that’s more important.” Clark looked confused for a moment, as if he had forgotten what he was going to say, then turned and stomped toward the front of the store. Liam assumed Clark’s next stop would be to hassle Kenna, the employee manning the coffee bar. Clark didn’t seem to think he was doing his job unless he gave his employees grief. They put up with him because it was still better than working in fast food or a big box store.
“Did you just ‘these aren’t the droids you’re looking for’ my boss?” Liam had never seen Clark agree with anyone, even a customer, so readily. Even though the manager was a couple of years younger than Liam, there were times Clark treated him like one of the college kids they had on staff.
“Hi, I’m Pixel.” She extended her hand, and Liam took it by reflex. Her small hand felt warm, warmer than cute-young-girl warranted, as though she had a fever. “So, does he always boss you around like an angry ogre?”
“He’s brusque with pretty much the whole staff.” Liam looked toward the front of the store where Clark had gone, mainly to break eye contact and collect his thoughts. He considered finding another employee to help the young woman. In the back of his mind, he considered whispering a quick protective verse. Something wasn’t quite right.
Pixel placed her hand on Liam’s arm, banishing the cautious voice. “So you’re going to help me with druids.”
“Right.” Surely she wasn’t any sort of threat, but her interest in druids couldn’t be a coincidence. Someone sent her to look for him and ask him about druids, he was almost certain. If it was someone’s idea of a joke, Liam couldn’t figure out what was supposed to be funny. Maybe the prankster hoped Liam would ask her out or do something that would make him look like a fool. If he didn’t have grey creeping into his sandy beard, maybe it would have been tempting, but he was keenly aware he was closing on 40. His days of chasing college girls were long behind him, even colorful ones smelling of flowers.
“Since you said real druids, let’s go to the history section,” Liam said, trying to get the conversation back on business. He nodded toward the aisle in question and led the way through the mismatched bookshelves. Having her walk in front of him would have been too distracting. Liam mentally ran through the rosters of pagan groups he had mingled with, looking for someone who would have a grudge and would think this was funny. While feuds were far too common in the pagan community, they were mostly conducted online, and he had stayed out of them. “Some of the neo-pagan druids might argue they are ‘real’ druids, but they have no historical connection to the Celtic priesthood.”
“Druids didn’t gather in pseudo-covens.” Pixel responded from behind him, her tone turning from chipper to serious. “Being a druid was a job, not a party game.”
“There’s not much here, a handful really.” Liam gestured to the books in question, which prompted her to brush past him for a better look. The scent of blossoms tickled his nose. Liam tried not to let his thoughts get derailed by her proximity and casually backed up a couple of steps, continuing to turn the puzzle over in his mind. Perhaps she had gone to someone in the pagan community asking about druids, and they had told her about Liam. Given her last remark, the local neo-pagan druid grove would have turned her away. He knew the leader of the group, Don Potts, who went by the craft name Taliesin. Don wasn’t going to have the time of day for someone who didn’t buy into his grove’s idea about druidism. The party game comment would have definitely rocked the boat. Liam found himself wishing he could see Don’s face as she said that line.
