h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

(Written some years ago. All I know is that it can't mean what it seems it ought directly to mean.)

The Desert
I stand by an oasis in the midst of a desert of sparkling blue sands. The wind blowing across the (oddly high) dunes smells of the sea. I reach down to pick up a handful of the sapphiric sand, and watch as it smoothly flows out, leaving not a grain in my palm. The sky is not quite cloudless: a few cirrus, lost and forlorn wisps of cotton, drift overhead. Though the sky appears otherwise normal and there is plenty of light (and heat), I scan the horizon and zenith but cannot find the sun. A crescent moon -- larger than our own, and slightly purple -- hangs in the sky.

(This depiction of the desert is unlike any other I've seen. It's clearly not just a backdrop, as the game would indicate. Note also that the first word is 'I': this is probably why the cube, first on the list, is usually interpreted as being oneself.)

The Cube
To my left, as I face the moon, I see a massive cube, some distance off -- at least, it appears massive, for I have no way of judging distance in this unfamiliar place. It hovers point downward above the cerulean sands: three white faces observe the sky, three black, the ground. The moonlight shines off its upper faces. Curiously, it casts a shadow towards the moon.

(The cube _probably_ isn't me: the narrator, who contrariwise probably _is_, is present in the scene. Note that the narrator (whom I shall refer to in the third person, in case he isn't) knows he can't properly determine the cube's size.)

The Ladder
Beneath the cube is a small hole; a silvery ladder is the only means of descent. Seventeen rungs glisten with a light from no known source; how many more lie beneath the ground, I cannot discern. Even at this distance, I can see the curlicues and spirals engraved into it; they are fascinating, almost hypnotic.

('Friends'. It is, incidentally, unlikely that there is any deep significance in the number seventeen: see the Jargon File's entry on random numbers, and note that the narrator merely meant 'somewhere around seventeen'. I suspect the narrator had come here to descend the ladder, though I didn't get that feeling until the flowers (q.v.))

The Horse
My steed, a wingèd stallion, paws the sand nervously. His wings are pearlescent; his harness, made of cha'pra leather, a red not of blood nor of passion nor of flame but only of red. His mane is of the same iridescence as his wings, and indeed, the rest of him.

(Note, oddly, that the horse -- theoretically my 'lover' (which was not something I had at this point in time) -- is referred to as a 'him' (which I seriously doubt is something my 'lover' would have been if I had). Note also the negation of symbolism in the color of the harness. The narrator has come here by riding the steed, by the way; an ordinary horse either wouldn't or couldn't have brought him here.)

The Storm
Far away, directly opposite the moon, a huge roiling mass of blue punctuated with angry orange lightnings recedes. I feel a sigh of relief [feel a sigh?] upon thinking of how narrowly I missed the storm in coming here.

(Troubles, it says. Yet I had not evaded troubles then, nor were they far off. The blue of the storm is due to the color of the sands, by the way. At this point, I am tempted to dismiss the odd coloring scheme as completely nonsymbolic of anything save my affinity for the surreal.)

The Flowers
I hold in my right hand a bouquet of seraphs -- an exquisite blue far more brilliant than the paltry corundum grains that shift about my feet. They are fivefold and asymmetric, and have a faint, delicate fragrance of blood and of the sea.

(One's children; one's creations. But the flowers were intended to be given to someone -- I think perhaps someone who lived beneath the sands, down the ladder. And yet, the narrator had never been here before: see the depiction of the desert.)

So -- there it is. Your interpretations and opinions are welcome.

I must say I am curious about the "written some time ago"; and also curious about your distinction between narrator and self.

I would mention that there is "symbolism", and there is "traditional symbolism". Just because a rose means love and romance to 99% of the world wouldn't necessarily indicate that it means love and romance to you. What I mean to say is that there is an assumed symbolism of things, and there is what it *can* mean, or what it means to you.

The desert is a very unusual setting. It has different colors, a different system, is like our own, but removed from it.
The cube has darkness on the bottom, light on the top, but its light doesn't come from the assumed light source but from somewhere entirely different. It is on point, and not resting on the ground.
You've got me with the hole. I still can't figure out the tree.
The ladder is a silvery, decorated substance. Like the cube, the light source is its own and unknown to others. Seventeen rungs apparent above the surface; unknown numbers below the surface.
The horse is a fantastical creature, also removed from reality, and glittering like jewels as are most things in this world. A possibility, dream, or a hope, or a fantasy even.
The storm, not of this world, but of the desert, goes by and timing has saved you from its grasp. Not every storm can be avoided, but the disastrous one you see is out of your path.
The flowers, a boquet of blue to shame the colors of even this unfamiliar world, you feel are to be given to another, by way of the ladder, and one who is not visible but is beneath the cube, hidden in the earth.

I know this is just a restating of what was there, but sometimes hearing a sort of re-assessment of things can give you more perspective. I have done that with friends' dreams on occasion, and when I say what they've just told me things become apparent. Without injecting undue symbolism (I hope?), I've laid out what is there, so perhaps you can find meaning in it yourself, or question things and get more feedback.

> I must say I am curious about the "written some time ago"; and also
> curious about your distinction between narrator and self.

I argue that the expected referents of the symbols (as given in the Answer) are not the referents in my case.

The distinction is not so much between narrator and self as between narrator, self, and cube. The narrator and the cube are disjoint, but I do not know to what degree the narrator and cube are each conjoint with the self. I suspect, however, that the cube does not represent me at all, while the narrator does.

I suspect that the reason the cube describes most people, but not me, is that the first object most people visualize is the cube. (I suppose there are people who would subconsciously consider a place an object, and thus might be represented symbolically by the desert, but I suspect there are very few.) However, the first object I visualized was myself/the narrator, interacting with the desert (albeit in a very limited fashion). The cube came after. It might even go so far as to represent the not-I, the Other -- and if one symbol can be completely reversed in meaning, the likelihood that the remainder retain their original meanings is very small.

Adding to the confusion slightly is that the 'me' herein is not the me of today but the me of some years ago: thus I can legitimately refer to the narrator in the third person. Sadly, a new desert-picture can no longer be generated, as I know the expected referents and would too likely consciously use them, not only blurring the original and expected referents together but producing a picture showing not so much who I am as who I think I am.

> I would mention that there is "symbolism", and there is "traditional
> symbolism". Just because a rose means love and romance to 99% of
> the world wouldn't necessarily indicate that it means love and
> romance to you. What I mean to say is that there is an assumed
> symbolism of things, and there is what it *can* mean, or what it means
> to you.

Now there's something I'm very consciously aware of. Very few people share my referents, simply because they are, by and large, very odd ones. To me, for example, roses (especially single roses) tend to connote conflict. (Bouquets of roses still mean love-and-romance, though.) However, I've gained most of these odd referents since I wrote this, and they're by and large very specific; I don't think this tapped into any of those symbols.

> The desert is a very unusual setting. It has different colors, a different
> system, is like our own, but removed from it.

For future comparison, I'd like to further describe the moon: "The moon hung in the sky about thirty degrees above the horizon; the horns of the crescent pointed to the right, parallel to the ground. It was about a quarter full, though whether waxing or waning I could not say."

(Note that that's not an actual quote: I'm simply adopting the narrative style for the sake of convenience.)

> The cube has darkness on the bottom, light on the top, but its light
> doesn't come from the assumed light source but from somewhere
> entirely different. It is on point, and not resting on the ground.

Clarification: The cube is not dark on the underside and lit above; the upper three faces are, in fact, white, the lower three, black.

> You've got me with the hole. I still can't figure out the tree.

I will posit that, in Dancer's case, the _tree_ is the self-object, rather than the cube. (See above.)

But the hole is there, I think, so that the ladder has a reason to be. The world described by the symbols had to be self-consistent: large, enigmatic, vaguely monolithic objects are the sort of thing that provide their own raison d'etre, but a ladder is a tool designed for a specific purpose.

This isn't to say that the ladder and the hole shouldn't be taken together as a meaningful symbol (that is, if anything herein should).

> The ladder is a silvery, decorated substance. Like the cube, the
> light source is its own and unknown to others. Seventeen rungs
> apparent above the surface; unknown numbers below the surface.

... On further reflection, there are no light sources here. More on this later.

> The horse is a fantastical creature, also removed from reality, and
> glittering like jewels as are most things in this world. A possibility,
> dream, or a hope, or a fantasy even.

Clarification: The horse does not 'glitter' -- it is pearlescent. Neither is it of this world; it is of the narrator's. To him, the horse is solid, more real than the world he's in. Note that it is _his_; he knows even what sort of leather the harness is made out of, a detail that speaks of familiarity.

> The storm, not of this world, but of the desert, goes by and timing
> has saved you from its grasp. Not every storm can be avoided, but
> the disastrous one you see is out of your path.

This one I still don't know -- although note that, despite the storm being technically a thing of the desert's world, the narrator feels no sense of wonder nor freshness at it: he thinks of it as, well, a storm, assuming (probably rightly) that its nature is not fundamentally different from the sort he's familiar with.

> The flowers, a boquet of blue to shame the colors of even this
> unfamiliar world, you feel are to be given to another, by way of the
> ladder, and one who is not visible but is beneath the cube, hidden
> in the earth.

The flowers, like the leather of the harness, are named: the narrator knows these flowers. They may be of his world, or perhaps another that he is familiar with. The fact that he considers the flowers' blue to be superior may even be an artifact of his point of view ('my stuff is better than your stuff').

If seraphs had a meaning in Victorian-era 'flower language', I suspect it would be something like: stoicism, duty, strength. That's more a present-day interpretation of the flowers, though; I don't know if that's how the narrator interpreted them. The literal meaning of the name in English is not directly relevant, though there may be a connection to Poe's "Annabel Lee".

> I know this is just a restating of what was there, but sometimes
> hearing a sort of re-assessment of things can give you more perspective.
> I have done that with friends' dreams on occasion, and when I say what
> they've just told me things become apparent. Without injecting undue
> symbolism (I hope?), I've laid out what is there, so perhaps you can find
> meaning in it yourself, or question things and get more feedback.

Well, it helped me recognize a fundamental distinction in the image:

- Things of the narrator's world.
These include the narrator himself, the horse, and the flowers. The narrator is familiar with all of them.

- Things of the desert world.
These include the desert, the moon, the cube, the ladder and hole, and the storm. The narrator knows none of these well, except perhaps the storm (a storm is a storm, after all).

The desert world's objects also all seem to have a fundamental property in common: they all cast shadows completely independently of each other. The moon is a crescent because the dark part is in shadow. The cube casts its shadow toward the moon. Rather than there be individual light sources for each object, none visible, it is more likely that shadows in this realm are properties only of the objects themselves. The narrator didn't have a shadow, and neither did his horse. I'm not sure what this represents, though.

On the other hand, even if the symbols turn out to be uninterpretable, the image would always make good material for a story or some such.