I know I should let it go... but I was thinking about this deck last evening trying to figure out why it got under my skin. And I realized something, a dangling thread that unraveled some of my thoughts: MANDRAKE!
The Academy is called Mandrake because it's a generically occult-sounding word with a certain degree of specificity. A little bit like lazy fantasy authors using facts cribbed from other novels. The Mandrake here is just a spooky word with spooky connotations. Like calling it the Trismegistos Academy or the KONX OM PAX Academy... though actually either of those would be more appropriate and indicative of a grasp of the history. Does anyone here think the word Mandrake was chosen because of the actual magical properties of Mandrake? More importantly WHICH properties and in which magical tradition? I don't believe that Corinne or Llewellyn meant to name any academy for a terrifying poisonous aphrodisiac that kills people the moment it's unearthed.
The fact is, in this context the word "Mandrake" is used as a kind of bland homonym, stripped of meaning and context because it sounds cool. It doesn't refer to actual magical Mandrake in any tradition: the real-life dog-killing, aphrodisiac, phosphorescent, demon-summoning, semi-mortal root crafted by Lucifer which grows under the gibbet and screams when it's harvested, useful as a poison and a sedative and for gout and finding treasure and starting wars and speeding exorcism and building a homunculus. This is not the Mandrake that Solomon used to command Djinn or that Circe used to turn sailors into swine. That Mandrake is concrete and dangerous and real. It requires research and a degree of gravitas and that you scrub the dirt from it once you've gotten it home. Frankly, what school would use that root as an emblem unless it specialized in Murder or Orgies?
Nope. This is Mandrake-Lite. Self-help Mandrake. Angeles-Arrien-esque Mandrake. Like the goofy greeting card vision of the world that Hallmark has given us... in which holidays are interchangeable, distinguished only by some basic icons and a pre-assigned palette. If it's pink and green it must be Easter, if it's orange and black it's Halloween. Toothless and insipid and insidious. A world of empty affirmations and affectionless hugs designed to numb us into a stupor of consumer bliss.
And to be clear, I think the conceit of each card being a teacher is clever; too cute for me, yes, but I get it. I can grok it. BUT if the Majors are going to be teachers then they had better know something, reflect knowledge, convey meaning, that I do not have on my own. They must actually teach, or else they are only a facile pose of education. So I have to look at those majors and determine who would reap benefit, who would learn from them. Which is why I (and a bunch of other folks) think this deck is a calculated move by Llewellyn. I can imagine all too clearly the conversations with Llewellyn where certain shifts in the project occurred. I can almost reenact the marketing meeting. They are ALWAYS looking for ways to harvest the tween dollar. Witness their torrent of lucrative moronic Ravenwolf mush. Maybe the Minors will redeem all. Here's hoping.
These are the things that make me feel like the world is being flushed into a sewer of lazy cliches. I apologize for going on... but that Mandrake thing would not let me go until I'd articulated it.
Scion