Charting ‘The Flight of Dragons’

I hold dragons in the highest esteem. What fantasy aficionado does not? As a species, dragons have long been dominant in the realms of imagination. Unicorns, trolls, hellhounds, griffins, pegasi and other creatures of lore have their own places in fantasy, but none of them inspire the awe engendered by dragons in their human observers and adversaries. Grendel in Beowulf, Mnementh of Pern, the Norse Fafnir, Smaug in The Hobbit, Glaurung from The Silmarillion, Pyros and Skie of Krynn, Diane Duane’s Hasai – these are only a few members of the draconic corps who have brought an unrivalled power and majesty to their respective worlds.

The concept of immense, invulnerable creatures, possessed of unmatched strength, near-immortality, and keen intelligence – not to mention the ability to reduce any attacker to a pile of ashes – has without doubt captured the fancy of everyone who has ever felt weak, insignificant and alone. It certainly took firm and immovable root in me. Oh, to be a dragon! It was an oft-repeated wish of an uneventful and rather tedious childhood, made more so by the strictures of parochial schools and the lack of boon companions.

Are they nothing but products of the imagination? Science and society would have it so. No one has ever proven that such creatures were a part of the planet’s natural history. But through the centuries, the tales have persisted of immense fire-breathing monsters, fierce-eyed, wise beyond mortal ken, and apparently invincible. All over the world, legends abound in which dragons and men confront each other, often to the death, over treasure, territory, or the life of a sacrificial maiden. In spite of coming from different sources, and resulting variations in detail, the descriptions of draconic traits, habits and weaknesses are remarkably similar. Which begs the question: Did dragons in fact exist?

This is the premise behind Peter Dickinson’s The Flight of Dragons. It is not a novel based on the animated film of the same title; rather, the film’s animators used Wayne Anderson’s brilliant artwork as a guide to dragon anatomy. Punctuated by quotations from both historical and fictional sources, the book is Dickinson’s take on the possibility that a certain life-form, exhibiting the unique characteristics and specializations which we now attribute to mythical dragons, did indeed evolve, coexist with man for a short period, and eventually become extinct.

Improbable, you might say. So said I, through the years, from childhood to bewildering adolescence, to even more bewildering maturity. With real challenges and issues dogging my footsteps, all thoughts of dragons faded into the background, taking with them the sense of wonder and freedom that they had come to represent, without which the world seemed less colorful, less magical, and governed entirely by the mundane.

Then I found the book by pure chance, offered to the highest bidder through a local auction site. The dormant interest stirred, and I found myself bidding for it, though I had little hope of actually winning. To my surprise, I did! And while winning an auction was something new in my experience, I considered the book itself even more unusual – a work of fantasy masquerading as non-fiction. However, from the moment I began reading, I knew that The Flight of Dragons would not be so easily dismissed.

In scientific yet romantic prose, Dickinson maintains that the main characteristic of dragons was their mode of flight – weightless flight. Other draconic traits – breathing fire, seemingly magical blood, immense size, hypnotic gaze, even the hoarding of gold and the preference for damsels of high birth as part of their diet – were developed by dragons as offshoots of this primary specialization. Violent draconic metabolism, equally violent life cycles, and often fatal interactions with mankind are presented as the reasons for the species’ inevitable extinction. The dearth of fossil records is due to the dragons’ uniquely destructive biochemistry; the lack of cave-paintings, the result of the fear and loathing that the species would have elicited from Stone Age man. Indeed, why would any prehistoric artist have drawn such creatures, when they could bring only destruction to his tribe? Word-of-mouth, and thereafter the written word, was the safest way to preserve memories of dragons, however distorted and murky such memories were doomed to become.

On the other claw, the book takes pains to dispel the rest of the draconic profile. Dickinson contends that dragons could not have possessed the wisdom of the ages, profound strength, or impenetrable armor; no creature so extremely specialized towards the attainment of flight could have developed unrelated faculties and traits to such advanced levels. In man, the evolution of a highly-specialized brain took precedence over all else; so it must have been with dragons and their flight mechanism.

Far-fetched? Indeed. And yet I find the author’s theories too plausible to be rejected out of hand. They are persuasive, unexpectedly coherent, and just as convincing as the popular notion that dragons are imaginary. At no time does Dickinson treat his subject with anything less than respect, though lovers of the genre may be disappointed whenever he departs from accepted fantasy norms. This is only natural – we do not discard our ideals and high standards so readily, even where dragons are concerned. But why discard them at all? One cannot expect a single person, however painstaking his research, to fully account for so marvelous and inscrutable a creature. The Flight of Dragons is a summation of theorized parts, not the fully conceived whole; it is a detailed sketch, not a photograph, of what dragons may have been.

Nonetheless, it was through Dickinson’s text that my lifelong wish was vicariously granted. Immersed in his words, I have hatched from the egg laid at the breeding pool; fought and consumed my contemporaries in the heat of territorial dispute; and existed in the solitude of my narrow cave lair for years beyond count. I have risen on winds and thermals, in the realization and mastery of flight; subdued my opponents with the power of my gaze; and diverted all their attacks to my one invulnerable spot. I have engaged in fiery duels with others of my kind, for the right to propagate the species; dispatched princesses, heroes and peasants alike; and survived long enough in the minds of men to become, if not an acknowledged reality, a legend that grows with each retelling. In reading the book, I have lived a dragon’s life, and found it worth living.

Due to my long fascination with the subject, The Flight of Dragons is irresistible, whatever perceived shortcomings or omissions it contains. I need only choose between the suggested reality and the accepted fantasy – to settle for believable, though less-than-glorious creatures, or to use those suggestions to keep the dreams of dragons alive and unchanged in my secret heart. There have been many books that I have called my favorite, at one time or another, but this one will retain that designation somewhat longer, for a number of reasons – the manner of its acquisition; its singular subject matter; and not least of all, its re-awakening of my faith in uncommon and wondrous things.

Were dragons real? It is the reader’s call, either way. But it is comforting to reflect that someone thought so, and went to the trouble of explaining why. It is equally comforting to think that the writer could have been wrong, and that there is still scope for imagination regarding this most fearsome of creatures. Perhaps the line between fact and fantasy is not as well-defined as people think. After all, beyond our comfortable and narrow vistas, yet within us, are entire worlds of possibility and adventure, waiting only to be explored.

In those worlds – yours and mine – dragons will live forever.