It has been said, by persons of considerably less Finnish extraction than myself, that Tuonela requires some explanation. It is that rather awkward corner of the underworld where heroes go when they’ve made a bit of a hash of things. The sort of place where perfectly good and well-intentioned ideas drift downstream, cross the fatal river (no return ticket, I’m afraid), and settle in for what one might call an indefinite stay.
The thing about Tuonela, you see, is that it’s frightfully good at what it does. Once an idea checks in, some brilliant wheeze about revolutionizing the widget industry, or a can’t-miss scheme for teaching cats to appreciate jazz, it tends to find the accommodations rather more permanent than initially advertised. The daughter of Tuoni operates the ferry service with the efficiency of a zealous parking attendant of the most dedicated variety, and Mana’s son maintains what can only be described as an excessive number of nets. One gets the impression that the tourism board, if such a thing existed, would not be winning any awards for encouraging day-trippers.
And yet, every so often, with the sort of rarity that makes hen’s teeth look positively commonplace, some peculiar idea manages to slip through the copper bands, dodge the iron-pointed fingers, and make a break for it. How this happens remains something of a mystery, rather like how one’s other sock vanishes in the wash, but infinitely more consequential and considerably more rewarding when the escapee finally turns up.
The curious thing about these fugitive notions is that they never return in quite their original form. Whatever transformative process occurs in the depths of Tuonela, it seems to act rather like an underworld gymnasium, and the ideas that manage the return journey emerge altogether more formidable than when they went in, like Mr. Muscle after an extended course of protein shakes. They come back bigger, stronger, and possessed of that stubborn quality that refuses to rot quietly in the underworld like sensible notions are supposed to do.
This blog, dear reader, is dedicated to those escapees, the ideas that somehow found their way back from Tuonela and lived to tell the tale.
Welcome to Tuonela. Mind the ferry.
Have not come with this intention,
Have not come to drink thy poisons,
Drink the coffee of Tuonela;
Those that drink Tuoni’s caffeine,
Those that sip the cups of Mana,
Court the Devil and destruction,
End their lives in want and ruin.[1]
[1] Lönnrot & Crawford, “Kalevala : the Epic Poem of Finland”, 1849. https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/5186