Pagan Altars & Pale Fires

Alright, let’s take on the audacious task of comparing *Pale Fire*, Vladimir Nabokov’s mind-bending literary labyrinth, with **Pagan Altar**, the unsung occult heavy metal prophets of doom. At first glance, these two cultural artifacts—one a postmodern novel drenched in unreliable narration, the other a doom-laden invocation of pagan mysticism—seem like they inhabit different dimensions entirely. But if we squint hard enough (and perhaps consume some questionable substances), their strange kinship emerges: both revel in **illusions, dual realities, and the intoxicating power of storytelling**, whether through meticulously crafted verse or bone-rattling riffs.  

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### **I. Structure & Duality: The Novel as a Metal Album, The Album as a Novel**  

Nabokov’s *Pale Fire* is a novel masquerading as a 999-line poem by the fictional John Shade, annotated (or rather hijacked) by the wildly unreliable Charles Kinbote, a scholar with delusions of grandeur and a possible connection to a distant, possibly non-existent kingdom called Zembla. The book exists in a **fractured, interwoven format**, forcing the reader to navigate through conflicting narratives, much like a concept album where the lyrics, music, and liner notes tell competing versions of the same myth.  

Now, enter **Pagan Altar**, the NWOBHM (New Wave of British Heavy Metal) cult legends who built their sound on haunting, theatrical doom, conjuring images of ancient rites, lost civilizations, and shadowy figures lurking in the fog. Much like *Pale Fire*, their work thrives on the tension between the **epic and the intimate**, **history and myth**, **reality and illusion**. Their 2004 album *Lords of Hypocrisy* could just as easily be retitled *Annotations of Kinbote*—a sprawling work that casts judgment on religious dogma and the lies of history, while reveling in its own grand mythology.  

In both, **narrative authority is questionable**. Is Kinbote a madman? A metaphor? A deluded ruler? Are Pagan Altar’s hymns to the old gods sincere invocations or tongue-in-cheek theater? Does it matter?  

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### **II. Poetry & Riffs: The Power of Language and Sound**  

John Shade’s poem in *Pale Fire* is a rich, melancholic meditation on **mortality, art, and the search for meaning**, rendered in exquisite iambic pentameter. Pagan Altar, too, trades in **lyrical, poetic storytelling**, but their medium is not the page—it’s the eerie, hypnotic voice of Terry Jones (RIP) soaring over Alan Jones’ ominous, Sabbath-infused guitar work.  

Take these lines from *Pale Fire*:  

*"I was the shadow of the waxwing slain  

By the false azure in the windowpane."*  

Shade, reflecting on illusion and death, captures in two lines what entire existentialist treatises struggle to articulate.  

Now consider **Pagan Altar’s** verse from "The Cry of the Banshee":  

*"The moon was rising in the sky  

The trees were swaying side to side  

It’s sad that beauty must decay  

While night just slowly slips away."*  

Both Shade and Pagan Altar depict **fleeting beauty and the inevitability of death**, yet their delivery methods couldn’t be more different. One is an intricate, formally rigorous poem woven into an unstable novel; the other, an incantatory doom metal sermon delivered over sinister minor chords. Yet both tap into **the same yearning for something beyond the mundane**, whether it be the afterlife, lost kingdoms, or the unknowable fabric of existence.  

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### **III. Unreliable Narrators & Occult Misdirection**  

Kinbote is, at best, an **eccentric scholar** and, at worst, a **delusional egomaniac**, warping reality around his obsession with Zembla and a supposed assassination plot. He hijacks *Pale Fire* the poem and forces his interpretation onto it, much like an overzealous metalhead insisting that every doom riff is an actual occult summoning.  

Pagan Altar, in their own way, play a similar game. Their music is steeped in **mythology, mysticism, and esoteric themes**, but it’s often unclear whether they believe in these forces or merely use them as **aesthetic tools to craft a grand illusion**. Are they true believers, or are they Kinbote-like figures, spinning elaborate tales to serve their own artistic agenda? Their band name itself is a wink to **the blurred line between devotion and theater**—an altar to something long-forgotten, or perhaps something that never truly existed.  

Take "Judgment of the Dead," where they sing:  

*"In the valley of the dead, the motionless figures wait,  

Looking to the reaper as he opens up the gate."*  

It **feels** like prophecy, but is it? Or is it just **a magnificent performance of belief**, much like Kinbote’s fevered ramblings about Zembla?  

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### **IV. Legacy: Cult Status & The Art of Being Misunderstood**  

Neither *Pale Fire* nor Pagan Altar enjoyed mainstream success in their initial runs. Nabokov’s novel was (and still is) **a challenge to casual readers**, its shifting perspectives and untrustworthy narrators demanding multiple readings and deep engagement. Likewise, Pagan Altar toiled in obscurity, overshadowed by flashier metal bands until decades later when **doom metal obsessives resurrected them as forgotten visionaries**. 

 

Both now exist in that sweet, rarefied space of **cult fascination**, where their audiences are small but **intensely devoted**, parsing every line and riff for hidden meanings, debating authorship and intent, convinced they are **part of a select group that truly “gets it”**.  

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### **Conclusion: The Waxwing Slain and the Doom Bell Tolling**  

So, what does *Pale Fire* have in common with **Pagan Altar**? Both operate as **literary and sonic ghost stories**, concerned with the porous boundary between reality and myth, poetry and distortion, life and death. Both revel in **unreliable narratives**, whether in the form of a self-important academic footnoting his own insanity or a metal band whispering of arcane rituals under a blood moon.  

And, most importantly, both leave you with the uneasy sensation that you’ve glimpsed something profound—something just beyond your reach—only for it to dissolve into **a trick of the light**. Or a particularly well-crafted riff.