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THIS story. This tragedy. This heartbreak. This movie. BRB, crying. Personally, I love this story even MORE than Romeo & Juliet. No offense to Shakespeare. I guess I just find it a little more realistic, considering Romeo and Juliet die for each other within a 4 day span LOL. The fact that Thomas Malory included Tristan in his Knights of the Round table and evolved this story within Arthurian lore, strikes my nerdy heart to its core.

So, what version of Tristan and Isolde do I want to talk about? Basically all of them… except my main focus today is going to be the film adaptation directed by Kevin Reynolds. He is known for his other movies like Robin Hood, Waterworld *another favorite of mine,* and Count of Monte Cristo. I want to focus on the movie because 1. It’s a film favorite of mine that I can watch a gazillion times, 2. the music AKA Gavin Degraw and the poetic references by Jon Donne and 3. James Franco in his prime (swooooon!) SO, lets talk about this tear jerker.

Originating from the 12th century, the story of Tristan and Isolde was developed by many poets, including;  Thomas of Britain and Béroul. Then in later years, Thomas Malory‘s Le Morte d’Arthur. Each retelling is very similar to the other, except for a FEW details. The movie ends up taking the main premise of the tale but makes the union of our two lovers a lot more romantic and the tragedy even more devastating. So let’s look through the plot of this movie, and see why its considered one of my favorite pairs of star crossed lovers.

Long story short, the Jutes, Angles, and all the other small tribes of the Anglo Saxons are trying to unite Britain and fight against enemies, such as the Irish (Picts/Scots). It was during this time that Tristan’s whole family was murdered and his Uncle Mark (King of Cornwall) decides to take him under his wing and raise him as his own son. Years pass and Tristan is like a badass warrior who serves Mark on multiple raids against the Irish.

The movie finally kicks off when Tristan leads his soldiers in a caravan ambush against the Irish, where he kills their leader, Morholt, but is wounded by his poisoned sword in the process of the fight. Tristan is believed to be dead by his peers, when really he is just paralyzed with a low heart beat. His soldiers perform a water burial for him and push his body out to sea, where the boat crashes into the Irish shores and is overturned into the sand. Leaving the beautiful Isolde to find him and drag his body to a nearby decaying hut, after discovering Tristan was still alive. In the midst of treating Tristan’s wounds and reviving him to normalcy, the pair end up falling in love, but Isolde hides her true identity from him and tells Tristan her name is Bragnae, a mediocre maid, when really, she is the princess of the Irish King that opposes his kind. (oh, this lie puts a hitch in EVERYTHING)

Tristan recovers from his wounds and sails back to Cornwall, where Isolde is left behind and miserable, knowing she will never see him again. *cue the drums* Of course, that isn’t true. Lord Mark is now at a point where he must marry and he decides to create an alliance with the Irish to end the bloodshed, so they do the ONE thing that they know how to do… arrange a marriage. The Irish King does not want to make this commitment easily, so he throws a dueling tournament to win the infamous Isolde’s hand. Many warriors chose to fight for their lords to win them the fair lady, and YES, TRISTIAN, offers his services to help Mark claim a beautiful wife… a WIFE that is AKA Bragnae, the woman whom he fell in love with, but doesn’t know her real fucking name or that she is a princess. TOO MUCH ANIXETY.

Tristan wins the tournament, all the while Isolde is cheering him on from behind veiled clothes, disguising her beauty from all contestants. She thinks that Tristan knows it’s her and that he is fighting for her, but when Tristan claims victory and announces his winnings as the claimed bride of his Lord Mark of Cornwall, Isolde is filled with immense terror. When Isolde discards her veil to show her face to the crowd, Tristian is dumbfounded and filled with a private rage that boils beneath the surface. Tristan just won the woman he loves for his Lord Mark. His Uncle and his King. WOW.

The remainder of the story commences with Tristan having to watch the love of his life with another man. Watch her marry, stroll through the same village, eating at the same table. He is utterly destroyed inside and promises himself that he will remain respectable and stay away from her. Isolde wants to be with Tristan more than he knows, and she remains silent after many advances on her part, until finally Tristan caves to his own desires and pursues Isolde anyway. The two have a heavily heated affair, vowing they only love each other and wishing they could run away.

Eventually all amazing things come to an end, when the unraveling of this affair is discovered by the betrayal of a friend, who is a traitor and working with the Irish to ambush Cornwall. The affair is share with Lord Mark, where he is disgusted, until he finally hears the story from Isolde, from the very beginning: how she disguised her identity, how Tristan did not know he was fighting to win her for Mark, how they have been in love from the very first day. Mark eventually decides to let them both go free at the river side, even in the midst of the Irish breaking into the castle, and banishes them from the kingdom forever. Tristan tricks Isolde into thinking he will leave with her in a small boat, but he pushes Isolde down the river without him, and tells her that he does not want their love to bring down a kingdom. Tristan rushes to the battle and helps Mark defeat the Irish for the last time.

Unfortunately, Tristan is mortally wounded… and Isolde makes it in enough time to say goodbye to Tristan. His last words to her were:

“You were right. I don’t know if life is greater than
death. But love was more than either.”

If you need a good cry… watch the film. It gets me every time.

In the original tale, Tristan and Isolde drink a love potion that was supposed to be consumed between Mark and Isolde, an this potion is what causes their souls to be tied. Mark threatens to hang and burn both of them, but they escape, and yes, in the legend, they BOTH die within an embrace, where a thick briar of roses grows out of Tristan’s grave, growing so much that it forms a bower and roots itself into Isolde’s grave. Mark tries tirelessly to cut it down 3 times, but every time it grows back thicker and more intertwined.

Tristan and Isolde were doomed from the start, but at least they loved each other until the end.

Even beyond death.

All the movie trailers are super cheesy (seeing as this film is from 2006) so, here is a little montage to peek your interest. Watch the movie… it will touch your heart.

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*The following short story relays the origin of red roses within Greek Mythology*

The fire cracked softly in the dim lit room, where rows of books filled towering shelves that touched the tips of the ceiling. The wood floor danced in the glow of the heat and before the hearth laid a burgundy rug, with two leather tufted chairs and a nearby round table.

And upon the center of the rug, stood Tessa, staring heavily into the orange hue.

Her heels hung limply between her fingers, and her satin gold dress pooled in waves around her bare feet. Light sounds of music from the ballroom hummed through the walls of the study, and Tessa knew that she shouldn’t have left early, but it was the only way she could keep herself together. She just needed a minute. One minute to breathe. One minute to try and wrap her head around her new engagement. Her now soon-to-be betrothed. Her “said” destiny.

A swirl of panic seeped into her mind as she mulled over the recent order of events set up by their families. An arranged marriage to William. A surprise proposal. The pressure to accept. A ball to celebrate. And James.

James.

The rattling turn of the doorknob made Tessa jump, so she quickly wiped her eyes of any remnants of mascara.

“I’ll be just a sec—” Her voice caught in her throat, when she beheld the man who stood in the thick door frame. He wore a matte black tie and a solid black suit that hugged every inch of his strong body. A wistful look cast across his face when he took Tessa in with his green eyes.

“I hear congratulations are in order.” James said sarcastically and strode across the wood floor to close the space between the two of them, all while holding his arms behind his back.

“What are you doing here? How did you even get in?” Tessa stammered with surprise. “Did the guards see you?” She dropped her heels onto the plush rug and tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

James, now a mere three steps away, stopped walking and brought forth a single, long stemmed white rose from behind his back. “Have I ever told you about the myth of a red rose?” James twirled the flower between his fingers.

“Are you kidding me right now?” Tessa rattled out a tight reply and glanced at the door over James’ shoulder. You shouldn’t be here.

“Humor me.” He smiled a wicked smile, one that would bring any girl to their knees. Tessa cleared her throat, shaking the thought from her mind and hesitantly gestured for him to continue.

“Now, you see Tessa, according to Greek mythology, the red rose was created by none other than the beautiful Aphrodite, the Goddess of love.” James continued to twirl the white rose gently, admiring the shape of its pedals as he spoke. “It is told that Aphrodite fell in love with Adonis, son of Myrrah and Theia and he was obsessed with hunting.” He took a small step on the burgundy rug.

“Aphrodite had forewarned Adonis multiple times not to hunt animals that are not fearful, but he did it anyway, and in the end, it cost him his life. Ares, the Olympic God of war and former x-lover of Aphrodite, disguised himself as a boar, and killed Adonis out of pure jealousy.” James looked up from the rose and held Tessa’s gaze intently.

Tessa nervously shifted her weight, and broke eye contact. “So, where does the red rose come into this?” She breathed.

“Well.” James lowered the white rose by his side, “In an effort to save Adonis from death, Aphrodite sprinted through the woods with the hopes of stopping Ares. While she ran, she accidently cut herself and her blood is said to have splashed upon a white rose, turning it red, and fashioned the first red rose.” James took another small step forward and ran his right hand through his brown hair.

“Interesting.” Tessa’s back tensed with how close the two of them were. She longed to touch him but knew she couldn’t.

“But, if the story of a red rose is so important, why do you have a white rose?” She looked up into his face this time and waited patiently for his response. With the fire popping in the mists of silence, he took a breath and spoke carefully.

“A red rose, is of course, special.” He raised the rose again and admired it. “Representing the meaning of love and adoration. But a white rose.” James placed the rose against Tessa’s left arm and slowly traced it down toward the inside of her elbow.

“A white rose, is the beginning and the end.” His voice grew delicate. “A white rose is eternal love. Everlasting. Something that cannot be tarnished.”

Tessa’s eyes watered with tears, as James lifted the rose and stroked it down her cheek. “A white rose is a memory that will never be forgotten.”

“James.” Tessa reached for his hand but received the stem of the rose instead. James turned and walked back toward the door from whence he came.

The shadows of the night followed his steps until he stopped to speak over his shoulder. “And Tess.” His voice was gruff and low. “A white rose was first. I was first.” He paused and squeezed his fist, “I loved you first. Now. Always.” He paused once more and waited. Waited for a reaction. A sign. A plead. James wanted her to chase him through the woods. Needed her too.

Though nothing. Not a sound echoed off her lips.

So, James, stepped into the empty hall, and quietly, closed the door behind him.

And that’s when Tessa, with her white rose, crumbled upon the floor and broke… because deep down, she wanted him to be her last.

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“O let me visit Hero ere I die!” ugh, Que heartbreak. Sorry for introducing my first blog post with such a heavy topic, buttttt doesn’t everyone love a good tragedy? Especially one that has survived the test of time and embedded itself in multiple movies, songs, and not to mention, texts. Romeo and Juliet is probably one of the most infamous tragedies which portrays an allusion of the elusive poem Hero & Leander, written and adapted by Christopher Marlowe. So, if Shakespeare and Marlowe valued it, we need to talk about it.

Let me break the myth down for you real quick, in case you’ve never read it:

Hero is UM, gorgeous, a virgin, and a priestess of Aphrodite -AKA- The love Goddess. Hero lives in a tower all by her lonesome, located on the Hellespont in the city of Sestus. Leander, the stud and seducer of the story, also lives upon the Hellespont across the Mediterranean sea. Upon their meeting at a fun-filled festival, Leander falls head over heels in love with Hero, where he desires to shag her and propose marriage. Hero, unfortunately explains that she cannot marry a man from a foreign city (why is it always the parents?), so Leander vows to swim to her tower every night just to be with her. Hero helps her lover by placing a bright lamp outside her window to guide him through the dark waters. BUT all else fails. A terrible storm blows through on a moments notice, and the glowing lamp is snuffed out by the strong winds, causing poor, beautiful Leander to lose his way and drown. Hero is left trembling on the shore, as she collects her mans broken body, and later, casts herself off the top of her tower to die.

GAH, I cant tell you how much this story wrecked me the first time I read it. I am a hopeless romantic by nature, so when I read pieces that leave me “in my feels,” I end up creating so many different outcomes of the story in my head. Like, why didn’t Leander get a damn boat? OR just tell Hero’s parents to f**k off? These myths sometimes make me question societies obsession with tragic love stories. Why do we value them so much? Is it because the lovers do not end up together, something forbidden that makes a fire grow in our chests and causes us to daydream about our own search for love?

I think love in any story is definitely something that has to be plugged into the plot, just because its such a relatable topic for readers. Some might think differently, though in my opinion, your characters need to have in-depth emotions, like hate, anxiety, sorrow, happiness, and yes, love. There are MANY different forms of love. In this case, with Hero and Leander, their love was quick, breathless (pun intended), and cataclysmic.

So, my main question here; what kind of love is the most powerful in stories? Is it the tragic, life ending love? The simple, steady, best friend kind? The obsessive and possessive? The overwhelming opposites attract, or the unpredictable love? The good girl, bad boy complex love?My list of types can certainly go on and on. I myself have TRULY been in love only twice in my life. Both experiences are far and in-between with comparisons and differences, though, I will say love in all stages of life, with any partner, is ever changing.

It’s simply a matter of IF you evolve with that love or NOT that stands the test of time.

Where as in Hero’s mind and heart, accepting death, allowed her to move forward into an everlasting love with her Leander. Her sweet Leander.

So, let me know your thoughts. What do you think makes a love powerful when it comes to creating it between our characters?

“It lies not with our power to love or hate, for will in us is overruled by fate.”

– Christopher Marlowe *Hero & Leander*