Death, Disease and Deceit

 Crows (and Corvids) have been, since their first recording in the 17^th century, relentlessly inducted into myth, lore and stories. Many European superstitions speak of Crow as a bad omen; if you are to see one on your property - it is there to bring death to your door (Sax 2017). Within the European Dark Ages, Crow has its strongest ties with mortality, as famine, disease and death were rampant within this era, and Crow’s call - construed as a cry of “tomorrow” - was a constant reminder of the shadow of this mortality. The uncanny fear of losing one’s eyes is exemplified in Medieval lore of the Crow, as soldiers going into battle would be all too aware that their dead bodies could be pecked on by these black, deathly birds. Furthermore, from the end of the Middle Ages, Crows resting on gallows was a common occurrence and reminder of the fate that awaits sinners (Sax 2017). There are also myths telling of Crows, having learned that large groups of men could be associated with the ploughing or farming of a field, following soldiers into battle – a dark murder haunting the heads of similarly murderous men.

“The heavens darkened over man in direct proportion to the increase in his feeling shame at being man” (Nietzsche 2010 pp.43)

Moreover, within the idea of the shrugging off a mortal coil, in Shakespeare the mention of Crows or corvids were present in plays such as Macbeth, Othello, and Julius Caesar – all of which show these birds appearing before or calling to a character’s imminent death. One such instance is within Macbeth, where the Lady deems the Raven “hoarse, (as it) croaks the fateful entrance of Duncan” whom we know is the target of a murderous ploy orchestrated by Lady Macbeth herself. A cunning and murderous protagonist who watches Duncan arrive from above, is aligned with the sight and perspective of the corvid, both harking of the King’s demise. 

In a departure from the bleak pestilence of the Dark Ages, the Crow also has huge importance in the culture and traditions of the American Far North (Sax 2017). In the coldest parts of the north, where the ground is frozen and food is tough to acquire, the “ability of the crow to survive on carrion is most feared and admired.” (Sax 2017 pp.92) This tough figure of the crow, which is rarely distinguished from and also tied up with that of the raven, is known as a trickster. Although, in most North American legends, the Crow is credited to playing a major role in the creation of the earth, and is also believed to be a sage, they are simultaneously known for their deceptions, the former tale of creation oftentimes turned over as an accidental consequence of the Crows tricks. This strange doubling Crow “seems to continually change both shape and personality” (Sax 2017 pp.92) and furthermore exists almost more as a “metaphysical principle than an animal” (Sax 2017 pp.96).

Within all these fables and tales, Crows are burdening the weight of pestilence, flying the threat of death, or acting as a trickster; and this association placed them in ominous steed for the modern and postmodern era wherein images or references of Crow and corvid subspecies feature in the works of Edgar Allan Poe, O’Casey and Dickens. They also appear in the artwork of Picasso, Manet, Van Gogh, Gauguin and, the much earlier, Bruegel; as well as ample biblical references and modern day renditions.

The mythical aura that has been created around these birds speaks of their anthropomorphised character: a Fictitious Crow in the collective minds and memory of humans. In modern literature, famous Fictional-Crow is often portrayed as self-centred, arrogant, and male. Through time, this fictional Crow has dipped and swerved, changed direction and doubled back, depending on what tongue was speaking, when these things were uttered and in what context they were ascribed. However, if there is one thing that is central to the identity of Fictional-Crow it is that this character is one which human tongues put onto crow, in other words, Fictional-Crow is made up of a congealing of the misconceptions, exaggerations, and inaccuracies picked from the corpse of sensorial evidence of Creature-Crow. Everything we put onto Fictional-Crow, comes from us. 

As Boria Sax noted in his book Crow (2017), on asking questions of why Crows gather together in parks, “every answer will tell something about the crowds but a lot more about the speaker.” (pp.163 emphasis added) Of course, Creature-Crow cares not - observe her haphazard strut - she will keep caw-ing and hark-ing and pervading your back garden whether you are fearful or disapproving of these things or not, however, Fictional-Crow is so steeped in his own mythos, imbued with traits, idiosyncrasies and trope ticks –

feasting on bloody fiction, twitching and uncomfortably ill-as-ease with his own bristling and fluctuating identity, other-selves

 – that he has become a shapeshifter. To twitch, to blink, to flip a page is to see Crow changed again. As in Native American culture the Crow, perhaps due to this duplicity with the figure of the Raven, is in constant flux. Forever changing, tricking and deceiving.

Moreover, in many ancient myths and historical records, there are account of ‘black pigeons’ or ‘black hawks’ both which do not, nor ever did, exist. Therefore, historians theorise that these black birds that were written about were actually crows, or ravens. This mingling ambiguity -

- I know it is a bird, but for which type I have no notion -

- makes crow even more complicit in this duplicity, our Freudian double, doppelganger, uncanny bird, appearing again. Weird, eerie liminal beast, with all the power of a million ambiguous birds behind them.