From Echoes of Wisdom to Excalibur: Q&A with Anthony Cirilla, Co-Editor of “The Mythopoeic Narrative in the Legend of Zelda”

Earlier this year, we shared our review of a collection of academic works on The Legend of Zelda co-edited by Anthony Cirilla and Vincent E. Rone. The book, The Mythopoeic Narrative in the Legend of Zelda, presents various arguments from an assortment of writers that examine Zelda as both a work of literature and a crucial focus of academic inquiry, giving credence to the game series’ place in the wider academic world. It’s a fascinating collage of essays that show why the Zelda franchise has such an impact — not just on fans, but on the intersecting domains of gaming, pop culture, and critical studies.

We recently had the opportunity to ask Anthony Cirilla a few questions about himself, his work, and his journey in exploring the connections between literary giants like Tolkien and the Zelda series. His responses were both fascinating and enlightening, and we’re very excited to share them with all you.

Editor’s Note: This interview has been edited for length, clarity, and consistency with Zelda Dungeon’s style guide.

Zelda Dungeon: Can you tell us a bit about yourself? What is your history with the Zelda series?

I am Anthony G. Cirilla, an English professor at College of the Ozarks. I discovered The Legend of Zelda as someone immersed in reading fantasy — especially Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, Ursula K. Le Guin, and Terry Brooks — at around the age of 11/12. I sampled the original Zelda, A Link to the Past, and Ocarina of Time at around the same time during a visit with family on Thanksgiving. My uncle noticed I seemed bored and introduced me to the games, and while they were all intriguing, Ocarina of Time captured my imagination as what seemed to be a virtual manifestation of the kind of fantasy I already loved. Since then I’ve played all but the multiplayer Zelda titles, and plan to keep doing so.

Can you share a bit about Mythopoeic Narrative in The Legend of Zelda? Under what circumstances were these essays originally collected?

I was at an academic conference with some colleagues as a graduate student (the Symposium of Medieval and Renaissance Studies hosted annually at Saint Louis University, my PhD Alma Mater, where I still present every year), and we had a discussion about the relative lack of serious engagement with video games in terms of the literary perspectives we had. A handful of us (Thomas Rowland, Michael Elam, Alicia Fox-Lenz) knew each other either from that context or other conferences, and decided it was time to kick off a Zelda Studies effort. We presented some of our papers at the Popular Culture Association and garnered some new contributors, in addition to some we recruited through posting calls for papers. In the midst of this process I became friends with Vincent Rone, who initially was only contributing an essay but became co-editor when one of my colleagues had to leave the project due to other commitments.

For those in our audience who haven’t heard the term before, can you explain “mythopoeia?” What mythopoeic qualities do you recognize in The Legend of Zelda?

Mythopoeia is Greek and its etymology literally means “myth-making.” Tolkien wrote a famous poem entitled “Mythopoeia” to C.S. Lewis, who had called Christianity a myth, and that myths were “lies breathed through silver.” I tend to take it as a private joke between English professors that Tolkien was more offended by Lewis’s dismissal of the value of myth than his dismissal of Christianity at the time! After a late-night debate, Tolkien wrote “Mythopoeia” and sent it to Lewis as an affirmation of the human need to engage in myth-making to make sense of the world.

While it’s worth noting that Lewis became a Christian in the wake of this discussion, however, one need not have any particular religious conviction to see Tolkien’s point that imagination is not simply a means by which we ornament the world but actually see it. Before one can be scientifically interested in what stars are, for example, one needs to see them with wonder as something worth being fascinated by, as he wrote: “He sees no stars who does not see them first of living silver made that sudden burst to flame like flowers beneath an ancient song, whose very echo after-music long has since pursued. There is no firmament, only a void, unless a jewelled tent myth-woven and elf-patterned; and no earth, unless the mother’s womb whence all have birth.” In no way does this undercut the scientific method, but rather emphasizes that mythopoeia (myth-making which maintains wonder at existence) actually encourages us to love the surprise that is Existence.

You could translate mythopoeia into the modern term “worldbuilding,” but the term includes and goes beyond that — it’s an act of worldbuilding around our imagination’s capacity for fantasy in a way that affirms the place of humanity in the grander structures of nature. The Legend of Zelda, with its creation myth in Ocarina of Time, for example, does this, and encourages Link to explore the world in a way that, as he learns to explore his world with wonder, encourages us to do the same with ours. If this has value for spiritual or religious belief, that’s wonderful, but people with different worldviews can be edified by this perspective, I think.

You describe Link as a combination of Robin Hood and Peter Pan. In your opinion, what about these archetypes, or the combination of them, makes them so popular across literary sources and, by extension, makes Link so successfully relatable as a protagonist?

Another function Tolkien gives to Mythopoeia in his “On Fairy Stories,” in addition to recovery of wonder, is “Escape” and “Consolation.” Escape can be from something social, like a convention of behavior that inhibits people from exploring their potential (bias against women in STEM, for example, is resisted by Purah’s interest in Shiekah science). Escape can also be desired, though, from some of the frustrations of life, such as getting older (which Purah also addresses). Robin Hood encapsulates the desire to escape from social tyranny, whereas Peter Pan provides consolation in the face of aging and death, and also presents the individual as in deeper harmony with elements of the natural world (summarized in the symbolism of Tinker Belle).

Link is, to varying degrees, a wholesome outlaw, especially in Ocarina of Time especially but also in other games, where he faces Ganondorf as a false usurper of power (a kind of mythopoeic King John), but that resistance to tyranny comes with a Peter Pan-like set of fantasy symbols. Now, unlike Peter Pan, Link does not resist the call to responsibility, but like him uses his mythopoeic powers to heroically face his Captain Hook (an especially apt comparison in The Wind Waker). I think this combination of personality traits, imbued with the images of fantasy which make the appeal universal, engage the imagination powerfully because we deeply desire to see justice done and see human potential celebrated along the way. Link as a Tolkienesque combination of Robin Hood and Peter Pan just nails that desire, I think.

The Legend of Zelda, when compared to other popular game series, is relatively non-violent and tame. Do you feel like these qualities help support Zelda’s status as a recognized literary work, particularly with younger audiences?

To be fair, Zelda can be somewhat violent; Link ramming the Master Sword through the head of Ganondorf comes to mind as examples of this. On the one hand, I think some of the handwringing about violence is perhaps oversensitive sometimes. Children need to face the fact that the world is dangerous and that they may need to learn how to be responsibly dangerous to be a force for good in the world. As G.K. Chesterton put it, you don’t teach children that dragons aren’t real but that dragons can be slain. On the other hand, though, excessive celebration of violence is deeply problematic, and I think Zelda provides the proper imaginative context where justice motivates the use of force but joy and wonder at life restrains that force from being misapplied. If a Bokoblin is attacking a passerby, have at it, but if the NPC doesn’t like you smashing his vase, don’t do it or you’ll be fined. Yes, I do think Zelda is more compelling because the violence is restrained — the message isn’t soaked in gore. In some ways I think it’s like the difference between Tolkien and George R.R. Martin. A little more innocence in our fantasy is more refreshing, as life is troublesome enough. That’s just my opinion, though.

Do you feel that there is a possibility that Zelda or other popular video game franchises could one day usurp the “classic” literary presences of Tolkien and others?

Well, I don’t like the language of “usurp.” But it’s interesting to note that many academics, including colleagues of mine, have worried that Tolkien has usurped interest in Homer, Virgil, the King Arthur stories, and so forth. But I don’t think so. I think Tolkien woke up an appetite for earlier, less accessible epic literature. I think video games can do the same — I make reference to Zelda when teaching Homer’s Odyssey, because the enchanted scarf Ino gives to Odysseus to prevent him from drowning isn’t that different in function from the Zora Tunic. The corrupting power of Malice and the One Ring are not that different (Tolkien in fact specified that Sauron fashioned the One Ring by pouring his malice and will to dominate others into it, so Ganondorf’s recipe in Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom has tradition behind it). I’d prefer to think of it as additive: Tolkien can help us to understand Zelda, and Zelda can help us to understand Tolkien and other literature.

Considering that the works collected in Mythopoeic Narrative in The Legend of Zelda were all written prior to the release of Tears of the Kingdom and Echoes of Wisdom, we’re curious to know how you feel those two titles play into the mythopoeic narrative of Zelda and concepts of Faërie as a whole. Looking at Tears in particular and the “sandbox” approach it takes to gaming, does this – coupled with it being an open world – prevent a mythopoeic narrative, or encourage it?

Fundamentally, I think the sandbox model of games like Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom tend to make the mythopoeic element more implicit rather than explicit. You have to do more to pull it out of the game. I think that’s a reason why the more linear titles are still worth playing — they give a little more structure to the logic of fantasy as renewing wonder, providing escape, and offering consolation, when you have a clear narrative sense of the motivation for why those things are needed. So, in the sense that the sandbox games require more effort on the player’s part to engage the mythopoeia, I think they strain it initially, but might encourage something more like the effect that comes from Dungeons-and-Dragons-type communal storytelling, but for the individual player (YouTube Zelda theorists seem to be a good example of this.)

Rather than the sandbox format itself, I think the problem with Breath and Tears for its mythopoeic quality is how anti-talismanic it is. Things you find in the world, in treasure chests, and at the end of puzzles are just fundamentally less special — the breakability makes sense as a mechanic, but it’s hard to feel about the Tears Master Sword the way one might feel about the magic swords in The Hobbit (Orcrist, Glamdring, and Sting). Echoes of Wisdom, actually, I found much more mythopoetic and ironically more classically compelling, even though you play as Zelda rather than Link! I think it’s because Tri enchants Zelda’s power so every echo feels like it’s adding to the talismanic experience of the game rather than taking away from it. So I think Echoes is evidence that mythopoetic sandbox games are even more achievable than Breath/Tears makes it seem.

Based on your experience, what is the current state of video game scholarship? How has it changed in recent years? How have titles like The Legend of Zelda helped guide the academic study of video games?

Video game scholarship is on the rise, and books like The Legend of Zelda and Psychology, The Legend of Zelda and Theology, and The Legend of Zelda and Philosophy show that Zelda Studies itself is a tenable notion, in addition to our mythopoeic-focused anthology. I think games like Zelda, once they’re presented to people who think of “mindless” first-person shooters (though many of them of course really aren’t mindless) or other more toy-like games (not that these are bad), make a case that there’s really something sophisticated to think about. I discuss in my introduction chapter that video games are a booming industry, in many ways more popular than film or print, and more people engage them in some fashion than don’t. In fact, while I used to feel embarrassed to mention my gaming interests to my colleagues, now when I mention it they respond with interest — so much so that one of my coworkers at my college joined the anthology (Ethan Smilie’s article on speedrunning). The attitude towards gaming was initially very icy, but I think it’s thawing and will eventually take on more life.

What do you feel is the most common criticism or challenge you face when presenting your arguments for Zelda as an academic medium?

Mostly academics are afraid that we are going to demean the seriousness of academia by bringing video games into it, but one could make the same argument against literature. As I quipped in that intro, don’t pit students’ interest in Sonic against Shakespeare — find ways to bring students’ native interests into dialogue with the academic interests we’d like them to have. Doesn’t it trivialize Plato to apply him to a video game? No, it makes Plato — an alien and stuffy academic figure to many students — relevant to something they know. Hey, imagine that the abstractions of courage, wisdom, and power actually existed in some real way — that’s the Triforce and Plato’s “World of the Forms.” Many academics may still feel reluctant to make this move, but I think writers like Gerald Graff (see his great book, Clueless in Academe) are helping to pave the way for this kind of engagement.

If someone in our audience was interested in entering the field of Video Game Studies, or even “Zelda Studies” more specifically, what advice would you give them?

First, don’t be exclusively interested in games. Be intellectually interested in ideas, and see video games as a way to love ideas. Second, read books about the subject, like The Routledge Companion to Video Game Studies, or free online journals like “Game Studies: the International Journal of Computer Game Studies.” Check out the Popular Culture Association or some of their local branches in your area, and see if they have panels on Game Studies that you can attend. If you’re a student, see if a professor might be willing to let you engage a video game relevant to the course content, and if the school supports conference attendance, pitch a paper you wrote for a class and present it.

The fact is, if you just want to fool around, there are plenty of forums online for that, and there’s nothing wrong with that. There are lots of great channels on gaming, like BanditGames and others, that can offer interesting discussion. But if you want academics to listen to you, then learn how to communicate in their language — make a case that the argument culture of the academic world connects with your passion in the gaming world. Reading Gerald Graff’s They Say/I Say and seeing how you might get a King Arthur scholar to become interested in the relationship between Excalibur and the Master Sword could be a fun but also intellectually enriching challenge to attempt. You know how sometimes you defeat an enemy in a video game and he becomes your ally afterwards? That might be a college professor who thinks video games are a distraction from real literature. These are just a few options, though — entering any field of study is more like a sandbox than a linear game.

Thank you again for your time. Do you have anything you’d like to promote? Are there places online where our readers can find your work?

I’m really not a popular culture studies guy, believe it or not — I’m a medievalist whose primary work is in Boethius’s writing and influence, an early medieval philosopher who influenced writers like Chaucer, Dante, and others (I have a forthcoming article on his use of the Orpheus myth in relation to Link in Ocarina of Time in an anthology on Tolkien and gaming, coming from McFarland Publishing). Very soon, however, my anthology Theology in Avatar: The Last Airbender will be coming out through McFarland Publishing, available for pre-order on their site, coedited with my friend Michael Riggins. If you’d like to read some of the work I do on Boethius, you can check out Carmina Philosophiae on JSTOR — I’m a coeditor on that journal. And this isn’t a promotion for me but another shoutout: Zeltik really does put out amazing content on Zelda, and I highly recommend him.

We once again thank Anthony Cirilla for taking the time to answer some of our questions. We really enjoyed reading Mythopoeic Narrative in the Legend of Zelda and look forward to future projects from him and his colleagues.

Is there a question you’d want to ask Anthony Cirilla about his work and knowledge surrounding literature and ludology? What are your thoughts on some of his responses? Let us know in the comments!

Josh Wittmershaus

Josh Wittmershaus is a writer at Zelda Dungeon. Originally from Erie, Pennsylvania, he now resides in Northern California. Aside from Zelda, Josh enjoys playing music, seeing live music, music history, and all other things music. He also enjoys skating, hockey, and the occasional political or philosophical thought exercise.