Lost Histories, Shared Myths, and the Stories We Carry
Or “What History and People have in Common”
I’m sitting with coffee at the elbow, watching the sky brighten as the Texas sun rises over the horizon, and I find myself reflecting on the threads that weave through our shared human history. Threads that, though often frayed or obscured, still connect us across time and space.
Isn’t that just about right? I mean, I’ve made a living for years over putting thoughts about that sort of thing on the page. Comparative mythology, lost history, not-so-mythical myths—Dan Kotler has been my proxy in exploring all of that for the past decade. Clearly it fascinates me.
But this morning I’m also thinking about how similar all of that is to simply getting to know the average human. People are as much a collection of lost history, shrouded in myth, as any ancient temple or artifact.
One of the most intriguing aspects of our collective past is the presence of similar myths and legends in cultures that, on the surface, seem vastly different. Take, for example, the flood myths found in various traditions—from the Mesopotamian Epic of Gilgamesh to the biblical account of Noah, and even stories among Indigenous peoples in the Americas and elsewhere. These narratives, while unique in their details, share a common theme: one of the most common is a great deluge sent by divine forces, reshaping the world and offering a chance for renewal. The “flood myth.” Which, I have to tell ya, maybe we should rename. It seems disingenuous to keep referring to something as a “myth” when it literally shows up in the histories of every human culture.
Such parallels raise compelling questions. How did these stories emerge in disparate cultures? And I mean truly disparate—cultures not only separated by space but by time. Lands and peoples that should have no possible connection with each other. That have cultures that vary to wide degree, traditions that mark them as unique and peculiar. And yet, look close enough at the weave and you see the same stitch, over and over.
Were they born from shared experiences, like catastrophic floods, or do they point to a deeper, perhaps universal, human understanding of transformation and rebirth?
Good question.
Comparative mythology delves into questions like this, exploring the similarities and differences in myths across cultures. By examining these narratives, scholars attempt to uncover the underlying structures and themes that resonate universally. This approach not only enriches our understanding of ancient cultures, but also sheds light on the shared human psyche.
In my own writing journey, these themes of lost histories and shared myths have been a source of inspiration. I'm currently collaborating with JD Barker on a project that delves into some of these ideas. While I can't reveal too much just yet, I can say that we're excited to share more in the near future, including a title and cover reveal. But the story... that one’s going to get some hearts thumping. I can’t wait to start sharing more.
I'm also working on a new book, tentatively titled "The Hollow King." This story, too, is influenced by the echoes of ancient myths and the mysteries of lost civilizations. It's a journey into the unknown, a search for meaning in the remnants of the past. And a question: What does it mean to be human, under the weight of eternity? How does our brief candle stand out in the overpowering light of history? And what part of our own history becomes lost, becomes myth to us, in our endless effort to build a legacy for ourselves?
Fun questions to explore, I think. My favorite kind.
Beyond the realm of fiction, these reflections have personal significance. Just as we seek to understand lost histories through myths, we also strive to understand each other. Every person carries their own stories, some shared openly, others hidden or forgotten. By listening, by being curious and compassionate, we can uncover the narratives that shape who we are.
We are all anthropologists here.
A NOTE AT THE END
I have no formal training as an anthropologist. Just years of reading, watching, listening, conversing. I’ve met and broken bread with archaeologists, from time to time. But most of what I know about mythology and history comes from my personal zeal for pursuing it. I have a love of history.
It’s a funny kind of love. Because it’s a “what if” kind of love.
What if things had gone a slightly different way?
What if we could look deeper into that new discovery?
What if we’ve lost more history than we’ve unearthed?
What if we’re older, as a species, than we can even imagine?
Those are the questions that lead to the sort of stories I like to tell, and that (gauging from sales and comments and reviews) you like to read. So I tend to stay focused on that kind of story.
But all stories have their value in exploring what it means for us to be... well... us.
I recently read a snippet from a book, something I marked years ago, when I read it. The gist was that God built into us an appreciation of beauty, and appreciating beauty is a form of worship. I think, too, that God built into us an appreciation of story, for the same reason. Stories are a favorite tool of God’s, if you look close. God loves spinning a great tale.
So, as a storyteller, I can feel confident I am doing God’s work. And as a reader, who appreciates those stories, you can feel confident that you are, too.
And together we are practicing a form of anthropology—studying humanity, to understand it better, while also furthering it, shaping it into more.
We celebrate our myths for the truths they reveal to us.
READ WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT
If you go to kevintumlinson.com/books you’re going to find a whole library of novels that explore the “what ifs” and lost history and comparative mythology I’m talking about. You’ll also find stories about technology, paranormal abilities, and humanity’s future. Go find a book you’ll love, then swing back to tell me what you think.
