Thinking again about how John and his counterparts are just fully and completely in love with art.
The awed and breathless way he says “You’re a composer!” when Arthur tells him what he used to do. The way he lingers almost unnecessarily, lovingly, on descriptions of the things he sees, the beauty of colors and lights in the dreamlands. The way he focuses his attention on the sculptures and carvings and paintings they pass, like the woman’s portrait and the fine things in Larson’s home. His insistence on going to the cinema, to see the moving pictures humans make, another facet of their creativity. His interest in Arthur’s dreams in the pit, which are arguably the art of the unconscious mind. The way he lingers on the snippets of poetry Arthur gives to him, mulling on them and dwelling on their deeper meanings for hours and days.
Yellow does the same with Larson, from even the few fragile minutes we had with them. He takes an interest in Larson’s poetry of revenge. Yellow, who at his root is cut from the same cloth as John, even with his limited time exposed to Arthur, found some sort of appreciation for the dances performed at the Red Right Hand.
The way the cities of the King all have amphitheaters, places for plays and productions. The one in the Sleeping city, the one in the city Kayne slaughtered, there is a place for art even there. It’s so subtle but it’s there.
In Chambers’ book, the book of poetry that drives men mad is attracted to sculptors and artists and writers and in that way it is a form of love. The King is drawn to them, to the art they create, and he is fascinated in the way you would be fascinated with a mouse that suddenly stands and speaks and sings and dances. Humans are ants beneath his feet, yes, but when ants construct patterns that seem thoughtful and orchestrated, it becomes a novelty.
And novelties are fragile.
And the King is destructive by nature. He destroys them with the force his of attention, that fleeting moment of love, and their minds scatter. Lost to love and madness.
But John has no powers. He doesn’t inspire madness, he can’t destroy the art he loves in that way, and the longer he lingers with Arthur, the harder it is to remember why the thing that he was wanted to destroy it in the first place.