THE PROBLEM WITH THE YSKÁLNARI

During these holidays, I have taken time to re-read Michael Ende's Neverending Story. Again, this is a book of which aspects have been lowed out in the films, which I believe to be a shame and a crime of high treason (Ende himself -- bless his soul -- agreed with me).

One of the events lowed out is Bastian's encounter with an ethnic group called the Yskálnari (which means "the closely-knit ones" in their language. It's written "Yskalnari", without the accent on the A, in the English translation, but I prefer writing it with the accent, like in the German original and the Spanish translation), who live in wicker crannogs, made of a special kind of reeds, by the Nebelmeer (sea of fog, a really Romantic image), called Skaidan in their language, and set sail on the Skaidan in light boats made of the same reeds. All of their household items are made of these reeds as well. Even the Yskálnaris' whole attire, from coats to slippers, is made of these reeds, that are vital to their survival. The crannogs form a closely-knit and quaintly provincial community whose people are, all of them, physically short (even adults): the size of children. Their skin is like milk chocolate and they're, all of them, not only sharing a stark resemblance to the rest of their kin, but also kind and tranquil. And very quiet. No Yskálnari goes out alone, on his or her own: all of them go out accompanied by others of their kin. And none of them works or partakes in amusements alone either.
At night, when the tide rises and the fog reaches the crannogs, the Yskálnari set sail on the Skaidan in their wicker boats. During the day, the fog disperses and the tide ebbs. The Yskálnari are so-called "fogfarers". Since the water is not that deep, one can wade across the Nebelmeer, but the problem is the fog. Since this fog causes amnesia on those who inhale it, and many foolhardy people have died attempting to cross the Skaidan on their own. The only way to cross it is with a lift from an Yskálnari boat, whether hitching oneself with a wicker rope (yes, everything is made of wicker) or travelling on board. This people's clothing of reeds also acts as a life vest should they fall into the always calm yet deceptive Skaidan, for the über-light reeds float in the fog.
Now the Yskálnari don't have any proper names at all. They have not a name for each individual, but only one for their kin as a collective. They're, as a collective, the Yskálnari, and that's enough for them. They do not seem to know the word "I" or the concept of self. They never say "I" or "me" at all. Instead, they say "we" and "us".
The difference between one's own body and a boat is only that it takes at least two Yskálnari who unite their imaginations for the boat to move. Yes, the boats are powered by imagination... but not that of a single individual. By those of at least a couple. The faster they want the boat to travel, the more Yskálnari have to unite their imaginations. They normally work in turns of three, three of them powering and the others resting, because this is bitter work that requires constant high concentration.
The secret of the Yskalnáris' closely-knit bonds? Dance and wordless songs.
During the dance, the imaginations of everyone on board are fused together into one. Everyone belongs...
but there is a stark contrast with Earth itself, where every person has a different imagination and different opinions.
The Yskálnari do not achieve their unity by harmonizing completely different forms of imagination... but because they resemble each other so much that feeling that they are a collective costs no effort to them. They do not have the possibility of arguing or disagreeing with each other because none of them sees him- or herself as an individual. They don't have to overcome any opposition to reach harmony... This easiness feels, at the end of the day, unsatisfactory to both Bastian and the reader. The sweetness of the Yskálnari has no taste, and the melody of the song, always the same, sounds monotonous.
When a fog-crow has just snatched one of the Yskálnari from the deck, once the predator is gone, the Yskálnari resume their journey-long routine of song and dance, as if nothing had ever happened. Their harmony is not affected the least. They don't lament or complain, or even comment the event with a single word.
"No", one of them says. "None of us is missing. So why should we mourn?"
Since they do not mourn their deceased, it is presumed that the Yskálnari cannot revel in the birth of a new life, a marriage, a friendship between two people... after all, they all look alike and lack given names.
The individual holds no worth for them, and, since they can't tell each other apart, no one is special and everyone is expendable. In the community of the Yskálnari, there is harmony, but no love.

Yskálnari - A race of humanoid people living at the edge of a sea of mist, which can be navigated only by boats fashioned from special reeds, which are propelled by willpower (achieved by the Yskálnari through ritual singing). Commonly also called Mist Sailors, their name actually means The Conjoined Ones (Die Gemeinsamen). The Yskálnari have no concept of individualism.

Yskalnari: il loro nome nella lingua locale significa "quelli che stanno insieme". Hanno l'aspetto di omini e donnine molto piccoli, dall'aspetto dolce e silenzioso e dalla carnagione marrone scura; gli uomini portano la barba, le donne elaborate pettinature, ma a parte questo sono pressoché in distinguibili l'uno dall'altro. Lavorano i giunchi e sono abili navigatori del Mare delle Nebbie. Parlano raramente, preferendo usare il pensiero con il quale, oltre a comunicare, riescono a muovere le imbarcazioni dirigendole verso la rotta voluta. Tale dote, unita all'aspetto pressoché identico, favorisce uno spiccato senso di gruppo a scapito dell'individuo, tanto che sono incapaci di pensare se stessi come individui, ma solo come collettività. Se ciò favorisce l'armonia, impedisce però gli affetti e l'attaccamento nei confronti di parenti e amici, tanto che la stessa morte di uno di loro è vissuta con assoluta indifferenza, dato che nessuno è unico, speciale o insostituibile.

Comment from TV Tropes:
Hive Mind:

• The Yskalnari, being so much a community that they lack any form of individualism, when a member of the crew dies not only nobody seems to care, nobody even seems to notice.
• Planet of Hats: The Yskalnari.

Comments from review and essay:
A sense of belonging to a community among the Yskalnari, who have so little regard for the individual that they have no word for “I”...
To cross the Fog Sea.  This journey requires being with the Yskalnari, who do not know the word “I” nor have any identity save the collective one.
 The Fog Sea can only be crossed in the (total) community of the Yskalnari, who do not know the word "I" nor have any identity save the collective one. 
The Yskalnari (gave you) peace and cooperation.
Hos Yskalnari nyder Bastian for en tid at være en del af et fællesskab, men indser, at
han har brug for personlig anerkendelse, for at være den han er, og ikke kun være en del af et fællesskab.
I Yskalnari, creature di aspetto umano dalla pelle scura e di piccola statura. Questi sembrano fare tutto in gruppo: lavorano insieme, vanno in giro a braccetto e non c'è nessuno che sia da solo. Fermandosi a parlare con tre di loro, senza rivelare la propria identità, viene ingaggiato su una nave per un viaggio sul Mare delle Nebbie. Durante questo viaggio, però, la visione idilliaca della società degli Yskalnari è incrinata, quando, dopo il rapimento di un membro dell'equipaggio, nessuno degli altri Yskalnari si mostra dispiaciuto; questo risveglia nel ragazzo il desiderio di essere amato da qualcuno.
Yskalnari
Gli Yskalnari (nella lingua locale "quelli che stanno insieme") sono abili navigatori incapaci di pensare se stessi come individui, abitano a Yskal circondati dal Mare delle Nebbie. Pur essendo adulti, non superano l'altezza dei bambini. Le loro stesse case sono costruite con porte molto basse e, per le dimensioni, sembrano quasi in miniatura. Gli uomini portano la barba, le donne elaborate pettinatura. A parte tale dettaglio, gli Yskalnari sono a malapena distinguibili l'uno dall'altro. Tutti hanno un aspetto "molto dolce e silenzioso", un volto "di un bel marrone scuro, color della terra bagnata". Anche i loro abiti - rigorosamente di giunco come le case, le navi e qualunque oggetto di uso quotidiano - sono identici. Parlano raramente, preferendo usare il pensiero con il quale, oltre a comunicare, riescono a muovere le imbarcazioni dirigendole verso la rotta voluta. Tale dote, unita all'aspetto pressoché identico, favorisce uno spiccato senso di gruppo a scapito dell'individuo. Gli Yskalnari, anzi, sembrano immuni agli affetti e non mostrano attaccamento nei confronti di parenti e amici; la stessa morte di uno di loro è vissuta con serenità e assoluta indifferenza, dato che nessuno è unico, speciale o insostituibile. Per questo usano sempre il pronome noi al posto di io, vivendo in armonia ma senza amore. Abilissimi artigiani e navigatori, solcano il Mare delle Nebbie per raggiungere la sponda opposta e mantenere i contatti con l'altra parte di Fantàsia.

Auf diese Weise wird er von den Nebelschiffern aufgenommen, den Yskálnari, die in der Korbstadt Yskál leben und das Nebelmeer bereisen. Sie halten immer zusammen, weil jeder das Gleiche denkt und fühlt wie der andere, doch der Verlust eines Einzelnen bedeutet ihnen nichts. Weil keiner sich von dem anderen unterscheidet, ist keiner unersetzlich; als ein Yskálnari getötet wird, reden die anderen nicht einmal darüber und vermissen ihn auch nicht. Auch hat keiner der Stadtbewohner einen eigenen Namen. Ihre Gemeinsamkeit entsteht durch den Tanz und das wortlose Lied. Bastian begreift, dass die Gemeinsamkeit der Nebelschiffer nicht darauf beruht, dass sie verschieden geartete Vorstellungsweisen zusammenklingen lassen. Es kostet sie keine Anstrengung, sich als Gemeinschaft zu fühlen. Sie können nicht einmal miteinander streiten, da sich keiner von ihnen als Individuum empfindet. Diese Mühelosigkeit erscheint Bastian unbefriedigend. Ihre Sanftheit erscheint ihm fade und die immer gleiche Melodie ihrer Lieder monoton. Es gibt in der Gemeinschaft Harmonie, aber keine Liebe. Bastian jedoch möchte ein Individuum sein, jemand, der gerade dafür geliebt wird, dass er so ist, wie er ist, trotz seiner Fehler oder gerade ihretwegen. Allerdings weiß er selbst gar nicht mehr, wie er ist. Unter all den Gaben und Kräften, die er in Phantásien bekommen hat, kann er sich selbst nicht mehr wiederfinden.

Bastian, der als Schiffsjunge angeheuert wurde, überquert auf einem der Schiffe der Yskálnari das Nebelmeer. Diese werden mit Hilfe der Vorstellungskraft der Nebelschiffer angetrieben, so wie ein Mensch seine Beine bewegt, indem er es sich vorstellt. Zu diesem Zweck müssen mindestens zwei Yskálnari ihre Vorstellungskraft zu einer werden lassen. Durch diese Vereinigung entsteht die Fortbewegungskraft. Während der Reise verliert er die Erinnerung daran, dass es in seiner Welt unterschiedliche Menschen mit unterschiedlichen Meinungen und Vorstellungen gab. Er hat jetzt nur noch drei Erinnerungen, an sein Zuhause, seine Eltern und seinen eigenen Namen.

 durch einen Selbstfindungsprozess, der deutlich von psychoanalytischen Verfahren inspiriert sei. So unterschieden die Yskálnari nicht zwischen Ich und Nicht-Ich.

---und bei den Yskálnari greift der Autor zudem erklärend und ergänzend ein.

Und weil er sich einsam fühlt, keimt der Wunsch auf, in einer Gemeinschaft zu leben. An der Küste des Nebelmeeres (Skaidan) findet er die Stadt Yskál und überredet die Besatzung eines Schiffes, ihn mitzunehmen. Das Schiff verfügt weder über Segel noch über Ruder oder Motoren, sondern wird allein von der Vorstellungskraft der Besatzung bewegt. Die Yskálnari kennen das Pronomen "ich" nicht, und allmählich begreift Bastian, dass der Einzelne in dieser Gemeinschaft aus lauter Gleichen nichts gilt.

霧の海　　　　ｔｈｅ　Ｓｅａ　ｏｆ　Ｍｉｓｔ　　　　 Ｄａｓ　Ｎｅｂｅｌｍｅｅｒ　　　　　

籠の町　　　　 Ｋｏｒｂｓｔａｄｔ　　　　

イスカ－ルナリ　　　　Ｙｓｋａｌｎａｒｉ　　　　 Ｙｓｋáｌｎａｒｉ　　　　　

三人の霧の水夫　　　　 ｄｉｅ　ｄｒｅｉ　Ｎｅｂｅｌｓｃｈｉｆｆｅｒ　　　　
　
いっしょ人　　　　ｔｈｅ　ｐａｒｔｎｅｒｓ　　　　 ｄｉｅ　Ｇｅｍｅｉｎｓａｍｅｎ　　　　　

ひとり人　　　　Ｓｏｍｅ　ｏｎｅ　　　　 Ｅｉｎｅｒ　　　　

イスカーリの町　　　　Ｂａｓｋｅｔｖｉｌｌe　　

スカイダン　　　　ｔｈｅ　Ｓｋａｉｄａｎ　　　　 ｄｅｒ　Ｓｋａｉｄａｎ　（ Ｄａｓ　Ｎｅｂｅｌｍｅｅｒ ）　　　　　　
　
イスカ－ル　　　　Ｙｓｋａｌ　　　　 Ｙｓｋáｌ　　　　

一羽の大霧からす　　　　ａ　ｇｉａｎｔ　ｍｉｓｔ　ｃｒｏｗ　　　　 ｅｉｎｅ　Ｒｉｅｓｅｎ－Ｎｅｂｅｌｋｒäｈｅ　　　　　　

霧の船　　　　Ｄａｓ　Ｎｅｂｅｌｓｃｈｉｆｆ　　　　

Here is the whole excerpt:

And then one day he came to a seacoast. Or so he thought at
first. He was standing on the edge of a sheer cliff, and before him
lay a sea of congealed white waves. It was some time before he
realized that these waves were not really motionless, but were
moving very slowly, that there were currents and eddies that
moved as imperceptibly as the hands of a clock.
He had come to the Sea of Mist!
Bastian walked along the cliff. The air was warm and slightly
damp. There was not the slightest breeze. It was early morning
and the sun shone on the snow-white surface of the fog, which
extended to the horizon.
He walked for several hours. Toward noon he espied a small
town some distance from the shore. Supported by piles, it formed
a sort of island in the Sea of Mist. The long, arching bridge
connecting the town with the rocky coast swayed gently as
Bastian crossed it.
The houses were relatively small. The doors, windows, and
stairways all seemed to have been made for children. And indeed,
the people moving about the streets were no bigger than children,
though they all seemed to be grown men with beards or women
with pinned-up hair. As Bastian soon noticed, these people
looked so much alike that he could hardly tell them apart. Their
faces were dark brown like moist earth and they looked calm and
gentle. When they saw Bastian, they nodded to him, but none
spoke. Altogether they seemed a silent lot; the place was
humming with activity, yet he seldom heard a cry or a spoken
word. And never did he see any of these people alone; they always
went about in groups if not in crowds, locking arms or holding
one another by the hand.
When Bastian examined the houses more closely, he saw that
they were all made of a sort of wicker, some crude and some of a
finer weave, and that the streets were paved with the same kind of
material. Even the people's clothing, he noticed, their trousers,
skirts, jackets, and hats were of wickerwork, though these were
artfully woven. Everything in the town seemed to be made of the
same material.
Here and there Bastian was able to cast a glance into the
artisans' workshops. They were all busy weaving, making shoes,
pitchers, lamps, cups, and umbrellas of wickerwork. But never
did he see anyone working alone, for these things could be made
only by several persons working together. It was a pleasure to see
how cleverly they coordinated their movements. And as they
worked, they usually sang some simple melody without words.
The town was not very large, and Bastian had soon come to
the edge of it. There he saw hundreds of ships of every size and
shape. The town was a seaport, but of a most unusual kind, for
all these ships were hanging from gigantic fishing poles and
hovered, swaying gently, over a chasm full of swirling white mist.
These ships, made of wickerwork like everything else, had neither
sails nor masts nor oars nor rudders.
Bastian leaned over the railing and looked down into the Sea
of Mist. He was able to gauge the length of the stakes supporting
the town by the shadows they cast on the white surface below.
"At night," he heard a voice beside him say, "the mists rise to
the level of the town. Then we can put out to sea. In the daytime
the sun reduces the mist and the level falls. That's what you
wanted to know, isn't it, stranger?"
Three men were leaning against the railing beside Bastian.
They seemed gentle and friendly. They got to talking and in the
course of his conversation with them Bastian learned that the
town was called Yskal or Basketville. Its inhabitants were known
as Yskalnari. The word meant roughly "the partners." The three
were mist sailors. Not wishing to give his name for fear of being
recognized, Bastian introduced himself as "Someone." The three
sailors told him the Yskalnari had no names for individuals and
didn't find it necessary. They were all Yskalnari and that was
enough for them.
Since it was lunchtime, they invited Bastian to join them, and
he gratefully accepted. They went to a nearby inn, and during the
meal Bastian learned all about Basketville and its inhabitants.
The Sea of Mist, which they called the Skaidan, was an
enormous ocean of white vapor, which divided the two parts of
Fantastica from each other. No one had ever found out how deep
the Skaidan was or where all this mist came from. It was quite
possible to breathe below the surface of the mist, and to walk
some distance on the bottom of the sea near the coast, where the
mist was relatively shallow, but only if one was tied to a rope and
could be pulled back. For the mist had one strange property: it
fuddled one's sense of direction. Any number of fools and
daredevils had died in the attempt to cross the Skaidan alone and
on foot. Only a few had been rescued. The only way to reach the
other side was in the ships of the Yskalnari.
The wickerwork, from which the houses, implements,
clothing, and ships of Yskal were made, was woven from a variety
of rushes that grew under the surface of the sea not far from the
shore. These rushes -- as can easily be gathered from the
foregoing -- could be cut only at the risk of one's life. Though
unusually pliable and even limp in ordinary air, they stood
upright in the sea, because they were lighter than the mist. That
was what made the wickerwork ships mistworthy. And if any of
the Yskalnari chanced to fall into the mist, his regular clothing
served the purpose of a life jacket.
But the strangest thing about the Yskalnari, so it struck
Bastian, was that the word "I" seemed unknown to them. In any
case, they never used it, but in speaking of what they thought or
did always said "we."
When he gathered from the conversation that the three sailors
would be putting out to sea that night, he asked if he could ship
with them as a cabin boy. They informed him that a voyage on
the Skaidan was very different from any other ocean voyage,
because no one knew how long it would take or exactly where it
would end up. When Bastian said that didn't worry him, they
agreed to take him on.
At nightfall the mists began to rise and by midnight they had
reached the level of Basketville. The ships that had been dangling
in midair were now floating on the white surface. The moorings
of the one on which Bastian found himself -- a flat barge about a
hundred feet long -- were cast off, and it drifted slowly out into
the Sea of Mist.
The moment he laid his eyes on it, Bastian wondered what
propelled this sort of ship, since it had neither sails nor oars nor
propeller. He soon found out that sails would have been useless,
for there was seldom any wind on the Skaidan, and that oars and
propellers do not function in mist. These ships were moved by an
entirely different sort of power.
In the middle of the deck there was a round, slightly raised
platform. Bastian had noticed it from the start and taken it for a
sort of captain's bridge. Indeed, it was occupied throughout the
voyage by two or more sailors. (The entire crew numbered
fourteen.) The men on the platform held one another clasped by
the shoulders and looked fixedly forward. At first sight, they
seemed to be standing motionless. Actually they were swaying
very slowly, in perfect unison -- in a sort of dance, which they
accompanied by chanting over and over again a simple and
strangely beautiful tune.
At first Bastian regarded this song and dance as some sort of
ceremony, the meaning of which escaped him. Then, on the
third day of voyage, he asked one of his three friends about it.
Evidently surprised at Bastian's ignorance, the sailor explained
that those men were propelling the ship by thought-power.
More puzzled than ever, Bastian asked if some sort of
hiddenwheels were set in motion.
"No," one of the sailors replied. "When you want to move
your legs, you have only to think about it. You don't need
wheels, do you?"
The only difference between a person's body and a ship was
that to move a ship at least two Yskalnari had to merge their
thought-powers into one. It was this fusion of thought-powers
that propelled the ship. If greater speed was desired, more men
had to join in. Normally, thinkers worked in shifts of three; the
others rested, for easy and pleasant as it looked,
thought-propulsion was hard work, demanding intense and
unbroken concentration. But there was no other way of sailing
the Skaidan.
Bastian became the student of the mist navigators and learned
the secret of their cooperation: dance and song without words.
Little by little, in the course of the long voyage, he became
one of them. During the dance he felt his thought-power
merging with those of his companions to form a whole, and this
gave him a strange and indescribable sense of harmony and
self-forgetfulness. He felt accepted by a community, at one with
his companions -- and at the same time he totally forgot that the
inhabitants of the world from which he came, and to which he
was seeking the way back, were human beings, each with his own
thoughts and opinions. Dimly he remembered his home and
parents, but nothing more.
His wish to be no longer alone had come true. But now, deep
in his heart, a new wish arose and began to make itself felt.
One day it struck him that the Yskalnari lived together so
harmoniously, not because they blended different ways of
thinking, but because they were so much alike that it cost them
no effort to form a community. Indeed, they were incapable of
quarreling or even disagreeing, because they did not regard
themselves as individuals. Thus there were no conflicts or
differences to overcome, and it was just this sameness, this
absence of stress that gradually came to pall on Bastian. Their
gentleness bored him and the unchanging melody of their songs
got on his nerves. He felt that something was lacking, something
he hungered for, but he could not yet have said what it was.
This became clear to him sometime later when a giant mist
crow was sighted. Stricken with terror, the sailors vanished below
deck as fast as they could. But one was not quick enough; the
monstrous bird swooped down with a cry, seized the poor fellow,
and carried him away in its beak.
When the danger was past, the sailors emerged and resumed
their song and dance, as though nothing had happened. Their
harmony was undisturbed, and far from grieving, they didn't
waste so much as a word on the incident.
"Why should we grieve?" said one of them when Bastian
inquired. "None of us is missing."
With them the individual counted for nothing. No one was
irreplaceable, because they drew no distinction between one person and another.
Bastian, however, wanted to be an individual, a someone, not
just one among others.
In this community of Yskalnari there was harmony, but
no love.

The Yskálnari worldview haunts me because it reminds me of both Plato and Communism. The shadow of totalitarian utopias looms large over the reed crannogs. There is harmony, but no love. Unity, but no diversity. Their creed reads like a warped version of the European Union motto (which reads "Unity in Diversity"), just like Iago's creed ("I am NOT what I am") is a warped version of God's name in the Bible.
The ideas of complete equality and the common good (the res publica) to bring peace and concord come at a high price. I prefer individualism and self-expression. Extreme equality (everyone alike and everyone altruistic), even though it would bring peace and cooperation, would be too tiresome. And meaningless.
Besides, we humans need conflict to develop our worldview. And, like I once heard in a certain episode of a certain series... The warmth of springtime is less pleasant than the fact that it comes after a harsh winter. Light cannot exist if there isn't any darkness. Life is precious just because death is inevitable. Everything has its opposite. These are the positive and negative forces of the universe, endlessly balancing each other.