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bettsfic · 2 years ago

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Hi betts! I was wondering if you had any advice for writing Feelings. I feel like my fic writing is often a lot of this happened then this happened and then this event happened. I want to make sure it feels like things are being told by my character and not just a robotic narrator reporting the events. I've been going through your writing advice tag but haven't found a super relevant post to this so thought I'd ask if you have any thoughts on injecting more Feelings into writing.

this is a great question! unfortunately it has a very Big answer.

i think it's important first to consider the greater historical context of prose. prose is a relatively new invention in the history of humanity. prior to prose, there was poetry, oral storytelling, playwriting, and what we would consider now to be nonfiction. the concept of written fiction is kind of miraculous. it allows us to perceive the nature of being another person, within the quiet of our own minds. in other words, prose allows us access to a consciousness outside of our own. a fictional story is thus one in which a given consciousness, translated into language, experiences events in a cause and effect sequence, which is called a narrative.

what you're talking about, injecting Feeling into fiction, is a concept that tends to invoke debate based on separate schools of aesthetic thought. i know writers who would read your ask and go, "uh, good? reporting events is what you're *supposed* to do." and i know writers who believe that the entire purpose of the form is simply to convey conscious thought, external events be damned. personally, although i respect the opinions of these writers, i think it's all kind of silly to think one kind of writing is better than another. it is, as all things are, a creative choice of the author. i, the reader, am only meant to bear witness to those choices.

visualize, if you will, a spectrum between these two schools of thought: the reporting of actions and external events, which we'll call exteriority, and the reporting of inner thoughts and feelings, which we'll call interiority. all fictional prose falls somewhere on this spectrum. on the exteriority side we have writers like william faulkner, cormac mccarthy, chuck palahniuk. on the interiority side, we have virginia woolf, henry james, garth greenwell, donna tartt.

this spectrum is one of narratorial access. how much access do we the reader have to the experiences of the narrator(s), and how accurate are those depictions? how much detail are we given? how are those details chosen and why?

the most exterior writing is what some call "cinematic." many people are in the exterior school of thought because they believe "show don't tell" to be literal. "show don't tell" is ridiculous for many reasons, the most obvious of which is that (when taken at face value) if i wanted to be shown something, i'd watch a movie. the real meaning of "show don't tell" is the idea you shouldn't tell the reader the conclusion they're supposed to be drawing from the events of the story. again, personally, i think it's baffling why anyone has an opinion on this, when the truth is that showing and telling is yet another spectrum and every story falls somewhere on it. to have opinions on these things would stifle my enjoyment as a reader and closes me off to discovering new things.

when the reader has the least possible access to the narrator, the events of the story can follow any character at any time, and detail only what can be seen from the outside. my favorite novel that does this is Plainsong by Kent Haruf. i once tried to write in this style and found it tedious and difficult, but i'm a very interior writer. nevertheless it was a good exercise for me, if for no other reason than it sharpened my understanding of my own style.

if you move the down the spectrum just a skosh toward interiority, you invite inner observations. these are largely sensory: what a character sees, hears, smells, etc. here's an example:

an exterior action would be, "the door slammed." an interior observation would be, "she heard the door slam."

i have heard many arguments as to why the latter is "weaker" writing. i've heard them called "filter phrases," and have even read an essay on why you should avoid them. which, again, ridiculous. it's far more important to know when and why you might deploy a "filter phrase" than to deny yourself use of a potentially necessary tool.

inner observations force the reader into the perception of the narrator. "the door slammed" is a fact. it can't be contested. the author is telling me this event occurred and i cannot dispute it or interpret it. "she heard the door slam" can be questioned. all we know is that she heard it; we have no evidence it really happened, only our trust in the narrator to convey events with accuracy, which is how we get the idea of an unreliable narrator.

let's move one notch closer to interiority. now we have inner reactions and opinions. exterior: "the door slammed. the woman stood up and locked it." now we have the opposite scenario to the one above. with an exterior action, we're given doubt. why did she lock it? we have to use context clues to determine motivation and emotion. interior: "she heard the door slam. in a rage, she stood up and locked it." the second sentence confirms for us that the door very likely did slam, and also tells us outright that she's mad at the person who slammed it.

the reader has to perform an equal amount of work for both of these scenarios. in the exterior example, they have to puzzle out the emotions and motivation of the character. in the interior example, they have to puzzle out the accuracy of events and reasonability of emotional response. both create different kinds of tension.

generally speaking, the closer we move toward interiority the less exteriority we have, because the external events of the story matter less than what the character thinks or feels about them. using our example above, an even more interior approach would be, "when she heard the door slam, she knew it was over. how had it come to this? he was no different than the last one, or the one before that, or the one before that. as she went to lock it, she vowed: never again."

since i don't have a full story drafted out, pretend "the one before that" are all examples of times this situation happened before, and so two actions, the door slamming and the woman getting up to lock it, might take ten thousand words to tell, to give us context as to why she's in a rage about it.

here's an example of nearly pure interiority from a novel i'm working on right now:

And the only logic that came to me was that everything was made up of the souls of the dead and the yet-living. It felt blasphemous—in Kinraden, the afterlife is unity in a place beyond limited human understanding. But I believed the opposite. I believed we all came from things and would return to things, and that everything, at its fabric, was the same as everything else. I was a toy truck rolling across a hardwood floor, and a sunflower opening up in the light, and a can of Campbell’s soup heated on the stove, and a pig headed to slaughter, and my father giving a sermon to an audience of people looking for answers in the wrong place, and everything has a soul and so everything suffers. And that suffering crushed me, not because it exists, but because it is eternal. Suffering is the base of everyone and everything.

(i apologize for using my own writing as an example, but i tabbed over and this was the first paragraph i saw, and it was surprisingly relevant, even though i am 100% going to end up cutting it.)

i know there is no exteriority here because i can't tell you where his body even is while he's thinking these things. i also don't know when exactly this is happening. the physical existence of the scene and his body within it is irrelevant to the information being conveyed, which is a major life philosophy and how it differs from his father's. within one paragraph, he's building a kind of polemic that will hopefully allow the reader to understand exactly how he managed to defy his father's indoctrination.

even though there's no exteriority, though, there are still images present. toy truck, sunflower, can of soup, etc. and they create visuals to hang onto so that it still feels, in a way, exterior. those physical objects, however, are not actually physical, but metaphorical.

what's also important is that this is a super fucked up line of thought and builds the state of his emotional unreliability as a narrator. he's conveying the events of the story with relative accuracy but his logical and emotional responses to them are in constant conflict. (he needs lots of help, which he will get.)

there is kind of a default in fanfiction, particularly fanfiction based in visual mediums, to convey all information within a physical scene, i suspect to stay as close to the canon portrayal as possible, because film/tv are also sequences of scenes. when in scene (direct discourse), characters are always physically embodied in spaces, moving and doing and saying things, at a specific point in time. but, circling back to my initial point, prose does not have to be embodied. it's not film. you can be fully in the mind of a character and have no idea when or where they are existing, and merely recount the events from an unstated time, if any happen to be relevant (indirect discourse).

(side note: specifically direct and indirect discourse refer to dialogue but i'm using the terms more broadly. direct discourse: "i just want that sandwich, man," tommy said. indirect discourse: tommy said he really wanted a sandwich.)

even though i've talked at length about narratorial access as relevant to consciousness, i want to touch base again to the idea of Feelings. it's hard to convey feeling in fiction, because your only tools are brain and body. either your narrator expresses their feelings in thoughts, or they express them in the description of physical experiences. it's kind of a constant battle which path you choose, but i hope some of the above can help you decide.

so now that you know the broader theory around (Thoughts &) Feelings writing, here are some exercises you can try:

begin a story in direct discourse, present tense, the events of which can only be understood through prior context. (for example, two characters are having a heated argument with no explanation as to why.) then, through the POV character's narration, move into indirect discourse, past tense, to explain the events that led up to the argument.

find a story you've written in third person and rewrite all or part of it in first person. the trick here is to become as disembodied as possible. in fact, your approach can be that you're simply writing a monologue from the character's perspective, in their voice, with all their potential misunderstandings intact.

try swinging the opposite way: write a fully exterior story (the shorter the better). then go back and thread in internal observations. and then go through and add thoughts and opinions to the events that have occurred. and lastly, go through and add greater context and cognition to deepen our understanding of the external events.

whew. this was a lot. but i hope you found it helpful!

and because i am trying to be better about self promo, i'd like to mention here that i'm a freelance editor and writing coach, and also i have a newsletter with more thoughts on craft.

#writing advice #narratorial access #interiority #exteriority #direct discourse #indirect discourse

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otrtbs · 2 years ago

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10 books to know me 📚

thank you for the tag @anouri !!! <3

ten books to know me or know what i like to read about?? hmm. i'll tag the books and some quotes to convince you to read them.

The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt ~ the only book ever. jk. but it is my favorite. i read it 1-3x a year. would take it w me on a deserted island. all that.

"A great sorrow, and one that I am only beginning to understand: we don’t get to choose our own hearts. We can’t make ourselves want what’s good for us or what’s good for other people. We don’t get to choose the people we are."

"And in the midst of our dying, as we rise from the organic and sink back ignominiously into the organic, it is a glory and a privilege to love what Death doesn’t touch."

"As long as I am acting out of love, I feel I am doing best I know how."

Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë ~ moody and damp in a way that seeps into your bones and refuses to leave.

“You said I killed you-haunt me, then! [...] Be with me always-take any form-drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!”

“If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger.”

What My Mother and I Don't Talk About by Michele Filgate ~ collection of essays about people's relationships with their mothers.

“The hunger I feel is so unreasonable I can’t parse it, even to myself. But I want to be the daughter of this mother, the one who lives in a pink building, the one who dances.”

“I love you past the sun and the moon and the stars,” she’d always say to me when I was little. But I just want her to love me here. Now. On Earth.”

A Series of Unfortunate Events by Lemony Snicket ~ yes, the whole series. read them as a kid and they're why i am the way that i am.

"I will love you as a thief loves a gallery...as misfortune loves orphans, as fire loves innocence and as justice loves to sit and watch while everything goes wrong."

"To Beatrice— Darling, dearest, dead."

Little Women by Louisa May Alcott ~ comfort read! it's coziness and comfort in book form! jo march n me are the same and we're besties.

"I keep turning over new leaves, and spoiling them, as I used to spoil my copybooks; and I make so many beginnings there never will be an end."

“The humblest tasks get beautified if loving hands do them.”

The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros ~ read this as a young teenager and it's stuck with me ever since.

"And the story goes she never forgave him. She looked out the window her whole life, the way so many women sit their sadness on an elbow. I wonder if she made the best with what she got or was she sorry because she couldn't be all the things she wanted to be. Esperanza. I have inherited her name, but I don't want to inherit her place by the window."

"Their strength is secret. They send ferocious roots beneath the ground. They grow up and they grow down and grab the earth between their hairy toes and bite the sky with violent teeth and never quit their anger. This is how they keep."

Play it As it Lays by Joan Didion ~ it's just a book for your early 20s i think.

“There was a silence. Something real was happening: this was, as it were, her life. If she could keep that in mind she would be able to play it through, do the right thing, whatever that meant.”

Ways of Seeing by John Berger ~ all about art and capitalism and observation. 13/10 read.

“The mirror was often used as a symbol of the vanity of woman. The moralizing, however, was mostly hypocritical. You painted a naked woman because you enjoyed looking at her, you put a mirror in her hand and you called the painting "Vanity", thus morally condemning the woman whose nakedness you had depicted for your own pleasure.”

“The bogus religiosity which now surrounds original works of art, and which is ultimately dependent upon their market value, has become the substitute for what paintings lost when the camera made them reproducible.”

As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner ~ haunting, southern gothic, stream-of-consciousness style that embedded itself into my 17 yr old brain and never left

“Memory believes before knowing remembers.”

“That’s what they mean by the womb of time: the agony and the despair of spreading bones, the hard girdle in which lie the outraged entrails of events.”

Turtles All The Way Down by John Green ~ i'd be doing teenage nat a disservice if at least one john green novel didn't make the list

“I was so good at being a kid, and so terrible at being whatever I was now.”

“You can’t control it, that’s the thing,” I said. “Life is not something you wield, you know?”

tagging some of youse bc i wanna see what you're reading! 😋 (absolutely no pressure!!) : @twisted-tales-told @rollercoasterwords @euphorial-docx @rays-of-raven @anythingforourmoonysstuff + anyone else who wants to play!! say i tagged you !! <333

#clearly i can talk!!! ahhh oops !!!#nat rambles #ask game!

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willothewispwisteriadawn · 9 months ago

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Bunny was a roller coaster to me my whole first read. I volleyed between being SO put off and also very charmed by him. I’d still dislike him as a person if we met, but he’s in my top 3 in that book. Just because he’s that great of a character. The book is so realistic about how nasty, awful friends aren’t nasty and awful all the time. Sometimes, you’re reminded of why you liked them in the first place. I feel like I’ve definitely had friends like that where they’re so selfish and messy, but then I’m like “Well, they can sometimes be so cool….”

Donna Tartt is just so incredibly honest about people. It feels like she’s really observant of how humans actually are and her characters are so lovable in that way. I remember reading an interview with her where she was asked which character was most like her, and she said she put some of her qualities into each of them. I wonder if that’s why it’s easy to empathize with them. She still bases unlikable people around actual human traits.

There’s nothing quite like re-reading The Secret History by Donna Tartt and slowly but surely Bunny Corcoran and his antics, his “old man’s” and “dickie boys” become less annoying and more likable, more real and more honest in contrast to the pretentious and arrogant behavior of the rest of the creek class.

Whilst I felt almost relieved when they got rid of him on my first read through, I felt sorry for him on the second one.

#the secret history #bunny corcoran #donna tartt #secret history #edmund corcoran

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estherdedlock · 2 years ago

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I love this description of The Secret History that I found from Newsweek:

“As far as I'm concerned, there are two types of readers: those who know that Donna Tartt's 1992 The Secret History is the finest debut in late 20th century American fiction and those whose opinion can be safely discounted. That collegiate murder mystery did not seem like the first effort of a young Bennington graduate not far removed from her Mississippi upbringing; rather, with its effortless erudition, graceful language and savage observation of human behavior, it read like Agatha Christie rewritten by Vladimir Nabokov, with just a splash of Animal House.”

The “savage observation of human behavior” really is one of my favorite things about The Secret History. It is so unsparing, and Donna Tartt never tries to soften it or make it more palatable---even when Richard is trying to do just that for his own sake.

Think about what happens during the plotting phase. Richard’s always described Bunny as something of a lout, but things really take a turn for the worse when Richard finds out he’s a real threat to the Greek class...and to this entire fantasy world that Richard’s so infatuated with. Suddenly, we hear a litany of Bunny’s egregious offenses that seem to have been going on for as long as Richard has known him.

What’s really happening here? Has Richard been stewing in anger at Bunny for months, but never said anything for fear of estranging himself from the group (remember that Charles said Henry and Bunny were “best friends”)? Can Richard only allow himself to loathe Bunny when he sees that everyone else loathes him, too? Or is Richard focusing on (and perhaps exaggerating) Bunny’s awfulness to make it easier to hate him...and so, easier to plot his murder, go through with it, and feel little guilt or remorse when it’s over?

It’s such a painfully truthful understanding of the way we actually think...as opposed to the way we like to think of ourselves. And most of us never recognize this behavior even when we’re in the thick of doing it.

Going off on a little tangent here, but I recently had a real-world example of this when I rabbit-holed myself into a forum devoted to "discussing” (i.e. mocking) social media influencers and their content. It’s not surprising that this exists, or that it’s off-the-charts vicious, but it IS extraordinary to see the way forum participants cloak their behavior in righteousness. As they gleefully shit on people, often in the most personal and needlessly grotesque ways, they justify themselves by claiming that the targets of their ire deserve it...why? Because they’re bad people.

It’s obvious that the pleasure of anonymous group cruelty is the attraction of these forums, so why not revel in that honestly? Why all the preposterous theatrics about how “dangerous” and “harmful” these influencers are? Well, for the same reason that Richard gives us page after page of Bunny’s transgressions. Just as Richard says he doesn’t consider himself an evil person, people on those forums don’t want to consider themselves nasty, petty, or cruel. Painting someone as a bad person lets you indulgently shower them with lurid insults and accusations. Painting Bunny as a contemptible asshole makes it acceptable for Richard to be accomplice to murder. It’s human nature.

Before Bunny’s murder, Richard ponders: “As fond as I was of the others, I was fond of Bunny, too, and

I would not have been nearly so quick to cast in my lot with the rest of them had he not turned on me so ferociously.”

Really? Because I think Richard would have cast in his lot with the rest of them no matter how Bunny had treated him. Richard uses, and most likely embellishes Bunny’s awfulness to justify his own cold-blooded brutality. Like so much of TSH, it is indeed a savage---and savagely honest---observation of human behavior.

#the secret history #donna tartt #richard papen #dark academia

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rebeccadumaurier · 1 year ago

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ok i guess i'll elaborate and then go to bed. (tagging @liesmyth if you wanted to read my thoughts since we had previously discussed this book! my opinions overall are mostly positive but this is mostly criticism anyway oops.) spoilers for both the likeness and donna tartt's the secret history:

a lot of it was a little predictable to me mostly because i think about the secret history literally every single week and there's a lot of similarities to that book. (daniel is henry, justin is francis, charles is rafe, camilla is abby, and i'd say cassie/lexie is simultaneously richard AND bunny. i called pretty early on that daniel would take the blame and kill himself in one fell swoop, because that is exactly what henry winter did.) thats not a complaint though! just an interesting observation since i like drawing links between books i've read

i was pretty sure most of the book that either (1) the whitethorn gang had murdered lexie and helped each other cover it up, because there was no way they could've done it alone with the others knowing (also again because i was comparing it to the secret history, and also the collaborative nature of the murder in murder on the orient express), or (2) it was someone from one of lexie's past lives. while i would have preferred it to be #2, because i'm a sucker for antiheroines (of a sort) with mysterious dark pasts, it was pretty clear the more i read that wouldn't be the case, because (1) there weren't any leads on her past turning up and (2) as evidenced from in the woods, tana french likes to write red herrings involving characters' pasts that don't lead to anything. HOWEVER ultimately i still do love insane unhinged codependency and i love that she chose that angle <3

elaborating very briefly on #2 of my OP i didn't like how rosalind was written off as "she did bad things because she is a sociopath" in in the woods, and i don't like rafe's little "daniel did this all because he's incapable of making any other friends." he's definitely right that daniel has major control freak codependent issues but it's a very unforgiving take on daniel's character (obviously rafe has ample reason to be biased and he's not entirely wrong, it's just a very "daniel is immutable and also a very broken person" tone the narrative has overall). the same goes for lexie, actually—i think the narrative has a lot more empathy for her multifacetedness and complexity than ITW did for any of its characters, but i wish it'd dug a little deeper into how she'd ended up with her ruthless cruel runaway tendencies, instead of just writing them off as "that's just her nature to hurt people." They're Just Like That is just...not enough for me, i know the protagonist is a cop and this is how cops think and this is part of why i don't like cops and maybe im complaining about something i signed up to read lol, but i dont like the idea people are just like, inherently broken or whatever

anyway. this was a major improvement from ITW imo and i love lexie and cassie and the whole whitethorn gang's messy dysfunctional love for each other. no joke this book was such an immersive experience that at one point i took an afternoon nap and had a dream i WAS cassie at whitethorn house but i only remember a few vague images, so credit to tana french for writing such a deeply absorbing novel. i would legitimately been perfectly happy if she doubled this book in length.

just finished the likeness after an all night reading binge and it was excellent. two thoughts:

daniel march vs. henry winter: fight (my money’s on daniel)

i’m not sure i like tana french’s pattern of writing people who are simply pathologically wrong, so to speak. i don’t believe in such dichotomies and find this binary a very uninteresting way of regarding the world. so i may give this series a rest for a while, but i’ll probably come back to it at some point because goddamn her prose is so fucking good

#ange.book #tana french

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trashforgubler · 4 years ago

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My Cell

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: Spencer falls in love with the reader, who is the owner of a bookstore

Extra Info: Titled after “My Cell” by the Lumineers, which is one of my favorite songs ever, 11/10 should listen. Also the book I mention in here is one of my all time favs if you’re looking for a recommendation

Requests: Open

masterpost

Spencer had a thing for books. At least, that’s what he told himself as he was walking into Bastet Books for the third time this week. Even though this bookstore was on the other side of town, and there were exactly three other book stores that were considerably closer to his apartment. He told himself this bookstore was better, even though the other ones had far greater selections (and lower prices). He told himself that he liked the white cat with one blue eye and one green eye that greeted him at the door every time he came in, and it had nothing to do with you thank you very much.

Of course, he had noticed that you were… attractive. But attraction is nothing but science. Anyone would be attracted to someone as beautiful as you were. The way your hands gently cradled the books in your arms as you restocked them on the shelf. The way your eyebrow furrowed slightly as you read, making you look lost in another world. Anyone would notice the smell of lavender and Old Spice as you walked by, excusing yourself with a soft voice and a shy smile, your bright eyes darting theirs as they moved past. This is what Spencer used to explain the butterflies that flew around in his stomach every time he saw you at the cash register.

He did not have a crush on you, he was just observant.

And as Spencer walked out of the bookstore with an armful of true crime and a copy of Twilight (in Russian of course, as he doesn’t read fiction in English, but still takes his friend’s recommendations), he realized he was going to have to think of some more reasons why he drives the extra 20 minutes to this bookstore, because the persistent itch in his eyes and nose were telling him he may be allergic to cats.

Three days later Spencer was back at the bookstore. The same bookstore that was an inconvenient distance away and had an animal that he was definitely allergic to. He told himself he got allergy medicine because there may be other times where it might come in handy and going into the bookstore was a good way to test it out anyway.

The bell on the door welcomed him in. As always, he immediately looked to the cash register, secretly hoping to see you. No, I’m not hoping anything Spencer assured himself. Although his own mind contradicted this thought as he found himself disappointed when he laid eyes on not you, but an older man with a scraggly beard behind the counter. Funny, he thought for sure you worked on Thursdays. But he began browsing the shelves anyway because he was certainly here to buy books and that did not change based on who was working.

He made his way to a section he hasn’t been down before: Historical Fiction. Usually, he preferred to keep historical and fiction books separate from each other, as he found the inaccuracies to be outraging when the two were mixed together. But he had already read all of the historical books in the store by now, and as he found last time, he was not a fan of complete fiction. Even in Russian.

His long fingers traced the dusty spines on the shelves as he read each title to himself. The quiet music echoing down the empty aisle made him smile slightly, another reason he loved this store. The others were boring and dead silent. Stepping into them felt like walking around a prestigious museum more than a bookstore. Not here. Here, there was the strum of acoustic music that made everything feel alive. Small conversations could be heard from other aisles, and he liked how they stacked the books here. Not just on the shelves, but on top of them, and on coffee tables placed sporadically throughout the room. There were even books on the windowsills, as if the store were so bursting with words and stories they couldn’t be confined to a single space.

Spencer picked up a book from the top of the shelf: The Secret History by Donna Tartt. It was clearly used; the cover was bent at the corner and the spine was broken in several places. It was even starting to rip at the bottom. These were his favorite books. Ones that were read by so many people it was starting to fall apart but seemed to stay together just for him.

“That’s a great book.”

Spencer turned to the voice, but he knew he didn’t need to. He would recognize the softness of the words and the smell of lavender anywhere. You were standing near him, a box of newly shipped books in your arms, ready to shelve. Except the box was marked Contemporary, not Historical Fiction. Maybe it was this minute detail, the one that meant you had walked into the aisle he was in just to see what he was reading that gave him the courage to respond.

“Yeah, it looks good. I think I’m gonna buy it.”

He pretended to study the cover again. He wanted to keep talking, he really did, but the words seemed stuck in his throat.

“You’re Spencer, right?”

Spencer looked up again and nodded, trying to keep his face and body language casual, even though he could hear his heartbeat in his ears.

“You’re in here a lot, aren’t you?”

Spencer nodded again. Say something, he scolded himself.

“Yeah, I uh, really like to read.”

He mentally slapped himself. Could he have picked something more stupid to say?

“I can tell,” you said with a smile. God, you had such a beautiful smile. “I’m Y/N by the way.” You shifted the box of books into one arm and extended your hand to him. He shook it without thinking about all the germs that might be on it. For the first time in years, the thought never crossed his mind. Maybe it was because you were different than other people. Other people were germy and even the thought of touching their hands revolted him enough to spit statistics at them, lectures on how he would rather kiss a stranger on the lips than shake their hand if given the choice. The touch of your hand made him want to melt.

You stood in silence for a few seconds, smiling at each other politely. Spencer began to rock on the balls of his feet slightly, usure of what else to do. He should not be feeling nervous, but he was

“Well, let me know if you need anything,” you said finally and leave the aisle.

As soon as you were out of sight, Spencer rubbed furiously at his eyes. What was that? He interviews serial killers for a living but can’t have a coherent conversation with someone he likes? No, I don’t like them, he assured himself. Liking someone means going on dates and doing other things with them, and Spencer does not do that. He ignores the persistent voice in his head telling he would actually very much enjoy doing those things with you.

A small purring object presses against the bottom of his pant leg, tickling his ankles. He looks down and sees the cat, rubbing his body against him. Spencer bends down and pets the top of his head, absently wondering if you had noticed that his hands had been shaking during the 30-second interaction. He looks back down at the cat and sees that they’re wearing a collar, Bastet it reads. Spencer smiled to himself. There seemed to be something unignorably adorable about naming a bookstore after your cat, and naming your cat after the Egyptian god of cats. Spencer liked the idea that there was someone just as nerdy as him.

He gave Bastet a quick kiss on the top of the head and left the aisle. He turned right to go to the cash register but stopped when he saw who it was. Scraggly beard guy was gone, and instead, you were chatting with a customer as you bagged their items. Immediately, Spencer’s heartbeat picked up once again, and the butterflies returned to his stomach. Stop. He told himself. I will not let you get nervous over someone you don’t even like. When it was his turn, he put The Secret History on the counter and pulled the bills out of his wallet.

“Spencer, long time no see.” you joked. You scanned his book and took the bills from his hand. He would be lying if he said his heart didn’t jump when your soft fingers grazed his.

Spencer forced himself to return the laugh even though he felt like throwing up. Why did he feel like throwing up? He avoided eye contact by shuffling the bills around his wallet until you returned the book to him. You opened your mouth to say something, but Spencer cut you off with a hasty, “Have a nice day!” before speed walking out of the store. He told himself it was because he didn’t want to hold up the line with another conversation, but he knew deep down if he looked at you for one second longer he would say things that were not rational, and Spencer was always rational.

---

That night when Spencer tucked himself into bed and opened up the book, his receipt fell out of the first page and onto his chest. Only the receipt had something written on it in neat blue ink.

Spencer,

I’m not sure how to say this, so I’ll let someone better at words than I am say it instead (I’m a reader and not a writer for a reason). Read the poem "A Stranger" by Lang Leav. It’s one of my favorites and every time I read it, I find myself thinking of you.

- Y/N

But Spencer didn’t have to read the poem, because he’s read it many times before. And every time he did, he found himself thinking of you. He smiled as he finally welcomed the butterflies and racing heart wholly at the thought of your name. And before he drifted off to sleep, he recited the poem in his head, and with every line he thought, a new butterfly appeared.

There is a love I reminisce,

Like a seed

I've never sown.

Or lips that I am yet to kiss,

and eyes

not met my own.

Hands that wrap around my wrists,

and arms

that feel like home.

I wonder how it is I miss,

these things

I've never known.

Maybe falling in love, was not so scary after all.

#Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds au #fanfiction #fluff #fanfic prompt #bookstore au #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #mgg

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cordonian-literature · 4 years ago

Text

The Aftermath - Ch. 29

Outside the Bakery

Summary: Drake tags along with Liam and the kids during the country jamboree. The day after, he has to babysit.

Word Count: ~2.7k

Warnings: none

*All characters belong to Pixelberry, except those that are unique to my story (I’ve also used some characters and fictional instances from Donna Tartt’s book “The Goldfinch”)*

Catch up here!

Tags: @captain-kingliamsqueen @gkittylove99 @lovablegranny @iam-the-kind-and-thoughtful @mom2000aggie @kingliam2019 @queenrileyrose @shanzay44 @cordonianroyalty @hopefulmoonobject @hopelessromanticmonie @cinnamonspongecake @kuladekiwi @twinkle-320 @charlotteg234 @amandablink @texaskitten30 @tinkie1973 @queencatherynerhys @pens-girl-87 @ladyangel70 @sanchita012 @cordonianprincess @liamandneca @cordonia-gothqueen @pink-diamond13 @queenwalton @yourmajesty09 @alj4890

I’m not sure if the tags are working or not, but I hope I got everyone down! I’ve removed people who haven’t interacted with my posts in a while. If you would like to be added/removed, please let me know :)

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

- Drake -

Since he was worried about Jessica, Drake had decided to skip the fox hunt and spend the day with her. He planned on bringing her to lunch, then a movie, but instead she dragged him to set up the wedding registry. The bridal consultant walked Jessica through her choices while Drake stalled behind. Whenever she asked for his opinion, Drake would just say to choose whatever she wanted.

“Chinois?” she would persist, asking for his opinion when really, he didn’t know what to choose and didn’t care that much. “Or Birds of the Nile? Do say, Drake, I know you must prefer one of the two.”

“You can’t go wrong with either,” the consultant said helpfully. “Both are fun and fancy. And this one is simple, for everyday.”

“It’s fine,” Drake said, his tone more curtly than he intended. Both Jessica and the consultant were blinking up at him, waiting for his decision.

“China—” the consultant started up again, staring down at a plate on display. “The way I like to think of it is that it’s the end-of-day ritual. It’s wine, fun, family, togetherness. It’s a great way to put some permanent style and romance in your marriage.”

Eventually, Jessica made a decision, and they were able to return to Applewood.

But the morning of the country jamboree, she said she had to go back to the capital but promised to attend the Beaumont Bash. Drake wondered what she was leaving for, but didn’t ask her to explain. He knew she must have been emotionally distressed by her father’s passing, even though she never hinted a tear. He kissed her, let her leave, then joined the court on the lawn.

Drake decides to join Liam, who stands with Gabriel and Eleanor. Both children look around the lawn, figuring out what they want to do. Liam spots Drake and waves him over.

“Dad, could we do archery?” Gabriel asks his father.

“Of course,” Liam says. A flash of worry crosses his face as he follows the children across the lawn. “No Jessica today?” Liam asks Drake as the two friends walk side-by-side.

“Nope,” Drake responds. “She’s at the capital. Had something to do.”

“I see,” Liam responds, turning back to the children.

“Where’s Riley?” Drake looks around the lawn for her, wondering what was keeping her occupied. He notices Neville’s son running around the lawn, along with some other children.

“With Countess Hana. Riley spoke with Rashad, who hold her that Hana is hesitant to file for divorce.”

“Do I hold it like this?” Eleanor asks Liam, referring to the bow that was in her hand and too far from her face.

Liam kneels down to the girl and corrects her form, then goes to his son and does the same thing. Once he tells the children how to hold the arrow, he lets them hit the target.

Eleanor’s arrow lands on the ground in front of the target, while Gabriel’s arrow hits the target at an odd angle and lands behind it. The children laugh at each other’s mistakes, and Liam chuckles at them.

They hit a few more shots while Liam observes them, making sure there was no chance of injury.

“Do you think we could all go camping tonight?” Liam asks Drake, his eyes focused on the children. “I can have someone get the supplies together and we can surprise everyone.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“What are you two doing?” Olivia asks, walking up to them.

“Hello to you, too,” Drake greets her.

“Yes, yes. Enjoying the jamboree with your fiancée?”

“She’s not here.”

“She got tired of you? It’s about time.”

“Did you come all the way over here to talk about my love life? If so, I’d like to take a minute to discuss your’s—”

“Alright, you two,” Liam interrupts them. “Duchess, I hope you have news about the investigation?”

Olivia sighs. “No. There were no fingerprints on the painting, nor anywhere in Gabriel’s room.” Her shoulders fall. “I don’t know where else to look. There’s... nothing.”

Liam’s brow furrows, a dark shadow coming over his face. “Let’s not lose hope yet. Keep looking, and let me know if you find anything. And also,” Liam brings her attention back to him. “I think Riley could use your help convincing Countess Hana to divorce the Earl.”

“On it,” Olivia states, then walks towards the two women.

Drake and Liam follow the children around the lawn, watching them enjoy different activities. Liam suggests ring toss to Eleanor, who refuses, saying that she knows she’ll lose.

“Nonsense,” Liam says, then leads them over to the booth.

Her brother grabs three rings, and Eleanor’s shoulders fall.

"Here.” Liam lifts Eleanor over his shoulders, then hands her the rings.

“I feel like a giant!” she cries.

Gabriel lets her go first, and Eleanor throws her ring in a swift arch onto an outer peg. Gabe throws it onto a center peg, and when Eleanor goes again, she hits it onto the outer peg.

When it’s time for Eleanor’s final throw, Gabriel has more points than her. Liam secretly grabs the ring from Eleanor, and throws it onto the center peg. Gabriel looks back at his father and sister suspiciously.

Even though Gabriel won the game, Eleanor still laughed along with her brother and Liam.

They walk around for a few more moments, enjoying the view of colorful booths that had been put up. They reach the entrance of the maze, and Gabriel turns to his father. “Can we do something else?”

“What would you like to do?” Liam asks.

“How about maze-tag?” Drake suggests.

Both kids violently shake their heads. He remembers the time when Eleanor got stuck in the maze, and curses himself for not remembering.

“Can we play soccer again?” Gabriel requests.

“Of course.” Liam leads the group towards the orchard, but one of his guards approaches them and says his attention is needed elsewhere.

Drake says that he’ll keep the kids occupied until Liam gets back, and a servant brings out a soccer ball for them to use.

“Do you guys wanna make teams, or...?” Drake attempts to ask them.

“No,” Gabriel answers. “We can just choose positions and play.”

“I’m fine with that. I’ve played defense.”

“I’m usually midfield.”

“I wanna be goalie!” Eleanor cries.

“Well, Eleanor,” Drake says, focusing on Gabriel and the ball. “Guess I’m defending you.”

“Don’t lose,” the girl demands.

The three of them play for hours, oblivious of the sun falling and the air getting colder. Drake was surprised at how agile Gabriel was, and had to push himself to keep up.

Soon, Liam returns and tells them that it’s time for dinner. The children race towards the tables while Drake and Liam stay back.

“Everything okay?” Drake asks his friend. “You were gone for a while.”

“Yes,” Liam huffs. “Madeleine wished to speak to me.”

“What did she want?”

“She was concerned that the Anointing Ceremony would be held for an heir whose mother is not married to the king, or at least engaged.”

“You’re no closer to proposing?” Drake asks him.

“I’m not too sure. I... I’m waiting for the right moment.”

Relief washes over Drake, but in the next second he feels guilty for it. His feelings for Riley were beginning to fade, and he was engaged to another woman, why was he jealous of his friend?

At the dinner, Drake takes his seat. He sees the children sit with Leo’s kids. Riley, Hana, Maxwell, and Rowan sit near Drake. The court goes quiet when Liam clinks his glass.

“If I may have everyone’s attention, please, I’d like to say a few words before the evening comes to a close. Firstly, I would like to thank all of you for joining us at the country estate, your company has been a pleasure. The next time we meet, it will be the last event of the Social Season. Per tradition, it will be hosted at the distinguished Beaumont House.”

As Maxwell begins to cheer and Liam brings his speech to a close, the court finishes their meals and heads back to the estate.

When Riley stands, Liam offers her his arm. She takes it with a smile, and the two of them lead the group back towards the front of the manor.

As the house comes into view, they see a limo waiting. Riley asks who it’s for, and Liam tells her that it’s waiting for them.

As they get in, Drake quickly convinces Savannah to let Bartie come along. When they’re all in the car, questions are being thrown at Liam.

“I thought we could all enjoy a night under the stars,” he tells them.

After a short drive, they exit onto a campsite. There are tents already up for everyone: Liam, Drake, Riley, Hana, Maxwell, Rowan, Bartie, Gabriel, and Eleanor.

The children rush forward, claiming their tents. Drake goes into his tent, and comes out with a bag of sticks, marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate.

While the kids chase each other around, Drake gets to work starting a fire. He hands everyone sticks and marshmallows. Liam calls the children over and gives them directions on how to make s’mores.

The group sits in silence, watching their marshmallows cook. As a joke, Eleanor lowers her stick into the fire, and her marshmallow comes back up in flames.

“Spicy s’more,” she states. Gabriel and his sister laugh, while Drake takes the stick from her and puts out the fire.

Liam, chuckling, gives Eleanor his own s’more. While she eats it, she watches her brother cook his marshmallow. Once she’s done eating, Eleanor holds out her hand to her brother. “Can I have s’more?”

“Of course you can have s’more s’mores,” Gabriel responds. The children and Maxwell burst out into laughter, clutching their stomachs.

“Did you teach them how to make puns?” Drake asks Riley.

“Nope! Must be in the genes.” She laughs, and Drake rolls his eyes.

Maxwell grabs the group’s attention next, saying that he wanted to tell them a ghost story. The children lean forward, childish fear on their faces. Riley rests her head on Liam’s shoulder as they listen. Hana and Rowan talk quietly.

Drake looks at his group of friends. It had been so long since they were together, that the feeling of companionship felt new. There was peace and comfort, something he hadn’t felt for a long time. He wishes Jessica were here, but allows her to slip from his mind as he retreats into his tent and falls asleep.

...

Upon Liam’s suggestion that they go to Ramsford early, their morning is spent driving through the countryside. When they arrive, Bertrand greets them at the door and servants take their luggage inside.

Before they enter the manor, Liam turns to speak to Maxwell and Drake.

“Do you both think you can watch over the children today?” Liam asks. “I want to take Riley out on a date.”

“Definitely!” Maxwell cries. “Don’t worry about them, we’ve got it covered. You two go have fun!”

Liam thanks them, then goes into the manor. Drake tries to follow, but Maxwell blocks his path.

“What is it, Maxwell?” Drake asks, irritated.

“Okay so I know I told Liam I’d watch over the kids with you, but Rowan and I kinda have a date tonight.”

“Then why’d you say yes?”

“I don’t know!” Maxwell’s shoulders jump up. “I wanna hang out with the baby blossoms, but I also wanna spend time with Rowan! I’d ask Hana to take care of it but her dinner with Rashad is tonight, too.”

Drake pats his friend on the arm. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of the kids.”

“Thank you!” Maxwell cries, then pulls Drake into a hug.

After a few awkward seconds, Maxwell pulls back and rushes into the house.

When it’s time for Liam and Riley to leave, they hug the children goodbye and step out. Maxwell waits a few moments, looking out the window to see if their car had left yet, then links his arm through Rowan’s and heads out the door.

Drake turns to the children, wondering if they’d just go do something or if he had to be with them at all times.

“Is there... anything you guys wanna do?” he asks them.

Eleanor shrugs. Her brother says, “I kinda want ice cream.”

That was doable. Drake ducks into the kitchen and opens the freezer, but finds nothing. He asks a servant if there was any ice cream, but they shake their head.

“Sorry kids,” he says to them once he’s returned to the lobby. “There’s no ice cream.”

“Can we go get some?” Eleanor asks.

Drake thinks a moment. Riley and Liam wouldn’t mind if he brought the kids out, right? “Don’t see why not.”

While the two of them wait in the lobby, Drake asks a servant to get a limo ready for them. Once the driver is outside, Darke leads the kids into the car and they drive off.

He sends Jessica a text, wondering what she was up to:

Hey babe. Got any plans today?

She texts back within a few seconds.

in a movie with some friends. text later xx

When they reach town, Drake tells the driver to stop, and that they could walk the rest of the way to the ice cream store. The driver says that he won’t move from this spot, and the kids lead Drake down the street.

He stops in his tracks when the kids halt in front of a bakery.

“Can we get cupcakes instead?” Eleanor asks.

“You sure?” Drake looks down at Gabriel.

“Please,” the boy says.

Drake shrugs and follows the kids into the store, the smell of freshly baked bread surrounding him. The kids walk towards the display cases, discussing what they wanted.

More and more people walk into the bakery, pushing towards the counter to get their orders. Drake pulls out his phone, wondering if Jessica was free yet. He taps Gabriel on the shoulder and tells them that he would be stepping out, but would keep an eye on them.

Outside the bakery, he watches Gabe and Ella poking at cakes and cookies that caught their eyes. He sees his own reflection in the display window, along with cars and buses on the street behind him. Drake dials Jessica’s number again and brings it to his ear, wanting to figure out if she was out of the movie theater yet.

But just as it was clicking towards voicemail, he notices a deep green sweater in the reflection, sharply contrasting with the pinkish colors of goods in the bakery. In disbelief, Drake turns.

It was Jessica, head down, in a green sweater, huddled arm in arm and whispering with a man Drake recognized — he hadn’t seen the man in what felt like forever, but Drake knew him instantly.

Boris wore the same coat from the day of the Derby. His hair is slightly ruffled, and he has a bag looped over his arm. But the astonishing part was Jessica, who always held Drake’s hand at a slight distance — tugging him along behind her, swinging her arm childishly — was nestled deep and sorrowfully into Boris’ side.

They were waiting for the light, the bus whooshed past. They were too wrapped up in each other to notice Drake.

Boris, who was talking to her quietly, tousled her hair and then turned and pulled her to him and kissed her, a kiss she returned with more tenderness than any kiss she’d ever given Drake.

They were crossing the street. Quickly, Drake turned away. He could see them perfectly well in the window of the bakery. They stopped suddenly, only a few feet away from him.

Jessica was upset. She was talking quietly, in a low voice overflowing with emotion, leaning into Boris wish her cheek pressed against his sleeve as he reached around lovingly to squeeze her arm.

Though Drake couldn’t make out what she was saying, the tone of her voice was too clear. Even in her sadness, her joy in this man — and his joy in her — was undeniable. Any stranger on the street could have recognized it.

As they glided past Drake — looking like two affectionate ghosts in the display window — he saw her reach up to quickly dash a tear from her cheek. Drake found himself blinking in astonishment at the sight: for the first time ever, Jessica was crying.

#trr fanfic #trr drake x oc #drake walker #trr au fanfic #cordonia #liam x mc #the royal romance #the royal romance fanfic #trh

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viewfromthedrumstool · 3 years ago

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Some Days Later: Cat’s Cradle

‘There was a sign hung around my dead cat’s neck. It said “Miaow”.’ – Kurt Vonnegut, Cat’s Cradle

Greetings again one and all, and I’m glad to report that all remains swell over here in quarantine.

I’ve been busying myself with further German lingo practice, rattling on my drum pad (no complaints from the neighbours yet...) and cleaning my quarters. Anything that can be washed and ironed has been so; the drains are sparkling and the backs of the radiators are spotless. I’ll do whatever it takes to avoid breaking into the beer rations before 5:30pm...

This temporary change in lifestyle has been a welcome opportunity to revisit a long-term project I’m calling The Ritter Review. This consists of reviewing, rating and ranking the Ritter Sport catalogue of chocolate bars, and I’ve enjoyed adding a couple more to the tally.

(Trivia: first produced in 1932, the bar was designed to fit into the pocket of a ‘sport�� jacket, thus the name.)

It was some years back that KNUSPERFLAKES scored highest. ‘Crunchy, nice texture and wide dynamic range. Giving. Neither the smoothest nor the meltiest, but that’s an observation, not a criticism. 79/100.’

PRALINE – for many a sleeper flavour – later stole the lead by a single point: 'A joyous journey from start to finish, and a fine companion to coffee. Rich in flavour with an evocative smooth texture that conjures notions of sophistication. 80/100.’

But to my surprise, an excellent recent showing by WEISS + CRISP took it straight to the top of the leaderboard. ‘An excellent suck and a satisfying chew; likely early candidate for the Greatest Hits (feels like a track 3). 88/100.'

It’s still relatively early days so stay in touch for electrifying updates about new additions. Next up: VOLL-NUSS.

I’ve recently been reading Cat’s Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut and I’ve found it sparky and funny. I first discovered his writing when I started playing drums for a band called Man Without Country. Literary types would often (incorrectly) presume they were named for Vonnegut’s book A Man Without A Country, so it seemed prudent to give it a look to ensure I wasn’t unknowingly aligning myself with some kind of hate manual or anti-Bokonistic text...

(Side-thought: books are incredibly good value for money. Even purchased new, most are around £10-12. Using Audible as a gauge, the average book takes 10 hours to read, making the cost around £1 per hour of page-time.)

(Speaking of Audible, I’ve been considering listening to the audiobook of Donna Tartt’s The Goldfinch in a single sitting. It’s 32 1/2 hours long so I might look for a gap when there aren’t any football games on...)

Anyway, A Man Without A Country turned out to be a brilliant read by a very funny and witty author, of whom I have remained a fan. Cat’s Cradle is no different, and I’ve been enjoying it more with every chapter.

It’s a sort of first-person sci-fi situation whereby the protagonist, an author himself, is writing a book detailing the day the Atomic Bomb was dropped on Hiroshima and sets out to meet the bomb’s (fictional) inventor Felix Hoenikker. (Pretty light and fun so far, right?). Hoenikker has long since died, but the journey ends up taking him from Upstate New York down to the fictional Republic of San Lorenzo in the Caribbean, of which he ends up President. Various encounters ensue, but most of the comedy comes from the cast of eccentric characters he meets along the way.

It’s witty and playful but thought-provoking and an exotic distraction from my quarantine routine. The more I read the more I enjoyed it, and Vonnegut is always very quotable. From this book, I liked ‘Peculiar travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God’ which, in a strange way, resonates with my current situation…

There’s loads of great stuff with & about him on the BBC Sounds archive; I recommend his Front Row or So It Goes with Josie Long.

Anyway, the book makes a number of references to a Cat’s Cradle (Felix Hoenikker was playing the game when the bomb was dropped). Does anyone else remember doing one? It was a sort of weird playground routine with a loop of string which you passed between two people in a sort of sequence, the challenge being to keep it going.

It turns out there’s also a solitaire edition, so I figured why not spend some time learning it:

youtube

Although the temperatures here aren’t what they were a few days ago, the nights are still hot so here’s my current late-night-listen for when sleep is illusive: Len Deighton - The Ipcress File.

I also HIGHLY recommend Laura Barton’s American Road Trip, from which Episode 3 – California Bound – was broadcast again on Radio 4Extra last night. Inspired by the programme, I include today some favourite pics of golden times with golden people in the Golden State.

As requested by a couple of fellow tubthumpers, I’ll share a few drum pad exercises I’ve been working at en Quarantine.

When I began playing ‘traditional grip’, I put lots of time into finger control, but never paid a great deal of attention to the left thumb. I’ve only lately become aware of the weakness, so now seems as good a time as ever to tackle it...

The exercises below, taken from my notebook, might not be technically written correctly, but they should make sense! These are just for the left hand, and only your left thumb and hand should ever be in contact with the stick! No fingers at all.

There are two different strokes: the quavers are played with a twist of the left hand and arm (I’m calling it a full stroke). The semiquavers are made by bouncing the stick using the thumb. The hand shouldn’t move at all for these!

The left page contains separate exercises for each stroke, while those on the right page combine the two:

If you get bored doing these to a click, then I can recommend playing along to Tour De France by Kraftwerk. Music with a steady pulse can be a nice way to keep things fresh in the drum shed...

Time for my daily beer ration! I’ll write again soon…

M x

“The arts are not a way to make a living. They are a very human way of making life more bearable” – Kurt Vonnegut, A Man Without A Country

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valakusjo · 5 years ago

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What is Dark Academia?

I’ve seen a lot of questions recently about what the term dark academia means, so I thought I’d break it down into a generalised, comprehensive post for those interested. This is referencing dark academia as a subculture, rather than the genre of literature.

Definition:

Dark

The condition of being hidden from view, obscure, or unknown; obscurity. in the dark: in concealment or secrecy.

Absence of light; dark state or condition; darkness, esp. that of night.

Dark colour or shade.

Academia

The environment or community concerned with the pursuit of research, education, and scholarship.

These definitions dictate the essential structure of the subculture. The ‘dark’ part of academia can be literal: the fashion style predominantly focuses on dark colours, the photography is darker, emphasis on evenings and nights, dim lighting, preferences for autumn and winter, etc. But the darkness can also mean mystery, as suggested above – a lot of the community pride themselves in being mysterious or private.

This darkness can also be applied to the academic half of this subculture – often people enjoy the darker sides of the subjects they are studying, for example gothic literature or historical tragedy.

Academia is the other significant part of this subculture. It focuses heavily on learning, studying, working hard for the things you are passionate about. You do not have to be a student to be a dark academic, as what makes you an academic in this regard is a consistent desire to learn.

These are the two main principles of the dark academia subculture, and they can be adaptable to your own lifestyle. There are, however, other traits associated with this community which I will discuss.

Other:

Buying Vintage or Second-hand. There is a focus on buying second-hand clothes, books, items, accessories. Whilst this is not always possible for each individual for many reasons, it is encouraged as not only does it help the environment, but it is always interesting to buy something with a history behind it. But do not be ashamed if you cannot – there are plenty of big retailers that sell clothes/items that can fit into this lifestyle.

Studying. You can study anything: science, literature, history, sports, cookery, etc. The core principle of academia is learning and being passionate about what you love, regardless of the subject. Even if you have a regular nine-to-five job, you can still spend your free time reading, studying, writing, visiting museums, art galleries, the theatre.

Name. The people within the subculture are often referred to as ‘academics’.

Influences:

This subculture stems heavily from the genre of literature, which is commonly based in an academic setting, such as a university, and has dark themes involving murder, the occult, suicide, etc. Particular influences are Donna Tartt’s The Secret History, and Kill Your Darlings dir. by John Krokidas, to name a few. These often involve characters with morally dubious actions, such as murder (prevalent in both titles above). The subculture, however, removes these immoral traits and focuses on the other parts of it – the dark colours, the desperation to learn more, vintage things, etc. Both of these texts also encourage rebellion of the norm, which is how the occurrence of buying vintage/second-hand came about (anti-consumerism, focuses on quality rather than quantity), and so rejection of current societal standards is common within this subculture.

On the flip side of this is something called light academia, which is the sister subculture to dark academia. It focuses on brighter colours, spring and summer, dawn and day, lighter topics of academia.

Summary:

In short, the foundations of dark academia are the desire to learn more, to absorb yourself into your studies (be they university studies or your own personal studies) similarly to the ‘studyblr’ community, and a focus on darker things such as colours, seasons, areas of research, etc.

Disclaimer: these are merely guidelines and observations made on the current subculture. You can apply this to the things you love, have your own unique version of dark academia – there are no set rules. We are working to be an inclusive, welcoming community to newcomers, and encourage diversity within race, gender and sexuality.

#dark academia #dark academia aesthetic #dark aesthetic #dark academia style #studyblr

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wordacrosstime · 4 years ago

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Menschen im Hotel [Grand Hotel]

[Edition reviewed: Menschen im Hotel. Vicki Baum. 2007. Kiepenheuer & Witsch ISBN 9783462037982 // First editions: // Menschen im Hotel. Vicki Baum. First published 1929. // English language title: Grand Hotel. Vicki Baum. First published 1931, Doubleday Doran & Co. New York]

A COUPLE OF YEARS AGO my esteemed friend and editor of Words Across Time, John Park, asked me if I could read and then review the original German-language version of this novel. Some of you may know that this book, originally published in 1929, was eventually made into an Academy-Award-winning film a few years later, as Grand Hotel. John told me that the English translation he read seemed a bit ‘flat’, and wondered if the original German novel (or roman, as it’s known in German) had a bit more spice to it. Since I am able to read German literature (not easily, but with perseverance and industry), I accepted the challenge. Fast-forward to today: I have finished the novel, and will give a brief summary of my impressions. Again, please note that I am referring to the original German version of this novel, and not a translation.

Menschen im Hotel literally translates to People in the Hotel. The name of the hotel is, in fact, the Grand Hotel, and is situated in this novel in the heart of post-Weimar Berlin. The first impression the reader feels when starting this novel is that appositeness of the title – while the novel does indeed deal with a number of loosely intersecting personal dramas and scenarios, the hotel is at the heart of it all. It might have just as easily been entitled Das Hotel mit Menschen – Hotel with People. Because just as all roads led to Rome in ancient times, in this story, all personal trajectories intersect with or impinge upon the Grand Hotel. There is the desperate industrialist whose latest deal is failing. There is the aging prima ballerina who believes that her time for true love has come and gone. There is the terminally-ill patron who nevertheless takes a broad observational view of what’s going on around him in the Hotel with a certain amusement and even wonder. And the list goes on.

It’s a fun and fascinating glimpse at the worldviews that pervaded Germany in the years following World War I, when the economy was collapsed and an entire society was at odds with itself and the rest of the world. And yet life must go on, as indeed it does in the Grand Hotel.

On the whole, I would say that this novel, while perhaps falling short of what we might call serious fiction in the modern sense (think authors like Kingsley Amis or Donna Tartt), is by no means a pulp fiction work. It falls solidly in the spectrum of writing exemplified, for example, by novels like Dr Zhivago by Boris Pasternak, or Stamboul Train by Graham Greene. The German is quite typical of its era, and compares favorably with novels by truly giant contemporaneous writers of fiction such as Thomas Mann or Heinrich Böll, but doesn’t dive nearly as deeply into the recesses of the human experience. Rather, it treats the Hotel as a waystation for life as lived in multiple layers of socio-economic condition, age, gender, fame (or infamy), and experience.

While reading it, I remember stumbling on a passage that I thought truly exemplified the book as a whole. I will present it in the original German, and then provide a modest and approximate translation of my own:

Alles stellt man sich höher vor, bis man's gesehen hat. Sie kommen da angereist aus ihrem Provinzwinkel mit verdrehten Ideen über das Leben. Grand Hotel denken Sie. Teuerstes Hotel, denken Sie. Gott weiß, was für Wunder Sie erwarten von so einem Hotel. Sie werden schon merken, was los ist. Das ganze Hotel ist ein dummes Kaff. Genau so geht's mit dem ganzen Leben. Das ganze Leben ist ein dummes Kaff, Herr Kringelein. Man kommt an, man bleibt ein bißchen, man reist ab. Passanten, verstehense. Zu kurzem Aufenthalt, wissense. Was tun Sie im grossen Hotel? Essen, schlafen, herumlungern, Geschäfte machen, ein bißchen flirten, ein bißchen tanzen, wie? Na, und was tun Sie im Leben? Hundert Türen auf einem Gang, und keiner weiß was von dem Menschen, der nebenan wohnt. Wennse abreisen, kommt ein andrer an und legt sich in Ihr Bett. Schluß. Setzense sich mal so ein paar Stunden in die Halle und sehense genau hin: aber die Leute haben ja kein Gesicht! Sie sind nur Attrappen alle miteinander. Sie sind alle tot und wissen's gar nicht. Schönes Kaff, so ein großes Hotel. Grand Hotel bella vita, was? Na, Hauptsache: man muß seinen Koffer gepackt haben...

“One always imagines, until one has seen (for oneself). You journey here bearing your provincial views, with twisted ideas about life. ‘Grand Hotel,’ you think. ‘Expensive hotel,’ you think. God knows what sort of wonders you await at such a hotel. You will already note what is going on. The entire hotel is a stupid dump. Exactly the way it goes with all of life. The entirety of life is a stupid dump, Mr. Kringelein. One comes here, one remains a bit, one travels on. Passers-by, you understand. For short stays, you know. What do you do in a big hotel? Eating, sleeping, loitering, shopping, a bit of flirting, a bit of dancing, what? Well, and what do you do in life? A hundred doors in one corridor, and no one knows anything about the people who live beyond them. When you travel on, another comes and lays themselves in your bed. Enough. Sit down like that for a couple of hours in the hall and look: the people truly have no faces! They are merely dummies with each other. They are all dead, and know absolutely nothing. Beautiful dump, such a large hotel. Grand Hotel beautiful life, what? Well, the main thing is this: one must have one’s suitcase packed…”

This novel captures the post-Weimar Republic zeitgeist in microcosm, and is worth reading for that alone, if one is willing to forbear the occasional existential soliloquy as exemplified above.

Photo credits: top: Vossische Zeitung, advertisement, 4 April 1929 / Vossische Zeitung, Anzeige, 4 April 1929 / thank you to Angela M Arnold, Berlin // middle: Portrait of Vicki Baum. Collection: Theatermuseum, Vienna / Porträt Vicki Baum. Sammlung: Theatermuseum, Wien. / Kunsthistorisches Museum Wien, Bilddatenbank / c 1930 by Max Fenichel (1885–1942) // bottom; Berlin, memorial plaque for Vicki Baum, Koenigsallee 45, unveiled on October 4th, 1989 / Berlin, Gedenktafel für Vicki Baum, Koenigsallee 45, enthüllt am 04.10.1989 / photograph 15 March 2008 by and thank you to Axel Mauruszat.

Kevin Gillette

Words Across Time

18 December 2020

wordsacrosstime

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cupsofsuga · 5 years ago

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MIN YOONGI ━━━ CHARACTER ANALYSIS

YOONGI IS... the taste of red wine, italian poetry, oscar wilde, coffee stains, oxford shoes, cigarette buds, cherries, abandoned manors, foggy windows, rounded glasses, apple cider, muddy shoes, old records, ink stains, black cats, ghost stories, chess pieces, libraries, rainy mornings, violin, theatre plays, dead poets society, candle wax, piano keys, typewriters, dirty polaroids, donna tartt, late autumn, rusted books, chalk dust, cloudy days, the picture of dorian gray, crows, handwritten love letters, scent of books, ceramic mugs, dead roses, greek sculptures, thick coats and the ring of a café bell.

YOONGI SOUNDS LIKE...

COLD TEA BLUES / COWBOY JUNKIES

❝ but if i measure the sugar to satisfy your expectant tongue, then that it love. ❞

HEAVENLY / CIGARETTES AFTER SEX

❝ and when you’re far away, i still feel it all. ❞

WHERE’S MY LOVE / SYML

❝ if you bleed, i’ll bleed the same. ❞

ALPS / NOVO AMOR & ED TULLETT

❝ i would fake, i would hate, i would break every inch of my life. ❞

DRAW YOUR SWORDS / ANGUS & JULIA STONE

❝ ‘cause you are the only one. ❞

PULL / SPOOKY BLACK

❝ baby, i would die for you. ❞

VIDEO GAMES / LANA DEL REY

❝ it’s you, it’s you, it’s all for you, everything i do. ❞

BLUE MOON REVISITED / COWBOY JUNKIES

❝ blue moon, you saw me standing alone without a dream in my heart. ❞

ONLY IN MY DREAMS / THE MARÍAS

❝ you’re everything i need to bear this fear. ❞

LOVER’S SPIT / BROKEN SOCIAL SCENE

❝ they listen to teeth and learn how to quit. ❞

YOONGI LIKES... Y/N, the quiet, hot chocolate, poetry, romance, autumn, cats, 7:00 AM at the café, cowboy junkies, sweet foods and literature.

YOONGI DISLIKES... loud places, obnoxious people, sunlight, messy environment, alcohol, heavy metal, working at the café (except from 7:00 AM to 8:00, which is when you’re there), dogs and presentations.

MIN YOONGI. an introverted, philosophical, anxious, broken barista with a journal filled with dreams. journaling has become an crucial coping mechanism to cope with the horrors of his childhood. always found doodling flowers and hearts upon sugar-spun words during his break while sitting on top of the coffee beans. with perceiving intuition and observant, feline-like eyes, yoongi studies the people that litter around the café with utter annoyance. the early morning joggers with terrible attitudes to the boring, monotone college kids who have just about 57 essays to finish in a single day, it is safe to say yoongi despises his job.

that is until, you stroll in, wearing that all-too sweet smile you possess like a king and his crown and order a hot chocolate. thus, so suddenly, just for the short seconds of eye-contact, yoongi is sent to nirvana. just for that second, he can forget about the abuse and neglect of his mother and focus on you, an enchanting creature with bright eyes he dreams to stare into for eternity. following after, yoongi has become a modern-day oscar wilde with his daily, infatuating entries with everything as little as your smile. college classes are dull, working at the café has become dull and his dream of becoming a poet has now vanished; only you matter.

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joneswuzhere · 5 years ago

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in anticipation of episode 4.14, i watched ‘how to get away with murder’ s1

here’s my thoughts on how rd might be playing out an homage to the show, and on what these parallels might suggest to expect from the whole ‘jughead dies’ plot

below are complete spoilers for ‘how to get away with murder’ s1, a few spoilers for s2 and s3. and also. spoilers for donna tartt’s ‘the secret history.’ cool ok here we go

- first. we’re abbreviating the title to htg

- second. htg’s plot is pretty convoluted and out-of-order, so it’s hard to mention one thing without having to explain four other things. riverdale’s format is so chill in comparison. i apologize for repetition and confusing timeline discussion

- also, maybe u watched this show! or maybe u want to. or maybe ur impatient and just here for riverdale lol. i’m not going to make u scroll through a whole plot summary of htg’s first season. BUT i did write one up here if that’s something u want to read. it will probably make the following easier to understand, but i’ll do my best to make it accessible without that

- third. like i said, my goal here is finding potential parallels and, based on that, speculating on what rd is doing with this plot. i have no conclusions but i do have some thoughts and maybe you do too

- ok the basics of htg:

- this show is the visual inspiration for rd’s flash forward hook, as well as for the murder cover up in the woods.

- the show structure is: a main timeline, intercut occasionally with flash forwards to a murder that happens at the midseason point. similar to rd

- a difference: in rd, the flashes jump to different points over a period of days - burning their clothes, the search party, body identification, then the arrests, the line up, and then back to the ‘death’ scene. in htg, all the flashes jump to different points during one particular night, and only deal with the groups effort to dispose of the body and evidence.

- where was i. oh, but there’s 2 murders in htg. murder #1 happened before the series start point. in the main timeline, the investigation into murder #1 builds up to the midseason climax that results in murder #2 (the one the group is covering up).

- after the timeline has caught up to the midseason murder, then the flash forwards are replaced with flash backs that begin to reveal past details about murder #1.

- so right away, what stands out to me is the possibility that, once the main timeline catches up to whatever happens to jughead in the woods, rd will continue to follow this format. but what would rd flash back to? hang on,

- the genre here is inverted detective story, where instead of finding out someone was killed and following along to find out who did it,, you learn right away who’s doing the murdering and how. the mystery lies in whether they’ll get away with it and/or what led up to that point.

- in htg, murder #1 is a regular mystery, and murder #2 is inverted. in rd, jughead’s death is an inverted mystery, and there’s several other regular mysteries/deaths: chipping’s suspicious suicide, the old generation of the quill & skull society, + the missing kids that jughead and betty are investigating

- so it may transpire that we see flashbacks to those missing students, like moose or the stonewall 5. or maybe context on why chipping jumped, what dupont said to him. or a glimpse into fpj1′s time at stonewall. i’m spitballing

- hm a note on genre here: maybe there’s a conversation to be had about inverted murder mysteries and perfect murders (recall, the theme dupont assigned for the class). like, crime fiction specifically told through the perspective of getting away with it. (a perfect murder is specifically a murder that resists all explanation. no suspects, no evidence)

- ok. the first half of htg s1 is the lead up to the night of murder #2. the second half of the season focuses on how participating in and covering up a murder is affecting the people involved. grief, guilt, anxiety, nightmares. strain and changes in their relationships with each other, friends, and family. again, perhaps we’ll see rd focus on this in a similar way.

- hey btw, does that sound a little familiar to u? it might if you read the secret history. we already know this book is one of the influences behind rd’s s4 plot, but i was surprised at how much overlap is apparent between htg’s plot and the book plot. i made a chart about it lmao. more on that later

- what else fits into a parallel between rd and htg?

- some similarities between characters. htg has a group of law students from privileged backgrounds who are super competitive with each other, similar to the stonewall kids. and there’s the one outsider student who gets into the class last minute, is far less privileged, and who has a tragic past and a head for snooping and investigation.

- there’s a student/teacher affair that gets violent. it goes down pretty much the opposite of in rd; the girl gets pregnant, is totally in love, suggests the affair should be revealed to the teacher’s wife, and then she goes missing and turns up dead (murder #1)

- also, unlike rd where we have only donna’s word, in htg the affair is confirmed, and revealed through a bunch of evidence - dick pics on phones and postmortem pregnancy results, etc

- some other minor details from the show that the rd writers may have reflected upon:

- a window jumper suicide. circumstances very not the same tho

- a blink-and-miss-it scene with a dog named mr. chips, which is the nickname of the film character who rd’s mr. chipping is probably named after (goodbye mr. chips)

- also, ok. the 2 murders story is the show’s long A plot, but each episode also has a short B plot in the form of court cases that annalise and her group of student/interns work on. (btw lead character annalise is a criminal defense lawyer & law professor). details worth mentioning from some of these subplots:

- there’s a case involving cult brainwashing. a former devotee is charged with something terroristic with a bomb she did years ago, idk. annalise has her visit her old cult leader in prison to ask him to help her by testifying that he forced her to participate. this backfires - she falls back under his sway, he escapes custody during the trial, and they run away together, abandoning the family she made after leaving the cult

- in this ep the patty hearst trial is mentioned - the difficulty of trying to legally prove someone acted under duress, or prove they were brainwashed. and how trying to claim both at the same time is a terrible legal defense

- in another case, a woman is charged with murdering her housemaid while sleepwalking. she resists help from annalise bc she feels so guilty. the woman says ‘can u imagine waking up to realize that you killed somebody you loved? that’s what i did.’ except she didn’t; they figure out she was being framed by the real killer, her husband, who was jealous bc he thought he was the only one sleeping with the maid but he found out his teen son was too. yikes

- there is so much cheating in this show smh. anyway,

- these subplots are interesting to compare to rd, but sort of trivial in terms of htg’s overall plot. so what happens in the A plot after murder #2?

- a catch-up if u skipped the plot summary: annalise keating, lawyer, professor, is the central character. she’s direct, takes no shit, and puts up an emotionally impervious wall that keeps almost everyone out. but it’s also apparent from ep1 that she’s really suffering - her marriage is falling apart, she’s cheating and finds out her husband, sam, is too. they agree to repair things and sam seems to be making a big effort, but she keeps catching him in lies that point toward murder #1.

- in the latter half of the season, while she’s helping make sure the kids get away with murder #2 (they accidentally kill sam while pursuing him as the murder suspect), annalise’s grieving process is a focus. there’s an emphasis on her appearance as her armor, guarding her complicated grief over the trauma of her loss and the destruction of her trust. her cold exterior is both a protection and, at the same time, a point of suspicion for police, lawyers, and public who wonder how she can be so unaffected. meanwhile, in private, she has a total breakdown.

- this builds from a parallel that’s played with throughout the season - annalise’s control of her image vs hiding or confronting the truth. like, at one point, it’s evening, she wipes off all her makeup and pulls off her wig, then turns barefaced to her husband and asks him bluntly for the truth, why she caught him in a huge lie. and the flip side, later walking around with her whole look in place, as if nothing is wrong, is part of her effort to cover up the murder.

- i bring this up bc it reminds me of something that (the brilliant, the illuminating) @bettycooperoutfitwatch talked about in her 4.05 post, regarding That Sweater.

- in this post, at the flash forward arrest scene, she points out ‘it’s betty cooper in disguise as betty cooper.’ which, like. i’m floored by this observation

- the persona betty originally created to conform to her parents’ unattainable expectations of perfection and normality, now (not for the first time) dialed up and re-purposed to try to disperse suspicion???? love this

- annalise and betty are very Not alike as characters. but it seems that betty, like annalise, will be involved in the murder of her loved one. i’m interested to see if rd will follow htg’s emphasis on emotional turmoil and pretense in the aftermath of trying to get away with something horrible

- oh but that reminds me, i promised a chart

- i haven’t read the secret history and i have no desire to, but i foraged enough details to be able to point out some bare bones similarities going on here. it’s important to include this bc, at the moment, it complicates any attempt to figure out which, if either, inverted murder plot rd might be paralleling at any time.

- in other words, all my speculations here about htg parallels might be worthless bc i might be looking at the wrong text. it’s cool, i think that makes it more fun

- book spoilers in here. sorry it’s small, u can try to zoom in here

- please feel free to jump in with corrections or more details if you’ve read the book

- [update as of 2/25: i’m reading the fuckin book after all, so i may make another post with an updated chart at some point. maybe]

- last thing. in htg, the inverted mystery (whether or not the kids get away with it) is resolved by annalise planting evidence that frames someone else (whom she chooses bc she’s confident she can get him safely out of the charges). the bottom line there is: someone innocent is framed for murder #2.

- and then a new development - one kid involved in murder #2 freaks out and may decide to turn the others in - leads to a 3rd death. hm (post s4 update: that’s jonathan i guess)

- actually no, the real last thing. wikipedia says there’s a subplot in htg s2 that involves blackmailing annalise and others with uhhhh creepy surveillance videos of them, some that incriminate them in murder #2.

- and then, in s3, drawn out over another series of flash forwards, there’s a character death reveal... of the guy who’s most in parallel to jughead.... lmao. and speak nothing of s6. so like, there’s definitely potential for more or continuing parallels here

- i kind of hope not though, bc i don’t have it in me to watch more of this show. it’s Very high strung, i can’t deal with it (post s4 update: no i never watched any more of this show but yes, that was all definitely used by rd)

- bonus: wait do u want some of my opinions on the actual show?? favorite characters: annalise, bonnie, and oliver. i liked the fast pace but the constant tension stressed me out. also, not enough lesbians; i kept expecting bonnie and annalise to kiss. the guy who plays wes.... not a very good actor, is he? viola davis though: amazing. that’s all. watch if u like stress. sorry i spoiled everything

#riverdale speculation #episode thoughts #least coherent thing i've ever put up here but i sure did write all of that down #anyway i love when rd's plot finds a balance of different homage #man and this isn't even touching on the agatha christie stuff. it'd be neat to see betty's narrative follow something like marta/knives out #not sure how that could work tho since riverdale lacks wealthy people of any benevolence

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alyseofwonderland · 5 years ago

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Alyse Reads The Goldfinch, Part 2

What follows is my best attempt at liveblogging. I had the books as an audiobook in hopes that I could keep it from taking even more of my life from me. This was perhaps a mistake. I think I broke Siri trying to make notes. The notes that are rambly are the ones I dictated.

I entirely blame @rollono for my suffering. But I am also aware that it seems to give her joy.

Every time I reference Tara, I am talking about @wellntruly who’s own live blog of the book was the only roadmap I had to follow in this waterlogged wasteland of a novel.

Part 1

I thought Tara was making up the Camel-hair coat bit but APPARENTLY NOT.

Architecture has that much to do with the city and or northern Europe, really? I mean, “whitewash” doesn't everybody do that?

Nina ( @proud-librarian ) is going to have a lot to say about their descriptions of the Netherlands and Amsterdam in this book. like oh my God!

Theo Deckard doesn't understand how thermostats work.

This isn't satire? I don't understand we're like three minutes in and it has to be satire. right. right?

Who the hell says my mother and I didn't like my father much? like what.... what is this? what am I reading? what is happening? what.... I don't understand.... okay maybe fine whatever

This feels like it should be... I don't know.... satire is the word I'm looking for again. I don't want to just repeat what Tara, said but Jesus. the start of the story is he is rich enough to have a Doorman but not rich enough to afford the fancy private school, and him and his friends break into vacation homes in the Hamptons. what is this? what is this? I just... just.... just write a Jane Austen or Lord Byron novel if that's what you want to do just do that. do that.

My audiobook app just turned itself off in the middle of a passage because it decided I didn't need to listen to Theo talk about whatever he was talking about.

Curse you, Donna Tartt, for also being in the "all things coconut smell like suntan lotion" club. I did not want to have this in common with you.

I am laughing so hard it turns silent into my steering wheel because the audiobook reader makes Tom Cable sound like a surfer dude from the 70s, and I. cannot. handle. that.

"I like to think of myself as a perceptive person" is basically the way that I know that Theo has about Harry Potter level skills of observation when it comes to the people around him.

Y'all this book would be so much better if Theo actually thought like a 13-year-old that he is supposed to be in the intro part. That would just be peak comedy, which is really what I'm looking for.

Audrey Decker and the Laura Moon from American gods are now the two people that I have ever known to call men "puppy" which I still find alarming, in both cases. Surprisingly they also both die, so I guess more things they have in common.

The longer this book goes on the more clear it is that I am not bougie enough for its contents. ( timestamp 30 minutes)

(GIF BY @rollono BY MY REQUEST FOR EVERY TIME THIS BOOK MAKES ME FEEL POOR)

I just can't suspend my disbelief enough to think that a 13-year-old would know this much about their parent's job and be able to ask questions. I'm trying to think of what my dad was doing when I was 13, and I mean I know where he worked, and I know who his boss was, but if you tried to ask me daily issues or me giving advice... oh my gosh. I just can't. nobody talks like this.

I’m making a face akin to Kermit the frog.

I threw up in my mouth a little at the description of Pippa walking past in the museum.

Did we just describe a 12-year-old girl's arms as marble? is that what just happened? did I just have to listen to that?

Theo has given me a lot of like “Golden State killer” vibes right now with his desire to poke around through all these people's homes and stuff. like this is clearly the Visalia ransacker's motivation in the 70s. I know too much about true crime, that's what's happening right now.

The true-crime serial killer alarms keep going off in my brain.

I know Tara already mentioned how ridiculous the Murphys bed story is but it really is incredibly ridiculous and breaks the tension of the entire scene that is occurring at the time (laughed uncontrollably to the point that Siri typed nonsense)

I get it, Donna, you know things. You do not have list every fire truck to prove it.

Let's take a child to a dinner at 3 am. Really Donna?

Why does Donna insist on giving me the text of signs around whats going on? Why did I just listen to the smoothie specials while an emotional scene is occurring?

Donna, did you just call Mrs. Barough a weasel? [afronted gasp]

OI! (me shouting when Donna says that Andy was weird for being lactose intolerant.)

Pukes in my mouth a little at the term 'high verbal'. I get it, Donna, you think you are smarter than all of us stop being a dick.

Donna Tartt would make it to r/iamverysmart in like a minute if she understood how the internet worked.

WHO TAUGHT HER ABOUT FMA?

Okay, so either Donna Tartt knows someone who lost a parent and basing this off them or like went through it herself because I am white-knuckling through the grief bits trying not to have my own trauma response to the situation. Or she wrote Theo with like the exact grief I had. Her incessant need to list things in a room is the only thing between me and a spiral of remembering my dad's death.

ANDY IS A RAY OF LIGHT AND DOES NOT DESERVE TO BE IN THIS FAMILY OR IN THIS BOOK!

Five whole hours before the first sight of Hobie. Like Jesus.

I miss Terry Pratchett.

Hobie thank you for making this book interesting again.

Hobie is now my main squeeze and I won't hear a word against him.

POE DIDN'T INVENT SCIENCE FICTION FUCKING MARY SHELLY DID. DONNA WHAT THE FUCK.

The Hobie part of the story just makes me more sure that a version of the movie should have been without the Baroughers (sp?) and only included Hobie and Pippa.

Any is a murderino. I love this baby boy.

Aw, I love Hobie so so much.

Donna if you call Andy annoying one more time you are gonna catch my hands. (She just referred to his voice as annoying twice in a conversation and I swear to god I will rip this character out of her snobbish clutches she doesn't deserve him.)

Theo on this we agree, I too enjoy Hobie.

Hobie is the only person who belongs in this novel and he's a god damn delight.

SEVEN HOURS AND THE PAINTING HAS COME UP AGAIN FOR THE FIRST TIME IN LITERAL HOURS.

Theo straight up using Spanish to fuck over his father is just *chef's kiss.

I can see how much contempt Donna has for Xandra is longer and deeper than this book will ever be.

I am going to suplex Larry Decker I swear to god. (i have a very particular trigger to spouses bad-mouthing the dead one due to personal experience.)

Necco wafers are no one's favorite candy Donna. You can't just say shit like that and expect anyone to believe you.

I have just realized that Donna Tartt has never been to a public library. How do I know? Witchcraft books are never on the shelves. Ask any librarian. They are stolen pretty much the moment we buy them.

I am standing dead in the tea aisle at the store because Theo just thought it would be “gay” to tell the doormen he has known almost his whole life he is gonna miss them. (hours later I realize this is her backtracking in edits going "shit shit shit I have to add the repression in somewhere for those dumb readers that don't understand art" and I hate it more.)

Mrs. B is ready to physically fight Larry and I would pay real money to see it.

WHY DOES DONNA KNOW ABOUT DRAGON BALL Z?!? Step away from the things I love Donna I don't trust you near my media. (Also why she does reference it she clearly has NO concept of what DBZ hair would even look like to expect me to believe any child could achieve it.)

oh my god, Boris. I'm so happy to see you.

I am happy to report the audiobook narrator does not do an Australian accent for Boris. Thank the lord.

I knew I was going to love Boris but like a few minutes in I adore him.

It's interesting to me that Theo and Boris seem to have received similar amounts of attention/affection from non-parent adults, but while Theo finds it uncomfortable Boris soaks it in.

The Australian part of Boris's accent seems impossible.

*sobbing audibly into my keyboard* Popchyck

Boris you sweet like socialist.

Comrade Boris we need you in this election.

I'm sad he (Boris) doesn't get to go to college and like piss off every yuppie and hippie, and just make Philosophy 100 and Government 250 absolute hell for everyone.

Drunk Boris at Thanksgiving is a gift.

Me listening to this book before Boris: half paying attention, fucking around on my computer, doing chores. Me after Boris shows up: staring at the middle distance determined to listen to every fucking word because this prison sentence of a novel is finally interesting.

James: you said the author is a snob and you aren't enjoying the main character. Me: yeah James: then stop reading it. Me: No, then Donna and her Anna Wintour knock off hair cut will win. James, frowning and backing out of the room: k sweetie.

6:30 am is too early to hear Theo Decker describe his bed as "our bed"

I WAS RIGHT. Boris belongs in college making every American white kid absolutely furious in every Poli-sci.

Larry Decker calling Theo and Boris his "kids" made my heart skip a beat.

So the nurse notices they don't have vitamins and smell but doesn't call child services. I mean I know that I learned that school nurses are less likely to call CFS on white kids than they are on black kids but like god damn.

The sheer salt of Theo refusing to learn the name of Boris’s girlfriend is so hilarious.

Now *this* is gay.

The truth is Theo is ready to cut a bitch.

Fellas is it gay to do shots while your boyfriend talks about his girlfriend?

Theo trying to set up Boris with like a nice polite girl who won't fuck him is fucking hilarious. This poor baby gay.

Theo (and Donna cuz she writes him) have never heard of learning disabilities and I will legit throw down.

LARRY IS A SCORPIO IN CANON?! I thought that was something from the fan fics. omg Ally hates this.

No one wears white sport coats Donna stop trying to make it happen.

Boris totally knows what's going on with Larry and he's just trying to look out for Theo because he loves Theo but oh my gosh Boris why do you make me feel so many feelings!

Please, Donna, I am begging you to stop telling me what the light from the sun looks like at different times of the day. I just can't take it anymore. Every scene of Theo in Xandra's house does not need the qualifier of what type of sunlight he is seeing. Some times fine. But every time?

My entire stomach just dropped when I realized what Boris has done, and I'm just I'm so sad. this is not how I wanna start my commute to work today.

I have just had my first moments of being very proud of Donna's writing, because long long time ago, in the same chapter, she had the bit about how Xandra will say "apparently" when she's being bitchy with Theo and now in a conversation where Theo isn't paying attention to her she says "apparently" to Larry and I just had to stop and say this, this is the writing I'm looking for Donna. This is clever and interesting and I LIKED IT. Stop making lists and do more of this.

Friendship ended with Book Boris, Movie Boris is my best friend now.

I don't understand how the director and the screenwriter of the film could move who said those lines and then not make it gay. Like, commit to your choice.

My mom: You finish that book yet? Me, angrily: No. My mom slightly worried: do you like it? Me: unclear.

NEW CHAPTER!

Theo, I need you calm all the way down when you are looking at Pippa.

Love this lawyer. I want to be his friend.

God poor Pippa. All the shit she goes through and she still has to put up with Theo's weird obsession.

Theo, you slid right back into the serial killer habits in a second and I want you to stop it.

Oh god, I feel that in my soul. Like "no sir you have it wrong I look more like the parent I like best." (also I do look more like my dad. like way more like him)

I am begging someone to get Theo some kind of hobby or help or something so he stops acting like a victorian ghost.

I am gonna have to get the actual book so I can see what weird spelling is going on with the text messages. I just know its weird. The narrator does it in such a weird voice.

We spent so much time dealing with emotional issues and other whatnot that going back to the bit about the painting feels like a huge tonal shift in the book. I'm like staggering around confused.

Literally no one uses strawberry shampoo.

Love that Theo ‘s final plan is the one Andy purposed an eon ago.

Salty that Theo is getting the cool college experience that Boris would have crushed. I would have paid good money to watch him make the philosophy department cry.

[kermit in the car gif]

Yo! Theo struggling to deal with school is like exactly my semester after my dad died.

The adults attempting to force him into different living arrangements is so what we dealt with post my dad’s death.

Grisha! (Russians the only people I trust atm)

Tara was right, Andy's death comes off like a joke!

I gotta say, Crime Theo is my favorite Theo so far.

I don't know which serial killer Donna was channeling to write the parts about Theo being obsessed with Pippa, but it is just so intensely a serial killer vibe I cannot even begin to describe the look on my face; the feelings I'm having. I'm just like this man is going to kill someone. he's going to kill a lot of people. not only that it's going to be a lot of women because he doesn't view them as people. that's what I'm getting from this it's. Theo doesn't think women are people.

If Theo was on reddit he would be part of r/niceguys and r/iamverysmart.

If I have to listen to him drone on about his fantasies of Pippa for one more minute I will kill myself in the baking aisle of Aldis.

HES HOARDING HER HAIR?! HER UNWASHED CLOTHES?!? Please someone put him in jail.

[the sound of me throwing up in the frozen food section as Theo describes Kitsey]

Donna don’t try to act like you didn’t add that foreshadowing yourself about Andy. You crack me up you relentlessly snob.

How is Theo just The Worst all the time?

Theo freaking out because two gay guys know what’s up with him is just *chef’s kiss

Me having seen only the movie: Theo and Boris should get redemption and a romance run away. Me now: [ gif of “Ive had enough of this guy” from IASIP]

I mean I understand that John Crawley was a coward in so many of his directorial choices, but the fact that he didn't put the second meeting of Theo and this Lucius guy into a crowded weird restaurant where they're both getting hit by the waiters as they go past is just the weakest move you could've made. because this makes it so much funnier.

I'm with Hobie.

honestly this book should've just been 20 hours of art crime and like to shave off a good 10 hours of LISTS because that's what 10 hours is. give me 20 hours of art crime. I would love to watch each sale happen that would've been riveting to read but instead.... this.

Bish, you like those earrings or I will cut you.

Theo salty, while Kitsey picks out new china, is so fucking hilarious.

him just like "why are we buying new plates when my job is literally to find plates that were made by craftsmen?!?!” but being too fucking repressed in his bullshit to say anything, so he just making some poor sales lady suffer.

my friend Ally: “Theo’s repression makes everyone suffer is a good summary of the book.”

Alternative version of this book that would have been 8 million times better: Theo gets into art crimes but is also a serial killer. We don't know the second bit but it begins to start dawning on us as women seem to disappear from his social circles and weird hints of thoughts about blood and rivers. Bonus points if it ends with him on the run from the law with his only vaguely criminal (by comparison to serial killer Theo) boyfriend. We are left to wonder if they will be gunned down in the chase or if perhaps there will be one more body to great the river.

Theo's textbook serial killer nonsense is only comparable to the sheer petty gay energy he gives off.

The power trip he gets from being like "hahaha yes I have bagged the ice princess who wanted nothing to do with me when we were kids" is just so gross and hilarious.

Theo realizing he is not the only sociopath in the room is just *chef's kiss.

Boris, did you really send some guy to just watch your ex?

Boris, I am begging you. You have made Grisha so upset.

Donna shying away from describing Boris comes off, if you don't know who we are talking about, as weird and slightly racist.

You have the internet Theo, you can look up when movies are going to start. You are not living on the moors.

HOW IS THIS BOOK NOT A SATIRE OF AMERICAN PYSCHO FOR PEOPLE THAT HAVE BONERS FOR ANTIQUES?!?

Boris returns. I have almost forgiven him for what he put me through.

Maybe "fuck you" can be our always.

*tries not to cry when I realize that Boris' friends have heard about Theo

bless Aneurin for everything he did for this reunion in the movie.

Why is Boris such a slut? Why will I forgive him for anything?

Is it gay to think about the guy you used to jack off as handsome when you meet each other again?

Genetics means those kids can't be Boris' unless his mother was blonde. (Theo kind of agrees.)

My soul has left my body at the concept of Boris having a wife and kids.

I'm not saying I endorse crime, I'm just saying a mobster front with a pun in the name is really on-brand for me.

Knowing what I Know. That Boris thinks Theo is gonna try to kill him when they go for the "surprise" just makes the whole thing so tragic and sad.

Boris and his dog REUNITED AT LAST. I'm not crying. I'm fine.

Interesting that the next story we hear is about Gyuri's dead "brother" right after Boris says that Theo is "blood of his heart, his brother". Like. I might not be the biggest history buff in the world but I know gay code when I see it.

I mean I knew this was gonna happen, but I can't help but feel personally betrayed by Boris once again.

Donna, stay away from stuff about computers. Your attempts to use them make me, a technology expert, cringe.

Boris like "you don't deserve this dog. I deserve this dog."

"Babe I get that you are a WASP at heart but I need you to fight with me like a Russian now." - Boris to his disaster husband

"Did I lie?" "YES" (me laughing so hard I'm practically crying)

why does no one in this book appear to exchange numbers or like airdrop contact info.

Does Donna think that people only have iPhones?

Ally who is CTRL F reading this book "'Every few hundred pages she's like 'oh yeah, it's modern times...they're texting and there's emojis!' Seriously, there was the mention of emoji's and my soul escaped my body for a minute because it had no tether to time or space" @aces-low

Off the top of my head, the name that Donna is not saying for this Horace to guy is Volkswagen.

Instead of being in the mob Boris should run an animal shelter.

Boris being Bitchy and jelly when Theo is talking to the German guy is just so cute. You two deserve each other with your weird shit.

If Donna wasn't a coward this book would have had Theo just getting eyeballs deep in art crime with Boris and his associates.

Adding a sin for making me listen to whatever that just was.

Things Donna forgot to list in "girl food": chicken wings, bread, rolls, other types of bread, garlic bread, a bit more bread, maybe cookies, eight more cookies, 20 more cookies, every type of chocolate humanly imaginable, jam, and barbecue ribs.

What do ankles have to do with being attractive?!?!?! this isn't the Victorian age!

(from Ally re this comment: “I'm now convinced that every day Donna sat down to write this book she spun a wheel with different years on it, and that's the year the book was set that day”)

I didn't mind Kitsey cheating on Theo, because he doesn't even really like her. Until just now, when I realized that Mrs. B knows about it and she's keeping it from Theo, and my heart broke into 1 trillion pieces. she is the closest thing he has to a mother and he realized that she kept it from him, and I should not be crying in my car before my special Valentine night dinner.

James just walked in during a part describing Pippa and goes "Men writing women, huh?" and I had to pause the book, turn to him and say "a woman wrote this" and he just looks at me like 0_0

Mrs. B clutching Theo's hand so he won't leave her alone with Smalltalk-old-man is honestly the cutest thing in this entire book.

Hobie being able to be spotted from a distance at all times! I have a friend who is 6'5" and we can find him in crowds so easily!

Perhaps the funniest moment of this book is Theo saying "if girls loved assholes then Pippa would love me". buddy I'm going to post this entire book to r/niceguys

I WANT MORE ART CRIME! Why did you make me listen to 15 hours of boring nonsense when we could have had ART CRIME!

I deeply enjoy Boris's commitment to being a dramatic goofball, falling to his knees just be annoying.

Movie Boris appears in a dramatic way. Book Boris is just like there and also shoving food in his face and walking out of the party still eating all the food he just put in his cheeks like a chipmunk.

Hobie just like "if you want to run off with your gay love i'll cover."

Theodor Decker you get back in there and make sure that thief stays away from Nicole Kidman she has been through enough already!

Theo, I know that you don't actually have brains for anything besides drugs, crimes, being weird about women, and your own ass, but you could at least listen when people speak.

Theo is such a mess. He doesn't belong in modern times. He deserves to be Jack the Ripper.

I know the narrator is saying croissant the "correct" way. But every single time it happens I'm so fucking confused because who just leans into a french accent that hard for a single word?

Theo offers an actual good idea that Boris is going to use later and they all look at him like he's crazy.

I know "my brand" is "man holding gun" but listening to Boris assemble a gun I'm like "oh goodness I need to lay down". *fans self

Theo suddenly "I have made a huge mistake"

It's interesting to me how reluctant Boris is to make Theo a larger part of the heist. Theo reads it as frustrating but I read it like a kind of care and affection. He doesn't want his friend mixed up in something he can't handle, despite the fact that he wants Theo close so he can get him the painting back.

I see now why the heist in the movie was so fucking confusing. You need the Horst stuff and like a bunch of other nonsense that does not translate well to screen unless you re-write all the connections, which John Crowley was not willing to do.

Really love the "women drop their mark the first time" bit.

me: Theo I swear to god stop being high and sick in your room and go get some actual clothes and medication or at least don't make me listen to so much of it

this book is not 30 hours long. its 15 hours of a book and 15 hours of Donna going "gotta get that word count up or people with think I'm weak". Please, Donna. I don't need to hear this one thing happen for so long. It adds nothing to the tone, the themes, the plot, or the ambiance. You are just writing words for words sake.

The first suicide note was so well crafted that I honestly want Theo to kill himself now. If he can manage to write the others pretty okay I will be happy with this ending.

Don’t think I didn’t notice that the ghost of a dead loved one appeared on Christmas Eve.

I'm sorry who doesn't respond to "didn't you get my text?" with "my phone was dead" instantly?

me listening to Theo throw a tantrum at Boris because neither of them is capable of explaining themselves and like speaking as normal humans do: "It would have been better if Theo died"

Why must I be forced to listen to Donna make these scenes longer because these people don't talk like people?

Thud by Terry Pratchett does a much much better job of asking the question "can we trust our hearts and be the person we want to be?" And it honestly gives a better answer. And has you know, clever writing.

I thought it was like Over. I did. I was like "oh this is it wrapping up" ONLY THERE IS 30 MORE MINUTES AND I WANT TO SCREAM!

Me certain the book is over: i mean maybe this is a good ending

Me seeing i still have 30 more minutes: this is the worst book ever

This book held me fucking captive for over a week and all it left me with was like a few good lines, burning hatred for the main character, and the desire to go into Donna's home and rearrange all her stuff.

also, I now hate antiques. out of spite.

don't read The Goldfinch. it's not worth it y’all.

#jabberwockytalkies #words #donna tartt i just wanna talk #the goldfinch #alyse watches stupid movies #theodore decker #boris pavlikovsky #larry decker #xandra #donna tartt #this book beat me up and took my money and my will to put up with men

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