#Erich Wonder

[dailydegurechaff]

Today's Daily Degurechaff is… the best father daughter duo

[rimupon]

You on Rerugen:

i do not think you understand. how literal this image is to me. not to be horny on main but like,,, the man is chew toy material

yknow how it is with a/b/o. claiming is usually done through biting, yeah?

additional shitposting that occurred to me

[mansnooziesmoosmutzel]

[astrofons-highderich]

I couldn't resist any longer...

[tenth-sentence]

The skin is burnt black, but the insides are pale gold and they smell wonderful.

"The Way Back" - Erich Maria Remarque

[devotedlystrangewizard]

if you havent jumped into the middle of the arena before it goes back to normal in p7 have you really done p7

[daysofyellowroses]

ride

david von erich x reader | 1.5k | based on this lovely lovely request 🫶🏻 | no real warnings, just some softness 🌼💗

It sometimes makes you laugh when you think about how ridiculously stereotypical your relationship is in some ways. You love it, and wouldn't change it for anything, of course, but you really hit some classics.

Neighbors? ✔️

Met as little kids? ✔️

Went through school together? ✔️

First kiss? ✔️

First time? ✔️

Prom King & Queen? ✔️

But, while there are a lot of typical things about your relationship, you like to think you still have your own thing going on too. You and David have been officially dating since you were fourteen years old, you know each other better than anyone. You have your own private jokes, references, pet names, memories. 

It wasn't planned, of course. To get together so young and go through your life together. Hell, you both had a lot of life to live yet. Early twenties weren't exactly over the hill. But you just felt like what you had with David would be forever when you first got together. So far, you haven't been proved wrong.

The two of you always support each other, build each other up and push each other to go for your goals. Sometimes your friends ask if you get jealous now that David has joined Kevin in the ring, and has so much attention from girls. You just laugh when it comes up, there's really no reason to be jealous. If anything it just makes you feel more secure in your relationship. You know David enjoys the attention but he only has eyes for you, you're the one in his bed, in his truck, laying beside him in the grass, his hand intertwined with yours as he talks about your future together. 

It doesn't feel scary, thinking about a future with David. You can see a home, kids, a dog, the whole nine yards. Even if it was just you and him forever, you would still be deliriously happy. 

“What are you smiling about over there?”

David's voice snaps you from your thoughts, and you glance over to the driver's seat. 

“I would tell you but your hat wouldn't fit anymore,” You tease, looking back to the window. “And I would feel guilty, can't have that.”

“Aw come on,” David grins, his hand reaching out to touch your thigh. You're wearing shorts and the feel of his hand on your bare skin feels, as always, deeply comfortable and satisfying. “take the risk.”

“Nope,” You look over and stick your tongue out playfully. “You know anyway. I don't need to tell you.”

“Who says I know?” David is a terrible liar, always has been. 

“You know,” You grinned, shaking your head. “There's very few things that I allow space for in my daydreams.”

“True,” David nods, looking back to the road. The smile on his face has you wanting to kiss him. “And obviously I'm top of that list.”

You roll your eyes with a smile.  

“Stop being so cocky.”

“I don't think so darlin’,” David gently squeezes your thigh. “you love it.”

“Do I?” You raise a brow, knowing you both know the answer.

A comfortable silence falls over you, your hand resting on top of David's. You wonder if you'll ever get tired of this, of getting into his truck with no particular destination in mind. You don't think you could get tired of it, not when it feels so perfect. 

“When is Kerry coming home?” You ask, glancing over to David. He lets out the smallest of sighs, his thumb gently stroking your thigh.

“He leaves tomorrow morning,” David tells you, his eyes still on the road. “Should be home by the evening.”

“Okay,” You nod, gently stroking David's hand. “Just curious.”

“Could you..could you be there?” David asks after a moment. 

“Of course,” You nod, looking over to him. “You think I wouldn't be? It's like you don't even know me, babe. ”

David smiles a little and you feel yourself relax.

“Can't wait to see him though,” He says. “I mean, the circumstances ain't ideal but I can't say I ain't missed him like crazy.”

“It'll be nice to have him back,” You nod. “I'll have to fill him in on all the juicy gossip.”

“Do I get to know?” David teases, glancing over to you. “Or is it top secret stuff?"

“Oh it's just a silly thing,” You sigh with a smile, looking over to your window. “The blonde Von Erich boy is a big hot-shot wrestler now. On TV and everything, you should hear the filth that comes out of his mouth.”

“Oh he sounds incorrigible,” David gasped dramatically, making you laugh. “What a scoundrel.”

“Tell me about it,” You grinned, looking down at your hand on his. “I heard he's got a hot little girlfriend though.”

“Lucky him,” David grinned. “I bet she's got men throwing themselves at her feet, I'm sure he's extremely grateful she chose him.”

“Well when you can have the best, you get the best,” You smile, looking over to David. “And ain't nobody better than you.”

“Not true,” David looked over to you with a cheeky smile. “You're better, and I won't hear otherwise. I was lucky enough to get you and I don't plan to lose you.”

You still felt butterflies in your stomach when he said things like that, and you hoped that would never change.

“I don't plan to lose you either,” You grin, resting your free hand over your forehead. “You're stuck with me.”

“Then I'm the luckiest man alive,” David murmurs softly, you just catch it and it makes your heart soar.

You watch the world pass by the window for a while, the smile etched onto your face. In the moments David needs to move his hand from your thigh you feel the loss, your hand just waiting to hold his.

It's a little embarrassing, really, how in love you are. You have to laugh at yourself sometimes when you get moody because you haven't seen David for a couple of hours, or because he didn't hold your hand long enough. You suppose the fact that you're aware of it makes it better, and it's not really a bad thing. You're lucky enough to have an amazing relationship with a man who you love and who you know loves you.

You look over to him, watch him hum along to the radio, his fingers drumming against the wheel. These are the moments you treasure. All those girls screaming for him and desperately wanting his autograph only see one part of him. They see the confidence and the strength and the charisma, which are all amazing qualities, but they don't see what you see.

They don't see him snort out a drink because you made him laugh unexpectedly, they don't see him singing in his truck, or giving you a bunch of flowers on a Tuesday morning just because. They see what he wants them to see, and you feel beyond honored to see the real David.

“Oh hey, pull in up ahead,” You tell David, sitting up a little and gesturing at the window. “I need to grab something.”

“Your wish is my command baby,” David grins, parking up the truck and giving you a curious look as you wink at him and slip out of the truck.

You don't take long, coming back to the truck with a grin and two ice creams in hand.

“You're such a child,” David laughs as he opens the door for you and accepts one of the cones. “Making me stop for ice cream, really?”

“Well you ain't gotta eat it,” You shrug, closing the door and resting your leg up on your seat. “But we both know you will so stop complaining.”

“Oh I ain't complaining,” David smiles, leaning over and giving you a kiss. “far from it.”

“Eat that before it melts,” You murmur with a grin, leaning in to give him another kiss, pulling back after a moment and holding your ice cream between you both. “I mean it.”

“Yes ma'am,” David grins, sitting back and taking a lick of his ice cream. 

You laugh softly to yourself, looking out the window and licking your ice cream, David's hand finding yours across the seat.

The heat has your ice cream melting a little quicker, conversation is paused while you work on not getting strawberry all down your hand. David finishes before you, as always. You shuffle over and lean against him, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. Occasionally you hold the ice cream up and he takes a lick, insists you have it yourself.

You wonder if a day will ever come when you don't feel stupidly, wonderfully, madly in love, looking up and meeting David's eyes. He sticks his tongue out at you and you lightly jab his cheek with the ice cream in your hand.

“You started it,” You tease as he protests.

“Don't start a war you can't win.”

“Oh it's on,” David grins. You sit up and turn to look at him, your face starting to hurt from smiling so damn much.

“Then give me all you got.”

[lizardsfromspace]

Stumbling across that weird fanatically anti-transmasc cult again and this tweet really sums it up better than anything

Trans women are defined entirely by misery and tragedy. Historical trans women all died in asylums. That's why Christine Jorgensen, the first trans woman to get gender-affirming surgery in the US, tragically *squints* spent decades as a in-demand public speaker and headlining entertainer. Because trans women literally can't experience anything other than misery

I have a book from the 70s with an ad for a speaker's agency that lists her alongside Rod Serling and Cicely Tyson. And underneath Erich von Daniken, which is irrelevant to my point but really weird. She was not wasting away in an asylum. Many trans women led tragic lives; but many is not all, and there are historic examples, even really famous ones, of trans women who were happy

Why would they erase that to tell people trans women all suffer tragic fates and must suspect everyone oh yeah bc they're a cult preying on the vulnerable and trying to convince them they need protection (but oddly enough from other trans people more than anyone else?)

The trans man thing is a reference to Victor Barker, who was, indeed, a trans man and a fascist in the 1920s. But I think another key point is, uh, that was one fuckin' guy. Why are they tacking that on, except if they're trying to imply trans men are secretly fascists? But that'd be an absurd thing to belieTHEY BELIEVE THAT. That is a real thing these creeps believe now and are seriously implying on the reg

"You must be suspicious that trans men are fascists" is now part of their ever-evolving litany of apparently endless evil from transmascs who...called a internet famous trans woman an asshole? Made a bad tweet once? Literally anything a trans man ever does (or doesn't do) transforms into a collective action on the part of all trans men in their minds. Trans men aren't just not allies in their mind, but are comically evil Saturday morning cartoon villains

Also, of course, the insistence that trans men had it much easier than trans women. If all trans women's lives weren't misery, all trans men's lives weren't happy, either. This insistence they had it "easy" is giving James Somerton on Radclyffe Hall

This is, again, A Single Guy. You have proved two white trans men are fascists, one in the 1920s and one now. Maybe. Maybe some other factor is at play, some other identity shared, by these two men, and the majority of fascists. "Why do people think I hate trans men?" says a group with a list of trans men they hate they can trot out instantly

I think people are just primed to think evidence of one member of a marginalized group doing a shitty thing is proof they all do it, or to go "that's just one guy?". In another life this jabroni wouldn't be posting about how Mao would be a Baeddel (???), they'd be sharing Fox News stories about crimes to declare we need to deport all Muslims and Mexicans. It's the same psychology, just rotted by internet discourse instead of a more traditional reactionary ideology

Also you may wonder "wait, I'm a trans woman, and trans men calling me a Nazi happens quite rarely, actually". I'm a trans woman on the internet and trans men calling me a Nazi has happened a grand zero times. So you may then wonder why, precisely, this sweet, innocent bean who's never done anything wrong is called a Nazi so regularly they think it's a universal problem.

Anyway they tweeted out the Fourteen Words, but they said gay women instead of white children. Truly, how could anyone ever get the idea they're a Nazi

[nobrashfestivity]

Hello, really appreciate all the art you share, I've learned of so many wonderful artists that way. I particularly enjoy the work of surrealists and symbolists. Do you have any recommendations/favorites that I or most people might not be as familiar with? Or just some favorites in general?

Thanks for the question, I'll think more on it but off the top of my head, it's such a big category I'll just mention a couple things.

I'm not such a fan of straight surrealism in painting, ala Magritte, Dali etc. For me it works better in film or photography or writing. There's something about many surrealist images that are oftentimes just too plainly ironic and somehow the fact that single image paintings cause you to pause on these ideas wears them out for me.

It's nothing against anyone, I love Dali as a designer and as a person who was invested in art in a way that few people are these days, but I find his actual paintings boring.

However, these labels are difficult for me, who is symbolist and who a surrealist? Munch is called a symbolist and he's a huge favorite but you could call him and expressionist too .One of the sweet spots for me is where kind of "Outsider art" meets symbolism, in other words, things that are kind of nuts.

Examples I will link here are from this blog but there is obviously a better world out there to look about.

Mikalojus Konstantinas Čiurlionis  a polish artist and composer that kind of has that intersection of the mystical and symbolist thing with that outsider art lack of convention.

Victor Brauner is a bit like Paul Klee, very playful and colorful but more committed to surrealistic themes

František Drtikol is known more as a photographer but bridges many gaps.

Ernst Steiner don't know much about this Swiss artist, but he was clearly possessed with some of the same thematic ideas as Leonora Carrington (I assume you know her already, but yes) as well as his own geometric interests.

You might check out Georgiana Houghton a pioneering abstract artist who was unsurprisingly unsuccessful and based much of her work on conversations with the spirit world.

I've got lots of Redon and Munch here of course

You may like the very versatile, crazy, political art of James Ensor, who was way ahead of his time.

If you like Carrington you might like Remedios Vara and Felix Labisse or maybe Franz Sedlacek

I'm running out of time to create links here but here and elsewhere you might check out Alfred Kubin, Gustave Moreau, William Degouve de Nuncques, and Wifredo Lam

I can give you more if you like. For the intersectionality I would check out my tags for Surrealism but also outsider art (people like AUSTIN OSMAN SPARE and Erich Zablatnik are in there) and Art brut

reminder to search tags randomly as tumblr will just decide to show part of what's there which is quite annoying.

Thanks for the interesting question

[dailydegurechaff]

Congratulations to @kalliblast for simultaneously being a terrible influence on me by telling to draw cowboy lergen and also innovating the Youjo Senki/Wild West AU

seriously how would this au even work.

is the empire like, some town thats just plagued by bandits or something and tanya takes it upon herself to become sheriff (thinking its a boring desk job with lots of paperwork) or whatever and ends up having to drive them off

[idksmtms]

happiness (David Von Erich x reader) - evermore series

A/N: The way this movie wrecked me should be studied…

Also, I know the actual song is about a break up, but the line “there will be happiness after you” just made me think of death.

Summary: Maybe none of these coincidences were signs, but you wanted to believe they were. You wanted to believe that David was rooting for your happiness. 

Word count: 2,669

Trigger Warnings: 18+, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, light to heavy angst, major character death is mentioned (but happens before events of oneshot), movie spoilers!!!, grief, moving on, guilt for moving on (ig could also be classified as survivor’s guilt), it’s kinda fluffy too, just nostalgic tbh, (please let me know if I missed any) 

Disclaimer: This is based solely on the portrayals of the brothers in the movie, not the real people. I do not own any of The Iron Claw characters. I do not claim to own any of The Iron Claw characters. I do not own any pictures used nor do I claim to do so. 

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

In a faraway barn of an already isolated horse ranch, sat an easel. On the easel was a canvas, a work in progress painting of shadows and darkness, anger and grief, made with splotches of red, black, grey. In front of the easel on a stool, sat you, wearing a messy apron over an old pair of jeans and an old flannel that still smelt a little bit like… him. The doors of the barn were thrown wide open (possibly because they never quite closed anyway) and filled the large room with bright sunshine. When the sun would eventually continue its course across the sky, the light would turn green from all the trees lined up on the other side of the barn and make everything suddenly feel like it wasn’t quite real. You loved those moments. If you were in one of the melancholic moods that still set in occasionally, then the green and yellow light made you feel like you had floated above the world, and if you just reached out, you could somehow find David. When you were in the good moods that now came with increasing frequency, you felt like it was a little sign from David everyday. A little reminder of the happiness you could still find, that he wanted you to find. 

It had taken you a long time to get to this place, this precarious tightrope of happiness that spanned over the chasm of grief. You could still remember the days after you had gotten the news, his mother’s soft voice over the phone telling you that his intestine had ruptured at some point in the night and he had died in his hotel room. Alone. Sometimes that hit you harder than the fact that he had actually died. That he had died thousands of miles away from family, from love, all on his own. You tried not to think about it too much now, it was an unnecessary train of thought that only made you feel worse. You could do nothing to change it anyway. 

But when his mother had told you, you had sat down on the edge of your bed and not moved until your own mother found you hours later. It was like life had suddenly been put on hold now that he was gone, that life wasn’t even possible now. Then, when the night came and the news slowly began to sink in again, you cried. First soft, silent tears that hurt your insides more than anything. Your throat clogged, your pursed lips pressed so tightly to each other they were bruising, and your hands shaking like you had developed arthritis overnight. Your hands never did quite stop shaking since that night. 

It had taken all your remaining strength to attend the funeral, to stand next to his brothers who had these broken expressions on their faces that made you hate the world all the more. His father with his stoic face that made you wonder if he had ever even loved David. And his mother, swaying slightly as she stood, tears streaming down her face that somehow made your own feel even more painful. 

The funeral was the last time you had left the house for a good month. You walked around your own family’s ranch house like a ghost, always making it just to the front door before turning back. You spent the most time in your room, because that was where all your memories with David were gathered, from all the gifts and pictures to the actual memories of him laying sprawled across your tiny single bed, feet dangling over the edge, cowboy hat over his eyes as he snored like a walrus. He used to say that it was the only time he ever really got good sleep, and you never had the heart to disturb him. You would simply adjust the little flap of duvet that could be pulled out from under him to cover his chest and stomach, then sit down at your desk chair to get any written work done that you might have. Then, a few hours later, when his absence from his family could no longer be abided, the phone would ring shrill through the house, and he would jolt awake, shaking his head to get the hat off his face and look around as if he had never stepped foot on the earth before. You always giggled, rolling your chair closer to the bed and gently petting his hair to calm him down as he blinked blearily and turned to you, depositing his head onto your shoulder with a little grumble. And the phone would keep ringing, left unanswered, until the second time they called, when you finally extracted yourself from David’s muscly grip, and went to sweet-talk whichever of his brothers had been given the duty of finding him while he gathered his things and bounced out the door. 

Before, whenever you had lain on the bed and thought about this, it had hurt excruciatingly, like someone was running a slow, twisting, drill through your chest. Now you just laughed, appreciated the peaceful moments you both had together. 

Your room still looked like it had then, though. Pale painted walls covered in memories, shelves full of them. One wall had letters pinned all over it, all from David when you had had a little phase of romanticism and had forced him to write and send you letters. He had taken it up with enthusiasm, even if he hated anything that remotely reminded him of sitting at a desk at school. He had written you a letter almost everyday for two months before you told him that you were running out of space to keep them, and maybe a phone call was better because then you got to hear his voice directly in your ear. You still read them sometimes, laughing at the insane amount of words he had to cross out or the little illegible scribbles that were surely supposed to be words but you couldn’t figure out which ones to this day. His handwriting was horrendous, but you loved him even more for it. 

Another wall had every picture you and David had taken together, a mishmash of polaroids and developed film that showed the story of your relationship. There were the shy pictures, when the relationship was still new and you had been a little nervous around him, and he had simply thrown his arms around you, rested his head on top of yours, and told the person to ‘take the goddamn picture’. Then there were the post-match pictures, one perfectly timed polaroid of you throwing yourself at him, wrapping your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck, pressing an obnoxious kiss to his cheek while he shined almost white from the sweat under the flash. You couldn’t remember which match it was from now, you were pretty sure it was written on the back, but that had been standard practice for you after every match he won. 

The last picture of the collage, right at the bottom corner, was the last picture you had taken with David. It was just before he left for the airport, both of you standing in the driveway in front of their house, almost the same as the first picture you had taken together, just a different location. You were standing just in front of him, leaning back against his chest while he wrapped his arms over yours and rested his chin on top of your head. You were smiling so bright your eyes were squinted closed and he wasn’t even looking at the camera but down at you as if he could see your face from that odd angle. It was a cute picture, but you never looked at it fondly. Sometimes you were tempted to throw it out, but you couldn’t throw out anything that had even a hint of David on it. The picture just reminded you of how much you didn’t know, of how many signs you might have missed of the path David headed down. He had never told you about the drugs, the little energy boosters as his father had described them later. And you had thought the coughing and vomiting were an upset stomach. The toilet was always flushed when you came in to check on him, the sink always washed properly. You had even given him some medicine to take when he had assured you that there was nothing wrong. You had only found out from Kevin later that when David had excused himself to the bathroom at the wedding he had been coughing up blood. And that had led to the anger. 

For a long while, your love for David had turned into an unfair anger. You looked back on that period with a heavy heart full of regret. You hated yourself for it now. But rationality hadn’t mattered to you then, so deep you were in the valley of grief. You had hated him for not telling you about the drugs, for not telling you about the blood. Why did you have to find it all out after he died? Why did you have to find it all out from someone else? Didn’t he trust you? Didn’t he love you, or at least know that you loved him so much that nothing could make you stop loving him? Of course, later, when you began thinking clearly again, you had to realise that it was about him, not about you. That it was his own fear and pain and insecurities and whatever else was going on in his head at the time that led to this, not you. But after this initial hatred, came the somehow even more irrational one. You hated him for leaving you. You hated him for leaving you behind on your own. You hated him for dying… At the same time you knew you couldn’t hate him for that, it was the same as hating someone with cancer for dying. They didn’t choose it. They didn’t want it. Sometimes in the dead of night, when you convinced yourself to step past the threshold of the front door, you would wander the fields around the house, telling David in a whispered voice full of rage how much he had hurt you, how you couldn’t forgive him for this. 

Then, one day, you had gotten out of bed slowly, and wandered around the house in your pyjamas, when you found your mother pulling things out of the attic. She smiled at you, clambering down the ladder and wiping her dusty hands on her jeans before gently pinching your cheek between soft fingers. Her smile was soft, loving, a little bit sad because she had loved David too, loved the light and fun he had brought into the house, and she loved you more than anything and it hurt her to see you this way. 

“I’m just clearing out the attic, seeing if we have any things to donate,” she told you with a shrug as if you had asked her; your mouth hadn’t even been close to opening. You weren’t even looking at her, but at the box set next to the ladder, one of the top flaps pushed open and a peak of dark blue shimmery fabric flashing out. You got onto your knees, gently peeling the box fully open and pulling out the dress that had been shoved at the top. 

You spread it out on your lap, gently caressing the fabric as it fanned out and tears filled your eyes so you could no longer see the details, only the colour. It had been the dress from one of your favourite memories with David. 

It was only a few weeks after you guys had started dating, possibly a month after, and he had saved up some money to take you on an elaborate date. Dinner at the cute italian restaurant in the city centre, a stroll down to the ice cream shop, arm in arm, before he drove you out into the farthest corner of the farthest field of the farm in his pickup truck, the bed piled with every spare pillow and blanket from the house (including the ones from his own bed) so you guys could lay down snuggled up and stargaze. 

You had worn this dress, and kissed David until you were breathless, and he had been his best self, joking around and whispering sweet words in your ear and wrapping his big arms around you so your face was pressed into his chest and the world closed in to be just the two of you. 

And you smiled, a bright, watery, smile with sniffles and tears streaming down your cheeks as you caressed the fabric of the dress and your mother got on her knees to wrap herself around you as you hiccuped out sobs and pressed your face into the slightly musty dress. 

You had had probably the worst night of your life the night before you found the dress. Your thoughts had been the darkest they had ever been, verging on irreversible decisions that would have only made everything worse for everybody. And then here the dress was, reminding you of the happiness you had experienced with David, the elation and laughter and smiles and just pure joy he had brought to your life. And suddenly, for that moment, everything was a little better. 

And slowly, with each passing day, you got out of bed again and again, you left the house in the sunshine again and again, and you found all the signs of David, the little coincidences that meant just a little more because of him, because you believed he was trying, wherever he was, to still bring you happiness. 

And with these little encouragements, these little signs, you began to grow again. You refurbished the abandoned barn into an art studio, a place for you to use creativity to let out all the suffocating emotions. Each day you would come into the barn bright and early, just as a beautiful sunrise turned everything from orange to pale yellow, and you would sit down on the stool in front of the easel, and think, feel, paint. 

The signs kept coming, once a little bird, a sparrow, flying into the barn and landing at the top of your easel, watching you paint and occasionally letting out little chirps of encouragement. You spoke to it as if it was David, “I know it looks really dark right now, but I wanted a dark background so the bright colours in the middle would pop more later,” you explained. Another day it was the stray cat that hung around the farm, the one that had avoided you since her existence, suddenly coming to sit down beside your stool, purring and napping next to you the entire time you painted. “I love you,” you whispered to the cat as if it was David sitting down next to you again, “maybe too much.” 

And now here you were, humming some song from the radio as you painted a dark image, something to represent the moments of your hatred so long ago, something to capture it and put it away so you could look back and see how much you had grown since. The new person you had become. The person who understood that you couldn’t make the grief go away by hating the person you missed. The person who knew that she had been happy with David, but she could be happy now too, and both of these things can be true. The person who still didn’t really know what to do, or how to handle the grief and the feelings, but was ok with it anyway. 

So yes, there was a new you, a you after David that he wouldn’t get to meet. But you gave him the best of you. And you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

A/N: the emotional depths I went to to write this… 

Taglist: @nosebeers, @tourturedfolkloredepartment,

[mansnooziesmoosmutzel]

[dailyanarchistposts]

A.2.6 Why is solidarity important to anarchists?

Solidarity, or mutual aid, is a key idea of anarchism. It is the link between the individual and society, the means by which individuals can work together to meet their common interests in an environment that supports and nurtures both liberty and equality. For anarchists, mutual aid is a fundamental feature of human life, a source of both strength and happiness and a fundamental requirement for a fully human existence.

Erich Fromm, noted psychologist and socialist humanist, points out that the “human desire to experience union with others is rooted in the specific conditions of existence that characterise the human species and is one of the strongest motivations of human behaviour.” [To Be or To Have, p.107]

Therefore anarchists consider the desire to form “unions” (to use Max Stirner’s term) with other people to be a natural need. These unions, or associations, must be based on equality and individuality in order to be fully satisfying to those who join them — i.e. they must be organised in an anarchist manner, i.e. voluntary, decentralised, and non-hierarchical.

Solidarity — co-operation between individuals — is necessary for life and is far from a denial of liberty. Solidarity, observed Errico Malatesta, “is the only environment in which Man can express his personality and achieve his optimum development and enjoy the greatest possible wellbeing.” This “coming together of individuals for the wellbeing of all, and of all for the wellbeing of each,” results in “the freedom of each not being limited by, but complemented — indeed finding the necessary raison d’etre in — the freedom of others.” [Anarchy, p. 29] In other words, solidarity and co-operation means treating each other as equals, refusing to treat others as means to an end and creating relationships which support freedom for all rather than a few dominating the many. Emma Goldman reiterated this theme, noting “what wonderful results this unique force of man’s individuality has achieved when strengthened by co-operation with other individualities . .. co-operation — as opposed to internecine strife and struggle — has worked for the survival and evolution of the species… . only mutual aid and voluntary co-operation … can create the basis for a free individual and associational life.” [Red Emma Speaks, p. 118]

Solidarity means associating together as equals in order to satisfy our common interests and needs. Forms of association not based on solidarity (i.e. those based on inequality) will crush the individuality of those subjected to them. As Ret Marut points out, liberty needs solidarity, the recognition of common interests:

“The most noble, pure and true love of mankind is the love of oneself. I want to be free! I hope to be happy! I want to appreciate all the beauties of the world. But my freedom is secured only when all other people around me are free. I can only be happy when all other people around me are happy. I can only be joyful when all the people I see and meet look at the world with joy-filled eyes. And only then can I eat my fill with pure enjoyment when I have the secure knowledge that other people, too, can eat their fill as I do. And for that reason it is a question of my own contentment, only of my own self, when I rebel against every danger which threatens my freedom and my happiness…” [Ret Marut (a.k.a. B. Traven), The BrickBurner magazine quoted by Karl S. Guthke, B. Traven: The life behind the legends, pp. 133–4]

To practice solidarity means that we recognise, as in the slogan of Industrial Workers of the World, that “an injury to one is an injury to all.” Solidarity, therefore, is the means to protect individuality and liberty and so is an expression of self-interest. As Alfie Kohn points out:

“when we think about co-operation… we tend to associate the concept with fuzzy-minded idealism… This may result from confusing co-operation with altruism… Structural co-operation defies the usual egoism/altruism dichotomy. It sets things up so that by helping you I am helping myself at the same time. Even if my motive initially may have been selfish, our fates now are linked. We sink or swim together. Co-operation is a shrewd and highly successful strategy — a pragmatic choice that gets things done at work and at school even more effectively than competition does… There is also good evidence that co-operation is more conductive to psychological health and to liking one another.” [No Contest: The Case Against Competition, p. 7]

And, within a hierarchical society, solidarity is important not only because of the satisfaction it gives us, but also because it is necessary to resist those in power. Malatesta’s words are relevant here:

“the oppressed masses who have never completely resigned themselves to oppress and poverty, and who … show themselves thirsting for justice, freedom and wellbeing, are beginning to understand that they will not be able to achieve their emancipation except by union and solidarity with all the oppressed, with the exploited everywhere in the world.” [Anarchy, p. 33]

By standing together, we can increase our strength and get what we want. Eventually, by organising into groups, we can start to manage our own collective affairs together and so replace the boss once and for all. ”Unions will… multiply the individual’s means and secure his assailed property.” [Max Stirner, The Ego and Its Own, p. 258] By acting in solidarity, we can also replace the current system with one more to our liking: “in union there is strength.” [Alexander Berkman, What is Anarchism?, p. 74]

Solidarity is thus the means by which we can obtain and ensure our own freedom. We agree to work together so that we will not have to work for another. By agreeing to share with each other we increase our options so that we may enjoy more, not less. Mutual aid is in my self-interest — that is, I see that it is to my advantage to reach agreements with others based on mutual respect and social equality; for if I dominate someone, this means that the conditions exist which allow domination, and so in all probability I too will be dominated in turn.

As Max Stirner saw, solidarity is the means by which we ensure that our liberty is strengthened and defended from those in power who want to rule us: “Do you yourself count for nothing then?”, he asks. “Are you bound to let anyone do anything he wants to you? Defend yourself and no one will touch you. If millions of people are behind you, supporting you, then you are a formidable force and you will win without difficulty.” [quoted in Luigi Galleani’s The End of Anarchism?, p. 79 — different translation in The Ego and Its Own, p. 197]

Solidarity, therefore, is important to anarchists because it is the means by which liberty can be created and defended against power. Solidarity is strength and a product of our nature as social beings. However, solidarity should not be confused with “herdism,” which implies passively following a leader. In order to be effective, solidarity must be created by free people, co-operating together as equals. The “big WE” is not solidarity, although the desire for “herdism” is a product of our need for solidarity and union. It is a “solidarity” corrupted by hierarchical society, in which people are conditioned to blindly obey leaders.

[timeagainreviews]

Dust and Darkness Prevail

Panspermia is the theory that human life was seeded by comets, asteroids, meteoroids, and space dust falling to Earth. Directed panspermia is the idea that an unknown third party purposely seeded life onto this planet through similar means. These are perhaps the most ancient of aliens. For whatever reason, be it propagation, a future food source, or simply contamination from an explorer’s boot, somehow, we were created.  It’s easy to see why mankind looked to the stars for parentage- we are made of star stuff, after all. As our understanding of the stars grew, so did our desire to understand them in relation to ourselves. Staring down the concept of being a mere dust mote floating within sunbeams, some of us began to wonder if the Gods we abandoned weren’t actually a different form of sky daddy. In the words of Giorgio A. Tsoukalos- “Aliens.”

Science fiction has a rich history of depicting ancient Gods as alien lifeforms. Doctor Who is no different. Sometimes these extra-terrestrial visitors are used to explain odd phenomena, and other times, they’ve been used to outright undermine the achievements of ancient civilisations. One of the most popular ancient alien theories is that aliens helped build the pyramids. Some Egyptian-themed polyhedron-obsessed aliens influenced ancient Egyptian culture. You can see it in movies like Stargate, or in television stories like the 1975 Doctor Who serial “Pyramids of Mars.” Recent books like Erich Von Daniken’s scientifically dubious “Chariots of the Gods,” or numerous documentaries narrated by Rod Serling had garnered interest in ancient astronauts. A year after “Pyramids of Mars,” aired, NASA released photos from their Viking 1 orbiter that would only feed these theories. The black and white photos of the Cydonia region appeared to depict a carved facelike structure and gigantic pyramids on the planet’s surface. Needless to say, some people let their imaginations run wild.

While many of the concepts explored in the History Channel’s “Ancient Aliens,” have been labelled pseudo-science or even racist, some of these concepts still crop up in popular media. A more benign example would be Marvel’s own Thor and Loki. Sure, they call them Gods, but they are very clearly from advanced alien civilisations. It feels appropriate then that Doctor Who returning with Disney money might also explore one of its own ancient aliens in Sutekh the Destroyer. Considering the build-up with the Toymaker and the Maestro, it all seems fairly obvious in hindsight. But what does this have to do with Ruby Sunday? In seeking out her own parentage, might she also benefit from looking to the stars?

One aspect to this season of Doctor Who that I feel has actually fallen a bit flat is the question of Ruby Sunday’s parents. Considering that the fandom has been interacting more with the question of the identity of Susan Twist’s character, it’s safe to say I’m not alone in this. It’s just not a very interesting question, and I think it’s partly because we already know the answer. Doctor Who’s official Twitter recently asked fans who they think Ruby’s mother really is, and only a few people actually got the answer right. It’s Carla Sunday, obviously. I find this whole question to be as flawed as the conversation around it. Ruby uses words like “abandoned,” to describe herself. And while I can understand the desire to know your roots, I know my adopted siblings were never abandoned. They were found. They have a family who love them. My mother who was also adopted had a mother in my grandma. My greatest hope with this storyline is that this is what Russell T Davies has been leading up to all along. Ruby’s real mother is the one who changed her diapers and cleaned up scraped knees.

Speaking of family, “The Legend of Ruby Sunday,” begins like a bit of a family reunion. Yasmin Finney is back as “Rose.” As are Gemma Redgrave as “Kate Lethbridge-Stewart,” Bonnie Langford as “Mel,” and Alexander Devrient as “Colonel Christofer Ibrahim.” Also returning is the Vlinx, with a shiny new chassis. Strangely absent is Ruth Madeley as UNIT’s scientific advisor “Shirley Anne Bingham." In her place is Lenny Rush as “Morris Gibbons,” a boy genius with a taste for excitement. We’re also introduced to Harriet, UNIT’s newest lead archivist. More on her later. The light tone of this family reunion is much needed as the majority of this episode is Doctor Who at its most bleak.

Something I have completely failed to mention this season has been the TARDIS’ weird groaning. It’s not as though I hadn’t noticed, there have just been so many things to talk about lately. I had meant to bring it up last week when the Doctor told Rogue the TARDIS doesn’t like bounty hunters. I figured then that it was the Doctor ignoring a bigger problem. Speaking of which, it does strike me as a bit odd that the Doctor hadn’t addressed the issue for such a long time. The TARDIS has been groaning and sliding into landings like a football tackle. I understand that the Doctor has a lot on his mind, but it would have been nice if they could have shown the Doctor showing any kind of concern for the TARDIS. He’s been flying her for thousands of years, he would notice any slight change. This isn’t a huge issue for me, though it does feel a bit out of character. But who am I to complain? Even I forgot to bring it up.

The Doctor does have a lot on his mind, which is what brings him to UNIT HQ. It was nice to see the Doctor lay all of his cards on the table for a change. You don’t often see the Doctor outright asking for help. Luckily, UNIT was already on the case. The woman the Doctor keeps seeing also exists in modern-day London as Susan Triad. I found it a bit odd that the Doctor would know a politician from an aborted timeline like Roger ap Gwilliam, but not a tech industry giant with her name on a skyscraper. Even Colonel Ibrahim recognised it as an anagram of TARDIS, so what gives, Doctor? 

Part of their gathering intelligence on Susan Triad has been using Mel to infiltrate her organisation. When I had heard they were bringing back Mel, I was excited. Mel has never been a fan favourite, and even I took a lot of time to warm up to her in classic Doctor Who. But bringing her back feels like a no-brainer. She’s a tech whiz and Bonnie Langford is a great actress. There is only room to grow with her character, and grow she does. Not only have they given her a bit more backstory with losing her family, but we also get to see her acting as a double agent and puttering about on her scooter. Seeing Mel in this capacity is a delight. I am really enjoying how they have built up UNIT to be more like the ‘70s (or was it the ‘80s?) with recurring characters. Instead of Yates and Benton, we’ll now have Ibrahim and Sullivan. I really hope they continue this trend, though I would appreciate it if they stopped haemorrhaging scientific advisors.

Despite around-the-clock surveillance, the most UNIT has managed to gather on Susan Triad is that she’s a seemingly nice human woman with no underlying alien traits. Her company’s upcoming event will announce that she is making the Triad OS free to the world, which seems like a weird flex. Ubuntu and Fedora are both free operating systems, so this is nothing new. What’s even more perplexing is that UNIT would integrate Triad into their own systems. Call me crazy, but if I were a government organisation spying on a tech giant because their name is an anagram of an alien time machine, I might opt to use Windows or Mac. The whole storyline was giving shades of “The Sontaran Strategem/The Poison Sky,” or even “Kingsman: The Secret Service,” wherein miracle technologies are secretly deadly. We still don’t know the ramifications of the Triad system’s worldwide rollout, but I imagine we’ll find out next week.

Something a friend pointed out to me that feels important happens during the Mrs Flood scene. According to Kate, the Triad press conference was scheduled for fifteen hundred hours, or 3 pm. What’s odd is that when Ruby and Rose show up to Ruby’s home, Cherry’s digital clock reads 15:08. At first, I had misremembered this scene and figured it must take place during the events at UNIT HQ, but the inclusion of Ruby and Rose implies that it’s not. I can think of three possible explanations for this. One explanation is that it was a continuity error. The production crew simply goofed. It happens. Another explanation is that Cherry’s radio is like my coffee machine in that the digital time display is incorrect. That’s possibly the most human answer. But television doesn’t often allow for such realistic discrepancies as they can confuse audiences. Seriously, how often do you see fictional stories where two characters share the name John? One of my closest friends is also named Natalie, but that wouldn’t usually work in fiction. This leaves us with a third explanation which is that it was done on purpose. Either something wibbly wobbly is happening, or they goofed.

As expected, Mrs Flood appears to be someone. With the reveal of Susan Triad being Sutekh, my hopes of the Rani have been dashed against the rocks of reality. Or have they? In explaining regeneration to Ruby, the Doctor describes it as a way to hide away with a new face. When Ruby fetches Mrs Flood to mind Cherry while Carla joins them back at UNIT, Mrs Flood mentions hiding herself away. While Mrs Flood was a bit rude to Ruby and downright hostile toward Cherry, these could be the actions of a bitter Susan Foreman, aka the Doctor’s granddaughter. However, I am reticent to call her Susan for a couple or reasons. For starters, Carole Ann Ford was present at the premiere for the 60th anniversary specials. Sure this could have simply been due to her history with the show, but it could also imply she’s been filming things for the RTD2 era. You could speculate that the only thing she actually filmed was a flashback regeneration scene into Mrs Flood, but that feels like a waste of a much-needed reunion. My money is on the Rani, but mostly because I want her to be and because Carole Ann Ford deserves her moment. If they bring Susan back, there’s only one person I want to see play her.

Ruby and Rose fetch the surveillance tape from the night Ruby was left on that church stoop. I loved that Carla joined them the moment she learned that Donna was involved with UNIT. It’s nice to see that at least one character hasn’t forgotten who Ruby’s real mother is. This also gave rise to one of my favourite Doctor moments of the episode when he says "Yeah but it’s Carla. Come on," in response to the claim that not even the prime minister has access to UNIT HQ. I loved the exchange between the Doctor and Kate about their possession of a time window. They claim they don’t have one, the Doctor knows they do. Classic. It’s the Doctor knowing of the existence of the Black Archive all over again. Even further, I loved the Doctor laughing at the way UNIT has “lashed together,” the time window. I doubt he really feels that way, but the Doctor needs to remind UNIT not to get too comfortable. Undercutting their achievement is a reminder that these items aren’t toys. It’s a subtle way to establish himself as an authority while also reminding UNIT of their limitations. The Doctor’s aim isn’t to belittle UNIT, but to instill a healthy fear of these technologies. As it turns out, the Doctor’s fears were well-founded.

The time window is a large room capable of viewing moments in time. The Doctor refers to time as a memory which is a bigger Whoiverse change than people are giving it credit. I always thought of the TARDIS as a supercomputer that stores moments throughout time in its memory like files. It makes sense that time and memory mingle like this. The effect of the VHS degradation on memory is one of the coolest visual effects in Doctor Who. It’s nice to see that Disney money coming into play. I also have to tip my hat to Lenny Rush for his performance as Morris here. Lots of UNIT characters were given little moments to shine in this episode like Harriet and Colonel Chidozie. The latter of whom we’re given a bit of background information about so that when he meets his demise, we care a little bit more. He’s just a Manchester lad with a cheery disposition. It would be a shame if something were to happen to him.

In an almost cruel twist of fate, the visual of Ruby’s mother is obscured. Not just obscured, but seemingly darkened as if on purpose. The moment she walks close to the Doctor and Ruby, she glitches past them. It’s sad for Ruby, but I feel it’s important that Carla is there to witness this moment. She needs to see that the mystery of Ruby’s life isn’t just one of being an orphan, but that something is deeply and darkly wrong. I feel as though Carla’s involvement in this storyline is due a rather big payoff next week, and I am looking forward to that. The Doctor notices that the TARDIS appears more corporeal than a simple image from a video. He asks the tanatalising question “If time is memory and memory is time, then what is the memory of a time machine?” It’s a question I have been mulling in my head ever since, and I still don’t have a great answer.

Colonel Chidozie disappears around the same time a swarm of dark energy begins to incircle the memory TARDIS (omg I think I just figured it out). The MEMORY TARDIS! Ok. I see what you’re putting down, Russell. Carla refers to the dark energy as “the Beast,” as in, the devil. But who among us didn’t automatically think of the Beast from “The Satan Pit”? Hell, it’s not as though it would break the show if Sutekh and the Beast were one in the same. They’re both voiced by Gabriel Woolf. Furthermore, we know Sutekh takes on multiple forms like the doggo or Susan Triad. There are plenty of examples of gods taking on multiple forms. Christianity has the Holy Trinity of God, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Hindu gods often have multiple forms such as Vishnu manifesting as Krishna, Rama, or even Buddha. It’s fully within the realm of possibility that the Beast is yet one more aspect to Sutekh. After all, the Fourth Doctor did refer to him as Satan at one point. Why not?

Possibly the most interesting aspect of the scene is when Chidozie’s speaks out from the darkness. It’s not so much the fact that he��s in Hell or that his consciousness feels like it’s been hijacked like Angel Bob’s was, but rather the fact that he only seems to respond to Ruby. The Doctor tries to commune with the entity and gets nothing. Kate commands Chidozie to report and comes up equally empty-handed. It’s not until Ruby attempts to communicate with the entity that it responds. If Christianity has the Trinity and Hinduism has the Trimurti, perhaps Sutekh has the Triad. Perhaps there’s Sutekh, his doggo form, and Ruby Sunday. This might explain why Ruby’s birth mother has been obscured- she never existed. Whoever left Ruby at the church that day could have been a servant of Sutekh, or even Susan Triad herself.

The tone of the episode by this point is very gloomy. I think the last time Doctor Who gave me the creeps to this degree was “The Impossible Astronaut.” As a fan of dark and disturbing movies, I consider myself rather resilient to horror and dread in media. But there is something about turning the TARDIS into a malevolent force that chills me to my core. Bad Wolf Girl once said “You know the sound the TARDIS makes? That wheezing, groaning. That sound brings hope wherever it goes.” But here, the TARDIS offers no comfort. It goes beyond seeing our beloved symbol of hope twisted and perverted. We have seen what the TARDIS is capable of doing. We know how powerful it can be. We can also imagine what that power can do in the wrong hands. My dear late friend Quinn and I used to say that the cloister bell was the scariest sound the TARDIS could make. But this howling groan and sinister energy turning into a hound of Hell is like the cloister bell on steroids.

The Doctor and Mel head off to S Triad Technologies in the vain hope that Susan might be the Doctor’s granddaughter Susan. It’s a last-ditch effort to gain insight into what is happening. Earlier in the episode, we see Kate telling the Doctor that he brings joy, but after Chidozie’s death, you get the impression that her view has sobered up a bit. The Doctor sees the fear in Kates eyes. He sees the fear in Carla’s eyes. He even let down his best friend Ruby. But it’s Mel who picks him back up. Mel who has seen him at his worst and knows who the Doctor is underneath it all. Only she can give him the tough love he needs in this moment and I loved that they gave this opportunity to Bonnie Langford.

The Doctor makes contact with Susan Triad but there is no Time Lord recognition on either end. However, we’ve been here before. Maybe she has a fob watch she doesn’t like to look at. Maybe she’s hiding away. With her press conference due to begin, Susan is whisked away. But as she leaves the Doctor calls out asking if she’s ever dreamed of a girl named Lindy. Has she ever dreamed about a place called Pacifico Del Rio? Has she ever dreamed about being an ambulance? Out of context, he sounds insane. I mean, sure, I dream of being a sail barge, but that’s my special time. It’s enough to set things into motion.

At this point, we still don’t know the true identity of Susan Triad. She very well could still be the Doctor’s granddaughter. But the moment she walked onstage doing that awkward Theresa May arm thing, I knew she had to be evil. Historically speaking, if you want someone to appear evil in Doctor Who, compare them to a Tory. It worked in “The Happiness Patrol,” and it still works now. Could you imagine being the person who milkshakes Sutekh? I feel like throwing a sweet banana dairy concoction into the face of a terrible god would only resort in eternal suffering. While Susan Triad is having her public meltdown for all to see, UNIT’s own Harriet Arbinger is doing one as well. Once again we get another Harbinger. I’ll be honest, the H. Arbinger joke isn’t nearly as strong as RTD seems to think it is. But then again, Batman is the “world’s greatest detective,” and it took him a while to learn that E. Nigma was the Riddler.

I had begun to fully suspect Sutekh by this point, but part of me was starting to wonder if Harriet wasn’t going to turn out to be Sutekh instead. It would have been a very effective misdirect. I was really liking Harriet up to this point too, so I was a bit sad she just turned out to be a servant of the God of Death. Her “I was born for this,” line had me a little hot under the collar. But it looks like she’s gonna get a lot to do in the next episode, so that softens the blow a little bit. As she names off the various gods of the Pantheon, I was very happy to see them reference the Mara as I am a big fan of both “Kinda,” and “Snakedance.” Some have also speculated that the threefold deity of malice, mischief and misery could be a reference to the Gods of Ragnarok. I really hope this is true because I’ve always thought they were cool.

I’ve seen some people complain that they seem to have somewhat retconned Sutekh. People have said it makes no sense to make him the god of gods. He’s an Osiran, not the most powerful god of them all, right? Well, if you think about it, in many ways, death is the ultimate power. If a god like the Toymaker can die, then of course he would run from Sutekh. Also, he’s a god, of course he’s going to claim to be the best. That’s kind of their whole deal. They’re quite full of themselves, gods. Sutekh’s whole deal is that he believes himself the only being worthy of life. Thus all living creatures are an affront to him. Where he treads, he leaves only dust and darkness. Sutekh demonstrates this by reducing Susan Triad’s poor assistant to dust much like he did to Chidozie. With the TARDIS commandeered by evil Anubis and the Doctor being next in line to receive Sutekh’s gift, things have never looked darker for our Time Lord and saviour.

So who was Susan Triad? Was she always Sutekh? Harriet referred to Sutekh as “the mother, father, and other of them all.” I suppose I should start using they/them pronouns for Sutekh. But who were they? Did every incarnation of Sutekh know they were Sutekh? You could wager that they had a hand in a lot of what was happening, and a lot of what was happening could lead to death. The Space Babies were forced into existence and left to die. Roger ap Gwilliam and the Maestro were set on nuclear annihilation. Lindy and her lot were racists which often leads to death. And let's not forget the cold algorithm of the capitalistic war machines from Villengard. What’s even more interesting then is that if these are all aspects of Sutekh and death, then we know Sutekh is stoppable. In “73 Yards,” we’re shown that whatever Ruby’s follower said to Sutekh was enough to send them scurrying. Sadly, Ruby has no memory of this aborted timeline.

With a new episode of “Tales from the TARDIS,” in the pipeline, I expect we’ll see the return of the memory TARDIS in a big way. According to news sources, the new episode will feature the Doctor and Ruby discussing the events of “Pyramids of Mars,” so make sure to watch that if you need a refresher or have never seen the original. One aspect you might find interesting is that Sutekh initially manifests at a priory on the site of the original UNIT HQ. I have no idea if that will come into play, but it’s interesting that both stories are focused around UNIT, if nothing else. Even more interesting is the fact that in both stories, Sutekh is intent on possessing the TARDIS. I wonder if the Doctor will be forced to use the memory TARDIS to stop Sutekh since the regular TARDIS is compromised. We see Ruby’s memory begin to manifest once more when she and Sullivan enter the time window again. It’s entirely plausible.

I’ll be watching the finale like many others in the UK this weekend, at the movie theatre. The last time I got to see a Doctor Who episode in the theatre was in Kansas City when they simulcast “The Day of the Doctor,” at a local indie-theatre. I’ll never forget the feeling of a theatre packed with nerds cheering over Peter Capaldi’s attack eyebrows. I’m also going to see it in the theatre because, evidently, this is a big enough episode to merit a cinematic experience. I bought nine tickets, so it’s going to be a bit of an event for me. I’ll try not and let that colour my experience too much. All in all, I loved this episode, but we’re still waiting for the other shoe to drop. I loved “Fugitive of the Judoon,” but the lacklustre finale left me retroactively disappointed. But for the time being, RTD has my full attention. I can’t remember the last time Doctor Who left me this excited for what’s to come.

[steelycunt]

hiiiii…. do you have any book recommendations? i think we have similar taste :)

hi! yeah! i definitely have some recs, although they’ll all be books i’ve talked about on here before so they probably won’t be very new for anyone who’s been following me for a while 😭 not sure what you’re after specifically but this is just everything i’ve enjoyed! anything with as asterisk is a special favourite : ^ )

books ive read this year:

(fiction)

boulder* - eva baltasar: very short read but baltasar’s prose is 2 die for! second in a trilogy but im pretty sure they can all be read as standalones. also nice to see fiction that treats lesbians as seriously as piles and piles of arty litfic treat gay men rather than the clipart cover of two women with a title like ‘Jemima Mulligan Is So Done 🤣’ that comes up when you search lesbian fiction now.

all quiet on the western front* (+ the way back/the road back) - erich maria remarque: only classic im going to mention (i could talk about james baldwin all day) but this is my favourite book i’ve read this year! and my only five star fiction read so far this year. absolutely heartbreaking!! and if you enjoy it i would say it’s worth reading the sequel, the way back.

hangman - maya binyam: read this recently and honestly think it’s quite a marmite book i think you’ll either enjoy the absurdity of it or find it deeply irritating almost straight away but. i thought it was wonderfully disorientating + not too long that the style started to grate on me + an great postcolonial work

we need to talk about kevin* - lionel shriver: such a terrifyingly good book omg. prose is a bit dense which at least i found a bit daunting at first but it’s soo intricate and absorbing and horrific.

penance* (+ boy parts) - eliza clark: was honestly a bit surprised to like this as much as i did my expectations were pretty low but i thought it was a genuinely excellent depiction of modern teenagers + the way they use social media (i have never seen it done so well) + the intricacies of the dynamics between young girls against the backdrop of ‘true’ crime. if you like it you’ll probably also enjoy boy parts so i recommend that too!

antarctica + walk the blue fields - claire keegan: keegan is imo one of the best storytellers writing today and these two short story collections by her were wonderful this year! my favourite of her work is foster but since there are multiple stories in these collections id say they’re the best place to start!

my work - olga ravn: quite experimental in terms of style there’s a lot of prose spliced with prose which i wasn’t sure would be for me (im an idiot) but i thought it was a really fascinating look at motherhood + creation + post-partum depression!

(non-fiction)

dont actually have a ton of non-fiction books 2 mention just adding this category in to recommend empire of pain* - patrick radden keefe as a book i finished recently and one of if not the best non-fiction book ive ever read. just so incredibly interesting i can’t stress enough

some quickfire books i read last year/year before!

duck feet - ely percy

juno loves legs - karl geary

archive of alternate endings* - lindsey drager

shuggie bain* + young mungo* - douglas stuart

my brilliant friend* - elena ferrante

the secret history + the goldfinch - donna tartt

mr loverman - bernadine evaristo (SAINT LUCIA MENTIONED 🇱🇨)

the marriage portrait - maggie o’farrell

the passion - jeanette winterson

[buffyfan145]

So after reading more about the Von Erichs and rewatching a lot of their old matches I realized they cut another part of their story but I totally get why as before the movie started in 1979 David's first marriage had just ended and he moved back home. But not only that his baby daughter had also passed from SIDS the year before. His ex-wife likely is still alive and didn't want that depicted in the movie but now I know when I re-watch it I'm going to know that really happened just like how they also cut the youngest brother Chris, David's 2nd wife Trisha, and Kerry's daughters out of the movie too. I do think if this had been a miniseries they would've told it in full so I get why they did this with the movie and how tragic it all is and how good the movie turned out but there also was more of a focus on Kevin. Plus, it changes that scene with David finding out Kevin's going to be a dad. Also have a spoilerly thought too but makes me wonder how Harris would've handled that additional storyline, same with Jeremy playing Kerry as a father too.

For those that saw the movie the ending where Kerry reunited with his brothers in heaven it made me think of how Chris would've been there too as well as David's baby daughter. It would've been even more emotional than it was. 😭