#He reminds me of Uncle Benjamin from TBC

[alwayschasingrainbows]

"The story went that when Stanton Grundy said to Penny, "I hear you're engaged," Penny had turned all colours and said feebly, "Well, it's not--not an engagement exactly--more like--like an experiment." 

Tangled Web by L. M. Montgomery

Penny Dark:

[no-where-new-hero]

EXCEEDINGLY thrilled about the Tangled Web book club! I remember loving this the first time I read it but never found the opportunity to give it a reread, so this will be very fun!

Already, LMM lets us out of the gate with a bang. It’s very interesting, personally, to see how her openings evolved over the years—moving from florid description to very dry, direct analyses of character and personality. This beginning, suggesting the courses of events we will follow, reminds me a bit of TBC’s beginning, which also uses the “if this didn’t happen, then…” approach.

I think what’s most unique about Tangled Web is the way that we have a lot of familiar LMM character types (even off the bat in this first part) but the way we’re meant to see them is sharply changed. The point of view is altered radically from the usual and such makes the shape/quality of the story different. Aunt Becky, for example, echoes Aunt Nancy or Mrs. Stirling to a degree—sharp and acerbic, with power in the family, a rather pathetic female companion, and a penchant for gossip. However, we’re not seeing her through a girl’s or young woman’s eyes, but through the POV of a male outcast-figure, Uncle Pippin—of uncertain parentage, advanced age, and precise habits. He has his own echoes elsewhere in the canon (Cousin Jimmy and Uncle Benjamin come to mind), but again, only on the sidelines. This novel feels a bit as though LMM gathered up her favorite supporting cast and threw them into the spotlight for a kind of spin-off.

Other notes: I need to be reminded of Drowned John Penhallow’s lore, but that’s just a fabulous moniker to have attached to your name. You’re the guy who drowned but Didn’t. As @moonlightredfern mentioned, Crosmus forever.

[jateshi]

TBC Stories - Benji (Doors and Doubts)

The headphones he usually wore when he wasn't at work (and sometimes when he was) were still wrapped up like a coil in his pockets and the cell phone and its music he usually sank in to were not the things he held in his hand.  Tucked in a corner of the maze where the strings vibrated with the deft hands that pulled them like the fine Instrument that they were, he was leaning against the white plaster and stone walls, watching the distant movement of the secondary Lungs.  The ground trembled and lifted, rising and sinking, as all of Redacre breathed in Unity.

Not all of Redacre, as the Song twinged and rang a note that made the tired teen lift his head, listening.

Warning.  Danger.  Disturbance.  He didn't even need to listen to the Dispatcher to pick that out, the sound one that filled his soul with opposing emotions - he worried, he tensed.  And he felt that urge to follow the sound and find the source, even if he was 'off'.  No one was ever off, there was work to do to make sure everyone would be safe.

In his hands he held something cold, the weight of it impossible to comprehend, but he refused to set it down.  Ben refused to let it go into the distant river below where he perched and instead he waited for the stone to warm under his fingers and he listened to the Song.

He was supposed to let it go.  Release not just the stone, but the name and the promise that they stood for.  And even more damning... He knew about halos.  He knew about them, what they could mean, and he knew that SPEAK-AS-ONE didn't grant them, because that was an individual, and not the whole.  He should have released both of them to the trickle of water beneath the mist that the Instrument and the Maze wound around, but instead he felt his fingers tighten around them.

He was willing to wait to call a Host's name in, this one who sided against SPEAK-AS-ONE, because they were sheltering someone who was injured.  But the way he kept himself from reporting it, when he closed his eyes and the Song rose like a blanket he felt trapped under, was reminding himself the wait was temporary.  But how long could it be, if they were the ones who were keeping the people he felt were his responsibility... they were doing what he couldn't do, but they were wrong-

Ben's fingers twitched and instead of releasing the stone or the halo they were gripped so hard that the edges dug into his skin, biting until the pressure broke the skin.  That dragged him away from the haze he was sinking into, looking at the crimson that dripped from the cuts on his fingers and hit the white tunic, joining the countless other splashes of dirt and drying blood that made laundry annoying.  

Crimson on white... the crimson spread and he woodenly moved the halo and heart down, tucking them into the bag he carried with him while brushing a hand across the cotton.  It dragged like slashes of red, looking like the ragged swirls of red on white of a lucid, and when the Red Door opened behind him the shock of its colour or fire-hot coals drew a panicked coiling from him.  

Doubt.  Fear.  Terror.  Report.  Trust the Song.  Trust Unity.  Obey Unity.  Protect Unity.

His mind latched on to protect like it was a life-line.  That was why he was here, why he was in the Maze, why he was in Redacre.  Why he was home, and why he was worrying at the tremor of the Song.  It sounded angry, and the movement at the Red Door had startled that fear to the front of his mind.

The shining light of the flashlight caught his form and there was a grunt from the lucid who was actually patrolling.  "If you're not going to watch out for those kids, you might as well sleep."

Sleep... Benji's eyes widened, clearing a little at the inflection placed on the word.  He didn't want to be a sleeper, he never had.  He'd stepped up when his parents had asked him, volunteered to start down the same path as his dad, expecting to ask the same of Kira.  Kira was smart, brilliant, clever.  She could even be a Chordist, he’d bet, processing the Voice's will and entwining memory to the Song for the Voice, for them all.  In the future.  It was supposed to be far in the future, but Sundown...

Rubbing the heel of his palm against aching eyes, Benjamin got to his feet.  "Too many flashbangs," he explained, his eyes sliding off the lucid who stood waiting like a disapproving uncle or aunt, the features blurred.

"Tell me about it, they're in the maze again like it's their playground."

Grabbing the bag before the lucid could see the partly unzipped pockets with their odd items, Benjamin nodded at the flashlight.  "Try to sweep low," he reminded him, even as the lucid waved him off and walked the twists of the hall and cavern's drop.  The Red Door stood there, the eye staring him down as he recalled where the note had sounded and then eyed it.  He could use it, it'd be faster...

But he stared at his fingers when he lifted them to the Red Door, catching the twist of crimson staining his knuckles, and he hesitated.  And then, lowering his hand, Benji turned and instead pulled himself up to a beam, grunting with pain at the pressure on tender, cut skin but somehow, someway, preferring that.  It reminded him he was awake, and that he had a task to do that he could focus himself towards.

It sounded like it was at the border.  So to the borders he went and eventually, once he got to the white of the Supply rooms, he started to jog until he grunted, pulling himself up the ladder and biting his tongue on a curse.  He'd likely lose whoever it was, taking the long way.  But-

Doubt.  Doubt.  DOUBT.

He steadied himself against the wall with a hand, his eyes unfocused and dazed when the Chordist struck a note that felt like it was in his bones, and in his heart, and it was all he could hear for a few breaths that he barely remembered to take.

A hand laid against the red painted wood and when he pulled it open it was with a focused, almost blank look in his tired and sleepless black-rimmed eyes, stepping through without the concern of why he disliked the doors shed.  It was the fast way.  And he’d still need to jog to catch up to the rung-note report.