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thelibraryofhell · 4 years

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Pretentious and Cringy: RoseBlood

For our very first condemnation to this library, we are given RoseBlood by A.G. Howard. Follow the read more for a full count of its sins and stupidity. Warning: it gets long.

This doesn’t count as a sin but great Satan the damn description is way too long! This was likely not the author’s choice though which is why it gets a pass.

This YA novel from New York Times bestselling author A. G. Howard marks the beginning of a new era for fans of the Splintered series. Rune Germain moves to a boarding school outside of Paris, only to discover that at this opera-house-turned-music-conservatory, phantoms really do exist. RoseBlood is a Phantom of the Opera–inspired retelling in which Rune’s biggest talent—her voice—is also her biggest curse. Fans of Daughter of Smoke and Bone and the Splintered series will find themselves captivated by this pulse-pounding spin on a classic tale. Rune, whose voice has been compared to that of an angel, has a mysterious affliction linked to her talent that leaves her sick and drained at the end of every performance. Convinced creative direction will cure her, her mother ships her off to a French boarding school for the arts, rumored to have a haunted past. Shortly after arriving at RoseBlood conservatory, Rune starts to believe something otherworldly is indeed afoot. The mystery boy she’s seen frequenting the graveyard beside the opera house doesn’t have any classes at the school, and vanishes almost as quickly as he appears. When Rune begins to develop a secret friendship with the elusive Thorn, who dresses in clothing straight out of the 19th century, she realizes that in his presence she feels cured. Thorn may be falling for Rune, but the phantom haunting RoseBlood wants her for a very specific and dangerous purpose. As their love continues to grow, Thorn is faced with an impossible choice: lead Rune to her destruction, or save her and face the wrath of the phantom, the only father he’s ever known.

That first paragraph would have sufficed for description and given the reader some mystery. The second could have stayed but it’s on thin ice. And we don’t have ice in hell.

To summarize the story: Rune Germain is a 16-17 year old girl from Pleasant, Texas who is, in her own words “possessed by music”. Thanks to a rich aunt and some nepotism, she gets the chance to go to RoseBlood, a conservatory in Paris that is a refurbished opera house that, according to Rune’s online research, is the place where Gaston Leroux’s Phantom Of The Opera story really took place. Upon arrival, Rune is immediately overtaken by music and makes an enemy in Katrina Nilsson by interrupting Kat’s audition for Renata in the school’s opera. She also makes friends with a few other students who really have no bearing on either the plot or Rune’s adventures. She eventually finds her Love Interest Thorn - real name Etalon, stalking her as she goes about her day to day life, and immediately falls in love with him because they are Twin Flame and Destined by Destiny. It is soon enough revealed that Rune, Thornalon, and Erik are all psychic vampires that must feed off humans to survive. It is also soon revealed that Rune and Thornalon are Christina Nilsson’s soul reincarnated and split and that Rune “has Christine’s voice”. It also turns out that Christina and Erik got married and tried to have a child who was born premature and died. Erik was driven mad(der) by the child’s death and somehow, in the 1900′s, managed to build a contraption that kept the baby “alive” until he could track down Christine’s soul and reunite the pieces and transfer it to the baby... Needless to say, he failed, Rune and Thornalon live happily ever after, and Rune suffers no consequences from any of her terrible actions through the whole novel.

Sin count time!

Sin 1: The school name! RoseBlood. What does it have to do with anything? There are bleeding roses later in the story but why would a school name itself RoseBlood? This choice is never explained. It has no French basis, no connection to the opera-house turned school, and no connection to Gaston Leroux’s original Phantom Of The Opera.

Sin 2: Overwrought descriptions right out of the gate.

At home, I have a poster on my wall of a rose that’s bleeding. Its petals are white, and red liquid oozes from its heart, thick and glistening warm.

Mom looks out her window where the wet trees have thickened to multicolored knots, like an afghan gilded with glitter.

I trace the window now curtained by mud, imagining the glass cracking and bursting; imagining myself sprouting wings to fly away through the opening—back to America and my two friends who were tolerant of my strange quirks.

These are all from chapter one. It only gets worse as you go.

Sin 3: Racism. Main character Rune Germain regularly describes herself as a “gypsy”. According to her, on her father’s side, she’s a g*psy. Moving through this review, I will be censoring the word. I’m a demon of hell, not a piece of shit. Rune never says Roma or Romani in the entire book. There’s no references to Romani culture, nothing about the problems Romani people face in the modern day, nothing. Rune is also as white as a piece of paper. You can see it on the cover

And in how she describes herself.

People say we could pass for sisters. We share her ivory complexion, the tiny freckles spattered across the bridge of her nose, the wide green eyes inside a framework of thick lashes, and her hair—black as a raven’s wings.

If you look up pictures of Romani people, you see that they’re far from ivory skinned.

It’s not only Rune. Her Aunt Charlotte does it too. The “Phantom” does it. And Roma culture is treated very poorly throughout the novel. Rune several times refers to her “g*psy blood” as “cursed” or “terrible”. One example:

Nausea sweeps through me at the thought. After our encounter, I realized why I was enchanted by the spider’s feeding rituals, that there was something in my g*psy blood—something tainted and wrong.

In this modern day and age, can’t humans stop demonizing and stereotyping an entire culture? Or using “half-g*psy” lineage to make characters “exotic” or “mystic”? No? Fine, I’ll see you down here eventually.

Sin 4: The Love Interest’s backstory..... TRIGGER WARNING FOR FURTHER DISCUSSION OF RAPE, CHILD TRAFFICKING, AND REFERENCED CHILD SEXUAL ASSAULT.

Rune’s Love Interest is named Etalon. His mother was sexually assaulted by a psychic vampire who is apparently from Canada - I have no idea why Howard felt the need to include that - and it ruined her life to the point where she was forced to turn to prostitution to feed herself and Etalon. A man kept trying to “buy” Etalon from her because he was beautiful. She kept refusing, and eventually, she was murdered. Etalon was quickly snatched up into child trafficking where, at one point, he was forced to drink lye water to damage his vocal cords because he wouldn’t stop singing. He eventually escaped when Erik found him and took him in, renaming him Thorn.

Love Interests with tragic backstories are a staple of the YA genre. It makes them mysterious and interesting. It often drives the main character’s interest in the aloof and unusual bad boy. Quite often, these backstories involve dead or missing parents, being turned into a vampire or werewolf, or some combination of all of these things. It’s very rare that it gets so real. Child trafficking is a very real and prevalent issue in the world and it needs attention brought to it. But not like this. Using it as a character’s backstory is something that takes a level of skill Howard simply does not have. It needs to be written with respect to victims who might read it and not just be used to give characters a compelling but otherwise unused backstory. Thornalon never displays any indicators that the time spent in this situation traumatized him. There’s no signs of PTSD or other mental health issues that might arise from what he went through. There’s also no signs that Howard donated any money from book sales to charities like Child Fund, Save The Children, or ECPAT-USA. This is a very serious topic that NEEDS more attention brought to it and Howard glossed over it like it was nothing.

Sin 5: Underutilized setting. Rune comes from Pleasant, Texas and moves to Paris, France. But there’s no sense of wonder from her. She never talks about how beautiful the city is or learning French. Supposedly, the school only admits American students.

“How many foreign boarding schools offer admittance only to American kids? This is a rare opportunity . . . a taste of French culture in a setting that feels like home.”

Oooor the author couldn’t be bothered to deal with French translations or expanding the student body to include a diversity? There’s no French culture anywhere in this book. Any time Rune goes into Paris, it’s skipped over. There’s nothing about it that says Paris. It could have been set in New Jersey and it wouldn’t have made much of a difference.

Sin 6: Each chapter begins with a quote from a different author and work. Including, weirdly enough, Karl Marx... Beginning a chapter with a quote is fine, but it should be consistent. Picking a single work or author to use helps to reader see a consistency in the theme of the book. Since this is a Phantom of The Opera based story, it would make sense to use quotes from the book. Instead, the author uses a different work for each chapter, and it’s honestly just annoying.

Sin 7: All promise, no pay off. This book has a promise of action and mystery. It’s got a fabulous premise and a setting that could be beautifully used if in the hands of the right author. But it misses the mark on good characters, action, and keeping a consistent pace.

Punishments: For being tone-deaf and generally bad at writing, author A.G. Howard is condemned to have the dead tree in her backyard become home to her state’s buzzard population. For being a terrible protagonist, Rune Germain is condemned to find a mistake in the middle of her knitting projects just as she is about to finish them. For the terrible Phantom Iteration known as Erik, we condemn his instruments to always be just slightly out tune. And Thorn/Etalon... we order you to get a lot of therapy and a service dog.

So let it be recorded. Today’s story time is concluded.

#roseblood #ag howard #book snark #the library of hell #bad books #bad writing #roseblood ag howard #the phantom of the opera #phantom of the opera #tw child trafficking #tw rape #racist writing #g*psy slur use

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dkettchen · 4 years

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Why hello everyone! Today’s book club!

This time we watched 13th, a documentary about the US prison system and its history. For next time we’ll be watching Astronomy Club (2019), a sketch comedy show with an all-black main cast full of amazing funny people.

Ally book club is a space for allies to learn and share together on their allyship journey. The usual rules apply, don’t be a dick to people, we’re here to support and encourage not to argue and alienate!

Please share in the replies below any thoughts or things you’ve learnt watching 13th!

I’ll go first:

Right, before I talk about anything more serious, I loved the backgrounds they put the interviewees in front of, aesthetically beautiful, dignifying, very good, very poignant, props to whoever was in charge of that, BUT, why did they have to sit that one poor man on that heater, it must’ve been so uncomfortable, interviews tend to take a While even if they’re edited down, I hope they got him a pillow at least.

Now on to actual serious points lol:

I like how it managed to package the BLM issues in a very Political™, Economic™, and hence Rational™ way by going over that part of the history (i.e. focus on political and economic causes rather than/before the emotional (and other) trauma caused by them), to appeal to the kind of people that social justice content usually fails to reach (emotionally illiterate men that is, generally) who appreciate Facts™, Logic™, (perceived) Objectivity™ (there’s no such thing as objectivity but the kinda ppl who talk abt it tend to believe otherwise so alas), and lbr conspiracy theories. This is the same approach that something like Adam Ruins Everything uses, to correct false narratives by laying out the real, just as convoluted and fucked up ones. It’s a very effective strategy!

I feel like 13th also did a better job here in some of the aspects I had criticisms with Disclosure. Disclosure presented itself as very objectively looking at all of the trans representation and lack there-of in Hollywood, but ultimately ended up scewed towards black trans (binary) rep and away from nonbinary rep, which would be fine, it’s fine to talk about any part of the community, and it makes sense to scew it towards your own (here Laverne’s) part of it, BUT ultimately while its good for the trans-binary BlPOC, it still sucks for, and erases the experiences and importance within the community of, nonbinary people (including black nonbinary people!) to only get a honorary mention of “they exist too”. 13th did that too to an extent, with non-black POC, but the difference is, the history of racism in the US is almost entirely based in the racism against black and indigenous people, the history of using criminalisation to further racism is based in anti-black racism, so it makes sense to focus on black people and then give an honorable mention to any other groups that also ended up being collateral damage to this system & its consequences. It focuses on the clearly most-targeted group in this subject, Disclosure didn’t, because it’s not that straight forward with trans stuff. Our history is shaped by the fact that we were all synonymous to the public consciousness, regardless of specific identity or kind of androgyny, there is no one singular group in trans history that we’d differentiate as such today that had it significantly worse than the others, and there’s plenty today that have it similarly bad as each other but in different ways.

Another thing about 13th that kind of took me off-guard but makes sense, is the (historic) focus of black activism on humanisation. As someone who used to be more ignorant than I am today, the thing with ignorance is you don’t actively ignore people, you just don’t think of them if you’re not exposed to them in your own life and the media is controlled by their outgroup who misrepresents them. I grew up in a country where (at least back then, and also for classism connected to immigration reasons) I didn’t have any black people in my life, other than the occasional stranger on a bus or one or two kids in other classes of my year group that I didn’t know, and media rep in the early 2000s wasn’t exactly good for anyone who wasn’t a (more or less) gender conforming, monoamorous, allo, cis, binary, straight, able-bodied, neurotypical, thin, white, natively-english-speaking person (yes that’s the list, try and match all of them I dare ya x’D), so any black rep I got through that wasn’t exactly representing authentic black voices, it was representing black bodies. It’s so useful to be able to hear people talk about their own shit, to have their own voice, both in real life and in media, like- I find this dissonance in my own bias between silent strangers and people whose voices I know. I still experience bias with strangers but not at all (as far as that’s possible I guess) when it comes to friends or creators I’m used to of the same group. And I feel like the former is getting better the more reference of people who look like them I get. Now if I see a stranger of a group that I have a bunch of friends in and I try to imagine what their life might be like, instead of having to wonder, and running into that wall of ignorance, I can think “hey! maybe they’re kinda like (people I know), who I know is a lovely person, going about their life, doin stuff, being great, struggling, being human.” It’s wild that people have been trying to make that happen for so long and somehow we’re still working on seeing each other as literally just also people

#ally book club #13th #allyship #black lives matter

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idonthinkyoureadyforinformant · 4 years

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The fluorescent fixture on the ceiling above her head buzzed loudly, and sounded like a fly's futile efforts at escape against a closed window. Age revealed in their darkened ends, the long pair of luminous tubes flickered, and one of the bulbs burned dim orange rather than the bright white of its twin. Someone needed to replace the failing bulb and fix that annoying buzz, Mia thought.

Mia nervously waited in the dingy room, seated in an uncomfortable chair with her hands cuffed behind her back. Her mind raced. Were these handcuffs necessary? Couldn't the police see she was a respectable member of society? How could Josh be so stupid and get them both in this horrible mess? She had warned him about this, but as usual, he didn't listen. She was tired of having to mother him.

Mia loved her husband, Josh, and overlooked his many flaws. He was a talented high school science teacher at a prestigious private school, adored by his students and their parents alike. But Josh had concealed a minor blemish -- up until this point -- to his otherwise flawless portrait of a perfect citizen. Josh liked smoking marijuana a lot. Perhaps too much. With an academic background in botany, he also enjoyed applying his scientific knowledge to cultivating the illegal plant for his personal and recreational use.

While perfectly lawful to do in some states, Josh's activity was a felony punishable by up to 12-years prison where they presently lived. Josh had converted a small walk-in closet in their house into a grow room — the reason why they were both under arrest now, treated like common criminals, and why she was sitting here frightened and alone.

She wondered how the police found out. Did one of Josh's worthless pothead friends get busted and turn him in for a lighter sentence? Was it the helicopter she heard late one evening -- interrupting her peaceful sleep with its blades tearing through the cool night air -- equipped with a snooperscope that saw the heat on their roof from Josh's 1000-watt metal halide light? Maybe their electric consumption gave it away? What difference did it make now anyway? They were already in trouble.

"Wow, this one's a real looker," Detective Sanchez mumbled to her partner as she stared through the two-way mirror at the beautiful 24-year-old suspect she was about to interrogate.

"Yeah, they had eight plants growing hydroponically under a 1000-watt metal halide light. A small, sophisticated operation," the gruff voice of Detective Earl Noyse replied. Only a few ounces of smokable bud seized, but in typical police fashion, roots, stems and even the medium the plants grew in were weighed, greatly inflating the amount and the charges.

The door opened.

Sanchez entered the interrogation room, visually raking the gorgeous blond sitting at the old wooden table. The girl stared back at Sanchez with stunning blue eyes and silky blond hair that flowed past her shoulders in threads of gold as smooth as a sheet of water.

Mia watched the older, rather plain-looking woman walk toward her. Detective Sanchez wore her greying hair up in a tight bun and had what could be described as a slightly weathered, man-like appearance. She held a folder in her hand.

Sanchez slapped the folder down in front of Mia and dragged a wooden chair out from underneath the table. The heavy chair growled in a high-pitchl as it reluctantly slid across the floor.

Sanchez sat in front of Mia, her face an expressionless mask. "Seems like you and Josh have been busy entrepreneurs. Possession, manufacture and distribution of a Schedule I drug carries a pretty stiff penalty."

"I already explained all this to that other detective — Detective Nose."

"Noyse," Sanchez interjected.

Mia rolled her eyes. "Whatever his name is — Josh only grows it for personal use. He only had eight plants. How does that amount to manufacture and distribution?"

"Listen, dearie, we confiscated over 15 pounds of weed from your house. Both you and Josh are looking at felony records and 12 years in prison unless you cooperate."

Mia's voice rose higher with indignation. "There's no way those eight little plants equal 15 pounds. You can't charge us with that! I want to speak with an attorney."

Detective Sanchez was not going to tolerate Mia's uppity attitude. She needed to bring this young girl down a few notches.

Sanchez rose from her chair, her palms remaining flat on the table, her face now red and only inches from Mia as she leaned toward her and yelled. "Listen, sweetheart, you want to speak to an attorney? Fine! But then we're throwing the book at both of you. You can say good bye to each other and to your house, your car, and all those nice things you and Josh have acquired. He'll never work as a teacher again. His career and your futures will be ruined. I'll see to it!"

Mia felt Detective Sanchez' hot breath and spittle blast against her cheeks as the angry detective shouted into her face.

Sanchez sat down, resumed a calm demeanor and continued as if her previous rant never occurred. "Or you can cooperate with us. All of this can go away and your husband, Josh, can continue teaching. Otherwise, you're both looking at lengthy prison time away from each other. It's your choice."

Tears began flowing from Mia's eyes. "What do you mean, 'cooperate'? I don't even smoke marijuana, you can give me a drug test right now. I told Josh not to grow that stuff."

Mia spoke the truth. She very rarely used marijuana. It made her too paranoid and nervous, but Sanchez didn't care and wasn't buying anything Mia said. Bigger fish swam in the ocean of scum and Mia looked like perfect bait to catch them. "We have a big drug problem in this city, which you can help us solve. We know who distributes the drugs, but we need to find sources, who else is involved. We want to bust Reggie Johnson, but first we need to find out who he gets his drugs from."

Mia sniffled. "Who's Reggie Johnson?"

Was this girl serious or was she just playing stupid? How could she not know about Reggie Johnson? Everyone on the street, and part of the drug trade in this city, knew about Reggie Johnson, the high-ranking gangster responsible for murders, heinous crimes, and the area's rich supply of illicit drugs. Detective Sanchez was going to bring him down, and this hot young female was going to help her do it.

Mia's suburban life had sheltered her from the likes of Reggie Johnson. Her anonymity was perfect, and perhaps her ignorance was for the best too.

"Stand up for me," Sanchez barked.

"What?"

"Just do it and turn around."

Mia timidly rose from her chair, with her head down and shoulders hunched over in fear as she turned around.

"Stand straight!"

Mia's back straightened upon command. The baggy sweat pants she wore poorly concealed what could only be described as an incredibly tight and sexy ass from hours she had spent working out at the gym.

"You'll do just fine," Sanchez mumbled to herself as she studied the perfect curves of Mia's beautifully slender figure. She was exactly Reggie Johnson's type — young, white with perky c-cup tits and an hour glass figure; a gorgeous face with big blue eyes and silky blond hair.

*****************

They lived in a well-kept, modest sized home — the only house on a secluded street in an otherwise suburban area populated by soccer moms and dads who coached little league baseball on the weekends for their young children. An ideal place for kids of their own they planned to have soon. The yard was neatly trimmed and heavily shaded by two large oaks that reached over the house like two giant hands about to shake with each other.

Mia stood in the living room. "I have to do it, Josh. I'm sorry, but it's the only way. If I don't do this for them, they'll send us both to jail. You'll lose your job, have a felony record and never teach again. Why didn't you just listen to me? I told you not to grow that stuff and to stop smoking it."

Josh stared at her as she spoke, his face wearing his confusion. At 5' 10" tall and perhaps 145 pounds wet, he was never much of an athlete, his frame best described as wiry. How could the police suddenly send her off as an informant without any preparation? It didn't seem safe or right. "Well, where are you going?"

"I'm not sure," Mia answered. "Detective Sanchez didn't tell me yet."

Above his wire-framed glasses, his eyebrows now knitted together with concern. How could she not know where she was going? "When will you be home?"

Detective Sanchez hadn't told her that yet either. "I don't know."

"You're not sure; you don't know," Josh mimicked. "Well, what can you tell me?"

"Nothing — all Detective Sanchez told me is she needs me to find out about some guy named Ryan or something. I can't remember his name. I was so nervous."

"Oh that's just great. You don't know who this is, where you're going, what you'll be doing, or when you'll be back." Josh sat in his chair, crossed his arms, and pouted like an angry child. "You're not the five-o, Mia."

"I don't want to do it, Josh. But we don't have a choice."

A car horn honked for Mia from their driveway and Josh jumped from his chair.

Mia wrapped her arms around her husband, gave him a big hug and kiss. "Please, Josh, I have to go now. I'll call as soon as I can, but it may be a while. I'm not supposed to contact anyone I know while doing this."

Josh melted in her embrace and returned her hug. "I'm sorry Mia. You're right — this is all my fault. But I didn't mean to do this to us. The laws in this country are so fucked up. You know why they originally illegalized weed back in 1937?"

Mia shook her head.

"They thought black men used it to seduce white women. Isn't that ridiculous? It's all because of racism. And here we are in 2016 suffering the consequences of unjust laws based on bigotry."

The horn honked again.

"Please be careful and call me as soon as you can," Josh added.

Mia tore herself away from him. Josh followed her to the front door, where she grabbed her packed suitcase.

He stood at the doorway and unenthusiastically waved farewell as Mia entered an older Honda Accord Detective Sanchez drove.

***************

A man and woman shouted curse words at each other from the neighboring unit while their baby cried, and the sound of distant sirens drifted through the air.

"I don't want to wear this stuff," Mia complained, pulling down at the short, tightly-fitting mini skirt so it would cover more of her legs. "This is too short and I feel uncomfortable wearing a thong underneath it like this. Please let me put on something else."

"You're either going to do this and get the information I need, or I'll file those charges with the DA. What's it going to be? I'm getting tired of hearing you whine."

Mia didn't like any of this. Sanchez made her share this disgusting rat infested apartment in a bad inner-city neighborhood with some crack whore, and now she made Mia wear this slutty outfit. "Aren't you going to give me a wire or something?"

Sanchez believed Mia and her husband were low-life drug dealers. Small fry perhaps, but not much better than Johnson. Sanchez' only concern for Mia as her informant was in using her to catch Johnson, nothing more. To that end, she was expendable. Mia obviously didn't understand their working relationship yet. "You're an informant, not an undercover cop. Reggie Johnson will likely check you for a bug anyway. That's if you ever get near him. We can't risk him finding out that you're working for us."

"But it's been three days already. Please, I want to see my husband. When can I see Josh? I'm tired of hanging out at that stupid club with all those black men hitting on me all night. How am I supposed to make friends with this Reggie Johnson guy anyway and find out all this stuff for you? I haven't even seen him there yet."

Sanchez squinted her eyes and looked at Mia angrily. "That's your problem. Use your imagination. I'm sure a cute girl like you can put your good looks to use and figure something out, but you better do it quickly. The sooner you do, the sooner you can see Josh. The clock is ticking and you're running out of time. If you don't get me some information soon, I'll have you and Josh prosecuted and sent to prison."

"No, please don't do that. I'll get the information you want..."

While Detective Sanchez prepared Mia, her colleague, Detective Noyse, secretly met with Reggie Johnson.

Steel and glass skyscrapers contained fiery reflections of the setting sun like the surface of a calm sea. From Reggie's penthouse apartment, Noyse gazed out the floor-to-ceiling window at a breathtaking view of the city. "Funny how nice it all looks from way up here. It's only when you're actually on the ground and part of it that the filth and ugliness become apparent, I guess."

"It's on the desk," Reggie replied, finishing his last rep of bench presses. The muscles in his arms and chest looked like they were about to rip through his tight brown skin as he gritted his teeth.

Noyse placed a folder he had brought with him on the desk and picked up the thick envelope Reggie had left there for him. He opened the envelope and briefly thumbed through a stack of hundred-dollar bills it contained before quietly placing it inside his jacket pocket and returning to the view outside the window.

Reggie sat up from gym equipment in the middle of his expansive living room, and used a white towel hanging around his neck to wipe sweat from his face. He glanced at the closing stock prices running across the bottom of an enormous LED TV hung like a picture on the wall. He had made over $800K in the market today, he silently noted, pointing a remote control toward the set. The screen went black. "Anything I need to know?"

His six-pack abs noticeable, Reggie walked to the desk.

Noyse turned from the window. "You might want to look over the contents of that folder carefully. Sanchez is on a high horse again and she's after you and your suppliers. She recruited a new informant we busted a few days ago."

Reggie opened the folder containing Mia Warren's mug shot and arrest record. "Nice," he muttered out loud to himself, the picture less than flattering to Mia, but her beauty apparent to him anyway. He read through her report. "Hmm —married, 24-years-old, and no kids. Busted for growing weed. Tsk-tsk — naughty girl."

"The husband admitted it was his. She seems pretty straight-laced, but you never know these days."

Reggie looked up from the folder. "It's an election year. A sizable contribution to a certain incumbent's re-election campaign should take care of Detective Sanchez' investigation. In the meantime, I gotta check Mrs. Warren out. May wanna tap me some that fine white pussy. Keep that cute little informant preoccupied."

"The husband should appreciate that very much," Detective Noyse dryly replied.

Reggie returned Noyse's sarcasm with a grin. "That's what he gets for breaking the law, cutting into my business — and not doing it very well, I might add."

*************

From across a crowded, dimly lit dance club, her golden blond hair and beautiful skin stood out like headlights on a deserted road at night. Very few Caucasians frequented this establishment, and none of them had ever looked as good as her. Reggie studied how the softer features of her nose, eyes, and mouth accentuated her sharp cheekbones to produce the loveliest face. The tight miniskirt she wore only amplified an equally gorgeous figure that could easily belong to a supermodel and drew unwanted attention from practically every male in the joint.

Unaware of Reggie's presence, Mia stood by the bar watching some black couple dance next to her, the girl obscenely thrusting her pelvis into the guy's leg, oblivious it seemed to all else around her. An offensive rap song blasted, making even the floors and walls vibrate.

Mia hated this place, but Sanchez said this was Reggie Johnson's hangout, although he had not appeared here for the past three nights.

"Damn, you beautiful. Let me buy you a drink," she heard a voice say with a familiar African American accent. She was so tired of hearing that stupid accent and having to tell these ignorant black men that she was not interested. She rolled her eyes up and sighed. She had lost count of how many men had already hit on her this evening. She wanted to get out of this place and be with Josh. There was no way in Hell she would ever cheat on her husband or be with some nasty black guy.

Mia irritatedly turned around to tell whoever it was this time to buzz off and leave her alone.

Her eyes climbed up the muscular stature of an enormous black man, as if trying to find the top of a skyscraper. In the darkness, she somehow missed the monstrous bulge in his pants. She almost blew it, about to tell him to get lost like all the other inferior black men she had encountered this evening, before her eyes finally reached his face.

Mia suddenly realized that the gigantic man speaking to her was Reggie Johnson — the man she had been waiting for. He wore a Polo shirt and a thick gold necklace, grey silk slacks, and an expensive sports jacket. Diamond rings that looked big enough to sink the Titanic adorned his fingers.

Mia nervously forced a smile. Her opportunity finally arrived, yet her mind was blank as to what to say. "Hi," she managed to squeak out.

Reggie looked at the almost empty glass Mia held. "Whatcha drinking?"

Mia was not much of a drinker, and her tumbler contained remnants of ice water — the only substance she ever intended to consume here. But she remembered Detective Sanchez' threats — Josh's career in ruins, criminal records marring their future, 12 years in prison. Little time remained. She needed information about Reggie and his suppliers to give Sanchez. Too much was at stake to let her nerves get in her way now. This was her chance and she could not let it slip away. "I'll have whatever you're drinking."

Reggie turned to the bartender. "A Crown on the rocks for me and this lovely woman. Make 'em doubles".

The bartender briefly raised an eyebrow, thinking he might have misheard Reggie. The only thing Mia had ordered from him the past three nights was ice water. He proceeded to fill two tumblers with ice and generous amounts of the amber liquid without question. "Anything else, Mr. Johnson?"

Reggie gave him a fifty-dollar bill. "Not now. Keep the change."

"Thank you, Mr. Johnson."

Reggie handed Mia the glass. "Come on, let's sit somewhere quiet and talk."

They sat at a small table away from the music. Mia remained incredibly nervous. She quickly forced down the contents of her glass and felt fire form in her stomach.

"Wow, you really slammed that down. I ain't seen many women drink like that. I'll get you another. I don't want to drink by myself."

Mia stared blankly at him a moment as she waited for the fire in her gut to simmer. Although she rarely drank, she possessed the ability to hold her liquor well.

Reggie signaled a nearby server. "Bring my pretty friend here another double of Crown, on the rocks."

Mia began to feel the calming effects of alcohol she just consumed enter her bloodstream. "What's your name?"

"Reggie Johnson — and who, may I inquire, do I have the pleasure of meeting."

"I'm Mia."

"Where you from, Mia? I never seen you 'round here before. No way could I ever miss someone as beautiful as you."

She caught herself from almost fumbling the whole thing by telling him her real address. Mia's nervousness returned. She had forgotten the address where she was staying with the crack whore. "I just moved here — to a place on North 89th Street and Milton Avenue. Do you know the area?"

Ch. 2

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inhalingwords · 7 years

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Monthly Wrap Up || August 2017

The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath

So, this was a very topical book for me. I was actually extremely floored by it because I felt like it hit very close home to my own personal situation at the moment.

Basically, The Bell Jar is a story of depression, mental breakdown, and recovery. Esther Greenwood, the 19-year-old protagonist of the novel, is completing a summer internship on a New York fashion magazine in 1953 when she finds herself struggling with things going on in her life, mostly with regards to the uncertainty she feels over her future and her identity in the world. This eventually leads to her spiralling into depression.

While I found the portrayal of Esther’s emotions and her depression the most relateable and affirming thing I’ve ever read, what really got to me about the book is the beautiful, breathtaking undercurrent of hope that runs throughout the entire novel. Esther is depressed, she sees no road ahead of her, and she’s constantly thinking of suicide. But despite this, through it all, there is that tiny spark in her that is still looking for help and some way out of the shitty situation she’s in. I was crying pretty much throughout the last third of the book which is about her getting some real help and kickstarting her recovery because it was just. so cathartic and hopeful.

The only thing I wasn’t happy about was the unfortunate presence of some pretty unnecessary and gross racism, which slightly ruined this would’ve-been-a-new-favourite-book-otherwise for me :/

(but yeah anyway this book punched me in the gut in the best way possible and i loved it, i don’t have the words to explain how much the story matters to me)

#booklr #bookblr #august wrap up #reading wrap up #monthly wrap up #only read one book last month which. booooo.#(it was a fantastic book tho)#but i was basically using up all my available free time on studying spanish and preparing for the start of the academic year #and now things have been (so far) pretty smooth rolling so #yay #hopefully i'll have more time to read this month!

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mermaidsirennikita · 7 years

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August 2017 Book Roundup

Last month was not a good reading month for me, partially because work and depression make reading hard and partially because the books themselves weren’t that great. There are times when a ton of new, exciting books get dropped and they seem to swing around the spring (people beginning buying for the summer? Beach reads?) and the fall (obviously, in preparation for Christmas). The one book I really super enjoyed was A Map for Wrecked Girls by Jessica Taylor--a tale of sisters getting shipwrecked on an island (with a boy, but he’s not super important) and working through the fact that one is borderline psychopathically manipulative and they hate each other. Also, sibling codependence. There were decent books aside from that one, but nothing that gripped me quite as much. (Ratings and mini reviews below.)

Stolen Beauty by Laurie Lico Albanese. 3/5. In World War II era Austria, Maria Altmann’s world is turned upside down as her Jewish family attempts to flee. In the process, the Nazis snatch up portraits of her beloved aunt, Adele Bloch-Bauer, painted by the renowned artist Gustav Klimt. As we follow Maria from the turmoil of World War II to her twenty-first century struggle to regain the paintings, a parallel story is told--that of Adele and her relationship with Klimt. While this book was pretty accurate as far as I could tell--I’m no Klimt expert--it could have done without Maria’s story. This is better told in the Helen Mirren movie “The Woman in Gold”; here it’s pretty flat, and distracts from Adele’s much more engaging journey from impetuous young wife to immortalized muse. Maria’s narrative becomes a fairly standard--I hate to say it--World War II story. Adele’s is far more interesting and unique, and the book would have been much better had the author stuck with that.

Severed: A History of Heads Lost and Heads Found by Frances Larson. 4/5. Larson takes on the topic of severed heads, from those captured during war, to those decapitated by royal decree, and those belonging to saints. Morbid curiosity and the recommendation of Caitlin Doughty drew me to this book, and it’s both well-researched and quite interesting. I thought it would be largely about the heads lost through the decapitation of living people, like those who would become “shrunken heads” and famous people like Anne Boleyn. While a couple of chapters are devoted to such subjects, Larson also discussed people decapitated after death, as well as the topic of life remaining after decapitation. It’s a pretty thorough book, and while some topics were more interesting than others and it was certainly all a bit gruesome at times, I was impressed by the fact that Larson even went into the topic of decapitation in art. Overall, a good read if you’re in the mood for something niche-y.

The Good Daughter by Karin Slaughter. 2/5. In the 80s, sisters Sam and Charlotte (later Charlie) undergo a horrific event together that leaves their mother murdered and both deeply traumatized. Thirty years later, Charlie--an attorney, albeit not one as controversial as her “defend any client” father--witnesses a school shooting, and is compelled to help defend the shooter, a teenage girl. The subsequent events will bring up the truth about what happened to the sisters that night, as well as the truth of who they became after. I really enjoyed this book at first--even though the beginning is quite harrowing and not for the faint of heart. But there’s “not for the faint of heart” and “this makes me actively uncomfortable because I don’t think it’s being handled well”. This might act as a spoiler, but honestly it’s a theme throughout the novel and, well... The topic of rape is not handled the way it should have been, in my opinion. Lots of people will feel differently, and I’m sure some will have valid reasons, but I could not get behind this book.

The Life She Was Given by Ellen Marie Wiseman. 2/5. As a young girl, Lilly is sold to the circus by her mother. She hasn’t even had much experience of the world, locked away by her parents to keep her albinism a secret. In a parallel timeline, 20+ years later, nineteen-year old Julia learns that her estranged mother is dead, and she has inherited the family horse farm. Returning home, she stumbles across Lilly’s story, and becomes wrapped up in the mystery of what happened to her. Obviously, this story is interesting--but I think it might be time for me to stop trying these parallel narrative historical fiction novels. They just aren’t for me. Furthermore, the simplicity of the writing and the characters was off-putting. It felt like I was reading about Lilly and the Good People versus Cartoon Villains.

Happiness: A Memoir by Heather Harpham. 3/5. Upon finding out that she was pregnant, Heather Harpham soon realized that her boyfriend, Brian, loved her but wasn’t sure about the idea of fatherhood in his forties. She went through her pregnancy alone, gave birth without him--but things became even more complicated upon the discovery that their daughter, Amelia-Grace, had a blood disease that would quite possibly kill her before she hit thirty. “Happiness” is the story of not only Amelia-Grace’s treatment and the fight for her life, but Heather and Brian’s journey towards finding each other. It’s at times frustrating, as many memoirs are; I really don’t know that Brian and Heather are people I would identify with if I met them, and some of their decisions were... questionable. But the writing is lovely, and I really felt for what was an incredibly human story. It’s a well-done memoir.

A Map for Wrecked Girls by Jessica Taylor. 4/5. Shipwrecked with her sister Henri and a virtual stranger, Alex, Emma has little hope of being found or rescued. Complicating matters of survival is her fraught relationship with Henri, ruined by recent events. Parallel narratives tell the story of the three teens’ attempts to survive, while also revealing what happened between Henri and Emma. This book is extremely gripping and interesting, and while there is a romance that largely serves to develop Emma’s character, the crux of the story is her relationship with the magnetic, manipulative Henri. Henri is the kind of character you love to hate, and so is Emma in a way. Their codependency was extremely compelling, and while a couple of the later “twists” weren’t the strongest, they didn’t dull my interest in the sisters and what happened to them.

Too Fat, Too Slutty, Too Loud: The Rise and Reign of the Unruly Woman by Anne Helen Petersen, 3/5. This book is a collection of essays on women who Petersen--someone who got her doctoral degree on celebrity gossip, essentially--terms as “unruly” for a variety of different reasons. Petersen, who wrote for Buzzfeed, does know how to write a thinkpiece, and in an engaging manner. It’s definitely a quick, fun read. Nothing she says here reinvents the wheel if you’re already engaged in feminist theory, but most of it isn’t actively wrong and it’s good to read. But she does write as a straight, cis, white woman (as she acknowledges). She’s conventionally attractive; she isn’t fat. So there is a part of me that’s like “ugh, I wish someone who could speak from personal experience about what she’s writing had written this book”. She’s not even old, like Madonna (the subject of her “Too Old” essay). But that’s not really something Petersen can help. What she can help is the manner in which she overlooks the ridiculousness of Caitlyn Jenner’s political views, barely mentioning them in the “Too Qu**r” essay. Really, Petersen acknowledges that Jenner doesn’t embody that label; so why not discuss another woman like Laverne Cox or Janet Mock over Jenner? And I know she’s capable of criticizing her subject, because she does so in the aforementioned Madonna piece (though she doesn’t get into exactly how problematic Madonna’s rearing and presentation of her black children has been; that’s not the point of the piece). The Lena Dunham piece is similarly shortsighted. She doesn’t discuss many of the reasons why lots of people--including many feminists--hate Dunham. She doesn’t get into her racism, her troubling discussion of her relationship with her sister. If Petersen didn’t want to get into these issues, there are plenty of “unruly women” who coincide with her topics and aren’t loaded with ugliness, for lack of a better term. So while I liked the book--it could have done with more women of color, by the way--a couple of the essays I side-eyed.

The Devil’s Lady by Deborah Simmons. 4/5. When Aisley de Laci (yes) is forced to marry--but given the option to choose her husband--she chooses Piers Montmorency (yes) otherwise known as the Red Knight (YES). Fierce and mysterious, Piers is said to have a made a pact with the devil, and doesn’t allow Aisley to see him in the light. If you think this means they have a lot of sex in the dark, fuck yeah it does. This is a classic sort of romance novel, made better by the fact that the heroine has a lot of agency in terms of her sexuality for a romance novel written in the 90s, and the guy isn’t a total douchebag. He kind of is at first, but he’s not put in the best situation so.... One of the most appealing parts of the story is dealt with in a manner that was way too easy for my taste, and the ending was all a bit rushed, but that wasn’t the point. The romance was. And it was good.

Shimmer and Burn by Mary Taranta. 2/5. After an attempted escape from their guarded city, Faris is left alone, her love murdered and her sister enslaved. Desperate to free her sister, she enters into arrangement with the king’s executioner and a the Princess Bryn--who wants to become queen--to slip out of the kingdom and transfer magic and honestly that’s all I got because this world was so badly explained and constructed. It was one of those worlds that naturally doesn’t appeal to me, where magic is a substance and you can, like, put it in your body with a syringe? Which made me think of an addiction plotline on the rise and addiction + magic is something I hate and even if I did understand this world, which I didn’t because the writing didn’t explain it to me, I probably wouldn’t like it. Then there were little things, like the king’s executioner being a teenage boy (was there... not someone a little older) and Faris streetfighting~ to earn her keep. Cliche.

#books #book recs #book roundup

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writeforsoreeyes · 5 years

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transreading - What Makes You Beautiful

[image description: cover of What Makes You Beautiful by Bridget Liang. Off-center portrait of an east Asian teen wearing a blue button-up shirt, eye makeup, and lipstick.]

Note: like last month, this is book in which the POV character realizes they are trans over the course of the story. While the character is “Logan” for the first part of the story, she begins using the name Veronica in the final act. Midway through, while still working out her gender, Veronica asks her friends to use they/them pronouns for her. The story doesn’t have a moment in which she updates her pronouns, but I’ve made the assumption that she would ultimately go with she/her by the book’s end.

Veronica will never be the perfect half-Chinese son, but her mother and father are in denial. Despite her parents’ misgivings, Veronica switches to an arts high school to pursue singing. She quickly makes friends with several queer kids at the school. With new freedom to explore her identity, she slowly begins to realize that while she likes guys, she herself is not a guy.

What Makes You Beautiful is a really quick read. It’s short in length, with a straight-forward plot that pulls the reader along. While there are some darker moments (particularly instances of racism, homophobia, and so on), it’s by and large a sweet book -- and even downright cheesy at times. If you’re looking for a pleasant read to pass an afternoon or a flight, What Makes You Beautiful fits the bill.

There is a lot packed into this little book though, despite its brevity. The cast is highly diverse in terms of sexuality, gender, ethnicity, religion, and more. With so many different identities in play, the author gets to explore a lot of different topics naturally in the story.

For example, Veronica has doubts about being a trans girl because she fears she’s falling into the stereotype of Asian men being submissive. Veronica and her friends come into conflict with their voice teacher because all the winter concert songs are Christmas songs. One of her friends discloses that it was difficult to get his gender identity respected because of his autism. And so on and so forth. These many intersections of identity reflect the complexities of the real world and make What Makes You Beautiful stand out from similar trans coming out narratives.

There are moments, however, that might come across as over the top and strain readers’ suspension of belief. For instance, when Veronica’s father drops her off at school on the second day, he sees her visibly queer friends waiting for her and shouts at them, “Kids like you are ruining this great country!” It’s a really erratic burst of violent homophobia from someone who is otherwise portrayed as more your run-of-the-mill “I’m not bigoted!” casual bigot.

My belief was also strained by how quickly the character relationships developed. Veronica is pretty much folded into an existing friend group her very first day of school, in addition to making friends outside the group.

It’s true that friendships generally move faster with kids than adults, but I couldn’t help but raise a skeptical eyebrow when Veronica thought “I feel safe nestled between these two boys” and earnestly saying “I never had friends like you two before” within 24 hours of meeting them. Arguably, Veronica is starved for friendship since it seems she didn’t have any at her previous school. But since she was bullied, I’d expect her to be more wary.

I appreciated how well the love interest was handled. Kyle hangs around with the queer kids but is straight himself. He initially isn’t especially romantically or sexually attracted to Veronica. However, as her true gender becomes more apparent and she begins experimenting with presentation, his feelings spark. Later, he’s frank with her that this made him question his sexuality, but it doesn’t come across as an “Oh, god, am I gay??????” panic. It’s also refreshing that the guy who is indisputably the hottest in the book is Asian, since Asian men in media are so often classed as less than sexually desirable.

Reading What Makes You Beautiful was kind of nostalgic to me. I also attended an arts high school, so I remember the unique energy of being surrounded by people who are all into the same craft as you. My high school also had a reputation as the “gay school,” though students weren’t nearly as openly queer -- and the teachers weren’t nearly as queer-friendly -- as at Veronica’s school. Perhaps though my school today is more like Veronica’s than the school I remember; a lot has changed in the last decade.

To wrap up, I recommend What Makes You Beautiful if you are looking for a trans coming out narrative where the main character has a really supportive friend group (as well as the mentorship of a trans adult.) If you relate to the “It was obvious to other people, but I didn’t notice until it was pointed out” sort of trans experience, you’ll likely find a lot to relate to here.

And, of course, there is always a need for more racially diverse trans books -- What Makes You Beautiful is a very welcome addition. If you’re looking for more QPOC YA books similar to this one, I’d personally recommend Let’s Talk About Love by Claire Kann (female Black asexual main character, male Asian straight love interest) and This Is Kind of an Epic Love Story by Kheryn Callender (male Black bisexual main character, male Latino gay hard of hearing love interest).

#what makes you beautiful #bridget liang #trans books #transgender books #transreading

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hollowpages · 6 years

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Your Biggest Fan 4 (Commission)

The following is a commission. Mature content is within.

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Your Biggest Fan - Part Four Captain Gonzales was deathly silent, staring down at the files in front of her on her desk. Across from her, Gary sat, Lisa to his right, watching, waiting, for the Captain to say something. Captain Gonzales was the type to wait to speak until she felt she needed to. Her silence tended to convey her thoughts for her, but she could easily talk up a storm if the need arose. Typically, she was a reserved woman, maintaining a cold, distant demeanor with those around her, hence the reason for Erik’s ‘steely’ Latina joke. She didn’t let her emotions show except for very specific, very rare circumstances. Such as the current moment, where she didn’t bother hiding her genuine disdain for the subject at hand. “I had a feeling,” Captain Gonzales said, “that The Fan would return eventually. Someone like that, they’re not going to just up and disappear. That sort never does.” “What do you want us to do?” Lisa asked, leaning forward. Gary could tell that Lisa respected Captain Gonzales. She held the woman in a lot of regard, and Gary couldn’t exactly blame her for it, either. The Captain had been at the precinct for almost twenty solid years, working her way up from beat cop to detective to the rank she currently held, and she had done it by herself, through hard work and a whole lot of determination, even with the various odds stacked against her. Gary knew from experience the kinds of shit the Captain faced. Racism due to her being a Mexican American, born from illegal immigrants that came to the States looking for a better life. Sexism, due to being a woman trying to be a cop. Gary heard horror stories of the way others treated her, how many had gone out of their way to try and make her quit or to make her see that her place was at a desk, not in the field. But through it all, the Captain kept going, kept persevering, until it finally paid off. She was worthy of admiration. But now wasn’t the time for that line of thinking, Gary knew. He focused instead on watching the Captain’s face, noting the subtle shifts as she Captain closed her eyes and sighed. “I want all four of you to go back to the Grand Flora,” she said. “You two talk to the manager, find out everything you can, including why he decided it was the best course of action to tamper with a crime scene before the police arrived. Arrest him if you have to. Get Benson and Carter to interview the staff, I want to know everything about that room the day of and the day before. Check security, everything.” That was all the Captain was going to say on the matter. Gary could tell by the look in her eyes, as she shifted her gaze back to the files. The Captain was going to dig into The Fan with everything she could, probably going to pull every bit of evidence she could find on them. Gary believed it. So, he nodded and exited the room, Lisa following right behind him. Erik was busy filling in his partner, Davis Carter, on the events that he had missed. Davis was a good man – African American, born in New York, but moved to Los Angeles ten years prior. He was smart, and cool, and calculated, though the biggest flaw that Davis had was the fact he seemed to always be late to the party, no matter what. Davis liked to joke that he wasn’t late, but that he preferred making an entrance at the ‘perfect time.’ Gary had seen him do it, a few times, in fact, though it didn’t stop him from teasing the man about his tardiness. Granted, when you had a wife and three kids to look after, it was to be expected that you would be late at times. Everyone understood his reasons, it just didn’t spare him from the teasing and the banter often aimed his way. “Ah, Davis,” Gary said, coming to stand beside Erik’s desk. “Nice of you to join us today.” Davis waved him off. “Slept through my alarm, what can you do, huh?” “Get a louder alarm,” Lisa said. Davis grinned. “And ruin my beauty sleep?” “Is that what they call it these days?” Gary asked. “Hey, you’re one to talk, my man,” Davis said. “Look like you could use some yourself. Anyone ever tell you you’ve got the face of a bulldog?” Gary rolled his eyes. When it came to appearances, Gary was more or less what you’d expect from someone in his line of duty: he was average. Average height, average build, average everything. His hair was dark and short, often semi-neatly combed – when Gary had the time, of course, otherwise it was a bit of a mess, but nothing too out there. His eyes were green, his skin an average tone with the slightest of tans going on. But yes, as Davis pointed out, he wasn’t skinny. True, he wasn’t quite as big of a man as Erik was, but he wasn’t a twig, either. The past few years had been rough for Detective Frost, and he had let himself go – just a bit, of course. It wasn’t enough to make him unattractive or even unappealing to be near, and it certainly hadn’t affected his physical prowess in any way. But, as Davis was poked fun of for his tardiness, Gary was teased either for this fact, or because of his icy demeanor, hence the Snowman moniker. Everyone had something, even the Captain. Lisa was the only one without something to tease her for, but Gary was certain that would change in due time. “We heading out?” Erik asked, breaking the silence. “Yeah,” Gary said. “Back to the Grand Flora. You two are on the staff and security details, Lisa and I have the honor of dealing with this idiot of a manager.” The other two men stood and gathered their things. All four sauntered toward the elevator together. “The Fan, huh?” Davis said as they entered, Davis pressing the button to go down. “I don’t know who the hell they are, but they are a piece of work, that’s for damn sure.” “Piece of something else, too,” Lisa added, shaking her head in disgust. “What the fuck kind of sicko cuts off a person’s tits? Or hands? Or ears? Seriously, that’s like something out of a Stephen King book, not reality.” “What I don’t get is why they just vanished for a year,” Erik said. “Most of the monsters and psychos we’ve dealt with don’t stop and take a damn vacation.” The elevator doors opened, and the four of them stepped out. “Something’s off about this whole situation. I’m not going to say it isn’t The Fan, but for them to randomly stop and then start up again out of the blue like this?” Gary shrugged. “Not every killer is linear in how they think, Erik. This isn’t a horror movie or a comic book. People are way more complicated than that.” Erik gave a half nod. “I guess so, but it still bugs me.” “We can figure it out later,” Davis said. “Let’s get to the hotel. I’ve always wanted to see the inside of the Grand Flora. Heard great things.” “Eh, it’s not that great,” Lisa said. “Kind of boring, honestly.” “Not enough eye candy, Petrucci?” Davis asked, cocking an eyebrow. Lisa smirked. “Not the right kind for me.” Gary and Lisa climbed into their police cruiser, Erik and Davis into theirs, and the four drove off toward their destination. “So were there ever any big name suspects?” Lisa asked after a moment of silence. She snuck a look at Gary, studying him. “I can’t wrap my head around the idea that someone like this could just go around killing people without someone being a big suspect.” Gary nodded. “Four years ago, we had three major suspects that we investigated. Put a lot of time and energy into delving into everything we could find about them.” “Who were they?” “The first was Abraham Baldwin,” Gary said. He could recall all the details about the man, from face to personality, with near perfect clarity. “Baldwin fit a lot of the bill for what we were looking for at the time. He was young and athletic, had a few previous arrests for stalking and breaking and entering, and we knew he had a history with at least two of the victims. Guy had a shady side to him, and there was just something about him that made me think he might’ve been The Fan.” Lisa waited, listening. Gary sighed. “But, then he got hit by a car. Paralyzed him. He’s been confined to a wheelchair ever since, and this was only midway through The Fan’s spree. So, he was off the list.” “Shit,” Lisa said. “Next was Karen Moore. A bit older, but no less dangerous and no less crazy.” Gary’s lips twitched. “She had a history of mental illness, and an obsessive behavioral pattern when it came to people she deemed worth her time. She would start getting delusions about famous people, believing them to be friends, family, lovers, you name it. Led to a lot of problems with the law, and a lot of problems with the media when they heard about it.” “You thought she could be The Fan?” Lisa asked. “At first, yes,” Gary said. He paused to flick his turn signal on. “But then, she was removed from the pile when it became clear the woman’s mental health was getting worse over time. She wound up getting admitted to a hospital and stayed there till she died from a stroke. This was after The Fan killed their fifth victim, right before the sixth.” Lisa shook her head. “Fuck. And the last suspect?” “Aaron Roderick,” Gary said. His expression darkened. Of the three suspects, Roderick had been the one Gary truly believed to be The Fan. He was always nearby the murder scenes, had interacted with each of the victims at least once that was known in public, and he never had a solid alibi despite his frequent insistence that he was innocent. Not only that, but there was a way about him, the way the man carried himself, walked, talked, and just… looked. Not on the outside, no, but the way he looked at others, with a level of dispassion and disdain, the sort of look someone who could take a life might look. Aaron Roderick gave Gary the air of a man who could break at any moment. He genuinely thought that Roderick was The Fan given his past, a past drenched in a whole lot of stalking and obsession with famous people. That, and an overzealous hatred for the famous – Aaron hated them with a passion, because he wanted what they had. He wanted the wealth, the fame. Gary knew it the moment he and Aaron first spoke. He could tell these things without Aaron openly admitting them. That had been why he was so certain that Roderick was the killer. “What happened?” Lisa asked. “Did he die, too?” “No.” “Get paralyzed somehow?” “No.” Lisa scowled. “So then what? How’d he go from being the number one suspect to, you know, not?” Gary stared at the road as he made another turn, the hotel looming in the distance. He came to a stop, parking the car. He unbuckled and glanced at Lisa. “Because the day when we finally felt we had enough evidence to arrest him on the charges of all the murders, the day that I thought we had found The Fan once and for all, the day when it seemed so certain this monster was caught, everything was shot to hell when we got to Roderick’s place to pick him up.” “Why?” Lisa asked. “What happened?” “He was dead,” Gary said. “The Fan murdered him.”

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#commission #commisions open

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topmixtrends · 7 years

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FOUR EPISODES into the new Star Trek series, Discovery, the crew receives a distress call from Corvan II, a resource-rich planet. A colony of humans is under attack from the Klingons. The victims, dilithium miners, flicker on screen, as miserable as anything we’d read about in Émile Zola’s descriptions of coal mining in Germinal. As dirty and distressed as the faces in a Dorothea Lange photo. Crying babies are so compelling! The Discovery, the closest ship in the fleet, is 90-odd light years away. They’ll never make it in time. But it turns out that the ship is equipped with a brand-new mode of transportation, a spore-based energy system that could, in theory, complete the trip in a few seconds. So, against the advice of his chief scientist, and even though the system may not be ready, the captain gives the order: go! Next, in a stunning display of visual effects, rings surrounding the ship’s saucer begin to rotate as the ship “spore jumps” just in time to drop a few torpedoes on the Klingon Birds-of-Prey. And before we can blink, the Discovery “spore jumps” back to its starting point.

The casual viewer might not make anything particular of this techno-aesthetic scene.

But as everyone knows, Trekkies are anything but casual. On their podcasts, forums, and blogs, they obsessively parse every word, every detail, making cross-references to the other series and movies of the Trek universe. They expect consistency across the whole franchise. Every Trekkie knows that in the original series (which begins 10 years after Discovery) ships are propelled, faster than the speed of light, by “warp drives,” a feat achieved thanks to dilithium crystals that moderate matter-antimatter (fusion) reactions. [1]

Needless to say, the appearance of these spores, as an organic method of propulsion, immediately raised Trekkie eyebrows. As one podcaster explained, “We know, assuming the timeline isn’t screwed up … we know it’s not going to work. We’ve already seen the twenty-fourth century and we know that they don’t have organic warp drives.” (STDP006 podcast: 10/10/2017; Golden Spiral Media.) At this point we don’t know how this apparent contradiction will be resolved. Maybe the spore drives only worked this once and consequently fall into oblivion. In episode five, the “Ripper,” a monster beamed aboard Discovery from a destroyed ship, is released into space. The monster had functioned like a living super computer, communicating spatial coordinates to the spores by some sort of symbiotic means. Michael Burnham, the show’s protagonist, figures out that Ripper is a giant (nuked?) version of an actually existing tiny Earth organism, the tardigrade, which can survive without nourishment for years and exhibits other notable characteristics of resilience. Maybe the best scientific minds will be unable to bio-engineer a new creature capable of withstanding the rigors of spore navigation so the whole enterprise will fall into oblivion. Maybe it will turn out that this tech was developed in an alternative timeline. Maybe the Borg are responsible for upsetting the natural course of things. Maybe it was all a dream. Or, god forbid, perhaps the producers of Discovery don’t care about the kind of consistency demanded by fanboys. Not likely. We’ll just have to wait.

Now I’ve watched my fair share of Star Trek episodes and movies, but I certainly wouldn’t qualify as a Trekkie. I’ve never put on Spock ears or attended a convention and I can’t identify the plots of TOS — the original series — from the titles. I’m someone who is interested in climate change, and recently, in decoupling fuel from energy to help think about forms of radical engagement to achieve rapid decarbonization. I couldn’t resist including an entry for “dilithium” in my book Fuel: A Speculative Dictionary (University of Minnesota Press, 2016), but according to my own criteria, it really shouldn’t be there. “Nuclear,” for instance, is a system of energy, so it doesn’t get its own entry, whereas “uranium” and “plutonium” do. Technically, as I mentioned, warp speed (speed faster than light) is achieved in Federation starships via a matter/antimatter (fusion) reaction. Dilithium crystals serve as a medium to help achieve this, but the actual substance that fuels the reaction is, to be precise, antimatter. I made an exception because the mining of dilithium is such an important and evocative theme throughout various quadrants of the Star Trek universe.

In a way, dilithium is like “hydrogen.” We talk about cars pulling up to filling stations and pumping in hydrogen instead of gasoline, but unlike oil, once removed from the ground and refined, hydrogen doesn’t exist as such, ready to be inserted into a vehicle. It has to be subjected to a process of catalysis before it can create energy to power the engine to turn the wheels. And for now, at least, that process is more likely than not powered by fossil fuels. The same kind of murkiness applies to “electric vehicles.” We can embrace them precisely because we only engage directly with one small element, the compact garage charger. We don’t have to see or think about the vast fossil infrastructure — out of sight, underground, or, “over there,” beyond our immediate perceptual horizon — that still persists at all levels of life while we drive along feeling pleased. The phenomenon of “carbon lock-in” — the idea that our globe is so deeply entangled with oil and coal that no good will gesture on the part of well-meaning individuals will have any significant effect — is hard to swallow. Distinctions between “fuel” and “energy” matter if we’re going to move beyond the kind of green optimistic haze that swirls around “future fuels” in the public sphere. It’s too easy to keep going these days with a vague sense of hope: if we only scale up some new technologies we can keep all the structures and systems we currently enjoy, replacing fossil-based fuels with renewable fuels. Like when you bring up the vast scale of climate change at the dinner table and your relatives say, “But I hear solar and wind prices are coming down and there’s nothing Trump and company can do about that. Coal mining isn’t coming back. So relax and have another glass of wine.”

And by the way, Star Trek apparently takes place in a post–climate change, post–fossil fuel world. “We” must have figured out a way to remove carbon from the atmosphere in order to avoid catastrophe, while also transitioning to “future fuels,” just as we will have overcome poverty, racism, and various other social problems. Note to Star Trek writers: I’m available if you want to hire me to introduce the shift to a post-carbon economy as a future theme about Earth’s past.

In Discovery, mining of dilithium goes on. (Incidentally, given the importance of the besieged outpost, Corvan II, as a source of 40 percent of the Federation’s dilithium supplies, why are there no Federation ships guarding the colony?) And if the whole matter/antimatter warp-drive system will someday be replaced by something greener and more powerful, we are still not there in the future. It’s hard not to hear echoes of our current energy transitions in the plot line.

Trekkies tend to revel in optimism, so they have generally been disturbed by the call by Discovery’s uncharacteristically dark captain, Lorca, to weaponize the spores to help in the war against the Klingons. Poor Lieutenant Stamets, the on-board astro-mycologist (named for an actually existing scholar of fungal remediation). He’s not only lost his colleague/rival on the Glenn, but now he’s reminded, rather bluntly, that his work is the intellectual property of Star Fleet. But aside from the analogy with academia, we might see another one, to the field of nuclear science. Fuels like uranium and plutonium do not harm on their own. “Peaceful atoms,” they could be used for peaceful purposes (energy). But they could also be enriched or inserted into a system that transmutes them for use on warheads. Things could go either way. Spores are, dare I say, rather queer. Stamets and the ship’s doctor are, by the way, the first openly gay couple on Star Trek. They are seen, in episode five, brushing their teeth side-by-side in their quarters, a fairly banal homo-normative scene following Stamets’s reckless and unsanctioned attempt to take over from the tardigrade in the first (and perhaps the last?) intergalactic human-mycelia displacement network.

On a more mundane note, the spores might make us think of the development of biofuels in our current “energy transition,” but without all of the negatives. The Trek spores have no need for other fuels to grow or distill them. They float around in space (the so-called “panspermia” theory) and grow in a magical forest in a gigantic on-board terrarium. There is no need to displace food crops, since food is replicated on board the ship. The spores don’t emit any byproducts, harmful or otherwise. And unlike other forms of fuels, the spores are not used up in combustion. It’s a nice immersive fantasy, not a bad set of images to take us away from all kinds of unbearable realities today.

I wonder: Could the writers of Discovery have read anthropologist Anna Tsing’s The Mushroom at the End of the World: On the Possibility of Life in Capitalist Ruins (Princeton University Press, 2015)? In the face of massive climate upheaval and other disasters, Tsing embraces the potentially redemptive qualities of fungi, as they continually adapt. Fungi are complex life forms that metabolize plants and coexist in different kinds of ecosystems, performing what she calls symbiopoiesis. They are, like the sparking special effects on the ship, beautiful. Like the World Wide Web, fungi offer infinite possibilities of recombination and new relations in the future. Stamets tells his lover he experienced a whole universe of possibilities when he was hooked up to the drive. Spores flying around the atmosphere (maybe even in outer space?) could configure forms of cosmopolitanism, the happy side of invasive species.

By the time you are reading this piece we’ll all probably know more about the spores on Discovery. Fans of the new series love to speculate. They consume and analyze it week by week, as it is doled out, in close to real time, so it seems appropriate to me to do so here. In comparison, TOS, shown on network television in the late ’60s, had self-enclosed and self-resolving episodes. Serialization is crucial, of course, to 19th-century literature. It’s how kids read the imaginary voyages of Jules Verne. Week by week in the newspaper. And Verne is, for me, the most important writer for thinking and dreaming about possible relations to fuels. So let’s see what happens, but meanwhile, back here on early 21st-century Earth, time to mitigate is slipping away, tipping points are fast approaching. Catastrophic events made much more likely by rising sea levels and warming global average temperatures are pulling apart life as we know it. So it is all the more imperative to ask what is meant by “the future” when one talks of change. Is the future something we project for ourselves on screens? Star Trek offers us a mirror of our better selves. In the future humans are still flawed, and so are those other species that we coexist with in complex relations that bear traces of our own past forms of colonialism, benevolence, communitarianism, exploitation. Overall, though, contact with extraterrestrial beings and places has led to the social and cultural evolution of the human race. The future is bright.

Ultimately we should be wary of thinking about those spore drives as part of a narrative of progress, one that could simply allow us to defer now, in the present, any radical shifts in how we produce and consume energy. This narrative presents a tyranny of common sense that defers new fuels to a future that is just around the corner, but not yet. It governs statements like:

Human history is a record of endless human innovation, most of which has improved the human condition. Who knows what energy sources and technologies of the future may trump the energy benefits of fossil fuels?

This comes from the pen of one Kathleen Hartnett White, in a policy brief titled, “Fossil Fuels: The Moral Case” (2014). White, a former regulator in the Texas oil industry, has just been named by Trump to chair the Council on Environmental Quality. She illustrates her case study for the benefits of fossils with images of poor Americans, including what may be Dorothea Lange’s most iconic image, “Migrant Mother.” How does this image of a desperate mother with her children, displaced dustbowlers in California migrant camp in 1936 help White battle what she calls the false hysteria over climate change? [2] Without fossils, White asserts, we would never have developed beyond subsistence farming. Do we want to go back to this? Of course not — we all agree, right? So for now, let’s enjoy the benefits of carbon-based energy and wait for history to take its course.

It’s with this kind of reasoning in mind that I will wait to see what happens with the new spores on Discovery. I’ll forget the present, for an hour, but I will still be up at night with periodic panic attacks about our future on this warming planet. At least I’ll have the Star Trek podcasts keep me company.

Karen Pinkus teaches at Cornell University where is currently a Social Science, Humanities, Arts Fellow in Residence at the Atkinson Center for a Sustainable Future. She is the author of Fuel: A Speculative Dictionary (University of Minnesota Press, 2016).

[1] There are several book-length studies of the science of the Star Trek franchise. Lawrence Krauss, The Physics of Star Trek (New York: Basic Books, revised edition 2007) goes into the function and plausibility of warp drive and dilithium in great detail.

[2] The photograph, in the public domain and so available for use in any context, actually has a complex history. Many years later, the subject, Florence Owens Thompson, asserted that she had never spoken to Lange, who apparently embellished her story of the interaction. I doubt that White has thought through the bigger question of the relation of the Dust Bowl to soil depletion, wheat farming, New York bankers, and so on. She’s only reading Lange’s photo with a single signifier: poverty. And that is, for her, so morally bankrupt that it alone should squelch any discussion of moving beyond fossils, beyond business as usual.

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