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anotherhumaninthisworld · 8 months ago

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How many political parties were there during the revolution?

Because duo to the popularity (I mean by popularity "the most influential" like "Jacobin" and "Girondins" etc. ) I start to forgot that was there more political parties so could you tell us about them and their most notable achievements ?

It is hard to really talk about political parties when it comes to the French Revolution, at least not in the way in which we today think of the term, with worked out ideologies and party programs for each and everyone. Furthermore, some of these ”parties” are not like the others. Jacobin, Cordelier and Feuillant all refer to people belonging to a certain political club, paying money for their membership, whereas girondins, montagnards, thermidorians, enragés, hébertists (and robespirreists that are not mentioned in the chart) all are loose compounds of people that pushed for (or were at least said to push for) the same political changes, and often were personal friends as well. The vagueness of all of this has lead to debates not only regarding what each group really stood for, but even who really belonged to them. My understanding of these groups is honestly not much deeper than what can be read on wikipedia (each group already has its own page) but to shortly summarize:

Jacobins — members of the Jacobin Club (Society of the Friends of the Constitution) which was founded in 1789 and shut down in November of 1794. It’s main quarter was on rue Saint-Honoré in Paris, but unlike the Cordeliers and Feuillants, it also set up sister clubs out in the provinces. This makes the Jacobins the biggest political group throughout the revolution in terms of official members. When it comes to ideology, the club’s first set of official reglutions, passed on February 8 1790, stated that ”the object of the Society of Friends of the Constitution is: 1, to discuss in advance the questions which must be decided in the National Assembly; 2, to work towards the re-establishment and strengthening of the constitution according to the spirit of the preamble above; 3, to correspond with other Societies of the same type which may be formed in the kingdom” as well as that ”loyalty to the constitution, dedication to defending it, respect and submission to the powers it has established, will be the first laws imposed on those who wish to be admitted to these Societies.” However, as the revolution radicalized, so did the Jacobin club.

Cordeliers — members of the Cordelier Club (also known as the Society of the Friends of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen) which existed from 1790 to 1795. Its head quarter was in the Cordeliers Convent (hence the name) in Paris, located on 15 rue de l'École de Médecine. The Cordeliers had lower fees in comparison to the Jacobins, and as a result, counted more working class men and women among its members. Its leaders were however still middle class. The Cordeliers are traditionally described as more radical than the Jacobins.

Feuillant — member of the Feuillants Club (Society of the Friends of the Constitution), founded on July 16 1791. The group held meetings in a former monastery of the Feuillant monks on Rue Saint-Honoré in Paris, hence the name. The club was for upholding the Constitution of 1791, which designated France as a constitutional monarchy.

Girondins (also sometimes known as Brissotins or Rolandins) — political group which existed within the Legislative Assembly and then National Convention, in particular the 29 deputies ordered arrested by said Convention on June 2 1793. Of these, 20 would be guillotined in Paris on October 31 the same year, while many others fled to be executed or commit suicide in order to prevent it across the following months. The name ”girondin” stem from the fact many of the groups alleged members originated from the department of Gironde. In the article The "Girondins" Were Girondins, after All (1988) Frederick A. de Luna concludes that the earliest labeling of girondins as girondins stem from April 1792, after which they grew to be frequently used by their enemies. The girondins themselves did however never use the name, and in the pamphlet J. P. Brissot, député à la Convention nationale, à tous les républicains de France ; sur la société des Jacobins de Paris (October 1792) Brissot even exclaimed ”Will the slanderers now remain silent? Will they stop pretending to believe and wanting to make believe in a faction of Gironde or of Brissot?” The girondins have traditionally been associated with 1, waging a pro-war campaign within the Legislative Assembly and the Jacobin club from December 1791 to April 1792 (as can be seen above, the first recorded labeling of girondins as girondins is from the same month said war was declared), pushing for a more liberal economy as well as seeking more ”moderate/less violent” solutions compared to the Mountain during the time of the Convention. However, there’s no actual safe connections between these goals and all the men tradionally described as girondins for as far as I’m aware. To give the word to Terror: the French Revolution and its Demons (2022) by Michel Biard and Marisa Linton:

Montagnards — member of the Mountain, a group within the Legislative Assembly and then especially the National Convention, so dubbed because its members occupied the highest benches of the hall of the assembly. I honestly don’t really know what defines this ”party” more than being opponents of the girondins. So while the latter are associated with being pro-war, for a more liberal economy and reluctant to ”violent/exceptional measures”, the Montagnards are instead described as anti-war, for a more planned economy and welcoming of more ”violent/exceptional measures.” However, like in the case with the girondins, were we to line up every person tradionally described as a montagnard and check up his stance on each of these three topics, I’m unsure if we would actually get a very unified result.

Unlike in the case of the girondins, indulgents and exagères, we have proof of the montagnards describing themselves as just that. Here is Robespierre, who might as well be called the leader/heart of the ”party,” defining what a montagnard is on June 12 1794. More than anything, it may however rather illustrate how this wasn’t a properly defined group either, as I’m sure the members of every other ”party” discussed here would be willing to describe themselves in the exact same way:

Yes, Montagnards, you will always be the boulevard of public liberty; but you have nothing in common with intriguers and perverts, whoever they may be. If they try to deceive you, if they claim to identify with you, they are no less foreign to your principles. The Mountain is nothing other than the heights of patriotism; a Montagnard is nothing other than a pure, reasonable and sublime patriot.

The fall of Robespierre marks the beginning of the end for the Mountain, many of who’s members would be expulsed, executed and exiled during the thermidorian convention.

Thermidorians — the name has its origin in the journée of 9 thermidor (July 27 1794), the day Robespierre and his allies fell from power, but it is not fully clear if it is active participation in/support of said journée, or holding power during the period that followed it, which is distinguished by its step back, for better or worse, from the more ”revolutionary measures” taken during 1793-1794 that makes someone a thermidorian. In the article ”Robbers, Muddlers, Bastards, and Bankrupts?” A Collective Look at the Thermidorians (2019) Mette Harder writes that this too is a very poorly defined group — ”Beyond their individual names, there is, however, no clear sense of who the Thermidorians were collectively, how cohesive a group they became, and what exactly they hoped to achieve while in power. Their name itself adds to this uncertainty, as it is used interchangeably to describe a specific group of reactionaries and the entire Convention post-thermidor.”

Indulgents (also sometimes known as dantonists) — group associated around Convention deputy Georges-Jacques Danton, and in particular those executed alongside him on April 5 1794. Traditionally described as driving a campaign that was about softening ”the terror” as well as pushing back from dechristianization from late 1793 up until their execution. This idea is however something that has been heavily contested in more recent years, some historians concluding the Indulgents never were a coherent group with a common goal to begin with but that this was rather something contructed by their enemies in time for their trial (see for example chapter 8 — Le chef d’un groupe indulgent ? — of Danton: le mythe et l’histoire (2016) or Camille et Lucile Desmoulins: un rêve de république (2018).

Hébertists (also known as exagères) — group associated around the journalist Jacques René Hébert, and in particular those that were executed alongside him on March 24 1794. Drove a campaign for a hardening of ”the terror” and dechristianization from late 1793 up until the execution. Like with the indulgents, it’s however hard for me to say if the members themselves identified themselves as a group or if this is a post-construction.

Enragés — just read this. I honestly had trouble finding much more.

#bottom line - don’t attach too much meaning to these ”parties ”#frev #french revolution #ask #it would be interesting with a study that actually checks up on how many people actually lined up with their ”party” in thoughts and action

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variousqueerthings · 2 years ago

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no actually what I would like to ask alan alda and/or mike farrell about (or loretta swit or jamie farr, if they’d have any opinions on it, but I haven’t yet delved quite so deeply into how they interact with the show post-making) is the references to transsexuality/transvestitism, as something that was made about 50 years ago writing it as in the public knowledge in some form or other/to one extent or another 70 years ago

(and here is where we take an interlude to mention that glen or glenda was made in 1953, so right around the same time as this show is set)

I’m curious about how commonly occurring it was that they had sidney offer it as an out to klinger in s2 (albeit with consequences, because it would be on his record), I’m curious about radar of all characters from the middle of nowhere understanding its existence, although with the small-town attitude that comes with it, and I’m especially curious about inga offering klinger gender affirming surgery

jokes of course, but none of them age badly when looking at them head-on either (perhaps the part that ages slightly worse is how klinger reacts when assumed trans, but even that makes sense for the time it’s set in, regardless of how one reads klinger’s gender)

and I don’t think necessarily that these musings can be turned into an easily answerable question + the person to really talk to would presumably be walter dishell (whose rundown videos on youtube I still need to watch), but what I’m wondering broadly about is a bit how the characters-as-medical-professionals would have been aware, a bit how the non-medical-characters would have been aware, a bit how the writers and cast would have been aware, and a bit of how the audience would have been aware -- these reference don’t exist in a vacuum after all

one of the things one is constantly facing is this absurd notion that “people” (as a vague whole) have never been aware of transness until the 21st century, or even that transness didn’t exist properly until the 21st century, and while there is plenty to show that this is simply incorrect -- texts, academia, personal anecdotes, oral histories, movies, popular music, art, etcetc. -- especially coming from inside the community, it’s interesting (and heartening) to see it mentioned several times in one of the most popular shows ever made in America, also considering the time period the show is set in

maybe “question” is incorrect. would like to have a conversation about it, whether or not there was any real intentionality in it (and tbh if there wasn’t -- as I suspect there may not have been, beyond the simple fact that it existed -- I don’t consider that a negative, because that’s simply another fascinating inclusion of note that was done simply Because. that is still a rarity in film and tv made by and for cis people, especially film and tv with the reach that MASH had)

I think teasing out these bits and pieces about marginalised people would be an interesting conversation to have with the people who were involved in the making of it (especially alan, as he wrote and directed inga), to gain another little puzzle piece about how trans people have existed throughout time

also, youknow. getting all of the above to say trans rights would be neat

#mash #alan alda #mike farrell #queer mash #ramblerambleramble

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yamayuandadu · 4 years ago

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A hidden world that never was: witch cults, matriarchal prehistory and contemporary conspiracy theories

As regular readers of this blog might already know, a particular woe of my online activity over the course of the past year were constant reminders that discussion of history, mythology and religion online is often dominated by dubious, outdated or outright fraudulent claims. Worst of all, this is generally not the result of misguided theories which seemed sound when they were first formulated – there were plenty of these in the history of modern historiography after all, as eventually many research methods are replaced by even better ones (even these of 19th archaeologists whose ideals are not completely baffling to us often relied on excavation methods which would rightfully shock everyone if employed today), and more and more blanks in our understanding of the past are filled. For example, it used to be unclear to researchers if classical Maya predate the Olmec due to insufficient material, while the importance of the Hittite civilization in the ancient Middle East was severely underestimated due to scarcity of discoveries prior to the last 100 years or so. Even properly identifying all the trading partners of well known ancient civilizations with a large corpus of primary sources, such as Sumer or Egypt, can be described as a long, arduous and arguably still ongoing process, with many mistaken assumptions made in the past. The claims which I will attempt to describe here - the so-called witch cult hypothesis, as well as its close relatives, the claims about universal matriarchal religion (the “myth of matriarchal prehistory,” as Cynthia Eller called it) and the foundations of certain new religious movements – cannot be simply described as examples of these, though. As I will demonstrate, they're simply pseudohistory, firmly entrenched in a modern phenomenon which can be referred to as “conspirituality.”

Our journey through the world of historical misinformation begins in the 18th century. The age of enlightenment largely put an end to a fixture of earlier european history, the witch hunts, and historians started to present them as an abuse of power by the church and senseless, baseless violence, while the people who perished in them started to be rightfully seen as innocent victims claimed by what was essentially a historical equivalent of phenomena such as satanic panic, NWO/reptilian conspiracy theories or the sadly very politically relevant at the moment Qanon movement. Modern researchers, especially Norman Cohn, pointed out that there was also a strong antisemitic component to many witch trials, and even the terms used appear to often intentionally demonize or mock Judaism, and reports of the purported witches' activities often mirror the medieval blood libel, rather than any known descriptions of religions of antiquity. Cohn also notes that adapting the idea that witch hunts were linked to blood libel and similar accusations does make for a coherent chronology, while the various “witch cult” and “pagan survival” theories have a glaring issue – they seldom answer any questions about events taking place during the entire time period between the adoption of christianity and times in which witch hunts occurred, different for individual countries. 19th century sadly changed the approach to the history of witch hunts – as the new philosophical movements born in that era aimed to often undermine or subvert the age of reason and its accomplishments (flawed as they were, obviously), the consensus on the past witch hunts likewise started to be challenged. A number of figures regarded as very conservative back then, let alone by modern standards, like Karl Ernst Jarcke, a fanatical monarchist, started advancing the idea that witch hunts were a war waged by the church and its righteous supporters on a nefarious cult, similar to the secret societies common in conspiracy theories advanced by his peers. As the 19th century was also the time when nationalism in the modern sense was born, the theories of Jarcke and his followers had a notably xenophobic flair to them – the “witch cult” was introduced to Germany by slaves and other undesirables, who based it on the religion of ancient Greece, and especially Hecate worship (read: on medieval christian criticisms of it – I debunked some claims present here as well in my Hecate article from last year; also note the idea of Hecate being the goddess of a “pan-european witchcraft cult” remains popular with modern neopagans and wiccans, despite its nefarious origin and inaccuracy) and aimed to overthrow rightful authority of the monarchs and the Catholic church (this was also meant to serve as a rather blunt attack on their liberal contemporaries, presented as godless and anarchic). Similar claims were also advanced in England by Karl Pearson, a mathematician and eugenicist who for some reason decided to dabble in pseudohistory. His notable claim was that Joan of Arc was a priestess of a hidden, malevolent “matriarchal religion” - an accusation so outlandish it would likely even shock her earlier accusers, and one of the few pieces of pseudohistory discussed here I haven't seen adapted by any modern purveyors of it.

While Jarcke is the earliest figure I opted to bring up here, the one whom I'd actually consider worthy of being referred to a the father of the discussed network of puzzling hoaxes and misconceptions was Charles Godfrey Leland, a late 19th century American author. While seemingly a relatively progressive person for his time in some regards (he was an abolitionist – not a high bar, though), he had no real issue with altering, falsifying and entirely fabricating claims (or even artifacts) and publishing them as result of genuine fieldwork. His “impressive” accomplishments include altering a number of Algonquian tales he published as genuine oral tradition merely compiled and translated by him. His aim was seemingly to provide evidence for an outlandish theory that the beliefs and religious practices of the people forming the historical Wabanaki Confederation were derived from Vikings, an example of the ignoble tradition present in early American scholarship aiming to strip indigenous peoples of their history and accomplishments (its main legacy is the so-called “mound builder myth”). His another particularly harmful contribution was the fabrication known as “Aradia, or the Gospel of the Witches,” which he presented as a genuine religious text shared with him by a purported informant in Italy, who was herself a witch. Needless to say neither the work itself nor even the informant appear to be real, and “Aradia” is quite clearly an attempt to sell similar lies as these formed by Jarcke and his ilk to a new audience. Leland wasn't the first to attempt that – famous French historian Jules Michelet tried to put a progressive spin on witch cult conspiracy theories over 30 years earlier (rather puzzling decision, considering he was the exact kind of person Jarcke reviled and equated with his made up satanic conspiracy – a lifelong secular and republican activist) – but he was the first to present his work as anything other than speculation, and the first whose work gained widespread attention (Michelet's witch-related ventures were treated as an oddity disconnected from the rest of his career). “Aradia” presents a fanciful account of a hidden society of witches venerating the eponymous “Aradia,” a daughter of Diana and Lucifer (sic). Leland claimed that the rituals described in the book probably are a remnant of Etruscan religion, at the time barely researched and still somewhat mysterious today; however the book also claims that Aradia was a medieval figure involved in the struggle between feudal peasants and local landowners – consistency is not its strongest suit. The author also chaotically speculated about his own claims, providing us with such smash hits as equating the biblical Herodias with largely extrabiblical Lilith. There are many well documented instances of religious syncretism in antiquity, some of them even involving historical or semi-historical figures, but none line particularly well with these made by Leland. Rather importantly, none of his claims line up particularly well with the medieval accounts related to purported witchcraft, or any confessions obtained during witch trials. None of them fit with archaeological records, either. They do line rather well with what one could expect from a 19th century hoax prepared by someone with only a vague sense of dedication to uncovering historical truth, though. To a a modern reader claims such as the existence of entire networks of “heathen villages” in Italy are easy to recognize as belonging to the 19th century tradition of “noble savage” literature. Similar ideas were further developed by Margaret Murray from the 1910s onward. Murray made history as the first woman to teach Egyptology professionally in Britain, and was an accomplished archaeologist, but her expertise in one field doesn't exactly balance the fact that ultimately most of her academic work was centered on pursuing increasingly puzzling lies and promoting them to the general public from a position of scholarly authority. Like some of the figures discussed in earlier sections of this article, she claimed that well known accounts of witch hunts were in fact the persecution of a “pan-european religion,” a claim which raises many red flags for anyone even vaguely familiar with history of ancient religions. A particularly heinous aspect of Murray's work was dismissing the fact that many aspects of witch-related texts, including the fact their gatherings were referred to as “sabbaths,” were simply rooted in antisemitism – it's virtually impossible to deny it, considering sometimes even the term “synagogue” was used as well. In her writing there was room for a large scale organized religion unknown to historians, but there was no room for even just attempting to address a very real legacy of religious intolerance. Instead, she created fanciful etymologies for terms blatantly intended to demonize Judaism to disconnect them from their very real legacy of still socially relevant hate. Note this is not something that was only noted in very recent times – Norman Cohn, who was the first author to write extensively about the similarities between religious persecution in ancient Rome, medieval witch hunts, blood libel and totalitarian purges was almost Murray's contemporary! A concept invented by Murray which gained particularly wide recognition among all sorts of fans of dubious claims was the idea of “horned god.” Using disconnected, inconclusive evidence, she claimed that every single horned male figure from every single system of beliefs – Pan, Amon, the Minotaur and other Minoan depictions of bulls, the “master of animals” seals recovered from various Indus Valley Civilization sites, Cerunnos and more – represent a single figure, which was also the central god of her made up witch religion. Naturally, the deities in mention aren't really connected with each other, and fulfilled very different roles in very different societies and time periods. It is possible to make some generalizations about different gods and point out certain archetypes do repeat quite often across mythologies – for example many middle eastern mythologies featured a warlike goddess often with femme fatale characteristics, there are examples of unruly storm gods fighting dragons in a wide variety of cultures, plague-repelling gods serving as afterlife officials are widespread in east Asia, and so on. However, any claims about universal deities worshiped all over the world from the neolithic to present times are nothing but hyperdiffusionism, a long discredited pseudohistorical theory seeking to find a common origin for a given aspect of many cultures. Murray's later followers for some reason ignore some notable aspects of her creed – the firm belief a race of fairies inhabited Britain and shared the faith of the witches, but eventually went extinct, the notion that some English kings died as ritual sacrifices, and the claim Joan of Arc was a witch and adherent of the religion she claimed to “research”. I feel like it's very important to underline that to Murray the existence of fairies and gnomes was more plausible than the existence of religious prejudice still widespread among her contemporaries, which tells you a lot about what sort of person she was. Due to limited interest in relevant topics among more credible historians, Murray's views went unchallenged, and she even managed to secure a spot for them on the pages of Encyclopedia Britannica – her confabulations were only removed in the 1960s, after the damage was done. Murray's baffling works inspired many further writers. Among them, a particularly notable example was Robert Graves – while his main interests and theories differed from Murray's, he was undeniably inspired by her idea of “forbidden” religious remnants and universal deities going back to the stone age. He also embraced the idea of a hidden witch cult existing in England in historical times, though unlike Murray he saw it as matriarchal. Graves was a poet and writer by trade, and for all intents and purposes pretty successful one at that – it's probably his writing style to which the lasting popularity of his works can be attributed. Sadly, their worth as texts about history of religion is dubious at best. The core idea behind Graves' writing was the existence of an universal goddess figure possessing three aspects, which he usually referred to as virgin, mother and crone, though he was not very consistent about it. This figure, in his mind, united the legacy of ancient Greece and Celts and their art (he did not address the much more significant similarities between the culture of ancient Greeks and their eastern neighbors, though – sorry, Carians, Phrygians, Phoenicians etc., you're not cool enough for mr. Graves). He further spread these ideas with his retellings of Greek myth published in the 1950s. A particularly prominent victim of Graves' theories was Hecate, whose modern popular perception was shaped largely by him and later writers who embraced him, and not by historical sources. It's worth noting that Graves' goddess theory was likely in part a way to essentially “mythologize” his encounters with his many lovers, and thus provide a religious justification for having multiple “muses” (some of them teenage) – at least one of them was appalled by this. He notably claimed that contacts with the “triple goddess” were the only source of “true” poetry, and thus she and her many guises were the ultimate muse. It's rather notable that there was pretty clearly no room for female artists in his vision, even though he claimed it to be a celebration of femininity – women were presumably meant to be inspiration, but not authors themselves. Graves' vision of the ideal world was so matriarchal it looped back into being grotesquely misogynistic. While I can think of a few positive things to say about Leland (committed union supporter and abolitionist), Murray (genuinely accomplished archaeologist before she sacrificed her career on the altar of pseudohistory) and even Graves (seemingly entertaining writer – if only he admitted basically all his works are fantasy perhaps he could be remembered as a Tolkien-like figure!), I fail to see a single positive thing about the next person whose legacy I will discuss, Gerald Gardener. His moral conduit was questionable at best, he claimed to possess degrees from universities which did not exist, and his work was nothing but layer upon layer of fiction. Gardener was even more of a disciple of Murray than Graves – indeed, he even knew her personally. He took her theories to the logical extreme, by basically making them into religious dogma – the new religious movement of wicca. While he claimed to merely present what he learned from a “surviving coven” of genuine witches, the inconsistent nature of his writing, his participation in fringe esoteric movements long before his “discovery” and the fact he relied mostly on sources like Murray's books, Leland's “Aradia” and the works of Aleister Crowley are evident, and make it easy to disregard all of his statements as pure fiction. It doesn't exactly help his case that he kept revealing new fragments of purportedly ancient doctrine as he saw fit merely to gain the upper hand in arguments between him and his fellow practitioners of invented religion, claiming them to be law. He adopted Murray's horned god, but elevated his consort to the rank of a full blown divinity, something not found in Murray's writing. His arguably most notable successor was Doreen Valiente. Her main contribution to wicca was forming a new version of the Charge of the Goddess, a prayer or hymn to the “great mother” - a composite wiccan entity similar to Graves' triple goddess (and outright conflated with the latter by some wiccans and other neopagans – as far as I can tell the first to do so was a contemporary of Gardener, Robert Cochrance, who claimed the term is “genuine” rather than an invention of a 20th century writer...). Both Gardener's and Valiente's versions of it and other, newer ones are responsible for spreading false information forcing various disconnected goddesses into the “great mother” or “mother earth” mold. Particularly grating examples include Hecate, who was described by Greeks as a virgin goddess and Inanna, Ishtar and Astarte who were at times associated with sensual love or even fertility (the extent of that has been sometimes overestimated in the past, though – a specific myth depicting a figure as seductive is not quite the same as an association with fertility in religious worship) but were not mother goddesses in any meaning of this term.

A notable episode from Valiente's life was her participation in a neonazi movement, specifically in the organizations National Front and Northern League. The association between nazism and conspirituality of the sort discussed here wasn't new – indeed, at least some nazi officials showed interest in investigating it in hopes of constructing a “truly aryan” religion, so it should come as no surprise that early wiccans likewise often had far right sympathies. Ultimately an argument can be made that the entire field is basically a hyper-conservative fantasy, which I will discuss more later. Sadly, despite her far right sympathies, Valiente remained a celebrated figure in certain circles focused on intentionally obscuring history for the rest of her life, and she can be arguably credited with making wicca into the global phenomenon it is now. It's also worth noting that while some contemporary neopagans sneer at followers of, say, ufo-oriented new age groups, Valiente and her peers embraced that as well, and Atlantis and ley lines feature prominently in her writing. Valiente was also well aware that much of Gardener's writing was completely made up (or plagiarized – for example from a Rudyard Kipling poem of all things), even his grimoire, “Book of Shadows” - instead of exposing it she aimed to “improve” his works and continue the hoax. As a side note, it should be said that some other pioneers of wicca were likewise people of dubious moral character – while not a neonazi, Alex Sanders stole from and defecated in a library, for example. However, the history of this specific brand of pseudohistory doesn't end here! While in the 1960s and 1970s the theories of Graves and Murray were debunked over and over again by credible, experienced scholars, a brand new type of pseudohistorical ideas arose, influenced in part by works like Graves' “White Goddess” - the so-called “goddess movement.” However, while it definitely has Graves' fingerprints all over it, it would be doing my readers a disservice not to introduce its other component – the philosophy devised by TERFs. Of course, everyone on this site is vaguely familiar with this movement – back when we were teenagers, all of us probably had the protective BYF scripture listing this acronym among groups meant to stay away somewhere on our blogs. However, few people fully comprehend how utterly incomprehensible to a normal person TERF beliefs are. Mary Daly, the original “TERF theologian” of sorts (a catholic theologian btw – in case if you're curious how come that you reasonably often hear about TERFs allying with religious fundies...), had a basically cult-like view of reality and society, akin to some sort of feminist extreme gnosticism – a false world existed, and a real world within had to be revealed. The “false” world, material reality, was referred to her as “necrophiliac” and the way to reveal the true world within required de facto genocide, or at the very least purchasing her book containing made up “rituals” meant to unlock secret potential within. Supposedly, this would restore some nonexistent primordial matriarchy, and give women back the ability to procreate through parthenogenesis (no, really). This is obviously similar to the doctrine of a millenarian cult, which I feel needs to be discussed more, though this is not the time and place for it. Being a TERF (arguably the original one), Daly naturally also had many charming things to say about trans people, for example comparing transition to the deeds of doctor Frankenstein and in a weird act of projection presenting transition as a cultic behavior. As a small digression I feel like it's worth noting that in sharp contrast with Daly, the inventor of sex reassignment surgery and arguably father of modern LGBT activism as a whole, Magnus Hirschfeld, was a kind, rational man, whose meticulously researched writing was centered on bringing up historical examples of LGBT people, as well as positive experiences of his patients achieved thanks to his revolutionary work, to argue for tolerance and equal treatment in society. Sadly he's just a forgotten piece of historical trivia, while the ravings of Daly and her followers and derivatives keep influencing generation upon generation of teenagers.. Anyway, back to the goddess movement – from incomprehensible spiritual ideals like these of Daly, mixed with the writing of Graves and with some wiccan influence, the idea of “primordial matriarchal religion” arose. As history likes to repeat itself, once again a formerly credible and accomplished archaeologist opted to sacrifice prominent position in a genuine field for study to instead pursue mirages – enter 1950s bronze age research superstar Marija Gimbutas. Gimbutas was undisputably a very talented archaeologist, and her findings greatly enhanced our knowledge about neolithic and bronze age Europe. However, her interpretation of own finds leaves much to be desired, and today is often honored more by neopagans and charlatans than by historians and archaeologists. She argued that Europe was once a realm of peaceful, matrilineal and economically just societies worshiping an universal mother goddess, whom she eventually started to describe in terms borrowed from Graves' books, adapting even his idea of three forms. She claimed this idyllic reality ended with the “Kurgan invasion” from the eurasian steppe, which “tainted” Europe with warfare, patriarchy and indo-european languages (based on archaeological finds it is hard to say if people speaking indo-european languages started appearing in Europe and the Middle East gradually or not and there's evidence of warfare long before the bronze age and the arrival of steppe-based nomads in Europe, and burials do not support the notion of an universal matriarchal – or as Gimbutas argued, “egalitarian” - society; it's also called into question if every archaic female statuette is a cult object). Today it is evident that at least some of her work was a severe case of seeing what she wanted to see in the past, rather than what actually was there. Personally I do not see Gimbutas as a malicious figure, unlike most of the other people I brought up in this article, though it is evident she responded to criticism and newer evidence not by revising her theories, but by turning them into what essentially constituted self-parody (despite claiming she merely believed the neolithic cultures of Europe were lacking hierarchy and thus perfectly equal, she basically embraced Graves' rhetoric, as I noted before), and as such much of her work aged poorly and is mostly lauded by people with questionable ideas today, as I already pointed out. Some of them allege that any criticism leveled at her amounts to a nefarious conspiracy. It's important to mention that while Gimbutas was for the most part simply a misguided scholar who took criticism poorly in her final years (not an uncommon sight), some offshots of the goddess movement have nothing to do with genuine study of the past, but stay more than true to their TERF legacy, especially the so-called “dianic wicca” of Zsuzsanna Budapest, characterised as such even by other wiccans, who usually defend even the most questionable aspects of their movement (such as, well, falsifying history). This is a feature, not a bug. The idea of the “myth of matriarchal prehistory” espoused by the goddess movement was thoroughly debunked in the early 2000s by Cynthia Eller in her book of the same title. She correctly presents the goddess movement as the product of dubious scholarship seeking to produce an all-encompassing philosophy, and notes that the goddess myth is at best an “ennobling lie” - a concept formed by the philosopher Kwame A. Appiah (probably my favorite contemporary writer) – essentially, a founding myth meant to provide some group with dignity or enforcing positive values. Appiah argues in favor of maintaing some ennobling lies on a case by case basis. Eller argues in favor of rejection of this specific ennobling lie, considering pseudohistory a burden to feminism, rendering its ideals easy to dismiss. She also notes many foundations of the goddess movement simply consistute poor research practises – veneration of female figures didn't necessarily translate to equal treatment of living women, while interpreting every ancient work of art as a cult object is an antiquated idea.

Sadly, Eller's publication is obscure (I only stumbled upon it myself because I saw it mentioned in relation to Appiah's ennobling lie concept), while another work influenced by the goddess movement appears to be held in high esteem by users of goodreads, amazon, and many other sites connected in some capacity to literature, and as a result influences online perception of history of religion to a considerable degree – Barbara G. Walker's “The Woman's Encyclopedia of Myths and Secrets.” Walker wrote about knitting before deciding the world needs her bizarre conspiratorial rehashing of basically all the bizarre ideas described in the previous sections of the article – she also added a plenty of weird ideas of her own. A particularly funny example of a misconception popular in the discussed circles and spread further by Walker are attempts to present the myth of Marduk and Tiamat as triumph of patriarchal forces over an earlier mother goddess – Enuma Elish was hardly an old myth by the standards of ancient Mesopotamia, and it was based on earlier tales, in which the equivalents of Tiamat – Yam, Illuyanka etc. - are male, and often act disrespectful towards both male and female authorities. It does tell us a lot about Babylon, of coure– as it morphed from city-state to an empire, Marduk absorbed traits of many gods, including the dragon-slaying ones; but there's no hidden matriarchy to uncover there, and Tiamat is absent from earlier texts and from any which are not derived from the Enuma Elish itself. Funnily enough this bizarre approach to Tiamat was also lauded by a person from a completely different ideological movement, online demagogue and self help guru Jordan Peterson. I actually tried to make it through Walker's book, and while it wasn't the most soul-crushing experience I can think of (out of the authors I mentioned here, Daly easily wins in that category), the bizarre stupidity of some entries almost made me wonder if it's a joke of some sort. Some choice tidbits to my knowledge unique to Walker's writing include describing sufism as “tantric goddess worship,” arguing Amaterasu's name contains a made up universal term for motherhood, claiming Japanese imperial house only became patrilineal in the Kamakura period, and asserting Ahriman was an actively worshiped deity from which the “power” of zoroastrian magi was derived. Walter also appears to have a peculiar obsession with describing mixing menstrual blood with wine and other beverages and consumption of such mixtures (that's her explanation for every mythical drink or potion...) – the frequency with which this motif shows up in her confabulations almost made me think of these deviantart galleries filled with poorly edited screencaps of cartoon characters engaging in some bizarrely specific uncanny activity. There's plenty of footnotes in “Woman's encyclopedia,” which might give it an air of authority, but it's easy to see many of the sources are themselves dubious (Graves, Murray and friends), or don't actually confirm what Walter claims they do. Where does this book's popularity come from, considering the fact it's blatantly wrong and it's not hard to notice if you have even just a passing interest in history of religion? Probably from the way it's advertised – this is sadly a problem with much pseudohistorical data: it's cynically sold to people as “exciting,” “forbidden knowledge,” “declassified secrets” and so on. This is partially why they became such a huge part of the modern world – lies often have great PR. How does all of this tie to the currently politically relevant extremist movements? This might not seem obvious at first, but the link is direct. Pseudohistory by design makes one more susceptible to other similarly shaky ideas, and the movements whose history I described here on top of that often appeal to, or even intentionally reach out to, demographics generally not fond of “conventional” conspiracy theories, associated with militias, nazis or christian fundamentalists – to lgbt teenagers, suburban essential oils enthusiast moms, instagram yoga instructors, tech startup hipsters et cetera. As the news demonstrated for the past few months, these demographics too are susceptible to certain aspects of present day doomsday conspiracy cults, eg. Qanon: the Wayfair conspiracy was spread largely by teenagers on tiktok; many Qanon marches, often with overt anti-vaccine messaging, attracted politically moderate stay at home suburban moms; extremism researcher Marc-André Argentino coined the term “pastel Qanon” to refer to this phenomenon. Generally speaking, many people who embrace Qanon were already believers in conspiracy theories before – nephilim, NESARA/GESARA, blood libel, Rothschild conspiracies, new chronology, ancient aliens and more; the demographics which only started to show up in spaces related to the aforementioned doomsday cults seemingly lack connections to such theories most of the time, barring maybe ancient aliens, but I propose that what makes it easy for Q ideas to reach them is widespread acceptance of various “hidden religion” pseudohistorical ideas in even rather progressive circles – this too is “conspirituality” which ultimately feeds the conspiracy monster. Note that the anti vax movement didn't spread just among extremist evangelicals, but also among adherents of various alternative spiritual paths – simply put, among wiccan hippies and similar demographics; and currently, based on research of conspiracy experts, anti-vaxers are almost synonymous with Q adherents. Many articles were also written about the spread of such conspiracies in various “wellness” or yoga communities, which often also feature elements drawn from authors I discussed in the earlier parts of this article. As a matter of fact, at least two people involved in violent incidents come from “wellness” or “alternative spirituality” circles: the “Q shaman” you most likely saw in photos from the recent assault on the American Capitol, and a less known extremist: Attila Hildmann, a German celebrity vegan chef, wellness guru... and also, as of late, neonazi, anti-vax activist and Qanon influencer. A few months ago, Hildmann, whose first name was arguably prophetic, called for destruction of a variety of artifacts held in Berlin's museums as connected to nefarious forces present in Q mythos – some 70 pieces, ranging from ancient Egyptian art to contemporary paintings were defaced, though thankfully no lasting damage was seemingly done. Worth noting that Hildmann appears to also be a believer in a certain prominent strain of pseudohistory centered on the Canaanite storm god Baal Hadad – I will discuss it in detail in my next longer post, stay tuned. What binds together all sorts of pseudohistory – both the genre of it I debunk here and the more “classic” sort – is the belief in a hidden, usually primordial, world to which the initiated few have access, which grants them superior understanding to that possessed by normies. The truths offered by this world are unchanging and an ancient relic, revealed long ago and preserved, rather than developed – therefore progress and modernity are an enemy, and so is the scientific method. This is naturally an atithesis of how cultures actually function – as demonstrated by Kwame Anthony Appiah, cultures consist out of change - therefore “conspirituality” is an anti-culture of sorts, actively pushing its adherents towards more and more false beliefs, and ultimately sometimes towards actual doomsday cults. A good example of this, outide of the aforementioned Qanon phenomena, is the fact that many adherents of ideas dicussed in this article gleefully embrace lies sourced from XIXth century extremist protestants, like the notion that Easter is derived from Ishtar, an etymologically incoherent argument advanced by fanatically anti-catholic pamphlet “The two Babylons.” I sadly see no easy solution to this problem. The rise of currently prominent version of conspirituality was in no small part spearheaded by social media algorithms and sensationalist tv shows like Ancient Aliens, and it's hard to offer an alternative to them to people who are simply interested in history and religion, as false ideas are often providing copious amounts of material for free, while genuine research is hidden behind paywalls difficult to afford even for some institutions, let alone individual private citizens. I am merely a hobbyist sharing what I find interesting myself to show that real history is always more fascinating than nefarious conspiracies aiming to replace it, but without coordinated large scale effort it seems impossible to emerge victorious in the battle against them. Naturally, that doesn't mean trying is pointless, and I plan to continue for the foreseeable future. Further reading:

Europe's Inner Demons: An Enquiry Inspired by the Great Witch-Hunt by Norman Cohn

The Myth of Matriarchal Prehistory: Why An Invented Past Will Not Give Women a Future by Cynthia Eller

Jason Colavito's blog

Conspiracy theories debunkers and extremist ideologies researchers on twitter: Mike Rothschild, Marc-André Argentino, Amarnath Amarasingam, Travis View, Mark Pitcavage

Coverage of the Berlin museum attacks: BBC, The Guardian, DW, Artnet News

#pseudohistory

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blackswaneuroparedux · 4 years ago

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Anonymous asked: I really enjoy your erudite and literary posts about James Bond in your blog very much. Your most recent post about Connery as best cinematic Bond and Dalton as the best literary Bond was brilliant. Although the PC brigade have been inching towards making Bond a woman or even non-white, Ian Fleming’s legacy of a suave but cold hearted English gentleman spy hasn’t been completely trashed. As someone familiar with Fleming literary lore can you also tell me where was James Bond educated? Was it Oxford or Cambridge? I was having a discussion over Zoom with friends and the Oxonians like myself thought it was Oxford because in Casino Royale with Daniel Craig it’s made very plain it was Oxford. Your thoughts?

I appreciate your kind words about my posts on James Bond and his creator Ian Fleming. It’s very hard to ignore the cinematic James Bond because he is very much an icon of our modern culture that needs no translation to transcend across cultures. Alongside Sherlock Holmes, another British literary and cinematic export, the name alone speak for itself.

James Bond appeals to both genders very well.

For the men, Bond dresses well and lives in a care free way. He is both ferociously intelligent and resourceful to get out of any tight corner. He drives incredible cars (from the incredibly stylish Aston Martin DB5 to the incredibly awful AMC Hornet) and uses awesome technology (he is the archetypal boy with toys). He's not afraid to get down in the dirt to fight or engage in lethal gun-play and spectacular car chases. He sleeps with beautiful women, regardless how strong and independent they are (or even lesbian if we’re being honest about Pussy Galore).

For us ladies, while he's not averse to action, he's also a cultured gentleman with suave and sophisticated manners. He's also a generally pretty good looking guy. In many ways, he's a conventional male ideal. So while his conventional good looks and manners aren't for everyone, they hit right the sweet spot of what women like. For everyone, he's a spy! Not at a grey real world nondescript spy, but a cool spy fighting larger than life bad guys whose bland sartorial choices scream mad super villain. It's a very black and white world that James Bond lives in. These bad guys truly are villainous in the desire to re-order humanity, and we need a debonair British MI6 agent to save us from these mad men who want to harm us by laying waste to a bonkers Armageddon.

When all is said and done I think that what makes James Bond so iconic across gender and generations is what Raymond Chandler wrote back in 1959, “every man wants to be James Bond and every woman wants to be with him”.

That sounds about right. Men want to be him, women want to be with him.

I know my first introduction to James Bond was through my grandfather on my Anglo-Scots father’s side who was a dashing gentleman in his day with a long rumoured hush hush work for Her Majesty’s government firmly shoved under the carpet to avoid further discussion that he - being self-effacing and humble - would find embarrassing that would paint him in any heroic light. Years later he had bought his Bahamas beach pile in Harbour Island out in the Caribbean for the family to rest up from cold winters in Britain. Amongst his immense stack of books dotted around the place were (and still are) first editions of Flemings novels which a few were signed by the author as he on occasion met Ian Fleming when he would sail over to Jamaica (they were also OEs which helped). We were not allowed to touch these but instead picked up the dog earred paperbacks that still retained their 60s musty smell.

On my teen sojourns there I would spend time along with my siblings just reading anything we could find to take to the beach or lounge around in a hammock or a chaise longue. That’s how I came to read the Fleming books - really out of necessity to avoid boredom on a beach (which isn’t really my thing as I prefer the rugged outdoors). But I was pleasantly surprised how well written the books were and I actually enjoyed the stories; it was a refreshing change from the more heavy literary tomes I was trying hard to wade through. As for the Bond films, I watched them on film nights at boarding school; I remember having a school girl crush on Connery, Dalton, and Brosnan.

There are many reasons for the successful longevity of James Bond in popular culture and literature but perhaps one of the most pertinent to our discussion is that James Bond is actually a blank slate and therefore malleable as a character and so he can capture the current zeitgeist in time.

This ability of the film to adapt to different generations while remaining relevant is an important factor for its longevity. For example, the early James Bond films were unashamedly sexist with characters using women as objects and discarding them. In the most recent James Bond films, certainly starting with Timothy Dalton, there is a subtle change in attitude with a few chauvinist attitudes.

James Bond today is more serious, seduces fewer women, and is more respectful towards women in his life, including his boss. This shows how the film changes concerning the rise of feminism in the West. For example, Miss Moneypenny used to be a minor character in the very first James Bond films. Today, she is more formidable and doesn’t tolerate sexist remarks.

Perhaps it is precisely because of this blank slate malleability that has allowed different actors that have been cast to play James Bond their own way - rather than get a straight like for like Scottish sounding actor to replacing Connery for example the film producers went across to Moore via Lazenby for example - and letting each actor imbue the super spy with different moods. They each added their own colour from the same broad palate to create different tones. However, each of these characters maintained the essential character that defines James Bond. The actors have broadly stayed true to the inherent mix of character and class associated with James Bond.

For this reason I have some empathy towards your concern that Bond would be held hostage to the current zeitgeist of white washing or genderising everything so as to avoid being a victim of cancel culture. But it’s only empathy because I feel there is a danger of misunderstanding just who James Bond is and what he represents.

What do I mean by this?

I mentioned James Bond is a malleable character to the point he’s presented as a blank slate. This is ‘literally’ true - certainly as far as the books go. Ian Fleming doesn’t tell us much about Bond other than his appearance in his books. Indeed - as I mentioned in my past blog post on Connery as the best Bond - Fleming wasn’t convinced by Connery as Bond. He was reported to have said, ‘I’m looking for Commander Bond and not an overgrown stuntman’ and even dismissed Connery as “that fucking truck driver”. Fleming has good reason to rage. His Bond as written in the books was someone like him.

Like Fleming, Bond was an Eton educated Englishman; an officer and a (rogue) gentleman who was a lieutenant-commander in Naval Intelligence. As Connery began to wow and win over Fleming as Bond, Fleming had a change of heart. Fleming in his later Bond books re-wrote a half-Scottish ancestry for Bond as a tribute to Connery’s portrayal. Bond’s Scottish father was a Royal Navy captain and later an arms dealer, Andrew Bond from Glencoe; and his mother, Monique Delacroix, was Swiss from an industrial family. Bond himself was born in Zurich. Bond isn’t English at all but half-Scots and half-Swiss according to literary canon.

So I mention this because the question who can play James Bond is not as straight forward as it might seem.

But clearly we now have a canon of work, both cinematically and in the literature, where we have base line of who Bond is - or what audiences could possibly suspend their disbelief and go with what is presented to them as James Bond.

I do vaguely remember the hullabaloo and hand wringing around Daniel Craig playing Bond because he didn’t conform to the traditional tall, dark, and handsome trope of James Bond super suave spy. People couldn’t get past his blond hair. Some still can’t. But in my humble opinion he has been an outstanding James Bond and has reimagined Bond in a fresh and exciting way. Craig is in fact mining the Fleming books for his characterisation of Bond as a suave, gritty, humourless killer of the books. Dalton got there before him but that’s a moot point. To our current generation Craig has modernised Bond and dusted 007 down from being a relic of the Cold War to being a relevant 21st Century super spy.

Can anyone play James Bond OO7? Yes and no. It’s arguing that two different things are one and the same. They are not. James Bond is separate from OO7.

Can a woman play Jane Bond or a black woman or non-white man play Black Bond? Respectfully, no. That’s not who James Bond is.

James Bond is a flesh and blood character with a specific genealogical history - whether in the books or on the screen. This Bond has literary back story that is canon and makes him who he is. Bond does transcend time - he can’t be 38 years old for over 75 years in the real world - but at the same time his character only makes sense when rooted in a specific historic context we know existed (and still exists) and not some wishy washy make believe fantasy of British society. He’s an Old Etonian and therefore an upper middle class male product of the British establishment that is identifiable in a very British cultural context.

Jane Bond would have to have gone to Cheltenham Ladies College, Benneden, or Roedean I suppose if we are talking about equivalence - but such girls’ boarding schools were not the breeding ground for future spies (more likely they married them or became trusted secretaries in the intelligence services as well as flower arranging in their Anglican parish church).

I believe they are letting in black pupils on bursaries at Eton these days to be more inclusive but again it’s an an exception not the rule and Eton doesn’t even get public credit for the inclusive work they try to do because it’s not well known.

Moreover we know Bond loses his Scottish-Swiss parents in a skiing accident. I don’t mean to sound racist but I ski a lot in Switzerland and I can say you don’t really find droves of non-white skiers on the slopes of Verbier or Zermatt. Of course there are a few but it’s the exception and not the norm. Again, I’m not trying to be racist but just point out some obvious things when it pertains to the credibility of character that underlines who Bond is. You pull one thread out of the literary biography and the danger is the rest of the tapestry will unravel.

Of course one could try and go for a Black Bond on screen and then hope there is a huge suspension of belief on the part of the audience. But I suspect it’s a bridge too far. It just doesn’t fit. Audiences around the world have an image of who Bond is - British at the very least but also male (damaged and flawed in many ways) and coming from a specific British social class background that serves as an entree to a closed world of English gentleman clubs, Savile Row, English sports cars, and the hushed corridors of Whitehall.

Any woke film maker with an ounce of creative vision and talent and one who is invested in this would be better off creating a new character entirely - with their own specific biography that is both believable and relatable. Can you imagine an American James Bond? What a ghastly thought. Or worse a Canadian one? Canadians are far too nice and far too apologetic to produce a cruel cold eyed killer. But look what clever film makers like Spielberg and Lucas did with Indiana Jones and even later Doug Liman did with Jason Bourne - both fantastic creations that are part of the cultural zeitgeist now.

Or look at Charlize Theron who plays a MI6/CIA/KGB triple agent in Atomic Blonde or Rebecca Ferguson as Ilsa Faust in any of the Mission Impossible movies. I would eagerly watch any movies with these two badass women on the screen. All this talk about making Bond a woman or even coloured is just lazy thinking at best and at worst kow towing to the populist tides of PC brigade.

But I firmly believe one can have a female and a person of colour portraying 007. This is because James Bond and OO7 are two different things entirely. Many mistakenly believe 007 is Bond’s own code name and specific alias to him alone.

007 is a license to kill for a very specialised kind of intelligence officer. Bond has that privilege for as long as he serves at the service of Her Majesty’s pleasure. His 007 license can be revoked - and it has been in the past Bond films - and he’s back to being a just another desk jockey civil servant in Whitehall. So my point is OO7 is not sacred to Bond’s identity. Bond could continue to be Bond even if M took away his 007 license to kill.

The origins of the Double O title may date to Fleming's wartime service in Naval Intelligence. According to World War Two historian Damien Lewis in his book Churchill's Secret Warriors, agents of the Special Operations Executive (SOE) were given a “0” prefix when they became "zero-rated" upon completion of training in how to kill. As part of his role as assistant to the head of naval intelligence, Rear Admiral John Godfrey (himself the inspiration for M), Fleming acted as liaison to the SOE.

In the novel Moonraker it’s established that the section routinely has three agents concurrently; the film series, beginning with Thunderball, establishes the number of OO agents at a minimum of 9. Fleming himself only mentions five OO agents in all. According to Moonraker, James Bond is the most senior of three OO agents; the two others were OO8 and OO11. The three men share an office and a secretary named Loelia Ponsonby. Later novels feature two more OO agents; OO9 is mentioned in Thunderball and OO6 is mentioned in On Her Majesty's Secret Service.

Other authors have elaborated and expanded upon the OO agents. While they presumably have been sent on dangerous missions as Bond has, little has been revealed about most of them. Several have been named, both by Fleming and other authors, along with passing references to their service records, which suggest that agents are largely recruited (as Bond was) from the British military's special forces.

Interestingly, In the novel You Only Live Twice, Bond was transferred into another branch and given the number 7777, suggesting there was no active agent 007 in that time; he is later reinstated as 007 in the novel The Man with the Golden Gun. As an aside, in Fleming's Moonraker, OO agents face mandatory retirement at 45 years old. However Sebastian Faulks's Devil May Care (an authorised Bond adventure from the Fleming estate and therefore arguably could be considered canon) features M giving Bond a choice of when to retire - which explains why Roger Moore (God bless) went past his sell by date.

In the films the OO section is a discrete area of MI6, whose agents report directly to M, and tend to be sent on special assignments and troubleshooting missions, often involving rogue agents (from Britain or other countries) or situations where an "ordinary" intelligence operation uncovers or reveals terrorist or criminal activity too sensitive to be dealt with using ordinary procedural or legal measures, and where the aforementioned discretionary "licence to kill" is deemed necessary or useful in rectifying the situation.

The World is Not Enough introduces a special insignia for the 00 Section. Bond's fellow OO agents appear receiving briefings in Thunderball and The World Is Not Enough. The latter film shows a woman in one of the 00 chairs. In Thunderball, there are nine chairs for the OO agents; Moneypenny says every 00 agent in Europe has been recalled, not every OO agent in the world. Behind the scenes photos of the film reveal that one of the agents in the chairs is female as well. As with the books, other writers have elaborated and expanded upon the OO agents in the films and in other media.

In GoldenEye, 006 is an alias for Alec Trevelyan; as of 2019, Trevelyan is the only OO agent other than Bond to play a major role in an EON Productions film, with all other appearances either being brief or dialogue references only.

In Casino Royale with Daniel Craig’s first outing as Bond, we see in the introduction the tense exchange between Bond and Dryden, a section chief whom Bond has been sent to kill for selling secrets.

James Bond: M really doesn't mind you earning a little money on the side, Dryden. She'd just prefer it if it wasn't selling secrets. Dryden: If the theatrics are supposed to scare me, you have the wrong man Bond. If M was so sure I was bent...she'd have sent a Double-O. Benefits of being Section Chief...I would know of anyone being promoted to Double-O status, wouldn't I? Your file shows no kills...and it takes - James Bond: - two. (flashback of Bond fighting Dryden's contact in a bathroom.)

The OO is just a coveted position and nothing to do with who occupies it. Ito use a topical comparative example it’s like a football team in which a new star player would be given an ex-player’s shirt number e.g. Messi wears Number 10 for Argentina which is heavily identified with the late great Maradona. So conceivably there would be no problem having a woman or anyone else play 007. I think it would be an interesting creative choice to have a woman or someone else play OO7 and Bond is out of the service and yet he has to work together with this new OO7 - the creative tension would be a refreshing twist on the canon.

Your question about James Bond’s Oxford or Cambridge education is more easier to answer.

It really depends again which Bond one is talking about. The literary James Bond or the cinematic Bond.

In the Fleming books, James Bond’s didn’t go to Oxford or Cambridge or any of the other great universities of Britain. In the books Bond’s education is not gone into much detail. We know he was raised overseas until he was orphaned at the age of 11 when his parents died in a mountaineering accident near Chamonix in the Alps. He is home schooled for a time by an aunt, Charmain Bond, in the English village of Pett Bottom before being packed off to boarding school at Eton around 12 years old. Bond doesn’t stay long as he gets expelled for playing around with a maid. He is then sent to his father’s boarding school in Scotland, Fettes College.

Bond is then briefly attends the University of Geneva - as Ian Fleming did - before being taught to ski in Kitzbühel. In 1941 Bond joins a branch of what was to become the Ministry of Defence and becomes a lieutenant in the Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve, ending the war as a commander. Bond applies to M for a position within the "Secret Service", part of the HM Civil Service, and rises to the rank of principal officer. And that’s it.

In the cinematic Bond universe things get more complicated and even contentious as you alluded to in your question. It’s never made quite clear which of the two - Oxford or Cambridge - Bond attended because it depends on how much weight you attach to the lines being spoken in each of the films where it is raised.

In Tomorrow Never Dies, Bond is up at Oxford (New College to be exact since his Aston Martin DB5 was parked in the courtyard at the entrance). He is seen bedding a sexy Danish professor, Inga Bergstrom, to brush up on his Danish (to which Moneypenny on the phone retorts ‘You always were a cunning linguist’). But it’s definitely doesn’t mean Bond studied there as an undergraduate.

Casino Royale is the film many think yes, James Bond went to Oxford because it is mentioned by Vesper Lynd (Eva Green) as she sizes up Daniel Craig’s Bond on the train. Here is the full quote as said by Vesper Lynd, “All right... by the cut of your suit, you went to Oxford or wherever. Naturally you think human beings dress like that. But you wear it with such disdain, my guess is you didn't come from money, and your school friends never let you forget it. Which means you were at that school by the grace of someone else's charity - hence that chip on your shoulder. And since your first thought about me ran to "orphan," that's what I'd say you are.”

The thing to note is that it’s Vesper Lynd taunting Bond and even then she takes a wide stab by saying ‘Oxford or wherever’ because she doesn’t really know and Bond doesn’t oblige her with an answer.

That whole scene struck me as strange because she’s guessing by the cut of the suit it must be Oxford (or Cambridge). Bond is wearing an Italian suit (Brioni to be specific) and not and English Savile Row one that presumably someone of Bond’s taste and background would be sporting.

A more plausible answer if we are going by the cinematic Bond universe is Cambridge. Indeed it is stated explicitly by Bond himself. Can you guess?

You Only Live Twice which is has the distinction of being the only Bond film (as far as I can tell) from being set in just one country - Japan.

You remember the scene. Lieutenant commander James Bond has just had a briefing with M on board a submarine and is naturally flirting with Moneypenny on his way out. Moneypenny playfully tosses him a Japanese phrase book, saying he might need it.

“You forget,” Bond responds with an expression just short of a smirk as he tosses it back to her, “I took a first in oriental languages at Cambridge.”

So it seems James Bond is a Cambridge man.

A first means - as any British university student would know - first class honours. It’s the highest classification grade one can get in their undergraduate degree ie a ‘first’. Although at Cambridge, like Oxford, you can also get a double first in the part I and part II of the Tripos. Both universities also award first-class honours with distinction, informally known as a ‘Starred First’ (Cambridge) or a ‘Congratulatory First’ (Oxford).

Another oddity is he says ‘oriental languages’ when one got a degree in ‘oriental studies’ at the Oriental Faculty at Cambridge. That is until 2007 when Cambridge bowed to public and student pressure and chose to drop its Oriental Faculty label and instead adopted the name the Faculty of Asian and Middle Eastern Studies. Oxford still hangs on to its name the Faculty of Oriental Studies.

My only reservation about crowing over an Oxonian is how truthful was Bond being with Moneypenny in this scene?

Is this line meant to be taken seriously or ironically? Most people seem to take it seriously, despite much of Connery's dialogue being obviously ironic and playful. Certainly, Bond is shown to have never been to Japan before and is incapable of saying anything in Japanese other than the odd "sayonara" and "arigato." But then again Bond does know the correct temperature sake is meant to be served at. So there’s that.

Or it could be Bond was speaking a half-truth. I know speaking from experience as someone who very nearly read asian languages instead of my eventual choice of Classics that ‘Oriental languages’ at the ex-Oriental faculty in Cambridge can mean many other languages e.g. Sanskrit, Hindi, Farsi, Hebrew, Arabic as well as Korean, Japanese and Chinese. It opens up so many other delicious possibilities for Bond. If he read Arabic then perhaps he’s being deeply ironic with Moneypenny (after all she would have drooled over read his MI6 personnel file).

If you think I’m losing my mind then ponder on the fact it was Roald Dahl who penned the screenplay of You Only Live Twice. Dahl was not above snark. Indeed pretty sure he would have got a starred first in snark at any university.

Of course the most obvious explanation is that it’s plot armour as a way for Bond to just get on with the story by suspending the audience belief. Why wouldn’t Bond know Japanese? He seems to know everything else imaginable.

However if it ever was it’s now become canon as EON - the production company behind the Bond films - have stated officially for the fandom that Bond’s official bio has it that he went to Eton and Cambridge, where he got a first in oriental languages. So that seems settled then.

In hindsight it makes perfect sense that Bond went to Cambridge since historically Cambridge has provided the bulk of the spies not just for Her Majesty’s service but also for the other side, the Russians - the so-called Cambridge Spies of Philby, Maclean, Burgess, Blunt, and Cairncross, and a host of other traitors. We seem to be an equal opportunities employment service.

I’m sorry to disappoint you and other Oxonians that despite what you might think James Bond didn’t attend Oxford. Believe me as a Cantabrigian it gives me no pleasure to say this…..too much.

Thanks for your question.

#ask #question #james bond #bond #film #cinema #ian fleming #oxford #cambridge #oxbridge #university #education #cancel culture #culture #society #britain #british #personal

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rigmarolling · 5 years ago

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Top 5 Things That Will Kill You In the Victorian Era

If you’ve ever spent more than two seconds with me, you know that I live and breathe the fog-choked air of Victorian London. All day. Every day of my life.

See, in many ways, the Victorians were the first version of us--overwhelmed by rapidly-changing technology (and its awful effect on the climate); dealing with incredible wealth gaps; grappling with rising crime and faster travel and out-of-control media and the whole, “God is dead, oh no” thing.

Also, everything was trying to kill you.

Like, literally almost everything.

From your clothes to your doctor to your canned food, here are the top five things that will kill you in the Victorian era.

5. Other Victorians

If the rise of penny dreadfuls (cheap magazines stuffed with horror stories for us morbidly-inclined goth types) was any indication, Victorians loved them some true crime.

And there was no shortage of subject matter to choose from: depending on where you ventured in London, at least, you could be subject to anything from pickpocketing to mugging to violent assault and, of course, murder.

There were a few reasons for this:

For one thing, the population in London alone increased by millions in the 19th century, and approximately no one was prepared for that. So, to accommodate the rapidly-booming population, the wealthy folks in charge reached out and lovingly ensured the masses of the disenfranchised poor were taken care of by redistributing resources and education and access to opportunities that improved lives on a both a personal and social level.

Lol, no, I’m totally kidding; they shoved them into slums and tenement buildings and pretended they didn’t exist.

So of course, there was a rise in crime, because if you have five kids and you can’t find gainful employment and your family will starve if you don’t steal that basket of food over there, or that purse that lady left sitting over THERE, what are you going to do? You’re going to steal the food and the purse to survive, Jean Valjean, I understand, I do.

Except the powers that be did NOT understand, and instead routinely espoused the idea that if people were poor, it was because they were morally bankrupt, or inherently bad, somehow, and the “criminal classes,” as they came to be known by the growing Victorian middle and upper-middle classes, were simply considered genetically bad to the bone and therefore undeserving of assistance.

Basically:

So ANYWAY.

Crime was on the rise and there were multiple efforts to stop it with varying degrees of success, but big city usually = big crime, especially when there’s a massive gap between the one percent-ers and THE REST OF US, WASHINGTON.

Ahem.

All that crime? The booming news industry loved it. The press ate it up and then spit it back out in salacious headlines that never even bothered with journalistic objectivity, like this gem:

I mean. Full disclosure: I, too, agree that cutting off a woman’s head, arms, and legs and then burning them is “awful, inhuman, & barbarous” but just...maybe...maybe tone it down? Just a bit?

No? Okay.

See, here’s the thing: crime sells. It always has. And papers went nuts with full illustrated spreads about the latest brutal murders so you could sit in your parlor and get anxiety poops thinking about how the butcher down the street looked at you funny the other day and oh, God, you’re probably next, oh God.

The most famous murderer of the era, was, of course, Jack the Ripper, which was just the orchestral climax of a hideously corrupted society that had bubbled into naught but a festering carbuncle, an ulcer upon the very soul of man, trussed up as a city of industry, but which is merely Salome, dancing with the Lamb’s head upon a platter and sending us all tumbling into a fiery pit.

....Ahem, again.

Some popular ways your fellow Victorians could kill you included: dueling (with swords but usually with revolvers), stabbing, garroting, and, probably the most popular method of the era, poisoning.

Speaking of which...

4. Anything dyed that hip shade of green

In 1775, a guy named Carl Wilhelm Scheele invented a new shade of green, cleverly called Scheele’s green, and it instantly became a hit. Pretty soon, manufacturers and tailors were dyeing everything this color.

Look at it. Bright, airy. Calls to mind a fresh, spring meadow. (What’s that, you ask? Well, before the Industrial Revolution belched out black smoke onto absolutely everything, there were these things called plants and grass and they were all over the place and you could frolic through them and it was very nice for your serotonin levels.)

I mean, listen, this isn’t really my color because anything vaguely yellow-ish makes my already yellow-ish skin look especially jaundiced, but it’s a lovely shade:

Besides using it to create beautiful dresses and tasteful waistcoats, they used it inside book covers:

And it was a super popular wallpaper color:

They had green candles and green cups and green kitchenwares and green paint.

But while Carl Wilhelm Scheele didn’t exactly murder anyone (even though he has three names like every serial killer ever), he sort of, accidentally, indirectly, kinda...did.

Because that springy dye contained every Victorian black widow’s favorite method to dispose of a troublesome husband: arsenic.

Scheele, of course, had no idea--no one did--so I’m fully exonerating him here, but the poison nonetheless started to take its toll.

Reports began to surface of kids getting sicker and sicker and then dying in their green wallpapered rooms; of fashionable ladies rocking those green dresses at balls and then ALSO getting sicker and sicker and breaking out in horrible sores before dying.

They even used this stuff to dye food green, so of course, anybody who tucked into Victorian green eggs and ham also, you know. Died.

And if they DIDN’T die, they got cancer, because if arsenic doesn’t kill you, it will give you cancer. And then kill you.

Eventually, as science advanced and went, “HEYO, there’s literal poison in this stuff,” consumers were like, “Well, shoot, this summer’s hottest beach shade just killed an entire boarding school,” and Scheele’s green finally fell out of favor.

It was, however, used as a pesticide up through the 1930s, so...way to use the...leftovers? I guess?

3. Your canned food

Hey, now that we’re on the topic of deadly chemicals being where they absolutely should not be, let’s talk about canned food.

In the Victorian era, it was the new Hot Thing (next to arsenic green). You mean I can can my food now? Like? Forever? Oh, only for a few months. Okay, cool. Still cool.

Above: Road trip snax.

Food preservation methods had existed long before canned meats and veggies and soups, but canned everything really started to gain traction around the middle of the 19th century, and people were stoked. Remember, the population exploded; people needed new methods of obtaining cheap food that didn’t spoil immediately. So: cans to the rescue!

Recycling hadn’t really been invented, though, so today, archaeologists constantly find giant Victorian trash pits filled with empty cans.

You know what also hadn’t been invented? Consumer health and safety boards.

So guess what was in the tin cans themselves?

No, no, don’t worry, it wasn’t arsenic.

It was lead.

Which, in case you weren’t aware, is also very, very bad for you.

So bad, in fact, that today, scientists are pretty sure lead-lined tins of canned food were partially responsible for the deaths on the disastrous Franklin Expedition, an ultimately futile trip to discover the Northwest Passage lead by Sir John Franklin in 1845. Every single man on board the two ships stranded in the Arctic died, and in the 1980s, when scientists discovered perfectly mummified bodies (GRAPHIC, if you don’t like that sort of thing, but awesome if you do) of some of the sailors, one of the mummies contained insane amounts of lead. They later tested the cans found scattered across the wreck site and whoops, they also contained insane amounts of lead.

Above: Some of the tin cans from the Franklin Expedition, which contained items like salted beef, vegetables, tea, lethal amounts of lead, and Chicken of the Sea.

Granted, other factors contributed to the Franklin deaths, like, you know, being stranded in the Arctic and starving to death, and also tuberculosis, but lead-lined canned food certainly didn’t help things along.

2. Your doctor

Here’s my advice if you’re in the Victorian era and you’re starting to feel sick: do not get sick. Just don’t. Because then that means you’ll have to go to the doctor. Which probably means you will die.

Hospitals in the 19th century were deadly. Often even more deadly than just staying at home, according to Dr. Lindsey Fitzharris, author of The Butchering Art. Nobody knew how to treat anything, really, because medical understanding of biology was in its infancy and antibiotics didn’t exist yet, so you were absolutely, definitely going to get some kind of infection the second you stepped foot in a Victorian hospital.

Above: The surgery, where nobody has any idea what they are doing, ever.

Doctors weren’t trying to kill you on purpose--they just didn’t know any better. And it super duper didn’t help that common treatments for everything from the common cold to tuberculosis included taking mercury (which kills you) and blood-letting, (which can also kill you) the tools for which are shown below:

Those might look like fun doodads for your astronomy class at Hogwarts, but they’re actually vials and a really, really sharp needle that pricks you until you bleed out a critically dangerous amount of blood into those vials.

The (ancient) school of thought behind blood-letting was that draining patients of “bad” blood would rebalance their “humours” and get rid of the icky thing that was making them sick. We might laugh at it now, but if you don’t know any better, logically, it makes sense.

Medically, oh my God, it’s the worst.

So if Doc didn’t bleed you to death, he might try surgery--done without anesthesia or antibiotics (until good old Dr. Lister came along--read The Butchering Art!), and then ship you and your amputated stump leg off to the hospital ward where, instead of healing, you’d get wheeled through hallways stained with every bodily fluid imaginable into rooms filled with people coughing up every bodily fluid imaginable, some of which would get into your leg stump, infect it, and then kill you dead.

“But what about medicine?” you ask. “Can’t I just take medicine?”

Sure! Just be aware that it definitely contains morphine and probably contains cocaine, or mercury, or arsenic, or sulfur, or pulverized bits of ancient Egyptian mummies (I am not kidding. True, the latter had started to fall out of favor in the 19th century, but, like. Stop).

Above: Hard drugs, but just for you.

You think I’m joking?

Above: PARTY TIME.

Sometimes, a doctor would just advise that you move to a “more temperate climate” like Rome or Spain if you were feeling chronically ill, which might help you get a tan and COULD help if you had sucky lungs, but eventually, you’d just die anyway, because what you really needed was a strong antibiotic or antiviral medication and the closest you were gonna get was Mrs. Hopplebopple’s Temperance Tonic, which was probably filled with ground up baby bones and just so much heroin.

And don’t even get me started on Victorian surgical tools:

Open wide.

1. Water

There are three rules in this life: don’t watch any Adam Sandler movies except for maybe Anger Management, don’t eat the yellow snow, and do not, ever, for any reason, ever drink water in Victorian England.

That’s because it was about as clean as a Victorian hospital.

Meaning it wasn’t. At all.

Victorian water--of the Thames variety--contained:

Cholera, one of the deadliest killers of the era and bad water’s favorite roommate.

Poop, human and otherwise, because a functioning sewer system? I don’t know her. (At least, not until the 1860s.)

Pee, human and otherwise, because nothing says, “Jolly Old England” like an open trench of piss rolling through the city.

Dead things, like animals, fish (which are animals, so why am I listing them as a separate thing?), and, occasionally, humans.

Chemicals, which spewed forth from the great factories in billowing, bubbling, belching rivers of sludge. (Ha! Omg, yes, I was an English major!)

The Thames was so filthy that Londoners called it “Monster Soup.”

Above: Same.

In 1855, scientist Michael Faraday (who was also kind of hot; tell me I’m wrong), wrote a letter to the Times about the disgusting state of the river:

"Near the bridges the feculence rolled up in clouds so dense that they were visible at the surface, even in water of this kind. ... The smell was very bad, and common to the whole of the water; it was the same as that which now comes up from the gully-holes in the streets; the whole river was for the time a real sewer."

Tl;dr: “It smelled like ass.”

In fact, it got so bad, so putrid, so horrifically clogged with every disgusting thing your mind and your butthole can possibly conjure up, that it lead to one of my favorite things to read about in the world: The Great Stink of 1858.

Yes, that’s the real name. I did not make that up. History is incredible.

Above: Summer vacation, 1858.

The summer of 1858 was miserably hot in London. And the Thames was miserably clogged with poop, and pee, and chemicals, and dead things, and, uh oh, cholera. During July and August that year, the smell wafting from the river was so offensive that Parliament was actually adjourned because everybody kept throwing up. Cholera devastated the city. The water was killing London.

Faced with either the prospect of living with a city-wide vomit-and-diarrhea smell for the rest of forever OR finally cleaning things up, the government actually did something right and chose the latter. They contracted civil engineer Joseph Bazalgette to overhaul the city’s sewer, to which Bazalgette, pinching his nose, responded, “FINALLY.”

Above: Joesph Bazalgette, savior of the London sewers and purveyor of a truly beautiful mustache.

Bazalgette proceeded to build the London sewer system still in use today. His efforts greatly reduced the number of cholera deaths, cleared the Thames of its Cronenberg-esque muck, and ensured that poop goes where it’s supposed to: way the hell out of HERE and way the hell under THERE.

Water sanitation still had a long way to go, though, which meant you either had to boil your water to kill the bacteria in it, or you could just drink alcohol instead, which was the safer option but which would also leave you very dehydrated and also, if imbibed excessively, would leave you very dead.

So really, you were doomed in some way no matter what you did, and if that isn’t the moral of the entire Victorian story, then I don’t know what is.

#victorian #listory

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connan-l · 3 years ago

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All right, so now that I finally digested the final a little I have some random messy thoughts about Fruits Basket 2019. It got really long lol, but this has been stuck in my head for a while so I needed to get it out!

Honestly, it was a very good adaptation and I’m still in awe I was able able to see the whole manga animated. Fruits Basket is pretty important to me, as I read it for the first time when I was around twelve and it was definitely one of the series that impacted me the most — the way it tackles themes of cycle of abuse, loneliness, grief and moving forward still feel very special to me even now (I briefly wrote a post about it months ago after rereading the manga), so of course I was delighted upon hearing the reboot announced and for the most part, it didn’t disappoint. I’d never truly thought I’d be able to see characters like Rin or Machi actually move on screen in my lifetime so in a way it still feel surreal lmao (RIP to Komaki though). It was really refreshing to revisit the story in that way, especially given amusingly enough I am myself in the middle of some big changes in my life where I have to leave things behind so it felt sort of... well, I won’t say empowering per se, but quite encouraging and satisfying to watch Furuba, and especially its final, at this timing, in a way. It wasn’t perfect, there are certainly a lot of flawed directive choices that I question and unfortunately quite some important cut contents — but even at its lowest it stayed all in all good. I’m genuinely a bit stunned there are people who thinks the entire thing is worthless or a failure, because man, I have seen what a bad anime adaptation looks like, and Fruits Basket 2019 definitely isn’t one. Natsuki Takaya herself was clearly very invested and satisfied in that adaptation — I mean, just the fact she drew arts for every single episodes or for the season 3 ending really shows that I think. And while there’s a part of me who will always have a soft spot for the 2001 anime, there’s no contest that the 2019 one is the superior one and more representative of the original manga as a whole.

I believe some people really don’t realize how... uncommon it is to get such a consistently good-looking and complete anime adaptation for a shojo manga? Shojo really aren’t lucky in that prospect usually; they rarely get animated, and when they do they’re usually very bland or outright bad, or they get one short season of like 13 episodes that never receive any follow-ups — even shojo considered like classics tend to get poor treatment, unless they’re Sailor Moon of course or a long-running magical girls franchise like Precure (and even then we could have a discussion about the way Sailor Moon’s treated compared to say Dragon Ball for example, but that’s another topic entirely). So yeah it is quite awesome we were able to get this kind of anime adaptation that covers the full manga with good quality from start to finish, and I am so, so glad it exists and that it managed to revive and makes the series so popular again. (Hopefully its success means we’ll be able to get more good anime adaptation of shojo manga from now on!)

But yeah, that doesn’t mean there wasn’t problems with it and I also understand why some of the manga fans had issues. We were kind of hyped with the fact this would be a complete adaptation and in the end we only got a... sort-of-complete one lol. The art and animation stayed fine during the run (there certainly were some episodes that were uhhh, lacking in that sense, but that’s just how it is sometimes with productions and budget), but I admit I was a bit letdown regarding the direction, where it often seemed… a bit uncreative or heavy-handed. There was some very beautiful and smart shots here and there, but on the whole I really had an issue with the adaptation failing to actually take more ambitious decisions on its visual aspect, especially compared to the pretty pannelling of the manga — and when it did take these decisions it just was… kind of obnoxious and in-your-face, like the show is trying to hold the watcher’s hand (with unnecessary things like Kyo’s father record player derailing or the whole big ropes symbolizing the curse that often slapped you all over the screen, which usually just made me want to roll my eyes because of how annoying it felt.) Multiple people also pointed out the overdramatization of some scenes like the Kyo and Tohru’s confrontation at the end of season 1 or Akito and Ren’s fight which was, indeed, not very good and a weird choice. Fruits Basket is already a pretty dramatic show and these scenes are already intense, there was no need for such over-the-top theatrical display of emotions that only made them comes off as comedic. I’m probably nitpicking here but it also bothered me some characters’ expressions didn’t feel properly retranscribed (Shigure especially, whose characterization depends a lot on that, really suffered from this), or that odd habit of making some big panorama plans instead of focusing on the faces and bodies, which particularly sucks during emotional scenes (like the backgrounds were pretty I guess, but that’s not what was important here lmao).

Also that might be just a personal thing, but can I point out that the openings were pretty disappointing to me... They're not bad, but they all looked so... bland. The songs are fine but the rest feel so uninspired and it's kind of sad... I dunno, I wasn't asking for much but I just think they could've done more than just scrolling each character looking vaguely melancholic or making them walk randomly one after another :/ The endings have at least pretty illustrations and I'm okay with them (I liked what they did with Kyoko’s photo in season 3 too), but the OPs kind of feel as if they ran out of budget and ideas for them or something. I kind of feel the same with the OST as well, where they’re generally fine but were a bit lackluster, and sometimes… they were kind of played at bad times? I remember the Rin episode in season 2 were the music felt a bit out of place and took me out of the immersion, which is a shame cause it was otherwise a pretty good episode. But that might just be a me-thing here lol. The voice actors were awesome though! (The Japanese ones, at least, I didn’t watch any other dubs). I’ve said it before but special kudos to Maaya Sakamoto cause damn she’s so perfect as Akito, and Shimazaki as Yuki and Toyosaki as Rin truly delivered too. I didn’t know Manaka Iwami at all but I was really impressed by her Tohru, especially in season 3 — she really was good at capturing her character’s subtle emotional turmoils (I think she makes a better Tohru than Yui Horie too, although I admit I missed Horie a little lol.)

Anyway, on the topic of lack of ambition, that might be an unpopular opinion but there’s also the fact that I’m sad they didn’t actually... try to change or add more original scenes. By which I mean, obviously we had some changes, but not ones that were really interesting (when they’re not actively detrimental to the story). For example, I was really hoping that we’d be able to get at least one original episode focused on Ritsu (and Mitsuru too why not) in season 2 or 3, or on Kagura or Kisa; I dunno, it would’ve been a good occasion to give something more to the characters that got sidelined in the original manga, or add some moments that would’ve been nice to develop like about Akito post-cliff confrontation, but we never got that. And well, that makes sense now that we know they seemingly had an episode restriction (at least on season 3), but, yeah, that’s still a shame. Honestly in the end Ritsu’s character made even less sense in the anime, because like, it was nice they tried to adapt his introduction episode so that it feels less “you have to adapt to gender norms to feel better about yourself,” (the gender non-confirmity is definitely one of the bits that aged the less well in FB) but then they still made him cut off his hair and give his feminine clothes to Kagura at the end so why lol. (And speaking of his episode introduction, I dislike that they cut off his conversation with Tohru after the suicide attempt, not only for Ritsu but also for Tohru cause it is one of the small instances bringing up her issues that is set up early on and that is crucial to her, but I’ll come back to this later.)

And now about the biggest problem to me being, the cut content and episodes rearangement. So, just so we’re clear, I definitely don’t think an anime adaptation needs to be a page-by-page adaptation of the manga to be good. Every decent adaptation needs to have changes, and the ones that tries to just follow the source material without any heart often tend to get pretty bad. So changes are good! Cut content are needed sometimes. But in Furuba 19, it really... wasn’t the case.

And the most unfortunate thing being that the one suffering the most from this is the show’s main character herself, Tohru.

So, obviously other characters also got done dirty by this; Yuki and Machi’s relationship was so incredibly shifted in the background and rushed it’s almost funny. I’m one of the people who thinks that, while I do think they’re cute, I definitely agree on the fact their relationship was a bit underdeveloped in the manga — and that Machi’s character especially suffered as a result by being a bit reduced to just "Yuki’s love interest" when she was a character with so much more to offer (and as a whole I also tend to agree with the fact that Yuki probably didn’t need a romance at all and that his arc is more meaningful while focusing on his platonic relationships, but that’s another topic entirely) — but man, if the manga already underdevelopped them, then ohhh boy, the anime just completely dropped the ball. It feels very odd because to me it seemed like season 2 was taking their time with setting them up, so if they knew they had only 13 episodes for season 3 then they should’ve started the changes there; instead we got 1 nice Yuki/Machi/Kakeru episode, and then it’s like "Yep, they’re in love, just trust me." (It does makes me wonder if season 3 wasn’t originally supposed to be longer but then got restrained because of budget or covid or something…) Kakeru also very much suffered because of them cutting off his girlfriend and his complicated relationship with Tohru… Now, to be honest, I’ve always found the Kakeru/Komaki/Tohru subplot pretty... contrived and useless, and Komaki’s not so much a character more than a device for Kakeru’s development, but it does have some good moments relevant to the story’s themes (I like the ‘‘you can’t play suffering olympics with people’s pain’’morale) and it is important to his character (and Komaki is cute, I admit), so it was still sad they shafted it entirely. (Also I kind of like the tense relationship between Tohru and Kakeru. The fact they both seem to not appreciate each other even afterwards feel sort of refreshing even if it’s never explored unfortunately orz.) I was still surprised they didn’t actually try to make a Komaki cameo at the end? Cause I think it would’ve fitted and Kakeru’s girlfriend had already been mentioned in season 2 but... for some reason they... didn’t. (Mayyybe we’ll get an OAV like with Kyoko and Katsuya? Who knows.)

One scene that was skipped/rearranged that I’m very bitter over is the whole Tohru/Kagura confrontation and Kagura/Rin scene — it might not seem like much, but the moment of Tohru refusing to forgive Kagura is very important, and I was pretty annoyed they turned Rin’s trauma response to Kagura’s violence and her subsequent apology/hug to a gag, it legit felt tasteless. The Tohrin scene they removed at the very end too was frustating; it was great they managed to fit in the "Rin doesn’t want to forgive Akito" bit at least (I was afraid they’d cut it off entirely), but it was so essential for her to say to Tohru, not to Haru and Momiji (plus the way they put it in felt very random and awkwardly placed there, when they were initially talking about Tohru before orz). OH AND the Akito/Hana friendship too! Yeah I know it’s not a Big deal but I absolutely love the little glimpses of their friendship and it’s very important to me so I’m disappointed over them not including the ‘Ah-chan’ scene… (It was kind of weird that the show sort-of implied Hana and Kazuma got together too cause that’s… not the vibe at all from the manga… oh well.)

Most people I’ve seen generally only bring up season 3 regarding the cuts/rearangement because it’s the most obvious and the biggest offender, but I personally think there were already problems with season 2 and 1. At first glance I didn’t have much issue with some of the rearrangement, because early Furuba can indeed be pretty episodic, but thinking back on it as a whole I think it might’ve been better to leave some stuff, like Hana and Uo’s episodes for example, to season 2 (I do wonder if they did this specifically so the reboot would offer original content and differ from 2001 early on...) and cut off other not-so-important things from S1 & S2 — because as a result season 2 kind of suffer a bit by being The Yuki Season, which, for as much as I love Yuki, did end up being a bit annoying and made his development feel less natural and gradual, as well as the fact it sidelined the other characters a little and left them with not much conclusion in its final. So this added to how much they ended up cutting in season 3, it makes the show as a whole feels really unequal. I think they did overall a good job in season 3 with what they had, and they really nailed some of the dramatic and Kyoru moments (the sheets scene, cliff confrontation and post-hospital confession were practically perfect), but it is a shame that it ended up as an extremely marathoned emotional roller-caster rather than a more well-paced watch that we would’ve had if it had been 20 or so episodes. (I know others argued that season 3 was what it was because there wasn’t enough content left to cover for 22 or 24 episodes, but I disagree and even if there weren’t, it would’ve been the perfect occasion to add original episodes then. But I think it was more of a budget and Covid issue personally.)

But anyway, all of this isn’t actually what I’m the most annoyed with (and YES that’s a already a lot lmao), those are stuff I can live with, but like I said earlier the most problematic is what they cut off from Tohru’s character. And that indeed includes her parents’ backstory.

So, just so I get this out of the way; yes, I do understand why people were relieved to not see Kyoko and Katsuya’s relationship play out on screen, and yes the age gap and teacher-student thing is creepy and I do kind of wish it hadn’t been written that way. (Though I was a bit amused by people who thought we didn’t get the backstory because of the questionable age gap when, uh... you know I very much doubt the anime industry has an issue with that. Like, to start with, we wouldn’t have had Uo and Kureno’s romance if that was the case (even if Uo and Kureno is less problematic, it’s still the same basis of a underage high school girl/20+ adult man relationship), and second there was a literal romcom anime about a high school girl and an adult man that was broadcasted at the same time as Furuba season 3 lmao. So nah, it wasn’t there the problem to them, it was just time and episode restriction, which was pretty much confirmed with the announcement of the OAV focused on them.)

So, Kyoko and Katsuya is definitely Problematic and I agree on their relationship being uncomfortable; however, I’m a bit baffled that people were literally cheering on not having that part in the show, because it is... it is not just like a small bit of family trivia, it is Extremely important and actively essential to Tohru’s character and Fruits Basket’s themes and narrative as a whole. It’s very important to understand Kyoko’s character, of course; to humanize her and finally present her as a very flawed person and not just the idealized mother that Tohru project upon her, and it is extremely important simply to understand Tohru herself as well; to understand where her way of thinking, her trauma and attitude stems from, and this in a way that just isn’t possible to see with the little fragments of that flashback we got or the bits of Kyo and Kyoko’s interactions.

See, Tohru’s character is principally constructed around two things; her grief over her mother and her almost-pathological selflesness and people-pleaser needs that comes from her abandonment issues and loneliness, and her arc is very much about letting go of both of these things and finally moving forward and letting her life change. There’s this perception of Tohru I see sometimes that she’s not a very interesting character especially compared to others like Yuki or Kyo, or that she ‘‘stays the same kindhearted, naive girl from start to finish,’’ and while I deeply disagree with this I know where it comes from. The thing with Tohru is that she is firstly an extremely emotionally repressed character, and so a lot of her depth and development is made through small, gradual details scattered throughout the manga. It’s done in such a way that except for some obvious scenes those small, apparently insignificant moments are easy to miss or disregarded, and unfortunately it is a lot of these details that the 2019 anime cut, or rearanged in a way that feel less impactful or makes less sense; such as, like I pointed out earlier, her conversation with Ritsu after his suicide attempt. As I’ve seen others point out, this result in altering Tohru’s portrayal and rendering her character mostly about her romance, undercutting and downplaying all of her small, subtle character moments and developments, and miss a bit the second part of the story where the narrative actively challenge the ‘savior/therapist/mom’ that other characters and Tohru herself projected upon her.

And as a result it also means undermining things like her parallel and relationship to Akito, which idealistically should’ve been slowly built up throughout the last season but because of how rushed season 3 was in the end felt a little flat. (Akito’s character in general had some issues also because of the unequal pacing and rearranged scenes, though admittedly I think this was also an issue present in the original manga.) Kyo’s character and his romance with Tohru is the one element that managed to get out of this mostly unscathed (although Kyo also does suffer a bit from it), but because of what was removed from Tohru’s character it still inevitably impacted them by making their characters as individuals lacking. It’s not like it is a complete failure, mind you; I think the anime at least did a decent job at showing Tohru is Not Okay even at the beginning in season 1 (they certainly did a better job at it than the 2001 one lol) and managed to roughly portray her issues well enough overall, but it is just… lacking in the subtlety and nuances that, to me, makes her character and writing really special and unique.

(This post explains what I’ve tried to say here in a much more eloquent and better way that I ever could, and this all put into perspective what I basically love so much about Tohru and Fruits Basket in general.)

And, you know, it would’ve been sad but comprehensible with any other character, but here we’re talking about the story’s literal protagonist, which is why it is the part of the adaptation that makes me feel the most bitter. Tohru and her story is truly amazing and well-written, the thing I was looking forward to the most with this reboot — and while I do understand the episode restriction and I do believe they still did their best with what they had — her arc still deserved to receive a full proper adaptation, not a kind-of-half one.

So, yes, I am at least glad they’ll adapt Kyoko and Katsuya’s story in OAV, but the fact that it will never be included in the actual main narrative is still actively detrimental to it, and it will never have the same effect that if it had been played out before the Kyoru sheets scene where it should’ve been. (I hope they also won’t cut the fact that their story is narrated by Kyo, because that is also a very important detail for both Kyo and the story, but I have the feeling they will…)

Welp, that was quite a long, messy rambling. Not sure if anyone will actually read all of it but if you did then congrats lol. I feel in the end I’ve been really harsh and negative with the reboot… I do love it a lot! If someone asked me I would wholeheartedly recommend it (though I guess I would still argue to read the manga first if you really want to experience the story in all its nuances). I think they truly did an impressive job — even with season 3, which a lot of its episodes were beautifully done and did make me tear up a few times lol. I’m just sad it couldn’t actually offer a better, more nuanced delivery of the story’s depths and of one of my favorite manga protagonists that means a lot to me. But that’s an adaptation that so many fans wanted for years and I’m happy and grateful it’s here cause Fruits Basket deserved at least that much!

#Fruits Basket #Fruits Basket (2019)#Long Post #Connan's Ramblings #Text #Fruits Basket Anime

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belladxne · 4 years ago

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i will see you where the shadow ends | chapter 4

[see notes for ao3 and ff links]

part of the put your faith in the light that you cannot see series AU: Breath of the Wild pairing: KiriBaku word count: 5,133

chapter 4: there’s a fog from the past that’s giving me, giving me such a headache

When Eijiro starfishes on the ground at the bottom of the tower, it’s not long before Inko’s leaning down over him, watching him with a fond expression. She’s content to chat with him like that for a minute or so while he gets his bearings, and when he gives an abridged, glossed-over summary of how atrocious fast travel was, she insists that if he lost his lunch he’ll just have to let her cook him a big dinner to make up for it.

“Well, if you’re gonna twist my arm about it,” he laughs gently, though he’s getting a little worried about overexerting her hospitality.

They agree again that it’s only fair he should help gather enough food for their dinner, and he figures it can’t set him back too much to hunt and forage a bit before heading for the nearest shrine. That decided, he dusts himself off from where he’d been slumped on the ground, and makes for the Forest of Spirits.

That’s where Eijiro meets his first Korok.

The little guy almost gives him a heart attack, too—Eijiro’s climbed an odd stone formation in the middle of the forest, hoping for a vantage point to hunt from, and is slightly puzzled by a large rock just… sitting there. It’s kind of huge, maybe bigger than his torso, but not quite big enough to make a good perch, so he doesn’t want to stumble over it while he’s focused on aiming his bow.

He heaves it over his head, just planning to heft it out of his way, when all of a sudden a triumphant little trumpet sounds and Eijiro drops the stone in alarm at an explosion of fairy lights in front of him. He barely hardens the dragonscales on his head fast enough to avoid concussing himself.

“Ya-ha-ha!” the forest spirit cheers, while Eijiro whines and rubs his head. “You found me!” The Korok bounces in absolute joy and utter delight for a moment, before suddenly tilting its head at him in apparent confusion. “Huh? You’re not Hestu!”

“Um,” Eijiro manages. The little spirit sounds so betrayed. “Sorry?”

“You can… see me?” the Korok asks next, apparently more concerned with this fact than with Eijiro’s apology. “I didn’t know your kind could see the children of the forest!”

“I… I guess I didn’t either?” Eijiro answers. It’s probably not strictly true—it’s more like the case of him being dragonblooded. He knows what a Korok is, recognizes one on sight—he’s probably seen them before? But he hasn’t thought about it at all, hadn’t even thought about their existence or the potentiality of meeting one, so he may as well have been blind to them before now.

“Wow!” the little plant cries, awed. Eijiro is glad to see that the betrayal has been left in the past. “You must be very special! Like the Deku Sprout!”

“Thanks?” Eijiro says, and it occurs to him that most of his contributions to this conversatiion have been in a confused and questioning tone. Might as well keep up the streak. “Um, and what is that exactly?” He feels like he should know. The term sounds familiar, like a mental sensation of a word being right on the tip of his tongue.

“Not what,” the Korok gasps, scandalized. “Who! The Deku Sprout is a person! We Koroks love the Deku Sprout. He’s the Great Deku Tree’s successor, and he’s wonderful!”

Oh. Of course—with that, the information does come flooding to mind. A long chain of heroes chosen by the Goddess Farore, with Her blessing passed down between them, tasked with protecting Her creations. Nature in particular, but She’d created all life in the land and this chosen hero was meant to look out for all of it, accordingly. Her magic would grow in them, keeping them strong and youthful until it would begin to overtake them, and they would have to settle in one place as Her magic transformed them into a giant tree—the Great Deku Tree.

And then they would pick another hero worthy of Farore’s blessing—someone to receive a mere sprout of their power, to store and cultivate on their own as they protected the land. That was the origin of the name Deku Sprout, but that name for them was probably more popular among creatures of the forest than regular Hylians. That was why it hadn’t been immediately familiar.

He was pretty sure Hylians had preferred other titles for the role, but the current Great Deku Tree, a legendary hero named All Might, had taken so long to choose a successor that most had forgotten the legends, and the titles with them. Eijiro could vaguely remember that there were tales of how All Might had prolonged his retirement and transformation for so long that he’d gone into his last few battles with bark already overtaking his skin.

“Oh—you’re right, sorry, sorry.” Eijiro nods his acknowledgement and understanding of the Korok’s words. “But… you said I’m like him? I don’t... think I’m the Deku Sprout.”

“Of course not!” The Korok uses a tone that makes it sound like he’s trying to explain a very simple concept to a very silly small child (and the irony is not lost on Eijiro), like Eijiro’s not understanding him on purpose. “The Deku Sprout is in the castle!”

“In… there?” Eijiro asks somewhat dubiously, nodding his head in the direction of Hyrule Castle, though their view is blocked by all the trees in the way. The place doesn’t exactly seem hospitable, clearly.

“Oh, yes!” the forest spirit chatters, clearly eager to gush about this topic. “He’s a hero, Mister! He’s protecting all of us! He’s been fighting the Calamity for a long, long time, but he’ll be back soon! All Might said it won’t be long anymore, and then he’ll come back to the forest.”

In the castle? Holding the Calamity off? “Huh...” Eijiro manages, but it comes out weak and distant to his own ears, as his thoughts race. The voice, his voice, he knows it’s coming from the castle—is that what the voice has been doing, too? It makes sense—he hadn’t said as much, really, but he was asking for Eijiro’s help, and he’d said he was waiting and that the monster was regaining strength. A long time… was he fighting All for One for all of those one hundred years?

“Um, I gotta... go...” he tells the Korok distractedly. He’s got a lot to think about now. For a moment he almost wonders, are his voice and the Deku Sprout one and the same? But, Farore’s associated with green, not golden light, and besides, nature powers wouldn’t let someone talk to him in his head. Unless they would, but it wouldn’t make any sense. So… are they in there together, then?

“Okay!” The Korok seems oblivious to how lost in thought Eijiro has become, dancing excitedly from foot to foot. “But wait! If you run into Hestu, please return this to him.”

Eijiro’s not sure where the seed that the Korok produces came from, since it’s not like the little guy has pockets, but he takes it and stares at it blankly. It’s… literally just a seed. There’s probably a lot of others like it. He has no idea why he’s being tasked with this. “Um… okay? But I don’t know who Hestu is.”

“Doesn’t matter! You’ll know him if you see him. You can’t miss him!”

Eijiro figures he might as well just accept it.

He returns from hunting with three Korok seeds in his pockets, and two foxes that he’d managed to catch—which he skins and cuts up for Inko to begin cooking into stew before he finally steels himself for the next shrine. Inko thanks him warmly and sees him off, but there’s something tense in her demeanor.

Her eyes seem tight with worry, but when Eijiro tries to ask what’s wrong she just waves him off and makes him promise to be safe. He doesn’t hesitate to give her his word—he couldn’t bear to make her worry, but really, as uneasy as he is about the shrines, he knows he can handle them.

The ruins aren’t far from Inko’s home at all—honestly, he’s had to pass them at a distance, a bunch. It doesn’t take him long to make his way to them, and they’re surrounded by… odd shapes of some sort, the kind he’s seen dotted around the Great Plateau in several places, but this is the closest he’s actually gotten to any of them. They’re all tarnished and moss-covered, too much so to make out what they might have looked like once, and he can’t figure out what they were for.

Not statues, surely, because their positioning is too random and too haphazard. The only thing he does know, is now that he’s close enough to make out details, they fill him with the most visceral unease and dread he’s ever felt in his life.

He spends a solid minute staring at one, throat dry and palms clammy, before he manages to convince himself to inch closer. There’s no reason he should be so—so—so scared shitless by a hunk of lifeless material. They’re stationary. What’s his problem?

Man up, he chides himself, swallowing roughly as he pokes around one. It’s… not so bad when he gets in close, because he can focus on just the area right in front of him, and ignore the whole shape. It’s made of metal, he realizes, knocking on a scuffed and dulled part of the material and hearing a hollow and muted clang as he does so. Squatting down, he leans a hand against the moss-covered material and peers into one of several openings near the bottom of the shape.

As he runs his hand around the opening, brow furrowed in thought as he tries to piece together what these things are and why they agitate him so much, something comes loose in his hand. Pulling it out, he stares at—a screw?

Something similar had come out of the automatons he’d been forced to fight in the last shrine. Looking up at the shape again, Eijiro bites his lip, his unease building again. Was this another machine just like those? Near the top, he now realizes there’s a circular indent that—that looks like the eyes of the automatons, where their lasers had fired from.

Eijiro blanches.

He can’t imagine what machines of this size would do—what kind of damage that eyes of that size could cause. He grips the screw he’d pilfered tightly to keep his hand from shaking, and suddenly his fear doesn’t seem as ridiculous or confusing to him now. He’s just glad they’re all clearly defunct. Taking in a shaky, steadying breath, Eijiro stands and backs away quickly, regardless.

He just… doesn’t want to be around them. That’s all.

He skirts around it as he moves further past the battered and half-collapsed walls of what the map tells him used to be the Eastern Abbey. Skirting through one opening, he makes his way into an area clearly far more open than it once was—there’s half of an archway in the center of the space, the only testament to whatever walls once divided this particular area. There are two more of those intimidating defunct machines lodged in the rubble on either side of that arch. Beyond them stands a complete doorway in one of the few whole walls, though its opening is sealed over with debris.

Still, these walls are all cracked and littered with ivy and plantlife, so climbing them won’t be any problem at all. Eijiro’s not worried as he makes his way forward—at least, not about how to get to the shrine. He wishes he didn’t have to walk so closely between the lifeless machines, though.

He’s hardly more than a few steps into the clearing when it happens—the machine on the right, it moves. The top of it rattles and lifts, the whole creation suddenly glowing red as it spins to face him, and then—that fucking sound, like a gong or a hand slamming down on an out of tune piano, and Eijiro—

Eijiro can’t fucking move as the eye lights up piercingly blue and stares him down. His blood turns to ice in his veins and his breath feels solid in his lungs as he tries to choke past it and every muscle in his body draws painfully tense and he can’t—he can’t—

He can’t move and can’t think and he can’t afford to run he has to stay and fight, but there’s no point it’s over he can’t do this they’re going to kill him, they’re going to kill them both, and then they’re going to kill everyone and he can’t stop it he just has to—

The eye shifts colors. The blue’s suddenly deep and dark—a line of red light beams out of it, directly onto Eijiro. A strangled gasp gets caught in his throat, and he runs. Involuntarily he scrambles, nearly tripping over his own legs. He manages to slam himself behind a ruined wall, in the same instant a white-hot beam of light flares past where he’d just been. It blasts into a wall behind him, a sob escaping Eijiro as an explosion of flame and light bursts at the impact point. It sears his skin, even fifteen feet away.

Eijiro presses himself flat to the wall, legs curled close to his chest, face buried in his knees as he struggles for breath. His heart’s pounding so painfully he thinks it’ll break his rib cage and he grips tight around his legs with one arm, his other hand gripping at his own hair tight enough to hurt.

He needs—he needs to—fuck, he has to get away from here, he can’t—he doesn’t know what that thing is but some deeply ingrained part of him must, because he still can’t control the trembling of his limbs or the stinging of his eyes. He can hear it, on the other side of the wall, a constant whirring and deep, menacing humming all paired with a mechanical grating as it turns its head back and forth, searching for him.

He has to go. He knows without trying that his sword would break on this thing before he could get any real damage done. It’s armored, heavily, and even its insides are made of metal. His sword’s fine, but he knows the difference between fine and good or even great. It could never survive an attack on that thing.

He could just… he could continue to use this wall for cover, and get as far as his legs will take him, keeping obstacles between them until he’s gone and doesn’t ever have to do this again. It would be easy. It would be easy, but…

He has to get to that shrine. He has to get off this plateau, and help the voice—fuck, the voice, he’s in the castle, with something so much worse than this stupid, stuck robot that can’t even move. Why the hell can’t Eijiro get himself together? He knocks his forehead against his knees over and over, trying desperately to manage something other than the choked, hiccuping gasps that keep escaping him.

How can—how can he even think about running away from this? If he can’t jump into action now, when it’s his own life on the line and his enemy can’t even move, how is he ever going to help anyone else? How is he ever going to face All for One? The voice… Eijiro’s going to fail him. He can’t give in here.

He still can’t even draw a full breath properly, but he can’t let it stop him. He moves to grab the hilt of his sword, starting to push himself up against the wall beside him before—before—he slumps, sliding back down the wall and onto his ass. His knees are still too weak to hold him, but even if they weren’t, it’s his resolve that failed.

Eijiro knows he can’t fight this thing. He hasn’t seen a weapon on this plateau that could even make a dent. He’s being a coward, he knows, but… but he doesn’t want to die fighting a battle he can’t win. He’ll never help the voice that way. So… so he has to figure out something else.

His mind scrambles through what he knows, trying to figure out something—any piece of information he can use. Think. He tries to comb through what just happened, to pinpoint anything…

It hadn’t targeted him right away. That’s what he realizes first. It had taken a moment, to find him, and only then did the red light flash towards him. And—and it hadn’t fired right away either. The red light had lingered on him, a strange clicking sound emanating from the machine, until a final beep. It had fired a split-second after that. But—but it also hadn’t moved. The line of red light had locked in place after the sound, while Eijiro kept moving, and then it had fired, at where Eijiro had been.

So—so if he moves fast enough…

He can get past this thing.

He doesn’t want to risk getting close to the machine, and he doesn’t want to bet his life on being fast enough to dodge only in that split-second where it can’t track him, but… there are walls littered all around them. The shrine is surrounded on all four sides. If he can just keep to cover, moving faster than the beam can focus in on him, until he can scale that last wall—it won’t be able to target him.

Eijiro has a plan. He can do this.

It goes off without a hitch, more or less, for the first sixty seconds or so. Yeah, he’s scared out of his godsdamned mind the moment he sees the flash of red, every time he sees it—but he only has to sprint through the open twice, and both times are fleeting. He makes it around a corner, out of the thing’s sight, but even as he sags with relief he refuses to believe he’s out of the woods.

The place is littered with the remains of those machines, and now he knows he needs to be wary of all of them. He finds himself at a dead end, walls around him on most sides, so he tries to loosen his muscles and gets to climbing. Despite his protesting muscles, he heaves himself over quickly.

He finds himself a little too out in the open—the machine has a line of sight on him from here, if it thinks to turn around, so he sprints again for the wall to the side of the shrine. It won’t see him from there, at least. But just as soon as he makes it, he sees—there’s another one up ahead. And it gives a shudder.

The second one lights up, its eye turning to Eijiro, and his heart stops.

His heart stops and he runs—he doesn’t freeze up this time, bolting for the wall, and he doesn’t even waste time looking for handholds. He just feels claws overtaking his hands, and he jabs them into the stone with enough force to crack it himself, making his own handholds as he claws his way up. He’s over just as the beam locks on, hurling himself past the wall heedlessly of the fall waiting.

He rolls to dispel as much of his momentum as he can, scales hardening across his skin to absorb what force he can’t, and then—

And then it sinks in. He did it. Part of him wants to whoop for joy but the rest of him is still too breathless and shaky, and he lets himself flop flat on the long grass that’s overtaken the ruins, right at the foot of the shrine. He doesn’t remember if he was the praying type before he woke up in that shrine, but he lays a hand over his pounding heart and thanks each of the Goddesses and Bakusatsuo in turn, earnest and sincere.

Ja Baij Shrine does give him another rune. It won’t get him off the plateau, but it is badass.

He can now summon bombs, two types of them, out of the slate at will. He doesn’t know how often he’ll need that, but just having the option makes him feel pretty damn powerful. Admittedly, the trial this shrine offers is just as easy—maybe easier—than the magnesis trial had been, but he keeps messing it up.

When he first comes in, the adrenaline is only just draining from his system, and all of his limbs feel heavy with exhaustion. The fear response from earlier hasn’t fully left him, either, and it makes his hands just a little shaky—the result is he keeps fumbling his grip on the bombs, not quite judging his throws correctly. Several times he has to stop to take a few deep breaths, shake his hands out, and hope for the best as he attempts the same toss he’s messed up two or three times already.

Still, he gets through it in about the same amount of time, and he endures Ja Baij’s weird purple mist and spontaneous disintegration with only some contained distaste and not outright panic this time. Progress!

When he steps out of the shrine, the same odd energy that’s been humming under his skin since the first one is there still, stronger now. He’s still unsettled by it, but—but whatever it is, the ‘strength of these monks’ spirits’, it’s supposed to help, so he tries not to let it bother him. He steps out into the beginning of sunset, and he realizes—

He’d thought there could be nothing he’d ever hate more than fast travel, and he was so wrong. Standing on the surface of the shrine, realizing he’ll have to get past those looming machines on the other side of the walls, Eijiro doesn’t have to debate long. He pulls out the slate, braces himself, and taps Oman Au Shrine on the map—it’s farther, but like hell is he going to climb down the tower a third time, in this state.

He’s in hell for all of the five seconds it takes him to be ripped across the plateau, but, hey, he doesn’t throw up this time!

Sure, he stumbles to his hands and knees as soon as he arrives, and he has to close his eyes to ride out the waves of nausea that hit him, but he doesn’t even dry heave so he’ll take the win. He takes as many deep breaths as he needs to to calm his stomach, and then he pulls himself to his feet, heading back towards Inko’s home once more.

It’s really nice, to have somewhere that cozy and safe to recoup, after all the worst of today.

Inko looks about ready to cry when he arrives back at her tiny house, two more Korok seeds in his possession. Actually, he can’t be sure she doesn’t actually start crying—he has to look away fast, just in case, before he’s in danger of his own waterworks possibly starting in response to hers.

“Oh, you’re safe, thank goodness,” she breathes, waving him in almost frantically. He can’t even get a word out before she’s ushering him into a seat at her table, and she keeps him there with a hand firmly on his shoulder, not even letting him move to dish his own meal up. She ladles the stew she’s had simmering for the past two hours or so into a bowl herself, and puts it in front of him.

He’s not sure where all the nervous energy comes from, but it doesn’t fully fade through most of the meal, even as they talk over their dinner. Every time she stands—to dish up seconds for either of them, or to grab something across the room—she finds an excuse to touch Eijiro, laying a hand on his back or shoulder. One time, she even strokes his hair, the gesture motherly and caring. It’s like she has to keep reminding herself he’s there and not hurt. Eijiro doesn’t know what to make of it.

It’s well and truly dark out by the time Eijiro finishes eating, and that’s when it finally hits him—

“Oh… I should probably figure out somewhere to camp out for the night.” He hadn’t even thought about it before, and he wishes he’d thought to get set up someplace before it was dark out. Still, he doesn’t think it’ll be too hard. It feels like something he’ll know how to do.

Inko raises her eyebrows at him. “What are you talking about? You’re staying here, of course.”

“Really?” he blurts, surprised and hesitant. “Are… are you sure? You’ve already fed me twice, and given me hair ties, and helped me out so much today, you don’t have to—”

“But I want to, and I will,” she says, firm. It’s hard to argue with her, especially with gratitude swelling in his chest, but…

“I—I really don’t want to be a burden—”

“You could never,” she insists gently, but she leaves little room for argument. “I would never forgive myself if I made you fend for yourself in your situation. You’ll stay here tonight. And tomorrow, if we haven’t figured out how to get you down from the plateau, either. I want to do this for you, and you’re going to let me, young man.”

“Okay...” He swallows, and his voice is not just a little wobbly, thank you very much. “Um… where...”

“You’ll take the bed,” she says without looking at him as she begins to gather their dishes, and Eijiro shakes his head.

“I can’t! I couldn’t make you sleep on the floor, and it’s your house!”

Inko just shakes her head, glancing his way with a warm smile. “You can. I wouldn’t be using it much, anyways. It would be a waste. Trust me, dear, getting old ruins your sleep. You can’t sleep through the night anymore, and you’ll be napping throughout the day no matter what you do. You’ll take the bed.”

“But that’s not fair,” Eijiro protests. “You keep doing so much for me, at least let me repay you by letting you keep your bed.”

Setting their stacked bowls down, Inko reaches across the table to lay a hand over his, regarding him with a fond, no-nonsense look. “Eijiro, honey, you do not have to repay me for a single thing. You deserve a good night’s sleep after the day you’ve had, and I won’t accept no for an answer. Besides, I have some things I want to work on tonight. I think I have an idea how to help you get down safely, so I won’t be sleeping much tonight anyways. I insist, and it will make me happier than any other sort of repayment you could give me.”

Eijiro presses his lips together, and he can feel a lump in his throat. She’s so kind and helpful, and he doesn’t even know what he did to deserve it. Letting him have her food, some of her things, even her bed, and on top of it all she’s planning to lose sleep working on a way to help him tonight. He doesn’t understand but he’ll never forget how much he owes her as long as he lives.

“Why—” He has to clear his throat, voice a little hoarse. “Why are you… so nice? You’re doing so much for me—and I appreciate it! I really, really do! But you don’t even know me, why...”

Inko’s expression softens, and turns just a little sad. She takes a deep breath, and the smile she offers him is heartbreaking.

“You remind me—an awful lot, actually—of my son,” she tells him quietly. She clasps her hands in front of her and her eyes grow distant, but thinking about him clearly brings her so much joy. “I haven’t seen him since he was your age, but you’re just like him. You’re both such sweet, polite boys. It’s—it’s a terribly dangerous world out there, but he’s keeping people safe, just like you want to. You both think so much about other people—and you’re so brave.”

Her voice wavers on the last word and then—and then she’s crying, tears an absolute flood, and before Eijiro realizes it he’s got tears spilling down his cheeks, too. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

��It’s all r-right,” Inko says, but he can barely make it out through her tears. “Really, it is, I just—I just love him so m-much.”

“I can tell,” Eijiro says, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, but it doesn’t do much to stem the flow of his sympathetic tears. “He’s—he’s got a really great mom.”

“I have a really w-wonderful son,” she responds, and Eijiro can’t see with his hands pressed to his eyes, but he can hear that her weeping is only getting worse, and it just makes his worse in response. “I kn-know he’s thinking about m-me every day, just like I think about him. And that’s why I’m looking after you, Eijiro. I w-want to look after you the same way I’d—I’d hope someone would look after my baby. So just l-let me do that, okay?”

“Okay,” Eijiro just barely manages, his own voice wobbling and wavering just like hers. He pulls his hands away from his eyes to see her frantically trying to stem the flow of her tears with a handkerchief, but it’s not getting her very far.

“Good,” she wails, and together the two of them are a complete and utter mess.

Eventually they manage to pull themselves together, enough so for Inko to finish cleaning up after their dinner and for Eijiro to get ready for bed. He doesn’t have the heart, after all that, to argue with her further, and the complete and utter happiness on her face when he finally starts to climb into the bed makes getting past his hesitation completely worth it. He hopes that wherever her son is, he understands exactly how wholeheartedly wonderful his mother is, and cherishes her appropriately.

By the Goddesses, Eijiro hadn’t realized how exhausted he was after everything until the exact moment his head hits the pillow—he tries to stay awake long enough to plan out how to get to the two shrines left on the plateau tomorrow, but it’s in vain.

The last thing he sees before his eyes shut for good is Inko pulling out a sewing kit and something that looks like a blanket, maybe? It’s vibrant red and has the winged Triforce symbol of Hyrule on it. He doesn’t even have time to wonder how a blanket might help him get down from the plateau before sleep barrels into him with all the force of one of his newly-acquired bombs.

#kiribaku #bakushima #krbk #bkshm #kirishima eijirou #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijiro #bakugo katsuki #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #fanfiction #fanfic #fic

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internethistoriananalysis · 4 years ago

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The Transformed Public Sphere in Relation to ‘Internet Historian’

The Transformed Public Sphere

In the previous essay I argued that the public sphere had been transformed by the advent of the digital era, but that the change was for the negative. Despite there being significant technological improvements that would naturally bring about a healthier public sphere, the vertical relationships described by Habermas (1989) in the public sphere between corporation and consumer had persisted in the transition from old to new media. This is because ultimately corporations such as Alphabet Inc., which have a history of buying up small companies by the bucket load (Hartmans and Meisenzahl, 2020); still impose vague terms of service that allow for absolutely control over the website’s content and algorithms that appeal to the reptilian reward centre of the brain.

Recontextualisation for the Internet Historian

As with the posts on Goffman’s presentation of the self. It was important to fit the theory into the digital context so Harold and the Internet Historian can be best understood through the idea of the transformed public sphere. This is why he is only being mentioned now.

I discussed in a previous post that Harold is an anonymous figure. He consists entirely of what is best describes as an ‘online persona’, or social front. This means when looking at his place within the public sphere it is difficult to assign him a ‘class’ value, which has been key in determining the health and nature of the public sphere. He is an entertainer, and not in a real position of power as we might associate with the corporate directors and publishers of the 20th century. This indeterminate nature of his character and class status is interesting within the recontextualised ideas of Habermas’ public sphere as anonymity would typically signal that you don’t have much of a vested interest in the affairs of public concern.

Due to the advent of the ‘adpocalypse’ on YouTube (Alexander, 2019), many YouTube content creators have taken to making in-video sponsorships that do not require the approval of the YouTube monetisation system. This cuts out the middle man and allows creators to make more money without the fear of having their videos demonetised or a loss of revenue from a false copyright claim.

On the downside, in-video sponsorships are rather exclusive and are not available to creators with a small following in return for pocket change. This however, is not an issue for Harold as a very successful online persona with 2.74 million subscribers on his primary channel as of January 2021 and it is something that he makes use of in all of his videos.

Habermas describes advertisement as an example of the vertical relationship in the public sphere; the king talking to his subject. A dictation of what is, essentially. This is an easy relationship to establish with an example of traditional advertising, as seen below:

(Brylcreem, N.d.)

This piece of traditional advertising for the hair cream popular in the 1950′s is typical of advertisement from that time. This particular piece was likely found in a newspaper or magazine. It doesn’t use humour in any way, it contains a title, text and an image of a rather joyous man who is clearly a user of this product. The piece exists simply to preach to the quality of Brylcreem and extoll the many virtues of its users. The public sphere relationship is between the advertiser and the consumer; it is an absolute truth being dictated to the consumer and this is the vertical relationship that is not healthy for the public sphere’s benefit.

Unlike traditional advertisement, Internet Historian takes a radically different approach. Most interestingly, he takes the in-video advertisements and incorporates them into the style and humour of the video. For example, in the video below Harold is providing an advertisement for the wireless earphone company RayCon.

youtube

(Internet Historian, 2020:11min 48)

In the video advertisement, Harold creates a fictional character called ‘Ray Con Man’ and gives him a backstory about how his father was killed after being beheaded by wired earphones caught on a tree’s twig, (the joke lies in the fact Ray Con earphones are wireless) and that this spurred him on a mission to destroy all wires.

There is a great difference between traditional advertisement and the form of advertisement seen here. "Critics have blamed advertising for for manipulating people, creating and instilling false needs and values, promoting materialism, perpetuating stereotypes, and presenting a world of consumption sheltered from social problems” (Sandikci, 2004). This could definitely be said about traditional advertising, but is it true of the advertisement within Harold’s videos?

The case isn’t very strong, on the contrary, the advertising seen in Harold’s videos is one that is laden with irony and it could be argued as being an attempt to humorously parody mainstream advertisement in a way that will fit in with the overall comedy of the video; the ultimate goal being to entertain his audience.

References

Alexander, J. (2019) The Golden Age of YouTube is Over. The Verge. [Online] [Accessed 4th January 2021] https://www.theverge.com/2019/4/5/18287318/youtube-logan-paul-pewdiepie-demonetization-adpocalypse-premium-influencers-creators#:~:text=The%20attention%20Kjellberg%20brought%20to,from%20halting%20their%20ad%20spending.

Habermas, J. (1989) The structural transformation of the public sphere : an inquiry into a category of bourgeois society. Cambridge: MIT Press

Hartmans, A. and Meisenzahl, M., (2020) All the companies and divisions under Google's parent company, Alphabet, which just made yet another shake-up to its structure. Business Insider. [Online] [Accessed 5th January 2020] https://www.businessinsider.com/alphabet-google-company-list-2017-4?r=US&IR=T

Sandikci, O., (2004) ‘Advertising and the Public Sphere.’ Advances in Consumer Research, 31 pp. 174-175.

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paladin-lynx · 4 years ago

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SquipJere Week 2020, Day 2: Virtual Reality

@squipjerebmc’s SquipJere Week 2020 Day 2: Virtual Reality

Ships Involved: The SQUIP x Jeremy Heere (Technical Difficulties/Squipemy/Squeremy/JereSquip/SquipJere)

Setting: Canonverse, set in the time interval between “Loser Geek Whatever” and “Halloween”.

Trigger/Content Warnings: Non-graphic mentions of pornography and masturbation

It seemed that even with an artificially intelligent Tic Tac in his head, life could still be awfully boring sometimes.

When the SQUIP wasn’t having him practice his posture or coaching him on how to ‘think cooler thoughts,’ Jeremy was pretty much left to his own devices. He had new friends that he could potentially call up to hang out with – he had taken an indefinite rain check on Rich’s invite to come over – but he still didn’t feel like he knew them well enough to be alone with them, and his usual Player One was out of the picture for right now. It was different when Jeremy was at school; in a way, he felt like once he left this house and stepped through the doors of Middleborough High, he was a different person. Sure, the SQUIP was trying to keep his habits and interests consistent regardless of where he went, but it was still much too tempting to recede back into himself when he was in the safety of his own home.

But there was only so much he could do when he was by himself. It wasn’t like he wanted to spend all his time doing homework and researching the newest trends so that he could stay ‘in the now’ – or was it ‘in the know?’ – and his games started to feel repetitive after a while and he wasn’t about to spend the money to buy new ones. And he couldn’t watch porn without the SQUIP knowing, of course. There were a handful of times he wondered if he should ask his father if he wanted to do something, even just watch a movie, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle seeing his father waddling around in just his robe and underwear. It was a constant reminder of why he’d gotten his SQUIP in the first place.

And so here he was, sprawled on his bed and staring up at his ceiling. The SQUIP had made him take down the glow-in-the-dark stars that he and Michael had stuck up there God knew how many years ago, deeming them too juvenile for a high school junior. And some of them had only been hanging on by one point, so maybe it was time to peel them off anyway. Jeremy had woken up with the cheap little stars littered on his bed and carpet too many times before.

He let out a long-suffering sigh, deciding that counting the dings and marks above him was better than just being alone with his thoughts. When he thought too much, he just ended up feeling sorry for himself.

Of course, then he remembered that he did, in fact, have a supercomputer in his head.

He had hardly even opened his mouth to summon the SQUIP before its physical form fizzled into existence next to the bed, standing over him. It raised an eyebrow. “What can I do for you, Jeremy?”

Of course it knew he had wanted to speak with it. Jeremy breathed out through his nose, looking up at the face above him. “Entertain me, SQUIP.”

It huffed, rolling its eyes and shaking its head. Jeremy would expect such movement to mess up anyone’s hair, but of course the SQUIP’s stayed perfectly styled. “I’m a Super Quantum Unit Intel Processor, Jeremy. My infinite wealth of data and my connection to your mind is meant to be used to help you achieve your most difficult goals in life. I’m not a toy for you to play with.”

Jeremy pouted. “Well, I’m bored, so my goal right now is to be entertained.”

The SQUIP frowned at him in return. “That isn’t a difficult goal. You have plenty to entertain yourself with.”

“You won’t let me get off, which is how I normally keep myself busy.”

“Because you need a sexual partner that isn’t your own hand. And you need to get your libido in check regardless.”

“Well then, what do you suggest?”

“Call up Brooke.”

“Eh…”

“You have all these video game systems and just the other day you were telling me how much you love indulging in nostalgia.”

“Not feelin’ up to games right now.”

“Watch TV? Or a movie?”

“Mm…”

The SQUIP sighed, rubbing a hand over its face. “Honestly, dear, there are so many things you could do, and you’re asking me to find something to cure your boredom?”

Jeremy flashed a bashful smile. “Yup.” He knew he might end up getting on the SQUIP’s nerves – circuits? – if he pushed like this, but he couldn’t help it. The SQUIP had eased up a little in its lessons because Jeremy had been doing well, so he felt like he had a little room to argue. Besides, there was something oddly satisfying about seeing the SQUIP at a loss.

Of course, as he thought that, the SQUIP leaned down a little closer, narrowing those sharp eyes. “Are you trying to stump me, Jeremy? Because I’ll have you know that that’s an impossible task.”

And just like that, Jeremy felt his stomach flip and his streak of confidence faded away. He swallowed the lump in his throat and steeled himself, shaking his head. “I just want something to do, come on.”

The SQUIP sighed, straightening back up. It tilted its head, and Jeremy could feel the familiar, albeit barely noticeable, buzz at the back of his mind as the SQUIP analyzed the situation.

Finally, it blinked back to awareness and extended a hand to Jeremy, who flinched slightly on instinct.

“Come on. Get up,” it commanded.

Jeremy furrowed his brow. “What?”

“Up.” The SQUIP frowned and reached to instead take Jeremy’s hand itself. The SQUIP’s hand was cool to the touch and Jeremy knew that there wasn’t really anything there and that the SQUIP was just manipulating his nerves and puppeting his limbs as he was pulled to his feet.

Jeremy tried to ignore the way his cheeks warmed as he awkwardly stood there, the SQUIP still gripping his hand. “Um, okay. M’up. Now what?”

It smiled at him. “Close your eyes, love.”

Jeremy bit his lip, hesitating, but after a moment he obeyed and his eyes fluttered shut.

“Good. Now, I want you to tell me a place. Any place, real or fictional.”

Jeremy’s brow creased. “Why?”

The SQUIP tutted at him. “Always with the questions. You wanted me to entertain you, and I need you to trust me. So tell me a place.”

Jeremy wasn’t entirely certain where this was going – the SQUIP had a bad habit of being overly explicit with some of its plans and then so incredibly vague about others – but he did try to think of a place. But with how bored he’d been, he wasn’t feeling terribly creative.

“I dunno. Uh, Hogwarts.” He could practically feel the SQUIP’s disappointment in his nerdy answer and he scrambled to defend himself. “C-c’mon, Harry Potter is super popular and mainstream!”

“Not with how Mrs. Rowling has been behaving herself recently. But I digress. Keep your eyes closed.”

Jeremy pouted but he listened, keeping his eyes shut. He was tempted to open them just to spite the SQUIP but he refrained, curiosity getting the better of him. He could feel the SQUIP poking and prodding at his brain – it wasn’t painful, but the sensation of something manipulating his thoughts and senses would never not be weird – and at one point it even felt like his eyes were itchy. But he still obeyed the order given to him and waited.

“Alright. You can open them now.”

Warily, Jeremy cracked open one eye before they both flew open and his jaw dropped. Still holding the SQUIP’s hand, he found himself staring at none other than the Great Hall of Hogwarts. Every little detail was there, from the floating candles to the grand windows to the Houses’ tables. Despite him being positive it was the middle of the day, it was clearly nighttime outside and the firelight was the only thing allowing him to see.

“H-holy shit,” he mumbled. “Is this…is this like virtual reality?”

The SQUIP chuckled. “I’d say it’s better, considering it’s right in your mind rather than through some headset or screen.” It waved a hand to gesture around them. “Not feeling so bored anymore, are you?”

“Definitely not!” Jeremy grinned, already thinking about all the places he could ask the SQUIP to send him to. He knew it was nothing more than a hallucination and the SQUIP had made him see plenty of things before that weren’t really there, but he was too in awe to care that it wasn’t real. He pulled his hand away from the SQUIP.

He could feel the SQUIP frown and reach out for him again. “Jeremy—”

But the boy was already racing forward, eager to explore. However, as he hurried down the aisle between two of the tables, he yelped as he slipped on something, arms waving wildly as he tried to find his balance.

As he thought he was about to tumble backwards, a pair of strong arms caught his waist and he found himself staring up, red in the face, at the SQUIP.

The SQUIP let out another chuckle. “There’s only so much I can control,” it explained, motioning to the floor. When Jeremy looked down, there was a sock standing out against the dark floor of the hall, and he realized that must have been what he had slipped on.

“Oh…Right, we’re actually still in my room,” he murmured, gaze swiveling back up the SQUIP, who was still holding him in what was almost a dip. He just blinked dumbly up at the supercomputer, mouth too dry for him to ask to be let go.

The SQUIP broke into a little smirk and pulled Jeremy back to his feet, although its arms didn’t move from their place around the boy’s waist. “I didn’t think this hall would fit the moniker of ‘great’ if it was reduced to the size of your bedroom, so there are limits to where you can move around. But even if you can’t tell where the illusion ends, I can…”

It raised one hand to snap its fingers, and Jeremy flinched as music flooded the hall from seemingly nowhere. He blinked at the SQUIP yet again, confused, before his blush returned full-force as the SQUIP took one of his hands in its own, the other settled against his hip. “Wh—”

“Come on, Jeremy, I know you had to learn how to slow dance with your mother for your Bar Mitzvah. Just follow my lead.”

Stunned, Jeremy mindlessly moved his free hand to the SQUIP’s shoulder. He decided not to linger on the mention of his mother and he also decided not to point out that he’d been taught to lead in that dance, not follow – although perhaps that didn’t matter because that dance back then had barely lasted two minutes and Jeremy had always been better as a follower than a leader anyway. Always the Player Two, although that was hopefully beginning to change.

And so he let the SQUIP lead, and soon enough they were sweeping through the Great Hall, and only after a solid minute did Jeremy notice that the House tables were gone, leaving them more room. The SQUIP was rather fluid in its movements for a machine – then again, the SQUIP wasn’t your average machine – and it led Jeremy in such a way that he realized it must be making sure he didn’t trip over or bump into anything that was actually in his bedroom that he couldn’t see. Unsure of what he was supposed to do in his role, he ended up watching their feet until he felt an unseen force gently tipping his chin up, making him gasp softly.

He expected the SQUIP to make fun of him like it so often did, but instead it just gave him what he dared to call a fond smile. “Come on, dear. Have some fun. This is all for you.” He felt his muscles start to loosen up a bit and a wave of calm washed over him. “That’s it. Enjoy yourself. You wanted me to entertain you, didn’t you?”

And with the SQUIP’s mental nudges, Jeremy did start to get more into it. He was no ballroom expert by any means, but with the SQUIP guiding him, he was able to follow along easily enough after having a few moments to adjust. Soon he was laughing and at one point the SQUIP even made it look like they were wearing matching suits, and Jeremy tried not to focus on the fact that the SQUIP looked absolutely dashing in a suit.

Of course, even if the thought was fleeting, the SQUIP caught it and broke into a small grin. “You clean up quite nicely, too, Jeremiah.”

“Oh, don’t ruin it by calling me that,” Jeremy protested, the tips of his ears feeling hot. The SQUIP laughed and gave him a twirl, and before he could really process what was happening, Jeremy felt himself fall back and he was suddenly in his room again, laying on his bed staring up at the ceiling. Still no glow-in-the-dark stars.

“What?” he breathed out, hurriedly sitting up.

The SQUIP was sitting in his desk chair, back to its normal sleek outfit, smiling. “I figured that was enough excitement for one day. Don’t think I forgot that you have an English essay to write.”

Jeremy groaned, flopping back on the bed. “That wasn’t even that long!”

“Wasn’t it?”

Jeremy’s eyebrows furrowed and he leaned over to check his clock radio, surprised to see that indeed quite a bit of time had passed. It had only really felt like a few minutes, but maybe that was another trick on his mind.

Still, he frowned over at the SQUIP. “I don’t wanna write my essay,” he whined.

The SQUIP let out a soft laugh and sauntered over, brushing a hand against Jeremy’s cheek and tilting his head up to look at it. “If you do some work, perhaps we can have some more fun later. Hm?”

Jeremy wasn’t sure if the SQUIP meant for that to sound as suggestive as it did, but then again, the SQUIP was in his brain and knew exactly how he’d take a statement like that. Which was how it knew that he’d listen and get to his feet.

As Jeremy grumpily sat down at his desk, the SQUIP smirked at him. “If you get the whole thing done tonight, maybe I’ll even consider wearing a suit again.”

Jeremy’s cheeks burned. “Fuck off.”

He got to work.

#SquipJere Week 2020 #lynx tales #mine #writing #Be More Chill #BMC Jeremy Heere #BMC SQUIP #Squipemy #Squeremy #Technical Difficulties #JereSquip #SquipJere #Jeremy Heere #SQUIP #the slow dancing was inspired by another JereSquip fic I read and i still love the idea of these two dancing together #BMC #fanfiction #fic #i don't have a fancy queue tag

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thespiralgrimoire · 4 years ago

Note

Would you consider posting your thoughts on the Twilight series? Because the bits and pieces I catch on your main are HILARIOUS though maybe it’s just because I find salt hysterical LOL

Oh good grief

Under a read more for my sake if not anyone else’s

The year was 2007. I was 11 year old, in 6th grade, nursing a substantial superiority complex over my classmates, and idolizing the 7th grade girls. This is where my story begins.

Now I won’t get into all the semantics as to why I was such an insufferable little garbage person in middle school, but I will tell you that I was convinced that I was not like other girls. While this proved true, my reasons as to why were completely off the mark in my tweens. Back then, I thought it was because I was smarter, wiser, and more mature than any of the other 6th grade girls in my class.

But not the 7th grade girls. The 7th grade girls were it, man. Nobody was cooler or smarter or more creative than the handful of ladies who were blessed with the patience to put up with my nonsense in middle school. So naturally, when they read Twilight, I read Twilight.

Twilight, if you have the good fortune to not be intimately aware of it by now, is about the Bella Swan, blandest girl in the entire world, moving to a small town to live with her emotionally awkward father, where she meets the Cullens, a clan of vampires who don’t drink human blood, because they’re trying to be morally upright. Her scent is irresistible to one of the vampires, (the only single one among them because the rest are dating each other) named Edward. Edward has the ability to read minds, and Bella is the only person he’s ever met who is immune to this power. I must stress again that she smells so good that he has to physically restrain himself from eating her, and murdering all witnesses. For reasons I can’t really remember now except “because that’s what the books are about”, they fall in love.

Here’s the thing about these books: Even as I was reading them, they gave me the creeps. Something in my little baby mind was vaguely aware that Edward was a messed up motherfucker, and Bella was a one-dimensional stand-in for the reader, and everything interesting in this story was happening on the fringes, facilitated by the far more interesting side characters. There were parts of these books that were uncomfortable to read. There were parts that made me seriously question why these books were so popular. There were parts that made it physically difficult to keep reading. About 3 things happen in the entirety of this series that feels good and satisfying, and none of them are things that the author, who I will derogatorily refer to as Smeyer, meant to be satisfying.

Two things kept me reading these books. The first was, obviously, the 7th grade girls, and my other friends in other grades who quickly caught the hype wave.

The second. Was the fact. That the writing style of these books, despite being the modem for a story that is absurd at best and a giant, flaming, stinking dumpster fire of bad takes, racism, and sexism at worst, is HYPNOTIC. A lot of my opinions about this series have changed drastically over the years, but this is one that I was acutely aware of even as I was reading these books. No matter how stupid or frustrating or repulsive the things that Smeyer is writing are, her writing style will not let you put the story down once you’re invested. And since I was reading these for social clout, I was invested on page 1. I want to believe that this was a trick played on my young mind, but after reading the first chapter of Midnight Sun (the newly released book that is literally just Twilight from Edward’s POV instead of Bella’s), I can confirm that this woman’s style is genuinely Like That. I enjoyed maybe 6 sentences of the 15-page chapter and I am still frothing at the mouth to read more.

So now that I’ve justified why I subjected myself to this shit in the first place, let’s get to some feelings about it.

Edward is a CREEP. He knows this. His family knows this. His love rival knows this. The only person who does not know this, rendering the fact completely inconsequential to the events of the story, is Bella. I’m not really willing to talk about how Edward is such a disgusting model for what young girls should expect out of a partner that there was discourse for MONTHS over Fifty Shades of Grey, but.... Edward is such a disgusting model for what young girls should expect out of a partner that Fifty Shades of Grey exists. It’s literally Twilight fanfiction. Fact check me. I wish I was making this up.

Bella is, as I said before, a cardboard cutout of a human being. The book is from her point of view, and includes copious amounts of her thoughts, and yet it’s still clear that she has absolutely no personality. She is supposed to be your Jane Everywoman, and yet there is not a single relatable thing about her. Her three personality traits are Brown Eyes, Clumsy (but not in a way that matters often), and Likes Edward. That’s it. This girl has nothing going on, which only draws more attenton to the fact that literally everyone else in the story has a rich and interesting backstory. But they’re side characters and this is about Stale White Bread Bella over here, so go fuck yourself if you want more information on Rosalie using her vampire abilities to get revenge on her fiance and his buddies, who assaulted her to the point of near death, or Alice, who sees the future and spent a good chunk of her life in an asylum, or Jasper, who was a Union soldier fighting the Civil War which was ALSO the vampire war???? Fuck off with that shit, this is about Bella.

But you know who the best characters are? The werewolves. But not REAL werewolves. These are Native Americans whose initial transformation is triggered by the proximity of the vampires, because vampires once terrorized their people and now this ability to turn to wolves is hereditary to protect themselves. The fact that these fellas are not REAL werewolves, and that there are real lycanthropes of lore, is mentioned in passing in the last book and never mentioned by anyone ever again.

One of these wolves is Jacob, Bella’s childhood friend and, for the first two books, an absolute sweetheart. Just a big goofball who’s a couple years younger than Bella, and all he wants is the best for her. Real wholesome shit. When Edward leaves her because he thinks that she’s too attached (SHE IS), Jacob literally talks Bella back from the brink. The wolf pack, and the Native American tribe, welcome her as one of them. They’re adorable. I can’t stress enough that they would have also been an excellent candidate for the focal point of this shitshow.

But it doesn’t last. Edward does some real dumb shit in Italy and Bella has to go rescue him, which tips off the Vampire Illuminati that Edward was trying to get killed by (i.e. the real dumb shit). They don’t like that Bella, a human, knows about them, and demands that she be turned. Edward’s family is divided on this. Eventually they decide that they got time because the Vampire Illuminati are ancient and don’t have a good enough sense of time to hold them accountable immediately.

So Bella is fine and Edward is fine and everybody is back in the same town and they’re dating again and literally everyone in the town is like Bella what the FUCK. Nobody likes Edward because they think he’s no good for Bella. They are written like the bad buys. Jacob especially, becomes a huge asshole. Because he decides that he’s in love with Bella now. Because werewolves can imprint on people, which is just a sloppy soul mate mechanic used for absolute evil in this story. He wants to fight Edward over her. Edward is chomping at the bit to throw down, but pretends to be the bigger person even though he’s just as big an asshole about all this as Jacob is. This is as misogynist as it sounds. From this point on Jacob is now also a creep.

Oh, but it gets worse!

I gotta talk about the last book in the series now, Breaking Dawn. Because this shit was so awful that it made me regret, instantaneously, ever second I spent enjoying Twilight.

Bella and Edward get married after they graduate high school because Edward is a religious virgin and Bella is HORNY. They go on their honeymoon. Bella gets pregnant. This is Not Something That Is Supposed To Happen.

Smeyer tells us WHY this happened post-canon. Edward, the virgin, has never nutted. Because of this, he still has living sperm in his balls. So when he boffed Bella, his 80-year-old sperm made it count. I wish I was making this up, y’all. I’m tearing up thinking about it.

Bella is now pregnant with a half-vampire baby that is destroying her body from the inside out. It is growing at an exponential rate. She’s eight months along after three weeks. Edward can hear its thoughts. It loves Bella. Bella has to drink blood or die. Jacob is like What the Fuck. I am also, pretty thoroughly like What the Fuck. A couple members of the Cullen family are, very quietly, like What the Fuck.

Queue the most forced and ineffectual pro-life discourse you’ve ever read in your life.

All is well and good until it’s not. Baby suddenly wants to get out of Bella RIGHT NOW IMMEDIATELY and thrashes so violently that it shatters every bone in her body between her ribs and her femurs. Edward has to rip her uterus open with his teeth. Baby is out. It has a full mouth of teeth. It bites Bella. Edward whips out several syringes full of his own saliva and injects them into Bella all over to make her change into a vampire. This is all written in disgusting graphic detail that still makes my skin crawl to think about. I cannot fathom why Smeyer was not made to tone this scene down.

So it takes a few days for Bella to change into a vampire, during which time the Cullens (and Jacob) have to look after her hellspawn of a daughter. Jacob decides that he must kill her, because she basically killed Bella. But--- surprise! He wasn’t in love with Bella! He was in love with the eggs in her womb-- particularly this one egg that is now a baby! No more crush on Bella! No more beef with Edward! He’s just in love with a newborn infant. I am, at this point, wondering in my little 12 year old mind, how this was allowed to be published.

Bella wakes up a vampire, and in her first display of rational thought through the entire series, does not like this. Don’t worry though, that’s quickly cancelled out by her naming her baby daughter Renesmee.

Renesmee is clearly supposed to be a sweet and gifted little angel that you’re meant to love, but frankly, all I can picture is the Chucky doll but quieter. She does not talk much, because she has the ability to share thoughts by touching people’s faces. She also grows super fast. In a few days she’s toddler age. Nobody knows what the fuck is going on and nobody has time to worry about it because the vampire Illuminati found out about this (a vampire friend of the family snitched) and they’re coming to fuck up the whole family.

There is a reason why they want to do this but it’s stupid and frankly I’m not going to explain it.

So the vampires mobilize. They call all their vampire friends because their plan is just to fight the thousands-years-old vampire Illuminati over this horrible child. For some reason dozens of vampires agree to this. They’re all smitten by Resume I guess.

So the illuminati comes, the family tells them that Ramune isn’t the problem that they think she is, and they leave.

That’s it. That’s the climax.

And then everyone gets their off-putting happily ever after: Bella and Edward can now fuck as much as they want because neither of them can die. Bella abandons her human life without so much as a second glance. Resonate will physically be an adult by the time she’s 7, which means that Jacob can start fucking her then. Bella’s dad sort of knows what’s going on, but doesn’t. For some ungodly reason I don’t make a bonfire out of these books.

You may notice, if you have any knowledge of Twilight, that there are whole plots that I didn’t talk about. That’s because I’ve surely forgotten things. While I read these books with what I can only describe as a manic fervor in my youth, I could never bring myself to reread them. On God, I tried. Multiple times in the last decade I have pulled my box set, hard covered Twilight books off my shelf, and opened them up. But I never even make it through the first chapter before I am so put off that I have to put them back. The plots are flimsy. The main characters are made of sand. The secondary characters are treated like garbage. The lore is disturbing.

And yet as soon as I heard that Midnight Sun was coming out, I knew that I must read it. I’ve made it through the first chapter. I do not know when and how I will make it through the next, but I know, for little middle schooler Theo’s sake, that I must.

Twilight? Horrible. Twilight Fandom? Geniuses.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

#twilight #spinda tea #shinyshammie #this took a lot out of me #it's not even funny #we never really escape who we were at 12

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britesparc · 4 years ago

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Weekend Top Ten #470

Top Ten Films to Watch on Star on Disney+

We’ve been watching a lot of Disney+ lately. This is partly due to the fact that our family movie nights have become, almost accidentally, a quest to watch every bit of Star Wars content on the service; so far, we’ve watched the entire Skywalker Saga and are now moving onto the spin-off movies. The younglings have become addicted: Daughter #1 is getting stuck into The Clone Wars, whilst Daughter #2 is demanding we jump straight into The Mandalorian. As for the Princess to my Scoundrel, well, she and I have been thoroughly enjoying WandaVision, which by the time you read this, will have finished. Sob! Nothing to do but gird our loins until the arrival of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier in a couple of weeks! At least this excellent TV programme appears to have whetted my wife’s appetite for watching more of the MCU movies. Maybe soon I can make oblique references to Mary Poppins, y’all, and someone else in the house will actually know what the hell I’m on about.

Well it looks as if there’s going to be even more use out of our Disney+ sub as the months roll inexorably on, what with their new Star channel. This is where they’ve shoehorned all the mucky films they bought from the naughty boys and girls at Fox; sweary adult dramas, sexy bits, and scenes of explicit wrist-slapping abound. So now we have this toybox of grown-up content to savour! What to watch? What not to watch? I’ve already started at the most obvious place by diving into some vintage Arnie with Commando, one of the funniest action movies ever made. It did not disappoint.

So where to next? Re-watching semi-forgotten classics, films I’ve not seen in literally decades? Or checking out things that slipped me by (there’s an entire list to be made of “films I read about in Empire in the ‘90s, got really excited about, but never saw”). Do I watch the crappier Die Hard films, or cheesy action movies (er, like Commando, I guess)? Or dive deep into prestige fair? Or just watch Spy Hard for the Weird Al theme tune, practically the only bit of the film I remember? The options are virtually endless.

So that’s what this week’s list is: ten films I intend to watch on Disney+ very flipping soon. Or, y’know, just play Zelda until Falcon starts.

9 to 5 (1980): there was a lot of talk of Dolly around the New Year, and my wife and I even watched a documentary about her. As a result, I had a scoot around to see if it was possible to buy 9 to 5 as a birthday or Valentine’s gift for my better half; it’s a film neither of us have seen in years if not decades, and we’re both big Grace and Frankie fans too. Alas, it’s a difficult film to get a hold of; there doesn’t appear to be a Blu-ray readily available. Praise be, then, that it’s now on Disney+; a terrific comedy film, with a nice bit of feminist bite. I’m not sure if it’ll feel dated or – post-#MeToo – oddly prescient. But I’m really, really looking forward to watching it again.

Crimson Tide (1995): I do love a good tense thriller, and I seem to remember this as being a particularly great tense thriller. This feels like one of those “they don’t make ‘em like this anymore” candidates; a claustrophobic two-hander with no real action, almost a theatrical chamber piece, but made with huge stars and a big-time director (the late, great Tony Scott). I saw it once, on video, when it came out, so it’ll be great to revisit.

The Color of Money (1986): another minor classic that I’ve not seen for decades, and a film I remember even less well than Crimson Tide. It’s cool to revisit (or discover for the first time!) films by great directors, and this is Scorsese we’re talking about. Cruise as a freshly-minted movie star, still taking risks; Newman as a great elder statesman. I’ve genuinely no idea what it’s like, it’s been so long, but I’d love to see it again. Just wish The Hustler was on D+ too!

Quiz Show (1994): I’d mentioned before that there are loads of films from the ‘90s that I read about as an eager young film fan but never saw; this is one of them. An apparently-great drama about corruption at a hugely popular TV show in ‘50s America, with Ralph Fiennes in a very early Hollywood role. I think I’d enjoy it.

Looking for Richard (1996): another of those ‘90s films…! This fascinated me as a teen, and I’d love to see it: a documentary about Richard III, made by Al Pacino, featuring people talking about Shakespeare (got a lot of time for that) and also scenes of the play performed and filmed. It’s a real curio; also weirdly came out around the same time as McKellen’s Richard III. Maybe something was in the water? We’re due another big Rich in my opinion.

Jennifer’s Body (2009): a follow-up from Juno writer Diablo Cody, a horror centred around high school and female sexuality, this has always seemed like it might be a dark, delicious delight; it wasn’t very well received at the time, but has grown in cult status; as has its star, Megan Fox, who I’d argue has not had the easiest time within Hollywood. Anyway, I really like the look of it, and it’ll be cool to check it out.

Tombstone (1993): I love a good Western, and I seem to remember that this is a very good Western. A story of Wyatt Earp that goes beyond the famous gunfight, my memories of this are very vague; I know that there’s a very good Val Kilmer performance as Doc Holliday, and of course Kurt Russell as Earp himself. I might try out that “watch along” feature and watch this, remotely, with my dad.

Romancing the Stone (1984): I probably haven’t seen this since the eighties so I’ve got no idea if it’s really any good, but I do remember enjoying its Indy-inspired adventurism and – in particular – Danny DeVito’s bad guy. Douglas is always great value as a leading man, although from what I’ve since read this is really Kathleen Turner’s show. It’ll be interesting to see if it holds up, but hopefully it’ll be a good stop-gap until they finally get the Indy films up on the service.

Good Morning, Vietnam (1988): another film that I want to revisit, even if I remember it a little better than others on this list. My memory is that it’s utterly fantastic, a really stark look at the realities of Vietnam during the time of the war, and also a phenomenal, very human performance from Williams. Also I remember it being very funny when he does let off some steam (sorry, bit of Commando creeping in there). And really, it’s Williams I want to see again; that earnest, real, pained but beautiful Williams we get in his very best performances. It’s very likely I’ll cry just watching him on screen. God, I miss him.

Independence Day: Resurgence (2016): I needed some crappy sequel to talk about, and here it is. I can’t overstate how much I loved the first Independence Day in ’96, so the (apparent; I’ve not seen it) terribleness of this sequel hit me like a sledgehammer. It can’t be that bad, can it? Is it not at least so-bad-it’s-good? I mean, the trailer made it look atrocious, and it’s killed off Will Smith – the best character! – off-screen, so odds are not good that it’s a hidden gem. But I’ve got to know.

This was actually a pretty tough list, and I had to knock off some films that I’d love to rewatch (Conan the Barbarian, The War of the Roses), as well as stuff like Idiocracy and Office Space that I’ve never seen. Also Kingsman: The Secret Service, which is a fairly recent release that slipped me by, and I’m not sure why I’ve never gotten round to seeing; I blame the kids! Also, there was going to be some xenomorph or xeno-monkey action on here, but frustratingly all the Alien (and Predator!) movies are missing, and the recent Planet of the Apes trilogy – which I’ve also never seen! – is only served by its middle instalment. Yeah, I can watch the seminal ‘60s original again (and I may!) or the indecipherable and strange Tim Burton version, but what about, y’know, the trilogy that everyone raves about? I assume this is due to pre-existing deals keeping the films elsewhere (elusive…), but the sagas of Alien, Predator, and the complete Die Hard package are – I believe – being kept until most profitable (mark my works: Die Hard at Christmas). Anyway, it’s a bit frustrating, that, as I’ve never seen Covenant or The Predator, and I’d love to watch the whole lot from the start anyway.

I guess I can console myself by also watching the one Die Hard film I’ve never seen, namely the critically-acclaimed A Good Day to Die Hard. I mean, I’m assuming it’s critically acclaimed. I guess I’ll find out.

#top ten #movies #disney+#star #films #fox #dolly

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msclaritea · 4 years ago

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Upon the Clear Distinction Between Fandom and the Baker Street Irregulars

BY LYNDSAY FAYE

November 30, 2012

In light of the ever-expanding popularity of the Sherlock Holmes mysteries in conjunction with recent adaptations including the Warner Brothers films, the BBC series, and the CBS reimagining, it falls to me to discuss certain disturbing tendencies on the part of new devotees to refer to that venerable institution, the Baker Street Irregulars, as a “fandom” when it is actually a literary society. The youth of the Sherlockian world will be excused for making this dare I say elementary error, since the case for the distinction has not been hitherto laid out. Following the summation of this article, however, fans and traditional Sherlockians alike will have reached a much clearer understanding, and the unfortunate misnomer of referring to the present Irregulars as a “fandom” will doubtless cease and be swiftly forgotten.

(Note: for the purposes of this intellectual exercise, the possibility that the BSI may potentially be a storied and erudite literary society and a happily thriving fandom simultaneously will be ignored. This decision was made in light of the fact that a noun cannot be two things concurrently, the way the Empire State Building is not both a functioning office tower and a tourist destination, and the way Bill Clinton is not both a former president and a saxophone player. Arguments that the BSI is peopled by both cultured readers and by eager fans would only muddy the issue, and therefore will not be entertained here.)

According to the Online Etymology Dictionary, the word fandom dates from 1903 and is defined simply as “the realm of avid enthusiasts.” Although undoubtedly a positive, even a flattering definition, already we can see that this is an inaccurate way of describing the Baker Street Irregulars, founded in January of 1934 by Doubleday editor Christopher Morley and later permanently established as the premier Sherlockian society by Edgar W. Smith. While the BSI was conceived as a group of congenial, clubbable men who admittedly shared an avid enthusiasm for the Great Detective, no mention whatsoever is made in the definition of fandom of a taste for adult beverages, and the drinking of toasts to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s characters, which is of such import to the group as to be codified in the BSI’s by-laws. As a matter of fact, the words “Sherlock Holmes” appear nowhere in this document, while the words “drunk,” “drink,” “round,” and “toast” occur six times in the brief record. Describing the BSI as a fandom is thus clearly a counterfactual practice, and should be treated as such.

Of note, because the dates could potentially lead to confusion, is the fact that the Irregulars were founded in 1934 in New York City, at very close to the identical time period when the science fiction fandom was forming convivial societies of “avid enthusiasts” in order to discuss space travel, interplanetary colonization, their whip-smart literary contributions, and large-chested alien females. The Futurians, according to Frederik Pohl’s autobiography, were founded in 1934 in New York City; the Scienceers were founded in 1929 in New York City; the Los Angeles Fantasy Society was founded in 1934 in Los Angeles; and the National Fantasy Fan Federation was founded in 1941 in Boston. These societies in no way resembled the BSI, however, for their purpose was to discuss speculative, fictional adventures, while the BSI’s purpose (apart from toasting) was to discuss Sherlock Holmes. The Grand Game, as it’s called, a form of meta-scholarship, bears but scant resemblance to the doings of folk who pen Middle-Earth chronologies and dictionaries of the Klingon language. Those who suggest the BSI is a fandom will also note that, as a literary society, the BSI has always been peopled with thinkers and literary luminaries such as Isaac Asimov, while the Futurians boasted as one of their members Isaac Asimov, who was undoubtedly a different Isaac Asimov to the deservedly admired creative philosopher invested in the Irregulars.

One of the most self-evident differences between the Irregulars and those involved in fandom is the latter’s tendency to memorize an enormous amount of trivia regarding their specific preoccupations, be those preoccupations Battlestar Galactica or fiction featuring anthropomorphized dragons. A member of the Star Trek fandom, for instance, could readily inform an outsider that when Captain Picard was captured by the Cardassians, he insisted despite being cruelly tortured that the number of lights shown to him numbered four; such remarkable displays of knowledge are all too common among fandom enthusiasts. Invested members of the BSI could undoubtedly inform non-Sherlockians that Sherlock Holmes’s ancestors were country squires, that John Watson was an invalided member of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, and that Holmes is on record as having possessed three dressing gowns (blue, purple, and mouse), but as these are matters of historical fact, knowledge of them is much more akin to familiarity with the Gettysburg Address. I say again: do not succumb to lazy terminology and misidentify the BSI as a fandom. The one is concerned with an exceedingly popular series of crime stories, and the other is concerned with pop culture.

The activities of fans vs. traditional Sherlockians are hugely divergent. While fans come together to discuss their favorite sci-fi stories, television shows, and films, Sherlockians confine their conversation (and toasts) exclusively to the sixty stories, referred to as the “canon.” No mention is made of adaptations of the Sherlock Holmes mysteries; indeed, it is safe to say that the BSI as a whole is unaware of such bastardizations of the original writings, if indeed such things as movies and television shows based on the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle exist, which is doubtful. In addition, fandom engages in a pastime termed “cosplay,” defined by Wikipedia as “a type of performance art in which participants don costumes and accessories to represent a specific character or idea.” Such behavior would be anathema to a Baker Street Irregular, some of whom have been photographed dressing in Victorian garb and deerstalker hats.

Denizens of the fandom community fail to confine their “avid enthusiasm” to mere discussion of hobbits and tribbles; they also, as a group, have a marked tendency to collect memorabilia relevant to their favorite characters, spending precious funds in pursuit of items such as action figures and animation cells. A comic book collector would think absolutely nothing of paying triple digits for a prized mint-condition issue of Spider-Man, for example, while my copy of the 1892 issue of the Strand Magazine…no, strike that, I beg your pardon, the comparison is similar but ultimately misleading. Irregulars of my acquaintance have amassed collections of Sherlock Holmes art, Sherlock Holmes books, Sherlock Holmes knickknacks, Sherlock Holmes pins, Sherlock Holmes translations, Sherlock Holmes reference volumes, and Sherlock Holmes talismans such as magnifying glasses or pipes, but as these are clearly objets d’art, they find no equivalency within the realm of fandom.

It is of particular importance to note that fandom participants often write what is termed fanfiction, fictional works featuring their beloved characters in various situations of the fan’s own imagining, defined as “stories about characters or settings written by fans of the original work, rather than by the original creator.” Whenever a writer pens a story about a character created by another author, that tale falls under the umbrella of fanfiction, a practice that the Baker Street Irregulars would find both mystifying and vaguely distasteful. In fact, the mere concept of writing new stories starring characters not belonging to the author would strike dismay into the hearts of the BSI, who very often write and read pastiches featuring Sherlock Holmes and John Watson (a pastiche is defined as “a work of art, literature, film, music, or architecture that openly imitates the work of a previous artist”). As you have already recognized, no doubt, pastiche is entirely different from fanfiction, as fanfiction is specified as being penned by fans, and as I have argued previously, the Baker Street Irregulars are not fans but rather a literary society, and thus are categorically incapable of writing fanfiction. The notion that they could be both we have already dismissed as specious.

One must bear in mind as well the ironclad argument that the BSI was founded in the tradition of the great metropolitan men’s clubs of the 1930s, and thus bears no resemblance whatsoever to fandoms, which are largely concerned with grown men and women wearing tights. I find this line of reasoning particularly compelling, since it is common knowledge that once a group forms around a certain idea, it remains always the identical entity, indistinguishable in its modern incarnation from its origins, free from growth, change, or adaptation. Admittedly the BSI is no longer exclusively for men, but that is an admirable mark of progress and should be considered accordingly. Just as the company Apple Inc. sells small personal circuit boards hand-crafted by the artist Steve Wozniak (keyboard and screen not included), the BSI is emphatically not a fandom. And please stop referring to them by such blatantly fallacious terminology.

Lastly, a word upon the subject of respect for the gentleman who made our literary society possible, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. There are some who take mild offense to those who speak of the BSI as a fandom, but I am not of their number, though it is worth mentioning out of deference that Doyle would certainly be outraged by the term. So beloved a character was Sherlock Holmes to Doyle that he spoke of him always with the soft light of adoration in his eyes and a flush upon his cupid’s cheeks, joy suffusing his features whensoever the subject of his masterful sleuth was raised. Were Doyle to be reanimated and exposed to the neophytes who ignore all discrepancies and insist upon wrongly identifying the BSI as a fandom, his mighty love for his hero would so overwhelm him, and his fury at the misidentification swell into so vast a storm cloud of righteous rage, that he would probably decide to remain alive simply for the pure, unadulterated pleasure he derived from writing the Sherlock Holmes mysteries, and would deliver unto us sixty more cases. And lo, global warming would be reversed, and he would find a cure for herpes.

I trust that this article clears up any remaining confusion regarding the word fandom, and its woeful inexactitude when characterizing the Baker Street Irregulars. I likewise hope I have assured the reader the BSI cannot be both a respected literary society and a fandom, any more than Australia can be both a continent and an island. One earnestly hopes that this will settle the matter for good and all, and we can move on to other, better topics. In the meanwhile, I am going to don my deerstalker and write a story in which Sherlock Holmes fights the Cardassians, that being the sort of activity relevant to my interests. Thank you.

1. Am I wrong or is this a bit rude?

2. Why don’t we hear more stories about how Doyle actually loved Holmes? It’s as though people want the character to be remembered as hated.

Lyndsay Faye is the author of Dust and Shadow and The Gods of Gotham from Amy Einhorn Books/Putnam. She tweets @LyndsayFaye.

@elwinglyre @sarahthecoat @sussexbound @fellshish @artfulkindoforder @johnlockedness @ebaeschnbliah @tjlcisthenewsexy @madzither

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#What the hell #Lyndsay Faye #Fandom vs BSI #Squee vs the REAL #Sherlock Holmes #Arthur Conan Doyle #ACD

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orbitariums · 5 years ago

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brain freeze (peter parker x black reader)

brain freeze

peter watched the clock idly as time went by, eyes glued to the ticking hands on the clock. he was leaning against the counter behind the assortment of ice creams that were protected by glass, and waiting boredly for someone to come in.

his shift was over soon and he could leave and go home where ned would be awaiting to build the lego death-star with him. but for now he was at scoops ahoy. he didn’t mind it much, working here - who didn’t want to be surrounded by ice cream and happy people eating ice cream all day long? at least, that was what peter thought. it was good to get a normal job experience and a little cash for himself, and to help aunt may. he could still be a regular teenage boy. still, he was working alone today and it was empty in scoops ahoy.

at least, until you came in.

peter looked up as the door swung open and a girl walked in with her friends, and there she was, shining in all her glory. her friends were pretty but she was the prettiest, and peter stood up tall when he saw her coming forward. you paid no mind to him, engrossed in cheery conversation with your friends, laughing with your mouth open in a smile and then listening to what they had to say, a cool look on your face signaling that you were listening.

the whole group of girls weren’t very occupied with their surroundings and especially not with peter, it was as if he wasn’t even there. when peter’s mind had shut down its repetitive cycle of thinking: “wow, she’s so pretty!” or “i look so stupid just standing here in my uniform … what am i saying, she’s not even looking at me. i wish she would”, he quickly realized the girl.

he knew you as the new girl in town and at midtown high. your name was yn and she was a transfer from a performing arts school in oakland, california where you used to live. how you switched from the arts to tech, peter didn’t know. what he did know was that he missed 90% of the lessons being taught in classes he had with you because he was looking at you, blinded by your beauty. your skin was a chocolate (or dark chocolate) color, blemish-free and radiant, with (insert hair type and color) that complimented your already perfect face. regardless of your height, to peter you stood tall because of your remarkable beauty.

he spent most times during lessons when he had a class with you either staring at your back or peeking over at you from the other side of the room. you were naturally beautiful and for that, naturally popular, but from what peter could see you were also smart and generally nice to everyone, though also cool-headed and much smoother than peter could ever dream to be. where you delivered words with a calm, soft voice and suave smile, peter stuttered and tripped over the simplest of sentences (unless there was discourse on anything sci-fi or old movie pop culture related.)

even so, knowing that you were probably a harmless person and it wouldn’t kill to try to be your friend, peter didn’t have the chest to just walk up to you and start a conversation. the only time you’d spoken was when you had to partner up in chemistry. he vaguely remembered you smiling and saying your name, introducing yourself, and him just nodding and nervously mumbling, “peter”, and then you went their separate ways and split up the experiment. so, it wasn’t much of a first impression if an impression at all.

and now, he was serving you ice cream in the parlor where he worked. and he would have to talk to you, and all your gorgeous friends. and the way he was freezing up now, he wouldn’t try to make conversation with you outside of just taking your order. in fact, he barely even noticed that he was now being waited on, that your friends were staring at him and he was just stuck, his lips slightly parted, eyes glimmering with hope and that giddy anticipation reminiscent of middle school crushes.

“um, hello?” one of them said, a tan girl who peter knew to be named carmella.

he cleared his throat abruptly and tore his eyes away from you, suddenly readying himself at the register and straightening up, and his cheeks were already burning at the awkward moment.

“oh,” peter said. “sorry. uh, welcome to scoops ahoy… ahoy! what would you guys… like to get today?”

peter found his voice trailing off and his eyes traveling back over to yn inadvertently as he tried to compose himself, failing miserably. a concoction of girlish, knowing giggles emerged from your group of friends as they noticed peter glancing over at you and tripping over himself. they laughed innocently, making peter’s face burn even more red and curse his complexion for making his blushing so easy to see.

“um, can i get a butter pecan in a cup, please?” another one of your friends named daya started to order, and they all ordered before yn, peter taking them down and whipping up their orders as usual.

they had all sat down with their ice cream at a table nearby by the time it was your turn to order, and peter’s grew unsteady, his hands getting fidgety, and he was having trouble looking you in the eye.

“hey,” you said, your velvety smooth voice calm and already reassuring. peter looked into your eyes to find them hard, but somehow comforting. you were speaking quieter so your conversation was private and that was apparent too. and now peter was frozen again, it was like you gave him a brain freeze. “don’t pay attention to my friends, they were just giving you a hard time, but they don’t mean any harm.” you laughed slightly and peter’s heart soared - it was like listening to an angel sing while fairies tittered somewhere beyond. “promise.”

peter nodded, his body feeling strangled, and his words coming out in a stammer,

“i-it’s fine, they um… were really nice. no hard times over here.”

you laughed again and it became apparent to peter that you were laughing at him, though not in a mean-spirited way, but because you found him funny, and that was good. he didn’t know how to talk to pretty girls but at least he knew that much.

“you sure?” you asked, and peter nodded quickly,

“uh huh. hundred percent.”

you laughed again, he was so cute and funny to you and you didn’t even know why you were really starting a conversation with him out of the blue. as much as you liked it, you couldn’t help but feel like you were holding him up.

“i’m sorry, i’m wasting your time. can i get umm, a small chocolate-vanilla swirl, on a cake cone?”

“soft-serve?” peter asked, his customer service voice kicking in.

“yeah,” you said, and when you looked up, your eyes were gleaming, making peter’s breath hitch in his throat.

he started to freeze again, but stopped himself this time, glancing down and scratching the nape of his neck, blinking harshly,

“uhh, will that be all?”

“yep.”

“your total is $3.42,” peter announced after handling the register, and you handed him a five dollar bill with ease, peter looking down and noticing your well-groomed nails and how soft your hands looked. “here’s your change.”

he gave you back your change and something in him snapped when he blurted,

“and you weren’t.”

you cocked her head to the side, confused,

“weren’t what?”

“wasting my time,” peter answered, finding the courage in himself to smile at her just a moment, blissed out when you smiled back.

“you’re so cute,” you said nonchalantly, as if it were nothing, just a meaningless compliment that would be thrown into the void. but peter’s heart physically panged when you said it and his cheeks went as red as the cherry he put on top of your ice cream, handing it to you with hands that were damn near trembling.

“th-anks,” he said, his voice cracking.

his mind was racing, replaying the three words over and over again in his head. he was already preparing himself to never talk to you in school but always remember this moment as one he would cherish, the sole interaction that mattered between the two of you, small but a victory anyway. but he looked up when he noticed you hadn’t yet retreated back to your friends who were all laughing among themselves.

you were just standing where you had been in front of him, holding your ice cream cone in both hands and gazing inquisitively at him as you licked your ice cream. it took everything in peter for his eyes not to glance down at your lips and notice the clear lip gloss you had on that made your lips look pouty and kissable and shiny, and he did anyway.

“peter, right?” you said, and for a second he forgot that you too must know him from school, that this was a mutual understanding. peter figured you had just read his nametag until he realized you were actually conscious of his existence.

“yeah... yeah, peter. peter parker.”

“peter parker, sounds like a superhero’s name,” you repeated his name and it sounded like ice cream rolling off your tongue - literally.

he smiled softly,

“yeah, that’s me, heroic as ever. and you’re yn.”

“c’est moi,” you decided to lean on the counter so you could peer your head in and feel closer to peter, which of course made his heart race like mad, but surprisingly he kept his cool.

“i’m… peter,” he said, his voice getting lost as he found himself staring into your eyes, realizing too late that he sounded like a cd stuck on repeat.

you giggled loudly, amused by his awkwardness and cute behavior, cooing,

“yeah, i got that. you’re in my chem class, and you’re like really smart.”

“oh yeah?” peter laughed to himself and rested his hand down, accidentally popping open the register, scaring himself, and then having to close it abruptly.

“hells yeah. this one time no one else knew how to balance this precipitation reaction and you did it in like point five seconds. it was pretty impressive,” peter detected the tone in your voice as impressed, admiration even? it was too surreal to fully address.

“wow,” peter was blown away at the fact that you even noticed his presence in that class. “i mean um, thanks. you’re pretty - smart … too. i mean you’re pretty smart too. and, pretty. but also smart.”

you smiled, although peter was mentally beating himself up for being so rattled,

“thanks.”

“um, i like your earrings,” peter said in a desperate attempt to keep the conversation going, though he really did like your earrings, gold hoop ones shaped in a heart.

“thanks! they were like five bucks at the beauty supply store, i had to cop them. they’re these bamboo heart-shaped hoop earrings. pretty cool.” “yeah,” peter chuckled. “cool.”

he didn’t mean to sound as careless as he did, it was just that he wasn’t used to talking to pretty girls for a prolonged amount of time, and he was in pure shock at the fact that you of all people wanted to talk to him. like, you were willingly starting and holding conversation and the fact of that was too much to handle.

“so, have you lived here your whole life?”

“at scoops ahoy?” peter replied with a question, face palming when he realized you obviously weren't referring to that. “i mean, queens, god. yeah, pretty much. and you-”

“moved here from oakland, cali. so, kinda california girl meets new york. you know, it’s so different here, but i like it. the people are really nice, despite popular belief.”

“you must have gotten lucky with the people,” peter joked, and you just smirked,

“i was talking about you. but, sure.”

peter paused, taking in what you had just said and how easily the conversation was flowing, mostly thanks to you not being as awkward as he was, and he figured now was his time.

“um... listen, i know we only really just met and all, but-”

“just met? peter, i’ve known you for like, a couple months now,” you teased, and he laughed nervously, shaking his head, his curls falling onto his forehead,

“aha, yeah, right. but we’ve only just met and i was wondering if… if you… maybe wanted to hang out sometime. i-if you want. you definitely don’t have to, but-”

you made a face,

“we’re hanging out right now.” you caught sight of peter’s fallen face and just chuckled, nudging his arm from the other side of the counter, your touch electrifying him. “peter, i’m kidding!”

“oh,” he giggled nervously, continuing to scratch at the nape of his neck. “i’m sorry, i-”

“don’t be,” you commanded, and suddenly he knew not to be. you took a pen from nearby, holding your ice cream in a different hand, and started to scribble something onto a piece of napkin. “here’s my number. call me sometime.”

peter practically choked on his own spit at the sight and he blinked fiercely, his mind going foggy because he hadn’t yet evaluated what would happen in this particular series of events. he wasn’t sure if it was real or just some sick fantasy waiting to mock him by his sleep, but when he felt the touch of the soft napkin dimpled with pen engravings in his hand he knew it had to be real. you were giving him your number.

“oh. wow, thanks, this is… i’ll just call you.”

�� “that’s how phones work,” you giggled, and his fogginess and shock morphed into excitement and anticipation as he waved the napkin around in his fingers.

“yeah. i’m not that smart after all,” he said, joyous to hear you laugh again. “god, i know i must look so-”

“shhh, don’t say anything bad about yourself. look, i gotta go. but call me soon. maybe tonight, we can talk. if you want to.”

peter’s face lit up like a christmas tree and he beamed at you,

“yeah, i’ll call you.”

“cool,” you said, your heart rate increasing just like his did as you walked backward, facing him.

“cool,” he repeated, under his breath, a smile forever encasing his features.

“guys, let’s go,” you corralled your friends and they followed, filtering out of the parlor. you continued to walk backwards so you could face peter, “bye!”

“you look really pretty, by the way. really nice,” peter blurted out of excitement, still finding the need to correct himself.

this time you were the one whose cheeks got warm,

“thanks! you too,” you had reached the door by now and you were beginning to turn away. “bye, peter!”

peter said goodbye again and watched as you turned around and walked out the door, joining your friends, all grouped up and laughing with them again. and even with all the conversation you had just had, he still got a brain freeze when you turned around for a second, away from your friends, just to look at him again, a smile on your face, too.

#spiderman #spiderman imagine #spiderman oneshot #spiderman headcanons #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker poc #peter parker x black!reader #poc #pocfans #poc!reader #black!reader #yn #imagine #oneshot #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel oneshot

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scripttorture · 5 years ago

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Torture in Fiction: Avatar the Last Airbender, The Boiling Rock

Avatar, the Last Airbender was an extremely popular cartoon series centred on a group of children trying to save their world.

It’s a world where some people can control and manipulate (‘bend’) the elements, water, earth, fire and air. The element a person controls depends on their heritage; whether they come from the Water Tribes, the Earth Kingdom, the Fire Nation or from the Air Nomads. Only the Avatar can master all four elements and they are tasked with keeping the world in balance.

The story begins a hundred years after the Avatar disappeared. The Fire Nation massacred the Air Nomads. They’re raiding the Water Tribes and occupying much of the Earth Kingdom.

In this war-torn world two Water Tribe teenagers discover the Avatar, the last surviving Air Nomad, frozen in ice. He’s twelve.

With its wonderful art, powerful storytelling and compelling characters Avatar left a lasting impression on a generation of fans. It spawned comic books, a live action movie (by all accounts terrible but it’s the thought that counts) and a second set of cartoons following the next Avatar.

But I’m rating the depiction and use of torture, not the cartoon itself. I’m trying to take into account realism (regardless of fantasy or sci fi elements), presence of any apologist arguments, stereotypes and the narrative treatment of victims and torturers.

And I’m concentrating on a two part episode from season 3 that barely involves the titular Avatar at all.

It starts with two of the Avatar’s companions sneaking away to break into a Fire Nation prison.

Sokka, who is from the Water Tribe and can’t control an element, feels guilty about the fact his father and girlfriend (Suki) have both been captured. Zuko, ex-prince of the Fire Nation and a firebender, feels guilty for opposing the Avatar for so long and elects to help Sokka.

So they take a balloon to the most secure prison in the Fire Nation: the Boiling Rock. It’s housed on an island in the middle of a volcano, surrounded by a boiling lake. Their balloon crash lands and with no way off the island they decide to disguise themselves as guards. They then find that Sokka’s father isn’t in the prison and think their efforts might have been wasted until they see Suki.

They witness brutality from the guards, with a guard goading a prisoner, Chit Sang, into firebending and then locking him ‘the cooler’ a torturous cold cell. Sokka manages to contact Suki but Zuko’s identity is discovered by the other guards in the process and Zuko is taken prisoner.

In their defence, this is more or less how all their plans go.

Sokka plans to use the cooler to escape. Chit Sang overhears the plot and demands to be let ‘in’ on the plan. They need to unbolt the cooler from its moorings so they can use it to float across the lake. Zuko hides some tools and he and Sang stage a fight.

Zuko is thrown in the cooler and unbolts it from its moorings.

They meet with the cooler but Sokka has second thoughts, especially as a new group of prisoners, including Sokka’s father is due to arrive soon. Sokka, Suki and Zuko elect to stay and try to rescue Sokka’s father. Sang tries to escape with a few of his friends.

The attempt fails and the Warden has Sang tortured. The Warden claims that Sang isn’t ‘smart enough’ to have thought of using the cooler and he must have had help. Eventually Sang tells the Warden that a person disguised as a guard helped him.

The Warden has all the ‘new’ guards, including Sokka, line up to identify the traitor. Sang picks out the guard who goaded him a few days ago.

I’m giving it 9/10

The Good

Sang’s way of resisting, picking out a loyal guard as the ‘traitor’, is brilliant. And it’s realistic. I’ve recommended this strategy to writers because it’s what a lot of Algerian fighters did during the Franco-Algerian war. Seeing it in a cartoon series from a decade before I began the blog brought a smile to my face.

The cooler is actually really similar to torturous punishments that were used in real prisons. In most places a hot cell seems to have been more common then a cold one but cramped cells kept at uncomfortable temperatures were regularly used to torture prisoners throughout the world.

Despite the existence of magic and different technologies the torture throughout this episode is all realistically low tech. We see guards threaten with fire and use it to intimidate but most of what they do seems to be beatings and torturous use of restraints.

There are suggestions throughout the story that torture and abuse are regular occurrences in the Boiling Rock. And the characters use that to cover up their actions. Sokka uses the ‘excuse’ that he wants to beat Zuko as a way to explain a guard hanging around a prisoner’s cell (and then uses a fake beating to pass Zuko details of their escape plan). Zuko uses procedure and the assumption guards should fear the prisoners as an excuse to keep his guard helmet on, covering his distinctive scar. The regular use of the cooler is what allows the group to unbolt it.

There’s no suggestion that the use of torture has made this prison safer for the guards, or made the prisoners more ‘cooperative’. If anything we see the opposite. There are regular fights. Sang can start a riot by shouting ‘RIOT’ to a crowd of prisoners. The prison is shown as dangerous and while the narrative never states this is because of torture it’s still avoiding a prominent apologist trope.

The guards, most prominently the Warden, seem to have very little information about what’s going on inside their prison. That’s consistent with the way torture effects investigation, cutting off sources of accurate information and destroying the ability to fact-check. The Warden doesn’t connect Suki to the escape attempt until she kidnaps him. Sang is only connected to it because he’s caught in the act. Zuko is only identified because he has a one in a million scar. Sokka spends days successfully masquerading as a guard and the only people who notice are prisoners.

Every incident of a guard threatening a prisoner seems to increase the prisoner’s resistance.

The torturers aren’t just positioned as ‘bad’, they’re shown as a mixture of incompetent and physically threatening which feels very true to life. The Warden is never positioned as some kind of action movie ‘badass’ or as a successful investigator. He’s a bully, pure and simple.

The Bad

I think on reflection these episodes do still underestimate the damage done by some tortures but they do this to a much smaller degree then most. The amount of time spent in the cooler is vaguely defined so it could be ‘safe’. But even short periods of time in freezing temperatures can be extremely dangerous. Sang is held upside down by guards, which can easily make victims pass out. Some of the physical effects are being glossed over here.

It’s difficult to say whether the series handles the impact on mental health well or not. Sang leaves the series shortly after these episodes and doesn’t have a speaking part again. Zuko appears to have lasting mental health problems, but they were present before and are narratively linked to his abusive family. The episode is also very close to the end of the series. There isn’t much space to look at the possible fall out of this one incident or for the characters to pause and consider what they’ve survived.

Miscellaneous

The cooler is the exception to the generally simplistic and low tech torture. But the cooler is presented as something specifically designed to limit fire magic. It’s unusual within the world and it’s not overly complicated in use or design. In this case it’s something I’m willing to accept because it’s consistent with the rest of the Avatar world and it (arguably) isn’t designed specifically for torture.

Overall

I have a huge soft spot for Avatar. For me it was a show that struck a very good tonal balance. It goes to a lot of very dark places but it also makes space for humour, friendship and fun.

I didn’t really want to look back at it, I was worried that it wouldn’t stand up as well now.

And I was pleasantly surprised. This episode toys with a lot of unrealistic tropes and then veers off in another, better direction.

The result is a story that’s both surprisingly realistic and full of genuinely unexpected twists.

Yes there are flaws and yes there are things they gloss over that I’d rather they didn’t. But this is still a show aimed at children; I’m not sure I’d want to see realistic depictions of the physical injuries torture causes here and some of the common symptoms (suicidal ideation, self harm-) are also not things I consider suitable for 6 year olds.

And it’s just as important to consider what they do get right.

Torture doesn’t work here. Not to make Sang give up information and more broadly it doesn’t keep the prisoners ‘controlled’. We’re shown a prison where guards ‘rough up’ prisoners for fun and torture is a routine punishment. And that prison is anything but effective. There are fights every day. The guards seem to fear for their lives, both around the prisoners and (occasionally) each other. Sang can start a riot with little more then a shout.

And both of these factors, are important to the plot.

Sang’s refusal isn’t just a twist, it creates a distraction for the Warden and helps the group escape. The prison violence isn’t just a background detail; it lets Sokka create excuses to communicate with Zuko and Suki, creates distractions and gets Zuko in position for their first escape attempt.

Torture and abuse are integral to this plot. But the story isn’t about them grinding people down or ‘breaking’ them, it’s about the holes it creates in organisations and how people exploit them. It’s an interesting use of torture because in many ways it isn’t about victims or torturers. The focus is always on the escape plot.

Torture is used to show how incompetent the guards and the Warden are. It’s used to highlight the resistance of prisoners.

It’s used to create a scenario where Sokka can win. Because if the guards at the Boiling Rock didn’t torture Sokka’s plans wouldn’t work. Trust and rapport between prisoners and guards could have revealed the plot at any point. Without regular use of the cooler the first escape attempt wouldn’t have been possible. And without the background brutality of the prison as a distraction Sokka wouldn’t have been able to communicate effectively with the people he was trying to rescue.

I’ve reviewed quite a few different pieces of media at this point. Some of them handle torture well and some, not so well. But I think this is the first time I’ve seen a story that used torture more or less entirely to show the bad guys as incompetent.

Which is a really brilliant way for a program aimed at children to undermine torturers without dismissing the harm they do.

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#tw torture #tw police brutality #torture in fiction #Avatar The Last Airbender #prisons #Prison Conditions #temperature torture #beatings #ways torture fails #torture and obedience #torture as interrogation #writing victims #writing torturers

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quanf99 · 4 years ago

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Sovereign Citizens, and the Definitely Not Real Global Domination Pandemic

It was 12:40am when I got out of bed to check my mail box, behind yet another fridge magnet from Josh Frydenberg was a postcard from the Protector Party, a political awareness group warning of a ploy by governments to control the masses through the current coronavirus pandemic, or something along those lines. The Protector Party are tied to the resurgence of sovereign citizens, members of society who believe they may choose exemption from the laws of society, a right supposedly outlined in the Magna Carta. While fringe political beliefs have always floated around, they're gaining traction in Australia after strict lock down laws imposed by the Andrews government. I was familiar with such ideas, but this was the first time I'd encountered said ideas in my mail box. I decided to look into sovereign citizenry some more, who were they? And what gave them the right to leave insane post cards in my mail box?

For many residents of Melbourne, Dan Andrews tough lockdown laws herald the rise of an all-powerful authoritarian state. These laws have made it illegal for people to visit other households, or leave home past 8pm, they force Melbournians to wear face masks when leaving home. Democracy is truly at threat when I can't order from the McDonalds drive-thru at 12am. Fighting on the frontlines against totalitarianism is a group calling themselves sovereign citizens or, Freeman of the Land. Freemen argue that laws only apply to corporations, which on their terms include the government. Birth certificates are a contract with the government as corporation and only apply to a person if he or she consents to it. This sort of imaginary legal argument has existed long before the coronavirus pandemic and Dan "Stalin" Andrews' lockdown, cropping up whenever somebody gets summoned to court for unpaid driving tickets. Recently these pseudo-legal ideas have gained traction via Facebook groups. Through social media, thousands of middle-aged Australians are rallying behind the cause, who else will defend our rights to get pissed in the backyard on a Friday night. I thought I'd join one of these groups to get a read on the sovereign citizens. I found one group, Truth and the Unknown - Australia, it tends to focus on conspiracy theories in general but has recently shifted to uncovering the facts regarding coronavirus. The discussion surrounding the pandemic comes from livestreams of really intelligent looking people explaining to audiences that, coronavirus is not a virus, that even if it was viruses can't be caught by body, that coronavirus mortality rate is so low, no one should be worried even if they do catch it, despite 894 people dying in Australia. Unsurprisingly almost all of the information posted in Truth and the Unknown - Australia, contains no sources backing up any of the information provided. Discussion then shifts to memes explaining how 5G internet connections weaken the body making it more susceptible to coronavirus, a virus that isn't actually a virus, and even if it was you can't catch it. Further down the rabbit hole, GMO foods, vaccines causing autism, Rockefellers and Freemasons, government ties to Satanic cults and Bohemian Grove. All of this was mildly funny and maybe a little disturbing, but I was having trouble finding any concrete political ideas from any of these sovereign citizens. I decided to get in contact with the man who first sent me down this rabbit hole, that's when I got in touch with John Tiger Casley, leader of the Protector Party. Mr Casley is an older man, he speaks in old Australian figures of speech which find a balance somewhere between endearing and condescending, responding to you with phrases like "Alright young fella". Mr Casley used to be a history teacher, he now resides in Brighton presumably retired, spending his time making YouTube videos and sending people weird post cards. I asked "What do you think the end goal supposedly is for this deep state?" to which he replied "I believe their goal is psychopathic humanoid control over human bodies via violent injections and 5G, as well as human perception through media propaganda and AI." Q: Do you think this current climate of politics, sovereign citizens, and a general openness to these ideas will result in positive changes to politics in Australia? J: I believe it depends on the amount of human power given away to the Psychopathic Humanoids in JFK's Monolithic Conspiracy, although I've never known opportunity for political engagement to be higher. Q: How did you first become aware of things like, JFK's Monolithic Conspiracy? J: I began reading, gratefully, the logic, evidence, experiences and suffering of the most amazing mind of this century - David Icke's. While my interview with Mr Casely was interesting it revealed little in the way of concrete political beliefs, again it felt more like I was hearing a conspiracy theory check list be ticked off, rather than any solid politics. I decided to look into David Icke afterwards. Icke is a former football player from the UK, who writes about an inter-dimensional race of reptilians who run the Illuminati and have hijacked the Earth. These reptilians are known as the Anunnaki, ancient Sumerian deities of the Underworld. Again the formula for these ideas feels tried and true, pick an ancient pre-Judeo Christian deity (preferably from Mesopotamia) and center them around a secret shadow government conspiracy to rule the world. Whether its democrats sacrificing babies to Moloch, or underground Illuminati lizard men, the pattern feels obvious. Next I spoke to Zac Galloway, a practicing lawyer with a law degree from University of Tasmania. After moving to Melbourne a few years back, Mr Galloway has become active in promoting the truth about the pandemic through platforms like Facebook. I figured Mr Galloway would have to be well educated if he was a practicing lawyer, and should be able to back up his views better than the average Facebook conspiracy theorist. Q: I'm interested to know, are you connected to any particular groups or organisations? Mr Galloway: I'm not connected with any organisations, although I do follow a few Facebook pages where people share and spread information. I don't believe everything that gets spread in these groups and take most of it with a grain of salt however. Q: Do you believe the virus is real? Or a ploy by the government towards some other agenda? Z: I believe the virus is real but our perception of it is far from the truth. There seems to be overwhelming evidence the virus was man made and originated in a laboratory. Whether this was done intentionally doesn't matter as much to me, I think there's a clear agenda from government worldwide involving mass control and surveillance of the population. Q: Have friends and family been receptive to your message, or do you find a lot of push back regarding your ideas? Z: I find a mix of responses, I've got many people who message me frequently to show support, wishing they were brave enough to speak up. Q: What do you think the rising trend of belief in the sovereign citizen movement says about Australia's current political climate? Z: I think it shows that people are willing to stand up for their rights which to me is a no brainer. There's a very slippery slope between freedom and tyranny and when people voluntarily give up their rights so easily I become gravely concerned. To me it is good that people are willing to stand up for their rights. Although I think much of what he said was shaky at best I was glad someone could give me answers beyond vague gestures to Moloch and vaccines. I don't want to give Mr Galloway too much credit though, perhaps there's something even more troubling in the way he dresses up blatant disregard for the social contract as 'logical reasoning'. It can be harder to discredit arguments about Daniel 'Karl Marx' Andrews using coronavirus hysteria to destroy the economy, when they have more formal validity. And one can't avoid the irony of someone who supports sovereign citizenry, utilising his institutionally given power to practice the law. Regardless of the validity behind any of the ideas I've gone over here, these ideas and their rising popularity represent something more troubling, perhaps more disappointing. It's undeniable that society is structured to segregate the common person from the powerful, while every day people are led along by the false promise of enough hard and honest work, those born into wealth use loop holes to consolidate their position on the throne. There are plenty of legitimate reasons to be mistrusting of governments and those in power, reasons that don't have anything to do with mass mind control, vaccines, 5G towers or ancient sub-terranean lizard people. I spoke to Dr Lauren Rosewarne, cultural commentator and lecturer at Melbourne University. Q: Do you think the popularity of the sovereign citizen movement ties in with the rise of conspiracy theories coming closer to public consciousness? Things like the death of Jeffrey Epstein, or Russian interference in the 2016 U.S. Elections? Dr Rosewarne: Sovereign citizens are nothing new in Australia. The internet however, has enabled them to connect, recruit and have a public platform for their views thus giving them greater visibility. Q: Do you think the rising visibility of such a platform, and these sorts of fringe political ideas in general, might suggest deeper political unrest in society? L: I'd be more inclined to say that Covid serves as a rallying cry for these people in a way that few previous events have. Whether that persists as unrest in a post-Covid world, only time will tell. When people take up these conspiracy theories, its disappointing to see how close to the nerve they hit, clearly something larger than everyday people puts us on an uneven playing field. Why then, do we look for answers beyond the real quantifiable structural devices that shape society? There are many complex reasons, the simplest one being that its much easier, much less ambiguous to imagine some sinister, wholly evil force is pulling things behind the scenes. It's easy to laugh at conspiracy theorists, a lot of the things I've seen people post are honestly insane. However, I think it's worth remembering too, that when people start believing these theories, a part of them must recognise the way things are really stacked against us, and from that place maybe we can hope that more people are on the path to greater political consciousness. Or who knows, maybe the democrats really do drink the blood of newborns in exchange for eternal youth.

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