#and its probably MAJOR spoilers but I haven’t the time | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sleeplesslionheart · 1 year ago

Text

The Haunting of Bly Manor as Allegory: Self-Sacrifice, Grief, and Queer Representation

As always, I am extremely late with my fandom infatuations—this time, I’m about three years late getting smitten with Dani and Jamie from The Haunting of Bly Manor.

Because of my lateness, I’ll confess from the start that I’m largely unfamiliar with the fandom’s output: whether fanfiction, interpretations, analyses, discourse, what have you. I’ve dabbled around a bit, but haven’t seen anything near the extent of the discussions that may or may not have happened in the wake of the show’s release, so I apologize if I’m re-treading already well-trod ground or otherwise making observations that’ve already been made. Even so, I’m completely stuck on Dani/Jamie right now and have some thoughts that I want to compose and work through.

This analysis concerns the show’s concluding episode in particular, so please be aware that it contains heavy, detailed spoilers for the ending, as well as the show in its entirety. Additionally, as a major trigger warning: this essay contains explicit references to suicide and suicidal ideation, so please tread cautiously. (These are triggers for me, and I did, in fact, manage to trigger myself while writing this—but this was also very therapeutic to write, so those triggering moments wound up also being some healing opportunities for me. But definitely take care of yourself while reading this, okay?).

After finishing Bly and necessarily being destroyed by the ending, staying up until 2:00 a.m. crying, re-watching scenes on Youtube, so on and so forth, I came away from the show (as others have before me) feeling like its ending functioned fairly well as an allegory for loving and being in a romantic partnership with someone who suffers from severe mental illness, grief, and trauma.

Without going too deeply into my own personal backstory, I want to provide some opening context, which I think will help to show why this interpretation matters to me and how I’m making sense of it.

Like many of Bly’s characters, I’ve experienced catastrophic grief and loss in my own life. A few years ago, my brother died in some horrific circumstances (which you can probably guess at if you read between the lines here), leaving me traumatized and with severe problems with my mental health. When it happened, I was engaged to a man (it was back when I thought I was straight (lol), so I’ve also found Dani’s comphet backstory to be incredibly relatable…but more on this later) who quickly tired of my grieving. Just a few months after my brother’s death, my then-fiancé started saying things like “I wish you’d just go back to normal, the way you were” and “I’ve gotten back on-track and am just waiting for you to get back on-track with me,” apparently without any understanding that my old “normal” was completely gone and was never coming back. He saw my panic attacks as threatening and unreasonable, often resorting to yelling at me to stop instead of trying to comfort me. He complained that he felt like I hadn’t reciprocated the care that he’d provided me in the immediate aftermath of my brother’s loss, and that he needed me to set aside my grief (and “heal from it”) so that he could be the center of my attention. Although this was not the sole cause, all of it laid the groundwork for our eventual breakup. It was as though my trauma and mourning had ruined the innocent happiness of his own life, and he didn’t want to deal with it anymore.

Given this, I was powerfully struck by the ways that Jamie handles Dani’s trauma: accepting and supporting her, never shaming her or diminishing her pain.

Early in the show—in their first true interaction with one another, in fact—Jamie finds Dani in the throes of a panic attack. She responds to this with no judgment; instead, she validates Dani’s experiences. To put Dani at ease, she first jokes about her own “endless well of deep, inconsolable tears,” before then offering more serious words of encouragement about how well Dani is dealing with the circumstances at Bly. Later, when Dani confesses to seeing apparitions of Peter and Edmund, Jamie doesn’t pathologize this, doubt it, or demean it, but accepts it with a sincere question about whether Dani’s ex-fiancé is with them at that moment—followed by another effort to comfort Dani with some joking (this time, a light-hearted threat at Edmund to back off) and more affirmations of Dani’s strength in the face of it all.

All of this isn’t to say, however, that Dani’s grief-driven behaviors don’t also hurt Jamie (or, more generally, that grieving folks don’t also do things that hurt their loved ones). When Dani recoils from their first kiss because of another guilt-inspired vision of Eddie, Jamie is clearly hurt and disappointed; still, Jamie doesn’t hold this against Dani, as she instead tries to take responsibility for it herself. A week later, though, Jamie strongly indicates that she needed that time to be alone in the aftermath and that she is wary that Dani’s pattern of withdrawing from her every time they start to get closer will continue to happen. Nonetheless, it’s important to note that this contributes to Dani’s recognition that she’s been allowing her guilt about Eddie’s death to become all-consuming, preventing her from acting on her own desires to be with Jamie. That recognition, in turn, leads Dani to decide to move through her grief and beyond her guilt. Once she’s alone later in the evening after that first kiss, Dani casts Eddie’s glasses into the bonfire’s lingering embers; she faces off with his specter for a final time, and after burning away his shadow, her visions of him finally cease. When she and Jamie reunite during their 6:00 a.m. terrible coffee visit, Dani acknowledges that the way that she and Jamie left things was “wrong,” and she actively tries to take steps to “do something right” by inviting Jamie out for a drink at the village pub…which, of course, just so happens to be right below Jamie’s flat. (Victoria Pedretti’s expressions in that scene are so good).

Before we continue, though, let’s pause here a moment to consider some crucial factors in all of this. First, there is a significant difference between “moving through one’s grief” and simply discarding it…or being pressured by someone else to discard it. Second, there is also a significant difference between “moving through one’s grief” and allowing one’s grief to become all-consuming. Keep these distinctions in mind as we go on.

Ultimately, the resolution of the show’s core supernatural conflict involves Dani inviting Viola’s ghost to inhabit her, which Viola accepts. This frees the other spirits who have been caught in Bly Manor’s “gravity well,” even as it dooms Dani to eventually be overtaken by Viola and her rage. Jamie, however, offers to stay with Dani while she waits for this “beast in the jungle” to claim her. The show’s final episode shows the two of them going on to forge a life together, opening a flower shop in a cute town in Vermont, enjoying years of domestic bliss, and later getting married (in what capacities they can—more on this soon), all while remaining acutely aware of the inevitability of Dani’s demise.

The allegorical potentials of this concluding narrative scenario are fairly flexible. It is possible, for instance, to interpret Dani’s “beast in the jungle” as chronic (and/or terminal) illness—in particular, there’re some harrowing readings that we could do in relation to degenerative neurological diseases associated with aging (e.g. dementia, Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s, progressive supranuclear palsy, etc.), especially if we put the final episode into conversation with the show’s earlier subplot about the death of Owen’s mother, its recurring themes of memory loss as a form of death (or, even, as something worse than death), and Jamie’s resonant remarks that she would rather be “put out of her misery” than let herself be “worn away a little bit every day.” For the purposes of this analysis, though, I’m primarily concerned with interpreting Viola’s lurking presence in Dani’s psyche as a stand-in for severe grief, trauma, and mental illness. …Because, even as we may “move through” grief and trauma, and even as we may work to heal from them, they never just go away completely—they’re always lurking around, waiting to resurface. (In fact, the final minutes of the last episode feature a conversation between older Jamie and Flora about contending with this inevitable recurrence of grief). Therapy can give us tools to negotiate and live with them, of course; but that doesn’t mean that they’re not still present in our lives. The tools that therapy provides are meant to help us manage those inevitable resurfacings in healthy ways. But they are not meant to return us to some pre-grief or pre-trauma state of “normality” or to make them magically dissipate into the ether, never to return. And, even with plenty of therapy and with healthy coping mechanisms, we can still experience significant mental health issues in the wake of catastrophic grief, loss, and trauma; therapy doesn’t totally preclude that possibility.

In light of my own experiences with personal tragedy, crumbling mental health, and the dissolution of a romantic partnership with someone who couldn’t accept the presence of grief in my life, I was immediately enamored with the ways that Jamie approaches the enduring aftereffects of Dani’s trauma during the show’s final episode. Jamie never once pressures Dani to just be “normal.” She never once issues any judgment about what Dani is experiencing. At those times when Dani’s grief and trauma do resurface—when the beast in the jungle catches up with her—Jamie is there to console her, often with the strategies that have always worked in their relationship: gentle, playful ribbing and words of affirmation. There are instances in which Dani doesn’t emote joyfulness during events that we might otherwise expect her to—consider, for instance, how somber Dani appears in the proposal scene, in contrast to Jamie’s smiles and laughter. (In the year after my brother’s death, my ex-fiancé and his family would observe that I seemed gloomy in situations that they thought should be fun and exciting. “Then why aren’t you smiling?” they’d ask, even when I tried to assure them that I was having a good time, but just couldn’t completely feel that or express it in the ways that I might’ve in the past). Dani even comments on an inability to feel that is all too reminiscent of the blunting of emotions that can happen in the wake of acute trauma: “It’s like I see you in front of me and I feel you touching me, and every day we’re living our lives, and I’m aware of that. But it’s like I don’t feel it all the way.” But throughout all of this (and in contrast to my own experiences with my ex), Jamie attempts to ground Dani without ever invalidating what she’s experiencing. When Dani tells her that she can’t feel, Jamie assures her, “If you can’t feel anything, then I’ll feel everything for the both of us.”

A few days after I finished the show for the first time, I gushed to a friend about how taken I was with the whole thing. Jamie was just so…not what I had experienced in my own life. I loved witnessing a representation of such a supportive and understanding partner, especially within the context of a sapphic romance. After breaking up with my own ex-fiancé, I’ve since come to terms with my sexuality and am still processing through the roles that compulsory heterosexuality and internalized homophobia have played in my life; so Dani and Jamie’s relationship has been incredibly meaningful for me to see for so, so many reasons.

“I’m glad you found the show so relatable,” my friend told me. “But,” she cautioned, “don’t lose sight of what Dani does in that relationship.” Then, she pointed out something that I hadn’t considered at all. Although Jamie may model the possibilities of a supportive partnership, Dani’s tragic death espouses a very different and very troubling perspective: the poisonous belief that I’m inevitably going to hurt my partner with my grief and trauma, so I need to leave them before I can inflict that harm on them.

Indeed, this is a deeply engrained belief that I hold about myself. While I harbor a great deal of anger at my ex-fiancé for how he treated me, there’s also still a part of me that sincerely believes that I nearly ruined his and his family’s lives by bringing such immense devastation and darkness into it. On my bad days (which are many), I have strong convictions about this in relation to my future romantic prospects as well. How could anyone ever want to be with me? I wonder. And even if someone eventually does try to be with me, all I’ll do is ruin her life with all my trauma and sadness. I shouldn’t even want to be with anyone, because I don’t want to hurt someone else. I don’t want someone else to deal with what I’ve had to deal with. I even think about this, too, with my friends. Since my brother’s death and my breakup, I’ve gone through even more trauma, pain, grief, and loss, such that now I continue to struggle enormously with issues like anhedonia, emotional fragility, and social anxiety. I worry, consequently, that I’m just a burden on my friends. That I’m too hard to be around. That being around me, with all of my pain and perpetual misfortune, just causes my friends pain, too. That they’re better off not having to deal with me at all. I could spare them all, I think, by just letting them go, by not bothering them anymore.

I suspect that this is why I didn’t notice any issues with Dani’s behavior at the end of Bly Manor at first. Well…that and the fact that the reality of the show’s conclusion is immensely triggering for me. Probably, my attention just kind of slid past the truth of it in favor of indulging in the catharsis of a sad gay romance.

But after my friend observed this issue, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

I realized, then, that I hadn’t extended the allegory out to its necessary conclusion…which is that Dani has, in effect, committed suicide in order to—or so she believes, at least—protect Jamie from her. This is the case regardless of whether we keep Viola’s ghost in the mix as an actual, tangible, existing threat within the show’s diegesis or as a figurative symbol of the ways that other forces can “haunt” us to the point of our own self-destruction. If the former, then Dani’s suicide (or the more gentle and elusive description that I’ve seen: her act of “giving herself to the lake”) is to prevent Viola’s ghost from ever harming Jamie. But if the latter, if we continue doing the work of allegorical readings, then it’s possible to interpret Bly’s conclusion as the tragedy of Dani ultimately succumbing to her mental illness and suicidal ideation.

The problems with this allegory’s import really start cropping up, however, when we consider the ways that the show valorizes Dani’s actions as an expression of ultimate, self-sacrificing love—a valorization that Bly accomplishes, in particular, through its sustained contrasting of love and possession.

The Implications of Idealizing Self-Sacrifice as True Love

During a pivotal conversation in one of the show’s early episodes, Dani and Jamie discuss the “wrong kind of love” that existed between Rebecca Jessel and Peter Quint. Jamie remarks on how she “understands why so many people mix up love and possession,” thereby characterizing Rebecca and Peter’s romance as a matter of possession—as well as hinting, perhaps, that Jamie herself has had experiences with this in her own past. After considering for a moment, Dani agrees: “People do, don’t they? Mix up love and possession. […] I don’t think that should be possible. I mean, they’re opposites, really, love and ownership.” We can already tell from this scene that Dani and Jamie are, themselves, heading towards a burgeoning romance—and that this contrast between love and possession (and their self-awareness of it) is going to become a defining feature of that romance.

Indeed, the show takes great pains to emphasize the genuine love that exists between Dani and Jamie against the damaging drive for possession enacted by characters like Peter (who consistently manipulates Rebecca and kills her to keep her ghost with him) and Viola (who has killed numerous people and trapped their souls at Bly over the centuries in a long since forgotten effort to reclaim her life with her husband and daughter from Perdita, her murderously jealous sister). These contrasts take multiple forms and emerge from multiple angles, all to establish that Dani and Jamie’s love is uniquely safe, caring, healing, mutually supportive, and built on a foundation of prevailing concern for the other’s wellbeing. Some of these contrasts are subtle and understated. Consider, for instance, how Hannah observes that Rebecca looks like she hasn’t slept in days because of the turmoil of her entanglements with Peter, whereas Jamie’s narration describes how Dani gets the best sleep of her life during the first night that she and Jamie spend together. Note, too, the editing work in Episode 6 that fades in and out between the memories of the destructive ramifications of Henry and Charlotte’s affair and the scenes of tender progression in Dani and Jamie’s romance. Other contrasts, though, are far more overt. Of course, one of the most blatant examples (and most pertinent to this analysis) is the very fact that the ghosts of Viola, Peter, and Rebecca are striving to reclaim the people they love and the lives that they’ve lost by literally possessing the bodies and existences of the living.

The role of consent is an important factor in these ghostly possessions and serves as a further contrast with Dani and Jamie’s relationship. Peter and Rebecca frequently possess Miles and Flora without their consent—at times, even, when the children explicitly tell them to stop or, at the very least, to provide them with warnings beforehand. While inhabiting the children, Peter and Rebecca go on to harm them and put them at risk (e.g. Peter smokes cigarettes while in Miles’s body; Rebecca leaves Flora alone and unconscious on the grounds outside the manor) and to commit acts of violence against others (e.g. Peter pushes Hannah into the well, killing her; Peter and Rebecca together attack Dani and restrain her). The “It’s you, it’s me, it’s us,” conceit—with which living people can invite Bly’s ghosts to possess them, the mechanism by which Dani breaks the curse of Bly’s gravity well—is a case of dubious consent at best and abusive, violent control at worst. (“I didn’t agree,” Rebecca says after Peter leaves her body, releasing his “invited” possession of her at the very moment that the lake’s waters start to fill her lungs).

Against these selfish possessions and wrong kinds of love, Jamie and Dani’s love is defined by their selfless refusal to possess one another. A key characteristic of their courtship involves them expressing vulnerability in ways that invite the other to make their own decisions about whether to accept and how to proceed (or not proceed). As we discussed earlier, Dani and Jamie’s first kiss happens after Dani opens up about her guilt surrounding her ex-fiancé’s death. Pausing that kiss, Jamie checks, “You sure?” and only continues after Dani answers with a spoken yes. (Let’s also take this moment to appreciate Amelia Eve’s excellent, whispered “Thank fuck,” that isn’t included in Netflix’s subtitles). Even so, Dani frantically breaks away from her just moments later. But Jamie accepts this and doesn’t push Dani to continue, believing, in fact, that Dani has withdrawn precisely because Jamie has pushed too much already. A week later, Dani takes the initiative to advance their budding romance by inviting Jamie out for a drink—which Jamie accepts by, instead, taking Dani to see her blooming moonflowers that very evening. There, in her own moment of vulnerability, Jamie shares her heart-wrenching and tumultuous backstory with Dani in order to “skip to the end” and spare Dani the effort of getting to know her. By openly sharing these difficult details about herself, Jamie evidently intends to provide Dani with information that would help her decide for herself whether she wants to continue their relationship or not.

Their shared refusal to possess reaches its ultimate culmination in that moment, all those years later, when Dani discovers just how close she’s come to strangling Jamie—and then leaves their home to travel all the way back to Bly and drown herself in the lake because she could “not risk her most important thing, her most important person.” Upon waking to find that Dani has left, Jamie immediately sets off to follow her back to Bly. And in an absolutely heartbreaking, beautiful scene, we see Jamie attempting the “you, me, us,” invitation, desperate for Dani to possess her, for Dani to take Jamie with her. (Y’all, I know I’m critiquing this scene right now, but I also fuckin’ love it, okay? Ugh. The sight of Jamie screaming into the water and helplessly grasping for Dani is gonna stay with me forever. brb while I go cry about it again). Dani, of course, refuses this plea. Because “Dani wouldn’t. Dani would never.” Further emphasizing the nobility of Dani’s actions, Jamie’s narration also reveals that Dani’s self-sacrificial death has not only spared Jamie alone, but has also enabled Dani to take the place of the Lady of the Lake and thereby ensure that no one else can be taken and possessed by Viola’s gravity well ever again.

And so we have the show’s ennoblement of Dani’s magnanimous self-sacrifice. By inviting Viola to possess her, drowning herself to keep from harming Jamie, and then refusing to possess Jamie or anyone else, Dani has effectively saved everyone: the children, the restive souls that have been trapped at Bly, anyone else who may ever come to Bly in the future, and the woman she loves most. Dani has also, then, broken the perpetuation of Bly’s cycles of possession and trauma with her selfless expression of love for Jamie.

The unfortunate effect of all of this is that, quite without meaning to (I think? I hope—), The Haunting of Bly Manor ends up stumbling headlong into a validation of suicide as a selfless act of true love, as a force of protection and salvation.

So, before we proceed, I just want to take this moment to say—definitively, emphatically, as someone who has survived and experienced firsthand the ineffably catastrophic consequences of suicide—that suicide is nothing remotely resembling a selfless “refusal to possess” or an act of love. I’m not going to harp extensively on this, though, because I’d rather not trigger myself for a second time (so far, lol) while writing this essay. Just take my fuckin’ word for it. And before anybody tries to hit me with some excuse like “But Squall, it isn’t that the show is valorizing suicide, it’s that Dani is literally protecting Jamie from Viola,” please consider that I’ve already discussed how the show’s depiction of this lent itself to my own noxious beliefs that “all I do is harm other people with my grief, so maybe I should stop talking to my friends so that they don’t have to deal with me anymore.” Please consider what these narrative details and their allegorical import might tell people who are struggling with their mental health—even if not with suicidal ideation, then with the notion that they should self-sacrificially remove themselves from relationships for the sake of sparing loved ones from (assumed) harm.

Okay, that said, now let’s proceed…‘cause I’ve got even more to say, ‘cause the more I mulled over these details, the more I also came to realize that Dani’s self-sacrificial death in Bly’s conclusion also has the unfortunate effect of undermining some of its other (attempted) themes and its queer representation.

What Bly Manor Tries (and Fails) to Say about Grief and Acceptance

Let’s start by jumping back to a theme we’ve already addressed briefly: moving through one’s grief.

The Haunting of Bly Manor does, in fact, have a lot to say about this. Or…it wants to, more like. On the whole, it seems like it’s trying really hard to give us a cautionary tale about the destructive effects of unprocessed grief and the misplaced guilt that we can wind up carrying around when someone we love dies. The show spends a whole lot of time preaching about how important it is that we learn to accept our losses without allowing them to totally consume us—or without lingering around in denial about them (gettin’ some Kübler-Ross in here, y’all). Sadly, though, it does kind of a half-assed job of it…despite the fact that this is a major recurring theme and a component of the characterizations and storylines of, like, most of its characters. In fact, this fundamentally Kübler-Rossian understanding of what it means to move through grief and to accept loss and mortality appears to be the show’s guiding framework. During his rehearsal dinner speech in the first episode, Owen proclaims that, “To truly love another person is to accept that the work of loving them is worth the pain of losing them,” with such eerie resonance—as the camera stays set on Jamie’s unwavering gaze—that we know that what we’re about to experience is a story about accepting the inevitable losses of the people we love.

Bly Manor is chock full of characters who’re stuck in earlier stages of grief but aren’t really moving along to reach that acceptance stage. I mean, the whole cause of the main supernatural haunting is that Viola so ferociously refuses to accept her death and move on from her rage (brought about by Perdita’s resentment) that she spends centuries strangling whoever she comes across, which then effectively traps them there with her. And the other antagonistic ghostly forces, Rebecca and Peter, also obviously suck at accepting their own deaths, given that they actually believe that possessing two children is a perfectly fine (and splendid) way for them to grasp at some semblance of life again. (Actually…the more that I’ve thought about this, the more that I think each of the pre-acceptance stages of grief in Kübler-Ross’s model may even have a corresponding character to represent it: Hannah is denial; Viola is anger; Peter and Rebecca are bargaining; Henry is depression. Just a little something to chew on).

But let’s talk more at-length about this theme in relation to two characters we haven’t focused on yet: Hannah and Henry. For Hannah, this theme shows up in her struggles to accept that her husband, Sam, has left her (Charlotte wryly burns candles in the chapel as though marking his passing, while Hannah seems to be holding out hope that he might return) and in her persistent denial that Peter-as-Miles has killed her. As a ghost, she determinedly continues going about her daily life and chores even as she’s progressively losing her grip on reality. Henry, meanwhile, won’t issue official notifications of Dominic’s death and continues to collect his mail because doing otherwise would mean admitting to the true finality of Dominic’s loss. At the same time, he is so, completely consumed by his guilt about the role that he believes he played in Charlotte and Dominic’s deaths that he’s haunting himself with an evil alter-ego. His overriding guilt and despair also result in his refusal to be more present in Miles and Flora’s lives—even with the knowledge that Flora is actually his daughter.

In the end, both Hannah and Henry reach some critical moments of acceptance. But, honestly, the show doesn’t do a great job of bringing home this theme of move through your grief with either of them…or with anybody else, really. Peter basically winds up bullying Hannah into recognizing that her broken body is still at the bottom of the well—and then she accepts her own death right in time to make a completely abortive attempt at rescuing Dani and Flora. Henry finally has a preternatural Bad Feeling about things (something about a phone being disconnected? whose phone? Bly’s phone? his phone? I don’t understand), snaps to attention, and rushes to Bly right in time to make an equally abortive rescue attempt that leaves him incapacitated so that his not-quite-ghost can hang out with Hannah long enough to find out that she’s dead. But at least he decides to be an attentive uncle/dad to Miles and Flora after that, I guess. Otherwise, Hannah and Henry get handwaved away pretty quickly before we can really witness what their acceptance means for them in any meaningful detail. (I blame this on some sloppy writing and the way-too-long, all-about-Viola eighth episode. And, on that note, what about the “acceptances” of Rebecca, Peter, and Viola there at the end? Rebecca does get an interesting moment of acceptance—of a sort—with her offer to possess Flora in order to experience Flora’s imminent drowning for her, thereby sparing the child by tucking her in a happy memory. Peter just…disappears at the end with some way-too-late words of apology. Viola’s “acceptance,” however, is tricky…What she accepts is Dani’s invitation to inhabit her. More on this later).

Hannah and Henry’s stories appear to be part of the show’s efforts to warn us about the ways that unprocessed, all-consuming grief can cause us to miss opportunities to have meaningful relationships with others. Hannah doesn’t just miss her chance to be with Owen because…well, she’s dead, but also because of her unwillingness to move on from Sam beforehand. Her denial about her own death, in turn, prevents her from taking the opportunity as a ghost to tell Owen that she loves him. Henry, at least, does figure out that he’s about to lose his chance to be a caring parental figure to his daughter and nephew—but just barely. It takes the near-deaths of him and the children to finally prompt that realization.

Of the cast, Dani gets the most thorough and intentional development of this move through your grief theme. And, importantly, she learns this lesson in time to cultivate a meaningful relationship that she could’ve easily missed out on otherwise. As we’ve already discussed, a critical part of Dani’s character arc involves her realization that she has to directly confront Edmund’s death and start absolving herself of her guilt in order to open up the possibility of a romantic relationship with Jamie. In Episode 4, Jamie’s narration suggests that Dani has had a habit of putting off such difficult processes (whether in regards to moving through her grief, breaking off her engagement to Edmund, or coming to terms with her sexuality), as she’s been constantly deferring to “another night, another time for years and years.” Indeed, the show’s early episodes are largely devoted to showing the consequences of Dani’s deferrals and avoidances. From the very beginning, we see just how intrusively Dani’s unresolved guilt is impacting her daily life and functioning. She covers up mirrors to try to prevent herself from encountering Edmund’s haunting visage, yet still spots him in the reflections of windows and polished surfaces. Panic attacks seem to be regular occurrences for her, sparked by reminders of him. And all of this only gets worse and more disruptive as Dani starts acting on her attraction to Jamie.

It's only after Dani decides to begin moving through her grief and guilt that she’s able to start becoming emotionally and physically intimate with Jamie. And the major turning point for this comes during a scene that features a direct, explicit discussion of the importance of accepting (and even embracing) mortality.

That’s right—it’s time to talk about the moonflower scene.

In a very “I am extremely fed up with people not being able to deal with my traumatic past, so I’m going to tell you about all of the shit that I’ve been through so that you can go ahead and decide whether you want to bolt right now instead of just dropping me later on” move (which…legit, Jamie—I feel that), Jamie sits Dani down at her moonflower patch to give her the full rundown of her own personal backstory and worldview. Her monologue evinces both a profound cynicism and a profound valuation of human life…all of which is also suggestive, to me at least, of a traumatized person who at once desperately wishes for intimate connection, but who’s also been burned way too many times (something with which I am wholly unfamiliar, lol). She characterizes people as “exhaustive effort with very little to show for it,” only to go on to wax poetic about how human mortality is as beautiful as the ephemeral buds of a moonflower. This is, in essence, Jamie’s sorta convoluted way of articulating that whole “To truly love another person is to accept that the work of loving them is worth the pain of losing them” idea.

After detailing her own past, Jamie shifts gears to suggest that she believes that cultivating a relationship with Dani—like the devoted work of growing a tropical, transient Ipomoea alba in England—might be worth the effort. And as part of this cultivation work, Jamie then acknowledges Dani’s struggles with her guilt, while also firmly encouraging her to move through it by accepting the beauty of mortality:

“I know you’re carrying this guilt around, but I also know that you don’t decide who lives and who doesn’t. I’m sorry Dani, but you don’t. Humans are organic. It’s a fact. We’re meant to die. It’s natural…beautiful. […] We leave more life behind to take our place. Like this moonflower. It’s where all its beauty lies, you know. In the mortality of the thing.”

After that, Jamie and Dani are finally able to make out unimpeded.

Frustratingly, though, Jamie’s own dealings with grief, loss, and trauma remain terribly understated throughout the show. Her monologue in the moonflower scene is really the most insight that we ever get. Jamie consistently comes off as better equipped to contend with life’s hardships than many of Bly’s other characters; and she is, in fact, the sole member of the cast who is confirmed to have ever had any sort of professional therapy. She regularly demonstrates a remarkable sense of empathy and emotional awareness, able to pick up on others’ needs and then support them accordingly, though often in gruff, tough-love forms. Further, there are numerous scenes in which we see Jamie bestowing incisive guidance for handling difficult situations: the moonflower scene, her advice to Rebecca about contacting Henry after Peter’s disappearance, and her suggestion to Dani that Flora needs to see a psychologist, to name just a few. As such, Jamie appears to have—or, at least, projects—a sort of unflappable groundedness that sets her apart from everyone else in the show.

Bly only suggests that Jamie’s struggles run far deeper than she lets on. There are a few times that we witness quick-tempered outbursts (usually provoked by Miles) and hints of bottled-up rage. Lest we forget, although it was Flora who first found Rebecca’s dead body floating in the water, it was Jamie who then found them both immediately thereafter. We see this happen, but we never learn anything about the impact that this must have had on her. Indeed, Jamie’s exposure to the layered, compounding grief at Bly has no doubt inflicted a great deal of pain on her, suggested by details like her memorialization of Charlotte and Dominic during the bonfire scene. If we look past her flippancy, there must be more than a few grains of truth to that endless well of deep, inconsolable tears—but Jamie never actually shares what they might be. Moreover, although the moonflower scene reveals the complex traumas of her past, we never get any follow-up or elaboration about those details or Dani’s observation of the scar on her shoulder. For the most part, Jamie’s grief goes unspoken.

There’s a case to be made that these omissions are a byproduct of narrator Jamie decentering herself in a story whose primary focus is Dani. Narrator Jamie even claims that the story she’s telling “isn’t really my story. It belongs to someone I knew” (yes, it’s a diversionary tactic to keep us from learning her identity too soon—but she also means it). And in plenty of respects, the telling of the story is, itself, Jamie’s extended expression of her grief. By engaging in this act of oral storytelling to share Dani’s sacrifice with others—especially with those who would have otherwise forgotten—Jamie is performing an important ritual of mourning her wife. Still, it’s for exactly these reasons that I think it would’ve been valuable for the show to include more about the impacts that grief, loss, and trauma had on Jamie prior to Dani’s death. Jamie’s underdevelopment on this front feels more like a disappointing oversight of the show’s writing than her narrator self’s intentional, careful withholding of information. Additionally, I think that Bly leaves Jamie’s grieving on an…odd note (though, yes, I know I’m just a curmudgeonly outlier here). Those saccharine final moments of Jamie filling up the bathtub and sleeping on a chair so that she can face the cracked doorway are a little too heavy-handedly tear-jerking for my liking. And while this, too, may be a ritual of mourning after the undoubtedly taxing effort of telling Dani’s story, it may also suggest that Jamie is demurring her own acceptance of Dani’s death. Is the hand on her shoulder really Dani’s ghost? Or is it Jamie’s own hopeful fabrication that her wife’s spirit is watching over her? (Or—to counter my own point here and suggest a different alternative—could this latter idea (i.e. the imagining of Dani’s ghost) also be another valid manner of “accepting” a loss by preserving a loved one’s presence? “Dead doesn’t mean gone,” after all. …Anyway, maybe I would be more charitable to this scene if not for the hokey, totally out-of-place song. Coulda done without that, seriously).

But let’s jump back to the moonflower scene. For Dani, this marks an important moment in the progression of her own movement through grief. In combination, her newfound readiness to contend with her guilt and her eagerness to grow closer to Jamie enable Dani to find a sense of peace that she hasn’t experienced since Eddie’s death…or maybe ever, really (hang on to this thought for this essay’s final section, too). When she and Jamie sleep together for the first time, not only does Dani actually sleep well, but she also wakes the next morning to do something that she hasn’t done to that point and won’t do again: she comfortably looks into a mirror. (One small qualification to this: Dani does look into her own reflection at the diner when she and Jamie are on their road trip; Viola doesn’t interfere then, but whether this is actually a comfortable moment is questionable). Then, shifting her gaze away from her own reflection, she sees Jamie still sleeping soundly in her bed—and smiles. It’s a fleeting moment of peace. Immediately after that, she spots Flora out the window, which throws everything back into accumulating turmoil. But that moment of peace, however fleeting, is still a powerful one.

However, Bly teases this narrative about the possibilities of finding healing in the wake of traumatic loss—especially through the cultivation of meaningful and supportive relationships with others—only to then totally pull that rug out from under Dani in the final episode.

During that final episode, we see that Dani’s shared life with Jamie has supported her in coming to terms with Viola’s lurking presence, such that “at long last, deep within the au pair’s heart, there was peace. And that peace held for years, which is more than some of us ever get.” But it’s at the exact moment that that line of narration occurs that we then begin to witness Dani’s steady, inexorable decline. Sure, we could say that Dani “accepts” Viola’s intrusions and the unavoidable eventuality that the ghost will seize control of her. But this isn’t a healthy acceptance or even a depiction of the fraught relationships that we can have with grief and trauma as we continue to process them throughout our lives. At all. Instead, it’s a distinctive, destructive sense of fatalism.

“I’m not even scared of her anymore,” Dani tells Jamie as the flooded bathtub spills around them. “I just stare at her and it's getting harder and harder to see me. Maybe I should just accept that. Maybe I should just accept that and go.” Remember way back at the beginning of this essay when I pointed out that there’s a significant difference between “moving through one’s grief” and allowing one’s grief to become all-consuming? Well, by the time we reach the bathtub scene, Dani’s grief and trauma have completely overtaken her. Her “acceptance” is, thus, a fatalistic, catastrophizing determination that her trauma defines her existence, such that she believes that all she has left to do is give up her life in order to protect Jamie from her. For a less ghostly (and less suicidal ideation-y) and more real-life example to illustrate what I’m getting at here: this would be like me saying “I should just accept that I’m never going to be anything other than a traumatized mess and should stop reaching out to my friends so that I don’t keep hurting them by making them deal with what a mess I am.” If I said something like this, I suspect (hope) that you would tell me that this is not a productive acceptance, but a pernicious narrative that only hurts me and the people who care about me. Sadly, though, this kind of pernicious narrative is exactly what we get out of Bly’s ending allegory.

“But Squall,” you may be thinking, “this scene is representing how people who struggle with their mental health can actually feel. This is exactly what it can be like to have severe mental illness, even for folks who have strong support systems and healthy, meaningful relationships. And there’s value in showing that.”

And if you’re thinking that, then first of all—as I have indicated already—I am aware that this is what it can be like. Very aware. And second of all, you make a fair point, but…there are ways that the show could’ve represented this without concluding that representation with a suicide that it effectively valorizes. I’ll contend with this more in the final section, where I offer a few suggestions of other ways that Bly could’ve ended instead.

I just want to be absolutely clear that I’m not saying that I think all media portrayals of mental illness need to be hopeful or wholesome or end in “positive” ways. But what I am saying is that Bly’s conclusion offers a really fuckin’ bleak outlook on grief, trauma, and mental illness, especially when we fit that ending into the framework of the show’s other (attempted) core themes, as well as Dani’s earlier character development. It’s especially bleak to see this as someone with severe mental health issues and who has also lost a loved one to suicide—and as someone who desperately hopes that my life and worldview won’t always stay so darkly colored by my trauma.

Additionally, it’s also worth pausing here to acknowledge that fatalism is, in fact, a major theme of The Beast in the Jungle, the 1903 Henry James novella on which the ninth episode is loosely based. I confess that I’ve only read about this novella, but haven’t read the story itself. However, based on my (admittedly limited) understanding of it, there appears to be a significant thematic rupture between The Beast in the Jungle and The Haunting of Bly Manor in their treatments of fatalism. In the end of the novella, its protagonist, John Marcher, comes to the realization that his fatalism has been a horrible mistake that has caused him to completely miss out on an opportunity for love that was right in front of him all along. The tragic fate to which Marcher believed that he was doomed was, in the end, his own fatalism. Dani, in contrast, never has this moment of recognition, not only because her fatalism leads to her own death, but also because the show treats her fatalism not as something that keeps her from love, but instead as leading her towards a definitive act of love.

All of this is exactly why Dani’s portrayal has become so damn concerning to me, and why I don’t believe that Bly’s allegory of “this is what it’s like to live with mental illness and/or to love (and lose) someone who is mentally ill” is somehow value-neutral—or, worse, something worth celebrating.

How Dani’s Self-Sacrifice Bears on Bly’s Queer Representation

In my dabblings around the fandom so far, I’ve seen a fair amount of deliberation about whether or not Bly Manor’s ending constitutes an example of the Bury Your Gays trope.

Honestly, though, I am super unenthused about rehashing those deliberations or splitting hairs trying to give some definitive “yes it is” or “no it isn’t” answer, so…I’m just not going to. Instead, I’m going to offer up some further observations about how Dani’s self-sacrificial death impinges on Bly’s queer representation, regardless of whether Bury Your Gays is at work here or not.

I would also like to humbly submit that the show could’ve just…not fucked around in proximity of that trope in the first place so that we wouldn’t even need to be having these conversations.

But anyway. I’m going to start this section off with a disclaimer.

Even though I’m leveling some pretty fierce critiques in this section (and across this essay), I do also want to say that I adore that The Haunting of Bly Manor and its creators gave us a narrative that centers two queer women and their romantic relationship as its driving forces and that intentionally sets out to portray the healing potentials of sapphic love as a contrast to the destructive, coercive harms found in many conventional dynamics of hegemonic heteronormativity. I don’t want to downplay that, because I’m extremely happy that this show exists, and I sincerely believe that many elements of its representation are potent and meaningful and amazing. But…I also have some reservations with this portrayal that I want to share. I critique not because I don’t love, but because I do love. I love this show a lot. I love Dani and Jamie a lot. I critique because I love and because I want more and better in future media.

So, that being said…let’s move on to talk about Dani, self-sacrifice, and compulsory heterosexuality.

Well before Dani’s ennobled death, Bly establishes self-sacrifice as a core component of her characterization. It’s hardwired into her, no doubt due to the relentless, entangled educational work of compulsory heterosexuality (comphet) and the aggressive forms of socialization that tell girls and women that their roles in life are to sacrifice themselves in order to please others and to belong to men. Indeed, Episode 4’s series of flashbacks emphasizes the interconnectedness between comphet and Dani’s beliefs that she is supposed to sacrifice herself for others’ sakes, revealing how these forces have shaped who she is and the decisions that she’s made across her life. (While we’re at it, let’s also not lose sight of the fact that Dani’s profession during this time period is one that—in American culture, at least—has come to rely on a distinctively feminized self-sacrificiality in order to function. Prior to becoming an au pair, Dani was a schoolteacher. In fact, in one of Episode 4’s flashbacks, Eddie’s mother points out that she appreciates Dani’s knack for identifying the kids that need her the most, but also reminds Dani that she needs to take care of herself…which suggests that Dani hadn’t been: “Save them all if you can, but put your own oxygen mask on first”).

In the flashback of her engagement party, Dani’s visible discomfort during Edmund’s speech clues us in that she wasn’t preparing to marry him because she genuinely wanted to, but because she felt like she was supposed to. The “childhood sweethearts” narrative bears down on the couple, celebrated by their friends and family, vaunted by cultural constructs that prize this life trajectory as a cherished, “happily ever after” ideal. Further illustrating the pressures to which Dani had been subject, the same scene shows Eddie’s mother, Judy O’Mara, presenting Dani with her own wedding dress and asking Dani to wear it when she marries Eddie. Despite Mrs. O’Mara’s assurances that Dani can say no, the hopes that she heaps onto Dani make abundantly clear that anything other than a yes would disappoint her. Later, another flashback shows Dani having that dress sized and fitted while her mother and Mrs. O’Mara look on and chatter about their own weddings and marriages. Their conversation is imbued with further hopes that Dani’s marriage to Edmund will improve on the mistakes that they made in their lives. Meanwhile, Dani’s attentiveness to the tailor who takes her measurements, compliments her body, and places a hand on her back strongly suggests that Dani is suppressing her attraction to women. Though brief, this scene is a weighty demonstration of the ways that the enclosures of heteronormativity constrain women into believing that their only option is to deny homosexual attraction, to forfeit their own desires in order to remain in relationships with men, and to prioritize the hopes and dreams and aspirations of the people around them above their own.

Dani followed this pathway—determined for her by everyone else except herself—until she couldn’t anymore.

During the flashback of their breakup, Dani explains to Eddie that she didn’t end their relationship sooner because she thought that even just having desires that didn’t match his and his family’s was selfish of her: “I should’ve said something sooner. […] I didn’t want to hurt you, or your mom, or your family. And then it was just what we were doing. […] I just thought I was being selfish, that I could just stick it out, and eventually I would feel how I was supposed to.” As happens to so many women, Dani was on the cusp of sacrificing her life for the sake of “sticking out” a marriage to a man, all because she so deeply believed that it was her duty to satisfy everyone’s expectations of her and that it was her responsibility to change her own feelings about that plight.

And Eddie’s response to this is telling. “Fuck you, Danielle,” he says. “Why are you doing this to me?”

Pay close attention to those last two words. Underline ‘em. Bold ‘em. Italicize ‘em.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

With those two words, Eddie indicates that he views Dani’s refusal to marry him as something that she is doing to him, a harm that she is committing against him. It is as though Dani is inflicting her will on him, or even that she is unjustly attackinghim by finally admitting that her desires run contrary to his own, that she doesn’t want to be his wife. And with this statement, he confirms precisely what she anticipated would happen upon giving voice to her true feelings.

What space did Edmund, his family, or Dani’s mother ever grant for Dani to have aspirations of her own that weren’t towards the preordained role of Eddie’s future wife? Let’s jump back to that engagement party. Eddie’s entire speech reveals a very longstanding assumption of his claim over her as his wife-to-be. He’d first asked Dani to marry him when they were ten years old, after he mistakenly believed that their first kiss could get Dani pregnant; Dani turned him down then, saying that they were too young. So, over the years, as they got older, Eddie continued to repeatedly ask her—until, presumably, she relented. “Now, we’re still pretty young,” he remarks as he concludes his speech, “but I think we’re old enough to know what we want.” Significantly, Eddie speaks here not just for himself, but also for Dani. Dani’s voice throughout the entire party is notably absent, as Eddie and his mother both impose their own wishes on her, assume that she wants what they want, and don’t really open any possibility for her to say otherwise. Moreover, although there’s a palpable awkwardness that accompanies Eddie’s story, the crowd at the party chuckles along as though it’s a sweet, innocent tale of lifelong love and devotion, and not an instance of a man whittling away at a woman’s resistance until she finally caved to his pursuit of her.

All of this suggests that Eddie shared in the socialized convictions of heteropatriarchy, according to which Dani’s purpose and destiny were to marry him and to make him happy. His patterns of behavior evince the unquestioned presumptions of so many men: that women exist in service to them and their wants, such that it is utterly inconceivable that women could possibly desire otherwise. As a political institution, heteropatriarchy tells men that they are entitled to women’s existences, bodies, futures. And, indeed, Eddie can’t seem to even imagine that Dani could ever want anything other than the future that he has mapped out for them. (Oh, hey look, we’ve got some love vs. possession going on here again).

For what it’s worth, I think that the show’s portrayal of compulsory heterosexuality is excellent. I love that the writers decided to tackle this. Like I mentioned at the beginning, I found all of this to be extremelyrelatable. I might even be accused of over-relating and projecting my own experiences onto my readings here, but…there were just too many resonances between Dani’s experiences and my own. Mrs. O’Mara’s advice to Dani to “put your own oxygen mask on first” is all too reminiscent of the ways that my ex’s parents would encourage me to “heal” from my brother’s loss…but not for the sake of my own wellbeing, but so that I would return to prioritizing the care of their son and existing to do whatever would make him happy. I’ll also share here that what drove me to break up with my ex-fiancé wasn’t just his unwillingness to contend with my grief, but the fact that he had decided that the best way for me to heal from my loss would be to have a baby. He insisted that I could counteract my brother’s death by “bringing new life into the world.” And he would not take no for an answer. He told me that if I wouldn’t agree to try to have children in the near future, then he wasn’t interested in continuing to stay with me. It took me months to pluck up the courage, but I finally answered this ultimatum by ending our relationship myself. Thus, like Dani, I came very close to sacrificing myself, my wants, my body, my future, and my life for the sake of doing what my fiancé and his family wanted me to do, all while painfully denying my own attraction to women. What kept me from “sticking it out” any longer was that I finally decided that I wasn’t going to sacrifice myself for a man I didn’t love (and who clearly didn’t love me) and decided, instead, to reclaim my own wants and needs away from him.

For Dani, however, the moment that she finally begins to reclaim her wants and needs away from Eddie is also the moment that he furiously jumps out of the driver’s seat and into the path of a passing truck, which leaves her to entangle those events as though his death is her fault for finally asserting herself.

Of course, the guilt that Dani feels for having “caused” Eddie’s death isn’t justa matter of breaking up with him and thereby provoking a reaction that would prove fatal—it’s also the guilt of her suppressed homosexual desire, of not desiring Eddie in the first place. In other words, internalized homophobia is an inextricable layer of the culpability that Dani feels. Internalized homophobia is also what’s haunting her. As others (such as Rowan Ellis, whose deep dive includes a solid discussion of internalized homophobia in Bly, as well as a more at-length examination of Bury Your Gays than I’m providing here) have pointed out, the show highlights this metaphorically by having Dani literally get locked into a closet with Edmund’s ghost in the very first episode. Further reinforcing this idea is the fact that these spectral visions get even worse as Dani starts to come to terms with and act on her attraction to Jamie, as though the ghost is punishing her for her desires. Across Episode 3, as Dani and Jamie begin spending more time together, Edmund’s ghost concurrently begins materializing in more shocking, visceral forms (e.g. his bleeding hand in Dani’s bed; his shadowy figure lurking behind Dani after she’s held Jamie’s hand) that exceed the reflective surfaces to which he’d previously been confined. This continues into Episode 4, where each of Eddie’s appearances follows moments of Dani’s growing closeness to Jamie. A particularly alarming instance occurs when Dani just can’t seem to pry her gaze away from a dressed-up Jamie who’s in the process of some mild undressing. Finally turning away from Jamie, Dani becomes aware of Eddie’s hands on her hips. It’s a violating reminder of his claims over her, horrifying in its invocation of men’s efforts to coerce and control women’s sexuality.

It is incredibly powerful, then, to watch Dani answer all of this by becoming more resolute and assertive in the expression of her wants and needs. The establishment of her romantic relationship with Jamie isn’t just the movement through grief and guilt that we discussed earlier; it’s also Dani’s defiance of compulsory heterosexuality and her fierce claiming of her queer existence. Even in the face of all that’s been haunting her, Dani initiates her first kiss with Jamie; and Eddie’s intrusion in that moment is only enough to temporarily dissuade her, as Dani follows this up by then asking Jamie out for a drink at the pub to “see where that takes them” (i.e. up to Jamie’s flat to bang, obviously). The peace that Dani finds after having sex with Jamie for the first time is, therefore, also the profound fulfillment of at last having her first sexual experience with a woman, of finally giving expression to this critical part of herself that she’d spent her entire life denying. Compulsory heterosexuality had dictated to Dani that she must self-sacrifice to meet the strictures of heteropatriarchy, to please everyone except herself; but in her relationship with Jamie, Dani learns that she doesn’t have to do this at all. This is only bolstered by the fact that, as we’ve talked about at length already, Jamie is very attentive to Dani’s needs and respectful of her boundaries. Jamie doesn’t want Dani to do anything other than what Dani wants to do. And so, in the cultivation of their romantic partnership, Dani thus comes to value her own wants and needs in a way that she hasn’t before.

The fact that the show nails all of this so fucking well is what makes all that comes later so goddamn frustrating.

The final episode chronicles Dani and Jamie forging a queer life together that the rest of us can only dream of, including another scene of Dani flouting homophobia and negotiating her own internal struggles so that she can be with Jamie. “I know we can’t technically get married,” she tells Jamie when she proposes to her, “but I also don’t really care.” And with her awareness that the beast in the jungle is starting to catch up with her, Dani tells Jamie that she wants to spend whatever time she has left with her.

But then…

A few scenes later—along with a jump of a few years later, presumably—Jamie arrives home with the licenses that legally certify their civil union in the state of Vermont. It’s a monumental moment. In 2000, Vermont became the first state to introduce civil unions, which paved the way for it to later (in 2009) become the first state to pass legislation that recognized gay marriages without needing to have a court order mandating that the state extend marriage rights beyond opposite-sex couples. I appreciate that Bly’s creatorsincorporated this significant milestone in the history of American queer rights into the show. But its positioning in the show also fuckin’ sucks. Just as Jamie is announcing the legality of her and Dani’s civil union and declaring that they’ll have another marriage ceremony soon, we see water running into the hallway. This moves us into that scene with the flooded bathtub, as Jamie finds Dani staring into the water, unaware of anything else except the reflection of Viola staring back at her. Thus, it is at the exact moment when her wife proudly shares the news of this incredible achievement in the struggle for queer rights—for which queer folks have long fought and are continuing to fight to protect in the present—that Dani has completely, hopelessly resigned herself to Viola’s possession.

I want to be careful to clarify here that, in making this observation, I don’t mean to posit some sort of “Dani should have fought back against Viola” argument, which—within the context of our allegorical readings—might have the effect of damagingly suggesting that Dani should have fought harder to recover from mental illness or terminal disease. But I do mean to point out the incredibly grim implications that the juxtaposition of these events engenders, especially when we contemplate them (as we did in the previous section) within the overall frameworks of the show’s themes and Dani’s character development. After all that has come before, after we’ve watched Dani come to so boldly assert her queer desire and existence, it is devastating to see the show reduce her to such a despairing state that doesn’t even give her a chance to register that she and Jamie are now legal partners.

Why did you have to do this, Bly? Why?

Further compounding this despair, the next scene features the resumption of Dani’s self-sacrificial beliefs and behaviors, which results in her demise, and which leaves Jamie to suffer through the devastation of her wife’s death. This resumption of self-sacrifice hence demolishes all of that beautiful work of asserting Dani’s queer existence and learning that she doesn’t need to sacrifice herself that I just devoted two thousand words to describing above.

Additionally, in the end, Dani’s noble self-sacrifice also effects a safe recuperation of heteronormativity…which might add more evidence to a Bury Your Gays claim, oops.

And that is because, in the end, after we see Jamie screaming into the water and Dani forever interred at the bottom of the lake in which she drowned herself, we come to the end of Jamie’s story and return to Bly Manor’s frame narrative: Flora’s wedding.

At the start of the show, the evening of Flora and Unnamed Man’s (Wikipedia says his name is James? idk, w/e) rehearsal dinner provides the occasion and impetus for Jamie’s storytelling. Following dinner, Flora, her fiancé, and their guests gather around a fireplace and discuss a ghost story about the venue, a former convent. With a captive audience that includes her primary targets—Flora and Miles, who have forgotten what happened at Bly and, by extension, all that Dani sacrificed and that Jamie lost so that they could live their lives free of the trauma of what transpired—and with a topically relevant conversation already ongoing, Jamie interjects that she has a ghost story of her own to share…and thus, the show’s longer, secondary narrative begins.

When Jamie’s tale winds to a close at the end of the ninth episode, the show returns us to its frame, that scene in front of the cozy, crackling fire. And it is there that we learn that it is, in fact, Jamie who has been telling us this story all along.

As the other guests trickle away, Flora stays behind to talk to Jamie on her own. A critical conversation then ensues between them, which functions not only as Jamie’s shared wisdom to Flora, but also as the show’s attempt to lead viewers through what they’ve just experienced and thereby impart its core message about the secondary narrative. The frame narrative is, thus, also a direct address to the audience that tells us what we should take away from the experience. By this point, the show has thoroughly established that Jamie is a gentle-but-tough-love, knowledgeable, and trustworthy guide through the trials of accepting grief and mortality, and so it is Jamie who leaves Flora and us, the audience, with the show’s final word about how to treasure the people we love while they are still in our lives and how to grieve them if we survive beyond them. (But, by this point in this essay, we’ve also learned that Bly’s messages about grief and mortality are beautiful but also messy and unconvincing, even with this didactic ending moment).

With all of this in mind, we can (and should) ask some additional questions of the frame narrative.

One of those questions is: Why is the secondary narrative being told from/within this particular frame?

Answering this question within the show’s diegesis (by asking it of the narrator) is easy enough. Jamie is performing a memorialization of Dani’s life and sacrifice at an event where her intended audience happens to be gathered, ensuring that Miles and Flora begin to recognize what Dani did for them in a manner that maybe won’t just outright traumatize them.

Okay, sure, yeah. True. Not wrong.

But let’s interrogate this question more deeply—let’s ask it of the show itself. So, Bly Manor: Why is the secondary narrative being told from/within this particular frame?

We could also tweak this question a bit to further consider: What is the purpose of the frame? A frame narrative can function to shape audiences’ interpretations of and attitudes towards the secondary narrative. So, in this case, let’s make our line of questioning even more specific. What does the frame of Flora’s wedding do for Bly’s audiences?

Crucially, the framing scene at the fireplace provides us with a sense that we’ve returned to safety after the horror of the ghost story we’ve just experienced. To further assure us of this safety, then, Bly’s frame aims to restore a sense of normality, a sense that the threat that has provoked fear in us has been neutralized, a sense of hope that endures beyond tragedy. Indeed, as we fade from the secondary narrative and return to the frame, Jamie’s narration emphasizes how Dani’s selfless death has brought peace to Bly Manor by breaking its cycles of violence and trauma: “But she won’t be hollow or empty, and she won’t pull others to her fate. She will merely walk the grounds of Bly, harmless as a dove for all of her days, leaving the only trace of who she once was in the memory of the woman who loved her most.”

What Dani has accomplished with her self-sacrifice, then, is a longstanding, prevailing, expected staple of Western—and especially American—storytelling: redemption.

American media is rife with examples of this narrative formula (in which an individual must take selfless action—which may or may not involve self-sacrificial death—in order to redeem an imperiled community by restoring a threatened order) to an extent that is kind of impossible to overstate. Variations of this formula are everywhere, from film to television to comics to videogames to news reports. It is absolutely fundamental to our cultural understandings of what “heroism” means. And it’s been this way for, umm…a long time, largely thanks to that most foundational figure of Western myth, some guy who was crucified for everybody’s sins or something. (Well, that and the related popularization of Joseph Campbell’s hero’s journey, but…I’m not gonna go off onto a whole rant about that right now, this essay is already too long as it is).

In Bly Manor, the threatened order is the natural process of death itself, which Viola has disrupted with a gravity well that traps souls and keeps them suspended within physical proximity of the manor. Dani’s invitation to Viola is the initial step towards salvation (although, I think it’s important to note that this is not entirely intentional on Dani’s part. Jamie’s narration indicates that Dani didn’t entirely understand what she was doing with the “It’s you, it’s me, it’s us” invitation, so self-sacrifice was not necessarily her initial goal). It nullifies the gravity well and resumes the passage of death, which liberates all of the souls that have been trapped at Bly and also produces additional opportunities for others’ atonements (e.g. Peter’s apology to Miles; Henry’s guardianship of the children). But it’s Dani’s suicide that is the ultimate completion of the redemptive task. It is only by “giving herself to the lake” that Dani is able to definitively dispel Viola’s threat and confer redemptive peace to Bly Manor.

It’s tempting to celebrate this incredibly rare instance of a queer woman in the heroic-redemptive role, given that American media overwhelmingly reserve it for straight men. But I want to strongly advise that we resist this temptation. Frankly, there’s a lot about the conventional heroic-redemptive narrative formula that sucks, and I’d rather that we work to advocate for other kinds of narratives, instead of just championing more “diversity” within this stuffy old model of heroism. Explaining what sucks about this formula is beyond the purview of this essay, though. But my next point might help to illustrate part of why it sucks (spoiler: it’s because it tends to prop up traditional, dominant structures of power and relationality).

So…What I want us to do is entertain the possibility that Dani’s redemptive self-sacrifice might serve specific purposes for straight audiences, especially in the return to the frame at the end.

Across The Haunting of Bly Manor, we’ve seen ample examples of heterosexuality gone awry. The show has repeatedly called our attention to the flaws and failings of heterosexual relationships against the carefully cultivated safety, open communication, and mutual fulfillment of a queer romance between two women. But, while queer audiences may celebrate this about this show, for straight audiences, this whole situation might just wind up producing anxiety instead—as though heterosexuality is also a threatened order within the world of Bly Manor. More generally, asking straight audiences to connect with a queer couple as the show’s main protagonists is an unaccustomed challenge with which they’re not normally tasked; thus, the show risks leaving this dominant viewer base uncomfortable, threatened, and resentful, sitting with the looming question of whether heterosexuality is, itself, redeemable.

In answer to this, Dani’s self-sacrifice provides multiple assurances to straight audiences. To begin with, her assumption of the traditional heroic-redemptive role secures audiences within the familiar confines of that narrative formula, which also then promises that Dani is acting as a protector of threatened status quos and not as another source of peril. What Bly Manor is doing here is, in effect, acknowledging that it may have challenged (and even threatened) straight audiences with its centerpiece of a queer romance—and that, likewise, queers themselves may be challenging the status quos of romantic partnerships by, for instance, demanding marriage rights and improvements in media representations—while also emphatically reassuring those audiences in the wake of that challenge that Dani and Jamie haven’t created and aren’t going to create too much disturbance with their queerness. They’re really not that threatening, Bly swears. They’re harmless as a dove. They’re wholesome. They’re respectable. They—and queer folks more generally—aren’t going to totally upend everything, really. Look, they’ll even sacrifice themselves to save everyone and redeem imperiled communities and threatened orders—even heterosexuality itself!

A critical step towards achieving this assurance is the leveling of the playing field. In order for the show to neutralize the threat of queerness for straight audiences, comfort them with a return to safety, and promise them that heterosexuality is redeemable, the queer women need to have an on-screen tragic end to their relationship just like all of the straight couples have. And so, Dani must die and Jamie must grieve.

That accomplished, the show then immediately returns to the frame, the scene at the fireplace following Flora’s rehearsal dinner.

There—after we’ve witnessed so much queer joy and queer tragedy crammed into this final episode—we see Flora and her fiancé, bride and groom, sitting together, arms linked, taking in all that Jamie has to tell them. And with this warm, idyllic image of impending matrimony between man and wife, the safety to which straight audiences return in the frame is, therefore, also the safety of a heterosexuality that can find its redemption through Dani’s self-sacrifice. Not only does Dani’s death mean that Flora can live (and go on to marry her perfectly bland, unremarkable husband, all without the trauma of what happened at Bly), but it also means that she—and, with her, straight audiences—can ultimately benefit from the lessons about true love, loss, and grieving that Dani’s self-sacrifice and Jamie’s story bestow.

And so, Bly Manor concludes with a valorization of redemptive self-sacrifice and an anodyne recuperation of heteronormativity, bequeathing Flora with the opportunities to have and to hold the experiential knowledge that Dani and Jamie have provided for her. Here, queer tragedy serves up an educational opportunity for heterosexual audiences in a challengingly “inclusive,” but otherwise essentially non-threatening manner. The ending is a gentle, non-traumatizing, yet frank lesson to heterosexual audiences in the same way that Jamie’s story is a gentle, non-traumatizing, yet frank lesson to Flora.

Did the show’s creators intentionally do all of this to set about providing such assurances to straight audiences? Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t really know—or care! But, especially in light of incidents like the recent “Suletta and Miorine’s relationship is up to interpretation” controversy following the Gundam: Witch from Mercury finale, I absolutely do not put it past media corporations and content creators to very intentionally take steps to prioritize the comfort of straight audiences against the threats of queer love. And anyway, intentional or not, all of this still has effects and implications loaded with meaning, as I have tried to account for here.

Honestly, though, I can’t quite shake the feeling that there’s some tension between Jamie, Owen, and maybe also Henry about Jamie’s decision to publicly share Dani’s story in front of Flora and Miles. Owen’s abrupt declaration that it’s getting late and that they should wrap up seems like an intervention—like he’s been as patient and understanding as he possibly could up to that point, but now, he’s finally having to put a stop to Jamie’s deviance. I can’t help but read the meaningful stares that pass between them at both ends of the frame as a complex mixture of compassion and fraught disagreement (and I wish that the show had done more with this). The scene where Dani and Jamie visit Owen at his restaurant seems to set up the potential for this unspoken dispute. By their expressions and mannerisms (Dani’s stony stare; the protective way that Jamie holds her as her own gaze is locked on Dani), it’s clear that Dani and Jamie are aghast that Flora and Miles have forgotten what happened and that Owen believes that they should just be able to live their lives without that knowledge. And it’s also clear, by her very telling of Dani’s story, that Jamie disagrees with him. Maybe I’m over-imposing my own attitudes here, but I’m left with the impression that Jamie resents the coddling of Miles and Flora just like I’m resenting the coddling of straight audiences…that Jamie resents that she and Dani have had to give up everything so that Miles and Flora can continue living their privileged lives just like I’m resenting the exploitation of queer tragedy for the sake preserving straight innocence. (As Jamie says to Hannah when Dani puts the children to work in the garden: “You can’t give them a pass forever.” Disclaimer: I’m not saying that I want Miles and Flora to be traumatized, but I am saying that I agree with Jamie, because hiding traumatic shit is not how to resolve inter-generational trauma. Anyway—).

Also, I don’t know about y’all, but I find Flora and Jamie’s concluding conversation to be super cringe. Maybe it’s because I’m gay and just have way too much firsthand experience with this sort of thing from my own comphet past, but Flora’s whole “I just keep thinking about that silly, gorgeous, insane man I’m marrying tomorrow. I love him. More than I ever thought I could love anybody. And the crazy thing is, he loves me the same exact amount,” spiel just absolutely screams “woman who is having to do all of the emotional work in her relationship with an absolutely dull, mediocre, emotionally illiterate man and is desperately trying to convince herself that he does, in fact, love her as much as she (believes) that she loves him.”

I feel like this is a parody of straightness?? Is this actually sincere??

This is what Dani gave up her life to redeem??

To me, this is just more bleak shit that Bly leaves us with. It is so painful to watch.

Bless.

Okay, so I know that I said that I wasn’t going to offer a definitive yes or no about whether Bly commits Bury Your Gays with Dani’s death, but…after writing all of this out, I’m honestly kinda leaning towards a yes.

But I’m already anticipating that folks are gonna push back against me on this. So I just want to humbly submit, again, that Bly could have just not done this. It could have just not portrayed Dani’s death at all.

To really drive this point home, then, I’m going to conclude this essay by suggesting just a few ways that The Haunting of Bly Manor could have ended without Dani’s self-sacrificial death—or without depicting her death on-screen at all.

Bly Manor Could Have Ended Differently

Mike Flanagan—creator, director, writer, editor, executive producer, showrunner, etc. of The Haunting of Bly Manor—has stated that he believes that the show’s ending is a happy one.

I, on the other hand, believe that Bly’s ending is…not. In my view, the way that the ending treats Dani is unnecessarily cruel and exploitative. “Happy ending”—really? If I let myself be cynical about it (which I do), I honestly think that Dani’s death is a pretty damn transparent effort to squeeze out some tears with a sloppy, mawkish, feel-good veneer slapped over it. And if we peel back that veneer and look under it, what we find is quite bleak.

To be fair, for a psychological horror show that’s so centrally about grief and trauma, Bly Manor does seem to profess an incredibly strong sense of hopefulness. Underlying the entirety of the show is a profound faith in all the good and beauty that can come from human connection, however fleeting our lives may be—and even if we make a ton of dumb, awful mistakes along the way. If I’m being less cynical about it, I do also think that the show’s ending strives to demonstrate a peak expression of this conviction. But—at least in my opinion—it doesn’t succeed in this goal. In my writing of this essay, I’ve come to believe that the show instead ends in a state of despair that is at odds with what it appears to want to achieve.

So, in this final section, I’m going to offer up a few possibilities for ways that the show could have ended that maybe wouldn’t have so thoroughly undermined its own attempted messages.

Now, if I were actually going to fix the ending of The Haunting of Bly Manor, I would honestly overhaul a ton of the show to arrive at something completely different. But I’m not going to go through all the trouble of rewriting the entire show here, lol. Instead, I’m going to work with most of what’s already there, leading out from Viola’s possession of Dani (even though I don’t actually like that part of the show either – maybe someday I’ll write about other implications of Viola’s possession of Dani beyond these allegorical readings, but not right now). I’m also going to try to adhere to some of the show’s core themes and build on some of the allegorical possibilities that are already in place. Granted, the ideas that I pose here wouldn’t fix everything, by any stretch of the imagination; but they would, at least (I hope), mitigate some of the issues that I’ve outlined over the course of this essay. And one way or another, I hope that they’ll help to demonstrate that Dani’s self-sacrificial death was completely unnecessary. (Seriously, just not including Dani’s death would’ve enabled the show to completely dodge the question of Bury Your Gays and would’ve otherwise gone a long way towards avoiding the problems with the show’s queer representation).

So, here's how this is going to work. First, I’m going to pose a few general, guiding questions before then proposing an overarching thematic modification that expands on an idea that’s already prominent across the show. This will then serve as the groundwork for two alternative scenarios. I’m not going to go super into detail with either of these alternatives; mostly, I just want to demonstrate that the show that could’ve easily replaced the situation leading to Dani drowning herself. (For the record, I also think that the show could’ve benefitted from having at least one additional episode—and from some timing and pacing restructuring otherwise. So, before anybody tries an excuse like “but this wouldn’t fit into the last episode,” I want to urge that we imagine these possibilities beyond that limitation).

Let’s start off by returning to a point that I raised in the earlier conversation about grief and acceptance: the trickiness of Viola’s “acceptance.”

What Viola “accepts” in the end aren’t her losses or her own mortality, but Dani’s desperate, last-ditch-effort invitation to inhabit her. Within the show’s extant ending, Viola never actually comes to any kind of acceptance otherwise. Dani’s suicide effectively forces her dissolution, eradicating her persistent presence through the redemptive power of self-sacrifice. But in all of my viewings of the show and in all of my efforts to think through and write about it, there’s a question that’s been bugging me to no end: Why does Viola accept Dani’s invitation in the first place?

We know that Peter figured out the “it’s you, it’s me, it’s us” trick in his desperation to return to some form of life and to leave the grounds of Bly Manor. But…what is the appeal of it for Viola? How do her own motivations factor into it? For so long, Viola’s soul has been tenaciously persisting at Bly all so that she can repeatedly return to the physical locus of her connection with her husband and daughter, their shared bedroom in the manor. She’s done this for so long that she no longer even remembers why she’s doing it—she just goes back there to grab whatever child she can find and strangles whoever happens to get in her way. So what would compel her to accept Dani’s invitation? What does she get out of it—and what does she want out of it? What does her acceptance mean? And why, then, does her acceptance result in the dissipation of the gravity well?

We can conjecture, certainly. But the show doesn’t actually provide answers to these questions. Indeed, one of the other major criticisms that I have of Bly is that it confines all of Viola’s development to the eighth episode alone. I really think that it needed to have done way more to characterize her threat and at least gestureat her history sooner, rather than leaving it all to that penultimate episode, interrupting and drawing out the exact moment when she’s about to kill Dani. (Like, after centuries of Viola indiscriminately killing people, and with so many ghosts that’ve been loitering around for so long because of that, wouldn’t Bly Manor have rampant ghost stories floating around about it by the time Dani arrives? But there’s only one minor suggestion of that possibility: Henry indicating that he might’ve met a soldier ghost once. That’s it. And on that note, all of the ghosts at the manor needed to have had more screentime and development, really). Further, it’s disappointing that the show devotes that entire eighth episode to accounting for Viola’s motivations, only to then reduce her to Big, Bad, Unspeakable Evil in the final episode, with no rhyme or reason for what she’s doing, all so that she can necessitate Dani’s death.

As we continue pondering these unanswered questions, there’s also another issue that I want to raise, which the show abandons only as an oblique, obscure consideration. And that is: How the hell did Jamie acquire all that extensive knowledge about Viola, the ghosts of the manor, and all that happened, such that she is able to tell Bly’sstory in such rich detail? My own sort of headcanon answer to this is that Viola’s possession of Dani somehow enabled Viola to regain some of her own memories—as well as, perhaps, a more extended, yet also limited awareness of the enduring consciousnesses of the other ghosts—while also, in turn, giving Dani access to them, too. Dani then could have divulged what she learned to Jamie, which would account for how Jamie knows so much. I bring this up because it provides one possible response to the question of “What does Viola get out of her possession of Dani?” (especially given the significant weight that the show places on the retention of one’s memories—more on this in a moment) and because this is an important basis for both of my proposed alternative scenarios.

Before we dig into those alternative scenarios, however, there’s also a thematic modification that I want to suggest, which would help to provide another answer to “What does Viola get out of her possession of Dani?” while also alleviating the issues that lead into the valorization of Dani’s suicide. That thematic modification involves how the show defines love. Although Bly’s sustained contrasts between love and possession have some valuable elements, I think that the ending would’ve benefitted from downplaying the love vs. possession theme (which is where we run into so much trouble with Dani’s self-sacrifice, and which has also resulted in some celebratory conflations between “selflessness” and self-sacrifice that I’ve seen crop up in commentary about the show—but, y’all, self-sacrifice is not something to celebrate in romantic partnerships, so please, please be careful idolizing that) to instead play up a different theme: the idea that love is the experience of feeling such safety and security with another person that we can find opportunities for peace by being with them.

Seeking peace—and people with whom to feel safe enough to share traumas and experience peace—is a theme that already runs rampant across the show, so this modification is really just a matter of accentuating it differently. It’s also closely linked to the moving through grief theme that we’ve already discussed at length, as numerous characters in Bly express desires for solitude with loved ones as a way of finding relief and healing from their pain, grief, and trauma. (And I suspect that I latched onto this because I have desperately wanted peace, calm, and stillness in the midst of my own acute, compounding traumas…and because my own former romantic partner was obviously not someone with whom I felt safe enough to experience the kind of peace that would’ve allowed me to begin the process of healing).

We run into this idea early in the development of Jamie and Dani’s romance, as narrator Jamie explains in the scene leading up to their first kiss, “The au pair was tired. She’d been tired for so long. Yet without even realizing she was doing it, she found herself taking her own advice that she’d given to Miles. She’d chosen someone to keep close to her that she could feel tired around.” Following this moment, at the beginning of Episode 5, narrator Jamie then foregrounds Hannah’s search for peace (“The housekeeper knew, more than most, that deep experience was never peaceful. And because she knew this ever since she’d first called Bly home, she would always find her way back to peace within her daily routine, and it had always worked”), which calls our attention to the ways that Hannah has been retreating into her memory of her first meeting with Owen as a crucial site of peace against the shock of her own death. Grown-up Flora even gushes about “that easy silence you only get with your forever person who loves you as much as you love them” when she’s getting all teary at Jamie about her husband-to-be.

Of course, this theme is already actively at work in the show’s conclusion as well. During her “beast in the jungle” monologue, Dani tells Jamie that she feels Viola “in here. It’s so quiet…it’s so quiet. She’s in here. And this part of her that’s in here, it isn’t…peaceful.” As such, Viola’s whole entire issue is that, after all those centuries, she has not only refused to accept her own death, but she’s likewise never been at peace—she’s still not at peace. Against Viola’s unpeaceful presence, however, Dani does find peace in her life with Jamie…at least temporarily, until Viola’s continued refusal of peace leads to Dani’s self-destructive sense of fatalism. Still, in her replacement of Viola as the new Lady of the Lake, Dani exists as a prevailing force of peace (she’s “harmless as a dove”); however, incidentally, she only accomplishes this through the decidedly non-peaceful, violent act of taking her own life.

But…what if that hadn’t been the case?

What if, instead, the peace that Dani finds in her beautiful, queer, non-self-sacrificing existence with Jamie had also enabled Viola to find some sense of peace of her own? What if, through her inhabitation of Dani, Viola managed to, like…calm the fuck down some? What if Dani’s safety and solitude worked to at least somewhat assuage Viola’s rage—and even guide her towards some other form of acceptance?

Depending on how this developed, the show could’ve borne out the potential for a much more subversive conclusion than what we actually got. Rather than All-Consuming-Evil Viola’s forced dissolution through the violence of Dani’s redemptive self-sacrifice (and its attendant recuperation of heteronormativity), we could’ve instead had the makings of a narrative about sapphic love as a source of healing that’s capable of breaking cycles of violence and trauma. And I think that it would’ve been possible for the show to accomplish this without a purely “happy” ending in which everything was just magically fine, and all the trauma dissipated, and there were no problems in the world ever again. The show could have, in fact, managed this while preserving the allegorical possibilities of Viola’s presence as mental and/or terminal illness.

But, before I can start describing how this could’ve happened, there’s one last little outstanding problem that I need to address. In the video essay that I cited earlier, Rowan Ellis suggests that there are limitations to the “Viola as a stand-in for mental/terminal illness” reading of the show because of the fact that Dani invites Viola into herself and, therefore, willingly brings on her own suffering. But I don’t think that this is quite the case or that it interferes with these allegorical readings. As I’ve already mentioned at various points, Dani doesn’t entirely understand the implications of what she’s doing when she issues her invitation to Viola; and even so, the invitation is still a matter of a dubious consent that evidently cannot be withdrawn once initially granted—at the absolute most generous characterization. Dani’s invitation is a snap decision, a frantic attempt to save Flora after everyone and everything else has failed. Consequently, we don’t necessarily have to construe Viola’s presence in Dani’s life as a matter of Dani “willingly inviting her own suffering,” but can instead understand it as the wounds and traumas that persist after Dani has risked her life to rescue Flora. In this way, the show could have also challenged the traditional heroic-redemptive narrative formula by offering a more explicit commentary on the all-too-often unseen ramifications of selflessly “heroic” actions (instead of just heedlessly perpetuating their glorification and, with them, self-sacrifice). Dani may have saved Flora—but at what cost to herself? What long-term toll might this lasting trauma exact on her?

And with that, we move into my two alternative ending scenarios.

Alternative Ending 1: Progressive Memory Loss

Memory and its loss are such significant themes in Bly Manor that theycould use an essay all their own.

I am, however, going to refrain from writing such an essay at this moment in time (I’m already super tired from writing this one, lol).

Still, the first of my alternative scenarios would bring these major themes full-circle—and would make Jamie eat her words.

In this alternative scenario, Viola would find some sense of peace—even if fraught and, at times, tumultuous—in her possession of Dani. As her rage subsides, she is even able to regain fragmented pieces of her own memory, which Dani is also able to experience. The restoration of Viola’s memory, albeit vague and scattered, leads Dani to try to learn even more about Viola’s history at Bly in an effort to at least partially fill in the gaps. As time goes on, though, Viola’s co-habitation within Dani’s consciousness leads to the steady degradation of Dani’s own memory. The reclamation of Viola’s memories would occur, then, concomitant with a steady erosion of both herself and Dani. Thus, Dani would still undergo an inexorable decline across the show’s ending, but one more explicitly akin to degenerative neurological diseases associated with aging, accentuating the “Viola as terminal illness” allegory while also still carrying resonances of the residual reverberations of trauma (given that memory loss is often a common consequence of acute trauma). Jamie would take on the role of Dani’s caregiver, mirroring and more directly illuminating the role that Owen plays for his mother earlier in the show. By the show’s conclusion, Dani would still be alive, including during the course of the frame narrative.

I mentioned earlier in this essay that I’ve endured even more trauma and grief since my brother’s death and since my breakup with my ex-fiancé. So, I’ll share another piece of it with you now: shortly after my breakup, my dad was diagnosed with one of those degenerative neurological diseases that I listed way back at the very beginning. I moved home not only to get away from my ex, but also to become a caregiver. In the time that I’ve been home, I’ve had no choice but to behold my dad’s continuous, irreversible decline and his indescribable suffering. He has further health issues, including a form of cancer. As a result, he now harbors a sense of fatalism that he’ll never be able to reconcile—he does not have the cognitive capacities to address his despair or turn it into some other form of acceptance. He is merely, in essence, awaiting his death. Hence, fatalism is something that I have had to “accept” as a regular component of my own life. (In light of this situation, you may be wondering if I have thoughts and opinions on medical aid in dying, given all that I have had to say so far about fatalism and suicide. And the answer is yes, I do have thoughts and opinions…but they are complex, and I don’t really want to try to account for them here).

Indeed, I live in a suspended, indefinite state of grieving. Day in and day out, I watch my father perish before my eyes, anticipating the blow of fresh grief that will strike when he dies. I watch my mother’s grief. I watch my father’s grief. He forgets about the symptoms of his disease; he looks up his disease to try to learn about it; he re-discovers his inevitable demise anew; the grieving process restarts again. (“She would wake, she would walk, she would forget […] and she would fade and fade and fade”).

What, then, does acceptance look like when grief is so ongoing and so protracted?

What does acceptance look like in the absence of any possibility of acceptance?

Kübler-Ross’s “five stages of grief” model has been a meaningful guide for countless folks in their efforts to navigate grief and loss. Yet, the model has also been subject to a great deal of critique. Critics have accused the model of, among other things, suggesting that grieving is a linear process, whereby a person moves from one stage to the next and then ends conclusively at acceptance (when grieving is, in fact, an incredibly uneven, nonlinear, and inconclusive process). Relatedly, they have also called attention to the fact that the model commonly gets used prescriptively in ways that usher grieving folks towards the end goal of acceptance and cast judgment on those who do not reach that stage. These are criticisms that I would level at Bly’s application of Kübler-Ross as well. Earlier, we thoroughly covered the show’sissues with grief and acceptance as major themes; but in addition to those issues, Bly alsotends to steer its characters towards abrupt endpoints of acceptance, while doling out punishments to those who “refuse” to accept. At root, there are normative ascriptions at work in the show’s very characterization of deferred acceptance as refusal and acceptance itself as an active choice that one has to make.

This alternative ending, then, would have the potential to challenge and complicate the show’s handling of grief by approaching Jamie’s grieving and Dani’s fatalism from very different angles. As Dani’s caregiver, Jamie would encounter and negotiate grief in ongoing and processual ways, which would continue to evolve as her wife’s condition worsens and her caregiving responsibilities mount, thereby lending new layers of meaning to the message that “To truly love another person is to accept that the work of loving them is worth the pain of losing them.” Dani’s fatalism here could also serve as a different interpretation of James’s Beast in the Jungle; perhaps her sense of fatalism ebbs and flows, morphs and contorts along with the progression of her memory loss as she anticipates the gradual whittling-away of her selfhood—or even forgets that inevitability entirely. Still a tragic, heart-rending ending to the show, this scenario may not have the dramatic force of Jamie screaming into the waters of the lake, but it would be a relatable depiction of the ways that many real-life romances conclude. (And, having witnessed the extent of my mom’s ongoing caregiving for my dad, lemme tell ya: if y’all really want a portrayal of selflessness in romantic partnerships, I can think of nothing more selfless than caring for one’s terminally ill partner across their gradual death).

Additionally, this scenario could allow the show to maintain the frame narrative, while also packing fresh complexities into it.

Perhaps, in this case, Dani is still alive, but Jamie has come to Flora’s wedding alone, leaving Dani with in-home caregivers or within assisted living or some such. She comes there determined to ensure that Miles and Flora regain at least some awareness of what Dani did for them—that they remember her. The act of telling Dani’s story, then, becomes not only the performance of a mourning ritual, but also a vital way of preserving and perpetuating Dani’s memory where both the children and Dani, herself, can no longer remember. To be sure, such purposes already compel Jamie’s storytelling in the show: Narrator Jamie indicates that the new Lady of the Lake will eventually lose her recollection of the life she had with the gardener, “leaving the only trace of who she once was in the memory of the woman who loved her most.” But in the context of a conclusion so focused on memory loss, this statement would take on new dimensions of import. In this way, the frame narrative might also more forcefully prompt us, the audience, to reflect on the waysthat we can carry on the memories of our loved ones by telling their stories—and also, maybe, the responsibilities that we may have to do so. “Almost no one even remembers how she was when her mind hadn’t gone,” Jamie remarks after returning from Owen’s mother’s funeral, a subtle indictment of just how easily we can lose our own memories of those who suffer from conditions like dementia—how easily we can fail to carry on the stories of the people they were before and to keep their memories alive. (“We are all just stories in the end,” Olivia Crain emphasizes during the eulogy for Shirl’s kitten in The Haunting of Hill House. In fact, there’re some interesting comparative analyses we could do about storytelling and the responsibilities incumbent on storytellers between these two Flanagan shows).

Along those lines, I think that this would’ve been an excellent opportunity for the show to exacerbate and foreground those latent tensions between Jamie and Owen (and maybe also Henry) about whether to share Dani’s story with the now-adult children.

In the show’s explorations of memory loss, there’re already some interesting but largely neglected undercurrents churning around about the idea that maybe losing one’s memory isn’t just a curse or a heartbreaking misfortune (as it is for Viola, the ghosts of Bly Manor, and Owen’s mother), but can, in certain circumstances, be a blessing. Bly implies—via Owen and the frame narrative—that Miles and Flora have been able to flourish in their lives because they have forgotten what happened at Bly and still remain blissfully unaware of it…which, to be clear, is only possible because of the sacrifices that Dani and Jamie have made. But this situation raises, and leaves floating there, a bunch of questions about the responsibilities we have to impart traumatic histories to younger generations—whether interpersonally (e.g. within families) or societally (e.g. in history classrooms). Cycles of trauma don’t end by shielding younger generations from the past; they especially don’t end by forcing impacted, oppressed, traumatized populations (e.g. queer folks) to shoulder the burdens of trauma on their own for the sake of protecting another population’s innocent ignorance. But how do we impart traumatic histories? How do we do so responsibly, compassionately, in ways that respect those harrowing pasts—and those who lived them, those most directly impacted by them—without actively causing harm to receiving audiences? On the other hand, if we over-privilege the innocence of those who have forgotten or those who weren’t directly impacted, what do we lose and what do we risk by not having frank, open conversations about traumatic histories?

As it stands, I think that Bly is remiss in the way it tosses out these issues, but never actually does anything with them. It could have done much, much more. In this alternate ending, then, there could be some productive disagreement among Jamie, Owen, and Henry about whether to tell Flora and Miles, what to tell them, how to tell them. Perhaps, in her seizing of the conversation and her launching of the story in such a public way, Jamie has taken matters into her own hands and has done so in a way that Owen and Henry can’t easily derail. Perhaps Owen sympathizes but does, indeed, abruptly cut her off just before her audience can completely connect the dots. Perhaps Henry is conflicted and doesn’t take a stand—or perhaps he does. Perhaps we find out that Henry had been torn about whether to even invite Jamie because of the possibility of something like this happening. Or, perhaps Henry wants the children to know and believes that they should hear Dani’s story from Jamie. Perhaps we see scenes of past quarrels between Jamie and Owen, Owen and Henry. Perhaps, once the story has ended, we see a brief aftermath conversation between Owen and Jamie about what Jamie has done, their speculations about how it may impact Miles and Flora. Perhaps the show presents these conversations in ways that challenge us to reflect on them, even if it does not provide conclusive answers to the questions it raises, and even if it leaves these conflicts open-ended, largely unresolved.

Alternative Ending 2: Living with the Trauma

If Bly’s creators had wanted Viola’s inhabitation of Dani to represent the ongoing struggles of living—and loving someone—with severe mental illness and trauma, they could have also just…done that? Like, they could have just portrayed Jamie and Dani living their lives together and dealing with Viola along the way. They could have just let that be it. It wouldn’t have been necessary to include Dani’s death within the show’s depicted timeline at all.

The show could’ve more closely aligned its treatment of Dani’s fatalism with James’s Beast in the Jungle—but with, perhaps, a bit more of a hopeful spin. Perhaps, early on, Dani is convinced that her demise is imminent and incontrovertible, much as we already see in the final episode’s diner scene. For a while, this outlook continues to dominate her existence in ways that interfere with her daily functioning and her relationship with Jamie. Perhaps there’s an equivalent of the flooded bathtub scene, but it happens much earlier in the progression of their partnership: Dani despairs, and Jamie is there to reinforce her commitment to staying with Dani through it all, much like her extant “If you can’t feel anything, then I’ll feel everything for the both of us” remarks. But maybe, as a result of this, Dani comes to a realization much like The Beast in the Jungle’s John Marcher—but one that enables her to act on her newfound understanding, an opportunity that Marcher never finds before it’s too late. Maybe she realizes that her fatalism has been causing her to miss out on really, truly embracing the life that she and Jamie have been forging together, thus echoing the show’s earlier points about how unresolved trauma can impede our cultivation of meaningful relationships. Maybe she realizes that her life with Jamie has been passing her by while she’s remained so convinced that Viola will claim that life at any moment. Maybe she comes to understand that her perpetual sense of dread has been hurting Jamie—that Jamie needs her in the same ways that she needs Jamie, but that Dani’s ever-present sense of doom has been preventing her from providing for those needs. And maybe this leads to a re-framing of the “you, me, us,” conceit, with a scene in which Dani acknowledges the extent to which her fatalism has been dictating their lives; in light of this acknowledgement, she and Jamie resolve—together—to continue supporting each other as they navigate Viola’s lasting influences on their lives.

By making this suggestion, I once again do not want to seem like I’m advocating that “Dani should fight back against Viola” (or, in other words, that “Dani should fight harder to win the battle against her mental illness”). But I do want to direct us back to a point that I raised at the very beginning: grieving, traumatized, and mentally ill folks can, indeed, cause harm to our loved ones. Our grief, trauma, and mental illness don’t excuse that fact. But what that means is that we have to take responsibility for our harmful actions. What it absolutely does not mean is that our harms are inevitable or that our loved ones would be better off without us.It means recognizing that we still matter and have value to others, despite the narratives we craft to try to convince ourselves otherwise. It means acknowledging the wounds that fatalistic, “everybody is better without me” assumptions can inflict. It means identifying the ways that we can support and care for our loved ones, even through our own struggles with our mental health.

“Fighting harder to win the battle against mental illness” is a callous and downright incorrect framing of the matter; but there are, nevertheless, intentional steps that we must take to heal from trauma, to receive treatment for our mental illnesses, to care for ourselves, to care for our loved ones. For instance…the very process of writing this essay incited me to do a lot of reflecting on the self-defeating narratives that I have been telling myself about my mental health and my relationships with others. And that, in turn, incited me to do some course-correcting. I thought about how much I want to work towards healing, however convoluted and intricate that process may be. I thought about how I want to support my family. How I want to foster a robust social support network, such that I feel a genuine sense of community. How I want to be an attentive friend. How, someday, if I’m fortunate enough to have a girlfriend, I want to be a caring, present, and equal partner to her; I want to emotionally nourish her through life’s trials and turmoil, not just expect her to provide that emotional nourishment for me. I started writing this essay in August; and since then, because of it, I’ve held myself accountable by reaching out to friends, spending time with them, trying to support them. I’ve also managed to get myself, finally, to start therapy. And my therapist is already helping me address those self-defeating narratives that have led me to believe that I’m just a burden on my friends. So, y’know, I’m workin’ on it.

But it ain’t pretty. And it also ain’t a linear upward trajectory of consistent improvement. It’s messy. Sometimes, frankly, it’s real ugly.

It could be for Dani, too.

Even with her decision to accept the certainties and uncertainties of Viola’s intrusive presence in her life, to live her life as best she can in the face of it all, perhaps Dani still struggles from day to day. Perhaps some days are better than others. Perhaps Viola, as I suggested earlier, begins finding some modicum of peace through her possession of Dani; nonetheless, her rage and disquiet never entirely subside, and they still periodically overtake Dani. Perhaps Dani improves, only to then backslide, only to then find ways to stabilize once again. In this way, the show could’ve more precisely portrayed the muddled, tumultuous lastingness of grief and trauma throughout a lifetime—without concluding that struggle with a valorized suicide.

Such portrayals are not unprecedented in horror. As I contemplated this ending possibility, I couldn’t help but think of The Babadook (2014), another piece of horror media whose monster carries allegorical import as a representation of the endurance and obtrusion of unresolved trauma. The titular monster doesn’t disappear at the film’s end; Sam emphasizes, in fact, that “you can’t get rid of the Babadook.” And so, even after Amelia has confronted the Babadook and locked him in the basement of the family’s home, he continues to lurk there, still aggressive and threatening to overcome her, but able to be pacified with a bowlful of worms. Like loss and trauma, the Babadook can never be totally ignored or dispelled, only assuaged with necessary, recurrent attention and feedings.

Bly could have easily done something similar with Viola. Perhaps, in the same way that Amelia has to regularly provide the Babadook with an offering of worms, Dani must also “feed” Viola to soothe her rage. What might those feedings look like? What might they consist of? Perhaps Viola draws Dani back to Bly Manor, insisting on revisiting those same sites that have held implacable sway over her for centuries. Perhaps these visits are what permit Dani to gradually learn about Viola: who she was, what she has become, why she has tarried between life and death for so long. Perhaps Dani also learns that these “feedings” agitate Viola for a while, stirring her into fresh furor—but that, in their wake, Viola also settles more deeply and for longer periods. Perhaps they necessitate that Dani and Jamie both directly confront their own traumas, bring them to the surface, attend to them. Perhaps, together, they learn how to navigate their traumas in productive, mutually supportive ways. Perhaps this is also what quiets Viola over time, even if Dani is never quite sure whether Viola will return to claim her life.

You may be wondering, then, about what happens with the frame narrative in this scenario. If Dani doesn’t meet some tragic demise, what happens to the role and significance of grieving in the act of Jamie’s storytelling? Would Jamie’s storytelling even occur? Wouldn’t Dani just be at Flora’s wedding, too? Would we miss the emotional gut-punch of the reveal of the narrator’s identity at the end?

Perhaps, in this case, the ending removes some of the weight off of the grief theme to instead foreground those troubled deliberations about how to impart traumatic histories (as we covered in the previous scenario). As such, the frame could feature those conflicts between Jamie (and Dani here too this time), Owen, and Henry concerning whether or not to tell Dani’s story to Miles and Flora. Perhaps Dani decides not to attend the wedding, wary of contributing to this conflict at the scene of what should be a joyous occasion for Flora; perhaps she feels like she can’t even face the children. And then, without Dani there, perhaps an overwrought Jamie jumps into the story when the opportunity presents itself—whether impulsively or premeditatedly.

Or…Perhaps the show could’ve just scrapped the frame at Flora’s wedding and could’ve done something else instead. What might that be? I have no idea! Sky’s the limit.

At any rate, even with these changes, it would’ve still been possible to have the show conclude in a sentimental, tear-jerking way (which seems to be Flanagan’s preference). Perhaps Jamie’s storytelling does spark the return of the children’s memories. Perhaps, as they begin to remember, they reach out to Dani and Jamie, wanting to connect with them, wanting especially to see Dani again. And then, perhaps, the show could’ve ended with a scene of Miles and Flora finally reuniting with Dani—emotional, sweet, and memorable, no valorized suicide or exploitation of queer tragedy needed.

Conclusion

In my writing of this essay—and over the course of the Bly Manor and Hill House rewatches that it inspired—I’ve been finding myself also doing a great deal of reflection about the possibilities and purposes of horror media. I’ve been thinking, in particular, about the potential for the horror genre to provide contained settings in which we can face and explore our deepest fears and traumas in (relatively) safe, controlled ways. Honestly, I think that this is part of why I enjoy Flanagan’s work so much (even if it also enrages me at the same time). If you’ve read this far, you’ll have seen just how profoundly I relate to so much of the subject matter of The Haunting of Bly Manor. It has been extremely meaningful and valuable for me to encounter the show’s depictions of topics like familial trauma, grief, loss, compulsory heterosexuality, caregiving for aging parents, so on, all of which bear so heavily on my own existence. Bly Manor produced opportunities for me to excavate and dig deeply into the worst experiences of and feelings about my life: to look at them, understand them, and give voice to them, when I’m otherwise inclined to bury them into inconspicuous docility.

Even so, the show does not handle these relatable topics as well as it could have. Flanagan and the many contributors to this horror anthology can’t just preach at us about the responsibilities of storytellers; they, too, have responsibilities as storytellers in the communication of these delicate, sensitive, weighty human experiences. And so, to reinforce a point that I made earlier, this is why I’ve written this extensive critique. It’s not because I revile the show and want to condemn it—it’s because I cherish Bly Manor immensely. It’s because I wanted more out of it. It’s because I want to hold it and its creators accountable. It’s because I want folks to think more critically about it (especially after how close I came to unreflectively accepting its messages in my own initial reception of it).

Television usually doesn’t get me this way. It’s been a long time since I was this emotionally attached to a show. So this essay has been my attempt to honor Bly with a careful, meticulous treatment. I appreciate all of the reflection and self-work that it has inspired me to undertake. I’ve wanted to pay my respects in the best way I know how: with close, thorough analysis.

If you’ve read all this mess, thanks for taking the time to do so. I hope that you’ve been able to get something out of it, too.

Representation matters, y’all.

The end.

#the haunting of bly manor #bly manor #thobm #dani clayton #jamie taylor #dani x jamie #damie #sapphic romance #lesbian romance #mental health #compulsory heterosexuality #queer representation #not a fix-it fic but a fix-it essay

96 notes · View notes

whyisthereacentaur · 1 month ago

Text

Modern Monsters 6: Dr. Frankenstein

With thanks to the wonderful @purrlockholmesbooks, whose monster request inspired not one, but several further Modern Monsters instalments!

~~~

My brain: Did you realise you have a series of poems regularly featuring the phrase “I am a modern ____” and you haven’t made a single homage to “The Modern Major-General”?

Me: I don’t know if that’s a good-

Brain: GET IN LOSER WE’RE WRITING POETRY

Victor Frankenstein originates from Mary Shelley’s 1818 classic, Frankenstein, or The Modern Prometheus. The characters, in my view, are a seamless fit for the MM series. You can probably think of multiple other retellings and characters inspired by the scientist and the monster - what else are they, if not part of the folklore of our times?

Keeping it brief: in the original novel, Victor was hardworking, interested in the pursuit of knowledge for its own sake, and later horrified and guilt-ridden over what he had done. A bit obsessive, maybe, but not the typical mad scientist character. His work revolved around animation of non-living tissue by a process never detailed in the book. The monster was constructed from both human and animal parts. Spoilers - by the end, the monster kills its creator and then goes into hiding.

~~~

In the Modern Monsters world, not only did Victor keep excellent lab notes, but his intelligent creation’s guilt drove it to reproduce the process and resurrect its “father”. The reanimator became the reanimated.

Just as for his creature, the process did not bring Victor back entirely as intended. The obsession (and his ego) has only grown, and he has far fewer moral qualms now over using his skills, whether to keep himself alive for centuries, or for the advancement of science for its own sake.

He has moved from country to country under various aliases in the last 200 years to find and work with those who seem to share his passion, including making many two-headed dogs with Vladimir Demikhov and later Christiaan Barnard (before the latter moved on to pioneering heart transplants).

These days, he carries out transplant surgeries both above- and below-board in an English university hospital. Unsurprisingly, the wealthy, powerful and corrupt all find their way to him when their own looming mortality is knocking down their door. He makes a good living, but he still wants to see his work in journals and to watch his advancements change the world on a grand scale.

Unfortunately for him, the modern era comes with rather less maverick-ery accepted in research. He swears these nitpicking ethics committees will be the final death of him.

~~~

Well, that got long.

REC= Research Ethics Committee, HTA = Human Tissue Authority, and HRA= Human Research Authority. Terms that medical researchers in the UK are likely to have encountered at some point…

The illustration is a mishmash of some of the typical Frankenstein-inspired mad scientist aesthetic, with a deliberately off skin colour. He can’t find his preferred style of lab coat anymore, but for some reason this dress shirt really called to him.

Silly mouth is silly. I imagine “curse youuuu” was uttered.

~~~

Still just in time for Monday here in the UK! I will try to have the next instalment, the Monster itself, up tomorrow if possible, but if not, stay tuned.

I’m happy to keep making these for as long as I’m inspired and anyone’s interested, so, requests/prompts will still be welcomed well after the pumpkins have all gone to compost.

~~~

Modern Monsters series

Modern Monsters 1: Dullahan

Modern Monsters 2: Kelpie

Modern Monsters 3: Kuchisake-onna

Modern Monsters 4: Cuca

Modern Monsters 5: Vampire

Modern Monsters 6: Dr Frankenstein

Modern Monsters 7: Frankenstein’s Monster

Modern Monsters bonus: Frankenstein, Monster

#modern monsters series #s a bailey #original poem #original art #frankenstein #dr frankenstein #poem of the day #spooky season

9 notes · View notes

nonsensicalramblings79 · 1 year ago

Text

Dead Seagull: Do Not Eat – Albatrosses, Seagulls, and Guilt in Our Flag Means Death

(for future reference: written 10/6/2023, ~36-48 hours after the first 3 episodes of S2 were released)

Hi, all! I, like many of you scrolling the #ofmd meta tag, have a head filled with nothing but the Gay Pirates. This has been the case since 12am PST on 10/5/2023 and will remain the case for several months to come. On my 3rd watch-through of the first 3 episodes of season 2 of OFMD, I started paying closer attention to potential symbolism so that I could maybe predict how the rest of the series is going to play out and get a better idea of what’s going on in these little guys’ brains. This post is the introduction to a short series of long posts wherein I rant about symbolism that may or may not be in the show. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I haven’t written anything even close to a literary analysis since high school, and I generally don’t know wtf I’m talking about. I’m just having a lot of very normal thoughts about The Pirate Show and I need to put them somewhere; if anyone has more ideas relating to this please add to it!! And to the best of my knowledge, the thoughts I express here are my own – please let me know if there are other analyses that say similar things that I should link to.

TWs: animal death, blood, eating animals, starvation, emotional abuse, physical abuse, gunshot injuries, suicidal ideation, canon-typical mental health problems

MAJOR OFMD SPOILERS THROUGH S2E03!!!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

What originally prompted this whole rabbit-hole exploration was the conversation that Ed has with Frenchie at the end of s2e01.

…

You know there's a bird that never touches ground?

It's born in the air. Never once lands. Spends its entire existence in the sky. …

As Frenchie astutely notes, this seems…kind of impossible. How could a bird be born in the air? I could see potentially never landing, but surely every bird has to come down at some point to lay eggs (or to hatch from them), right? So I did a quick Google search for birds that spend their whole lives in the air, and the first result that came up was the common swift, which apparently spends up to 10 months out of the year in the air, never once landing (or only landing very occasionally) during that time. They catch food in the air, sleep while drifting on air currents, mate in the sky, and only land to nest and lay their eggs.

So that seemed…promising? I guess? But not exactly what Ed was talking about. After all, these birds aren’t “born in the air,” and they certainly don’t spend their entire life without landing. And this still could be what Ed was talking about; it matches fairly closely, and it’s possible that whatever Ed heard was either mis-told, misheard, or intentionally exaggerated. But I think there’s a more elegant answer to what bird Ed is referencing here, and it has much more potential for analysis than the common swift: the albatross.

This is the second thing that I found while searching, and this piqued my interest much more than the last result, since - as many of you probably know, spending time reading tumblr metas – the albatross is an extremely pervasive metaphor in literature. It usually represents a psychological burden that one has taken on, most often as a result of having made a mistake that resulted in others getting hurt. I’ll go into more detail about the source of this symbol in a little bit, but the basic gist is that a dead albatross gets hung around one’s neck until whatever guilt they have is resolved – albatrosses are huge birds, so this represents an enormous weight.

Before I go on, I’ll add that, at first glance, the albatross actually seems to fit Ed’s description less well than the common swift does – albatrosses are known for being able to glide for a long, long time, but they do land…on the water. One of the first things that comes up when you search for “birds that never land” is that albatrosses spend years and years never landing on shore. There’s a similar problem here to the common swift in that no bird actually hatches from an egg while in the air like Ed is implying here. But I would argue that the albatross is indeed what Ed is talking about. Whether he misheard, someone misspoke, or a tale got distorted from it being verbally passed down, Ed is referencing the image of an albatross that spends its entire life above (or on) the sea, never once going to land.

And this fits. In the context of the conversation that Ed is having with Frenchie, Ed is lamenting the fact that he can only exist in one place, fulfilling one role – on the sea, performing the role of Blackbeard. He imagines the life of this fictional albatross as quite lonely, I think, never once leaving the place it has spent its entire life (again, this isn’t exactly how the birds behave, but I believe Ed views them this way based on how he’s interpreted whatever he heard about albatrosses). He’s resigning himself to never leaving his habitat, and quite literally never going back to shore.

“…We’re gonna sail…rob…raise hell forever…and ever…without end.”

Right. So, if I am to be believed, we’ve established that Ed is actually diegetically referencing albatrosses. So what?

Well, as another disclaimer, I’m not 100% sold on these ideas myself. Especially only having the first 3 episodes of S2 to go off of, there’s plenty of time for these ideas to be proven wrong in as few as – checks watch – 6 days. There are lots of different, potentially overlapping, potentially conflicting ways to interpret this information. I’m probably going to split this up into parts, for ease of access and reading. Because all this so far has just been the introduction :))

In one part, I’m going to talk about what is probably the most intentional reference: The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, the original poem that the albatross metaphor is pulled from. Beyond just the link to the “Impossible Birds” conversation, there are some other elements in OFMD that seem like pretty clear references to this poem. Based on references to this poem in popular culture, I suspect that parallels here would be non-diegetic – meant to be apparent to the audience, not to the in-universe characters. Link Here!

Next, I’m going to talk about another poem, simply titled “The Albatross” (French: L’albatros). This particular poem is maybe less likely to have inspired references in OFMD, but if there is an intentional link, this poem reflects a lot of how Ed sees himself and his life thus far. I’ll admit that I’m a bit biased toward this poem since I had to memorize it in French class in high school and it’s stuck with me – but it was also one of the first things on Wikipedia that was linked on the page of the metaphor of the Albatross. Parallels in this poem are what I would suspect to be diegetic – despite it being an anachronism, I think Ed has at some point read this poem, and he relates to the albatross/poet. [Link Here!]

Lastly, there are some loose ends that I’d like to pick up that may not tie into anything, but I feel like they’re worth mentioning, especially as they relate to the albatross metaphors and parallels. This section is going to talk more generally about birds and bird imagery in OFMD, and how these instances can support or refute my albatross theories. [Link will go here: haven't written yet :)]

#our flag means death #ofmd #ofmd s2 #ofmd meta #ofmd spoilers #ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd s2 meta #ofmd season 2 spoilers #ofmd season 2 #ofmd season 2 meta #ofmd blackbeard #stede bonnet #albatross #the rime of the ancient mariner #literary analysis #media analysis #frenchie ofmd #izzy hands #lucius spriggs

57 notes · View notes

ellesliterarycorner · 2 years ago

Text

Writing a Retelling

I used to not like reading or writing retellings, but I actually think that writing a retelling might be on my bingo card for 2023, so I decided to do some research on writing them and share it with y’all! I think the reason I used to dislike retellings was because they can go SO wrong, and they are really hard to write. But, the more I’ve looked into this, I’ve decided writing retellings is actually a really good exercise for writers. The world’s been around for so long that there are no completely new plots, and taking the essentials plots of one story and turning them into something new is a great exercise in the basics of plotting and understanding the nature of characters.

Back to the OG

Read the original story! That might seem like an obvious thing, but sometimes it doesn’t feel every author remembers to do this. If it’s a story you haven’t read since you were little, don’t rely on your memory, especially if its a story with a lot of different remakes. Are you writing a retelling of the Disney movie Cinderella or the original Greek folk tale? Spoiler alert, they are not the same. You can write a retelling of either, but you do need to decide early on which one you are doing and stay consistent to it. I also think rereading the original story will remind you why you decided to write a retelling. Something about the story you loved so much you wanted to bring to a new audience or maybe something that felt unfinished or unanswered, and you just had to finish it and find the answered.

Notes, Notes, Notes

I love taking notes, and I think that especially when writing a retelling copious notes are your best friend. Unfortunately, you aren’t going to be able to fit everything into your retelling, but writing notes on the most important things in the original story will help you have a guiding light and keep you organized. I would definitely recommend that you make a list of characters and their roles in the story. Are you keeping the same protagonist? Do you want to write from the antagonists point of view? Or give a side character their time to shine? I would also make a list of all of the settings in the story. Decide whether or not you’re keeping the same setting or revamping it for your story. Finally, make a list of all the major plot points. You’ll probably add more plot points into your story, but making sure that you know and understand the major plot points in the original story will help you as you’re writing.

Inspired By or Retelling?

This may just be a personal nit-picky, schematic thing, but imo, a book can be inspired by something without being a retelling. Point and case being my favorite book to bash: A Court of Thorns and Roses. People have stopped leaning on this as much as they used too (mostly because ACOTAR has been rebranded as adult), but when it first came out ACOTAR was very much marketed as a Beauty and the Beast retelling. Me personally, I did not realize it was supposed to be a retelling until one of my friends told me after I had read it. Now, that either means that I have a poor level of reading comprehension or that the book is not a very good retelling. Obviously, I don’t like one of those answers, so let us presume that ACOTAR is not a very good retelling. I would say agree that elements of it are inspired by Beauty and the Beast, but I do not think that it is a retelling. SJM fails to keep many of the major themes and motifs of Beauty and the Beast which I think are necessary elements to qualify under the label retelling.

But What’s the Twist???

Don’t be afraid to take risks and try new things when you write a retelling! Just because you’re writing a retelling doesn’t mean that you aren’t writing a story in your voice and your style of writing. Stay true to yourself, so long as you treat the original story with respect. A lot of retellings either give the story a new protagonist, a new setting, or set the story in a completely different genre. To get yourself going here are are a few questions to ask yourself after you’ve finished rereading the original story help you figure out what the twist of your retelling is going to be.

Which of these characters do you feel curious about?

Which of these characters is the most hated / misunderstood?

Which of these characters could have the most interesting growth / character transformation through the course of this story?

How would this setting affect the protagonist and the other main characters?

How would this setting affect the major conflict of the story?

How would this setting affect the themes of the original story?

Which themes would be preserved and which themes would no longer feel relevant?

Elle’s Retelling Recommendations

And of course, I had to end this with a few retellings recommendations! Reading other retellings and seeing what other authors did well or not well is a great way to sharpen your own skills.

Daughters of Sparta by Claire Heywood

I actually really liked this book, but I think its because even though I like Greek mythology, I admittedly am not the most knowledgable on the subject. I know the basics of Greek mythology, but unless something was blatantly wrong, I wouldn’t be able to tell. Apparently, this book had a lot of important Greek mythology plot points missing, but I thought it told the stories of Helen and Klytemnestra very well!

Circe and The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

I first read Circe for school, but I went back and read it a year or two ago. I vastly prefer Circe to Song of Achilles as I didn’t really like SoA all that much, but both are definitely retelling masterclasses. Madeline Miller is definitely the Queen of Greek mythology retellings.

Beautiful Little Fools by Jillian Cantor

This is one of my favorite books ever! I loved the Great Gatsby, and I am a Daisy Buchanan apologist. I love that this book fleshes out all of the female characters from the Great Gatsby, gives them proper back stories and answers one of the biggest questions from the original novel.

Starcrossed by Josephine Angelini

This book is not the best book, and I only recommend it because it is in my opinion how not to do a retelling or even an inspired by book. My friend group was obsessed with this book in middle school, and the best way I can describe it is if Percy Jackson and Twilight had a baby. Take that as you will.

#retellings #writing retellings #writing retelling #plotting #plot structure #writing #writing tip #writing tips #writing resources #writing resource #writing reference #writing references #writersofig #writersofinstagram #writers of ig #writers of instagram

210 notes · View notes

shewasverynice · 1 month ago

Text

Fandoms: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen

⚠️ SPOILER HEAVY ⚠️

Major Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Full tags/warnings on Chapter links post

Major Characters: Original Character, Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Ieiri Shoko, Yaga Masamichi, Nanami Kento, Haibara Yu, Tsukumo Yuki, Choso

‎‧₊˚✧ Chapter 6 ✧˚₊‧

Satoru woke up slowly, the sun already high in the sky, its rays filtering through the blinds and casting warm, dappled light across his dorm room. He stretched lazily, feeling the soft sheets beneath him, and for a long stretching moment he didn’t move. He just let himself linger in that blissful half-awake state, savoring the unusual sense of contentment that had settled over him.

When he finally glanced at the clock on the nightstand, he blinked in surprise. 10:02 AM. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in so late—probably not since his school days the first time around. As an adult he’d gotten used to running on less than four hours of sleep, sneaking in naps wherever he could find the time. But now, in this new life, this second chance at youth, he felt… incredible!

His mind was clear and free of the constant fog of exhaustion that had plagued him for years. There was no pounding headache, no lingering fatigue in his bones. He felt light and energized, like his body was finally working the way it was supposed to again. It was as if he had been given a reset button, and these first two months at Jujutsu High had done wonders for him!

Satoru sat up ruffling his hair with one hand and squinted at the sunlight. He realized that the Six Eyes, while still ever present, weren’t nearly as overwhelming as they would eventually become. He could manage with just sunglasses for now, and that simple fact made him smile. He hadn’t felt this good—this normal—in years. Of course, he noticed that he wasn’t as powerful as he would eventually be as well. His reach with techniques was shorter, his physical height not quite where it would be, but he simply chalked all that up to being young again. There was time to grow, both literally and figuratively.

Yawning, he finally swung his legs out of bed and got dressed. He threw on some comfy shorts and a white t-shirt in a casual and unhurried way. It was the weekend, after all, and he had no reason to rush. After splashing some water on his face and brushing his teeth, Satoru headed out to find Suguru.

He found his friend waiting in the courtyard just as planned, the early morning breeze ruffling his dark hair as he leaned against a tree. Suguru looked up as Satoru approached, his eyes crinkling with that pretty smile as soon as he saw him.

“Took you long enough,” Suguru teased lightly.

Satoru shrugged, unbothered. “Hey, I’m allowed to sleep in once in a while, right?" He said with a grin, "Besides, I feel amazing.”

Suguru raised an eyebrow. “Really? You look the same as usual to me," he teased.

Satoru rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it. “Trust me, I haven’t felt this good in years," he said then pointed at Suguru, "What about you? What did you say you wanted to do today?”

Suguru’s smile grew a little wider. “Actually, I was thinking about going fishing today," he chuckled, "There’s a river on the school property in the woods, and I thought we could try it out.”

Fishing. The word immediately conjured memories of the first time around, when Satoru had made fun of Suguru for liking such a ‘boring’ hobby. But this time… well, this time was different. He wasn’t the same person he had been back then, and maybe there was something to be said for embracing the things that Suguru enjoyed.

“Fishing, huh?” Satoru said, raising an eyebrow in mock suspicion, “You’re not going soft on me, are you?”

Suguru chuckled. “Hardly. But it could be fun, right?" He said, tilting his head, "And besides, it’s nice to just relax sometimes.”

Satoru pretended to consider it, then shrugged. “Fine, let’s go catch some fish," he said then grinned, "But if I fall asleep on the bank, it’s your fault.”

Suguru laughed, and together they headed to the tool shed to gather the things they’d need. One of the janitors had apparently told Suguru about the fishing supplies, and Suguru had been excited to try it out. Satoru found himself smiling at the thought of it—Suguru had always been someone who found joy in the simpler things, and maybe that was something Satoru needed to appreciate more.

The two of them made their way down to the river, the path winding through the trees and the sound of water growing louder as they approached. When they arrived the river was as serene as they’d hoped, its surface shimmering under the sunlight. They settled by the bank and set up their fishing rods with a mix of casual conversation and comfortable silence.

As they cast their lines into the water, Suguru began to talk about his family. It was just him and his parents living in a small town where he was the only sorcerer. He explained how odd it had been, being the only one who could see curses, and how he never felt comfortable telling anyone about it. Eventually, he’d been scouted by an older sorcerer, someone who’d convinced his parents to bring him to Jujutsu High.

Satoru listened, even though he already knew this story. It felt different hearing it from Suguru after all this time, seeing the way his friend’s eyes softened when he talked about his parents and the life he’d left behind. When Suguru finished, Satoru began to share his own story.

He was an only child too, but his life had been drastically different. With the Six Eyes, he’d always been surrounded by people, shown off like a prized race horse. He didn’t have time to play, to fish, or to do anything that normal kids did. It had been training, studying, and more training from the moment he could walk.

“I hated it,” Satoru admitted, his voice quieter than usual, “I never got to just… be a kid, you know? I didn’t have time for stuff like this.”

Suguru frowned, a look of empathy crossing his face. “That sounds terrible," he said softly.

Satoru shrugged, but there was a hint of gratitude in his eyes. “It was what it was," he sighed, then smiled, "But hey, I’m glad I can get away from all that now.”

Suguru nodded, then looked at Satoru with a mixture of curiosity and concern. “I’m glad you’re okay with opening up about it," he said with a gentle smile, "I know it’s not easy.”

Satoru waved it off, but there was a small, genuine smile on his lips. “Yeah, well… thanks for listening," he muttered.

They sat in silence for a while, the occasional splash of water or rustle of leaves filling the space between them. The stillness was comfortable, a rare moment of peace that both of them seemed to appreciate.

After a while, Suguru turned to Satoru again, curiosity evident in his expression. “Hey, Satoru… what’s it like?" He asked, gesturing to his own eyes, "The Six-Eyes, I mean. What do you actually see?”

Satoru considered the question, trying to find the words to explain something so difficult to describe. “It’s… like seeing everything in extreme detail,” he began slowly, “Beyond what anyone can really comprehend. It’s impossible to describe what it really looks like to someone who doesn’t have it. I can see the flow of cursed energy and how it affects everything.”

He paused, a small chuckle escaping his lips as he remembered a particular incident that hopefully would never come to pass. Far in the future when he swapped bodies with Yuta near the end for their training. As soon as Yuta opened his eyes the enhanced visuals made him throw up almost immediately! He was a tough kid of course, getting over it quickly, but still it was really fascinating to see how much it affected someone else.

Not to mention when he was in Yuta's body he had a new understanding of what everyone else saw. It was so dull... So lifeless to him. But at the same time, it was blissfully quiet and easy to handle. He wouldn't trade the six-eyes away, but he certainly enjoyed that little break.

Suguru nodded, his expression thoughtful. “It must be a lot to handle… having that kind of power," he said.

"Did you forget already? We're the strongest together!" Satoru laughed, "You're nearly as strong as I am, or at least up will be. We're in this together."

Suguru scoffed, but smiled, "You always say that, but we both know I'm nowhere near as strong as you think I am. Why are you so sure?"

"I've said it before and I'll just keep saying it," Satoru said with a smug grin, "I just know shit, okay?"

They laughed and the conversation slowly faded. While the two of them sat in a peaceful silence, Satoru felt a sudden tug on his fishing line. It was a subtle pull at first, but then it became more insistent, the line jerking slightly in his hands. His eyes widened in surprise.

"Suguru!" Satoru exclaimed, half-shouting and half-laughing, "I think I’ve got something!"

Suguru looked over, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "No way! Reel it in!" He said, standing up.

Satoru scrambled to his feet, almost tripping over himself in his haste. His hands worked the reel with a mix of determination and giddy excitement, the line tightening as he pulled it closer to the shore. Suguru stood beside him, eyes glued to the water as the catch got nearer.

"Come on, come on!" Satoru muttered, his tongue poking out in concentration as he focused on reeling in whatever had taken the bait.

Finally, with one last tug, Satoru pulled the fish out of the water and onto the grassy bank. The boys leaned over it, eyes wide with anticipation—only to realize exactly what they'd caught. There, flopping on the nearest patch of grass, was a tiny fish barely bigger than Satoru’s hand. It wiggled pathetically, it's scales glinting in the sunlight.

For a moment, they both stared at it in stunned silence, then Suguru couldn’t hold it in any longer. He doubled over, laughing so hard he had to clutch his sides.

"That's it?!" Suguru gasped between fits of laughter, "All that excitement… for this little guy?"

Satoru glared at Suguru, though the grin that threatened to appear on his lips ruined the effect. "Hey, don’t make fun of my fish! It’s about quality, not size!" He huffed, crossing his arms.

Suguru straightened up, wiping a tear from his eye as his laughter subsided. "Sure, sure. Quality over size, huh?" He said, "Well, let’s see if you can catch something a little bigger next time, Mr. Quality."

Satoru’s competitive streak flared to life. He couldn’t just let Suguru get away with that, not when there was a challenge to be had. "Oh, is that how it is?" He hissed, "Alright, let’s see who can catch the biggest fish by the end of the day!"

Suguru grinned, shaking his head in amusement but clearly on board with the idea. "You’re on," he replied.

With the challenge set, the boys went back to their fishing, now with a sense of competition driving them. The rest of the day passed in a blur of banter and teasing as they took turns reeling in their catches. Each time one of them caught a fish, they would immediately compare it to the other’s, measuring and inspecting with exaggerated seriousness.

Satoru would dramatically puff out his chest every time he caught something larger than Suguru’s last catch, while Suguru would feign disappointment only to quietly smirk when he pulled in something even bigger. It was a back-and-forth that kept them both on their toes.

Despite the competition, the atmosphere remained light-hearted. They teased each other relentlessly, neither willing to back down, and yet there was no real malice behind their words—just the bond of friendship that had already begun to strengthen between them. Each new catch was met with cheers, groans, and the occasional burst of laughter when a particularly small or oddly shaped fish was brought ashore.

As the afternoon wore on, the sun began its slow descent towards the horizon, casting a warm golden hue over the landscape. The boys didn’t notice the time slipping by, too engrossed in their game to care. The sky shifted from blue to shades of orange and pink, the river reflecting the colors like a shimmering painting.

Finally, Suguru called it a day, and they compared their final catches. It was impossible to determine a clear winner—the sizes were too close to call. But it didn’t really matter. The competition had been more about the fun than about winning anyway. As they packed up their gear and began the walk back to the dorms, Satoru couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of satisfaction.

"That was actually pretty fun," Satoru admitted, nudging Suguru with his elbow.

Suguru smiled, a warm, contented expression that matched the soft light of the evening. "Yeah, it was," he said softly, "I’m glad you decided to join me."

"Maybe I’ll try out some more of your boring hobbies sometime," Satoru said with a grin, though the teasing tone was still there, "Maybe."

Suguru laughed softly, shaking his head. "I’ll take what I can get," he said with a shrug.

As they continued their walk, the conversation drifted into other topics—school, training, what they might do tomorrow. But beneath the surface, there was an unspoken understanding for Satoru that this day had been important. When they finally reached the dorms, the sky was dark, the stars beginning to twinkle above. They parted ways with easy smiles and tired eyes, both of them ready to collapse into bed after a long relaxing day.

As Satoru climbed into bed that night, he felt the same sense of contentment he’d had that morning, only now it was accompanied by a deep-seated gratitude. He hadn’t just spent the day fishing—he’d spent it building a bond that, in this new life, was even more precious to him than the first time. And as he drifted off to sleep his last thought was that, for all his power, it was moments like these that made life truly worthwhile.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Yaga stared at Satoru, his arms crossed and head tilted back. Satoru stood in front of him, desperately trying to appear nonchalant. His hands rested nervously in his pockets, his sunglasses pushed up high to hide those blue eyes. Internally he was screaming, praying that Yaga would just accept this horrid attempt at a casual conversation.

"What's going on, Satoru?" Yaga asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Oh man, sensei, everything is good. It's really good. Everyone is doing good," he said, the laugh accompanying his words just a little too forced.

"Why did you say good three times?" Yaga asked, leaning forward to push Satoru's sunglasses down and get a look at the boy's eyes.

"I wanted to make it clear how good it was!" Satoru said with that exact same forced chuckle.

“Satoru,” Yaga said pointedly to him, voice low and wary, “What are you doing out here in the hall? Class is about to start.”

“Oh, you know, just… hanging out,” Satoru replied, trying to keep his voice casual. It came out a little too forced, and he could see Yaga’s eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Thought I’d check in on you, see how your day’s going."

Yaga was clearly not buying it. “Really?" He asked as he straightened back up, "You’re interested in my day?”

Satoru nodded a bit too quickly. “Yeah! I mean, you’re always so busy with missions and stuff," he said, "Figured we don’t get to talk much, just you and me.”

Yaga’s brow furrowed, and he tilted his head slightly, the air of suspicion thickening around him. “Mmhmm," he said, "Alright, what exactly did you want to talk about, Satoru?”

“Well, you know,” Satoru began, scrambling to think of something, anything to keep Yaga distracted, “H-how was your last mission? I heard it was pretty intense. Those curses must have been tough, right?”

Yaga’s lips tightened into a thin line. “It was fine," he answered, "Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Right, right,” Satoru said, nodding eagerly, “But, uh, I’m sure it was super challenging. Like, you probably had to use all your strength and smarts and everything. You’re so strong, Yaga-sensei. I bet even the toughest curses get scared when they see you coming.”

Yaga’s gaze sharpened, and Satoru felt a bead of sweat trickle down the back of his neck. He was laying it on too thick, and he knew it. But he couldn’t stop now; he had to keep Yaga out of that classroom for as long as possible.

“And hey, remember that mission you had a few days ago? The one with the—uh—flying curse? How did you manage to take it down? I’ve been trying to figure it out, but, man, you’re just on another level," he yapped, just saying anything at this point.

Yaga’s eyes narrowed even further, his patience clearly wearing thin. He uncrossed his arms and took a step closer to Satoru, who immediately tensed up.

“Satoru,” Yaga said slowly, his voice low and measured, “What are you trying to hide?”

“Hide? Me? Nothing!” Satoru exclaimed, a little too loudly. He felt his nerves creeping up on him as Yaga loomed closer. “I just, you know, thought it’d be nice to chat! A little bonding time between student and mentor, yeah?”

Yaga’s gaze was steady, unwavering. Satoru could tell he wasn’t fooling him for a second, but he couldn’t give up now. He couldn’t let Yaga go into that classroom—not yet.

Before Yaga could respond, there was a loud crash from inside the classroom, followed by a muffled curse from Suguru. Satoru winced, his smile faltering. Yaga’s eyes flicked to the door, and he moved to push past Satoru, but Satoru quickly stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

“What was that?” Yaga asked, his tone sharp.

“Uh, nothing! Probably just a, uh, a bird hitting the window. Happens all the time,” Satoru lied, mentally cursing himself for how unconvincing he sounded.

Yaga gave him a flat look. “Satoru, move.”

Satoru swallowed hard, then, in a last-ditch effort to stall Yaga, he activated limitless. Yaga’s hand, which was reaching for the doorknob, stopped just inches away, blocked by the invisible barrier.

Yaga’s expression darkened. “Satoru, are you using your technique to keep me out of the classroom?” he growled.

Satoru grimaced, realizing he had no choice but to drop the barrier. He stepped back, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Oh sorry, Yaga-sensei, that was… an accident. Won’t happen again.”

Yaga gave him a long, hard stare, then sighed heavily. “You’re terrible at lying, Satoru," he muttered.

With that, Yaga pushed open the door and stepped into the classroom, his gaze sweeping the room. Satoru hesitated for a moment before following him in, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. Suguru and Shoko were both seated at their desks, attempting to look casual, but their tense postures and the guilty expressions on their faces gave them away. Yaga’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the room, clearly aware that something was amiss.

The room seemed unnaturally clean, but there was a faint chalky smell lingering in the air, and Yaga’s gaze flicked to the chalkboard, where the erasers were conspicuously absent. Satoru sidled over to his desk, sitting down with an awkward smile plastered on his face. He could feel Yaga’s eyes on him, but he pretended to be oblivious, fiddling with a pencil as if he had no idea what was going on.

Yaga walked up to the teacher’s podium, setting his notebook down with a thud. He seemed ready to start class, but something caught his attention at the back of the room. His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Before anyone could react, there was a loud slam as the locker at the back of the classroom flew open, and a cascade of filthy, chalky water spilled out onto the floor. At the same time, a cloud of chalk dust exploded into the air, filling the room with a thick white haze.

Suguru and Shoko both jumped in their seats, coughing and waving their hands to clear the dust. Satoru tried to suppress a laugh but ended up snorting, quickly covering his mouth with his hand.

Yaga stood frozen at the podium, his expression one of utter disbelief. The entire room was now coated in a fine layer of chalk dust, and the water was spreading across the floor, soaking into the wood and making a mess of everything.

The silence that followed was almost deafening. Satoru, unable to hold it in any longer, burst out laughing, his voice echoing through the dust-filled room. Suguru and Shoko exchanged a look, and despite their best efforts to stay serious, they couldn’t help but join in, their laughter mixing with Satoru’s.

Yaga slowly turned to face the three of them, his face a mask of barely contained exasperation. “Would one of you care to explain what, exactly, happened here?” he asked through gritted teeth.

Satoru, still laughing, tried to catch his breath. “Well, you see, Yaga-sensei, it’s a funny story…” he wheezed.

But Yaga wasn’t amused. He crossed his arms, giving them all a stern look. “You three are cleaning this up," he commanded, "And then, you’re staying after class to explain why you thought this was a good idea.”

Satoru’s laughter died down to a chuckle, and he exchanged a sheepish glance with Suguru and Shoko.

“Yes, Yaga-sensei,” the three of them replied in unison.

As Yaga turned to start writing on the now chalk-covered board, Satoru couldn’t help but grin. Sure, they were in trouble, but the look on Yaga’s face when that locker exploded had been priceless.

After class and after some cleaning, Satoru and Suguru finished wiping down the last of the chalky mess, Sarah leaned through the open window, resting her elbows on the sill with a grin. "What happened in here?" she asked, her green eyes sparkling with amusement.

Satoru practically sprinted over to her, eager to tell the story. "Oh, you should’ve seen it! We were throwing chalk erasers around, right? And then Suguru had this brilliant idea—"

"It wasn’t my idea," Suguru interrupted, joining them and shaking his head with a smile.

"Okay, maybe it was a joint effort," Satoru conceded with a laugh, "Anyway, we were trying to clean up before Yaga got back, and it was going fine until—"

Shoko's voice cut through, "Stop slacking, you two! There's still a mess over here!" She was trying to sound stern, but her smile betrayed her.

Sarah laughed along with them, clearly enjoying the tale. "Aww I bet that was hilarious! I missed out!" She playfully huffed.

"You did," Suguru said, leaning against the wall beside the window Sarah leaned in through, "But we managed to clean up most of it before Yaga walked in."

"Yeah, most of it," Shoko muttered, rolling her eyes as she tried to wring out a mop that seemed beyond saving. "Oh, by the way, am I still gonna see you tonight, Sarah?" She asked with a knowing smile as she glanced at her.

"Yep! We’re still gonna try that new fancy hair oil," Sarah replied cheerfully.

"Hair oil?" Satoru asked, raising an eyebrow, "Why?"

Sarah turned her grin toward him and playfully scoffed. "Perfect pretty boys like you wouldn’t get it," she said, waving her hand dismissively.

"P-pretty?! I'm not pretty!" Satoru protested, his voice a mix of indignation and confusion.

"Of course you are, look at you," Sarah said earnestly, her eyes locking with his, "What's wrong with a boy being pretty? Geto is pretty too."

Suguru’s cheeks turned a light shade of pink as he smiled softly and mumbled a thank you. Meanwhile, Satoru was left momentarily speechless. He’d been called many things—handsome, charming, arrogant, cocky—but never "pretty," and certainly not with such sincerity. It left him oddly flustered.

Shoko, noticing the shift in Satoru’s demeanor, smirked. "Don’t boost their egos too much. Their heads will get too heavy. They won't be able to fit through doors and shit," she snickered.

Sarah just shrugged. "I’m only telling the truth," she said, tilting her head.

Suguru, sensing the need for a change of subject, cleared his throat and asked, "So, what’s special about this hair oil?"

Shoko and Sarah launched into a discussion about the benefits of the oil, the conversation flowing naturally between the three of them. But Satoru remained quiet, still processing the unexpected compliment. For the first time, being complimented so casually felt like something more—a genuine acknowledgment of who he was, beyond the powers and the ego. And though he couldn’t fully explain it, it left him with a feeling he couldn't quite understand.

Sarah leaned further into the window, her hand waving in front of Satoru’s face as she grinned. "Hello? Wakey wakey Gojo," she teased, her voice light and playful.

Satoru blinked and looked at her, snapping out of his thoughts. He laughed, a bit embarrassed. "Sorry for spacing out."

"Are you gonna answer my question?" Sarah asked, raising an eyebrow.

Satoru tilted his head, confused, "What question?"

Sarah chuckled, her eyes sparkling with mischief, "I asked if you wanted to try the hair oil too."

Satoru stared at her for a moment. "Wait, try the hair oil?" he asked, a bit incredulous.

She nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! It could be fun," she sang with a little smirk.

So as soon as they'd finished their cleaning later that day, they all crowded into Shoko’s dorm room. The small space was cozy, with posters on the walls and a few scattered textbooks but not a lot else. Suguru and Satoru sat cross-legged on the floor, watching as Sarah carefully lifted the small ampule of hair oil from the hot water where it had been soaking to warm up.

Sarah moved behind Suguru, who had already relaxed into the process with his back resting against her legs. She began to brush the warm oil through his hair, her fingers gentle and sure. Suguru tipped his head back, closing his eyes as a look of utter bliss spread across his face. The sensation was soothing, and he could feel the tension melting away. A lazy sigh came from his nose and he smiled like a fat cat after a big meal.

Satoru watched with a pout, feeling a twinge of jealousy at how relaxed Suguru looked. "I want you to do mine too," he whined, "You will, right?"

Sarah laughed softly, nodding in agreement. "Alright, alright. I’ll do yours next," she said, shaking her head.

Just as Satoru was about to settle in to wait impatiently, Shoko walked back into the room, freshly showered, with a towel wrapped around her neck. She was wearing a loose shirt and had a relaxed air about her. In her hand she carried a hair dyer and she eyed Satoru with mild amusement. "Satoru, stop being lazy and do Sarah’s hair while she’s doing Suguru’s," she chided, jutting her chin towards Sarah.

Satoru grumbled a bit but agreed, moving behind Sarah as she continued to work the oil through Suguru’s hair. Picking out one of the little ampules of oil he twisted off the top and squeezed some onto his hands. He was surprised the moment his fingers touched her hair—it was so smooth and silky, unlike anything he’d felt before.

"Your hair’s already so soft," he remarked, genuinely surprised.

Sarah glanced back at him with a small smile. "Yeah it's already pretty soft," she explained casually, "And it doesn't really do much besides get a little wave to it. It's really thick but fine at the same time so it just kinda lays flat."

Satoru blinked, a bit taken aback. "Really? You probably don’t even need anything to make your hair softer," he added as he ran his fingers through her hair, enjoying the unfamiliar texture.

She shrugged, still focused on Suguru’s hair. "Maybe not, but it’s fun anyway," she said with a chuckle, "Plus the smell is super nice."

The room filled with a comfortable silence as they continued their little haircare session. Shoko, now sitting on the edge of her bed, combed through her own hair with the oil already washed out, letting it dry naturally. Suguru looked like he was about to fall asleep, completely relaxed under Sarah’s touch, while Satoru found himself getting lost in the simple yet oddly intimate task of combing through Sarah’s hair.

When they finally finished, all four of them took a moment to admire the results. Shoko’s hair shone with a healthy glow, framing her face perfectly. Suguru’s usually sleek hair looked even smoother, and he couldn’t stop running his fingers through it. Satoru’s hair was a bit more tousled, but the added shine was undeniable. And Sarah, her hair soft and sleek, looked satisfied with the fun little activity they’d shared.

Satoru sat back feeling oddly content. This wasn't exactly what he expected, but it was more fun that he assumed it would be. Running his fingers through his hair once again, he glanced over at his friends and smiled softly. He could get used to this.

⤶ Prev Main Next ↪

#fanfiction #writing #a03 fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #jjk #geto suguru #shoko ieiri #reincarnation fic #fix it fic

5 notes · View notes

lylaseb · 10 months ago

Text

After taking a break for a few days I’ve pretty much calmed down enough to be able to think about who my favorite characters are now that I’ve finished the show

Obviously spoilers if you’re not done with the show

1. I don’t like children but if I had sasha as a daughter I would work my butt off to ensure she got to eat every single thing she wanted to eat and I’d make sure to spend as much time as possible to bond with her and I’d teach her about the world while also shielding her from every kind of hurt. I believe in sasha supremacy. The moment she saved Samuel back in season 1 I immediately felt there was going to be more to her than just the comedic relief. She’s the loveliest ball of sunshine in the show and she deserved so much more screen time. I don’t know how many times I’ve watched her save kaya now and every time I go back to when she got carlo in one shot and then proceeded to look the cart dead in the eye without flinching even as the cart was about to charge at her I’m always filled with pride. She grew up so well.

2. Jean’s character development is one of the best in the series, and he’s charismatic but also incredibly relatable. From the looks of it he grew up in a relatively normal family, had a normal childhood, and he didn’t have ackerman/noble blood or titan powers or special abilities and yet was the best out of all of the ‘normal’ scouts from the 104th. I could go on and on and on about why he’s so precious but there’s just one thing I want to mention at this point because I just realized I’ve never talked about this before. He’s a decent man and I love him for it. It’s sad that we feel we have to ‘applaud’ or even comment on something like this but this is the world we live in. What I mean is, some guys are weird with their crushes, like predatory or toxic, but not jean. He never tried to manipulate mikasa and he wasn’t even annoying with it. Regardless of how she was as a person, he treated her as just that, a person, and as a friend. And he truly meant well. That’s unfortunately more than what we can say for a lot of men (and women). Also, he should’ve been the next commander and I don’t care if this has become redundant. I will die on this hill.

3. I just want to know why we weren’t given a backstory for hange. Levi had one erwin had one even jean had one (baby jean boy is the cutest 😭) the majority of the main cast had some kind of backstory but not hange. Why???????? Also, I’m not into girls but I’d probably marry her. And this is another thing that I haven’t talked about on here, which is that the entire time I was watching the series, the one and only time I actually teared up was when she died and met all of those that had passed before her. It was the whole situation of her doing everything she could to hold back the rumbling and then literally burning to her death and then meeting the others and her looking at the flying boat from a distance. The moment I heard Erwin’s voice saying “it took off” I lost it. I wasn’t sobbing or anything but internally I really was suffering. Most likely it wasn’t just hange but rather the weight of it all, and my heart hurt more times than I can count watching the series, but this really was the one and only time, which is saying something considering the show is basically just one massive heartbreak.

4. I know connie is popular enough but to me he’s still such an underrated character. Even back in season 1 where we didn’t get to see him as much, I always had a soft spot for him. I think it was mostly because he often acted like an idiot, which was endearing on its own, but you could also kind of sense that there was more to him than just that, much like sasha. And the affection that he had for his family and especially for his mom, my heart hurts every time I think about it. I wish he had been given more screen time. Also it’s probably obvious by now but since I haven’t said it before I’ll take this chance. I’d rather watch the show with Sasha jean and Connie as the main trio. There I said it. And I’m sure there are others who share my sentiment. Another thing that I’ve never said before is I feel like he had one of the best physical glow ups in the series 😂 I really really liked how he looked by the end of it. He was already handsome to begin with and it wasn’t like he had an enormous change in appearance either but adulthood looked really good on him. And I love a man who cuts his own hair.

5. I would love a proper prequel with Levi as the main character.

6. I really wish we got to see more of Pyxis. Go on and give us that in the prequel above 🙏

7. I was quite surprised I ended up liking Keith so much considering there isn’t much material to turn to, but his scenes in season 4 hit me like a truck. Don’t be shy and show us more of him in the prequel above 👍

8. Reiner also took me by surprise. I knew there must have been more to his story, alongside bertholdt’s and Annie’s, but I just didn’t feel anything for him in seasons 1 to 3. On the other hand watching him in season 4 felt like watching a whole other person. This probably sounds stupid but the thought of it is fair I think. If I had a choice I probably would have married hange and then raised Sasha, jean, Connie, Levi and Reiner as our children. Also I’m not denying that Reiner’s sins are real, but I still believe he deserved better. No one should have to go through what the warriors/Eldians in Marley had to go through. He literally developed a whole other personality to cope. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that the guilt must have been eating him alive.

9. I still haven’t been able to get over Erwin’s death. I might not be able to. I mean, asking “What do you see here? What do you think the enemy is?” all the way back in season 1? Mentally the man was already in season 4 😩 It’s kind of sad but his absence in the last season made me appreciate him even more. Somehow he was always at the back of my mind. Also while he often manipulated people he rarely, if ever, did so with lies. He saw himself as an “expert conman” with “a whole slew of lies” but I don’t think this is true. The only one I can think of at the moment is when he arranged for the scouts to be told different things concerning eren’s location for the 57th expedition. But this doesn’t hurt anyone and it was mainly done for eren’s security and to lure out the possible spies so I’m not mad at this at all. He rarely lied about the actual facts of a situation, and I really respect him for that. He’s much less a conman and much more a hype man. Just for the record though I’m always going to feel 50/50 about him but despite this he’s number 9 out of all of the characters because the half that I do like is really doing its work like the rent is due.

10. Armin but the fact that I had to think long and hard about whether or not I liked anyone better...🤡 Season 1 armin is still my favorite armin, specifically the first half of it, and it’s not even close 💀 had this been based on just the rest of the series he wouldn’t even have touched the top 15. It’s simply amazing how he went from being one of the most promising, most inspiring characters to being one of the biggest letdowns in the entire series. That said, he will always have a special place in my heart. For me, a few of his best moments were when he was shaking in fear the first time the colossal attacked but still managed to find hannes and then asked him for help, when he comforted bertholdt by saying that cherishing one’s life is admirable too, and when he came up with that speech in order to convince the soldiers that eren wasn’t an enemy (yes he would’ve failed without Pyxis but, for me, the speech still remains to this day one of the most iconic and one of the most moving parts of the whole show).

Honorable mentions:

1. Falco the sweetest child

2. Most of floch’s lines in season 3 were chef’s kiss and even though I don’t agree with his ideals I still think his relentlessness and leadership were commendable

3. I really appreciate Artur and Lisa braus for their wisdom and their hearts of gold

4. Colt the best big bro

If we ever get a prequel or a sequel or whatever then I’ll probably make another list again

#I’m tired as hell so some parts of this might be a bit messy #or maybe the whole thing is messy idk I’m too tired to care at this point #I had a really long day today lol anyway #shingeki no kyojin #sasha braus #jean kirschtein #hange zoe #connie springer #levi ackerman #dot pixis #keith shadis #reiner braun #erwin smith #armin arlert #falco grice #floch forster #artur braus #lisa braus #colt grice

9 notes · View notes

athetos · 11 months ago

Text

Okay here’s the very rough outline of my baru cormorant x locked tomb crossover…. If you have suggestions let me know… Major spoilers for both book series. Also I want to clarify this isn’t going to be a very long multi-chapter thing, I’m hoping to keep this under control and have it be a collection of scenes in chronological order that cover everything. Like I’m absolutely wanting to keep this below 20k words so it doesn’t destroy me.

Taranoke is a planet destroyed and flipped by the lyctors and the cohort. One of the lyctors, Farrier, realizes baru had a spark of necromantic ability and saves her (promising to protect her parents) and sends her to a top necromantic school. Without the knowledge of the emperor (renascent) he secretly trains her when he visits and keeps an eye on her progress. She is given Muire lo as a cavalier, and becomes fast friends with Aminata, the cavalier to croftare. Throughout her studies, baru learns more and more about how the nine houses are run, and decides to overthrow them from the inside, with the ultimate goal of killing all the lyctors and the emperor, so that no more planets are flipped and the war can end. Upon graduation, baru is sent to the ninth house to become their sole necromancer, as the previous ones have all died of a deadly pox, and is told a chance to ‘ascend’ will be sent her way in due time.

There, she of course meets tain Hu, as well as oathsfire, Lyxaxu, and Unuxekome, among others. Midway through her stay, as she’s working to restore the ninth house to its former glory, Muire lo becomes ill and dies. Heartbroken, baru hides away to grieve, before being forced at last to pick a replacement cavalier. As oathsfire and some of the other dukes are all cavaliers with significant experience with their late necromancers, it’s expected she’ll choose one of them, but she instead picks Tain Hu. This is not only because she trusts her beyond any other, but also because she hopes the taboo of a necro/cav relationship will make her crush on her go away (it doesn’t, not at all.)

They of course get the invitation to Canaan house. Aminata and croftare are there, somewhat taking the role of palamedes and Camilla, and the third house is Yawa and olake. Cytherea is a member of the cancrioth, haven’t settled on one in particular. Things go much as they did in GTN, except Yawa is also forced to eat olake’s soul, not willingly, which devastates her. Plus, croftare dies without a plan like palamedes did, but Aminata survives. Baru has solved the lyctor theorem, has at a point probably known for a while and just repressed it, but comes up with a desperate and wild gambit. Meanwhile, When Hu sacrifices herself, Baru tells her she has a plan, and will see her soon. After defeating the rogue lyctor, baru writes the letters to her future self, and ropes Yawa into helping her do brain surgery, with Yawa firmly on her side in contrast to ianthe, as she also wants revenge for being forced to use up her brother.

The lyctors are farrier (cav unknown), hesychast (with iscend as his cav, who takes over his body occasionally like Pyrrha did to g1deon), svirakir (iraji was his cav), yawa and her cav, and tain shir (unknown cav). Baru feels a massive headache when she sees shir, and to a lesser extent, yawa. Shir tries to kill baru, but not because she’s told to by the emperor, but for revenge since she knows baru consumed her cousin’s soul, which confuses baru because she has no idea why shir is doing what she’s doing. Nobody else tells her why, just is cryptic about it thinking she’s insane, and yawa can’t tell her without compromising the plan. Instead of Camilla meeting her on one of the planets, Aminata meets her and Yawa instead, as she was given instructions to by baru, who thought of everything even if she can’t remember it. She took Hu’s body from Canaan house, and upon seeing it baru remembers everything. With yawa’s help, they heal Hu’s body with lyctor powers and insert Hu’s soul. This gives their souls a connection where baru can use some lyctor abilities while Hu can do her own thing, and they have telepathy across even large distances, and Hu can use some of Baru’s necromantic stuff, too.

Yawa had managed to get a blood sample from the emperor, and gives it to Hu and Aminata. While baru and Yawa continue to deceive the emperor, Aminata and Hu travel to the ninth house and use her newfound connection with baru and the vial of blood to break into the locked tomb. With telepathy, they coordinate the perfect moment, when the emperor is vulnerable from a resurrection beast attack, to unseal the Body. As the beast and the Body attack renascent at the same time, they are forced into the stoma and banished. The resurrection beasts pass on, now that their revenge is sated, and farrier is killed in the process. Shir of course is now on their side, and iscend takes permanent control over hesychast, and svirakir disappears. The nine houses as they know it is completely toppled, the secret to lyctorhood is kept hidden forever, and they work to help everyone heal and eventually thrive without their influence. They try to return life to Taranoke, and the what was the ninth house is restored to its former glory. Baru, Hu, and Aminata are in a polycule. The end <3

#I’m going nuts…#my writing #saving here so I can refer to this when I actually start writing it #tlt #baru cormorant #tlt spoilers #baru cormorant spoilers #baruposting

14 notes · View notes

immernichts · 1 year ago

Text

Underground Blossom thoughts, and also some ramblings about Rusty Lake in general. (spoilers!)

I feel like I should point out that I haven’t played The White Door. I know the gist of what happens in it, but maybe there’s something in this post that contradicts or is explained by that game, idk.

Something that intrigued me the moment the demo came out was Rose and Laura’s relationship. Given what we saw of Rose in Roots—pragmatic and emotionless—I always assumed she didn’t give Laura much of a normal childhood, and probably deliberately left her at some point.

In the second chapter of the game, Rose does indeed leave Laura. But, it turns out that she didn’t actually want to go, and, based on the note she left and Laura’s description of her, Rose was a loving mother.

I’m not sure if Rose’s lack of emotion in Roots is meant to be taken as nature or nurture. On one hand, it could be because of the unnatural nature of her birth, as artificially created humans are often portrayed in folklore and media as emotionless. Or maybe it’s because she had Albert for a father (who could not have been a good dad), and the only person we see her interacting with as a child is William Vanderboom (via ouija board).

I like to think it was because of nurture, and that raising Laura made Rose a more caring, affectionate person over time. Rose also refers to Harvey as a ‘dear friend’, so maybe he also played a role there? Curious to know how they met.

Sadly the good times don’t last, because this jackass shows up.

Albert, you are an awful person. I know that was already obvious from Roots, but jeez.

I think this scene is one of the creepiest I’ve seen in a Rusty Lake game. Something about Albert saying “She has to come with me” is just…. Aghhh. It’s notable to me that, earlier, Rose tells Harvey that she might have to leave, whereas the phone call has Albert saying “She knows”.

Anyways, poor Laura is understandably scarred for life after witnessing this. It’s rare to see a character in Rusty Lake actually react normally to something horrible happening.

That brings me to something I really like about this game, we’re seeing Laura as a person. She’s been a mysterious figure for a majority of the series (even in the games where you play as her), and now we get to jump through her life.

We see moments where she’s actually happy, or at least not actively sad, which feels very different for a character who’s mostly been defined by her mental illness and mysterious death.

Even though it’s sad and messed up, I do like the irony of the situation—After all the hard work you had go through to bring him back to life, William is reincarnated as a woman who suffers from depression and wants to die.

I was actually taken aback at how some parts of this game made me emotional. Rusty Lake has had its sad moments before, but this game is much more cinematic. The music is especially beautiful and does a great job complimenting these scenes.

More subtle but noticeable during certain moments is the art evolution the series has gone through. The voice acting has also improved a lot compared to the earlier games. I especially liked the voice actress for Laura.

Easily one of my favorite games in the series, and I’m excited to see what comes of that sequel hook at the end.

#My Posts #Rusty Lake #What was with that nipple torture scene though 🤨 Harvey you gotta keep your kinks to yourself #I don’t have a lot of thoughts on Bob but I enjoyed what I saw of him. Him asking Harvey to take care of Laura made me sad. :(#I’m really invested in the life and mind of Rose Vanderboom if you couldn’t tell. I was very happy with her portrayal in this game.

19 notes · View notes

thaidakar-is-hot · 1 year ago

Text

Kelsier and Anti-Social Personality Disorder: An Essay

Thank you sooo much for editing this @ladyartichokie! You were a massive help!

Kelsier Essay

I hope the dear reader will forgive my use of a proper noun as I write this essay; it removes somewhat of a formal aspect from its words but I must admit, it does come from a personal place of my heart. While this essay is meant to be persuasive, it’s also meant to be constructive and to drive a point home that I have been musing on for quite a while. This essay has major spoilers for the entirety of the Cosmere. If you haven’t read up to SP3, please refrain from reading this.

In the endless expanses of the Cosmere, there are hundreds of characters whom many hold dear and just as many whom people hate. You could say this is due to the brilliance of the author, who, despite his busy schedules and near constant time spent behind a keyboard, finds time to sign sheets and answer questions. Why is signing sheets and answering questions relevant to beloved and reviled characters? Read on.

Brandon Sanderson answers hundreds of questions, many of whom are inane, innocuous, or silly. Some are deeper, others delve into the basis behind some of his choices while writing. Still others pertain to characters. We get to the meat of it. This particular character is known, through the writing, as a brutal man, who let nothing stand in the way of his goal, who, while cleaving the noble class of his society in twain, uplifted the peasants and upended the thousand-year reign of his deity and ruler. Yes, we’re talking of Kelsier, the Survivor of Hathsin, hero of the Final Empire, and a character that leaves many people puzzled.

Reddit forums are frequented by questions about him. r/Mistborn and r/Cosmere alike have had their fair share of debates, and there was one thing I noticed in many of these: they take the words of Sanderson very, very seriously. Why shouldn’t they? He’s the author, is he not? Back in 2013, Sanderson had a Q&A session where someone asked him who his most disturbing character was. The WoB is as follows:

I_are_pant

1.Which of your protagonist characters do you dislike the most as a person? Taking in account that you know all of their inner secrets and motivations. 2. On the flip side, which of your antagonists do you connect with the most? The Lord Ruler seems an obvious choice as he was misunderstood by everyone for so long. But still, I’m curious.

Brandon Sanderson This is a tough one, as while I’m writing, I HAVE to like everyone. However, the most disturbing of them is probably Kelsier. He’s a psychopath—meaning the actual, technical term. Lack of empathy, egotism, lack of fear. If his life had gone differently, he could have been a very, very evil dude.

This Word of Brandon has had a decided effect on the fandom, namely in the fact that critical thought surrounding Kelsier, his motives, his struggles, and his successes, has all but been erased. He has been branded a psychopath, and there is nothing anyone can say against it.

The word “psychopath” is a very negatively charged word. To preface things, I want to be clear that this essay is going to refer to “psychopathy” as Antisocial-Personality Disorder. The term psychopath is very old, and largely refers to individuals with this particular disorder. The traditional definition of psychopath is someone who both lacks a conscience and lacks empathy.

Through this essay, I plan to painstakingly showcase that Kelsier fits neither the outdated term nor the criteria for the actual disorder, through canon book citations. I will break down each diagnostic criteria for Antisocial Personality Disorder (Henceforth shortened to ASPD) and Kelsier’s character traits at large. I wish to not only prove Brandon wrong (It is a very old WoB and I doubt very much he still believes this.) but to prove to the fandom at large that Kelsier is a good man. A flawed man, but a good man. I will also note specific character traits that I feel are of note in discussing him, his motives, and his current ideologies.

(Please note that there are plenty of individuals with ASPD that are not bad people. Your actions make you bad, not your mental health. I will be using terms such as “bad” and “wrong”, but this is in regards to a fictional character, NOT a real life human being.)

Antisocial Personality Disorder is a disorder characterized by the DSM-V as a Cluster-B personality disorder. It shares its family with Narcissistic, Borderline, and Histrionic disorders, and is characterized by a “continuing disregard and violation of the rights of others, occurring since the age of fifteen. To be diagnosed with ASPD, you must show a pattern of three or more of the following characteristics:

· Failure to Conform with Laws and Social Norms

· Deceitfulness (Repeated lying or conning of others for personal profit or pleasure.

· Impulsivity or failure to plan ahead.

· Irritability or Aggressiveness (Repeated physical fights or assaults.)

· Reckless disregard for the safety of others.

· Consistent irresponsibility. (Failure to keep a job or honor financial obligations.

· Lack of remorse.

Psychopathy is a term that was coined before this disorder was identified and refers specifically to a person lacking in both empathy and a conscience. The term is still widely used today, along with the term Sociopath, often interchangeably. For this essay, I’ll be largely relying on the psychiatric standards set in the DSM-V.

With this in mind, let’s jump into the criteria necessary for one (In this case, Kelsier) to be diagnosed with ASPD. While Kelsier waits in the waiting room, rather annoyed, let’s overview his case file. I will be pulling The Final Empire (TFE), Secret History (SH), and Eleventh Metal (EM). To make things clearer, I am using the Arcanum Unbounded version of SH and EM.

Failing to Conform with Laws and Social Norms

“Yes, he pocketed the gemstones in the vault, but that was more out of pragmatism than anything else.” (SH)

“Individual must show a pattern of Failing to conform with laws and social norms.” This one is tricky, as we are speaking of a fictional character in a brutal society hell bent on slaughtering those like Kelsier. Him becoming a thief was his way of surviving. While a thief, he was known as trusting, fair, just, and great to work with. When speaking to Vin after saving her from Camon’s beating, he explains just what sort of thief and crew leader he is, which puzzles her for quite a few pages as she notices the level of trust he places in other people.

“…Well Dox and I, we’re scavengers too, we’re just a higher quality scavenger. We’re more well bred, you might say-or perhaps just more ambitious.” (Chapter 3, page 56, TFE). After Clubs leaves in a huff, Yeden exclaims that he has to be dealt with, and Kelsier shuts him down.

“You’re just going to let him go?” “…I don’t work that way, Yeden. I invited Clubs where I outlined a dangerous plan-one some people might even call stupid. I’m not going to have him assassinated because he decided it was too dangerous. If you do things like that, pretty soon nobody will come listen to your plans in the first place.” (chapter 4, page 80, TFE).

Clubs, upon his return, remarks he’s heard that Kelsier would never use emotional allomancy to sway someone to his side. “You’re a smoker Clubs. He couldn’t do much to you, not if you didn’t want him too.” “I don’t like Soothers…Men like that…well you can’t trust you aren’t being manipulated when they are around. Copper or no copper.” “I wouldn’t rely on something like that to get your loyalty.” “So I’ve heard.” (Chapter 5, page 87, TFE).

If we mark his thieving and conning as a pattern in this trope, we also have to mark it against Doxson, Hammond, Breeze, Vin, and Clubs, not to mention hundreds of other Skaa and half-skaa that are just trying to live. Thus, this particular criterion is being ignored due to the outstanding circumstances of the Final Empire and how it was run.

Deceitfulness for Profit or Pleasure

“And the third…well, that was Kelsier’s favorite. It involved a tongue coated with zinc. Instead of a knife it used confusion, and instead of prowling it worked in the open.” (SH)

As a con-artist and thief, Kelsier throughly enjoys his trade. He made it a mission in life to con his way to the top of the thieving world, becoming the most “Infamous crewleader in Luthadel” (Chapter 5, page 89, TFE). He loved terrifying the Ire out of their possessions and the orb of Investiture. The man enjoys his profession in life; he didn’t fall into it out of necessity or trick. He even states, in narration of his own in the Eleventh Metal, that when he Snapped as a Mistborn, he immediately gravitated towards Zinc and Brass, as they could “manipulate other people’s emotions.” (Eleventh Metal, page 159). “We’re thieves, gentlemen- and we’re extraordinarily good ones. We can rob the unrobbable and fool the unfoolable…” (Chapter 4, page 75, TFE). That being said, he doesn’t lie to his crewmembers. (Ghostblood’s are a bit different, and I’ll get to that later.) He is upfront and honest with his crew members, never expecting them to go into something without all the information. He has never used emotional allomancy to manipulate his friends. “Despite what Breeze says, it’s bad manners to use emotional Allomancy on your friends.” (Chapter 11, page 212, TFE).

His dealings with the Ghostbloods get a little trickier. I do not think lying to them about having powers has anything to do with profit or pleasure, more, it has to do with his position and what he is. A little mystery aids his position, and I’m sure those closest to him know quite well he lacks powers.

To sum it up, Kelsier does meet this criterion. He enjoys the con, lives for it.

Impulsivity with a Failure to Plan Ahead

“Oh hell,” Kelsier said. “There’s actually a God?”“Yes.”Kelsier decked him. (SH) Impulsiveness, in regards to ASPD, is described as someone who is not only impulsive, but also fails to plan ahead. To quote the exact text. “Impulsivity with a failure to plan ahead.” They lack any way of preparing for large tasks or what they are going to do in the future. In regards to Kelsier, he can certainly be impulsive. Heat of the moment decisions is one of his major strengths, along with one of his major flaws. He’s fond of brash decisions against those he deems slighted him or others (Punching Leras/Ruin in Secret History.) He will jump headlong into danger in order to save those in helpless situations. (Running to save the army, only to be stopped by Vin.) His foray into Kredik Shaw could be called impulsive, though I read it as him believing that since he didn’t plan at all, there was no way he could be betrayed, as had happened last time. Him taking Vin was certainly a foolish choice, though I wouldn’t call it impulsive.

Speaking of his impulsiveness, other characters are aware of it as well. Vin, inspecting the crates that will be shipped to the caves, says that “Even the new, more responsible Kelsier was an impulsive man.” upon learning he planned to go to the caves with Yeden to inspect the army. (Chapter 20, page 331, TFE).

His slaughter of the noblemen and women in the town of Longsfellow after they murdered a young girl could be seen as impulsive. He did it without regard for their plan, which angered Mare.

That being said, Kelsier does not fit this criteria, despite being an impulsive man, as he does not fail to plan ahead. All of Kelsier’s life as a thief was nothing but planning; job after job, all planned out and discussed with his friends/crewmates.

“It was an unfamiliar experience for him. [faltering/indecision] He’d always had a plan, before. Plans upon plans…” (Eleventh Metal, page 152).

“…all those plans, all of those heists, all of his grand visions.” (Eleventh Metal, page 164).

Beginning in Eleventh Metal, Kelsier forms his plan that we see enacted in The Final Empire. Specifically, this line. “Nobody fights, he thought, Nobody thinks they can fight. But they’re wrong. We can fight…I can fight.” (Eleventh Metal, page 165). “A plan began to bud, a plan he barely dared consider for its audacity. Vengeance. And more.” (Eleventh Metal, Page 169).

This plan carries us into the main narrative of The Final Empire. Every major event, barring a few hiccups, is fully orchestrated by Kelsier. He planned for the House War, long before he sat down with his friends and discussed it in Club’s Shop. The beginnings of it were at Trestings Plantation, where he “stirred up a little trouble.” (Prologue, page 12, TFE).

His death, at the end of the novel, was part of a plan; hidden deep under other sets of plans, a hidden leaf of paper among many: A plan to get the Skaa to rise up.

I doubt I need to fully list all of Kelsier’s planning and plotting throughout the books; it’s extensive and would fill several sheets of paper. While we can all agree that Kelsier is an impulsive man, I believe a suitable picture has been drawn up that proves that he doesn’t fit this particular criteria.

Irritability or Aggressiveness

“He’d been in street brawls before, but not many. He’d tried to avoid them-brawling had been an old habit of Dockson’s. For once, he wished he’d been less refined in that particular area.”

Kelsier’s anger throughout the first novel, and indeed Eleventh Metal, is mostly internal. In Eleventh Metal, he doesn’t lash out at Gemmel, despite the man deserving it. He instead focuses that anger on other, more deserving targets. Through most of the novel, he’s rather numb, incapable of any emotion, until he finds the Skaa, hanging up and nearly flayed from the experiments at Shezler’s hands. He murders Shezler brutally with a shard of glass punched to the throat. (Eleventh Metal, page 167). His actions with Hoid in the Well of Ascension could certainly be touted as aggressive, however I disagree with this line of thinking, for reasons I’ll outline in greater detail later in the essay. (Part 2, Chapter 1, page 231, SH)

“Kelsier kept smiling. He’d do so until it felt natural. Until that numbness, tied in a knot within him, started to unravel and he began to feel again. If that was possible.” (Eleventh Metal, page 149).

“…the only thing he could feel these days was rage, and that rage couldn’t guide him.”

Irritability generally means lashing out at those around you. Kelsier doesn’t do that. He gets his angriest towards ��friends” in the caves, when manipulating Bilg to speak of his doubts. Diction is very important here. Kelsier wanted Bilg to die for speaking against him. (Something that was, unfortunately, very common in military groups in prior eras (of Earth). It was labeled as treason, and execution was the usual punishment.) “Kelsier paused. This man should die, he thought angrily. On the ground, Bilg groaned quiestly. Kelsier could just barely see his twisted arm, its bone shattered by the powerful strike. It was bleeding. No, Kelsier thought. This is enough.” (Chapter 21, Page 351, TFE).

Note that, despite his anger and irritation, he changes his mind quickly. The heat of the moment, the trauma of being back in caverns similar to the ones he was tortured in, the looming threat of their deaths drawing ever closer, got the better of him, and he stoppered it.

Despite Vin disobeying him many, many times, following him, and contradicting him, Kelsier never snaps at her. When he catches her following him to Kredik Shaw, he sits down and speaks to her. Yet more evidence is seen in his speaking with his brother. Marsh gets angry; Marsh snaps; We can’t deny him this. Yet Kelsier, despite his inner monologue saying that Marsh is the only one that can get under his skin, keeps his relative cool.

““Oh?” Marsh asked, tapping the word atium on the board. “Why the games, Kelsier? Why lead Yeden along, pretending to accept him as your ‘employer’? Why act like you care about the skaa? We both know what you’re really after.” Kelsier clenched his jaw, a bit of his humor melting away. He always could do that to me.””(Chapter 7, Page 130, TFE).

During Secret History, though technically before the events of Eleventh Metal and The Final Empire, Kelsier kills seven people in retribution for murdering a girl for spilling tea. He remembers this as he wanders into the town of Longsfollow. You could definitely argue aggression in this case. (Part 4, Chapter 2, page 282, SH).

Kelsier does not fit this criteria. Random acts of aggression spaced throughout a lifetime of traumatic events and death at every corner are to be expected, and throughout it all, he’s a wonderful man to those around him; supportive, charitable, and loyal.

Reckless Disregard for the Safety of Others

“The best practice is doing.” Vin said. “My brother trained me to steal by taking me on burglaries.” Kelsier shook his head. “It’s too dangerous.”

Kelsier is shown to care, deeply, for the safety of those surrounding him. We don’t see much of it in Eleventh Metal, but we can assume, based on him helping the Skaa get out of the city at the end of the novella, that he cared for their safety.

In TFE, he is constantly aware of not only his crew’s safety, but his army’s as well. They walk a very fine line; one that, if broken, would result in their immediate deaths. Multiple lines of safeguards and protections, of smoke and mirrors, goes into making sure there is no chance of betrayal or accidental mis-step.

“...Renoux nodded. Ostensibly we’re sending this all via canal barges to my plantation in the west. However, the barges will stop to drop off supplies–and many of the canalmen–at the rebellion caverns. The barges and a few men will continue on to keep upon appearances.” “Our soldiers don’t even know that Renoux is in on the plan,” Kelsier said, smiling. “They think he’s a nobleman that I’m scamming.” (Chapter 20, page 329, TFE)

The security of his troops, and indeed, all of their heads as well, was paramount. The three guards at the entrances at all times, were stationed to keep everyone in that cavern safe from potential betrayal. After they find Marsh “dead”, Kelsier sends the entire crew to the bolt lair before leaving for the Pits of Hathsin. He also tells them to send for Renoux, to tell him to pull out. This happened after a night of thought; it wasn’t an impulsive act.

Upon the attack on Vin’s former crew…

“Should we move our base?” Ham asked. Kelsier slowly shook his head. “When Clubs came to this lair, he would have worn a disguise to and from the meeting, hiding his limp…We should still be safe. (Abridged, Page 208, 11)

Upon finding Vin tailing him as he observed Camon’s hanging…

“What are you doing here?” “I wanted to see what you were doing!” “This could have been dangerous! What were you thinking?” (Abridged, 211, chapter 11)

Upon Kelsier catching Vin tailing him, beginning a back and forth about Kredick Shaw, and Vin deciding she’ll tail him regardless of what he says, Kelsier reads her thoughts. “I’m serious, Vin! You can’t go with me.” “Why not?” she asked, abandoning pretense. “If what you’re doing is so dangerous, wouldn’t it be safer if you had another Mistborn watching your back?” “You still don’t know all of the metals,” Kelsier said. “Only because you haven’t taught me.” “You need more practice.” “The best practice is doing.” Vin said. “My brother trained me to steal by taking me on burglaries.” Kelsier shook his head. “It’s too dangerous.” (page 241, 13)

Upon Vin awakening from her coma the second time…

“Vin,” Kelsier said hesitantly. “I owe you an apology. I nearly got you killed.” Vin snorted quietly. “It’s not your fault. I made you take me.” “You shouldn’t have been able to make me,” Kelsier said. “My original decision to send you away was the right one. Please accept the apology.” (Page 268, Chapter 16, TFE).

“I don’t want to be responsible for something happening to you, Vin. Not again.” (page 287, Chapter 17, TFE).

Are there instances where he disregards the safety of others? He doesn’t care for noblemen. He certainly doesn’t care much for the Ire, though they were trying to forcibly take his God. Many people may argue he doesn’t care for those on Roshar, but this has never been explicitly mentioned in the novels; we hear from players that are literal lightyears away from Kelsier, operating under his orders but without his oversight: they can bend rules and hurt people without being chastised.

Kelsier does not fit this criteria, as the above examples clearly illustrate he cares deeply for the safety of those under his wing.

Consistent Irresponsibility (Inability to hold a job, etc)

“A successful crewleader needs to know how to divide labor, especially on a job as big as this one.”

Throughout the novels, Kelsier has shown consistent responsibility. Before the novels take place, we know he led a successful crew of thieves to the point of massive wealth and infamy. After the Pits, he takes the downfall of the Final Empire under his wing, organizing and spearheading the entire operation on largely his own dime and merit. (It was a multi-headed approach, yes; without Dockson, many things would not have gotten done as well as they had with him, but this just showcases Kelsier’s ability to organize work well.) If we’re getting into the more psychological definition of responsibility (the feeling of being responsible for a person, place, or thing(s) wellbeing) he takes responsibility for the entire planet in Secret History, going so far as to cheating final death, taking up a shard for safe keeping, and giving it up, all to keep his planet, and those he loves, from Ruin.

Leading the Ghostbloods is similar to him leading his crew, only on a far wider and grander scale.

As for him being consistently irresponsible, it’s safe to say he doesn’t fit this. There are a few times when he makes brash decisions that could be labeled as irresponsible, but they fit being impulsive better, which is a trait we know he has.

Lack of Remorse

“Kelsier stood up, turning his back toward the sight. For all his cleverness, he’d gone and broken the poor girl’s heart. I must be the smartest idiot around, Kelsier thought.”

Probably one of the most contentious topics in the fandom is Kelsier’s feelings towards the nobles he kills. Chapter 5 into the beginning of Chapter 7, we are confronted with how he feels towards the men he kills in pursuit of his goal.

It is very safe to say, he doesn’t feel remorse for these men. It’s explained as he descends from the roof, pushing two guards off the balcony to their deaths. He’s angry, he’s determined, and has no pity for those who hold up the Final Empire, especially if their skaa. He does, however, feel remorse for hurting those he cares about; those he wants to protect. The best example of this is Vin: he feels terrible when she’s nearly killed because of his stunt at Kredick Shaw, he feels bad for how he spoke to her before he died, and he’s stricken by his actions in “killing” Elend in an effort for her to keep the power.

Note the actions at the beginning of this scene: “Kelsier was there when she awoke. He sat on the stool by her bed, hands clasped with his elbows on his knees, watching her by the faint light of a lantern.” (Chapter 16, page 267, TFE) Based on Sanderson’s word choice, it is safe to say he’s been watching her for hours, agonized. This is further cemented by a later observation by Vin. “What did one make of a world where a crewleader agonized over his people?” (Chapter 16, page 269, TFE).

He’s also broken up by how he spoke to the army, leading Yeden to “test” the army by striking against a nearby garrison. The entirety of page 419 showcases Kelsier’s thoughts and emotions about this, but I’ll break it up.

“He sat with hands clasped before him…” Remember when he was watching Vin? Similar behavior. “Kelsier shook his head. So many dead. They’d gathered nearly seven thousand troops before this fiasco, but now most of them lay dead. Yeden had apparently decided to “test” the army by striking at night against the Holstep Garrison. What had led him to such a foolish decision?” “Me, Kelsier thought. This is my fault. He’d promised them supernatural aid. He’d set himself up, had made Yeden a part of the crew, and had talked too casually about doing the impossible. Was it any wonder that Yeden had thought he could attack the Final Empire head on, considering the confidence Kelsier had given him? Was it any wonder the soldiers would go with the man, considering the promises Kelsier had made?” “Now the men were dead, and Kelsier was responsible…But, he couldn’t get over the twisting in his gut…the fact that they’d likely died expecting some sort of divine protection from Kelsier…that was disturbing.”

Kelsier fully feels the weight of hubris here, of the secret plan he’s been working on by himself the past few months, that we get a window into during his time in the caves. He feels terrible for what he caused, he fully understands that this was because of him. Safe to say, he feels remorse. You could say this is the comeuppance for his actions with Bilg.

When witnessing the executions, Kelsier opens up about his remorse, as well.

“I wish to the forgotten gods that those boys hadn’t died. Unfortunately, we can’t change that now—we can only use the opening they gave us.” (Chapter 26, page 439, TFE).

Kelsier does not want remorse; he’s full of it. He knows when to put it aside, however, and not let it flood him. Kelsier does not fit this criteria.

Deep Dives Specific scenes in Mistborn are contentious, especially with Kelsier. I have gotten into many arguments with people whom I feel miss the point of the books, and because they have a grudge on a character, fail to see things from their perspective. Therefore, I’m going to go into these specific scenes, break them down, and lay them flat. Imagine it’s a UV Map of a 3D model; all little edges exposed so we can get a good look!

Kelsier and Bilg: Chapter 20 of TFE

Kelsier’s manipulation of Bilg is a key point in the evidence FOR him to be a psychopath, and I want to point out that while Kelsier had very good reasons for doing what he did, I am by no means saying he was moral in doing it. With that out of the way, let’s discuss WHY Kelsier manipulated Bilg into doing what he did, and the emotions that brought him to this point.

It’s not explained outwardly in the text, but Kelsier has some pretty major PTSD surrounding his time in the pits. He pauses before entering the crack, and uses this moment to impress the men; but inwardly he’s not enjoying having to enter this thin crack in the earth and delve into darkness. We get to hear his inner thoughts, but to all others, he’s putting on an act of confidence and bravado. (Pages 346, 347, 352, 353 of Chapter 21, TFE).

During the first tour of the caves, Kelsier is thinking of Mare, her betrayal, and it gets to be so much he asks Hammond to tell him “what he’s thinking about.” Hammond proceeds to ask him a question that seriously disturbs him.

The question, which was if Skaa are meant to be ruled over by the nobility, stayed with him the rest of the week, along with his darkened mood. He realizes, as he’s eating the feast at the end of his visit, that the skaa don’t really believe they can succeed. They need a symbol, a sign, and Kelsier decides to use himself as that symbol.

The reason he chose Bilg and his friends at the table was to scapegoat them into taking the proverbial L for the army. It was all to use his allomancy to empower Demoux and show them they can and will overpower the Final Empire. The reason BIlg had to die was the keep up appearances; those who question their commanding officers were executed. You can argue we don’t know enough about how a militia is ran in the Final Empire, or that it’s nothing like Earth’s military, but as it’s written by an Earth bound man with Earth bound references, I believe it’s a safe thing to assume. Kelsier, whom we’ve already discussed is an impulsive man, got caught up in the moment: his anger from the week spent cooped up in a cave that reminded of hell overcame him. He truly wanted Bilg to die in that moment. He superseded this thought process, reigned himself in, and let him live.

The morality of his actions here can be discussed, and no, it wasn’t ok to manipulate Bilg and Co’s emotions like that. It wasn’t ok to use them as a scapegoat. But I can sure see how it was necessary for a single man to be sacrificed in order to bolster several thousand.

Hoid in the Well: Secret History

When it comes to this scene, I won’t argue that Kelsier was being extra here. The man has been cooped up in a 5x5 spot for a long time, with no answers and seriously questioning his logic at becoming what he’s become. His only companion is an insane, unraveling god who barely speaks most times he “visits.” So when an actual man comes by, floating on what looks to be a corpse, Kelsier is immediately on edge.

All quotes are taken from pages 228 – 233, of Part 2, Chapter 1, of Secret History.

“ “Who are you?” Kelsier asked, stepping to the edge of his prison, eyes narrowed. “A spirit?” “Alas,” the man said, “death has never really suited me. Bad for the complexion, you see.” He studied Kelsier, lips raised in a knowing smile. Kelsier hated him immediately.” “

Seen from Kelsier’s perspective, this is a man that knows things and is holding back. This is a schemeing, conniving man, that is similar to the nobles he’s dealt with all his life. It doesn’t help that Hoid and Kelsier have similar personalities. Note Hoid’s words, “bad for the complexion.” A similar line is used by Kelsier at the very beginning of TFE.

“Fieldwork hasn’t ever really suited me.” Kelsier said. “It’s far too hard on my delicate skin.” (Prologue, page 6, TFE).

“Got stuck there, did you?” the man said. “In Ati’s prison…” He clicked his tongue. “Fitting recompense, for what you did. Poetic, even.” “What I did?” “Destroying the Pits, O Scarred one. That was the only perpendicularity on this planet with any reasonable ease of access.” Kelsier has no idea what a perpendicularity is. Yes, he destroyed it. Did he know what he was doing on a grand scale? No. He was, to his knowledge, destroying the Empire’s main economic driver. Hoid treats him like a criminal when Kelsier was fighting against an unjust Empire, one that Hoid is very familiar with, having been to Scadrial before. Calling him names doesn’t help.

“Who are you?” Kelsier said. “I?” The man said. “I am a driver. A miscreant. The flame’s last breath, made of smoke at it’s passing.” “That’s…needlessly obtuse.” Well said, Kelsier. Hoid plays games, this we know from dealing with him in Stormlight. However, with Kaladin and Shallan he gives half answers, or none at all, in a playful, non-demeaning way. Here he’s laden with vitriol and spite, for no good reason. It gets worse.

“And you claim to not be dead?” “If I were, would I need this?” the Driver said, knocking his oar against the front of his small loglike vessel. [Kelsier notices Spanky for the first time, not knowing what a cognitive shadow just is yet.] “A corpse,” he whispered. “Oh Spanky here is just a spirit. It’s damnably difficult to get about in this subastral—anyone physical risks slipping through these mists and falling, perhaps forever. So many thoughts pool together here, becoming what you see around, and you need something finer to travel over it all.” “That’s horrible.” “Says the man who built a revolution on the backs of the dead. At least I only need one corpse.” Hoid is being ridiculous here. Yes, Spanky is a cognitive shadow, but as I’ve stated, Kelsier has no idea what that is. To his knowledge, this man is riding a corpse around. Hoid is also forgetting that the people Kelsier murdered were far less than innocent; Kelsier can make distinctions here. A rapist and murderer who regularly abuses his peasants is different from a corpse used to wade down a lake of thoughts.

Kelsier folded his arms. This man was wary—thought he spoke lightheartedly, he watched Kelsier with care, and held back as if contemplating a method of attack.

Note the diction here; Kelsier is reading Hoid’s body language as he should; Hoid is planning to use the well to gain purchase in the spiritual realm and take that bead of Lerasium. He isn’t planning anything wrong per se, but Kelsier has no way of knowing that. All Kelsier sees is a man preparing to attack.

“He wants something, Kelsier guessed. Something that I have, maybe? No, he seemed legitimately surprised that Kelsier was there. He had come here, intending to visit the Well. Perhaps he wanted to enter it, access the power? Or did he, perhaps, just want to have a look at the thing Beyond?”

Wrong guesses, but good ones all the same for an ignorant man. Hoid does want something. So far, Kelsier’s waryness is completely justified. He tries to be polite, asking a simple question. “Well, you’re obviously resourceful,” Kelsier said. “Perhaps you can help me with my predicament.” “Alas,” The Driver said. “Your case is hopeless.” Kelsier felt his heart sink. “Yes, nothing to be done,” the Driver continued. “You are, indeed, stuck with that face. By manifesting those same features on this side, you show that even your soul is resigned to you always looking like one ugly sonofa—" “Bastard!” Kelsier cut in. “You had me for a second.”

Instead of even offering Kelsier a crumb of help, he instead insults him, for…very little reason. Hoid rarely kicks people when they’re down; he instead punches up. We notice this with the Rosharan nobility. He doesn’t insult the peasant waitstaff. Why is he insulting Kelsier? There is no reason to do so; he’s just being an ass to be an ass. Kelsier hasn’t even mouthed off yet.

So far Hoid has treated him like an inferior, insulted him and been “needlessly” obtuse, all while showing suspicious body language. Is it any wonder Kelsier is on edge and ready to defend the Well? He knows it’s for Vin; he means to protect it until she can have it.

The two go back and forth for some time, speaking of Kelsier’s bastard nature, skaa versus nobility, and Hoid applying some (I believe it to be dor, but I’m not sure) glowing stuff to his oar. (in an effort to prevent it from de-manifesting). As they speak, Hoid edges closer to the well. Kelsier has been watching him this entire time.

He begins to ask a question again, despite Hoid’s rudeness. “Is there a way to escape this prison?” Kelsier asked. “How about this?” the Drifter said. “We’ll have an insult battle. Winner gets to ask one question, and the other has to answer truthfull. I’ll start. What’s wet, ugly, and has scars on it’s arms?” Another insult to an innocent question, and now Kelsier is very on edge. He’s obviously deflecting. So Kelsier decides to be as extra as possible in an effort to scare him away. Now, a cognitive shadow would, realistically, be as scary as an earthworm to Hoid if it’s not on Threnody, but Kelsier doesn’t know this. Which is why he brings out his “I’m-going-to-murder-you” routine that goes into lurid detail and leaves Hoid speechless. Kelsier even throws in a shrug.

Hoid then dives for the well, and Kelsier grabs him, determined to disable him, kill him, or just prevent him from doing whatever he wants to do in the well. Which leads to their fight, where Kelsier does zero damage to Hoid and Hoid proceeds to torture him incessantly as a “lesson.” He did not need to go as far as he did. If Hoid had been truthful with who he was, what he was after, and perhaps offered explanations, Kelsier would have been less inclined to act rashly. Instead, Hoid is needlessly obtuse, rude, mocking, condescending and tortures him.

It makes his words at the end of RoW amusing to me, as Hoid cheats in this fight and was the aggressor in every definition of the word. Hoid strikes first by the very fact he jumped for the Well. Kelsier was merely defending it.

“Deal with your own stupid planet, you idiot. Don’t make me come there and slap you around again.” (Chapter 115, page 1238, RoW).

To tie this long, rambling, and somewhat insane essay up, Kelsier is not a psychopath. He fits only one of the criteria, and only somewhat fits another. Since one needs to fit three of the traits in order to be diagnosed, the man is free from ASPD. Through the essay, I have showcased his empathy, his understanding, his patience, his trust, and his love of those around him. Hell, he says as much in Secret History when wandering, his soul cracking from loneliness. He’s a flawed man; he can be arrogant, egotistical, and impulsive, but he wants what is best for his people. No one can deny that.

#kelsier #mistborn #cosmere #mywriting #Essay #The Final Empire #Secret History #Eleventh Metal #Brandon Sanderson #Marsh #Vin #ASPD #DSM-V #academic essay #long post

82 notes · View notes