#but those that were intended to be exaggerated for comedic effect would have the two of them

[youtiaoshutiao]

skate into love || 冰糖炖雪梨 → episode 4 vs episode 16

primary school (giant-sized) li yubing vs university li yubing

青梅竹马： [lit.] green plum and bamboo hobby-horse; refers to the relationship between two children who grew up spending much time with each other. The phrase originates from a line in renowned Tang poet 李白 Li Bai's poem "长干行 (Ballad of Changgan)", written from the perspective of a girl who married a river merchant whom she played together with since young. The line in question is:

郎骑竹马来，绕床弄青梅。 You came riding on your bamboo hobby-horse, we went round the wall of the well, tossing green plums as play.

[retconjuration]

elaborate on autistic lanque pls 🤲

oh, don’t mind if i do. before i begin:

this contains some major spoilers for hiveswap: act 2, and some minor spoilers for lanque’s friendsim routes(but those have been out for like three years).

disclaimer: i don’t care if you disagree, i’m not claiming this as canon, i am autistic and projecting.

now that that’s out of the way.

point one: possibly the most important thing to note is that lanque is incredibly good at masking. given this quote from his wiki:

“Lanque's writer has stated that both of his Friendsim routes are heavily exaggerated for comedic purposes, with one being more true to his actual personality. As shown by his attitude in Hiveswap: Act 2, it's heavily implied his NSFW route is the truer one. However, this leaves his personality to be drawn from his Friendsim routes to be dubious for readers to interpret what the actual "balance" of his personality is.”

the actual tweet has been deleted, but one of the assumptions that can be made from this is that both the sfw and nsfw routes are, in some way, true to his personality. this would mean that he is actively and drastically changing the way he interacts with the people around him according to the setting, or through imitation. effectively this would make him a social chameleon, another thing often attributed to autistic masking.

and the idea of constant masking fits, given his whole Thing- he’s already being set apart from all the other jades by his transness, and from how he acts in act 2(this will be mentioned later), he doesn’t quite enjoy this difference being pointed out. it would make sense that, given the opportunity to hide something that would lead to more attention(maybe more accurately, attention he doesn’t like), he would take it. this being said, i don’t think lanque sees his transness or unchecked neurodivergence as a bad thing- rather, he sees how other people treat him for it as annoying and something to avoid.

point two: lanque seems to have a very strange range of emotions. while he usually presents as very calm, when he does express true emotion(like when he’s caught off guard by the reader shouting for bronya), its often overstated, and in some cases, a total non sequitur from what came before. the way he reacts in the valid ending scene specifically reminds me of times when i have been startled out of masking- especially since he goes from formal prose straight to “what the fuck, dude?”

the only time he expresses emotions neurotypically is when he’s doing it through another medium(his poetry in the sfw route).

point three: lanque repeatedly is shown to not be the best at conveying or reading tone.

at the start of his sfw route, lynera ends up rambling on about something or other. it’s immensely awkward.

lanque doesn’t register it as such, and while this could just be attributed to sfw lanque’s overexaggerated kindness, i raise you: i’m building a case here, let me twist my evidence.

in his nsfw route, we have some gems such as:

lanque is shown to use a tone entirely unfitting of the words that he’s saying, and its specified that this demeanor is nearly indistinguishable from how he was acting before. could this just be an example of professional bitching? yes. play on my court for a second, though

and perhaps my favorite example of lanque totally misreading tone/a situation in general(which is both the aforementioned act 2 scene AND an example of his abnormal reactions to things) is the scene where joey asks lanque about the hatched2dance magazine from lynera’s locker. immediately, he (incorrectly, and without much reason except prior experience) assumes that joey’s intention was to harangue him about being a male jadeblood.

after joey specifies what she meant, he refuses to respond until xefros tries to actually ask him about being a male jadeblood, and lanque tells them to fuck off. personally i think this is as close to embarrassment as lanque will willingly show in public

point four: lanque is Painfully straightforward. this is obvious in the everything about him, but best summed up with:

lanque sees no use in not just saying what he means, which often leads to him being(often rightfully) seen as a bitch. again, it’s hard to say things for certain with what little content there is, but i wouldn’t be surprised if some of the things he says- for instance certain parts of his calling out lynera(mostly the parts about her talking shit, not the parts where he’s outright insulting her) were just intended as honesty, rather than animosity. this is a common trait in autism, but i see a lot of neurotypicals look over it because it’s seen as rudeness. ultimately he still uses that honesty to be a bitch on purpose on several occasions, so don’t take this as me saying he’s free of flaws or whatever

another thing i like to point out, though admittedly it’s much more of a stretch, is this bit where lanque has to ask for specification when joey uses a less direct method of asking him what he thinks of the other jades:

take that as you will

point five: mildly connected to point four, lanque shows possibly one of the most out-there forms of rejection when it comes to social norms. he’s able to skate by in the wider lens of alternia because people of most castes participate in shitty parties, but doing it as a jadeblood gives it an entirely different context.

he also(and this is maybe half speculation, but let me be) seems to have issues sticking with quadrants as a rigid construct. when bronya says this to lanque:

many people took it as evidence that lanque was abusive to his partners. and if people want to hold that headcanon, i really don’t care, because it can be an accurate reading of how he is presented in the nsfw route specifically. my personal opinion, however, given that his personality is said to be exaggerated in these routes, is guided by this section from his sfw route’s poem:

i believe that lanque is just extremely prone to vacillation, because he doesn’t truly grasp why quadrants are divided in the way that they are, only that others “press” him to do the dividing. thats autistic attitudes towards social constructs baby

point six(and here’s where the trial spoilers come in): lanque has a very unusual way of solving problems, apparently. when confronted with the issue of his impending ordeals and the idea of having to spend his life as a celibate space nun, lanque’s solution is.... to attempt to join a boy band, using the chaos of the trial(that He caused by stealing the book) as his cover. when joey presents this theory to tyzias(a theory that lanque confirms is more or less correct before chucking joey off of the train), she responds with:

meaning that not only are his problem solving skills out of the box to joey, but to other trolls as well.

there’s also something to be said about how little he values personal space, but i’m wary of claiming that as an autistic trait of his, and if it is, he is very purposefully weaponizing it.

oh, and point seven: i’m autistic and i want him to be

thanks for reading

[yurimother]

LGBTQ Manga Review – ‘Eve and Eve’

Reviewing an anthology presents unique challenges. Each story must be considered as a standalone piece able to present a cohesive and engaging narrative (or not) by itself. However, being bound together intrinsically adds something greater to the works. They are no longer independent pieces but contribute to the book as a whole. I will admit this is the first time I have had the pleasure of reviewing an anthology but given the current trend of Yuri anthologies in Japan, and with the many English adaptations looming on the horizon, I figured I best get used to the prospect.

Eve and Eve is a mature Yuri manga anthology featuring six stories by Nagashiro Rouge. When I say mature, I mean it! the stories contain explicit (although not pornographic) depictions of intercourse. Two of the stories were originally published in Yuri Ninshin, a hentai publication, all explicit genitalia or nipples were edited out in re-printings in Japan. These edited editions are the ones which appear in Seven Seas’ Eve and Eve. Given these alterations, Eve and Eve is actually one of the few Yuri works in English I classify as an adult piece containing sex that is not pornographic, a classification I rarely make outside of visual novels, such as Kindred Spirits on the Roof. However, as this review does discuss the explicate content in the manga I am warning that you should read the following at your own discretion.

Now that the long-winded introduction is finished, let’s go over the universal aspects of Eve and Eve before I break down each of the six stories. Nagashiro’s artwork is clean and detailed. With each panel being full of detail except in a few circumstances to accentuate a character, object, speech bubble or interaction when white space is used. Their character designs are extremely impressive, with almost every character having a distinctly different hairstyle, face, and body type that mesh properly and make each individual feel distinctive. This is especially important for an anthology, as the short stories leave little room for individual personalities, so a lot of what has to be memorable is the design.

On the note of the characters, none of them are extremely complicated, often only having one distinctive personality trait. However, this lack of sophistication is to be expected and helps cut down on needless fluff. None of the personalities or dynamics between the characters feel overused or played out. Instead, they compliment the story well and allow for engaging short narratives. An example of this is Eko, in the second story, whose timid nature is the main conflict of her romance.

The content of the stories varies but there are shared elements. Half of them are science fiction stories with elements of aliens, robots, artificial intelligence, and the apocalypse. Additionally, unlike many of Yuri titles, those presented here are about adults (save one exception) who have consensual sexual encounters. Many of the pairings in Eve and Eve are women in relationship with each other that have a life together, which is tragically rare in this genre.

As previously mentioned, Eve and Eve has more than a few moments of intercourse. While these are certainly lewd, I did not find them disgusting as I do with so many instances of sex in Yuri. Part of this may be due to the omission of genitalia but mostly it is in the way sex functions in each story and how it is depicted. I will examine the former aspect later, but in the depiction, the intercourse itself, it is universally well done. While it is explicit and salacious, the sex does not contain gross moments of overly exaggerated orgasms or uncomfortably manipulated breasts. It feels mature and thoughtful, at least most of the time, something I greatly appreciate.

Finally, I need to talk about the “Summary of Stories” page that appears at the end of the book. This glorious spread gives me precious information about each of the six stories including when and where they were originally published. Alongside each story is a blurb from Nagashiro Rouge describing each story and their thoughts on it. I subscribe to Barthes’ “Death of the Author,” so I usually care little about the creator or their intent when evaluating a text. This belief is especially useful as an English teacher; that’s right, we know Fitzgerald may not have intended to put that much symbolism into The Great Gatsby, we just do not care! But I am also a hypocrite so I will on occasion use Nagashiro’s summaries to contribute to my thoughts and arguments about each story.

The first story, I Want to Leave Behind a Miraculous Love is about Sayu and Nika, the last two survivors of the apocalypse. They do not speak the same language, with Nika’s limited dialogue being written in Russian (only a few lines, even if you do read Russian it adds almost nothing to the story). Despite this difficulty, the two of them grow incredibly close and eventually become lovers. Through narration and effective visual storytelling, this story actually does an effective job of communicating how close the two are and how they care for each other despite the women's’ inability to talk to each other. This is seen in scenes where the two wander the dilapidated remains of a city and during their sex.

The intercourse here is the best that Eve and Eve has to offer, both in is salaciousness and the deeper meaning. The sex is a physical expression of their love and the way in which the two can communicate their feelings and devotion to each other. It is more than two characters smashing into each other to achieve climax, but an act that physically confirms their love. I applaud this depiction.

I Want to Leave Behind a Miraculous Love, is one of the stories originally published in Yuri Ninshin. To remind you, this is a hentai work and thus contains a lot of sex (although again, this is the edited version). It is also worth mentioning that “Ninshin” translates to pregnancy, Yuri Ninshin is a fetish work about pregnancies occurring between women. I will admit, I LOVE stories about women having and raising kids together, typically not biological kids, although I have done some quack reporting on the real world possibility (something I am in no way qualified to talk about. However, pregnancy fetishizing is absolutely not my things. It is easy for most people to dismiss this story because of its inclusion. I, however, will take a different approach.

Sayu repeatedly mentions her worries about one of them ending up alone if the other were to die. The pregnancy produced by magical science shenanigans produces children to keep them company in the isolation as survivors of the apocalypse. They are physical results of their love which shall endure beyond either of their lifespans, demonstrating the strength of Nika and Sayu’s devotion to each other. Additionally, they are a symbol of life returning after the tragedy of the apocalypse. The final panel of the story depicts life in both their children and returned plant-life surrounding the two female figures, mothers to the new human race, Eve and Eve.

The second story, The Case of Eko and Lisa, is about an artist, Eko, and Lisa, a sexbot that she uses to pose for drawings (but not for her intended purpose). Lisa malfunctions and begins to develop feelings for Eko, who spurs her advances.

The two characters struggle to confess their actual feelings for each other because of Eko’s anxieties about their possible relationship. During the climax of the story she reveals the source of her trepidation in a very human moment, she is scared that if they were to have sex she would be disappointing or that things between the two might change. It is a fear that many people in the real world have and Nagashiro is able to use it so well in this story, complete with some of the best art in this book. Equally as incredible is the response of Lisa, “just be honest with yourself and love me however you like.”

The relationship between Eko and Lisa is easily the best in the volume. Each of them struggles because of Eko’s anxiety around their relationship and trying to figure out how to best express their feelings. The resolution to their conflict is also one of the sweetest and healthiest things I have seen out of a Yuri relationship.

The third story is Top or Bottom? The Showdown! As the title suggests this story is comedic. It begins with a group of female students arguing about which of them is a “top” or a “bottom.” All the girls agree that protagonist Anzu is a bottom because of her small stature, something which she is outraged by. Anzu enters into a contest with the tall but passive Emi to decide who would be the better top. Hilarity and some (non-lewd) service occur.

I am on record as not easily crying but I am an easy laugh and Top or Bottom had me rolling in whatever the homosexual equivalent of “the aisles” is. The premise is ridiculous, as it should be which leads to some great jokes. The side plot of the girls “shipping” their male classmates together also ends up with one of the best twist punchlines I have read in a long time.

While it is easy to enjoy this story given what is presented in the book, it also invites some deeper analysis. Nagashiro plays with the expectation of the assertive and submissive, bottom and top, roles that often define relationships. The comedy comes from the characters struggles to fit into these defined roles, each possessing one of the traits of a “bottom” Anzu’s small size and Emi’s passive nature. Anzu eventually says, “deciding [roles] like that doesn’t feel right.” It becomes evident that deciding who should be the top or bottom is not something that needs deciding before a relationship begins but something more fluid which, if they are formed, are done so during the relationship.

While I thoroughly enjoyed the first half of the book that amusement ceases with the fourth story, An Infidelity Revisited. Two women, Azusa and Midori, who are former classmates run into each other on the street and cheat on their girlfriends with each other. When Midori suggests that they break up with their partners Azusa declines saying the only reason the sex between them is so good is because they are cheating. The two women begin to leave but stop walking away at the last second.

I really did not like this story for numerous reasons. First, cheating is such a lazy and problematic way to make sex feel scandalous and exciting. Secondly, because the characters never face any repercussions or consequences as part of their infidelity that we see. This could make for an engaging narrative if done properly and in a longer format. As it is, all the reader sees is their cheating, no fallout, no resolution, and no redemption. Some stories are able to present such a small window into the lives of characters without these aspects but An Infidelity Revisited does not have the literary chops to pull off such a narrative.

Nagashiro wrote that “I hope I was able to convey that way in which logic eludes us even as adults, and the incredible impact that our feelings can have on us.” While the mangaka succeeds with that first point, the total lack of logic, they utterly fail to deliver on the impact. The only effect that this story has on me is leaving me mildly exasperated and bitter. As I previously said, there may be an engaging, albeit unhealthy, narrative here but begins so incomplete robs it of the chance to deliver.

Continuing with the theme of stories I did not like is Heir to the Curse. This is a second Yuri pregnancy story and the third to feature explicit sex following I want to Leave Behind a Miraculous Love and An infidelity Revisited. However, while the first story is a tale of love and eternity between two women this one is far more manipulative and disgusting. The beginning and ending are both fine, a girl is cursed because she is born from two mothers and can only reproduce women and she ends up living happily with another woman.

It is the middle that I take issue with. The cursed girl, Ichika, forces herself onto her childhood friend Yui to implant her child. This is so absurd that I almost threw the book across the room, the only reason I did not was that I had an ebook which I was reading on a very expensive laptop. Moreover, this assault feels so out of place with the rest of the anthology which features (mostly) thoughtful and wholesome depiction of same-sex relationship where women have consensual and mutually pleasurable intercourse.

Sure, eventually Yui realizes that she loves Ichika and wants to be with her but this epiphany coming immediately after an assault is a whole other can of worms that I do not want to eat because they are freaking worms. Ichika displays some remorse and it becomes clear that she is doing what she has been raised and abused to know how to do. In the end, Yui “saves” her and brings her away from the village that labels the woman as cursed. I actually like this part, but I wish the action she had taken against her friend was not assault. Even a pained but consensual sexual encounter would have been preferable. Ultimately what I can say is “cool story, still rape”.

Nagashiro wrote that this as “a story about friendship and love.” I call horse dung on this description. If you only read the beginning and ending sure, but when you include blatant assault in the middle of the story that becomes a central element to the story which again, because of the short nature of the story, was not properly addressed.

The anthology ends with Eternity 1 and 2: Eve and Eve. This is the only work by Nagashiro Rouge I had read before this, having browsed the issue of Comic Yuri Hime it was published in, and it is easily my favorite story in the book.

In this tale, two lovers, Eternity 1 and 2, have their brains put into satellites and to act as the watchdogs of humanity. The artwork and symbolism are stunning! By itself, this chapter would easily earn a nine or ten rating from me in that department. One standout moment is in the opening pages, a display of the two women sitting in wedding dresses about to undergo the operation with a wedding officiant standing behind them. This scene replicates the themes of legacy and eternity in love seen in I Want to Leave Behind a Miraculous Love but furthers them even more.

The women, torn from their flesh live together only as minds and spirits. While this story is devoid of sexual intimacy between the two the emotional connection of having their minds work as one is so strong and transient. I will not spoil the stories climax but the actions of the women to display and finalize their love are so intimate and powerful that I was blown away. Nagashiro also does a great job of tying in the other science fiction stories, chapters one and two, to Eternity 1 and 2: Eve and Eve making these three works feel like one continuous world, an excellent shared world anthology.

Eve and Eve has its ups and downs. While many of the stories are spectacular they are bogged down by a few inferior ones. However, I did not outright hate any of the stories and find myself earning for continuations of the inadequate ones so that their potential could be realized. If you are willing to overlook a few questionable chapters Eve and Eve is a wonderful and salacious Yuri anthology with surprising depth and humanity. I definitely recommend that older readers give it a look.

Ratings: Story – 7 Characters – 5 Art – 9 LGBTQ – 9 Lewd – 8 Final – 7

Purchase Eve and Eve from Amazon - https://amzn.to/2WyC2BY digitally and in print

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[reflectionsofacreator]

This one struck me at first for being just. So pretty. The first area you go to has this strange, ethereal like quality, with the particle boxes creating this lovely atmosphere. I kinda wish I knew how to gif things because I want some gifs of these places, they’re so gorgeous. 

This memory deals with Clay willingly being captured and rebranded into Subject 16, a position he’d never escape from. William assures him that their Assassin on the inside, Lucy, will be able to get him out once he’s got the information they need. We also get a look into what Clay’s life was like, being a subject for the Animus project. God, and then we find out that Clay’s been a Subject for over a goddamn year. He went in there on February 1st, 2011, and died August 8th 2012. Fuck. 

When you get to the Animus room, there’s a pit that you have to fall into, instead of the actual machine. The phrase “down the rabbit hole” kept repeating in my mind as Clay fell, and once we’re “in” the Animus, we start to see images on the walls. They’ve been absent in the last 3 memories, but now they come back in force, as a way to say that the character is digging through memories themselves.  

Through Clay, they learned about Ezio Auditore while they were looking for the Apple. You hear various npcs talk about Ezio like we’re back in the ac2 Animus, and it kinda just. Unsettled me for a bit. We know that Clay’s descended from an illegitimate child that Ezio had while Ezio was running around in Venice, so we know that Clay could never access the memories of Ezio with his hands on the Apple. So like... there’s no possible way for Clay to give them what they want, and that’s not his fault. Occasionally we also hear Clay ask for a break, or just a pause, or some answers. He’s not gonna get any. 

Clay: What Apple are you looking for, Vidic? Warren: You really want me to answer that question, Mr. Kaczmarek? If I did, you couldn't reasonably expect to be released at the end of this experiment. Clay: In which river do you throw bodies? Warren: Is that fear I hear in your voice, Subject 16? It should be.

God I wanna get rid of Vidic so bad. 

The Letter you can pick up is from Lucy to Clay, and it implies that he tried to get to know her the same way Desmond did--or would do. 

Clay, Your kind words are appreciated. Work continues on schedule. Vidic is busy dealing with the execs, while I'm running experiments on Subject 15. During drills, focus on getting inside the Animus codebase. I'm already investigating the archives. Don't stress about the operation. I'll protect you once you're in here, I promise. -Lucy

It interests me that Subject 15 was also in Abstergo’s facilities while they were working on Clay as well. I was kinda vaguely under the impression that there was only one Subject at a time? Idk. Then again, we also saw dozens of Animuses--Animi?--in the floor of Abstergo, when Lucy broke Desmond out. 

The letter is also found right when Clay realizes something is wrong, and the Bleeding Effect takes hold -- The last bits of this memory are dedicated to just how monumentally fucked Clay gets, he starts hearing things by multiple voices and languages, the screen gets distorted, and he’s seemingly trapped in a maze of portals. Except they’re the same portals, over and over, and all they do is lead him back into themselves. 

Some of the dialogue you can hear is the Gettysburg Address, meaning that Clay had an ancestor that listened to it. Another is an Italian proverb; “Dai nemici mi guardo io, dagli amici mi guardi Iddio!” which translates to “I can protect myself from my enemies, may God protect me from my friends!" 

The last one gave me pause tho, because it’s the opening line to Les Femmes et le Secret, a fable by Jean de La Fontaine. 

La Fontaine: Rien ne pèse tant qu'un secret.  (Translated): "Nothing weighs on us so heavily as a secret"

Now, the actual fable is ... hm, a bit tongue in cheek? I think? Granted, I’m not familiar with his works at all, but the actual fable is about exaggeration, and how you can’t trust a woman to keep a secret. But also it’s a subversion, because the man takes the place of the “woman” by creating a lie just to have it spread around. I’m kinda wondering at the significance that this has, because while the line is very interesting in the context of Clay and the secrets he has, it’s not something I would have immediately pegged him for. That being said, it’s implied that Clay/his ancestor heard this directly from La Fontaine himself. There’s also two adaptions of this fable into a comedic opera, and a comedy play, which could also be where this is being heard.  There’s also the idea that if it was because of the comedic play, then that brings another layer to the questioning of Clay’s sanity, because the line itself about secrets is supposed to be humorous, just like all the secrets that Clay carries. A sort of irony, if you will. 

This is one of those literary references that makes me wonder just what the intent the devs had behind it -- is it there just for that first line, or did the devs actually intend for the context of the full fable? Maybe they chose it because it’s well known, like how the Gettysburg address is, I dunno if this is a line that’s immediately recognizable. 

Last bit, cause this is getting kinda long. There’s another code fragment you can find, as well as a hidden symbol. Luckily the photo I found has both, so! 

The lights along the bar of the room are actually morse code, which reads  "Beware the dautnhter of the sixth."  It’s supposed to be daughter, but some of the letters aren’t spaced quite right. I’m not sure what it refers to, but my initial thought was Lucy. However, I can’t help but wonder if it’s also a reference to Juno, because in mythology, Juno was the daughter of Saturn, who was one of 6 male titans, and Rhea, one of 6 female titans. Idk if any of that is actually true, but whatever. 

The second bit is the symbol on the pillar -- a circle with a dot inside it, an ancient symbol used to represent the sun. It’s only viewable from a particular angle, which is closer to where Lucy usually stood in ac1. By this point we’re well aware that the sun is the main threat, but I can’t help but wonder if the two messages are supposed to be read together, but if so, how. 

I’m doin a big think

[kurobasu-writings]

i will never be accepting of the demonizing of akashi's mental illness in this fandom.

characters are understandably made into somewhat of a caricature once fandom gets ahold of them, because many people like exaggerating certain parts for comedic effect. and it is funny! it's alright to laugh about posts where akashi Is Absolute and Never Loses. or posts that joke about how he takes everything seriously, because he does and that’s not an exaggeration.

however, i've seen too much content in this fandom where people make bokushi (personality two) out to be some sort of villain while oreshi is a sweet angel who has been taken advantage of. and that is wrong.

pardon me while i go on a bit of a tangent. (a long, long tangent)

let’s start with his mental disorder. other issues such as anxiety and possible depression aside, akashi suffers from dissociative identity disorder (DID). now, i am not an expert in the medical field nor do i intend to be, but i’ve researched this disorder for the express purpose of trying to write akashi correctly. i’ve gathered and tried to analyze information as best as i can. i am a long ways from understanding it completely.

what i do know is that DID is often a result of childhood trauma. formerly known as multiple personality disorder, MPD, it is often seen as a very scary mental affliction because it is constantly, constantly, misrepresented for dramatic “shock” effect in manga and anime as well as american tv.

the thing that everyone has to understand about akashi’s DID, specifically, is that it did not split him into one “good” personality and one “evil” personality.

throughout his entire life, akashi has been put under intense pressure by his father, akashi masaomi, so that he can be raised as a successful heir to the akashi family. those who read the manga, especially, saw that akashi has been working ever since he learned how to read and write. his father immediately began to build him up into a prodigy and a genius.

every time akashi excelled, his father would pile more work upon him. as soon as he was done with one task, he was given two more.

the manga explicitly states that this is a workload that fully grown adults would complain and buckle under. it also states that his “only reprieve” from this workload was his kind and loving mother, shiori.

akashi’s mother passed away when he was in his fifth year of elementary school. that would make him roughly 9 years old. it was around this time that he began to break.

again, the manga explicitly states that masaomi continued to pressure seijuurou, and went on as though shiori had never existed. please refer to this post in regards to masaomi as a character, because @kurokolovesakashi put it better than i ever could (they also made a post about akashi’s DID but i couldn’t find it so)

at this point in akashi’s life, right after he’s lost the one person who actually seemed to love and care for him, is most likely where he began to dissociate

the actual definition for “dissociate” refers to disconnecting. in short,

one part of him was traumatized and found his life too unbearable to handle. this part of him is his “original” personality, who we regard as “oreshi”

there is a second part of akashi’s personality which split off from the first so that he could handle situations that reminded him of trauma or other stresses. this is the second personality. we know him as “bokushi”

in most situations where we see bokushi as the active personality, he really is characterized as violent and evil. he stabs kagami with the scissors, yes, and he threatens to gouge his own eyes out (side note: murasakibara once threatened to gouge someone else’s eyes out).

i believe that he is portrayed this way because fujimaki needed akashi to be a shounen antagonist. as in, dark and ominous. threatening. violent. someone who needed to be taken down, so that we would cheer for kuroko and kagami and seirin.

in truth, bokushi and oreshi have very minimal difference. no one outside of the generation of miracles noticed akashi’s change at all, indicating that they behave exactly the same.

do you know why?

because bokushi was created as a defense mechanism.

a defense mechanism is kind of useless if you know right away that something is different, right?

to people who are very close to akashi, though, the difference can be glaringly obvious. midorima, who was closest to akashi during middle school, noticed immediately. masaomi should have noticed, but he didn’t really give a rat’s ass about his son so long as he continued to succeed.

many of the distinctions that are made between bokushi and oreshi - the heterochromia, pronouns, etc etc - are made as a narrative choice by fujimaki for two reasons. one, he needed the crazy shounen villain. two, we wouldn’t be able to tell the difference if he hadn’t pointed it out to us.

other than the fact that bokushi is more aggressive in pursuing his interests, there is virtually no difference between he and oreshi. oreshi acknowledges in extra game that, as kuroko says, “there is no difference. akashi-kun is akashi-kun.” everything that bokushi did was something that oreshi was equally capable of, but he was too afraid to admit the error of his ways and behaved much in the way fandom did - he told himself that he and bokushi were two different people.

bokushi is not evil. oreshi is not perfect.

akashi is a broken teenage boy who’s been traumatized by his father’s treatment and is simply trying to find a way to function and continue to uphold the stress that is constantly piled on him.

sorry for the rant, i’m just tired of watching people write akashi off as some sort of monster.

[floralseokjin]

A series of hook ups with Kim Seokjin, the college’s biggest fuckboy… 

↳   the index [ #1 the first time ]

pairing; kim seokjin x reader genre/warnings; smut wordcount; 4,999

“What the fuck?” 

Your shock filled the small bedroom before you could stop it. Echoing off the four walls, just as Kim Seokjin’s figure, sat hunched on the single bed, jumped comedically, a suspecting hand shooting out of his pants.  

His eyes followed the sound, wide and startled, but when he saw you, he tried his best to compose himself. Although the flush blooming over his cheeks gave the game away a little. “Ever heard of knocking?” he shot, a little touchy. 

“The door was ajar,” you bit back immediately. His attitude having no effect on you whatsoever. 

“We’re at a party,” he deadpanned, pulling a face. “You could have walked in on anything.” 

Your lips quirked up, now very amused. “Clearly.” 

He immediately turned redder, dropping his gaze. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“And what does it look like?” Because from your point of view, it looked like you’d just walked in on him playing with himself. 

He stuck out his chin, but still didn’t meet your eyes. “I’m not embarrassed.” 

“Getting off with yourself at a party, never seen that before,” you muttered, trying not to laugh. 

Maybe you were being too mean right now. But tonight, was just one of those nights. You wanted to go home and mope, but Yumi had other ideas, so until she was ready to leave too, you just wanted to be alone. This was not being alone. This was being confined in a stranger’s bedroom with the college’s biggest fuckboy. You mean, you could leave at any given moment, but that wasn’t the point… 

“For your information, I was trying to get it down.” 

This time you couldn’t help but burst into laughter. “Why, did you bump into a girl and couldn’t handle it?” 

He scoffed, unamused. “No. Chantelle left me hanging.” 

“She ditched you?!” This just got better and better. You could vaguely place the blonde haired, blue eyed girl. You were sure you shared a class with her. 

“No.” He shut you down instantly, but he was flustered. Mr. Cool and Collected was definitely feeling the heat now. “Her friend needed her help,” he shrugged, and you fought back the urge to add a retort. You were definitely being too mean now. You didn’t know the guy, not really. All you had were your preconceived opinions, so maybe it was best to keep your judgement at bay. 

To your surprise though, he began making conversation. 

“Why are you here then?” Tone casual, you watched him idly, eyes flickering down to his hands as he tried to pull his jeans looser, probably trying to ease the pressure of his problem… This was so weird. You should probably just leave, but the alcohol in your system, however little, made you unwilling to listen. 

“I’m avoiding my ex,” you shrugged, trying to sound calm, even though not ten minutes ago you had been fuming. Why were you telling Seokjin this though…? 

“Any reason?” he asked, sounding casually interested. 

“I just don’t want to see his face,” you snipped. No other reason needed. 

“He’s the one who cheated on you, right?” 

You froze. How did he know that? Up until now, you’d been under the impression that Seokjin had no clue who you were at all. Why would he? You’d never given him an ounce of your attention. But maybe he was more observant than you’d initially thought. Or maybe, just maybe, the entire campus knew your business. 

“He is,” you replied, guard up.  

“His loss,” Seokjin shrugged, and for a moment you were speechless. Maybe you’d gotten him all wrong? Him and his erection, but then, something hit you. He wasn’t being sweet at all, he was scouting. There was no doubt about it. He probably knew every name of every girl in this college’s vicinity. For vagina purposes only, of course. 

“Oh, I see what’s going on here,” you exclaimed, sounding way too happy with yourself. You watched as his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. He was good at playing dumb, you’d give him that. You snorted. “I’m not going to sleep with you.” 

Instantly he looked bemused. “Did I even ask you?”

“Don’t give me that,” you rolled your eyes. He was so predictable. Unsuccessful with one hook up, so he’d try his hand with another. 

He regarded you, thinking hard, before his face relaxed and he leaned back, resting on his palms casually. He smirked slightly. The action should have been infuriating, but it wasn’t. …What was happening? 

“But really though,” he began, pausing for dramatic effect, “there’s nothing like a bigger fuck you than fucking someone else…”

“I’m over it already,” you dismissed, folding your arms across your chest. Which was a bad idea because it emphasised your cleavage. If he thought that line would work, it wouldn’t. You were over your ex, it had been so long now. It just still pissed you off seeing his face. 

Seokjin shrugged, before grinning, a glint in his eyes that told you he was smug by nature. “Then there’s nothing like fucking for some fun. Come on, live a little.” 

 You wanted to scoff at his blatant desperateness, but for some reason you couldn’t. It wasn’t that his charms were working on you. You weren’t that stupid. It was just, well, it had been a while since you’d had sex, and here Seokjin was handing it to you on a plate. If you wanted it. You didn’t do one-night stands. Never had, but maybe that was your problem? Your relationships never worked out, so maybe casual sex was the answer. Or maybe you were a fool. 

He wasn’t your first choice by any means, but he definitely wasn’t your last. Definitely unexpected though… You? Fucking Kim Seokjin? Laughable less than five minutes ago, but now here you were, side-eyeing his crotch… He wasn’t your type of guy, but then what did you know? Your ex was proof of that. So yeah, even if Seokjin’s personality seemed a little on the… repulsive side, he was still super-hot. You were shallow, so what? 

With that in mind, you pushed the door closed behind you, the click sounding off the walls loudly. You turned around and slid the lock across, thankful it was there, but in the process sealing your fate. Spinning on your feet, Seokjin’s eyes were comically wide, his mouth gaping a little as you began to walk towards him. You could tell he hadn’t expected you to accept his offer, and on cue, he swallowed. “Okay, we’re doing this?” 

You didn’t reply, but moved even closer, watching him widen his legs so you could step in between them. His bulge in his jeans looked more visible now. You raised a judgemental eyebrow, teasing him really. “Do I really wanna fuck you though? I suspect you have diseases.”

What was with you tonight? You’d never spoken two words to the guy before. Damn Yumi, for dragging you to this party. 

Seokjin was not offended at all. Instead, he looked hopeful as he told you, “I have a condom in my pocket.” 

You scoffed out a laugh. “You really have no shame, do you?” Somewhere deep down, you were almost impressed. 

“None whatsoever,” he shook his head, but you didn’t miss the way he gulped a little, eyes raking down your body, landing on the hem of your skirt, and his gaze stayed there, burning a hole, as if he was desperate to see what was underneath. 

Something stirred in your lower abdomen. It wasn’t foreign, but it was a misplaced reaction for such a crude action. But like you said, he was hot. You were only human. Even now, as you viewed him with distaste (most of it exaggerated by now), you couldn’t help but admire him; dark hair styled, a little forehead on show, his eyes almost sparkling, and you hated to say it, but pretty. His lips, thick and soft looking, and you just knew they’d feel so good against your –

“Fine,” you let out, louder than you’d intended, and his eyes bounced back to your face, wide and surprised once again. “But this is a onetime thing, and we tell no one about it.”

He rolled his eyes. “What do you take me for? I don’t kiss and tell.” 

“Good. Remember, onetime thing, okay?” 

“Absolutely,” he agreed. “I completely agree.” His eyes followed your body as you kneeled, rounding wide. “Oh, fuck.” 

It was hushed, almost a breath, and you wasted no time, bringing your hands up to his zipper. He stretched his legs even wider. You had no idea why you were on your knees for him, pulling out his dick, when moments prior you’d been imagining him eating you out, but what could you say, you were a people pleaser? Or maybe you were just really curious about the legend that hid in his pants… Footlong subway, that was the rumour. And while not quite, it was definitely massive. 

You almost felt daunted as you freed his cock, not even fully hard yet, but that all changed as soon as you wrapped your hand around the base of him, squeezing slightly as you gawped. He grew stiffer, veins obvious, and you couldn’t. Stop. Looking. Your stomach stirred again, heat beginning to burn between your legs. 

“Big, right?” He smirked down at you, and even though he was right, you wanted to slap away all that arrogance. You wanted to shut him up. 

Your mouth was wetter than usual when you engulfed him. Maybe you’d been salivating and hadn’t noticed? He was hot against your tongue, twitching when you ran the wet muscle along the underside of his cock. He liked that, a grunt catching in his throat as he continued to watch you, momentarily speechless. That was, until you took him deeper. 

“Shit, feels so good,” he half moaned, fingers digging into his clothed thighs, as if he was too afraid to touch you. He wasn’t afraid to give orders though. “Keep going.” 

You didn’t want to be told what to do, especially by him, but the way his voice was all breathy, you couldn’t help but listen, craving more of his reactions. His head fell back when you dragged him from your mouth, strands of saliva coating his dick, the cool air drying it, making him shiver, but his eyes stayed glued to your mouth as you took him again – much deeper, just how he wanted it. 

You couldn’t take him all, but your fist did the rest of the work, running up and down as you suckled back up slowly, teasing him, making sure to keep eye contact. You wanted him to fall apart, if only just for a moment. You wanted him to know you had the upper hand here, if only for a second. And it seemed to work. 

He inhaled sharply. “Fuck, your mouth looks so good stuffed with my cock.” 

Lame dirty talk, but whatever, you had him, beginning to pant, so you resisted the urge to roll your eyes back into your skull. Drawing back, you sucked the tip loudly, watching his face scrunch up in pleasure. Instead of getting deeper again, you parted your mouth and let a dollop of spit fall slowly, dripping down the head of his cock. 

“What the fuck,” he awed, hips jutting up involuntarily, and he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes from you. Ever so slowly, you dropped back down on his length, knees beginning to rub on the wooden floor – but you didn’t seem to care that much. You were having way too much fun watching him lose it. 

“Shit, shit, shitttt,” he groaned, twisting under your hold as you bobbed your head up and down as quick as you could, as if he was trying to get free – as if it was too much for him, too much pleasure. You pulled off, letting his dick go, mild question on your face. 

“Can we have sex too?” He asked, hopeful like some sort of big kid. 

“Of course.” You rolled your eyes and stood up immediately. “I’m not running some fuckboy charity – I want to feel good too.” As if you would choose just to suck his dick. 

“You will,” he nodded, backtracking a little, just to swell his own ego. “I mean, I’ll make you feel so fucking good.” 

He looked immensely excited, failing to keep still as he watched your every move, wondering what you’d do next. Surprisingly, he hadn’t taken things into his own hands yet. You had no idea why. Was he scared of you? You doubted it, but the thought was hilarious enough. 

“I’m not lying on my back for you,” you told him, just to clarify out loud. 

There was no way you were letting Kim Seokjin fuck you in missionary. You’d already decided. You needed all the control you could get because you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing you spread out for him. 

“O-kay,” he said slowly, perplexed for a moment, but he shrugged it off, sitting further up the bed, getting comfy it seemed. “You wanna ride this cock?” He raised an eyebrow, expression and voice lamely cocky now. He reached out, as if to coax you to him. “You might need a little bit of warming up–”

“I’m okay,” you interrupted. You needed this to be over. No one could know you were up here fucking him. Just imaging telling your best friend, sent a shiver up your spine. She wouldn’t let you live it down. Thank God she wasn’t here tonight. 

So, no matter how much you maybe wanted to feel his fingers inside of you, or his…tongue, your pride stopped you. Quickly hooking your hand under your skirt, you grabbed the waistband of your underwear and tugged the material down. One leg, two legs, and then you threw them to the side, gaze meeting Seokjin’s.

“Shit,” he breathed, mouth agape, eyes unable to stop dropping to your crotch, as if he needed to see what was under the skirt. It was a vagina. He didn’t need to be so desperate about it. He’d seen many, you knew that for a fact. 

You tilted your head, waiting for him to take some initiative and reach for that condom he had, but he was just sat there, watching you as if he was mesmerised. You cleared your throat, eyes widening as he finally looked up, forehead wrinkled in confusion. Your gaze travelled to his dick, still out, and still hard, wet with your saliva. 

“Come on,” you prompted. “I don’t have all night.” 

He finally got it, fumbling for his pocket as he tried to find the small foil packet in his wallet. He tore it open just as clumsily, and your own ego started to grow at that. “Are you sure you don’t want me to finger you? Uh, eat you out?” he asked almost awkwardly. “You might not be able to fit–”

“I can handle it,” you interrupted him. Yeah, his dick was big, but you were determined now. You didn’t want to prove him right. He just shrugged, moving to roll the condom on. You couldn’t tear your eyes away, admiring the way his hands wrapped around his cock as he pushed the latex down, locking it in place with a couple of tugs. 

“If you say so,” he muttered, and that just pissed you off. You were a woman on a mission, not bothering to reply as you closed the distance between you. 

You carefully straddled him, knees pressed into the mattress as your skirt bunched up. You knew you were already wet, you could feel it. Like you’d said, it had been a while, and your body was raring to go. Although, taking him in one go was probably a little too ambitious, right? Not that you listened to yourself. 

With a deep breath, you prayed you could prove him wrong. You mean, you might split in half, but that was the price you’d pay just to see that smug smile wiped off his pretty little face. Speaking of Seokjin, he was watching you curiously, eyes bouncing around your body – 

the little bit of cleavage that you had on show, back to your skirt, unfortunately for him, still covering your modesty, and then back to your face, wondering how you were going to pull this off. He hadn’t so much as touched you yet. 

You steeled yourself and gripped his cock in your fist, hearing his breath catch in his throat, but you didn’t give him time to pull himself together. You lined up and plunged. 

“Holy shit–!” he gasped, fingers digging into the bed sheets, his expression overwhelmed that you’d taken him whole. “Where have you been all my life?” he spluttered out. 

You couldn’t reply even if you tried, too busy trying to fight through the burn as your insides squeezed around the sudden intrusion of Seokjin’s massive fucking cock. You tried your best to keep your expression neutral but had to give in and bite down on your lip. Your hands involuntarily squeezed his shoulders (equally as massive as his dick, by the way) and held back a squeak. 

He must have noticed because he sounded quite concerned when he asked you, “Okay?” 

It threw you for a moment, but you made sure to nod. Fuck him and his big dick, you were doing this. Heat rose to your face as you wiggled your hips, getting used to the feeling before braced yourself and started to move, starting slow by grinding on. him. When your walls squeezed him again you heard him groan, and for some reason the noise set you off. 

Eagerly, you lifted your hips, pushing down on his cock, and moaning slightly as you felt the fresh stretch. It was beginning to feel really good as your body relaxed. 

Seokjin watched your every reaction, caching the exact moment you started enjoying yourself. “Good?” he asked, his eyes suddenly darker. 

You didn’t want to nod too keenly, so inside you dipped your chin quickly, letting out a small sound of acknowledgment. Besides, the way you moved your hips gave him the answer he was looking for. You moved faster, hearing yourself begin to squelch around his dick, greedily sucking him back inside each time you pulled away. You slammed down on him hard at one point and he hissed, hands reaching for your hips automatically but at the last second he hesitated. Then you realised… He’d kept his hands to the bed all this time. He really was afraid to touch you. It was cute in a weird way. 

However, finally, he thought fuck it and clamped his (now sweaty) palms around your waist, your shirt rising up, holding you tight as he ever so noticeably began to thrust into you. You were done for, that had you moaning, and he loved it, his own breathy noises of pleasure leaving him too. You leaned forward, still gripping his shoulders, not really wanting to look at him. You had nothing against him, but the idea of looking him in the eyes wasn’t doing it for you. This was just sex after all. 

Pretty good sex, too. It might have been because it had been so long, but at this point you didn’t care. Not when he starting to fuck into you harder, the slapping of your skin pornographic by now, as were your moans that you were trying to keep quiet. 

“Fuck, feels so good,” he managed to say through his panting. “A-are you close?” 

You stopped the snort that threatened to burst out of your nose. He felt good, yes, and he was hitting all the right spots, but it was definitely not going to make you cum any time soon. If at all. What did he think he was? Magic? You needed some clit action if he actually wanted to make you cum. 

“Not really, no,” you admitted, feeling a little awkward for him. 

His movements stalled for a moment, not expecting that answer. How many girls had faked an orgasm for him? You felt sorry for the guy. Then it hit you. What if he was the close one? You were almost impressed. He had the decency to want to get you off too. Yes, the bar was very low… 

“Can I flip you then?” he suggested. Had he forgotten what you’d told him not ten minutes ago? “Please,” he almost begged. Then back to smug, “I’ll make you cum real good like that.” 

You let out a shaky exhale, feeling yourself about to give in. You were getting tired now that you thought about it, and really, did it matter how you did it? You were having sex with him regardless. 

“Fine.” 

Bickering back and forth was a waste of time. 

In the blink of an eye you found yourself on your back, not having time to even think about whose bed this was. Tomorrow you would regret it for sure, but for now it was pretty hard to think straight when you were bouncing against the mattress, Seokjin cheekily pulling up your skirt to reveal the one part of your body he so desperately wanted to see. You let him because his reaction delighted you, the groan slipping from his lips doing things to your insides. His warm hands clasped your hips, fingers grazing your ass, and you jutted your lower body up, teasing him. 

“Fuck, oh fuck,” he murmured, voice breaking at the last word. “So fucking wet, look how pretty it is.” 

You wanted to correct him. It was your vagina, part of your body, not an it, but then you felt his finger graze along your slit and you couldn’t stop the moan that left you. He liked that, repeating, watching eagerly for your reaction before he got impatient and shuffled back, pushing his jeans and boxer shorts lower. With one palm placed against the pillow, he leaned in and wrapped the other around his dick, pushing the head up against your entrance. 

You braced yourself, his knees digging into the mattress as he pushed in, making it squeak a little. This time you took him easily, squeezing like you’d missed him. Beginning to knock his hips into yours powerfully, you couldn’t stop the way you moaned. His name even slipping past your lips as you clapped your hands down on his shoulders. 

“Seokjin…!”

He immediately paused, lifting his head to tilt it to the side. “You know my name?” He sounded puzzled. 

You felt panicked for no reason. Of course you knew his name. Everyone did. Also, what did he take you for? As if you would sleep with him without knowing what he was called! 

“Why are you shocked,” you brushed off, wanting to sound casual, despite the way he was slowly grazing his cock inside of you, pace almost painful. “Fuck. Go faster.” 

He liked that, mouth quirking up. “Gladly.” His face dropped again, which you were happy about. There had been too much eye contact right then. “You want it harder too?” he asked, half panting. 

You moaned in response, feeling him already start to get a little rougher with his thrusts. You weren’t used to how big he was, so gradually each one started to hit you a little too deep. The line between pleasure and pain becoming a little blurred. You nudged his shoulder, voice breathy. “Not too much.” 

He listened immediately, easing up. “Like that?” he asked, making sure. 

You moaned again in response, rolling your hips to meet his. Sex with Seokjin was nothing like you would have imagined. He was so…diligent. Was that the right word? He didn’t seem to only care about himself, which was shocking to you, because you’d had quite a few boyfriends who did. If a guy you didn’t even know wanted to pleasure you, how come your ex never had? 

It hit you then. You were having sex with Kim Seokjin. His (very big) dick was inside of you.

Who would have thought? This night had taken a surprising turn in events… 

And the boy knew how to work what he was blessed with. You were impressed. But there was one thing missing… You needed him to touch you. Both hands were either side of your head by now, as he rutted into you, groaning in your ear, and your need for something extra made you fidget. “Shit, Seokjin. Touch me,” you urged, wriggling under him. 

He lifted his head, gaze finding yours unsurely, but processing your request one hand slowly reached down to glide down your chest. He hovered over your left breast before cupping the soft flesh hidden by your shirt. His groping was light and delicate, fingers grazing across your nipple. He didn’t go any further. No shoving a hand up your shirt to feel your tit for real, and sadly no fingers travelling south, the one spot you wanted him the most. 

How else did he expect to make you cum exactly? 

Impatient, you decided to take matters into your own hands. 

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned, when he followed your hand between your legs. You began to rub at yourself, relief becoming instant. “You’re going to make me cum if you do that.”

You admired his honesty – that, and it was pretty hot. “You better not cum before me,” you warned, watching as his face screwed up above you, trying not to watch your movements but failing miserably. 

God, it was as if he’d never seen a girl touch herself before. Maybe he hadn’t…

He leaned closer, bed groaning, putting his back into each thrust now, but suddenly you felt a sharp pain. 

“Ow, my hair!” you yelped, realising his palm was digging into the strands against the pillow. He turned to look at you, mouth parted, totally out of it. “You’re on my hair.” You spelled it out for him slowly, as if he was stupid, trying to tug away from him. 

He finally realised, pulling back. “Oh shit, sorry!” he apologised, gripping your hip instead. 

It felt good, and you held your breath, concentrating on his thrusts. The pleasure he was giving you and the pleasure you were giving yourself. Somewhere along the way you began watching him, no longer feeling awkward about it. The moans slipping from his throat almost sounded sweet – super pretty actually. And the way his face flushed red, his jaw tense as if he was trying really hard not to cum before you, made you feel funny. 

You were getting turned on by the most random things. It was obvious it had been a while. 

It was working though. Your body began to heat up, your thighs tightening as your clit throbbed under the pads of your fingers. You were – 

“You’re?” he asked, as if on cue, a sigh of relief almost leaving him as you nodded quickly. He groaned your name. “I can feel you squeezing.” 

Hearing him say your name was strange. He obviously knew who you were already, seeing as he knew you’d been cheated on, but still, it was funny to hear it. It was…too intimate. Not that you could piece together your thoughts properly. Not with the way your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks. 

Your whole body tensed up, your insides squeezing around Seokjin’s cock like no tomorrow as you cried out. You hadn’t cum this hard in months, and never with another guy before. You mean, technically you’d given yourself the orgasm, but his dick had definitely helped matters. 

“Fuck,” Seokjin croaked, your release triggering his as his hips stuttered. His whole face scrunched up, his words blurring into one. “I’m gonna—yes-fuck-yes—!” 

You moaned with him, holding onto his hips tightly, getting the most of that dick before it would leave you forever, because no sooner had he finished, he was pulling out and rolling off you. No messing around. He was a pro, go figure. His head landed next to yours, the bed only just big enough to fit you both side by side. 

You made a point of not looking as he tugged the condom off, pulling your nose up in disgust, and instead you got your skirt down, covering yourself up. You stared up at the ceiling, images of the past twenty minutes or so still vivid in your mind. What the fuck. You wanted to burst out laughing, in disbelief at yourself. 

You immediately did when you made accidental eye contact with him. 

“What?” he asked, immediately looking self-conscience. He’d stopped panting by now and was in the process of zipping up his jeans. Something told you a girl had never laughed after having sex with him before. 

“I just can’t believe we did that!”

He visibly relaxed, laughing along quietly, eyes crinkling up. “Yeah, it was sort of unexpected.” There was a beat of silence. He sounded awkward when he asked, “Um, so was it good?” 

That set you off again, and he laughed along awkwardly, not sure what was happening. 

“Yeah, it was good,” you confirmed. “But that’s all the compliments you’re getting.” 

You sat up and he followed. “I wasn’t fishing for compliments,” he insisted. “I was checking to see if you were fine.” 

“Pfft.”

“I was!” 

“Okay, I believe you!”

He grumbled but changed the subject. “Okay, so who’s leaving first?” 

“Me.” You stood up, ignoring how shaky your legs were. You gave him one last look, finding yourself giggling quietly now, remembering something. Were you giddy?! 

“What now?” he sighed, cheeks growing red. 

“Nothing,” you shook your head, before adding quickly, “Your face just looks funny when you cum, that’s all.” 

The most offended sound left his mouth as you practically run off, but you didn’t give him a parting glance, on a mission to get as far away from him as possible. In the most nicest way possible, of course… 

Written 2018. Reworked/Edited 2021.  Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed.  © floralseokjin 2021

[gibelwho]

Marathon #2: Horror

With the successful wrap of the Western Marathon, it is time to turn our attention to the Horror Marathon - and boy, am I nervous about it! I am not a huge Horror fan and tend to avoid these films whenever possible - but that time is over as I dive into Filmspotting’s next marathon, focusing on the Horror genre. I started off this journey through the safest possible route - reading “The Horror Film: An Introduction” by Rick Worland - an academic text of the genre’s history that also traces the societal context that was reflected in and also shaped by the genre. In this introduction, I will touch on the basics of the genre, summarize the history, explore my own experiences with Horror films, and lay out the list of films we will be watching. Here I go - holding my breath in suspense, closing my eyes in terror, and tiptoeing towards the Horror!

To start at the beginning - what defines a Horror film? At the basic core, a Horror film is intended to provoke an emotional response from the viewer - to shock, disgust, scare, and (in the truest essence of the word) to horrify. This is accomplished through the mise-en-scene of the film - the settings, iconography, and also the themes. A vital component of this package is the villain of the piece - the Monster! Whether a grotesque figure featuring heavy makeup or a regular human maniac, the monster is a violation of regular society and true nature; they must be fearsome and repellent, attacking the normal life of the heroes and seeking to destroy their victims (and oftentimes the domesticity surrounding those protagonists). Early in Horror history, pulling from Gothic trappings, the settings were often sites where monsters would credibly dwell - a decaying haunted house where ghosts still reside, a scientist’s lab where experiments go wrong, or creepy cemeteries where the dead rise to pursue the living. Later on, the settings expanded into “normal society” locations - a small-time hotel, the suburban house, or other teenage hangout spots. The iconography that goes along with these settings are hallmarks of nightmares - the overwhelming shadows, an offscreen terror that is creeping closer, the victims intense scream or look of dread. The early era of Horror featured monsters that were external threats to society and the institutions (church, police, state) were all helpful to the protagonists, who were characters worthy of saving. Once the turbulent 1960s gripped the United States and Hollywood as a business and artistic center began to change, the Horror genre transformed as well - the monster could now come from society itself, plots referenced the decay and breakup of the American family, and an overall questioning of normality and tradition was commonplace. Finally, the genre began to direct its films toward a teenage audience, especially attempting to entice potential youthful ticketgoers with stories centered around sex and violence. In contemporary times, the latest development in the genre revolves around how special effects can escalate the production of gore and the enhancement of the grotesque to even higher levels of mayhem. 

Horror films have their roots in Gothic literature and were first popularized in Germany in the 1920s, when the German Expressionism style gained momentum. Films such as The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920) and Nosferatu (1922) established much of the iconography and early themes for the genre. Many of the film directors and artists left Germany, lured by the opportunity to influence Hollywood and it’s take on the genre. Universal in particular specialized in Horror films - an early cycle during the 1920s with films like The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1923) and The Phantom of the Opera (1925), both featuring the first Horror star Lon Chaney. Universal’s second Horror cycle took place in the 1930s, utilizing the talents of Bela Lugosi and Boris Karloff; classic films like Dracula (1931) with Lugosi and Frankenstein (1931) and The Mummy (1932) with Karloff were significant milestones cementing the legitimacy of the genre in popular culture. The genre was less prominent during the WWII years and was overshadowed by Science Fiction during the 1950s (although Roger Corman and Vincent Price both got their start during this time making low-budget teen exploitation Horror films), but made a sharp comeback in the 1960s and into the chaotic Vietnam War era in America. 

Many scholars point to the Alfred Hitchcock film Psycho (1960) as the titular movie in the Horror genre’s shifting viewpoints about the larger society. As noted above, pre-1960s Horror films ended with the destruction of the monster, which brings a sense of closure to the unnatural element it had inflicted upon the characters and society. Once Psycho had established that the villain could be a madman that emerges from society itself and, combined with the turbulent Vietnam and Cold War eras, the institutions once worth preserving were now suspect and even working against the protagonists of Horror films. These themes became even more exaggerated in the 1970s and the rise of the slasher/stalker films (which will be the focus of this Horror Marathon). Filmmakers that grew up as fans of the previous generation of Horror films (and the fan magazines that sprung up in popular culture as well) began making their own versions of the genre in the 1980s and 90s; Steven Spielberg, Brian De Palma, John Carpenter, George Romero, Francis Ford Coppola, Terry Gilliam, and M. Night Shyamalan working with major studios all took their turn at directing Horror films, partnering with makeup artists and special effects masters to heighten the terror. Independent studios also took on the low-budget Horror flick, aimed at the teenage audience, with films like Evil Dead (1981), Scream (1996), and I Know What You Did Last Summer (1997). As the Horror genre entered into the new millennium, the films took on a postmodernist trend - showing awareness of the genre’s history, tropes, and plot conventions - and sometimes even commenting on it for additional screams or for comedic laughs. While the genre has evolved, its core tenant of scaring the bejeezus out of the audience has never strayed from its mission.

Personally, I actively avoid Horror films, whether screening in the theater or watching at home. I have seen exactly zero of these films included in the Marathon and would never have actually pursued them without taking on this challenge. I spent some time reflecting on why I have an aversion to the genre and it comes down to not wanting to actively subject myself to the feeling of fear, which is literally the base intent of Horror. Images of gore (which I usually glimpse through the slits of my fingers covering my eyes) aren’t as terrible for me as the atmospheric suspense; the former I can tell myself is not real and just movie magic - but the monster stalking the woman in the dark or the slow creaking of a door opening or the anticipation of an attack in a rain-soaked alley - these all could be real events!

Over my life, I have watched a few Horror films that have stayed with me. My most vivid memory is watching The Ring (2002) in high school. I went with a group of friends and drove a few of them home. To get back to my house, there was a backroads way that went through wetlands with limited streetlights - so after an extremely suspenseful and scary movie, I drove home through a dark and winding road that was just PERFECT for something creepy to attack me. Thank goodness I made it home ok! Another Horror film that I watched during high school had the opposite of the intended effect - I went to a party where The Exorcist (1973) was screened; chatting with friends, half paying attention to the film, and not truly connecting to the material meant that when the famous head spinning scene happened - laughter rang out amongst all my friends. An entirely different atmosphere surrounded my screening of The Shining (1980) - I was living alone, watching it late at night, and had to pause the movie halfway through and call my Mom to distract me from the growing dread in the pit of my stomach. And my final notable Horror viewing experience was when I began this blog; I watched Nosferatu (1922), one of the original Horror movies filmed in the German Expressionism style. This film was less terrifying and more atmospheric - and I certainly appreciated the filmmaking techniques employed to create the vampires creepy style and tone, despite being so early in film’s history.

I thoroughly enjoyed reading “The Horror Film: An Introduction” because I could enter into the genre through a historical and societal lense, taking an academic approach to an otherwise scary venture. Out of the vast canon of films that have been produced in the genre, this Marathon is only taking a small slice from the 1970s and 80s - primarily looking at the slasher/stalker cycle. It also includes two sequels, so I will be including two additional films as homework to screen before those official entries, although they will not count towards the awards at the conclusion of the Marathon. Here are the films I will be cringing, flinching, and screaming at during Gibelwho Production’s Horror Marathon:

1[a]. Night of the Living Dead (1968), George Romero

1. Dawn of the Dead (1978), George Romero

2. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974), Tobe Hooper

3. Suspiria (1977), Dario Argento

4. Halloween (1978), John Carpenter

5. Re-Animator (1985), Stuart Gordon

6[a]. The Evil Dead (1981), Sam Raimi

6. Evil Dead 2 (1987), Sam Raimi

Watch your back and happy haunting!

[refractionslondon]

The dark, intrinsic humour of W.G.Sebald

Sizewell beach, with mysterious fridge that appeared one day - photo by author

When I first read W.G.Sebald, around 10 or 12 years ago, as a result of reading some review in either the London Review of Books, or was it the New York Review of Books, I forget which and certainly cannot recall which book was under discussion,  I was like many before and since mesmerised by the dreamlike narrative flow, its meandering sentences that wind their way through sub-clauses and conjoin to form paragraphs that offer no natural pause for breath for many pages, its seamless shifts of direction, subject and focus, the aura of melancholy, the obsession with decay and destruction as the only historical constant, the omnipresent references to learning and facts that were often so obscure that verification would have been impossible or at least hard to achieve, even if there had been any point in seeking to ascertain to what extent the author – or was it the narrator, at whatever level, and in that near indistinguishable tone that left one uncertain unless the author constantly reminds us as often is the case who is indeed the narrator at a given point - was indeed imparting knowledge or learning grounded in what might be historically or factually verifiable material, and not least by the somewhat flat monotone of the English language of the translated text that was both natural yet incongruous, given the sad or so to speak dismal quality of so much of the content, and yet which seemed to match the gentle undulations of the ever-eroding Suffolk coastline that is the scene of his pilgrimage in the Rings of Saturn.  Which is still my favourite.

What I had not registered, when I had read his main four works first time round, was any sense of the comic as part of, indeed intrinsic to, Sebald’s armoury.  The books indeed gave the opposite impression – a hypnotic but constantly depressing perspective on the human condition and human history.  But I now smile a lot as I read, in between the melancholy.

In recent months, and in part inspired by my desire to become more fluent (as reader, alas not yet as speaker) in the German language, and in part with an amateur’s interest in the techniques of translation, I have re-read both the Rings of Saturn and Austerlitz, this time in German as well as English, with the two language versions side by side. Or more precisely, around one page at a time in German followed by the same page in English, to see how far I had correctly divined the meaning.  It was a very slow but often inspiring process.  I saw - and also heard, as I read many passages half aloud to myself - how the German language version (which is the original) has a very different rhythm and tone from the English; it is far more expressive, alliterative and even onomatopoeic in the original, which is no criticism of his very fine English translators.  

But above all, I had to read each word and clause closely, often several times, in order to understand the text, and thus gain a far stronger sense of what effect the author was aiming to achieve.  And I have concluded – for all the terrible matters that Sebald recalls and recounts – that interwoven in the whole serious Sebaldian enterprise there is also a mischievous and dark sense of humour, almost always swimming beneath the surface and which from time to time emerges from the depths as evidently comic writing.  

Sebald’s picture of Dunwich empty beach in Rings of Saturn

Or indeed, comic photography.  For can we really believe, to take a random example, that Sebald’s photo (p.155 in the English version) of the North Sea at Dunwich, showing a dull unpeopled shingle beach devoid of interest or aesthetic quality, was chosen for any non-comic purpose?  Dunwich, of course, was a godsend to Sebald’s general narrative of decay and transience; an example of a once-thriving port that has been destroyed and washed away by the forces of time, tide, storm and erosion.  But the photo selected and inserted deliberately exaggerates and ironises the (in reality non-existent) contemporary boring-ness of the remaining hamlet.

Author’s photo of empty Sizewell beach, from which one wife has been ‘disappeared’ 

Now no one can accuse Sebald of not being mischievous (and misleading).  On the very next page we find a picture of the “Eccles Church Tower” standing in the sand, just yards from the sea, which, he tells us, “still stood on Dunwich beach” until about 1890; moreover, “after Eccles Tower had also collapsed, the only Dunwich church that remained was the ruin of All Saints”.  

I had never heard of Eccles Tower at Dunwich, but had assumed Sebald would not have made this up… but Sebald never claimed that he was writing pure documentary or accurate material. And he certainly wasn’t in accurate mode on this occasion.  The Eccles Tower was so named because… it was never in Dunwich but in Eccles-by-the-Sea, 50 miles away on the north-east coast of Sebald’s own home county of Norfolk! The village and church of Eccles did however suffer a similar fate to Dunwich in that, over centuries, it was washed  into the sea. (I learnt all this from a blog by Homo Ludens dated October 2007, though it is written about in more ‘literary’ reviews).

It is inconceivable that Sebald was confused or negligent about the Eccles Tower; since the facts are easily ascertainable by anyone truly interested, he can surely not have been hoping to deceive yet avoid discovery, nor does the insertion add any obvious narrative or other advantage (save maybe to underlines the unreliability of both the narrator and of memory in general).  It seems to me that this is one of many examples of Sebald simply teasing his readers with games, amid his many horrific themes, setting them puzzles if they wish to delve further.

I am sadder (but wiser) to learn that there is no evidence that the train on the branch line from Halesworth to Walberswick was ever in the service of the Chinese Emperor in Beijing, as is proposed by Sebald.  

Photo https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_rail_transport_in_China#/media/File:OpeningDay.jpg 

It is a ‘truth’ that all readers surely yearn to believe, and the link is a literary necessity for Sebald to slide into the tale of imperialist interventions in China in the mid 19th century. Yet the fact that this tale of the Chinese train is pure invention is plain to see, once we realise that Sebald mixes playful post-truth with his more serious intent to recall past sufferings that humans have imposed on each other. He lures us into his false linkage as follows:

“According to local historians, the train that ran on [the branch line] had originally been built for the Emperor of China.  Precisely which emperor had given this commission I have not succeeded in finding out, despite lengthy research; nor have I been able to discover why the order was never delivered or why this diminutive imperial train, which may have been intended to connect the Palace in Peking, then still surrounded by pinewoods, to one of the summer residences, ended up in service on a branch line of the Great Eastern Railway.  The only thing the uncertain sources agree on is that the outlines of the imperial heraldic dragon, complete with a tail and somewhat clouded over by its own breath, could clearly be made out beneath the black paintwork of the carriages, which were used mainly by seaside holidaymakers and travelled at a maximum speed of sixteen miles per hour.”

http://thelostbyway.com/2013/09/w-g-sebalds-southwold.html

In retrospect, I cannot but admire and smile at the references to unnamed “local historians”, to the author’s “lengthy research” - which, alas!, does not help him succeed in finding out more - and to the unspecified “uncertain sources”.

Over the years, I have read many articles and exchanges about Sebald’s writing, but very few comment on the comedic dimension of his work, and those who do sometimes seem uncertain whether the effect is comic despite the author’s intention, or because he was, in the end, an implicitly witty writer, alongside his other qualities.

In her Introduction to “The Emergence of Memory: Conversations with W.G Sebald”, the American writer Lynne Sharon Schwartz emphasizes

“His dreamlike narratives, meandering yet meticulous, echo the lingering state of shock that is our legacy – not only from the wars of recent memory but from the centuries of colonialism that preceded them, indeed, history’s ‘long account of calamities’”.

But she adds,

“In the Rings of Saturn, to my mind Sebald’s best work, his imagination is given free rein and his digressive bent carried to its most extreme – almost comic – reaches.  The swirling paths of thought cast a spell: if the reader is willing to submit, the author’s sensibility will carry him toward ever more tangled and distressing tales of decay, entropy, and destruction.” (My emphasis).

In a brief survey of the various authors’ contributions to her book, Schwartz notes that

“[Tim] Parks, incidentally, is the only writer to mention Sebald’s humor, which glimmers slyly through his pessimism and is often overlooked.”

And Parks himself refers to  Sebald’s “accustomed blend of slyness and grim comedy” and describes how

“All too soon, however, and this is one of the most effective elements of comedy in Sebald’s work, the concrete will become elusive; the narrative momentum is dispersed in a delta as impenetrable as it is fertile.”

For me, and seemingly also for Parks, it is certain that Sebald knowingly wove comedy into his darker narrative meanders; and I am equally confident that many (though not necessarily all) of his factual errors (like the Eccles Tower) were likewise deliberately placed, either as a means of sliding the narrative apparently seamlessly in the direction he wanted next to explore, or simply as a game played with the reader.

Others are less sure whether the use of comedy and the falsified “facts” were deliberate.  Michael Hutchins, in his contribution on Sebald in another collection of essays, “Authentisches Erzählen: Produktion, Narration, Rezeption”, claims that

“It often remains unclear whether Sebald’s faulty statements represent “learned jokes” or the work of a dyslexic scholar.”  

And even the late Jenny Diski seemed uncertain about his comedic intent (or lack thereof).  In an article in 2000 for the London Review of Books, she says:

“After a while this super-sensitised melancholy becomes comic. One’s patience is tried as it is with those tormented heroes of Dostoevsky, if you read them after adolescence. For God’s sake, Raskolnikov, get a hold on yourself, pull yourself together. Sebald’s narrator is for all the world a middle-aged existential wanderer, out of place, out of time, and wallowing in every miserable moment, sizing himself up against other grim, unhappy wanderers: Casanova in prison, Stendhal hopelessly besotted, Kafka tormented about his longings and terror of love in a clinic in Riva. There is comedy in the grim solemnity and it may well not be accidental, because, after all, if life is not appalling, it is absurd.” (My emphasis).

In his book “Understanding W.G.Sebald”, Mark Richard McCulloh sees the frequently satirical elements in Sebald’s writing, and clearly views this as intended by the author: 

“The overriding mood many perceive in Sebald’s work is still the melancholy, the mournful, the autumnal.  If one examines Sebald’s corpus as a whole, however, it becomes apparent that similar appellatives such as “melancholy” and “somber”…are simply too sweeping.  There are satirical elements that emerge in his prose, products of his humor and astute powers of observation..”

Sebald has many critics who perceive only the dark side, and none of the humour which I consider to be the natural counterweight to his pessimism.  Alas, Alan Bennett is one who only sees Sebald hoving to the darkly depressive side:

“Sebald seems to stage manage both the landscape and the weather to suit his (seldom cheerful) mood… ‘Never yet on my many visits […] have I found anyone about.’ The fact is, in Sebald nobody is ever about.  This may be poetic but it seems to me a short-cut to significance.”

Whereas for me, the fact that for the narrator “nobody is ever about” is itself a reflection of the twinkle in Sebald’s authorial eye.

Michael Hofmann likewise fails to see much (well, in fact anything) positive in Sebald.  In an article in Prospect magazine in September 2001, entitled “Sebald’s fog”, he not only dismissed his writing as a whole, but pointedly refers to his lack of humo(u)r:

“But what was even stranger was that Sebald operated without any of the rigmarole or pleasantness of the novel.  The complete absence of humor, charm, grace, touch is startling – as startling as the fact that books written without them could enjoy any sort of success in England…”

And horror of horrors, in her 2003 New York Times review of “On the Natural History of Destruction”, the literary critic Daphne Merkin (1) sees any humour displayed by Sebald as simply being in poor cultural taste:

Needless to say, the colorless, nomadic universe he inhabits, where the pizzerias are dreary and the hotels unwelcoming, offers few flashes of humor except of the most heavy-handed, ironic variety (the eponymous Jacques Austerlitz recalls ordering an ice cream that turned out to be ''a plasterlike substance tasting of potato starch and notable chiefly for the fact that even after more than an hour it did not melt'').

I think this wilfully misses the broader point that in Sebald, the humour is in fact intrinsic to the very relentlessness of his dystopian narrative. Those constantly dreary pizzerias or hotels never fail to make me smile, knowing their type all too well…

It is true that on occasions – though they are not frequent – Sebald unleashes an overt, darkly ironic polemic, directed against some unsuspecting icon of modern life, great or small.  In the Rings of Saturn, his description of the once (but no longer) prosperous and fashionable coastal resort of Lowestoft attracts his most biting prose.  

Victoria Hotel Lowestoft with 1954 price list - including for servants. Photo http://www.oldlowestoft.co.uk/?post_WW2...:Hotel_Victoria_1954

The particular victim is the Victoria Hotel (in the English version, it is called The Albion; could it be the publishers feared a libel suit?) which seems in reality to have been a rather genteel establishment, but this is Sebald’s take on it in the mid 1990s:

I stood for a good time in the empty lobby and wandered through the public rooms, which were completely deserted even now at the height of the season – if one can speak of a season in Lowestoft – before I happened upon a startled young woman who, after hunting pointlessly through the register on the reception desk, handed me a huge room key attached to a wooden pear…. That evening I was the sole guest in the huge dining room, and it was the same startled person who took my order and shortly afterwards brought me a fish that had doubtless lain entombed in the deep-freeze for years.  The breadcrumb armour-plating of the fish had been partly singed by the grill, and the prongs of my fork bent on it.  Indeed it was so difficult to penetrate what eventually proved to be nothing but an empty shell that my plate was a hideous mess once the operation was over.  The tartare sauce that I had had to squeeze out of a plastic sachet was turned grey by the sooty breadcrumbs, and the fish itself, or what feigned to be fish, lay a sorry wreck among the grass-green peas and the remains of soggy chips that gleamed with fat.

(The German language original is even better in its display of contempt for the offering – no attempt here at subtlety!). (see footnote 2)

Or take Sebald’s diatribe against the (then) new Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris… For me, this is again comedic, though not in any way that risks causing laughter.  It is its sheer relentless grumpiness that – as it progresses - induces a smile in the reader, at least in me. The attributed narrator of this passage, Austerlitz, as cited by the principal narrator (who gives us no name but while doubtless resembling is not necessarily identical to Sebald) searching for traces of his father lost (and almost certainly murdered in a death camp) in the war, takes time out in the book to express at some length his utter loathing of the new library.  One feels that Sebald is here hardly bothering to maintain the thin dividing line between himself and the narrator(s) – that he is simply using the opportunity to express his own contempt for the Mitterandian pharaonic building and its Kafkaesque minders; we sense that Sebald himself must have been displaced from the much-loved old Bibliothèque nationale in the rue de Richelieu (which by coincidence is the very same street in which the Paris office of the Conseil des Communes et des Régions de l’Europe (CCRE) was situated when I was its Secretary General…)

“I do not think, said Austerlitz, that many of the old readers go to the new library on the Quai François Mauriac.  In order to reach the Grande Bibliothèque you have to travel through a desolate no-man’s-land in one of those robot-driven Métro trains steered by a ghostly voice, or alternatively you have to catch a bus in the Place Valhubert and then walk along the windswept river bank towards the hideous, outsize building, the monumental dimensions of which were evidently inspired by the late President’s wish to perpetuate his memory whilst, perhaps because it had served this purpose, it was so conceived that it is, as I realized on my first visit, said Austerlitz, both in its outer appearance and inner constitution unwelcoming if not inimical to human beings, and runs counter, on principle, one might say, to the requirements of any true reader.”

Photo via https://ilovearchitecture.wordpress.com/page/2/

And so on and on, not releasing its prey for pages, nor pausing for paragraph breaks:

“When I first stood on the promenade deck of the new Bibliothèque Nationale, said Austerlitz, it took me a little while to find the place where the visitor is carried down on a conveyor belt to what appears to be a basement storey but, in reality, is the ground floor.  This downwards journey, when you have just laboriously ascended to the plateau, struck me as an absolute absurdity, something that must have been devised – I can think of no other explanation, said Austerlitz – on purpose to instil a sense of insecurity and humiliation in the poor readers, especially as it ends in front of a sliding door of makeshift appearance which had a chain across it on the day of my first visit, and where you have to let yourself be searched by semi-uniformed security men.  The floor of the large hall which you then enter is laid with rust-red carpet, on which a few low seats are placed far apart… And of course, Austerlitz continued, you cannot leave the red Sinai hall for the inner citadel of the library without more ado; first you have to put your request at an information point staffed by half a dozen ladies, whereupon, if this request to any degree exceeds the very simplest contingency, you take a number, like a visitor to  a tax office; you then have to wait, often for half an hour or more, until another member of staff calls you into a separate cubicle, as if you were on business of an extremely dubious nature, or at least had to be dealt with away from the public gaze, and here you must say again what it is you have come for and receive the relevant instructions.”

Even quoting these passages at some length fails to give their real feel, since it is precisely their being embedded in the constant unending flow of thoughts and prose that gives (for me) the clear feeling that Sebald is having a kind of malicious fun, a verbal revenge on those who created and now control the new fortress-library and jealously guarded and restricted access to its store of knowledge.  And yet the humour is always embedded in the most serious; the overt purpose of Austerlitz’s research is his quest for a father lost to him, but who was no doubt destined – with assistance from the French authorities - for the Nazi death camp. Thus the comedy, which undoubtedly infuses his prose, is dark indeed.

For my final example of Sebald’s humour, I turn to Vertigo.  Now, Vertigo – like the Rings of Saturn and Austerlitz - can hardly be deemed light relief; to cite Jenny Diski’s LRB review again 

“Sebald’s vertigo is caused by the centrifugal force of uncertainty that pervades everything, including our consolations.”

Nothing evidently humorous there; yet as she later says, “After a while this super-sensitised melancholy becomes comic.”  Her problem, as I have cited above, is that she is not clear whether the intent was humorous, or merely the effect.  But, to take an example from Vertigo (p.103) cited by Tim Parks, can one really doubt that Sebald was quietly joking when he describes the narrator’s reaction to the sight of a beautiful nun and girl in a railway compartment?

“Opposite me sat a Franciscan nun of about thirty or thirty-five and a young girl with a colourful patchwork jacket over her shoulders….The nun was reading her breviary and the girl, no less immersed, was reading a photo story.  Both were consummately beautiful, both very much present yet altogether elsewhere…  I admired the profound seriousness with which each of them turned the pages.  Now the Franciscan nun would turn a page over, now the girl in the colourful jacket, then the girl again and then the Franciscan nun once more. Thus the time passed without my ever being able to exchange a glance with either the one or the other.  I therefore tried to practice a like modesty, and took out Der Beredte Italiener, [“the eloquent Italian”] a handbook published in 1878 in Berne, for all who wish to make speedy and assured progress in colloquial Latin.”

The Eloquent Italian! Yet Parks can only - rather comment,

“Only Sebald, one suspects, would study an out-of-date phrase book while missing the chance to speak to two attractive ladies.”

A page of the alleged phrase-book’s translation is offered us in a picture adjoining this text, with a few words or phrases underlined by someone… in English, these would be ‘all saints’, ‘Carnival’, ‘angel’, ‘sin’, ‘fear’, ‘truth’, ‘lie’ and ‘pain’…

The two females, as the train approaches Milan Central Station, insert bookmark or green ribbon into their respective tomes, and when it arrives “disappear”, leaving the narrator standing on the platform claiming a sense of having been abandoned but still able to pose ludicrously grandiose and meaningless questions, and to  generalise from his own momentary attraction to the duo, to the generalised human yearning to copulate and populate:

“What connection could there be, I then wondered and now wonder again, between those two beautiful female readers and this immense railway terminus which, when it was built in 1932, outdid all other railway stations in Europe; and what relation was there between the so-called monuments of the past and the vague longing, propagated through our bodies, to people the dust-blown expanses and tidal plains of the future.”

Photo of Milano Central Station via https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Skateboarding_at_Central_Station,_Milan.jpg

Here, Sebald has descended into surely conscious self-parody – the questions are meaningless, as he knows, and no answer is given.  All the narrator does is stroll down the platform, and buy himself a map of the city.  A city map which contained on its front, we are told, an image of a labyrinth, and on its back a claim to be “Una guida sicura per l’organizzazione del vostro lavoro” -  “A secure guide for the organisation of your work”.

I cannot finish without citing one eminent source that supports my own view of Sebald:

“[His books] are notable for their curious and wide-ranging mixture of fact (or apparent fact), recollection and fiction, often punctuated by indistinct black-and-white photographs set in evocative counterpoint to the narrative rather than illustrating it directly. His novels are presented as observations and recollections made while travelling around Europe. They also have a dry and mischievous sense of humour.”

The eminent source is of course none other than Wikipedia – and against the last sentence we find the following addition: “citation needed”.  Well, here I am.

Postscript

In reading quite a lot of articles about Sebald and his use (or non-use, or abuse) of humour I was happy – since my blog is named “Refractions”, to find two comments that refer to the Sebald as having a “refracted” view of the world:

“Sebald’s refracted and sometimes alienated views of both his native Germany and his adopted English homeland have had astonishing resonance in the German- and English-speaking worlds.”

Note on Amazon.co.uk page  to W. G. Sebald - A Critical Companion (Literary Conjugations) Paperback – 1 Jul 2004

I was immediately hypnotised by the curious prose style, so flat and ostensibly inconsequential, which describes a kind of meditative interior monologue, not at all the world as it is seen and described by an ordinary person, but a view of the world seen through a glass darkly and refracted through the strange and sometimes uncomfortable imagination of a dyspeptic and exceptionally knowledgeable, middle-aged professor of German literature, whom one presumes has never been married and who decides to take a long and entirely purposeless walk round the shores of East Anglia meditating on aspects of its history and what he sees en route.

Charles Saumarez Smith Review of Austerlitz, The Observer 30 September 2001

Footnotes

(1) I know almost nothing about Ms Daphne Merkin but her review leaves me with a very, very dim view of her sense or sensibility - she says this in the same essay:

Who else but a gloomy, deskbound intellectual would warm to a narrator who chooses as his ''favorite haunt'' the Sailors' Reading Room in Southwold, which is ''almost always deserted but for one or two of the surviving fishermen and seafarers sitting in silence in the armchairs, whiling the hours away''?

Speaking for fellow deskbound gloomsters (not sure about the intellectual bit) I can assure Ms Merkin that the Southwold Sailors’ Reading Room is a wonderful, peaceful place overlooking the sea, in one of England’s favourite (for the middle classes, at least) coastal resorts. 

 Photo of the Sailors’ Reading Room via http://www.geograph.org.uk/photo/2607778

(2) The German passage, concerning the delicious fish and chips:

Dieselbe verschreckte Person ist es auch gewesen, die später in dem großen Speisesaal, in dem ich an jenem Abend als einziger Gast saß, meine Bestellung entgegennham und die mir bald darauf einen gewiß seit Jahren schon in der Kühltruhe vergrabenen Fisch brachte, an dessen paniertem, vom Grill stellenweise versengten Panzer ich dann die Zinken meiner Gabel verborg.  Tatsächlich machte es mir solche Mühe, ins Innere des, wie es sich schließlich zeigte, aus nichts als seiner harten Umwandung bestehenden Gegenstands vorzudringen, daß mein Teller nach dieser Operation einen furchtbaren Anblick bot. Die Sauce Tartare, die ich aus einem Plastiktütchen hatte herausquetschen müssen, war von der rußigen Semmelbröseln gräulich verfärbt, und der Fisch selber, oder das, was ihn vorstellen sollte, lag zur Hälfte zerstört unter den grasgrünen englischen Erbsen und den Überresten der fettig glänzenden Chips.

[podination]

Movement posts

Session target: My target was to improve my level of concentration in lesson as I believe my main setback is my lack of focus. Improving my mental stamina will allow me to be much more productive rehearsing in lesson and when completing written tasks. I believe being able to achieve a high level of general disciple will also greatly increase my chances of succeeding in the industry.

Exercises: In the previous  lesson, we were split into multiple  groups and created a choreography routine that we used to accompany our times table chant. In today's lesson, we edited our routine in order to make the piece more dynamic. We achieved this by adding a use of multiple levels to our choreography to make the piece more visually stimulating as well as minorly changing the group’s formation as to allow smoother transitions. We spent much of the lesson rehearsing this slightly altered version until we were able to perform it with nearly immaculate synchronization.  We also played a version of “What time is it, Mr Wolf?” in which those whose goal it was to reach the “wolf” had to move in a improvised and original style of traveling to reach their goal. We were encouraged to creatively incorporate each other into the movement.  The exercise was recorded and we were tasked with recreating our movements a second time to create a piece out of our initial improvisation.

Strengths: I performed the piece to the best of my ability throughout the lesson. Despite not particularly enjoying the group work, I didn’t allow that to effect my performance. I am relatively proud my creative use body in the “What time is it, Mr Wolf task.

Weaknesses: I found it frustratingly difficult to recite the times tables while accurately performing the routine. In order to perform this piece effectively, I must learn my times tables thoroughly enough as to be able to recite them without the need to consciously remember them while performing. Despite my target revolving around mental disciple, I found myself lacking focus due to my tiredness on this particular day. Also due to my tiredness, I didn’t contribute as many ideas to the group as I usually do.    

Target:

Arrive in lesson more physically ready to rehearse by taking the necessary precautions to prevent me from being as tired as I was this day.

2.  Motivate myself more effectively. I will achieve this by focusing on the challenge involved in work that I don’t necessarily enjoy.

3. Exploit my creative ability and apply it more frequently to my physical movement tasks.

Blog 2

In preparation for today's lesson, each group was tasked with creating a presentation about the play we had chosen to adapt for this project, in our case, it was the 1956 play, ‘Look Back in Anger’ by John Osborne. The play that we chose, I was previously unfamiliar with but after reading it, I agreed with Matt who proposed the use of this play.

We chose this play because the themes of domestic conflict and reconciliation can be creatively explored in a non-verbal fashion, making them excellent subjects for portraying in a physical performance. I also believe that despite the age of the play, the subject matters present in the piece are universal and timeless. The personalities of the characters are also well defined yet nuanced in nature, making them interesting to portray. We decided to choose the first act to use in our piece as it shows the audience the everyday relationship between Alison and Jimmy in more depth than the later chapters. The fact that it runs parallel to the final act, also adds significance to the events that occur in it. The way that the conflict between the characters escalates from the start to the end of this particular act I thought would be interesting to explore.

In the lesson, each group presented their research about the play to the class and performed the first scene of the play to the class. Due to the fact that the level three group was significantly larger than any other group and double the size of the accumulated roles in any given scene, we split the group in half and decided to perform two different versions of the same piece. One of the ways that ours and the other half of our group's version of the scene deviated from each other was the way in which my character of Jimmy was portrayed. In our version of the scene I played Jimmy as merely a callus man with a flippant sense of humour while Matt played Jimmy as aggressive and more advertently cruel. I discovered, upon further research, that many suspect the portrayal of Jimmy’s behavior to be intentionally ambiguous and that he is often portrayed slightly different from director to director depending on their interpretation of the character’s motives.

Strength: I am quite proud of myself and my group's performance from ‘Look back in Anger’  as I believe we did an effective job at portraying the escalating tension that exists in the scene.

I arrived early to rehearse our piece and I was well engaged this lesson. I managed to avoid distractions.

Weaknesses: I could have been slightly more familiar with my lines but I knew them well enough to perform the piece.

My target for this lesson was to perform my assessment piece to the best of my ability.

In this lesson we were given 5-10 minutes warm up time before we performed

First, we got into a circle and a few took turns to stand up in pairs and was tasked with making the other person laugh without making a sound or touching them. I didn’t get a chance to do this but I think it was a good idea for helping to bring some of the more reserved members of the class out of their shell, ready for this highly exaggerated acting style of this project. We was also showed four different styles of silent comedy. Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, Benny Hill and Rowan Atkinson. Out of the three historical examples, Buster Keaton’s style in my opinion, will be most likely to appeal to a modern audiences and Benny Hill’s was the most obsolete. I believe this because, out of the three Keatons was the least exaggerated in style. I think our society’s taste in comedy has become much more subtle in style since silent movies were mainstream.

In this lesson were told that our next assignment was to create a five minute silent movie over the next few weeks which, in small groups we would create independently. The goal of the project was to parody an existing genre of film. I decided to work with Georgie as I think that we collaborate well together. Olivia and Kieran joined us soon after. After we had established our groups, we were tasked with creating a silent,  comedic scene. We decided to create a sketch about the frustration of last minute christmas shopping, The scene consisted of a customer starting to lose his patience while waiting in a busy cue. He arrives at the front only to discover that the customer in front of him purchased the last ipad. The enraged customer causes a scene and aggressively confronts the shop keeper. After a long exchange with the apathetic shopkeeper, the customer is assaulted by the customer behind him for holding up the cue with his antics. The shopkeeper then happily served this customer while the unconscious protagonist lays slouched over the counter, unconscious.  The scene was very quickly devised and therefore was not as well executed as it perhaps could have been, in my opinion.

In this scene, I portrayed the shopkeeper, Georgie portrayed the disgruntled customer, Olivia portrayed the violent customer and Keiren, the satisfied customer that bought the last ipad. The humour in this scene was intended to be derived from three main elements. The first is the visible and escalating frustration of Georgie’s character when he cues impatiently. The second is the juxtaposition between the animated and furious outburst of Georgie’s character and the apathetic and pseudo-sympathetic reaction of my character during the confrontation. The third is the final irony of Georgie’s character being assaulted for the same reason he lost his temper in the first place, impatience and frustration.

I think I did a good job at directing the scene, considering we didn’t have long to devise it.

I think my group did a good job at performing the scene.

For our war movie parody, I devised several concepts for a few unrelated scenes in my spare time. I pitched the ideas to my group and they agreed on these ideas. In preparation for this project, I watched ‘Saving Private Ryan’ to give me ideas about what kind of scenes we could satirize. We arranged to meet on a saturday afternoon and I told the group to gather anything remotely military-like in appearance. Our plan was to then purchase any props that we were lacking and to walk to my local woodland area to record the piece. Due to the fact that we didn’t have any gun props between us, I purchased two toy rifles from a local toy shop.  My first concept consisted of a scene where two pairs of soldiers hide from each other behind two parallel trees. The first pair would throw a grenade into the other's position before, to their surprise, the other soldiers throw the grenade back before it detonates. The reactions of the soldiers at first to the grenade would be of fear and desperation, however, the tension begins to de-escalate after the grenade is thrown between the camps multiple times and so the efforts to get rid of it become increasingly more casual. The scene ends with Kieren's character sacrificing himself by running to and diving on top of the grenade, despite the fact that both him and his comrade were nowhere near it to start with. The scene ends with Georgie’s character observing the sacrifice with comical apathy.

I decided to choose a ‘war-parody’, not only because of the fact that I enjoy war movies but also because creating a slapstick sketch set against the backdrop of a war afforded me the opportunity to incorporate black humour into our sketch. This is because I gravitate towards the genre of ‘dark comedy’, in general. Considering that Dark comedy is a relatively niche film genre, I believe that many of them have been able to achieve one of the primary purposes of art very effectively, which is to be able to manipulate the audience's emotions than any other genre, which is to be able to manipulate the audience's emotions. When films of this genre are well executed, they are often able to evoke two polar-opposite emotions in an audience, amusement and sorrow. Many of my favourite black comedies like ‘In Bruges’ and ‘Trainspotting’ are able to blend these two moods seamlessly. By doing so, they are able to profoundly manipulate the audience's emotions more effectively than films of any other genre. The oxymoronic nature of many great black comedies is what I wished to replicate in my own silent movie.

In this lesson, we were given feedback on what we had created so far. Despite the fact that we had around 5 minutes of usable but unedited footage which we recorded over the course of several hours, we were only able to open the deleted scenes that were under thirty seconds over facebook. We were requested to reshoot our entire piece due to the fact that the costumes we used were deemed by Rachael to be unauthentic. As a group we did not know that the piece was required to be time specific in context to when silent movies were popular. The fact that we were unable to acquire authentic costumes and only had a small groups of actors made sense in the context of this piece, as the conflicting factions are a special forces unit and an terrorist cell. The Inspiration behind the main character’s faction’s costumes (Olivia and I) was the utilitarian uniform of a private contactor, Their body protection is often minimal for mobility purposes and their outfits tend to incorporate civilian apparel to allow them to blend in. The inspiration for the enemy faction’s costumes (Georgie’s and Kieren) was the makeshift look of a terrorist or paramilitary uniform. Rachael’s main complaint, in terms of the costumes was the fact that she wanted authentic world war 2 era costumes to be used.  We then set out to create another piece on the following weekend from scratch and in the meantime, attempt to acquire world war 2 military uniforms. We were unable to get our hands on anything that remotely resembled these uniforms and neither Olivia or Kieren was present for our second filming session so Georgie and I created a secondary silent sketch in the same vein as our first.  The film we created consisted of an enemy soldier stationed in a woods while showing off his guns to the camera. The behavior of this character was a loosey satirizing a scene from the Movie, Taxi Driver.