#how one of the most profound privileges of my life has been being someone with the economic privileged to stay

[rotzaprachim]

When residente said ya no queda casa nadie aquí. Then

[theerurishipper]

Love reading your analysis post. Thought I'd bring one into the table and let you read my thoughts on a certain character.

.................................. Frankly, I never truly regarded Chloe's character, particularly in her capacity as Marinette's "bully" during Season 1, with the seriousness it seemed to attract. While many viewers hold strong negative sentiments toward her character, my exposure to various novels and manga has shown me instances where characters akin/similar to Chloe were portrayed with greater depth and nuance. In these narratives, authors skillfully delved into the character's animosity towards the protagonist, often weaving a compelling backstory that shed light on how resentment stemming from a childhood marked by neglect or abuse could transform an individual into a more morally compromised figure.

Sometimes, these characters underwent substantial development and personal growth, whereas in other cases, they remained stagnant, allowing the main character to recognize and acknowledge this stasis. This literary divergence underscores the difference in storytelling approaches between Thomas Astruc and many of the creators in the manga and novel realms I've encountered. While Chloe's character in "Miraculous Ladybug" might have played a minor antagonistic role the Astruc creator intent appeared to extend no valuable lessons. In doing so, he presented characters like Chloe as just plain evil while the ones I've encountered with authors would rather use their antagonistic and bully characters as cautionary examples, demonstrating the potential consequences of their actions, whether they ultimately experienced redemption or not.

I find it challenging to take the strong animosity towards Chloe seriously, particularly because of Astruc himself and his own hatred for her, as the creator of a children's magical girl cartoon, it's crucial in my opinion to maintain a clear boundary between one's professional role and personal life. The fusion of personal grievances with one's job can only exacerbate anger and resentment, which is counterproductive. I believe that past personal matters, whatever they may be, should not influence the production of a children's show, as these shows have a profound impact on their viewers.

Miraculous Ladybug, being a widely popular series among both children and adults, should have been carefully considered for its messaging. It's perplexing that the show wasn't discontinued earlier, considering the negative messages that the writing team appears to be conveying. The fandom may also share some of the responsibility; perhaps they've had encounters with individuals akin to Chloe in their own lives, which contributes to their strong reactions. Regardless, the show has already garnered a substantial amount of criticism for Chloe's character. Why the fandom continues to perpetuate and even endorse such negativity remains unclear. Furthermore, the fanbase's inclination to label her as psychopathic and devoid of any redemption, in similar way to Marinette's belief that she can never change, is bewildering and raises valid concerns.

When I mentioned that I never perceived Chloe as Marinette's "bully," I understand that this perspective may not be universally shared. To me, Chloe never posed a genuine threat, unlike Lila, whose manipulative nature was far more concerning. Chloe struck me as someone who was all talk and little action, often emphasizing her privileged background by calling out for her father's help.

In an ironic twist, I actually view Chloe as Marinette's rival more than her tormentor. It's intriguing how Marinette and the rest of their class didn't cower in fear of Chloe. Despite her wealth, Chloe seemed to attract little genuine affection from her peers, as most interactions with her revolved around attempts to control or exploit her, or simply to gain something from her. The way even the show's creators seemed to discard her character makes me sympathize with her on a different level.

Perhaps it's a sign of growing older, but I now perceive Chloe as a rather pitiable character. I can't muster any anger towards her, and witnessing the fandom labeling her as "evil" only makes me inclined to challenge such judgments. If this is how they perceive a child, then they might benefit from reconnecting with reality, as this is a rather misguided and stupid perspective on their part.

I suspect what really irks the anti-Chloe faction is that we choose to empathize with her, even though it may not align with their perspective. It's important to clarify that we're not in the business of justifying or excusing her actions or behavior, nor are we hiding behind her parents' shortcomings as a shield for her conduct. Instead, we're highlighting a nuanced aspect that's often overlooked in the fandom.

It's also worth acknowledging that in this fan community, there's a tendency to grant leniency, especially when it comes to Marinette, often attributing her actions to her age of 14. It's somewhat peculiar how this grace isn't uniformly extended to all characters, with Adrien, for instance, being a prime example. That sort of being a hypocrite.

When it comes to Chloe, I can't help but feel a sense of pity—a very human emotion. I believe there might be individuals out there who have experienced something akin to Chloe's situation, or perhaps they've been a little like her in their own past. If the show's creator chose not to redeem her character and allowed her to spiral further, it wouldn't necessarily be a problem, as long as they conveyed her role as a cautionary tale.

Beneath all the layers of her character, Chloe emerges as a profoundly desolate 14-year-old. I may not particularly like her, but recognizing the underlying sadness in her character is something I believe many people can relate to.

What the point of this show exactly? I thought Magical girls shows were to inspire hope. If the protagonist herself deems her to far gone then what the point. I thought a magical girl is one who doesn't lose hope and to inspire characters like Chloe not to damn her.

I'm glad you like my posts!

And as for your analysis, I don't have anything else to add! It's a great analysis of Chloe. I do agree that Chloe's relationship with Marinette is rather vague. If Chloe did bully Marinette, which I'm not denying, then it's played for laughs more than anything, which makes it confusing as to just what their dynamic was like. Chloe is a bully, but her actions are never taken seriously by the narrative, which sends a muddled message when you start to pretend Marinette was deeply mentally scarred by this when you've spent 5 seasons making a joke out of it.

In the series, Marinette has more of a rivalry with Chloe until Seasons 4 and 5 decided to pretend Chloe was some kind of serious threat whose only go to move wasn't yelling for her daddy all the time. In Origins, Marinette seems more disgruntled than actually troubled that Chloe is in her class again, and even snaps back at her when Chloe does that thing with the bubblegum. Chloe is just the mean-girl archetype, someone with whom the main character has a rivalry. And I personally do interpret Marinette and Chloe's dynamic as one where Chloe bullied Marinette and I am really not going to downplay that, but I also see where it can come off differently, considering the show never really portrays Chloe as a significant threat. Clearly there are scenes in certain episodes where Chloe is being a bully which are taken seriously, but a lot of the time they are not. It's just the archetype, it's up to one's own interpretation.

Thank you for your ask!

[smute]

Charlie goes to his crusty bedroom and reads his precious Moby-Dick essay one more time while glugging from a two-liter bottle of bed-Pepsi. We get to hear his favorite part of the essay: “The whale doesn’t have any emotions, he’s just a poor big animal.” As a fat person who has actually read Moby-Dick, even the “boring chapters,” THAT IS NOT WHAT MOBY-DICK IS ABOUT OR WHAT MOBY DICK THE WHALE IS LIKE AT ALL. Obviously we’re supposed to draw some parallel between Moby Dick the actual whale and Charlie the human whale, but, like, why? What shallow fucking bullshit! Can you even map one on top of the other at all? Has anyone ever read Moby-Dick and thought, “wow, what a pathetic loser” about the whale? The ungraspable phantom of life himself???? Thin people don’t think of fat people as powerful and inscrutable phantoms—they’re absolutely positive they can scrute everything about us, our “everything” being CHEESY BUGLES! Hence this movie!!!!! Don’t talk about my favorite book, DARREN. I don’t come to your house and explain The Mystery Method wrong! Anyway, then Charlie uses his cursed rusty mobility aids to turn out the light and go to sleep. Spooky!

[...] How do fat suits work? Does Brendan Fraser have to wear individual little sausage tubes on each finger? I can’t stop thinking about how many awards the visual effects people (or whatever department makes fat suits) are going to win for this. It’s like if I got a Nobel Prize for drawing a mean picture of your grandma. Also, for the record, I know the fat suit was really expensive, but it looks weird! It doesn’t hang right! He looks like the mascot for an NBA team called the Wichita Big Pile of Raw Chicken. Hmm, if only there was a way to depict a fat person in a movie without an expensive flappy silicon slug bag!

While Charlie is in the bathroom crying (really), Thomas shows up again and Ellie introduces herself: “What’s more surprising—that a gay guy has a daughter, or that someone actually found his penis?” Wow, once again, thank you so much to Darren Aronofsky and playwright Samuel D. Hunter for spending TEN YEARS on this extremely humanizing screenplay! I feel seen, unlike my own genitals!!!

Charlie is so moved that he goes, “You wrote these amazing, honest things… You’ve all been so honest with me. I just want to be honest with you too.” And then he TURNS ON HIS WEBCAM and SHOWS THEM HIS HUGE FACE AND BODY! All the students lose it and they’re grimacing and cowering before him and taking pictures of the screen, LOL, even though literally it just looks like a regular guy???????? It’s a Zoom square! It looks like a close-up of a guy’s face! No one would have any reaction to this! If there’s one thing this movie does perfectly, it’s trick thin people into telling on themselves about how uncomfortable they are around fat people!

Then Liz comes back and reveals that, LMAO, what happened to Alan is that he starved himself to death (kind of), and that’s why now Charlie has to EAT himself to death. Wooooooow, who wrote that brilliant juxtaposition? Grover??? Is this supposed to be profound? It's less nuanced than when people say “the terrorists hate our freedom”! Actually, you know what? This detail with Alan is the central problem with this entire movie: Being thin is not the opposite of being fat!!!!!!!! STARVING IS NOT THE OPPOSITE OF EATING. Having a body is a complex state! [...] Then they clarify that actually Alan starved himself ALMOST to death and then jumped off a bridge. Jumping! The most thin-privilege way to die!

sorrynotsorry bout all the whale poasting but this review by lindy west was very cathartic for me! its a shitty movie and extremely triggering not just for fat people but anyone with any sort of complicated feelings around food and your own body tbh. so im sharing it here. butt news has a free subscription and lindy west is hilarious so. go read it and maybe read some other reviews too

[quidfree]

hello, i was the one sending the brothers ask, i thought i should send another one to say sorry because i should have worded it more carefully and been more specific to avoid confusion. What i meant to ask was: the most interesting thing you found in brother relationships in general? and because i found the amount of literary works on this subject is quite few compared to other types of familial relationships, i wanted to know that in your opinion, should there be more works focusing on brother relationships? i just want to clarify what i meant when i sent those questions, you don't have to answer this time. Sorry for making you confused

no need to apologise, i was being a bit flippant in my first response. but i appreciate your explanation.

i think my original point kind of still remains, in that while i can guess what sort of thing you’re thinking of, irl there is such an incredibly vast range of depictions of brotherhood in media that it would be impossible to distill it into something digestible. there’s no simple formula to it.

i also don’t think there’s a lack of brother relationships in literary works- i feel like it’s a pretty dominant category in (western) classics. think romulus and remus, castor and pollux, jacob and esau, abel and cain, and then less in the realm of myth you have your brothers karamazov, death of a salesman, les faux monnayeurs, or those sort of typical the outsiders type boyish gangs of brothers. for me your typical western type would be peter and edmund in narnia. but think of all the edgy brothers of tumblr: the lynch boys, the minyard twins, even the succession trio… and lest we forget the big guns that ive never watched but still know brother drama from: your supernatural boys / sasuke and itachi / alphonse and edward…

not that i’m complaining, mind, i love a sibling relationship in media- that’s why haunting of hill house is one of my longstanding favourite tv shows. though sisters need the brotherly screentime too, beyond your greek tragedies and pride and prejudice or little women. give me sasuke itachi dramatics but girls. shouto touya sisters. and so forth.

what sets brothers aside.. as much as i do think gender is a construct, society definitely places a great deal of value on maintaining that construct, so i think there is some merit in saying brothers have a distinct relationship to that of sisters, more of fostered competition and upholding a certain masculinity, especially in literature. the whole father and son thing refracted, if you will. but that’s a post for another day. point is there def is something to that vibe- edmund is peter’s second, kendall hugs roman until his stitches rip, etc.

i know you said you were an only child, and with that in mind i will say here’s my two cents for you as someone who has a brother: although no two families are the same, i think the fundamental similarity with most sibling relationships is the inherent oddness of knowing that they are the person most like you in the whole world (who else shares so much of your upbringing and your formative experiences) whilst still somehow being so radically definitively not-you. nurture and nature. there’s that dramatic weight and that profound pettiness to having siblings- when people say they’d take a bullet for their sibling but they’d choke them out before they let them play as P1 they’re being totally serious. for my part i feel very privileged to have a brother, despite how deeply annoying the experience has been at various points of my life.

[grapesodadarkchocolate]

The face of friendship

“Friendship: In the course of the years a close friendship will always reveal the shadow in the other as much as ourselves, to remain friends we must know the other and their difficulties and even their sins and encourage the best in them, not through critique but through addressing the better part of them, the leading creative edge of their incarnation, thus subtly discouraging what makes them smaller, less generous, less of themselves.” 

“Friendship transcends disappearance: an enduring friendship goes on after death, the exchange only transmuted by absence, the relationship advancing and maturing in a silent internal conversational way even after one half of the bond has passed on.”

"The ultimate touchstone of friendship is not improvement, neither of the other nor of the self: the ultimate touchstone is witness, the privilege of having been seen by someone and the equal privilege of being granted the sight of the essence of another, to have walked with them and to have believed in them, and sometimes just to have accompanied them for however brief a span, on a journey impossible to accomplish alone." 

Ramble Write: These specifics on friendship seem so elemental and yet they aren’t offered —encouragement, enduringness, and witnessing to siblings, spouses, friends. Three simple tenants of deep rooted connected friendship. I guess if we aren’t settled in our own truth it is difficult to give it outside of ourselves with any authenticity. 

I look at various fall out actions dumped on me by those I have cared about and the weight of the balls they have relationally dropped. Not listening. Bringing judgment to lunch. Going silent or simply exhibiting shear crazy talk in demands for possibly reconnecting. We do friendship poorly. Exhibiting such actions that harm says “you are not connected with your honest self.” Harm can not be thrown like peanut shells at the circus. Opening what you need. Digesting what you wish and spitting the rest out on to the floor. We take such harsh actions towards one another which speaks to how low our tank must be. Friendship is a gift and it needs to be treated as such. Kindness in the offering. Holding one another up. Being witness to what is essential. Knowing it will always be present, that link, that love, that connection. 

Here I stand and I think “Lordy sakes”, when my voice isn’t accepted. Or judgement is in control. Or fear or shame or ego is yanking my chain. I can state with more clarity what has run a foul. What smells like a dirty old rat or a dank and musty basement. Being there as a form of support. Being there as a witness to someone’s life. Knowing that friendship never ends, settles my spirit. It seems so easy and yet I know it’s not. Old patterns die hard. Kindness isn’t typically the first point of action. I am learning. Feeling so often when such truth, such simple truth rises up it feels as if a weight has been lifted. My shoulders feel less constricted. The light is brighter, the air is cleaner, the birds chirping out my bedroom window are more symphonic than simply offering an annoying cacophony of distressed cawing. It is easy to do right. So why don’t we? 

The everlasting part of love and friendship is significant. I don’t think I could have named it. I most likely felt it first. Not sure what was transpiring and yet its power would not rest. It pushed through the ground of my preconceived notions of what is “life” and what is “death.” Love and loss. I see love and friendship’s strength in helping me to experience more authentic connections. Offering more profound meaning in my days. The things we all seek but are often afraid to uncover. My mom’s death popped my eyes wide open and I have continued to peel away more of the truth that she has sought to teach me or at least offer to me as a greater form of understanding. 

As I learn more about death I also learn more about life. As I hold fast to meaning. The conversation loss wants to have with me, I reveal a lineage of linking that goes beyond the veil in a way I had not surmised before. Giving space for the truth of its inevitability I can stretch out my hand in acceptance of what can’t be changed instead of holding fast with such a tight grip to what has been. Speaking it out loud. Feeling it with more intentionality. Death and grief, loss and love — continuing to spread a peace of understanding about what this finite world offers me. This understanding has brought me back and around to where I believe I began. Catching more dust mites as I have moved in this ever present circle. Understanding more about death and its side kicks initially stumped me. For my internal understanding was constantly clashing with what was externally offered. How is it that so many of us get it wrong? My guess is fear knows the reason why. Patterns are also sitting in the booth offering their two cents worth while straw slurping on a thick chocolate banana malt. Shame is in the restroom along with Ego, making sure their hair is just so and that nothing is out of place. The company death keeps. The ones always by its side until it gets to be more accurately named. Learning more each stumble trip step I take. +++

Resource: Consolations: The Solace, Nourishment and Underlying Meaning of Everyday Words by David Whyte

[sparklingdreams444]

When The One You Could Love Forever Slips Away

Beau Taplin

To my sweetheart, my teacher, and kindred spirit.

What a senseless fool I have been and how ashamed I am for allowing you to slip away, for letting my past stand in the way of something extraordinary, present and sincere. But this isn’t a time for excuses or apologies. Heaven knows you have heard enough these last few weeks and I am now out of ways to express the enormous regret I feel and acknowledge that admitting to, or apologizing for my actions and mistakes does not make amends for them. Neither would I have you believe that this is a desperate plea to win back your affections. I am tired and ashamed of dampening your days with my desperate pressing and I never intend to do so again. Rather, I am writing you because anything else would be insincere. I am writing you because I adore you and nothing can be done about it. I am writing you because there are things that must be said and I can think of nothing else but you.

I remember, with every available minute, how soft and simple the days were with you. How each one fell gently into the arms of the next and instead of feeling trapped or anxious thinking ahead of the future, I wished, for the very first time in my life, that time would being to slow down. That things would stay sweet and gentle, as they were, and that I would never taint or make a mess of all that was free and joyful in us.

You have always been someone I have respected enormously. Your mind is extraordinary, and the way you perceive the world around you with such enthusiasm and wonder moves me do the same. I am so proud of all that you do, and all that you are. And the pleasure of seeing you apply yourself and achieve such speculator heights motivates the people around you to push and fight harder for their own wishes and dreams.

There is never a dull moment with you. You move me to be more present and in tune with the world around me, and have a manner of making even the most mundane thing utterly magic and unforgettable. Every day with you has been a pleasure and a gift, and my god, you have made me happy and whole. You captivate me with your passions and send me positively mad with want and need. I want to roll around with you on the floor. See you dance and turn in the low light. Push my lips to that devilish grin again. Feel my hands on your hands and everywhere else. You make me wild and naive and a single kiss from you is enough to send me to extant. You have this extraordinary energy about you thst consumes and calms me all at once, and the easy you dismantle my defenses and challenge me at every turn helps me to become stronger and more passionate person. I feel capable of anything around you - you bring out my best self.

I love you, precious. It has been a privilege to love you. It is a privilege to love you. And though every day without you is agony and things between us have become messy and painful, there is a relief in knowing, at last, with absolute certainty, precisely what it is I want. I would like you to Jake thst not a single day will go by where I would not give the world, and my very best, to make amends, to shelter and serve you, and know the immeasurable privilege if having your heart and trust with me once more. I adore you. You have been a true light in my life. And if nothing else, let three words speak to the profound and wonderful influence you have in the lives you touch. You certainly did on mine.

[nomzamomajolaotblog]

The Injustices and Future of OT

Occupational Therapy is one of the most insightful and profound professions in the world that investigates the human being as a multidimensional sphere. One that has expanded the definition of occupation from smaller to larger scales and succeeded in encapsulating the true nature of our human engagement. Due to a lack of exploratory initiative, there is a clear knowledge gap in the profession, which prevents practitioners from understanding the true political, cultural implications and social events that affect people on a daily basis. Future generations of occupational therapists need to be given the baton to use their more varied and sociocultural perspectives to create new frameworks that not only reach the client but also encompass his entire world.

https://www.azquotes.com/author/9365-Nelson_Mandela

“The concept of justice has been demonstrated, particularly explicitly or within other ideas. Relating to human rights and those structured currents. According to Habermas, emancipatory interest is connected to self-determination. Priority should be given to autonomy before any foreign power-seeking submission” (Habermas, 1982). In occupational therapy, injustice has been stigmatized as being one the biggest barriers preventing people from engaging in their desired occupations. The obvious denial and straightforward application of injustice in practice led occupational therapists to believe that they were political and social correctors, but in reality, the field has been slow to acknowledge the need for change. OT fails to first recognize the injustices present in their system of practice. They are unable to comprehend how a person's beliefs, perceptions, and emotions are influenced by the various facets of their life. It's important to remember that a person's identity is fundamentally shaped by their culture and their environment. In the OT profession, there is a lack of diversity and the initiative to make a more diverse theory. The direct interpretation of how and when to treat a client (in a ventilated room with windows and running water, with electrical appliances) Most Occupational Therapist fail to treat under certain circumstances that the poor experience everyday. We want to be “comfortable” in a place where even the people we treat are uncomfortable in ,but have been forced themselves to be comfortable as the world only offers them such. In Kenville community when I had first saw the living conditions of the homes and creches being exposed, passing by and seeing someone else’s whole house with just one glare when I have a full fenced home. Predominantly black Africans are still living in the consequences of the apartheid system, I began to think “how do we do home visits and treat in such a small space that is uncomfortable” and then I realised that my first instinct would have been to stop therapy and go to the clinic. What does that make us as occupational therapists?  are we are unable to treat in the exact same environment we want to adapt ?. As the future generations we are much privileged , we might not be rich historically through the hard experiences but we have been given the gift of freedom. We need to be autonomous and not seek submission from better facilities but we need to change perspective by invading the rules . Have that session in that little shack, go to the river and fetch water -doing what is best for the client. We need to leave therapy having experienced a big portion of the client’s life.

In a YouTube video Frank Kronenberg states that "It seems to be that in OT we regard that man is a given, being human is a given for all. All humans are born equal in dignity and rights but historically there is so much evidence that has shown us that , that is not the world that we live in. Some people are regarded more human than others and therefore as a consequence have more resources and opportunities to sustain and live their lives , whereas others are deprived of that”( link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yZXmsDfOI0I&t=1168s). In  human development  we are taught that Adequate nutrition, clothing and shelter forms part of the human development criteria not bearing in mind that most people of colour are deprived of those “necessities” from the minute that they are born. It is an injustice that the OT profession does not consider the politics that have such a huge role in our lives. Yet certain factors as such are excluded when defining a being’s development. “More than six out of ten children (62,1%) are identified as multidimensionally poor, according to a report on Child Poverty in South Africa released by Statistics South Africa today” (Statistics South Africa, 2020). Looking at this statistic we already should know to view someone with an assumption-based approach. In the Kenville new clinic, I came across a mother who was well dressed and had two children who looked healthy and happy and I based treatment on the assumption that the kids were orientated to crayons and colouring books, only to find out that they are being raised in a poverty stricken household living not with their mother but their grandmother who is unable to buy the children crayons. We as people in the profession of OT need to learn that privilege comes with a cost, in a South African point of view at a cost of lives and those lives are still carrying that trauma and consequence.

Cultural sensitivity in OT is an injustice in the profession, we need more raw literature that is new and wide that will guide practice that is more community based and that allows interaction between these different cultures and settings, this will help a better and cohesive relationship between therapist and client. We need to change perspective in how we view culture. It does not end at an Indian or Zulu dance but it is enriched in the values and beliefs that people hold on even when the world is against them.

https://parade.com/2358/lindsaylowe/maya-angelous-most-inspiring-quotes/

“In New Zealand rather than attempting the difficult task or developing culturally competent practitioners in a society of many diverse cultures, some health professions have moved to develop a workforce that is culturally aware, sensitive and above all safe in attitude and behaviour” (Jungersen.k ,2002). Let us all move to being politically , socially and culturally sensitive and aware. We have been given a job that serves people needs and meanings. This is what I see when i look into the future of OT, As the future generation if the baton is not being handed to us, let us run the race without it, in a different lane and aim for the finish line, let us explore and develop Occupational Therapy as we should know it.

[firstumcschenectady]

“Explaining Christmas“ based on Luke 2:1-12

One of the privileges I have this year is to explain Christmas to a 2 year old.  I'm aware many have done this before me, and at this point I'm pretty sure most have done it better than I have.  But, I've learned along the way that when I have to explain really complicated things to very small children I end up learning what I really think.

Now, I think the common answer to give a young child about Christmas is “It is Jesus' birthday.” Which seems legit, and I know my child has some grasp of birthdays. I am, however, less confident he has a grasp on Jesus.  And while I simply adore Marcus Borg's explanation that Jesus was “a Jewish mystic,” … well, that wasn't going to help.

And, if I'm honest, we may think of Christmas as Jesus' birthday, but that only matters because of who Jesus was.  For those who think of Jesus as fully human and fully Divine, Christmas could be summed up as God being born on earth.  A lot of Christian Christmas derives from this idea. It gives us the space to consider the vulnerability of life, and how dependent we are on each other.  For those awed by a powerful God becoming vulnerable as a newborn, it follows that the vulnerability of our humanity is in fact quite tender.

For me though, Jesus was a man who knew God intimately and taught of God and lived a God-centered life in profound ways that continue to be useful for knowing God even today.  And THAT, also, it turns out, doesn't translate well to a 2 year old.

So I found myself saying, “Christmas is when we celebrate someone who taught us about God's love.”  Well, I'm not entirely sure if I said God.  But I'm OK with that because I think the phrase “God's Love” is redundant.  

And, by the grace of God, that line got accepted, and I don't have to answer more questions.  Yet.  

Next year promises its own challenges.  ;)  I suspect by next year I'll be learning that my seminary degree and nearly 20 years of ministry experience are insufficient to the task.  I'll let you know.  

But for now, Phew!

And also, I'm sort of interested to learn what I really think of Christmas.

The Christmas stories in each Gospel are sometimes called “the Gospel in miniature” and they really do an amazing job establishing the setting, foreshadowing the story as a whole, and setting up the themes of the Gospels they begin.  Luke focuses on women and shepherds, the outcasts being the first to receive good news for all people, the looming presence and power of the Empire and its taxation methods, the cycle of birth and death as a way to talk about the fullness of life, humility, and the value of pondering the wondrous things of God.  I even see in the story the foreshadowing of Jesus rising from the tomb, as the animal feeding trough he is said to have been laid in at birth was BELOW the floor and chiseled out of rock.  He would have been lifted out of that to be held.  (I swoon a bit at this metaphor.)

So of the Christmas stories are Gospels in miniature, than what we say about Christmas is what we have to say about Jesus.  And if this implies that I think Jesus is “someone who taught us about (God's) love,” then I'm at peace with that conclusion.  (I'm also relieved to already be ordained and not have to attempt to justify this to a Board of Ordained Ministry).

There are a lot of fabulous nuances to this story, and I would have a ball playing with them. I'm entranced by the Isaiah passage and the space it gives us to connect birth and death as well as connecting the delivery of a child with the “delivery” of a nation into safety and well being.  AND I'm going to let it all rest.

Today we celebrate the birth of one one who taught us about God's love.  Today we celebrate one who taught us about God's love.  Today we celebrate God's love.  Thanks be to God, who is love.  Merry Christmas, and Amen!

Rev. Sara E. Baron First United Methodist Church of Schenectady 603 State St. Schenectady, NY 12305 Pronouns: she/her/hers http://fumcschenectady.org/ https://www.facebook.com/FUMCSchenectady

December 25, 2022

[livethinking]

«Poetry is not a luxury»: Maya Angelou, Gwendolyn Brooks, Margaret Walker and poetry as resistance

«Poetry is not a luxury»[1], Audre Lorde said. Poetry is not a game, another amusement to dampen the boredom of a humdrum life but it’s a need, a necessity as instrument to the battle against oppression, to self-determination and to identitary resistance because «poetry is power»[2]. And this is as much true and confirmed when poetry becomes activism, when lyricism expresses, and thus bears witness, a discomfort and makes it universal, fathomable through the poetic language; when writing in verse is the only way to express ideas and makes sure they’re recognised in their own dignity, thus it’s necessary in order to save and let respected the existence of that human being who has thought it, in order to this existence can be recognised as such, can arise from oppression and systematic hate, can give voices to those whose lips were ripped off, such as women, for whom «[…] poetry […] is a vital necessity of our existence. It forms the quality of the light within which we [women] predicate our hopes and dreams towards survival and change, first made into language, then into idea, then into more tangible action. Poetry is the way we help give name to the nameless so it can be thought»[3], so, poetry’s place where they can expresses opinions, needs, dreams, hope, in other words themselves, where the cultural system gives preference to other voices, wherein censorship is not official, i.e. perpetrated by an organisation or a law, but it’s cultural because it’s the culture that systematically chooses (a given social class) what creative expressions are more or less are in line with its own values or strengthen them. That’s why for centuries poetry (but also the whole literature) has been place wherein affirm ourselves and the individuality of our own identity, or express pride for a communitarian identity; as it was for women, who found in poetry an instruments they can express their real self through, getting out of the patriarchal control and out of the role they were bonded to by society and came less to the expectations of this one. In this way, women could so analyse her being woman, dreaming to choose who are and what to do, self-determinising and exploring their femininity beyond believes given by a certain historical moment; as it was for black community, wherein black poets could express the a beauty, the varieties, the complexity of their subculture, their traditions, history and so express the pride of being part of this ethnicity, fighting against racism and networking against the oppression perpetrated by a system that privileges white citizens (and more often men). These two concepts converge into the poetic experience of black women poets, for whom poetry became a place wherein speaking of their experience as women and black citizens, wherein they can exist and affirm their existence, «The white father told us: I think, therefore I am. The Black mother within each of us – the poet – whispers in our dreams: I feel, therefore I can be free. Poetry coins the language to express and charter this revolutionary demand, the implementation of that freedom»[4]. Let think of great poets like Maya Angelou, whose poems «often respond to matters like race and sex on a larger social and psychological scale»[5], or like Gwendolyn Brooks, whose poetry, especially the latest, is a political and civil poetry, taking as cultural reference heroes and subjects of the battle for liberation of black people (such as Winnie Mandela, wife to the anti-apartheid activist), but also like Margaret Walker who «through her work, she “[sang] a song for [her] people”, capturing their symbolic quest for liberation. When asked how she viewed her work, she responded, “The body of my work… springs from my interest in a historical point of view that is central to the development of black people as we approach the twenty first century”»[6].

1. Maya Angelou: I know why the caged bird sings

«The poignant beauty of Angelou’s writing enhances rather than masks the candid with which she addresses the racial crisis through which America was passing»[7]. That of Maya Angelou is a lively and melodic voice, her poems can talk even when there’s no human voice to give them sound, they have as mode,s the language of the intense, brave speeches of the great activist of the battle for black people’s rights like Malcolm X and Martin Luther King Jr. Angelou was able to bring together all temporal planes in her writing: both in her poetry and autobiographies, she managed to give voice to the last, to make it a new present, part of the hic te nunc of the existence in action and not anymore as something disappeared with time, but as something that is still here partly, that is still a being. A past that is personal, her life, her youth, her terrible traumas, the beauty of growing before as a girl than as a woman; a pat that is of her community, the troubled story of afroamericana and who that the lyrical I becomes a We, the collectivity becomes a person. The personal experience is thus an exemplum for the common one and becomes even global. The present meets the past, that of when a given poems was born, that of readers, of the poet, it’s the daily battle which becomes memory, it’s the journey to the self-determination in a place where is hostility but also the future, it’s the caged bird that sings and whose song is heard by the free birds, the future is a song overcoming its own time: «The caged bird sings/with a fearful trill/of things unknown/but longed for still/and his tune is heard/on the distant hill/for the caged bird/sings of freedom»[8]. “The caged bird”, dr, Maya Angelou’s favourite metaphor, taken from Paul Laurence Dunbar, famous afroamerican author, is a symbol for the inner freedom that wins ones the oppression of the external, is an eternal song that’s heard until now and if it’s clearly listened, one can hear the thousand of voice from the past and here we can find the beauty in Maya Angelou’s writing: the ability to speak through not one but a thousand of voices, voices of both the present and the past, giving relevance to the last ones, and consequently she was able to tell the future, to be understood by who’ll be after her.

2. Gwendolyn Brooks: writing poetry that will be meaningful

The poetic voice of Gwendolyn Brooks, the first afroamerican woman to win the Pulitzer Prize, is raw, bitter when the language gets filled with political and cultural meaning, when brings a message without forgetting the sweetness, the beauty of a poised, refined style. Worked, studied poems, perfect verse and rhymes, but also intense, hard, which don’t take away to be tough, to tell the truth on oppression, pain, on the battle to re-humanise her own identity in a culture where it was deprived of its otherness, of being an Other Ego, an Other Truth. This happens especially with the her most famous poem collection, In The Mecca, a turning point for Brooks’s poetics. «I want to write poems that will be non compromising. I don’t want to stop a concern with words doing good jobs, which has always been a concern of mine, but I want to write poems that will be meaningful […]»[9] and this was so. Brooks managed to delineate a world, give multiple meanings to the words she used, to the poems, to speak with the voice of her great gallery of characters. In her poems, there’s her Lyric I, but also her characters. Such a polyphony that only few, even among novelists, can make it in such little verbal marks. «The words, lines, and arrangements have been worked and worked and worked again into poised exactness: the unexpected apt metaphor, the mock-colloquial asides amid jewelled phrases, the half-ironic repetition – she knows it all»[10]. A poetry that can speak to its people, community, that hopes, fights for a future where Gwendolyn Brooks «[…] envisioned “the profound and frequent shaking of hands, which in Africa in so important. The shaking of hands in warmth and strength and union”»[11].

3. Margaret Walker: poetry as hope, poetry for the people

Margaret Walker’s poetics is the voice of a whole people, is culture that becomes creative work of a lonely person for the universality and becomes bringer of values. It’s the song of a choir, a choir for the last, of the story of slavery, of that community that still fights for the right to exist; it’s a choir that still sings and never stops to sing the lines of this wonderful poet.

One of the most loved and praised poem of Margaret Walker is “For My People”, which contains all the characteristics that made unique Walker’s poetry and it’s an excursus through the past and more recent history of US Black community, from the tragedy of slavery, to civil battles still fought nowadays in the heart of the New World; «poems in which the body and spirit of a great group of people are revealed with vigour and undeviating integrity»[12]. She uses as reference cultural elements of her community, recalls heroes, events that form that culture as vast as unheard by those who spit poison to not lose the position of privilege, and if this culture isn’t heard, then Margaret Walker addresses also to the deaf. She speaks to them as well, making universal a history that’s particular. Walker speak to everyone through her rhymes, she speaks to the humanity; her poetry talks about tragedies but is full of hope because she knows there will be always someone who still listen, fight, defend, doesn’t forget, «[…] the power of resilience presented in the poem is a hope Walker holds out not only to black people, but to all people […] “After all, it is the business of all writes to write about the human condition, and all humanity must be involved in both the writing and in the reading”»[13]

Viviana Rizzo

References

[1] LORDE, A., “Poetry Is Not a Luxury”, in Audre Lorde, Sister outsider, Trumansburg N.Y., Crossing Press, 1984, p. 371

[2] TODOROV, L’arte nella tempesta. L’avventura di poeti, scrittori e pittori nella Rivoluzione Russa, trans. ita. by Emanuele Lana, Milano, Garzanti S.r.l., 2017, p. 120 (iBooks)

[3] LORDE, A., “Poetry Is Not a Luxury”, in Audre Lorde, Sister outsider, p. 372

[4] Ibidem

[5] EDITORS, “Maya Angelou”, in Poetry Foundation, web, 2021, (https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/maya-angelou, retrieved on 24th February 2021)

[6] EDITORS, “Margaret Walker”, in Poetry Foundation, web, 2021 (https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/margaret-walker, retrieved on 24th February 2020).

[7] HOLST, W.A., “Review of A song Flung up to Heaven”, in Christian Century (giugno 2002), pp. 35-36, cit. in EDITORS, “Maya Angelou” in Poetry Foundation

[8] ANGELOU, M., The Complete Collected Poems of Maya Angelou, New Work, Random House Inc., 1994, p. 194

[9] EDI TORS, “Gwendolyn Brooks”, Poetry Foundation, web, 2021 (https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/gwendolyn-brooks consultato il 24 febbraio 2021)

[10] LITTLEJOHN, D., Black on White: A Critical Survey of Writing by American Negroes, New York, Grossman, 1966, p. 91, cit. in EDITORS, “Gwendolyn Brooks”, in Poetry Foundation

[11] EDITORS, “Gwendolyn Brooks”, in Poetry Foundation

[12] UNTERMEYER, L. “New Books in Review” in Yake Review, vol. XXXII, n. 2 (inverno 1934), p.371, cit. in EDITORS, “Margaret Walker”, in Poetry Foundation

[13] EDITORS, “Margaret Walker”, in Poetry Foundation

[septembersghost]

I know the Supernatural fandom is incredibly divided and becoming more so by the day. But please take comfort in the fact that you bring many different fans together. Brothers fans and destiel fans both love YOU, and you’re a bridge between those two circles. Thank you for being excellent and lovely.

this is the most beautiful message to have come back to today, anon, you have no idea how heartwarming this is to me. fandom being divided does tear at my emotions sometimes because it has been my home and held such a special place in my life from the beginning, and watching certain aspects of the show itself crumble, as well as that divisiveness, makes me a bit melancholy, or - do you know what saudade is? I told this to a couple of dear friends back in November, but I'm not sure I ever wrote about it publicly. it's a Portuguese word that I enfolded into my vocabulary long ago and I associate it most strongly with art/music/fiction that I love and carry tucked into my spiritual pocket.

a deep emotional state of nostalgic or profound melancholic longing for something or someone that one cares for and/or loves. Moreover, it often carries a repressed knowledge that the object of longing might never be had again. It is the recollection of feelings, experiences, places, or events that once brought excitement, pleasure, and well-being, which now trigger the senses and make one experience the pain of separation from those joyous sensations.

Saudade describes both happy and sad at the same time, which is most closely translated to the English saying ‘bitter sweet’. "Memory of something with a desire for it." (x)

it's similar conceptually to hiraeth (deep longing for something, especially one's home), and I may be slightly altering them for my use here, but as soon as I learned about saudade, I thought - oh, this is how I feel about the things that inspire passion and longing and a feeling of nostalgia for home/comfort in me, even if that home is intangible or one I've never known. that's the feeling I associate with stories, with songs. it encompasses spn and the layers of love and grief wrapped around it in a poignant way for me.

I don't know, in my ten years on Tumblr in various places, and the LJ circles before that, that I was ever a part of any particular side (partially because I was always shy and kept more to myself and my tight circle of friends, so I never established a "following" in fandom) because I loved Dean (and that is very much encompassing and by no means limited to only him, of course, but you know why I mention him specifically), and welcomed anyone else who did too. that's such an essential facet of my being at this point, that love. your referring to me as a bridge is really touching symbolically in my mind (crossings and reunions) because Dean is that, the bridge across chasms, the lantern light, in many ways. the fact of him and his existence is the invisible string, and has been the reason I've met extraordinary people. my reach is not too expansive and sometimes I wish I could bring more of us together in a positive sense, but it's a privilege to be thought of as that at all by your kindness.

thank you so much for this, I treasure it and it does bring me comfort, and I love you too and am honored to return that in even the most flickering of ways if I can. 💕💕💕

[fidgeting]

apropos of nothing, i think one of the reasons why the concept of “passing privilege” is the source of so much intercommunity strife is that, by using a “privilege” framework to speak about the phenomenon, “passing”/”nonpassing” become solidified as static or consistent categories that have to do with an inherent quality or individual truth of a given person’s identity, when in reality passing is a constantly-evolving, always-precarious process that can apply to the same person in different ways on the same day, let alone within their lifetime. none of my thoughts here are particularly new to The Discourse, but i’ve been mulling it over lately as i’ve seen more mentions of the idea of “straight passing” in recent weeks than i have in a little while.

re: “straight passing”, these conversations usually revolve around discussions of existing in public with a partner and the way that someone’s sexual identity is perceived as a result. to use the classic examples, a bisexual person in a crossgender relationship may present with queer or gender-nonconforming signifiers and be read as gay/lesbian while on their own, but be seen as straight while in public with their partner. on the flipside, a gay/lesbian person who displays little to no signifiers of gender-nonconformity in public life may not be read as gay/lesbian until they are seen with their partner. much blood sweat and tears have been shed online over attempting to hash out whether either one of, both, or neither of these hypothetical people can be said to have “passing privilege", when, in reality, existing as a three-dimensional human person is almost always more complicated than these flat strawmen can be understood. the signifiers that affect how a person’s sexuality is read by strangers are complex enough to extend to the neighborhood in which they live, the job/s that they have, their hobbies, how vocal they are on political/social issues and what the content of those beliefs are, etc. it’s essentially impossible to make an external judgement on how the “people” (who aren’t real people but intentionally one-dimensional rhetorical constructs) in these examples would actually be read on a day-to-day basis.

even if there were no other factors that could determine these people’s passing besides a) physical presentation and b) relationship status, how coherent a categorization of an individual’s overall embodied experience of life can a descriptor be if it pivots solely based on whether or not they’re seen in public with a partner? what happens when someone is single and celibate? i’m not trying to argue that being seen with a partner doesn’t affect the way someone’s sexuality is read by strangers, but rather that this specific line of questioning is ultimately just one aspect of the variety of factors that contribute to their public perception and the types of discrimination they’re exposed to, and the act of describing another person as passing/nonpassing when you’re not exposed to the intricacies of their private life requires a lot of confidence in your external judgement of the way they move through the world. i think this is why the label chafes so strongly on so many people when it’s given to them by others.

obviously, identity in general (in the sense of one’s position vis a vis binary privilege/disprivilege states--straight/gay, white/nonwhite, etc) is always constructed and conditional and contextual blah blah. but the whole concept of “passing” is about the kind of individual encounters that happen many times a day. “passing” as a state of being doesn’t exist outside of the moment where you fall into one side or the other in the eyes of someone else based on a variety of factors which may change continually on an even hourly basis. (the line between passing or not passing for a trans person could literally be “having a chance to shave that morning”, frex). the state of “passing” or “not passing” doesn’t exist as an individual truth for anyone outside of very direct encounters with the public in circumstances where the question of passing has to do with whether or not you are going to be targeted for discrimination or aggression. because that’s what passing means; it’s literally just a denotation of whether or not you are recognizable as an “other” along certain grounds while in public space, in the context of whether or not you will be actively confronted with prejudice or just immersed in it in the passive way that a member of a privileged group is surrounded by ambient social hatred towards disprivileged groups and individuals. just as people absorb homophobic or transphobic social messaging and sustain psychological wounds that way before they know themselves to be LGBT, even the most consistently “passing” person is being exposed to the __phobia of society to a degree that causes more profound harm than it would for a straight, cis, etc person. passing isn’t protection from that, even if it can be protection from a variety of very real, material dangers.

on that note, i don’t mean to deny that there are a variety of pitfalls and dangers inherent in being “visibly __” in any given situation--being closeted, being stealth, etc wouldn’t exist if not. but i think a lot of the resentment and frustration that comes out of labeling people/being labelled by other people as “passing” comes from the precarity and unfixedness of that experience, as well as the way it’s so incredibly specific to a given person’s context. the way the designations are often given operates on a much less porous understanding of the division between public and private spheres than is actually accurate for most people’s lives. to the degree that the concept of passing has utility, i think it’s largely around a) individuals speaking about their own lived experiences of discrimination or lack thereof, rather than other people applying that descriptor to them from the outside and b) kept specifically to discussions of the ephemeral moments we experience as we move through the world, rather than being treated broadly as a thing that a person “is” or “is not”.

i’m speaking as a white bi trans person here, so my thoughts are more applicable to the concept of “[not/]passing for straight” as well as the variety of trans experiences on the spectrum between “backpassing [intentionally or not]”, being “visibly trans”, and being stealth*. i can’t speak for people of colour re: the experience of being (or not being) white passing; happy to have feedback one way or another on that score or others.

(*these concepts/categorizations in the context of transness are especially fraught and reductive but are relevant to the overall discourses/rhetoric i’m trying to address here.)

[themollyjay]

The Vilification of Kindness

I was born in 1976, so must of my childhood memories are from the 80’s and 90’s.  My first real moment of political awareness was Reagan getting shot.  Before that, I’m not sure I was aware that we had anything called a President, or a government.  I might have been, but if I was, I don’t remember it.  The 80’s and 90’s shaped my views on politics in weird ways, but there is one that I remember very well, and that it took me a long time to get over.

Political Correctness.

Now, I imagine you’re thinking at this point that this is going to be a long tirade against Political Correctness, Cancel Culture, Social Justice Warriors and lots of whining about how we can’t say anything without being cancelled.  I assure you, it’s pretty much the exact opposite of that.

Growing up, I heard people complaining about Political Correctness all the time, and being young and stupid, I bought into the lie.  I bought into the notion that Political Correctness was something bad, that it was a restriction of free speech, that it was stupid and unrealistic and full of double speak.  Like a lot of people my age, I got really invested in the idea of rejecting Political Correctness, and the idea that doing so was speaking truth.

But then, something happened.  I grew up, and I started to really look at myself and figure myself out.  I started to realize that a lot of the slurs and insults and the ‘politically incorrect’ terms that people liked to throw around applied to me.  I started to realize how cruel and mean spirited they were.  It made me stop and really take a look at what Political Correctness was.

Political Correctness is, at its most basic level, an attempt to be kind, compassionate and empathetic.  Political Correctness is a bunch of people saying “Hey, wouldn’t it be a good thing if we didn’t refer to those with less power and privilege in society by slurs and other forms of demeaning language?”.  And the backlash against Political Correctness is a bunch of people saying, “No, I want to keep using slurs and demeaning language to talk about people.”

It was just the first of many moments in my life that caused a radical shift in my political outlook, but it was easily the most profound, because it made me realize something about the modern world that I don’t think a lot of people have.  I’m honestly not sure how much of this has spilled over into other cultures but considering how pervasive American influence is the world over, I suspect it’s an attitude which has crept into must cultures which consume large amounts of western media at this point.

We have, as a culture, accepted that kindness is a sin and a vice.  We look down on those in need.  We view poverty as a character flaw, rather than a circumstance.  We view members of marginalized groups as lazy whiners who just don’t do enough to get ahead, even when the entire system is stacked against them.  And then we turn around and mock anyone who even suggests that we should be kind to them. We lift cruelty up as a virtue. People proudly announce their disdain for kindness and compassion in their social media profiles crouched in language like “Not Politically Correct” or “Anti-SJW.”

It only gets worse when people complain about how they are treated.  Someone throws out a slur, or repeats a harmful stereotype, and God forbid a member of the affected community say anything, because the moment they do, it seems like everyone will dog pile on them to tell them what a horrible human being they are to ask for someone to treat them with common decency.

It goes beyond just patterns of speech, too.  We live in a world where people seem offended by even the thought that something they do might benefit someone other than themselves.  If you look at people’s reaction to the notion of things like universal healthcare, welfare programs, even free meal programs at schools, people rage at the idea that any of their tax money might go to help someone less fortunate than they are.

I don’t know when this happened.  I don’t know if the world has always been like this, and I just realized it as I grew up, or if there was some point in the past where we as a culture were kinder and more compassionate, when we cared more for each other than we do now. I do know that this has to end.  I know that we as a species cannot survive like this.  I know that we need each other, that humans are built to exist in and thrive in communities.

Civilization is about coming together and sharing the burden.  It’s about being able to do more because we work as a group.  It’s about everything everyone does contributing to the good of the group as well as the individual.  When everyone is out only for themselves, when kindness, compassion and empathy vanish, then civilization is doomed.

I don’t have a neat ending for this post, or a way to tie it back into writing and storytelling.  It’s something that’s been on my mind for a while, and something I had to speak out about, even if it’s to a small audience. We have to stop looking at kindness as a crime.  We have to rehabilitate its reputation.  We have to re-enshrine it as the highest of all virtues.  Otherwise, we’re going to tear each other apart, and we will have no one but ourselves to blame.

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

Can you please tell us about the whole scenario where MC gets kidnapped and Comte rescues her? The one with the CG I mean.

Sure thing! I’ll do my best to relay the events accurately, as this is one of my favorite moments in his rt~

Sizable Comte rt spoilers below, pls don’t click if you’d like to wait for the ENG release!

Okay so some much needed context before I delve too deep. In the first few chapters of the route, MC debuts in French high society (introduced by Comte as a friend’s heiress from overseas). As such, the better part of the Parisian population knows MC as somebody of noble birth. This is important moving forward.

One day while she’s in town she goes out with a friend upon request (also of high rank, somebody she met and made friends with at her debut) and Sebas encourages her to have fun before meeting up again to return home. Problem is, there has apparently been a great deal of unrest among the people in the lower rungs of the social ladder. Joblessness has been a prominent issue, and so a group of men decide to target members of the elite in order to force them to give a damn about the problem. In their desperation, they choose to abduct MC and her friend and tie them up in separate locations.

The other young lady’s butler/servant is present when they’re taken, but is unable to do anything to stop them. Surprising no one, he races over to find Sebas and tell him what’s happened. Naturally, Sebas is beside himself and takes the man with him in order to alert Comte. And Comte.........well........let’s just say he does not take the news well to say the LEAST. He hears them out, goes silent and it shows his furious sprite, and he’s about to storm out when Leonardo appears out of nowhere after he says MC’s name raggedly. (Note: not that odd bc purebloods seem to be able to sense each other’s feelings easily, and it’s likely he was responding to Comte’s acute and sudden distress). Leonardo has to grab Comte’s shoulder and tell him to calm down before he collects himself again, and then he leaves with Napoleon and Jeanne to go find them asap. 

Iirc, Sebas/the other residents take up the task of alerting the police and trying to find more information while the search party is underway. There is a hilarious tidbit I’d like to share, only because it’s uproarious and makes me laugh every fucking time I translate it fdkhdgdjfsf. So basically they’re all trying to figure out what’s going on, until Sebastian mentions the whole coalition of impoverished people looking to get back at high society for the financial inequities of the historic moment. Now Mozart, in a moment of brilliant word association, says “Oh, well yeah under those circumstances that would make MC the ideal target.” And I fucking. Isaac just turns around and is like. “Could you not. Say it like that. When our dad is hAVING A FUCKING MELTDOWN AND A DISPLACED HUMAN WOMAN IS IN MORTAL DANGER. COULD YOU MAYBE NOT???? JUST THIS ONCE.” And I just fucking lose it every time????? Like are those not the most Mozart-core and Isaac-core responses imaginable????? Mozart being so focused on the logic of the situation he just doesn’t seem to be able to read the room/keep in mind how upset Comte might be. Isaac being HYPERSENSITIVE to the emotions in the room and being MORTIFIED that Mozart wouldn’t word things more carefully.

Also a short note since I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. One parallel between Comte and Isaac I find utterly fascinating is that the two seem to share a formidable understanding when it comes to anxiety especially. Despite how composed Comte appears in the game, we later see more and more evidence of how deeply anxious he is when it comes to his future and the prospect of sudden loss. As a result, I feel like their biggest difference lies in the fact that Comte is a great deal older--so he has an easier time concealing/stifling/de-escalating his anxious responses. Even so, they seem to share difficulty in maintaining emotional distance. If Comte doesn’t exercise control, he gets too close to people, and the inevitable fallout (since they usually die first) is devastating. I think Isaac operates similarly, but his anxiety was so overwhelming he didn’t manage to get that close to most of the people in his time (Essentially, he doesn’t have the same charisma Comte possesses and he hasn’t lost as many people consecutively as Comte has). 

Moving right along. So! Comte and our swashbuckling friends (the Baguettes, as I like to call them) pinpoint the location/bunkers where MC and her friend are being kept against their will. (They find them after they receive a tip as to where the two ladies were last seen in town.) I’d like to note that in Comte’s POV of this chapter, he continuously blames himself for everything that’s happened. Saying that if he had been more careful, if he had done the right/smart thing and kept his distance, then she would have been out of harm’s way. (I disagree in that, when trouble seeks to find you it’s usually more a matter of entropy). In the midst of his agonizing, his mind goes to the worst case scenario and he forces the terror down--desperately wishing that he isn’t too late. 

So our bois split up into two groups, one being Comte and the other being Napoleon and Jeanne (yes this is Area 51 and Comte literally does Naruto run--but he doesn’t dodge the bullets bc they can’t kill him). Naturally our pureblood wonder manages to take out all the guards present and kicks down the door to where she’s tied up. The moment he sees her relief floods him and he rushes forward, untying her immediately. MC sees him covered in wounds--blood and torn clothing as far as the eye can see--and has a moment of genuine shock. She’s so used to the immaculate and ethereal appearance (not a hair out of place) that seeing him so disheveled and wild-eyed startles her. He asks her if she’s injured anywhere and she’s able to confirm she’s fine. He seems to be unable to register that she’s alright until she says those words, and he draws her close in his arms and starts shaking. She’s surprised again by his sudden proximity, but when she feels him trembling she hugs him back and strokes gently along his back, murmuring over and over again that’s she okay. She feels fine, she’s safe now.

In his POV, he speaks to the terror of her life lost that was weighing on him. He’s only able to verify that she’s alive when he feels her body heat, can feel her heart beat, can feel her arms moving--that’s why he hugs her; to have undeniable evidence that she’s still breathing. He hates himself for being so fragile, for being so needy, but melts under the gentleness of her touch.

Before the scene ends, MC hears his broken mumble at her shoulder: “Thank goodness...I don’t want to lose anyone anymore.”

And just to make it hurt even more! From Comte’s POV it reads (the brackets are his unspoken thoughts): 

"I......I don't want to lose anyone.......anymore" [I don't want to lose you... She hugs me back and her hands stroke gently along my back, as if cradling my heart. Her hands are so warm, proof that she's alive. You're so strong.....and so, so gentle. I know I should be prepared to say goodbye. I know I shouldn't be doing this. But I don't want to let you go...]

;-; I just. Every single time I read those lines I just start sobbing. He’s so tired of being alone, so exhausted. He loves her so much!!!!!!! He just wants one moment of PEACE GOD DAMN IT, LEAVE HIM ALONE CYBIRD!!!!!!!!!!!!

ANYWAY the story then skips to the aftermath, where Comte is back to his usual collected self. He’s at his desk doing his work (as usual) when MC comes in asking about how everything's going. He explains that he was able to find work for the people who attacked her, citing once again the concept of “Noblesse Oblige.” (For those unaware, it means “noble obligation” in French and alludes to this notion that the wealthy/privileged parties of society have nothing short of an obligation to use their resources in service to the less fortunate.) MC starts gushing about how both her and the police are really impressed by his ability to forgive them and help them anyway. This is where Comte drops that L E G E N D A R Y line where he says “Forgiven them? I never said I had forgiven them. On the contrary, the only reason I’m doing this is because they left you unharmed.” with that chilling smile.

So like. Get you a fucking mans that has the ability to pretend everything’s fine when you get abducted, beat the shit out of your assailants to free you, have a panic attack after you’ve been secured, and then still manages to have the grace to help the people that put him through his literal worst fear imaginable/re-traumatizing him even if they didn’t know it. This was essentially the scene that made me fall 100% in love with him. It was one of the first moments of profound, undeniable proof that not only does he care about people--he cares so deeply it shakes him to the very core. There’s just something....so moving about the fact that no matter how hard he tries to pretend that he’s distanced from something/someone, beneath that persona you just find a veritable avalanche of compassionate feeling/love. 

[terramythos]

TerraMythos 2021 Reading Challenge - Book 4 of 26

Title: Educated (2018)

Author: Tara Westover

Genre/Tags: Nonfiction, Creative Nonfiction, Memoir, Autobiography, First-Person

Rating: 8/10

Date Began: 1/21/2021

Date Finished: 1/28/2021

Tara Westover was born into an isolated, fundamentalist, conservative, anti-Government family in rural Idaho. She lived a life of neglect and abuse, never going to the doctor and never receiving a formal education, while being forced into unsafe and life threatening working conditions. When one of her older brothers became violently abusive, no one stopped him.

However, things began to change when Tara self-studied the ACT and scored high enough to be admitted to college. At age seventeen, she stepped into a classroom for the first time, and soon found just how little she knew about the world at large. Westover's Educated is a deep dive into her experiences growing up, her emotional struggles with an abusive family, and her road to recovery.

To admit uncertainty is to admit to weakness, to powerlessness, and to believe in yourself despite both. It is a frailty, but in this frailty there is a strength: the conviction to live in your own mind, not someone else’s. I have often wondered if the most powerful words I wrote that night came not from anger or rage, but from doubt: I don’t know. I just don’t know. 

Not knowing for certain, but refusing to give way to those who claim certainty, was a privilege I had never allowed myself. My life was narrated for me by others. Their voices were forceful, emphatic, absolute. It had never occurred to me that my voice might be as strong as theirs. 

Full review and content warning(s) under the cut.

Content warnings for the book: Graphic depictions of childhood neglect and domestic abuse. Graphic depictions of severe, traumatic injury. Derogatory use of racial slurs. Racism, misogyny, and antisemitism are discussed. Somewhat graphic animal death.  

I don't have a lot of experience with nonfiction outside an academic setting, so writing a review about a nonfiction book, even one that's basically a story, is challenging for me. I've written and rewritten my Educated review a few times and none of them have felt right. So I'm going to keep things as short and simple as I can.

I've got complicated feelings about memoirs. Autobiographical works can be fascinating to read! But since I don't care about the personal lives of celebrities or politicians, most of the genre is dead to me. Memoirs like Educated are much more interesting; stories about ordinary people living through extraordinary circumstances. But there have been enough bad actors with this type of book (like Three Cups of Tea or A Million Little Pieces) that I'm always a little skeptical. So I approached Educated with a cautious yet open mind.

Educated is a thought-provoking memoir for a number of reasons, as it explores both the dynamics of familial abuse and the importance of receiving an education. Westover clearly experienced profound trauma as a kid. Apart from multiple disturbing injuries, she also suffered physical and emotional abuse, medical neglect, and a total lack of typical social and academic education, all of which hindered her ability to function as a normal adult. Despite this, she's managed to accomplish a lot, especially in terms of formal education, which her memoir details.

However, I think most official descriptions for the book do it a disservice. Yes, Westover was born to survivalist parents, and yes, she did not enter a classroom until seventeen. On a surface level the book is about her journey through education. But as Westover states, most of that education was social and emotional. A lot of the book actually focuses on her relationship with her family, and coming to terms with the abuse and residual emotional damage from her childhood.

As a survivor, I really identified with Westover's difficult journey with the abuse she suffered. While my own story is not as extreme, I was also abused as a child by family members. My father witnessed it happen and refused to intervene, gaslighting me and my mother + sister the entire time. There is so much irrationality and manipulation in a situation like that, and reading about her parents' denial that her brother Shawn was ever abusive struck very close to home. Like Westover, it took me a long time-- well into adulthood-- to finally establish boundaries and cut my father out of my life. Her emotional struggle and recovery are especially poignant to someone who knows on some level what it's like.

The academic portion of the book is also interesting. Westover's shock, frustration, and sometimes ostracization for not knowing certain things is just fascinating. It floored me that she had no knowledge of the Holocaust or Civil Rights Movement until college. While I have plenty of criticism for the US education system, it's better than starting with absolutely nothing. Educated made me realize just how much of my accessibility to formal education I've taken for granted.

I admit I actually finished the book a little skeptical, because there were some details that seemed weird or not adequately explained. Memoirs and other works of creative nonfiction inhabit a gray area in terms of truth. On one hand, they have to be entertaining to read about. But on the other, reality isn't always entertaining-- so embellishment does happen. One also has to consider how unreliable human memory can be, which blurs the line between fact and fiction further. 

On previous versions of this review I obsessed over financials, or how people recovered from injuries, and so on. Honestly, though, I'm not sure how much the small details matter in a story like this. Westover acknowledges several times where she remembers things differently than others. Memory, and how it changes with time and context, is a central theme of the book. I'll never know Westover's full story because I'm not her. 

But even if only half her story is 100% factually true-- and I think it’s way more than that-- it's still super interesting and discusses some very important topics. Westover comes off as genuine, and she describes her struggles in a very believable way, often going into detail that I'm not sure someone would even think to make up. I think it's nice she doesn't use her achievements as a form of self-aggrandizement. And while Westover accomplished some amazing things considering her background, the book also doesn't come off as a preachy bootstraps narrative. Maybe in five years there will be a huge scandal over this book, but as of now I'm willing to believe it for the most part. 

Educated gets an 8 because while I found it fascinating, it wasn't a life changing piece of work to me. A lot of people feel more strongly about it. Nonfiction also doesn't scratch the same itch for me as, say, really good spec fic. But I'm glad I read it, and I think it's a good thing to read outside one's comfort zone sometimes.  

[thetypedwriter]

Loveless Book Review

Loveless by Alice Oseman Book Review 

This book is stunning. 

I don’t remember the last time I sat down to begin a book and then didn’t get up again until I was finished with the whole thing, but that’s what happened in my first Oseman book Loveless. 

The premise is very simple and yet the relatability of the story is almost unnerving. 

Georgia is 18-years-old and going off to University with two of her best friends. She’s like any other uni student in England, she loves knitted cardigans, adores her friends and family, is an avid fanfiction reader, and most importantly, loves love. 

She gobbles up romcoms like tic tacs, adores Disney movies of all kinds, and even enjoys playing romantic roles during her theater performances. 

However, unlike most of the other 18-year-olds around her, Georgia hasn’t had sex. In fact, she hasn’t even kissed anyone. 

Belatedly, she realizes that she doesn’t even like anyone, nor can she clearly remember a time that she did. 

Panicked that she’s losing a battle with having the expected and sought after “teenage experience”, Georgia is determined to change in University. She commits to this idea that she will date, she will fall in love, and that she will be normal and accepted and just like everyone else in her age group. 

Except of course, none of that goes to plan. 

What follows is a raw and beautiful novel detailing Georgia’s first year as a fresher at the University of Durham.. It follows her as she makes new friends, loses others, forces herself out of her comfort zone, comes to terms with who she really is, and yes, falls in love, although maybe not in the way you would expect her to. 

Never in my life have I read a more profound depiction of an asexual and aromantic character. To be fair though, the bar is not very high. 

When considering the LGBTQ+ spectrum, the most representation we get are the likes of gay and lesbian characters. And while this is a fantastic fist step in widening the representation on the sexuality spectrum, it is in fact, just a first step. 

Out of the novels I read, being asexual has to be the least written about from my perspective. 

Why is this?

Perhaps because LGBTQ+ representation is just kicking off in YA and we haven’t gotten there yet. Perhaps because the book industry and the entertainment industry don’t think a book will be popular or sell if romance is not a part of it. 

Or perhaps because, just like Georgia, we have been conditioned since birth to love love and seek love as one of the ultimate goals of a human life. 

Think about it for a moment. 

How many YA novels have you read where romance is not the defining factor? Or at least one of them? How many main characters in a YA book can you think of that don’t end up with someone in the end?

….

…….I truly don’t know if I can think of a single instance. Not even one. 

Having asexual and aromantic people being largely ignored on the spectrum of human sexuality is not an accident. In fact, the book widely talks about how many people believe it is a made up sexuality altogether, despite thousands of people who identify as such and how the term asexuality was first used as early as 1890’s. 

Loveless is a beautiful novel that hit home on some very personal levels for me, levels that I have yet to see or read about in all the years I’ve been reading and all the books I’ve devoured. Ever. 

On the one hand, that makes me incredibly happy. Happy and relieved to finally read about a character that made me go oh shit. I’ve thought that. I’ve been there. That is me on that page. 

What a beautiful and empowering moment of clarity. 

But also...how devastating that at the age of 26 this is the first book that has made me feel like this. 

As a white woman, I am incredibly privileged to have seen myself represented across multiple forms of media since I have been a child. This is just another example of why representation is not only important, but crucial to all kinds of people, and not just with race, but also gender, sexuality, religion, and the list goes on. 

Even if you can’t relate to Georgia like I often did during the novel, I would still highly recommend this book. It’s witty, it’s well-written and lovingly crafted, the characters feel real and fleshed out, the experiences are nuanced and realistic, and the messages and knowledge you gain in addition to simply a fun and dramatic story puts this book in the upper echelons for me. 

Read it. Please. 

Recommendation: I read this in a single day, people. It’s so easy, incredibly fun, stunning in terms of plot and characters, and overall, a very needed depiction of growing up, accepting yourself, and realizing that being different does not equate to being wrong. 

Score: 8/10

[atamascolily]

Shield of Lies, continued.

What would my mother think of me? he wondered, and it was the first time such a thought had ever confronted him.

Luke, you really suck at introspection, don’t you? Like... NEVER in TEN YEARS have you EVER wondered about your mother? Sigh.

Shortly after the reorganization of the government, Nanaod Engh had given Luke keys to most of the real treasures of the New Republic—the central data libraries maintained by various branches of the General Ministry. Thanks to Admiral Ackbar’s intervention, Luke also carried the highest-grade security clearance held by any civilian.

Between the two, Luke had—potentially—a great deal of information at his fingertips. But the access he had been granted was a courtesy, not a necessity. Luke’s most urgent curiosities were in areas of little interest to bureaucracies, and he had never found reason to make much use of the favors extended him.

But he found himself with reason now.

Speaking of lack of imagination.... SIGH.

Luke returned to the pilot’s couch and curled up sideways in it. “How do people become part of the circle?”

“Curiosity is not sufficient—which I hazard you know. Some are born to it. Some come to it. Is it any different in your discipline?”

“Born with the gift, do you mean, or born to someone who already belongs, to a trained adept?”

“Is the gift not in the blood?”

“Sometimes it seems that way. Sometimes it seems as if the talent goes wild, almost as if the Force chooses its own,” Luke said, turning on his back and propping one foot on the control panel.

“Why, what do you mean?”

“Look at the way the Jedi are coming back,” said Luke. “The Empire hunted us so relentlessly that most everyone who escaped thought they were the only Jedi left. But it isn’t just that a few solitaries who were hiding have resurfaced. I’ve found students with no family history whatsoever, in species that were never represented before in the Order.”

“Some of your number may have been adventurous travelers,” said Akanah. “On Carratos, I heard many jokes about how the Emperor spent his evenings. If a Jedi sleeps alone, surely it must be by choice, as it is with you.”

LOL, Akanah doesn’t know about Callista. Or Gaeriel. Or anything else about Luke’s messed-up love life.

“Are you saying that you expected me to warm a bed with you?” Luke said. “I didn’t think that was our bargain.”

“No,” she said. “I never expected that.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“That Luke Skywalker could have a hundred children by now. A thousand.”

“That’s crazy.”

“No—that’s the simple truth. There are different rules for heroes and royalty, and you’re seen as a little of both. You can’t be unaware of that.”

Luke frowned and looked away. “I don’t know how to be a father to one child, much less a thousand.”

“You wouldn’t need to know,” she said. “Their mothers wouldn’t expect it. They would be grateful enough for the gift.”

“I’d expect it of me,” he said, and firmly steered the conversation back on course. “We were talking about my being an honorary member of the circle—”

Again, I’m surprised by Luke’s lack of imagination--and offers--given how people at the spaceport viewed him. Did none of them really think, “I would totally bang this dude?” WHY IS HE SO SURPRISED?

Also Luke, just say “fuck,” it’s okay, I promise.

“We were talking about my being an honorary member of the circle—”

“Not honorary,” she corrected. “Novice.”

“Novice, then. But there’s an exception in your oath for people like me?”

“Every adept has the right to judge and the duty to teach,” she said. “I’ve made my judgment.”

“And the rest?” Luke asked. “We’ve had many hours together—why haven’t you started to teach me?”

“But I have,” she said. “I’ve asked you to think about what you know and believe. To go beyond that, the novice must ask for the door to be opened. But you aren’t ready to think of yourself as a student again—not yet. You run too well and easily to go back to crawling.”

#accurate. Luke spends most of this book so convinced he knows everything and yet he can’t figure out why he’s so stuck in a rut.

“No,” Luke said, shaking his head. “To be a Jedi is to be a seeker. A Jedi is always learning. It’s only on the dark side that one becomes obsessed with knowing, and impressed with doing.”

“There’s a touch of the dark side,” Akanah said slowly, “in the way you cling to the privilege of killing, and resist the teaching I’ve offered you. A hint of a mind that has settled on answers and resents being challenged with new questions.”

Luke toyed with the lacing on his longshirt as he considered her words. “You may be right,” he said finally. “I found the Force at a time when what I needed was power. I wanted a weapon to protect my friends, not enlightenment. I was thinking of war against the Empire, not peace with the universe. Perhaps something of that lingers in how I see myself. I’ll think on it.”

“Good,” she said. “Your words give me hope. And hope is the beginning of everything worthwhile.”

I have no idea how the chronology lines up with the other plots and honestly it’s hard to care. This is the most interesting part of the book to me, and I’m STILL reeling at how late in the game this is.

He then took advantage of the open space inside the bay to work his first complete set of Jedi training drills since leaving Coruscant. Working both with and without his lightsaber, he patiently went through the complex exercises which brought him to a profound state of restful clarity.

It was in this state that he felt most keenly the truth and the wisdom of the simple words: There is no emotion; there is peace. There is no ignorance; there is knowledge. There is no passion; there is serenity. There is no death; there is the Force. The peace, the knowledge, and the serenity were gifts that came with his surrender to the Force and with his connection through the Force to all that was.

Sustaining that clarity was always the challenge. In the isolation of a Dagobah, the Jundland Wastes, or a hermitage on a frozen shore, an experienced Jedi could preserve that inner state indefinitely.

But the chaos of the real world was another matter. When ego returned, so did will. The surrender became tainted, the connection flawed. The clarity gradually slipped away under the continuous assault of elementary drives and passions. Even the greatest of the masters needed to perform the practice regularly lest they lose the discipline that made them what they were.

GAH. WHY IS IT ALWAYS DUALITY WITH YOU, KUBE-MCDOWELL? WHAT ABOUT  A MIDDLE WAY BETWEEN THE “TAINTED WORLD” AND “PURITY OF ISOLATION”. What about “entering the market-place with gift-bestowing hands”? And nothing ever stays the same “indefinitely”!!!!!

The drills were as much a test for the body as for the mind, and the docking bay’s newly sanitized shower brought a blissful peace to muscles that were telling Luke they had not been properly exercised in too long. He stood for a long time in the place where the six needle jets converged, letting the water flowing down his body become another meditation.

Yeah, maybe you should have thought of that in your hermitage-quarantine-sulk thing??

I’d forgotten about the bookstore full of Jedi forgeries!!! 

The offerings included Emperor Palpatine’s Principles of Power, a private publication for Imperial Moffs; the Sith book of offerings and rituals; the H’kig book of laws; and the secrets of forming Bilar-type claqa group-minds, among others—with a special discount if Luke took any three or more. Most of the documents were undoubtedly frauds, and none tempted Luke beyond idle curiosity over the skillfulness of the fraud.

And the Jabba’s palace re-creation OH MY GOODNESS:

But making his way to the outgate, Luke turned a corner and was taken aback by the brilliantly lit exterior of a club bar called Jabba’s Throne Room. Performing Nightly—The Original Max Rebo Band, said the scroll. Visit Jabba’s Guest Quarters with a Pleasure Slave. Face the Mighty Rancor in the Pit of Death—

Driven by an outraged curiosity, Luke joined the line and paid the membership charge without haggling. Inside, he descended a curving flight of stairs into a remarkably faithful copy of the throne room in Jabba’s desert palace on Tatooine. Some of the dimensions had been stretched to accommodate more tables in front of the bandstand and around the rancor pit, but the architecture and atmosphere were authentic.

“Why, it’s just like the Palace Museum,” [he] said to the tall and elegantly dressed Twi’lek barring the way at the bottom of the stairs.

“I’m afraid my master Jabba is away on business,” said the Bib Fortuna look-alike, nodding toward the empty dais. “But I’m having a little party in his absence, and I hope you’ll enjoy yourself.” His head-tails stirred in signal, and one of the scantily clad dancing girls hurried to him.

“Yes, Lord Fortuna,” the server said.

“Oola, this is a friend of mine,” said the major-domo. “Treat him well. Find him a seat at my best table.”

The same fiction was carried through everywhere else—an Ortolan keyboardist leading a jizz-wailer trio on the bandstand, the roaring of the rancor underfoot, an annoying Kowakian monkey-lizard skittering around the room stealing food and cackling rudely, even a carbon-frozen Han Solo hanging in the display alcove. But a busy kitchen was concealed down the corridor to the servant’s quarters, and the price card “Oola” left for him included various services available upstairs in the guest quarters and downstairs in Jabba’s dungeon.

It was tasteless and exploitative, but the music was surprisingly agreeable, the roast nerf was tantalizing, and the clientele was markedly more subdued than their counterparts out on the walks. [He] ordered a drink and the executioner’s cut of nerf, refused all other offers with a polite smile, and settled in to discover the truth quotient of The Secrets of the Jedi.

Shortly after his meal arrived, Luke’s consciousness was pricked by hearing a familiar name spoken at a nearby table: Leia’s. He looked up, fearing that the evening’s entertainment at Jabba’s Throne Room would be a dance by a slave-girl-Leia look-alike. But the band was on a break and the transparisteel dance platform over the rancor pit deserted.

I’m honestly surprised this isn’t at Galaxy’s Edge, tbh.

Shortly after, a holographic Jabba made an appearance on the dais above the main floor. That signaled the start of an elaborately scripted show that promised to involve not only “Bib Fortuna” and the dancers, but additional actors and the audience as well.

Luke took that as his cue to leave. His decision was affirmed when, climbing up the curving stairs to the street, he encountered the bounty hunter Boushh coming down them with an unconvincing Chewbacca in tow.

“Aren’t you a little short for a Wookiee?” he muttered under his breath as they passed.

LOL. Anyway, here’s some stuff on archives searches in the GFFA:

From Carratos he requested any information available from newsgrid, political, or police records on Akanah Norand Pell, Andras Pell, and Talsava. He sent the same query to Coruscant’s criminal records office and citizen registry and to the home offices of both the Coruscant Global Newsgrid and the New Republic Prime Newsgrid.

From the New Republic Reference Service, he requested a quickreport on naming conventions on Lucazec and Carratos, thinking he might parse another lead from the names in hand.

A second request to the same source asked for five-hundred-word excerpts from all matches on the key words “Fallanassi” and “White Current.” After a short debate with himself, and despite the pathetic and sensational inaccuracies of Secrets of the Jedi, Luke also contacted an information broker on Atzerri and paid a hundred credits for a search on the same keys.

He also requested a Current Terms & Conditions brochure from the chief librarian’s office on Obroa-skai. The library computers there were the only resource offering both a greater variety and a greater volume of records than those held by Coruscant.

But Obroa-skai’s generosity with its planetary treasure was limited. To protect against theft of the library, and to provide the resources needed to maintain it, accessing the records meant either going to Obroa-skai or hiring one of the library’s own trained contract researchers.

In either case, Obroa-skai was not a resource one turned to for quick answers. The official language of New Republic recordkeeping was Basic, and everything held by Coruscant was kept in one of several readily searchable data specifications. But the Obroa-skai library was a collection of primary documents, in ten thousand storage formats and uncountable languages. The most complete general index covered only fifteen percent of the library’s holdings, and all the specialty indexes combined added only a few percent to that.

Those were the principal reasons why the brochure—which Luke received within minutes of requesting it, as the first response to any of his inquiries—reported that a normal single-part library search was averaging eight days. The waiting list for terminal time was holding at fifteen days, and the backlog for contract researchers had climbed to seventy.

LOL. I should definitely use that in a fic at some point.