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hermionegranger56 · 4 years ago

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a v late recap of evermore

so i think Taylor Swift sensed that i was Going Through It and was like here you sad bitch, here’s another surprise album to help fix all that. cause good lord evermore is just what i (and i think we all) needed. i truly TRULY can’t believe we’re lucky enough to get a sister album to folklore, i love it so much. the first day it was out i drove myself 2 hours to the very end of the Cape and sat on an empty beach and cried to it and honestly??? magical. here are my thoughts on it that no one asked for:

first, as an overall here, this album complements folklore so well. it’s the spring to folklore’s autumn, it’s self-assured and warm and beautiful. each album shows off her lyrical genius so well and she only grows stronger here. when folklore came out, i was floored because the music was so different for her and so up my alley. each song’s production sucked me in and it was like she was confidently telling us “here is another genre i can work with” (masterfully at that). evermore feels different. it feels like Taylor is so comfortable in this creative space, she isn’t trying to fit into any new molds or expectations, she is just HERE, now, saying “this is who i am and this is my craft”. it’s really been a privilege to watch her grow as an artist. ok. here we go

willow:

god the video was so beautiful, a really good continuation of cardigan. the chorus is so so delicate and prettyyy, thats MY MAN ughhh its so good. it reminds me a lot of invisible string tbh, or if betty from cardigan grew up and found love. this is really one of my favorites, she starts so strong

fave lines: “the more that you say, the less i know/ wherever you stray I follow/ i’m begging for you to take my hand/ wreck my plans, that’s my man”; “life was a willow and it bent right to your wind”

champagne problems:

oh dear god, it’s if all too well and new years day had a baby and it is a MASTERPIECE. i can picture it all, college sweethearts, broken hearts, i feel like its new england at christmas, ivy league old money…its cinematic. and it gets at the feeling like you’ll never be good enough so you leave before that happens (basically before you get to the tolerate it stage??) and OOF. AND GODDAMN THE RANTING BRIDGE (illicit affairs came close on folklore but i think THIS might be the best bridge since All Too Well). I’ve screamed it a lot tbh

fave lines: BRIDGE BABYYYYYY EVERY SINGLE PERFECT WORD. WHAT A SHAME SHES FUCKED IN THE HEADDDD

gold rush:

this one is bright and lovely and catchy!! it reminds me a lot of mirrorball tbh, all like swirly and magical. i can’t even put it into words but i can see this one so clearly. its all rosy and golden

fave lines: “eyes like sinking ships on waters/ so inviting, i almost jump in”; “what must it be like to grow up that beautiful?/with your hair falling into place like dominoes/ I see me padding across your wooden floors/ with my Eagles t-shirt hanging from your door”; “the coastal town we wandered round/ had never seen a love as pure as it”; “my mind turns your life into folklore”

’tis the damn season:

UGH I FUCKING LOVE THIS ONE EVEN THOUGH IT MAKES ME WANNA TEXT MY EX. the melody is SOOOO satisfying, the progression to “write this down”, i’m obsessed. the idea of being home for the holidays and feeling a little lost and tired and nostalgic for what could have been is something superrrr relatable. this song reminds me of snowy drives around my hometown in the best/worst possible way hahah. one of my top 5 for sure.

fave lines: “we could call it even/ you could call me babe for the weekend/ tis the damn season, write this down/i’m staying at my parents house/ and the road not taken looks real good now”; “and wonder about the only soul/ who can tell which smiles i’m faking”

tolerate it:

oh honeyyyyy this track 5 packs a punch, i mean the lyrics are absolutely BRUTAL in the best way. it’s just so sad, and encompasses a lot of my own insecurity about always feeling like you’re more invested in a relationship and watching someone fall out of love or just stop caring. i LOVE the “my love should be celebrated, but you tolerate it”, like bitch YES your love should be celebrated. also taylor sounds angelic on the “I” at the start of the chorus

fave lines: “i know my love should be celebrated/ but you tolerate it”; “i made you my temple, my mural, my sky/ now i’m begging for footnotes in the story of your life”; “what would you do if I/break free and leave us in ruins/ took this dagger in me and removed it”

no body, no crime:

YESSSSSSSSS I LOVE THE SUBGENRE OF COUNTRY ABOUT WOMEN KILLING SHITTY HUSBANDS AND THIS SONG IS SO FUCKING GOOD AHHHHH!! I LOVE the beat, i love country taylor, i love the addition of HAIM. UGH ITS SO CATCHYYYY, like i’m obsessed with the slide from “i think he did it but i just. can’t. prove itttttt NOOO no body no crime” UGHHH this is without a doubt in my top five

fave lines: “she thinks i did it but she just can’t prove it”

happiness:

I heard this one described as an emotional marathon and holy shit it is, each line is a sucker punch. i really like how it feels like a conversation and looks at the acceptance and pain that mingle together when a relationship just…ends. her lyrics are unmatched on this album but this is a particularly strong track

fave lines: “i haven’t met the new me yet”; “when did all our lessons start to look like weapons/ pointed at my deepest hurt”; “there is a glorious sunrise/ dappled with the flickers of light/ from the dress i wore at midnight”

dorothea:

this one feels like Betty 2.0 and its so sweet and bright and also kinda sad. it’s wistful!! that’s the word i want, wistful! the vibe is gives off reminds me of Red, like musically. it’s home-y. idk if that makes sense but i like it a lot

fave lines: and if you’re ever tired of being known for who you know/ you know, you’ll always know me”

coney island:

ugh this one is magical, i honestly really love the instrumental to this one, it’s so soothing. the lyrics to me feel like you’re in some dream state, going through every heartbreak you’ve ever been through. I love the addition of The National, the vocals fit together so well (and I like it better than both Bon Iver features i think??)

fave lines: do you miss the rogue/ who coaxed you into paradise and left you there/ will you forgive my soul/ who you’re too wise to trust me and too old to care?”

ivy:

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH (that’s how i feel about this absolute masterpiece oh my GOD) it makes me so incandescently happy, the folk feel, the lyrics that are so cinematic and poetic and paint such a clear picture (to me) of two Victorian lovers who are in unhappy marriages but don’t let that stop their love. the chorus just like….fills my whole chest, the OH GODDAMN hits so different. and i want “my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand” tattooed on me, that is one of her BEST lines and i will die on that hill. its all so pretty, i can’t deal. the vibe also strongly reminds me of a) invisible string and b) Little Women (2019). i think taylor should do folk and uhhhh only folk please

fave lines: EVERY WORD BUT ESPECIALLY: “i’d meet you where the spirit meets the bone/ in a faith forgotten land”; “oh goddamn/ my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand/ taking mine, but its been promised to another/ oh, i can’t/ stop you putting roots in my dreamland/ my house of stone, your ivy grows/ and now I’m covered in you”; “he wants what’s only yours”; “clover blooms in the field/ springs breaks loose, time is near“; ”so yeah, it’s a fire/ its a goddamn blaze in the dark and you started it”

cowboy like me:

ALL RIGHT everyone sleeps on this song but oh my GOD its so good!! it’s smooth and dreamy and gives me that old fashioned, bonnie and clyde type love story and some of the lyrics are so poetic. I really love the addition of the Tim McGraw chords too???? BUT DEAR GOD COULD WE HAVE GIVEN MARCUS MUMFORD MORE OF A ROLE HERE??!! HE SOUNDS WONDERFUL, GIVE HIM A FEATURE, GIVE HIM A WHOLE VERSE. THIS IS A FOLK ALBUM TAYLOR, USE FUCKING MUMFORD AHHHH (i fucking love him omg)

fave lines: “dancin’ is a dangerous game”; “you’re a bandit like me/ eyes full of stars”; “now you hang from my lips/ like the Gardens of Babylon/ with your boots beneath my bed/ forever is the sweetest con”

long story short:

A BOP!! GIVE ME SOME HAPPINESS TAYLOR WOO! I really love how catchy this one is. it feels like her introducing the craziness of her life to joe and being like look all of that was tough but here i am now and I couldn’t be happier. It’s refreshing, self-deprecating and endearing. I couldn’t love it more and it is ALWAYS stuck in my head!

fave lines: “and he’s passing by/ rare as the glimmer of a comet in the sky”; “long story short I survived”

marjorie:

ha hahah hah ha this one ENDS me, like dear LORD i need to call my grandma immediately. it is so so GOOD and SAD, like the you don’t know how good something or someone is until they’re gone, but even then, they’re still there with you. I love the grandma wisdom of “never be so clever you forget to be kind” etc. and holy SHIT the addition of Taylor’s grandmother’s opera singing as background vocals is GENIUS AND DEVASTATING, god the part where she goes “i’d think you were singing with me now” and then Marjorie comes in is honestly one of the most beautiful musical moments i’ve heard in a hot minute and it breaks me every time. wow.

fave lines: “never be so polite/ you forget your power/ never wield such power/ you forget to be polite”; “the autumn chill that wakes me up/ you loved the amber sky so much”; “and if i didn’t know better/ i’d think you were singing to me now”

closure:

ok i’m sorry, this is my only skip here. I really do love the lyrics and the idea of, yeah no you don’t deserve closure from me. i just can’t get past the pots and pans beginning, its too chaotic. but i’m sure it’ll grow on me! it does feel like finally moving on and i do love that about it

fave lines: “don’t treat me like/ some situation that needs to be handled”; “i know i’m just a/ wrinkle in your new life/ staying friends would/ iron it out so nice”

evermore:

god her voice is SO soothing in this one, it’s literally hypnotic. the song itself feels wandering and dark at first, like you’re stuck in this depression, and then bon iver comes in and it picks up and it feels like coming out of the trees, into the sunlight and finding your way again. finding that the pain WOULDNT be for evermore like she says. it feels like an ending and a beginning. beautiful

fave lines: “writing letters/ addressed to the fire”; “and when i was shipwrecked/ i thought of you/ in the cracks of light/ i dreamed of you”; “and i was catching my breath/ floors of the cabin creaking under my step/ and i couldn’t be sure/ i had a feeling so peculiar/ this pain wouldn’t be for evermore”

#taylor swift #evermore #tswift #evermore album #willow #champagne problems

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g-perla · 4 years ago

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The ACOTAR Series is a Romantic/Gothic Horror Stage and Only Nesta Got the Memo

Not even SJM knows what’s going on.

Ok, this is going to seem off the rails but bear with me.

So I'm a big fan of Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë (top 5 books and all that jazz) and I was thinking about it because it deals with themes of the Other and the supernatural, Nature as Character, the overlap of the animalistic and human, blurring of established binaries...fun, Romantic shit like that. Interestingly, this overlaps with how SJM illustrates her world and characters a lot of the time, hence why I was considering it while working on my Nesta project. I’ve mentioned before that Nesta really gives me Byronic heroine vibes and that’s a character construct of precisely this literary tradition.

I started thinking about Heathcliff and Cathy and how they're ridiculously extra and just feel the most intense emotions towards each other but also towards literally everything (nothing half-assed ever, this is a Romantic novel after all). I then remembered how so many people ship them, but like in earnest, in a totally aspirational way. It's not a #cursed ship to them at all. It's...romantic to them not Romantic. I even read often that people quote it at their weddings, specifically the infamous "two souls" quote.

Then I had an epiphany. I was like "wait, what if SJM is one of those people?? What if she has the energy of a Cathy/Heathcliff earnest shipper and that's why all her ships are messy??" Because if that is the case, my friends, oh boy oh boy would it explain so much. I will post some sections from Wuthering Heights:

Doesn’t the acotar series seem like a 1/50 dilution of that energy?? And that is barely a taste of all the spiciness this book has to offer. To illustrate further: SJM gave us the F/eysand suicide pact and the near-death battlefield Nessian scene. One is certainly more outlandish than the other, but both are the result of intense emotions. To that Emily Brontë raises the following: Heathcliff asking the sexton to dig up Cathy’s grave to see what’s up because her ghost has been haunting him since he personally dug up her grave 18 years prior and she has been haunting him ever since. He later demands to be buried in the same exact grave when he dies so they can decompose together. They both married other people though which only adds to the mess. (I am not lying to you the Romantic tradition really gave us these gems lmao. As an aside, Mary Shelley was also a writer of the Romantic tradition and she confessed her love to husband Percy Bysshe Shelley on her mother’s grave. Her mother was liberal feminist icon Mary Wollstonecraft by the way which only makes this even more amazing. Additionally, biographers believe that the Shelleys also had sex there. Talk about Romantic 😉.)

Then I had ANOTHER thought! (Dangerous)

If we read the series from the point of view of just another YA high fantasy things might get a bit boring because the world-building is honestly lazy and the magic system is pretty soft, which isn’t a pre-requisite in high fantasy (The Lord of the Rings has a soft magic system) but it's not the norm and it doesn't pay off in this series. Not to mention that the plot is pretty lackluster and derivative. To add to that the romantic and sexual relationships are questionable in their healthiness and consequently are the source of much argument in the fandom.

But, dear reader, if we think about the ACOTAR series as being a sort of thematic and ideological 21st century YA homage to the Romantic tradition of the 19th century (within which Gothic Horror also lives), things get REALLY, REALLY SPICY.

No longer do we just have a romance fantasy with messy, hyper-emotional, animalistic characters who constantly partake in morally grey situations rife with dubious dynamics. No longer does plot really matter. No longer do we require quasi-scientific descriptions of the world and the magical system. No! All that matters now are the characters and the mood. Now we have potential! Add a lot of Nature ambiance: expanses of dark woods, great mountains, the unknowable and sublime energy of the ocean, a violent rainstorm/hurricane/tsunami, an impending snowstorm whose intensity reflects the growing emotional intensity of the characters as the story goes along (I’m looking at you impending snowstorm in acofas that curiously matches the growing complexity of Nesta’s emotional state). Blur the lines between any imaginable category: life and death, human and animal, known and unknown, Self and Other, beautiful and monstrous, good and evil, masculine and feminine, the list goes on. Most importantly make your readers uncomfortable by frustrating their desires to sort things into easy binary categories and don’t apologise for making them question their assumptions about the world, morality, gender, and any other kind of previously constructed Order.

Basically write the story with Dionysus-in-a-Greek-tragedy energy and bring to us mere mortals artful Chaos.

Once that is done we can have a literal Romantic/Gothic Horror story. The Acotar series could have been this unapologetically, with the added element of being told through the eyes of the "Cathy" character instead of through the lens of a third person getting second-hand accounts about what went on. This whole series is honestly enough of a chaotic mess of Byronic-like heroes and heroines and cursed familial relationships that it could have been that. That alone is peak entertainment. The problem, however, and the main reason why I can’t really say that this series truly delivered this wackiness is that SJM committed the act of not fully committing to the bit (very un-Romantic of her, I know). Now, I am not saying that SJM actually intended this. I’m just saying it really could have accidentally been this genius with some tweaks. Unfortunately, she made the crucial mistake of trying to justify too much, trying to make things too neat, too tidy, too sensical (in other words: the reason we really can’t have nice things).

I could end this here, lamenting the potential of what SJM had set-up for us were it not for one element, one gift:

Nesta

OHOHOHO DO THINGS GET GOOD HERE SO BUCKLE UP

Most of the characters refuse to fully commit to the bit in their desire to satisfy modern sensibilities, by which I of course mean they want ridiculous things like political power, to conquer lands, to be a Girl Boss, to get married, have kids, celebrate holidays, converse about mundane things, be relatable, etc. You know, pretty pedestrian stuff that only requires a bit of genetic luck, a sprinkle of energy, and the right circumstances within the world of Acotar. I would like to reiterate the beginning of this paragraph: most of the characters.

Let’s say you’re stubborn and you decide to still read the series through the lens of the Romantic/Gothic tradition, what happens then?

The most hilarious thing (for the Nesta stans that is. The antis would probably hate this)

Nesta, based on what we know about her through Feyre and the limited amount of other scenes, is the only character who really takes the performance seriously. She's the only one that SJM hasn't managed to confine through justification. Nesta just shows up and simply refuses to make sense (her POWER what a queen 👑). She is endlessly fascinating because she just exists in her world on her terms, established categories be damned, and in this manner she frustrates not only the sensibilities of the characters in the stories but those of the reader as well. This double duty is, I suggest, the result of the other characters not fully inhabiting the nebulous world of Romantic characters and thus being a little too plausible and understandable even if they are not justifiable.

Ok, you may say, but I relate so much to Nesta. I do understand her. I don’t justify all of her actions, but I understand where she is coming from. (You’re not alone, friend. I like to think these things too. Alas, we are but plebs).

To that I reply; Nesta does things, certainly, and we can spend hours trying to explain through extrapolation, educated guesses, and personal experience why she did those things, but the fact is we really don't know why. We are never explicitly told. Our insight into who she is and her motivations comes predominantly from the understanding of her youngest sister and from our own interpretation of the actions she takes. I must make clear that our own interpretations are rooted in pre-established assumptions about what is sensical and orderly in our own world and in our own lives. We cannot interpret with the tools available to us that which may be, by definition, unfathomable. It is simply paradoxical. Nesta, as we currently know her, is a construct derived from a limited number of scenes and our interpretations and projections of these scenes. Even the scenes where we get third person narration don’t explicitly tell us her motivations and her logic. For all we know there really is no comprehensible reason for her actions and that is endlessly amusing to me in how utterly Romantic it is. Acosf may and likely will change this of course, but as it stands, Nesta is a whole Romantic character. Her divisiveness in fandom and in the narrative could be due in part to her refusal to fit the discrete categories available in her world and ours.

Isn’t that wonderful?

To illustrate this a bit more I will share some details SJM gives us about her/ elements she sets up that fit in with the characteristics of the Romantic tradition (these are not exhaustive by any means):

The absolute pettiness (and extra-ness) of being so angry at her father’s inaction that she is willing to starve to death to see if he does something.

How in Acowae she is described as shifting between emotions as if she were changing clothes and feeling everything too strongly (probably to the point of destruction)

She is constantly being compared to animals, even when she is still human. Granted, SJM compares everyone to animals, but that strengthens the blurring of lines between usually discrete categories. It is still most powerful when used as a comparison when she is human because it dehumanises Nesta.

Often, SJM describes her characters as forces. Forces of nature, for example. Acofas is full of details like this in relation to Nesta. There is a storm brewing leading up to the solstice party and it is in full swing when she arrives at the townhouse. The language used there suggests that Nesta herself may be the storm (against the onslaught of Nesta). It really adds to the Maleficent energy tbh.

She is often associated with death post her transformation

She is Other even to Others. She was Made like Elain, Feyre, and Amren in a sense, but the process of her specific transformation differentiates her greatly from the others. As it is, she doesn’t fit in anywhere

Her intense attachment to her femininity and its expression are at odds with the ideas and assumptions about the performance of womanhood and a woman’s role in her world and even in ours. She is unapologetically feminine in her physical presentation, but her character, her thoughts, and possibly even desires transgress the unwritten rules of acceptable femininity (unfortunately there still are abject expressions of femininity in our ‘”progressive” mileux

She displays in many of her actions a disrespect towards authority and to the status quo. This is particularly notable when her intensely polarised sense of right and wrong is aggravated.

Her self-destructiveness. This is referred to most strongly in Acofas, but I would say she was remarkably blasé about self-preservation in Acowar as well

She is described as intelligent, cunning, ruthless, attractive, and prone to debilitating extremes of emotionality. All of these are characteristics of Byronic heroes, a subtype of the Romantic hero

Here are a bunch of quotes that touch on many of the elements that I have discussed above:

“I looked at my sister, really looked at her, at this woman who couldn’t stomach the sycophants who now surrounded her, who had never spent a day in the forest but had gone into wolf territory...Who had shrouded the loss of our Mother, then our downfall, because the anger had been a lifeline, the cruelty a release. But she had cared--beneath it she had cared, and perhaps loved more fiercely than I could comprehend, more deeply and loyally.”

--Acotar, emphasis mine, note the strong emotions. This is a recurring element for Nesta.

“Cassian’s face went almost feral. A wolf who had been circling a doe...Only to find a mountain cat wearing its hide instead.”

--Acomaf, animal comparison

“Nesta is different from most people,” I explained. “She comes across as rigid and vicious, but I think it’s a wall. A shield--like the ones Rhys has in his mind.” “Against what?” “Feeling. I think Nesta feels everything--sees too much; sees and feels it all. And she burns with it. Keeping that wall up helps from being overwhelmed, from caring too greatly.”

--Acomaf, emphasis mine

“I knew that she was different [...] Nesta was different [...] as if the Cauldron in making her...had been forced to give more than it wanted. As if Nesta had fought after she went under, and had decided that if she was to be dragged into hell, she was taking the Cauldron with her.”

--Acomaf, Nesta had her own plans for the Cauldron what a queen

“Something great and terrible.”

--Acowar, referring to her eyes. Oooh, spooky Nesta 👻

“The day she was changed, she...I felt something different with her [...] like looking at a house cat and suddenly finding a panther standing there instead.”

--Acowar, a two in one here: difference + animal comparison. Boy does SJM really go heavy when establishing Nesta as Other.

“‘Not in flesh, not in the thing that prowls beneath our skin and bones...’ Amren’s remarkable eyes narrowed. ‘But...I see the kernel, girl.’ Amren nodded, more to herself than anyone. ‘You did not fit--the mold that they shoved you into. The path you were born upon and forced to walk. You tried, and yet you did not, could not fit. And then the path changed.’ A little nod. ‘I know--what it is to be that way. I remember it, long ago as it was.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’“

--Acowar, show don’t tell gets thrown out the window here, but it is useful for the present purposes

“What if I tell you that the rock and darkness and sea beyond whispered to me, Lord of Bloodshed? How they shuddered in fear, on that island across the sea. How they trembled when she emerged. She took something--something precious. She ripped it out with her teeth. What did you wake that day in Hybern, Prince of Bastards?

What came out was not what went in [...] How lovely she is, new as a fawn and yet ancient as the sea. How she calls to you. A queen as my sister once was. Terrible and proud; beautiful as a winter’s sunrise.”

--Acowar, who knew rocks, darkness, and the sea were such gossips, but look how many connections to nature! To be compared to the sea, a significant example of the sublime, is peak Romanticism. If any of you have read Moby Dick, think about what the ocean and the white whale might have represented there and how that might relate to Nesta.

“I think the power is death--death made flesh.”

--Acowar, Feyre referring to the possible nature of Nesta’s power. Alluding to her powers possibly being related to death is quite significant because that is something most of us cannot comprehend, nor can most of the characters. For Nesta, a “reborn” but very much living character to have death associated with her is a strong blurring of the lines. The case of her being labelled a witch is similarly significant as it solidifies the elements of the supernatural while simultaneously comparing her to pretty much the only exclusively female-coded monster in western pop culture. I will touch more on this when I do my study of Nesta through the framework of Barbara Creed’s Monstrous Feminine.

“I am not like the others.”

--Acowar, we love a self-aware queen.

“Nesta took in his broken body, the pain in Cassian’s eyes, and angled her head.

The movement was not human.

Not fae.

Purely animal.

Purely predator.”

--Acowar

There are a lot more details and quotes that support this interpretation, but I didn’t write them all down in my archived notes. This post is obscenely long, however, so even though there is more to be said, I’ll leave it for another day. If you made it this far you really are an MVP and probably love Nesta to a concerning degree like me. Please rest your eyes if you’re actually reading this 😂

I’d love to read about any other takes and thoughts that might have come to your minds after reading this monstrosity,

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ineffable-snowman · 5 years ago

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Day 7: Silent Night

Only very loosely inspired by the prompt for today, the fic grew too long and into something different than I had planned.

***

When Aziraphale heard Bach’s Christmas Oratory for the first time in 1734, he was almost moved to tears. The retelling of Jesus’s birth was, of course, not in strict accordance with the facts but no human had ever got it right, which was quite understandable as Aziraphale was the only being on earth who had been there. Still, he felt that Johann Sebastian Bach had come really close – his music did. The at times jubilant, at times dignified music did not exactly depict the hectic rush of that day but it reflected the meaning of Christmas.

Aziraphale could not understand how a human could come up with such heavenly music without angelic intervention. But then again, it was so much more powerful music than the celestial harmonies he had had to practice in the heavenly choir for eternities. He wouldn’t want one of the angels to interfere with Bach’s creativity. And Aziraphale himself – well, after some initial reservations he had come to enjoy human music very much and had even tried to learn the gamba for a few years but he certainly would not have been able to inspire Bach.

When Aziraphale learned that there were five more parts of the Christmas Oratory, he was utterly delighted and could not wait to come back for the next. He immediately told Crowley when they met up to share a Christmas dinner: “So, your trying to get Bach to drink too much obviously did not work. He still composes the most sublime music. You have to come and listen to the other parts of the Christmas Oratory.”

“Ha, nice try, angel. Trying to lure me into a church with promises of divine music. Not gonna happen.”

Aziraphale spluttered. “I didn’t mean to suggest – I – I didn’t think… well. I suppose…you can’t come. Pity.”

“Yeah, not really interested in church music anyway. I prefer his dances.”

Aziraphale pulled a face. Dances were always so indecent, wild and chaotic! Of course Crowley liked them, and although Aziraphale secretly enjoyed some of the slower ones, he would never admit it out loud.

***

The second part of Bach’s Oratory was just as good as the first. The soprano who sang Aziraphale’s role flattered him quite a bit (because this exquisite recitative was so much more dignified than his babbled words to the frightened shepherds had been). Crowley couldn’t stop laughing when Aziraphale told him and threatened to make a few suggestions to Bach on how to change the angel’s singing part. Aziraphale in turn threatened to never share a Christmas meal again if Crowley really went through with that.

The third part was just as beautiful. When Aziraphale left the church afterwards, he saw a very familiar demonic figure quickly disappear into a side street.

“What were you doing so close to the church?” he confronted Crowley later.

“No worries, no official assignment at the moment. Just thought I’d try to hear a bit of what the hustle and bustle is all about.”

“Oh.”

Of course Crowley was curious. He always wanted to learn about all the new human things. The idea that Crowley never would get to hear Bach’s Christmas Oratory and only could lurk outside the church suddenly made Aziraphale unbearably sad. There just was no way. He briefly thought about asking the flutist, whom Aziraphale had helped when he had almost lost his youngest kid to illness, to give them a private performance but you needed a whole orchestra, a choir and soloists for that opus. You needed the sound and the atmosphere of a church to fully appreciate it.

“Don’t look so sad,” Crowley said with a sneer. “I don’t gripe when you refuse to dance.”

(It was a blatant lie because Crowley did gripe. Every time.)

***

Aziraphale tried to tell Crowley about the music in every detail. He even acquired a copy of the autograph so Crowley could at least study the sheet music. (Crowley told him to stick it up his xxxx, which had Aziraphale in a cranky mood for three years. He was only mollified when Crowley apologised by giving him a lovely wooden box with intricate carvings which he could use for his most treasured autographs.)

Then people forgot about Johann Sebastian Bach, to Aziraphale’s great regret.

It was only in the second half of the nineteenth century that the humans slowly rediscovered Bach’s work and fully appreciated his genius. Over the years Aziraphale went to three more performances of the Christmas Oratory in Germany and found it to be just as touching as the first time. He even tried to influence the churches in London to play it around Christmas time, and hung up posters in his shop to advertise for it. By the turn of the century, Aziraphale had been able to make it a habit to see the Christmas Oratory once a year. And the humans had invented something new, something genius: a gramophone. Aziraphale’s first thought had been that Crowley would now finally be able to listen to the music that was only played in churches.

The thing was just: They did not talk anymore. Had not, in fact, talked for decades. Of course, in the earlier days they had not seen each other for much longer periods of time but since they had both moved to London, they had seen each other at least once a year. Until that terrible day in 1862 and that stupid fight.

After two years of silence from Crowley, Aziraphale had tentatively reached out. He sent a short note, which was left unanswered. Then he sent a longer letter, in which he told Crowley about a new play he wanted to see and invited him to come along. No reply either, which was rather rude, wasn’t it? Growing impatient (and, yes, maybe also a bit worried) Aziraphale had gone to Crowley’s flat only to find that Crowley had put up wards that were meant to keep humans (and probably angels and demons, too) out, because when he approached the flat, he suddenly had so many other things on his mind that he absolutely needed to do right now. Aziraphale cleared his head. He probably could have burst through the wards with a very powerful angelic miracle but it did not seem the right thing to do if Crowley did not want him there. Crowley had never rejected him before. It was a strange feeling. It hurt.

Aziraphale regularly (once a year) went past Crowley’s flat to check if the demonic wards were still in place. They always were. He never caught a glimpse of Crowley in London, didn’t even hear about any demonic deeds. Heaven replied to his enquiry that, yes, the demon Crowley was still stationed on earth but apparently inactive at the moment. Heaven was pleased. Aziraphale was… not. He was sometimes annoyed and sometimes hurt and therefore decided to learn the gavotte. It was one of his best decisions ever. He not only learned to dance but he also made human friends. He enjoyed himself.

But then the human friends grew old and fragile and died, the gavotte went out of style and the gramophone was invented and Aziraphale yearned to see Crowley again. He wrote a very long letter, in which he explained himself, apologised and told Crowley that he missed him. He called him “my dear friend”, even though his hands were shaking in fear when he wrote the lines.

As he could not risk the letter falling into the wrong hands, he delivered it personally. He forced his mind not to get distracted when he approached the flat. But when he was about to throw the letter into the letter box, he noticed that it was already full. With a quick miracle he opened it, and there were dozens of old letters, among them the two Aziraphale had sent years ago. Crowley had never even opened them. Aziraphale stared at the dirty windows that had not been cleaned in years. Crowley must have left London. Probably gone to America. Because America seemed a place Crowley would enjoy and fit in. Without so much as a word of farewell.

Aziraphale carefully selected the three letters he had written and took them home where he burned them.

He considered taking up one of the new dances of the Twentieth Century but then there was a war going on, and then people had hardly recovered and there was another war, maybe even worse than the first. Crowley had always said the Fourteenth Century had been the worst but the Twentieth Century seemed to surpass it. It was unbelievable what humans were capable of doing to each other.

Fortunately, there were still some good humans. A brave woman recruited Aziraphale to help her fight against the Nazi spies in London.

But then she turned out to be a double-agent.

In all that horror and chaos it was a demon that proved that there was still good in the world.

Crowley had been so brave and brilliant and, good Lord, quite dashing with that fetching hat, but most of all he had been kind. Aziraphale followed him in a daze, through the destroyed church and to a black automobile parked in front of it. The doors opened at a gesture from Crowley, and Aziraphale gingerly climbed inside, still clutching the bag with the books.

It was surreal, speeding through the dark and empty streets of London. Sometimes they heard a bomb detonate in the distance. Crowley drove them in silence and Aziraphale was lost for words because his heart felt too full to speak.

“Here we are.” They stopped in front of the bookshop.

“Ah, lovely.” Aziraphale struggled for words. “Can I… invite you in for a drink? As a – a thank you? ”

“Probably better get into a bunker.”

“Oh, I have one just under the bookshop. For the books.”

“The books. Yeah. ’Course.”

“There’s also a nice couch.”

“Right.” Crowley finally stepped out of the car and followed Aziraphale into the bookshop. He had moved his favourite books and his most prized possessions downstairs into the bunker (which meant that half the bookshop was empty now).

He showed Crowley down and then hurried through the bookshop to get two glasses and the best wine he had. When he came downstairs, Crowley was already lounging on the couch, his legs dangling over the armrest. With a casual wave of his hand he snapped a few candles on.

“Oh. That’s – that’s lovely. Thank you.” Aziraphale poured them wine, all the while babbling about the wine, the candles, his books… Then there was another faint detonation in the distance and he winced and stopped with his inconsequential chatter. There were so many other things he wanted to say:

I don’t want another war. I want this horror to finally end. I don’t understand why Heaven doesn’t intervene.

I’m so glad you came. Where have you been all those years? I missed you so much. I love you.

He remained silent because he did not know how to say these things. He did not know if these things could even be said, probably shouldn’t even be thought. And yet – in the midst of a human war he felt save here in the bunker together with Crowley. Save from human bombs, from Hell’s wrath and Heaven’s righteous fury.

Suddenly Aziraphale had an idea on how to thank Crowley for what he had done today. Not that there was any worthy payoff but it could be at least a nice gesture, he hoped.

“I have to show you something.” Excitedly he snapped the gramophone down into the bunker. Finally, finally he could introduce Crowley to that beautiful music he had missed. It felt oddly fitting to play that music for Crowley tonight when he had walked on consecrated ground. “Now, this is a wonderful human invention, called a -”

“I know what a gramophone is,” Crowley interrupted him a bit rudely. “But I’m surprised you own one.”

“Well, they are quite useful if you don’t have the time or the energy to see a concert, or if they don’t play your favourite music – anyway, what I wanted to show you was this.” He proudly produced the record of Bach’s Christmas Oratory, put it onto the gramophone and sat down to watch Crowley closely, wanting to see every reaction when he heard the jubilant music for the first time. The timpani and trumpets of the opening chorus drowned out the distant rumble of another bomb going off.

But Crowley did not look impressed or like he enjoyed it, quite the contrary. He grimaced and chugged down another glass of the good wine that really should be savoured more.

“You – you don’t like it?” Aziraphale asked worriedly. It was disappointing. He had meant to make it something special. Crowley had so often introduced him to new things, now he had wanted to show him something new in return. That Crowley so obviously found the music that meant so much to Aziraphale distasteful (or at least boring) hurt somehow. Because it was not just a wonderful piece of music, it meant so much more: it was about Christmas, a day that had proved that God cared for the humans and wanted to live among them, and it was about what that holiday meant to the humans.

“Not exactly up-to-date anymore,” Crowley scoffed.

Aziraphale bristled. Contrary to Heaven, Crowley had never mocked his interests. Or, well, he had, but always in a teasing, never in a condescending way. “Right. I take it you’re still angry.” In the church, it had seemed like they were still friends and everything was fine again – just like that. But obviously that had just been in the heat of the moment.

Crowley took off his glasses and squinted at Aziraphale. “What? Want me to run into a church again to prove it?”

“No, I-I-I… I mean, why – where have you been? I haven’t heard from you in years…”

“Took a nap. Bit longer than expected. Woke up during the war. The last one, I mean.” Then Crowley frowned. “It’s not like you contacted me in all those years.”

“I did,” Aziraphale said softly, desperately, “I tried.”

Crowley sighed and leant back on the couch to stare up at the low ceiling. “Listen, I am angry – at those dumb Nazi spies and that fucking consecrated ground, and my feet hurt like, well, they hurt like shit and I don’t really feel like listening to German words right now” – he gestured at the gramophone – “but we’re good, yeah?”

“Oh, oh, I’m sorry, my dear.” Aziraphale immediately made the record stop spinning. “That was really thoughtless of me. Goodness. Let me – let me have a look at your feet?”

“You know you can’t heal holy burns. You can’t heal a demon.”

“Well, we’ll see about that,” Aziraphale said darkly and rolled up his sleeves. Whoever had decided that angels couldn’t heal demons had not considered Aziraphale’s conviction.

“Please, no experiments,” Crowley groaned. “They’re bad enough as it is.”

“No, no, of course not,” Aziraphale shushed him. “I meant the human way. There’re ways to make the burns at least better.” Aziraphale filled a large bowl, that had conveniently turned up behind a stack of books, with cold water.

Crowley relented and carefully removed his shoes and socks, all the while visibly trying to suppress the hisses of pain. The record started erratically spinning again but instead of Bach’s cantatas, shrill, hectic and dissonant sounds came out of it.

“Huh,” said Aziraphale but refrained from admonishing Crowley because his feet really looked bad. They were burnt all over, blisters everywhere, even raw meat visible, and parts of the socks kept clinging to the skin. Aziraphale’s heart ached with pity and love for that stupid, brave, kind demon. He swallowed and knelt down to carefully help Crowley’s feet into the water.

Crowley hissed loudly when his feet touched the cold water but of course he played it off. “So, picking up things from the birthday boy again?”

Aziraphale humoured him. “What do you mean?”

“Jesus? Shouldn’t his birthday be around now?”

“Oh, yes, of course. But what…?”

“You know, washing the feet of sinners…”

“You are not – well. Strictly speaking you are a sinner. But…” But what? Aziraphale had been relieved when Heaven had changed their policy and granted human sinners the chance of forgiveness. One sin did not mean eternal damnation anymore. Sometimes he had wondered if that policy could be extended to demons, too. Aziraphale was not sure if Crowley deserved forgiveness and – whatever his personal feelings on the matter – it was not for him to decide. But he was certain that Crowley deserved gentleness. And at this moment, when he knelt at Crowley’s feet, Aziraphale felt like he was the sinner who was asking for forgiveness. He did so with every careful touch and with the fluffiest towel, which he miracled downstairs to dry Crowley’s feet. Crowley did not say a word, just breathed slowly. The shrill, hectic music grew quieter and slower and finally faded out.

It was completely silent in the bunker. Aziraphale looked up to see Crowley’s face in the flickering candle light look more demonic than ever before. He did not mind.

He smiled and straightened up. “Whatever did you do to my record?”

“Not sure. Might have accidentally turned it into bebop.”

“Into what now?”

“New musical style that they invented in North America.”

Aziraphale was quite sure that Crowley had just invented that word but he did not call him out on it. “Anyway, I’m sure I will be able to restore the record with a little miracle. I believe bebop is not really my style.” He went to retrieve his first-aid kit from behind another stack of books.

Crowley shrugged. “So why are you keeping that -” he indicated the first-aid kit “- here? It’s not like you need supplies to heal someone.”

“I… I used it in the war. The first one. And now unfortunately it is needed again.” Aziraphale felt all the memories of the injured humans weighing down on him, all the ones he could not help – could not help enough or not at all. Could only try to comfort and promise that they were forgiven and that God loved them. “You can probably imagine how fast it happens that one overdraws their healing quota in a war.”

Crowley silently looked at him for quite some time and then, finally, he said, “You tend to do that, yeah.”

Aziraphale shrugged apologetically but he knew that Crowley was not judging, not reprimanding him for not fulfilling his angelic duties according to heavenly quotas. He rummaged in his first-aid kit for the burn ointment.

“So you tried healing in the human way to avoid getting into trouble with the idiotic archangels?”

Aziraphale ignored the rude language (and silently maybe even agreed with Crowley). It was so good to again have someone (the only one) who understood. It had been so lonely: the exhaustion from the many healing miracles, the helpless anger when Heaven did not allow him to do more, the grief for the humans who died so unnecessarily. He wanted to share it all with Crowley again. And forever.

“I assisted a field medic and learned from her,” Aziraphale explained.

Crowley hummed. “You know, there was talk among the soldiers about a guardian angel on the battlefield. I was wondering if it was you or if they were just making up stories to give each other hope.”

Aziraphale smiled with trembling lips. “This – this ointment-” he cleared his throat. “-it helped against the burns caused by explosions. It should help with your feet, too.” He knelt down and tentatively reached out to touch Crowley’s foot. “Will you let me?”

“Of course,” Crowley said because he always allowed Aziraphale to do good.

#31 days of ineffables #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #fanfic

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booksandwords · 3 years ago

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Curtsies & Conspiracies by Gail Carriger

Series: Finishing School, #2 Read Time: 2 Days Rating: 4/5

The quote: You have arranged matters, but the actions of others are not your fault. — Genevieve 'Vieve' Lefoux

Curtsies & Conspiracies follows Sophronia and her friends as Mademoiselle Geraldine's Finishing Academy for Young Ladies of Quality (aka Mademoiselle Geraldine's) heads to London for the unavailing of new aether technology, much to the delight of resident inventor Veive. On this trip to London, the students of Mademoiselle Geraldine's are joined by a contingent for Bunson and Lacroix's Boys' Polytechnique (aka Bunson's), to the delight of most of the young ladies. There is of course drama involving Monique, spies, the supernatural and of course there are still lessons to learn. Of note, the chapter names have changed from Lessons to Tests. The First Test: Dangerous Puddings; The 7th Test: Wielding a Ballistic Exploding Steam Misslic Fire Prong; The 11th Test: How to Graciously Recieve a Gift.

Where Etiquette & Espionage introduced the characters, Curtsies & Conspiracies develops their relationships. We do let to see a lot more of the relationship between the Plumleigh-Teinmott siblings, Pillover and Dimity. Pillover spends a large part of the book at the Mademoiselle Geraldine's as part of the Bunson's contingent. They have this amusing bickering truly sibling relationship that is done well. Given their parents are an evil genius and an intelligences, their kids are the opposite to them Dimity has the potential to become evil, Pillover is just so good, he ends up with a slightly sweet relationship with Vieve. Vieve is still an interesting character, she is a lynchpin to the whole plot of Curtsies & Conspiracies. Vieve is 10, her coding is something not trans quite, fluid maybe. It definitely requires the understanding that gender is not a binary. That she is 10 is bizarre she feels older at all times when she doesn't it is truly notable. Her love of fashion is one of the best elements that was given to her, better yet it's a blackmailable love. She is gifted like Sophronia but in a very different way. Sidheag appears by the end to be in an odd place, she has designs on a man above her station, and Sidheag is of a decent rank. We haven't been told whom that man is (assuming it is a man). What is clear is that Niall has a low key crush on her. We do meet new characters, the most important of which are likely to be Queen favourites the dewan and the potentate (a werewolf and a vampire respectively) and Lord Akeldama (both vampires). Another is Madame Spetuna, she is a lot more than she appears and she will be important to Sophronia's future I think.

We look like getting a love triangle between Soap, Sophronia and Felix, I mean if this exchange is anything to go by... "Sophronia's first thought was: Oh, dear, he's worked out how to get around the ship. Her second was: Thank goodness I wore a dress this evening. Her third was: Life probably would have stayed easier had Felix and Soap never met.". Sophronia is 15 at this point and largely uncomfortable with the boys attention. She's fully aware that any relationship with Soap is impossible because of social status and the reliance on social position for her fulfil her duty properly. Felix is well Felix is used to being chased Sophronia isn't playing hard to get but he likes the chase. Put the three of them in a room it's a bit chaotic. It doesn't feel as forced as some of the love triangles I've read. The endgame isn't a given. Sophronia can actually live her life without a man she could choose neither of them, in a way she could choose both of them professionally or she could just walk away. Sophronia makes the point of saying to Soap that her work isn't all the work of ladies and gentlemen. And honestly, by the end of Manners & Mutiny I'm not sure we'll even have an answer.

Have an annotated quote dump.

“Felix Mersey might be the cream of the aristocracy, but in the boiler room Soap was undisputed king—grimy empire though it might be.” — These two are like fire and ice. There is also something highly amusing about Felix in the boiler room.

"Sidheag, you think like a predator.’ The Lady of Kingair glowed in pleasure. ‘Thank you very much, Sophronia. What a nice thing to say.” — I can just see her preening almost here. I smiled for her.

“No, what's a man like down there?” "Oh." Sidheag wrinkled her nose. "Unimpressive. They have - "she gestured towards her own nether regions with one hand - "a sort of dangly sausage - lacks tailoring." "Really?" "Yes, like it wasn't fitted into its casing properly. And hairy.” — Sidheag is fantastic. This is one of the time I'm wondering if her coding isn't het. But nudity is something new to her.

“Unless Sophronia missed her guess, the poor lad was already developing romantic feelings toward her friend. Many of the sooties probably were. Dimity was so pretty and chattery, she quite overpowered the average male. Many gentlemen were unable to cope with abundant chatter, which is why they so often married it.” — Sophronia is referring to sootie Furnival Jones. I kind of feel like he's going to be important in some way. Puppy love for Dimity? A girl could weaponise that.

“Here, I stole it for you. Why don’t you tell me what it’s for.” “Aw, Sophronia, how thoughtful. You brought me a present!” — I smiled at this. One of the few times Vieve is presented as a 10-year-old. The present in question, not usually appropriate for a child.

"I'd rather be loyal than right.” — This was Dimity. Events in the book cause her to ostracise Sophronia. This is the line that she delivers to end it. I really like it, it suits Dimity.

"All the best geniuses are evil,” — Vieve, because of course it's Vieve. I adore Vieve. This is her. This is what she aspires to.

On the Finishing School series. This is a true series, you need to read them in sequence for the story to make sense. There are reminders of the character and events of the previous book but it is expected that the reader knows them already. Some characters like Lord Felix Mersey made appearances, albeit brief in Etiquette & Espionage. It is expected that the reader knows of Vieve's complexity, Sophronia's skill and Soaps not so low key crush. Parts of the story from Etiquette & Espionage are relevant and used in Curtsies & Conspiracies.

#finishing school #curtsies & conspiracies #gail carriger #young adult #book review #read 2021 #steampunk #ktreviews #curtsies and conspiracies

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christsbride · 7 years ago

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The Fine Art of Blowing It

2 Corinthians 12:8-10

It happens to every one of us. Teachers as well as students. Cops as well as criminals. Bosses as well as secretaries. Parents as well as kids. The diligent as well as the lazy. Not even presidents are immune. Or corporation heads who earn six-figure salaries. The same is true of well-meaning architects and hard-working builders and clear-thinking engineers . . . not to mention pro ball players, politicians, and preachers.

What? Making mistakes, that's what. Doing the wrong thing, usually with the best of motives. And it happens with remarkable regularity.

Let's face it, success is overrated. All of us crave it despite daily proof that man's real genius lies in quite the opposite direction. It's really incompetence that we're all pros at. Which brings me to a basic question that has been burning inside me for months: How come we're so surprised when we see it in others and so devastated when it has occurred in ourselves?

Show me the guy who wrote the rules for perfectionism and I'll guarantee he's a nailbiter with a face full of tics . . . whose wife dreads to see him come home. Furthermore, he forfeits the right to be respected because he's either guilty of not admitting he blew it or he has become an expert at cover-up.

You can do that, you know. Stop and think of ways certain people can keep from coming out and confessing they blew it. Doctors can bury their mistakes. Lawyers' mistakes get shut up in prison—literally. Dentists' mistakes are pulled. Plumbers' mistakes are stopped. Carpenters turn theirs into sawdust. I like what I read in a magazine recently.

Just in case you find any mistakes in this magazine, please remember they were put there for a purpose. We try to offer something for everyone. Some people are always looking for mistakes and we didn't want to disappoint you!

Hey, there have been some real winners! Back in 1957, Ford bragged about "the car of the decade." The Edsel. Unless you lucked out, the Edsel you bought had a door that wouldn't close, a hood that wouldn't open, a horn that kept getting stuck, paint that peeled, and a transmission that wouldn't fulfill its mission. One business writer likened the Edsel's sales graph to an extremely dangerous ski slope. He added that so far as he knew, there was only one case on record of an Edsel ever being stolen.

And how about that famous tower in Italy? The "leaning tower," almost twenty feet out of perpendicular. The guy that planned that foundation to be only ten feet deep (for a building 179 feet tall) didn't possess the world's largest brain. How would you like to have listed in your resumé, "Designed the Leaning Tower of Pisa"?

A friend of mine, realizing how adept I am in this business of blowing it, passed on to me an amazing book (accurate, but funny) entitled The Incomplete Book of Failures, by Stephen Pile. Appropriately, the book itself had two missing pages when it was printed, so the first thing you read is an apology for the omission—and an erratum slip that provides the two pages.

Among the many wild and crazy reports are such things as the least successful weather report, the worst computer, the most boring lecture, the worst aircraft, the slowest selling book, the smallest ever audience, the ugliest building ever constructed, the most chaotic wedding ceremony, and some of the worst statements . . . proven wrong by posterity. Some of those statements, for example, were:

"Far too noisy, my dear Mozart. Far too many notes." —The Emperor Ferdinand after the first performance of The Marriage of Figaro

"If Beethoven's Seventh Symphony is not by some means abridged, it will soon fall into disuse." —Philip Hale, Boston music critic, 1837

"Rembrandt is not to be compared in the painting of character with our extraordinarily gifted English artist Mr. Rippingille." —John Hunt (1775–1848)

"Flight by machines heavier than air is unpractical and insignificant . . . utterly impossible." —Simon Newcomb (1835–1909)

"We don't like their sound. Groups of guitars are on their way out." —Decca Recording Company when turning down the Beatles in 1962

"You will never amount to very much." —A Munich schoolmaster to Albert Einstein, aged ten

And on and on it goes. The only thing we can be thankful for when it comes to blowing it is that nobody keeps a record of ours. Or do they? Or do you with others?

Come on, ease off. If our perfect Lord is gracious enough to take our worst, our ugliest, our most boring, our least successful, our leaning-tower failures, our Edsel flops, and forgive them, burying them in the depths of the sea, then it's high time we give each other a break.

In fact, He promises full acceptance along with full forgiveness in print for all to read . . . without an erratum sheet attached. Isn't that encouraging? Can't we be that type of encourager to one another? After all, imperfection is one of the few things we still have in common. It links us close together in the same family!

So then, whenever one of us blows it and we can't hide it, how about a little support from those who haven't been caught yet?

Oops, correction. How about a lot of support?

Excerpt taken from Come Before Winter and Share My Hope, copyright © 1985, 1988, 1994 by Charles R. Swindoll, Inc. All rights reserved worldwide. Used by permission. For additional information and resources visit us at www.insight.org.

from Chuck Swindoll's Daily Devotional http://ift.tt/2t3wPQI via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Chuck Swindoll's Daily Devotional #Insight for Living

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