#i would love to see how would people grade albrecht

[alteredsilicone]

lol there is a "dei watchdog" website where people can submit reviews on games based both on gameplay and wokeness and it has a LOT of games which includes warframe

it is currently "slightly" woke but with like 3 reviews (1 is like ULTRA WOKE and two are slightly woke so i guess it averages out)

anyways now i wanna do a serious review in that style for warframe

like actually count, for example, male vs female villains; male vs female heroes and such

some things are of course VERY subjective, like whether women are feminine and "eye candy" or have "masculine traits" and whether men are "badass, heroic" or "supporting" roles

[gothamcitystories]

Submitted by Al Reinman;

Transcribed by Carter Albrecht

Like most GC natives, I hate this damned place in a special way only a Gothamite can. I grew up here. It’s gross, smells like a tire fire, the rich live in their high towers looking down on us all, I can’t walk to the corner to pickup a pack of smokes after dark, unless I’m packing at least my mag light(we’ll get to that), and we’ve got a new freakshow causing chaos every week. Don’t even get me started on the public transportation.

That being said, Gotham is MY town, y’know? Some out-of-towner says any of what I just said, I’m as likely as any Gothamite to knock their teeth in. See, I love this town as much as I hate it, in that special way only a Gothamite can. It’s hard to explain that to someone who isn’t from here.

So anyways, I work in sanitation. It’s not bad work, all thing considered. I do third shift tunnel walking. It’s a newer thing. See, after that Rat-King business, when that guy was kidnapped homeless people and forcing them to build something or other in the sewers, few years back, the city assigned Sani workers to do regular patrols to make sure nothing hinky is going on, y’know, like wannabe gangsters or shit like that.

Most of the guys hate tunnel walks. And I mean, that’s fair, there’s more of a chance to run into that big ass crocodile guy, or any of the other bozo’s Arkham can’t seem to keep ahold of. Of course I never saw the guy. Never saw much of anything, except a few teenagers playing thug. So I volunteer to do most of the walks. Got me one of those big metal flashlights, my mag, because you can bust a skull with those things, if you need to. I also have a piece, but we’re not supposed to carry while we’re on the job, so I usually don’t, unless one of the loonies is loose. This wasn’t one of those time, just so you know.

It was this past Halloween. I was kinda pissed because one of my buds was playing a show at The Hole, that dive over on Park. Well, I clocked in, and my super asked if anyone wanted to take the Walks tonight. I figured eight hours strolling was as good as I was going to get. My hand shot up, and into the tunnels I went. We’re not supposed to, but I like listening to podcasts while I walk. Vicki Vale’s Gotham Report is a favorite of mine. So I pop a headphone in, only one, I’m not stupid, and I start off into the dark.

Tons of concrete and steel kills any kind of cell signal, so I download my podcasts before I head down. This episode was an exciting one for me, because she was talking about an old Gotham legend. So if you grew up in GC, you were probably raised on stories about Solomon Grundy, who would emerge from the swamps to the north to gobble up kids who misbehave. Well, if you’re old enough. I hear kids nowadays are treated to threats of the Batman coming through their windows. Not sure which is a worse prospect.

Anyways Vale goes into the founding of Gotham, and the Five Families. Every kid learns about them in grade school, Alan Wayne, Theodore Cobblepot, Edward Elliot, Jeremiah Arkham, and Ezekiel Kane.

So story goes that the founders had contracted a cousin of Wayne, a guy by the name of Cyrus Gold. Gold was a merchant of some influence. The stories vary on the why, and the how, but some how, Gold was murdered, and his body dumped in that section of marshlands to the north, Slaughter Swamp.

So according to Vale, Theodore Cobblepot was into shady stuff way back when, and he had his eyes on Gold’s businesses. Old Theo was a cold dude from reports. His daughter, Millie Jane, she was fond of nursery rhymes, so old Theo would make men who crossed him recite them from memory before he wacked them. So Gold gets walked out to Slaughter Swamp. He’s blindfolded, and he’s reciting that old one, Solomon Grundy. Y’know, born on a Monday, etcetera etcetera. Theo pops him, plants him, absorbs his business.

Jump forward. The urban legend starts up, based on that version of the story. Kids say that if you say the rhyme in Slaughter Swamp on Halloween night, he’ll rise from the swamp and get you. You know how all those old stories, they never say what the ghosty or ghouly is gonna do, just that he’ll get you. I remember taking my first girlfriend out to Slaughter Swamp to summon Solomon Grundy. Lots of teens did it when I was in school, but no one I knew ever saw him.

Anyways, the route I took that night had an old disused outfall into Slaughter Swamp. Bruce had it redirected when he took over Wayne Enterprises a few years back, but the outfall is still open, and it’s a good spot to stop and have a smoke, about halfway through the route, so when I got there, I stepped out and had me a smoke.

I was on the phone with this girl I’d been chatting with, she does maintenance on the electricals running under the city, so we see each other at work sometimes. Anyways, I made this joke about being in Slaughter, and trying to summon Grundy. Just being funny, y’know. She’s loving it. She’s a Gotham Girl herself, but she never got taken out to Slaughter, but she’s egging me on, so I go for it.

It’s a simple rhyme:

“Solomon Grundy,

Born on a Monday,

Christened on Tuesday,

Married on Wednesday,

Took ill on Thursday,

Grew worse on Friday,

Died on Saturday,

Buried on Sunday,

That was the end,

Of Solomon Grundy.”

I wait. I say nothing, she says nothing. I’m hoping to build the tension and scream, give her a scare, y’know? Only, about the time I’m planning on screaming, my mag goes dead, so does my phone. Now the phone doesn’t surprise me. I carry a portable power bank for that, but with the concrete, you don’t get a lot of signal, so it doesn’t do much good, so I hadn’t hooked it up to charge. But the mag? Those batteries were brand new at the start of the shift. I always change my batteries before I go into the tunnels. Anyone who works underground will tell you there’s nothing more important than your light, y’know? And I always carry plenty of spares. Nobody wants to be down there in the dark. I always, ALWAYS put new batteries in before I start my shift.

There on the outfall, you get a bit of moonlight. More than in the tunnels. I’ll admit, I was spooked a bit, I should’ve had more than a few hours left on those batteries. So I was kinda rushing to get the old ones out and a spare pare in, and yeah, I let the old ones roll off into the swamp. I mean yeah, I was jumpy, but I wasn’t jumping at shadows, y’know? I’m a GC native. We’re tough stock, and hard to actually scare. Like really scare, y’know?

So the batteries roll off the concrete block in front of the outfall. Plop plop, into the swamp. Suddenly it gets real quiet. I mean dead quit. The owls, y’know, the ones on that preserve out there? Quiet. Bugs and night birds? Quiet. Hell, I don’t think I was even breathing, y’know? Just felt real tense. Your eyes play tricks on you at night. In the dark, you see things different, and out by the outfall it’s real dark, forest dark, y’know? Even with the super moon we had on Halloween this year, it was stupid, mind tricking dark out there. But I swear to you, there was fog rising from the swamp. And it wasn’t there before my light went out. Thick shit too.

Then I heard the splash. Like something big coming out of the water. I’ll admit that I was spooked. But I didn’t run or nothing. My eyes were adjusting to the dark, enough to make out the big shape moving towards me. I managed to fumble the new batteries into the mag about the time I asked:

“Who’s there?”

Thinking I’d stumbled on some teens playing a prank, y’know.

I got my light on right before the thing responded. Damn thing must have been nine foot tall, and wide as a truck. Dressed in the ragged, rotten remains of a suit. Sonovabitch looked like a jacked albino Frankenstein, like all rotted, deep sunken eyes and hollow cheeks, lumbering like it had a bad leg, skin and hair were bleach white, and the fingernails and teeth were all yellow and sick looking. And it spoke. Sounded about like rocks rubbing together. The thing lumbered towards me, hands outstretched, reaching as if to grab me, it rasped:

“Solomon Grundy, born on a Monday.”

I booked. I mean, I think it took me fifteen minutes to reach city limits? And I didn’t go back underground for months. It took me awhile to work up the nerve, y’know? But I’ve been thinking about it, and all the stories say Grundy only comes out on Halloween, right? So I should be fine as long as I’m not down there by Slaughter Swamp on Halloween, right? I should be fine.

Right?

[isslibrary]

New additions to the Indian Springs School Library May thru August 2020

Bibliography

Sorted by Call Number / Author.

152.4 O

Owens, Lama Rod, 1979- author. Love and rage : the path of liberation through anger. "Reconsidering the power of anger as a positive and necessary tool for achieving spiritual liberation and social change"--.

200.973 M

Manseau, Peter. One nation, under gods : a new American history. First edition.

304.8 K

Keneally, Thomas. The great shame : and the triumph of the Irish in the English-speaking world. 1st ed. New York : Nan A. Talese, 1999.

305.5 V

Vance, J. D., author. Hillbilly elegy : a memoir of a family and culture in crisis. First Harper paperback edition. "Hillbilly Elegy is a passionate and personal analysis of a culture in crisis--that of white working-class Americans. The decline of this group, a demographic of our country that has been slowly disintegrating over forty years, has been reported on with growing frequency and alarm, but has never before been written about as searingly from the inside. J. D. Vance tells the true story of what a social, regional, and class decline feels like when you were born with it hung around your neck. The Vance family story begins hopefully in postwar America. J. D.'s grandparents were "dirt poor and in love," and moved north from Kentucky's Appalachia region to Ohio in the hopes of escaping the dreadful poverty around them. They raised a middle-class family, and eventually their grandchild (the author) would graduate from Yale Law School, a conventional marker of their success in achieving generational upward mobility. But as the family saga of Hillbilly Elegy plays out, we learn that this is only the short, superficial version. Vance's grandparents, aunt, uncle, sister, and, most of all, his mother, struggled profoundly with the demands of their new middle-class life, and were never able to fully escape the legacy of abuse, alcoholism, poverty, and trauma so characteristic of their part of America. Vance piercingly shows how he himself still carries around the demons of their chaotic family history. A deeply moving memoir with its share of humor and vividly colorful figures, Hillbilly Elegy is the story of how upward mobility really feels. And it is an urgent and troubling meditation on the loss of the American dream for a large segment of this country." -- Publisher's description.

305.8 D

DiAngelo, Robin J., author. White fragility : why it's so hard for white people to talk about racism.

305.800973 D

Dyson, Michael Eric, author. Tears we cannot stop : a sermon to white America. First edition. I. Call to worship -- II. Hymns of praise -- III. Invocation -- IV. Scripture reading -- V. Sermon -- Repenting of whiteness -- Inventing whiteness -- The five stages of white grief -- The plague of white innocence -- Being Black in America -- Nigger -- Our own worst enemy? -- Coptopia -- VI. Benediction -- VII. Offering plate -- VIII. Prelude to service -- IX. Closing prayer. "In the wake of yet another set of police killings of black men, Michael Eric Dyson wrote a tell-it-straight, no holds barred piece for the NYT on Sunday July 7: Death in Black and White (It was updated within a day to acknowledge the killing of police officers in Dallas). The response has been overwhelming. Beyoncé and Isabel Wilkerson tweeted it, JJ Abrams, among many other prominent people, wrote him a long fan letter. The NYT closed the comments section after 2,500 responses, and Dyson has been on NPR, BBC, and CNN non-stop since then. Fifty years ago Malcolm X told a white woman who asked what she could do for the cause: Nothing. Dyson believes he was wrong. In Tears We Cannot Stop, he responds to that question. If we are to make real racial progress, we must face difficult truths, including being honest about how black grievance has been ignored, dismissed or discounted. As Dyson writes: At birth you are given a pair of binoculars that see black life from a distance, never with the texture of intimacy. Those binoculars are privilege; they are status, regardless of your class. In fact the greatest privilege that exists is for white folk to get stopped by a cop and not end up dead...The problem is you do not want to know anything different from what you think you know...You think we have been handed everything because we fought your selfish insistence that the world, all of it--all its resources, all its riches, all its bounty, all its grace--should be yours first and foremost, and if there's anything left, why then we can have some, but only if we ask politely and behave gratefully"--Provided by publisher.

305.800973 G

Begin again : James Baldwin's America and its urgent lessons for our own. New York, NY : Crown; an imprint of Random House, 2020.

305.800973 O

Oluo, Ijeoma, author. So you want to talk about race. First trade paperback edition.

320.9 B

Bass, Jack. The transformation of southern politics : social change and political consequence since 1945. New York : Basic Books, c1976.

323.1196 L

Lowery, Lynda Blackmon, 1950- author. Turning 15 on the road to freedom : my story of the 1965 Selma Voting Rights March. Growing up strong and determined -- In the movement -- Jailbirds -- In the sweatbox -- Bloody Sunday -- Headed for Montgomery -- Turning 15 -- Weary and wet -- Montgomery at last -- Why voting rights? -- Discussion guide. As the youngest marcher in the 1965 voting rights march from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama, Lynda Blackmon Lowery proved that young adults can be heroes. Jailed nine times before her fifteenth birthday, Lowery fought alongside Martin Luther King, Jr. for the rights of African-Americans. In this memoir, she shows today's young readers what it means to fight nonviolently (even when the police are using violence, as in the Bloody Sunday protest) and how it felt to be part of changing American history.

364.973 U.S.

U.S. national debate topic, 2020-2021.

420 M

McCrum, Robert. The story of English. 1st American ed. New York, N.Y., U.S.A. : Viking, 1986.

488.2421 A

Balme, M. G., author. Athenaze : an introduction to ancient Greek. Revised Third edition. Book I -- Book II.

510 C

Clegg, Brian. Are numbers real? : the uncanny relationship of mathematics and the physical world.

530.092 F

F©œlsing, Albrecht, 1940-. Albert Einstein : a biography. New York : Viking Penguin: a division of Penguin Books USA, Inc, 1997. Family -- School -- A "child prodigy" -- "Vagabond and loner" : student days in Zurich -- Looking for a job -- Expert III class -- "Herr Doktor Einstein" and the reality of atoms -- The "very revolutionary" light quanta -- Relative movement : "my life for seven years" -- The theory of relativity : "a modification of the theory of space and time" -- Acceptance, opposition, tributes -- Expert II class -- From "bad joke" to "Herr Professor" -- Professor in Zurich -- Full professor in Prague, but not for long -- Toward the general theory of relativity -- From Zurich to Berlin -- "In a madhouse" : a pacifist in Prussia -- "The greatest satisfaction of my life" : the completion of the general theory of relativity -- Wartime in Berlin -- Postwar chaos and revolution -- Confirmation and the deflection of light : "the suddenly famous Dr. Einstein" -- Relativity under the spotlight -- "Traveler in relativity" -- Jewry, Zionism, and a trip to America -- More hustle, long journeys, a lot of politics, and a little physics -- Einstein receives the Nobel Prize and in consequence becomes a Prussian -- "The marble smile of implacable nature" : the search for the unified field theory -- The problems of quantum theory -- Critique of quantum mechanics -- Politics, patents, sickness, and a "wonderful egg" -- Public and private affairs -- Farewell to Berlin -- Exile in liberation -- Princeton -- Physical reality and a paradox, relativity and unified theory -- War, a letter, and the bomb -- Between bomb and equations -- "An old debt. Albert Einstein's achievements are not just milestones in the history of science; decades ago they became an integral part of the twentieth-century world in which we live. Like no other modern physicist he altered and expanded our understanding of nature. Like few other scholars, he stood fully in the public eye. In a world changing with dramatic rapidity, he embodied the role of the scientist by personal example. Albrecht Folsing, relying on previously unknown sources. And letters, brings Einstein's "genius" into focus. Whereas former biographies, written in the tradition of the history of science, seem to describe a heroic Einstein who fell to earth from heaven, Folsing attempts to reconstruct Einstein's thought in the context of the state of research at the turn of the century. Thus, perhaps for the first time, Einstein's surroundings come to light.

530.092 G

Gleick, James. Isaac Newton. 1st ed. New York : Pantheon Books, c2003.

539.7 B

Lise Meitner : Discoverer of Nuclear Fission. Greensboro, NC : Morgan Reynolds, Inc, 2000. A biography of the Austrian scientist whose discoveries in nuclear physics played a major part in developing atomic energy.

598.07 T

Watching birds : reflections on the wing. United States : Ragged Mountain Press, 2000.

811 D

Dabydeen, David. Turner : new and selected poems. 2010. Leeds : Peepal Tree Press, Ltd, 12010.

811.54 J

Jones, Ashley M., 1990- author. Dark // thing. Slurret -- //Side A: 3rd grade birthday party -- //Side B: roebuck is the ghetto -- Harriette Winslow and Aunt Rachel clean -- Collard greens on prime time television -- My grandfather returns as oil -- Elegy for Willie Lee "Murr"Lipscomb -- Proof at the Red Sea -- Sunken place sestina -- Hair -- Antiquing -- The book of Tubman -- Harriet Tubman crosses the Mason Dixon for the first time -- Avian Abecedarian -- Harriet Tubman, beauty queen or ain't I a woman? -- Broken sonnet in which Harriet is the gun -- Recitation -- What flew out of Aunt Hester's scream -- Election year 2016: the motto -- Uncle Remus syrup commemorative lynching postcard #25 -- To the black man popping a wheelie on -- Interstate 59 North on 4th of July weekend -- Red dirt suite -- Love/luv/ -- Summerstina -- Ode to Dwayne Waye, or, I want to be Whitley -- Gilbert when I grow up -- I am not selected for jury duty the week bill -- Cosby's jury selection is underway -- A small, disturbing fact -- Water -- Today, I saw a black man open his arms to the wind -- Xylography -- I see a smear of animal on the road and mistake it for philando castile -- There is a beel at morehouse college -- Dark water -- Who will survive in America? or 2017: a horror film -- In-flight entertainment -- Imitation of life -- Broken sonnet for the decorative cotton for sale at Whole Foods -- Racists in space -- When you tell me I'd be prettier with straight hair -- (Black) hair -- Kindergarten villandelle -- Song of my muhammad -- Ode to Al Jolson -- Hoghead cheese haiku -- Aunties -- Thing of a marvelous thing / It's the same as having wings. A multi-faceted work that explores the darkness/otherness by which the world sees Black people. Ashley M. Jones stares directly into the face of the racism that allows people to be seen as dark things, as objects that can be killed/enslaved/oppressed/devalued. This work, full as it is of slashes of all kinds, ultimately separates darkness from thingness, affirming and celebrating humanity.

814.6 G

Gay, Roxane, author. Bad feminist : essays. First edition. A collection of essays spanning politics, criticism, and feminism from one of the most-watched young cultural observers of her generation, Roxane Gay. "Pink is my favorite color. I used to say my favorite color was black to be cool, but it is pink, all shades of pink. If I have an accessory, it is probably pink. I read Vogue, and I'm not doing it ironically, though it might seem that way. I once live-tweeted the September issue." In these funny and insightful essays, Roxane Gay takes us through the journey of her evolution as a woman (Sweet Valley High) of color (The Help) while also taking readers on a ride through culture of the last few years (Girls, Django in Chains) and commenting on the state of feminism today (abortion, Chris Brown). The portrait that emerges is not only one of an incredibly insightful woman continually growing to understand herself and our society, but also one of our culture. Bad Feminist is a sharp, funny, and spot-on look at the ways in which the culture we consume becomes who we are, and an inspiring call-to-arms of all the ways we still need to do better.

822.3 T

the tragical history of Doctor Faustus : The Elizabethan Play. Annotated & Edited by John D. Harris, 2018. Wabasha, MN : Hungry Point Press, 2018.

822.33 Shakespeare

Major literary characters : Hamlet. New York : Chelsea House Publishers, c. 1990.

822.8 W

Wilde, Oscar, 1854-1900. An ideal husband. Mineola, N.Y. : Dover Publications, 2000.

823.914

Vincenzi, Penny, author. Windfall. 1st U.S. ed. Sensible Cassia Fallon has been married to her doctor husband for seven years when her godmother leaves her a huge fortune. For the first time in her life, she is able to do exactly as she likes, and she starts to question her marriage, her past, her present, and her future. But where did her inheritance really come from and why? Too soon the windfall has become a corrupting force, one that Cassia cannot resist.

843.8 F

Flaubert, Gustave, 1821-1880. Three tales. Oxford ; : Oxford University Press, 2009. A simple heart -- The legend of Saint Julian the Hospitaller -- Herodias.

909 S

Sachs, Jeffrey, author. The ages of globalization : geography, technology, and institutions. "Today's most urgent problems are fundamentally global. They require nothing less than concerted, planetwide action if we are to secure a long-term future. But humanity's story has always been on a global scale, and this history deeply informs the present. In this book, Jeffrey D. Sachs, renowned economist and expert on sustainable development, turns to world history to shed light on how we can meet the challenges and opportunities of the twenty-first century. Sachs takes readers through a series of six distinct waves of technological and ideological change, starting with the very beginnings of our species and ending with reflections on present-day globalization. Along the way, he considers how the interplay of geography, technology, and institutions influenced the Neolithic revolution; the spread of land-based empires; the opening of sea routes from Europe to Asia and the Americas; and the industrial age. The dynamics of these past waves, Sachs contends, give us new perspective on the ongoing processes taking place in our own time-and how we should work to guide the change we need. In light of this new understanding of globalization, Sachs emphasizes the need for new methods of international governance and cooperation to achieve economic, social, and environmental objectives aligned with sustainable development. The Ages of Globalization is a vital book for all readers aiming to make sense of our rapidly changing world"--.

937.002 B

Bing, Stanley. Rome, inc. : the rise and fall of the first multinational corporation. 1st. ed. New York : Norton, c2006.

937.63 L

Laurence, Ray, 1963-. Ancient Rome as it was : exploring the city of Rome in AD 300.

940.3 B

Brooks, Max. The Harlem Hellfighters. First edition. "From bestselling author Max Brooks, the riveting story of the highly decorated, barrier-breaking, historic black regiment--the Harlem Hellfighters. The Harlem Hellfighters is a fictionalized account of the 369th Infantry Regiment--the first African American regiment mustered to fight in World War I. From the enlistment lines in Harlem to the training camp at Spartanburg, South Carolina, to the trenches in France, bestselling author Max Brooks tells the thrilling story of the heroic journey that these soldiers undertook for a chance to fight for America. Despite extraordinary struggles and discrimination, the 369th became one of the most successful--and least celebrated--regiments of the war. The Harlem Hellfighters, as their enemies named them, spent longer than any other American unit in combat and displayed extraordinary valor on the battlefield. Based on true events and featuring artwork from acclaimed illustrator Caanan White, these pages deliver an action-packed and powerful story of courage, honor, and heart"--. "This is a graphic novel about the first African-American regiment to fight in World War One"--.

940.53 B

Browning, Christopher R., author. Ordinary men : Reserve Police Battalion 101 and the final solution in Poland. Revised edition. One morning in Józefów -- The order police -- The order police and the Final solution : Russia 1941 -- The order police and the Final solution : deportation -- Reserve Police Battalion 101 -- Arrival in Poland -- Initiation to mass muder : the Józefów massacre -- Reflections on a massacre -- Łomazy : the descent of Second Company -- The August deportations to Treblinka -- Late-September shootings -- The deportations resume -- The strange health of Captain Hoffmann -- The "Jew hunt" -- The last massacres : "Harvest festival" -- Aftermath -- Germans, Poles, and Jews -- Ordinary men. In the early hours of July 13, 1942, the men of Reserve Police Battalion 101, a unit of the German Order Police, entered the Polish Village of Jozefow. They had arrived in Poland less than three weeks before, most of them recently drafted family men too old for combat service--workers, artisans, salesmen, and clerks. By nightfall, they had rounded up Jozefow's 1,800 Jews, selected several hundred men as "work Jews," and shot the rest--that is, some 1,500 women, children, and old people. Most of these overage, rear-echelon reserve policemen had grown to maturity in the port city of Hamburg in pre-Hitler Germany and were neither committed Nazis nor racial fanatics. Nevertheless, in the sixteen months from the Jozefow massacre to the brutal Erntefest ("harvest festival") slaughter of November 1943, these average men participated in the direct shooting deaths of at least 38,000 Jews and the deportation to Treblinka's gas chambers of 45,000 more--a total body count of 83,000 for a unit of less than 500 men. Drawing on postwar interrogations of 210 former members of the battalion, Christopher Browning lets them speak for themselves about their contribution to the Final Solution--what they did, what they thought, how they rationalized their behavior (one man would shoot only infants and children, to "release" them from their misery). In a sobering conclusion, Browning suggests that these good Germans were acting less out of deference to authority or fear of punishment than from motives as insidious as they are common: careerism and peer pressure. With its unflinching reconstruction of the battalion's murderous record and its painstaking attention to the social background and actions of individual men, this unique account offers some of the most powerful and disturbing evidence to date of the ordinary human capacity for extraordinary inhumanity.

940.54 S

Snyder, Timothy. Bloodlands : Europe between Hitler and Stalin. New York : Basic Books, c2010. Hitler and Stalin -- The Soviet famines -- Class terror -- National terror -- Molotov-Ribbentrop Europe -- The economics of apocalypse -- Final solution -- Holocaust and revenge -- The Nazi death factories -- Resistance and incineration -- Ethnic cleansings -- Stalinist antisemitism -- Humanity.

951.03 S

The search for modern China : a documentary collection. Third edition.

973 M

Meacham, Jon, author. The soul of America : the battle for our better angels. First edition. Introduction : To hope rather than to fear -- The confidence of the whole people : visions of the Presidency, the ideas of progress and prosperity, and "We, the people" -- The long shadow of Appomattox : the Lost Cause, the Ku Klux Klan, and Reconstruction -- With soul of flame and temper of steel : "the melting pot," TR and his "bully pulpit," and the Progressive promise -- A new and good thing in the world : the triumph of women's suffrage, the Red Scare, and a new Klan -- The crisis of the old order : the Great Depression, Huey Long, the New Deal, and America First -- Have you no sense of decency? : "making everyone middle class," the GI Bill, McCarthyism, and modern media -- What the hell is the presidency for? : "segregation forever," King's crusade, and LBJ in the crucible -- Conclusion : The first duty of an American citizen. "We have been here before. In this timely and revealing book, ... author Jon Meacham helps us understand the present moment in American politics and life by looking back at critical times in our history when hope overcame division and fear. With clarity and purpose, Meacham explores contentious periods and how presidents and citizens came together to defeat the forces of anger, intolerance, and extremism. Our current climate of partisan fury is not new, and in The Soul of America Meacham shows us how what Abraham Lincoln called 'the better angels of our nature' have repeatedly won the day. Painting surprising portraits of Lincoln and other presidents, including Ulysses S. Grant, Theodore Roosevelt, Woodrow Wilson, Franklin D. Roosevelt, Harry S. Truman, Dwight Eisenhower, and Lyndon B. Johnson, and illuminating the courage of such influential citizen activists as Martin Luther King, Jr., early suffragettes Alice Paul and Carrie Chapman Catt, civil rights pioneers Rosa Parks and John Lewis, First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt, and Army-McCarthy hearings lawyer Joseph N. Welch, Meacham brings vividly to life turning points in American history. He writes about the Civil War, Reconstruction, and the birth of the Lost Cause; the backlash against immigrants in the First World War and the resurgence of the Ku Klux Klan in the 1920s; the fight for women's rights; the demagoguery of Huey Long and Father Coughlin and the isolationist work of America First in the years before World War II; the anti-Communist witch-hunts led by Senator Joseph McCarthy; and Lyndon Johnson's crusade against Jim Crow. Each of these dramatic hours in our national life has been shaped by the contest to lead the country to look forward rather than back, to assert hope over fear--a struggle that continues even now. While the American story has not always--or even often--been heroic, we have been sustained by a belief in progress even in the gloomiest of times. In this inspiring book, Meacham reassures us, "The good news is that we have come through such darkness before"--as, time and again, Lincoln's better angels have found a way to prevail."--Dust jacket.

976.1 S

Smith, Petric J., 1940-. Long time coming : an insider's story of the Birmingham church bombing that rocked the world. 1st ed. Birmingham, Ala. : Crane Hill, 1994.

F Bir

Birch, Anna, author. I kissed Alice. First. "Fan Girl meets Simon vs. The Homo Sapiens Agenda in this #ownvoices LGBTQ romance about two rivals who fall in love online"--.

F Bra

Bradbury, Ray, 1920-2012, author. Fahrenheit 451. Simon & Schuster trade paperback edition, 60th anniversary edition. Introduction / by Neil Gaiman -- Fahrenheit 451. The hearth and the salamander ; The sieve and the sand ; Burning bright. History, context, and criticism / edited by Jonathan R. Eller. pt. 1. The story of Fahrenheit 451. The story of Fahrenheit 451 / by Jonathan R. Eller ; From The day after tomorrow: why science fiction? (1953) / by Ray Bradbury ; Listening library audio introduction (1976) / by Ray Bradbury ; Investing dimes: Fahrenheit 451 (1982, 1989) / by Ray Bradbury ; Coda (1979) / by Ray Bradbury -- pt. 2. Other voices. The novel. From a letter to Stanley Kauffmann / by Nelson Algren ; Books of the times / by Orville Prescott ; From New wine, old bottles / by Gilbert Highet ; New novels / by Idris Parry ; New fiction / by Sir John Betjeman ; 1984 and all that / by Adrian Mitchell ; From New maps of hell / by Sir Kingsley Amis ; Introduction to Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451 / by Harold Bloom ; Fahrenheit 451 / by Margaret Atwood ; The motion picture. Shades of Orwell / by Arthur Knight ; From The journal of Fahrenheit 451 / by Fran©ʹois Truffaut. In a future totalitarian state where books are banned and destroyed by the government, Guy Montag, a fireman in charge of burning books, meets a revolutionary schoolteacher who dares to read and a girl who tells him of a past when people did not live in fear ... This sixtieth-anniversary edition commemorates Ray Bradbury's masterpiece with a new introduction by Neil Gaiman ; personal essays on the genesis of the novel by the author; a wealth of critical essays and reviews by Nelson Algren, Harold Bloom, Margaret Atwood, and others; rare manuscript pages and sketches from Ray Bradbury's personal archive; and much more ... --- From back cover.

F DeL

White noise. 2009; with an introduction by Richard Powers. New York, NY : Penguin Books, 2009.

F Gri

Grisham, John, author. Camino Island. First edition. Bruce Cable owns a popular bookstore in the sleepy resort town of Santa Rosa on Camino Island in Florida. He makes his real money, though, as a prominent dealer in rare books. Very few people know that he occasionally dabbles in the black market of stolen books and manuscripts. Mercer Mann is a young novelist with a severe case of writer's block who has recently been laid off from her teaching position. She is approached by an elegant, mysterious woman working for an even more mysterious company. A generous offer of money convinces Mercer to go undercover and infiltrate Bruce Cable's circle of literary friends, ideally getting close enough to him to learn his secrets. But eventually Mercer learns far too much.--Adapted from book jacket.

F Hem

Hemingway, Ernest, 1899-1961, author. The sun also rises. The Hemingway library edition. The novel -- Appendix I: Pamplona, July 1923 -- Appendix II: Early drafts -- Appendix III: The discarded first chapters -- Appendix IV: List of possible titles. A profile of the Lost Generation captures life among the expatriates on Paris' Left Bank during the 1920s, the brutality of bullfighting in Spain, and the moral and spiritual dissolution of a generation.

F Hur

Hurston, Zora Neale. Their eyes were watching god. 1st Harper Perennial Modern Classics ed. New York : Harper Perennial Modern Classics, 2006. Foreword / Edwidge Danticat -- Their eyes were watching God -- Afterword / Henry Louis Gates, Jr. -- Selected bibliography -- Chronology. A novel about black Americans in Florida that centers on the life of Janie and her three marriages.

F Kid

Kidd, Sue Monk. The invention of wings. The story follows Hetty "Handful" Grimke, a Charleston slave, and Sarah, the daughter of the wealthy Grimke family. The novel begins on Sarah's eleventh birthday, when she is given ownership over Handful, who is to be her handmaid, and follows the next thirty-five years of their lives. Inspired in part by the historical figure of Sarah Grimke (a feminist, suffragist and, importantly, an abolitionist), the author allows herself to go beyond the record to flesh out the inner lives of all the characters, both real and imagined. -- Provided by publisher. "Hetty 'Handful' Grimke, an urban slave in early nineteenth century Charleston, yearns for life beyond the suffocating walls that enclose her within the wealthy Grimke household. The Grimke's daughter, Sarah, has known from an early age she is meant to do something large in the world, but she is hemmed in by the limits imposed on women. The novel is set in motion on Sarah's eleventh birthday, when she is given ownership of ten year old Handful, who is to be her handmaid. We follow their remarkable journeys over the next thirty five years, as both strive for a life of their own, dramatically shaping each other's destinies and forming a complex relationship marked by guilt, defiance, estrangement and the uneasy ways of love. As the stories build to a riveting climax, Handful will endure loss and sorrow, finding courage and a sense of self in the process. Sarah will experience crushed hopes, betrayal, unrequited love, and ostracism before leaving Charleston to find her place alongside her fearless younger sister, Angelina, as one of the early pioneers in the abolition and women's rights movements. Inspired by the historical figure of Sarah Grimke, the author goes beyond the record to flesh out the rich interior lives of all of her characters, both real and invented, including Handful's cunning mother, Charlotte, who courts danger in her search for something better. This novel looks with unswerving eyes at a devastating wound in American history, through women whose struggles for liberation, empowerment, and expression will leave no reader unmoved. -- Publisher's description.

F Nab

Vladimir Nabokov. Glory. United States : McGraw-Hill International, Inc, 1971.

F Orw

Orwell, George, 1903-1950. 1984. Signet Classics. New York, NY : Berkley: an imprint of Penguin Random House, LLC, c. 1977. "Eternal warfare is the price of bleak prosperity in this satire of totalitarian barbarism."--ARBookFind.

F Sal

Salinger, J. D. (Jerome David), 1919-2010. Nine stories. 1st Back Bay pbk. ed. Boston : Back Bay Books/Little, Brown, 2001, c1991. A perfect day for bananafish -- Uncle wiggily in Connecticut -- Just before the war with the Eskimos -- The laughing man -- Down at the dinghy -- For Esme--with love and squalor -- Pretty mouth and green my eyes -- De Daumier-Smith's blue period -- Teddy. Salinger's classic collection of short stories is now available in trade paperback.

F Tho

Thomas, Angie, author. The hate u give. First edition. "Sixteen-year-old Starr Carter moves between two worlds: the poor neighborhood where she lives and the fancy suburban prep school she attends. The uneasy balance between these worlds is shattered when Starr witnesses the fatal shooting of her childhood best friend Khalil at the hands of a police officer. Khalil was unarmed. Soon afterward, his death is a national headline. Some are calling him a thug, maybe even a drug dealer and a gangbanger. Protesters are taking to the streets in Khalil's name. Some cops and the local drug lord try to intimidate Starr and her family. What everyone wants to know is: what really went down that night? And the only person alive who can answer that is Starr. But what Starr does or does not say could upend her community. It could also endanger her life"--.

F Tho

Thomas, Angie, author. On the come up. First edition. Sixteen-year-old Bri hopes to become a great rapper, and after her first song goes viral for all the wrong reasons, must decide whether to sell out or face eviction with her widowed mother.

F Tol

The Hobbit : or There and Back Again. First U.S. edition; Illus. by Jemima Catlin, 2013. New York, NY : HarperCollins Publishers, 2013.

F Ver

Around the world in 80 days. Classics. Trans. by Geo. M. Towle. Lexington, KY, : October 29. 2019.

F Ver

Around the world in 80 days. Illustrated First Edition. Translated by Geo. M. Towle. Orinda, CA : SeaWolf Press, 2018.

F. Gri

Belfry Holdings, Inc. (Charlottesville, Virginia), author. Camino winds : a novel. Hardcover. "#1 New York Times bestselling author John Grisham returns to Camino Island in this irresistible page-turner that's as refreshing as an island breeze. In Camino Winds, mystery and intrigue once again catch up with novelist Mercer Mann, proving that the suspense never rests-even in paradise"--.

SC A

Alomar, Osama, 1968- author, translator. The teeth of the comb & other stories.

SC Mac

Machado, Carmen Maria, author. Her body and other parties : stories. Contains short stories about the realities of women's lives and the violence visited upon their bodies. "In Her Body and Other Parties, Carmen Maria Machado blithely demolishes the arbitrary borders between psychological realism and science fiction, comedy and horror, fantasy and fabulism. While her work has earned her comparisons to Karen Russell and Kelly Link, she has a voice that is all her own. In this electric and provocative debut, Machado bends genre to shape startling narratives that map the realities of women's lives and the violence visited upon their bodies. A wife refuses her husband's entreaties to remove the green ribbon from around her neck. A woman recounts her sexual encounters as a plague slowly consumes humanity. A salesclerk in a mall makes a horrifying discovery within the seams of the store's prom dresses. One woman's surgery-induced weight loss results in an unwanted houseguest. And in the bravura novella 'Especially Heinous,' Machado reimagines every episode of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit, a show we naïvely assumed had shown it all, generating a phantasmagoric police procedural full of doppelgängers, ghosts, and girls with bells for eyes. Earthy and otherworldly, antic and sexy, queer and caustic, comic and deadly serious, Her Body and Other Parties swings from horrific violence to the most exquisite sentiment. In their explosive originality, these stories enlarge the possibilities of contemporary fiction." -- Publisher's description.

[multishipperlove]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Caleb Widogast, Bren Aldric Ermendrud, Astrid (Critical Role), Eodwulf (Critical Role), Leofric Ermendrud, Caleb Widogast's Mother, Trent Ikithon Additional Tags: Child Abuse, Corporal Punishment, Coming of Age, blumenthal trio, the blumenthal three, if you squint it's poly trio but can be read either way, so I'm not sure if I should tag that, also I'm taking a lot of leeway here guys, Soltryce Academy, graphic description of the crystal torture Summary:

Bren Aldric Ermendrud had been groomed for success from a very young age. From the first time his parents send him to school to his last day with Trent Ikithon, expectations were high.

Bren was four.

He was four, and for a four-year-old, he already knew a lot. He could tell people his age, and his name, and where he lived. He knew all the letters, both in reading and writing, and could even count up to over one hundred. What he was especially proud of was the few words of Common he could speak, because his father always said that Common was the language of the Empire and it would do him more good than his mother tongue, Zemnian, one day.

More than anything though, Bren knew that his parents loved him. He saw it in the way his father smiled at him, when he usually smiled so little. In the way his mother tucked him in at night, and still insisted on reading him a bed story every night even though he could technically do that himself by now. He knew that they loved him because they said so, often, and that was already more than enough.

Sometimes though, when he wasn't in the room with them, he could hear them arguing with each other. It wasn't like a real fight, they weren't yelling, but still. Bren didn't like it.

Right now it was especially bad, because their voices had woken him up. But he was supposed to be asleep, which meant he couldn't go into the other room and make them stop. And they were slowly getting louder, loud enough that Bren could understand what they were saying, even though it was still muffled through the wall.

He could pick up his father's voice first, and he sounded agitated.

“I know you are worried, but I only want the best for him! We can barely keep him entertained in the house, do you want all that potential to go to waste?”

“No, of course not.” That worried voice belonged to his mother. “But he's four! Every other child in the class will be at least two years older than him, what if they are... what if they are mean to him?”

Bren knew what this was about now. Lately, his parents had been thinking about signing him up for school this summer. He wasn't exactly sure why that would be so much of a deal, and would have liked to go if they had asked him, but he didn't want to scare his mother.

She was already so worried about his father all the time, that he would be “called to the front again”. Bren wasn't sure what that meant, mostly because people refused to explain it to him, but it surely wasn't a good thing. It had something to do with his job and the bad limp he'd had ever since Bren could remember, but that was all he knew for sure.

Suddenly realizing that he'd lost track of the conversation in the other room, the boy concentrated on that again. His mother again.

“Where will we even get the money, Leofric?”

There was a short pause, and Bren was sure that his father sighed. He did that a lot.

“We could get most of that second hand. What about your friend, Sofine? Doesn't she have a son who's a few years older? I'm sure she still has some of the things that the boy has grown out of, and they would fit Bren just fine.”

“I could ask,” his mother agreed, carefully. “But even then, there's still the school fees to worry about.”

“We can take care of that. It's just the public school down the road, how much can they take?” his father answered again, and he sounded tired. Either the conversation was over after that, or Bren just couldn't hear them anymore. But discussions about money were always difficult, since they didn't have a lot of it. It was the reason his mother mended his clothes over and over instead of buying new things, and why he could never get a treat from one of the nice market booths when she took him along for running errands.

Bren closed his eyes again and buried his face in Frumpkin's fur, letting the gentle purring sound that came from the small body calm him down again (technically Frumpkin wasn't supposed to get into his bed. Technically). He was excited, because school sounded so much better than re-reading all the “child-friendly” books he was allowed to keep in his room, or being dropped off at his mother's friend's house when she had an appointment where he couldn't come along.

But he didn't want to get his hopes up either.

*

Bren was ten.

He was ten, and had already changed school twice. From the small public school down the road to the one further into town, and now to a private one right in the centre of Blumenthal. It took him half an hour every morning to get there on foot, but it was worth it. So was the school uniform he had to wear everyday, and the heavier books he carried with him.

The new school also cost a lot of money, and the only thing keeping him from feeling too guilty was that, as long as he kept his grades up, there was an agreement for his parents to pay less. So he did what he could, kept his head down to avoid trouble with his classmates (always being the youngest in class wasn't easy), kept his grades up to avoid trouble with his teacher, and all in all just tried to draw as little negative attention to himself as he could.

Which was mainly the reason he'd almost suffered a heart attack when his teacher had handed him a letter to deliver to his parents the other week, with the strong instruction not to open it himself.

His father hadn't seemed angry though when reading it, just send him off to his room to do his homework. A week later he still wasn't sure what exactly the letter said, but now he was sitting in the headmaster's office with his parents with the vague answer of “it's about your education”. He really hated it when adults refused to tell him things.

Finally, the door to the office opened and the headmaster, Mr. Albrecht, stepped inside to join them. He gave the family a pleasant smile and both his parents got up to shake hands with the man. Bren wasn't offered the same, but hadn't expected it either.

“Mr. and Mrs. Ermendrud, Bren, so glad that all of you could make it,” the man started, before sitting down in the big chair behind the desk and shuffling some papers in front of him. They sat in silence for a moment while he studied what looked to be a file in front of him (Bren was sure that it was about him), and then looked up again. “Bren, how long have you been with us now?”

The question left Bren with a sinking feeling in his stomach, but he answered quickly. “Eight months and twenty six days, sir.”

Mr. Albrecht nodded, and Bren started to squirm in his seat again until his father's piercing gaze made him stop. “Exactly,” the man started, before focusing from Bren back on his parents. “And I have to admit, in that short time, Bren has already exceeded some of our expectations. When his old teacher contacted us with the plea of taking him in, we thought the woman was exaggerating his abilities. She was definitely not.”

Bren glowed with pride at those words. He knew he'd been doing well, but hearing it like this was something else. Sneaking a look at his parents he could see they seemed pleased as well, but his father also looked... worried?

“We are certainly happy to hear that,” he said, reaching out to lay one arm around Bren's shoulders. “But... what does that mean for him?”

“Well, not much, for now,” Mr. Albrecht answered. “We will continue to teach him, under the same conditions that have applied before. I'm sure that will be in everyone's interest for now. Right, Bren?”

Not sure if he was actually supposed to say anything to that, the boy nodded. When the teacher's eyes stayed on him, he quickly added: “I like it here. It's... nice. I'm learning a lot.”

“Your Common could certainly use some work considering your skill level in other classes, but we will get there,” the man chuckled, and even though Bren knew it had been meant in a not too serious way, the sound made him uncomfortable. Also, he could read and write in Common just fine, it was the speaking part that caused him trouble. He just couldn't make the words come out right, no matter how hard he tried at times, and even though he wasn't the only one in class with a heavy accent, he was the only one constantly being reprimanded for it. Definitely not one of his favorite subjects.

He turned his eyes to the ground, and Mr. Albrecht went back to his parents again. “Nevertheless, back to the topic at hand. I think it is obvious that Bren has the potential of a very bright future ahead of him, but if you want what's best for your son, you need to start making decisions now.”

“Decisions?” his father asked, still holding Bren close. “But he is only ten, what kind of decisions could be expected at that age?”

“Well, with the abilities he's showing already, he could one day be one of the greatest assets of the Empire,” the man told his father, and by now Bren didn't feel like he was part of the conversation anymore. “As a man of the military yourself, I'm sure you have an interest in not only helping your country, but also in seeing your son succeed in bringing this great nation forward.”

His father's expression turned pained for a moment. “Please, I am just a lowly scribe at this point, but-”

“Don't sell yourself short,” he was interrupted again. “I know about your commitment to the Empire, I know what it cost you. But again, let's get back on topic. Your son.”

“Right, right.” His father turned to look at Bren, then at his mother, who gave a brief nod. “Whatever you have in mind for the boy, we would greatly appreciate any help in furthering his education. He's a bright kid, and we- well, we cannot quite keep up. But we do want what's best for him.”

“Bright, definitely. Gifted, even,” Mr. Albrecht agreed. “Which is why I have a suggestion for you. I'm sure you know of the Soltryce Academy?”

There was another moment of silence, where his parents just stared at the man in front of them. Bren could barely keep himself from asking what they were talking about, knowing that they probably wouldn't appreciate his interruption.

“In Rexxentrum?” his mother finally asked. “Of course. Are you- are you suggesting that we send him there?”

“Not now, of course,” the headmaster told her, his tone reassuring. “But we can start working towards it. He certainly has the right mind for it, and I am certain that, under the right care and tutelage, your son would thrive.”

So whatever it was, the Academy seemed like a big deal. Bren did know about Rexxentrum though, they had covered the capital of the Empire in different subjects already. He'd never even left Blumenthal until now, going to another city so far away, and apparently by himself? It sounded scary.

His father was wringing his hands now, nervously looking between everyone else in the room. “That's- quite a ways away. And even if we had a few years to start saving up money, even with a deal like the one you have offered us, I don't think we would be able to do it.”

“Let me worry about the money, I'm sure I can call in a favor or two,” the headmaster offered with a smile. And Bren wasn't sure if he liked the look on the man's face. It wasn't a nice smile, he couldn't tell what it was at all. “All you have to do is make sure to keep your son in line, and make sure he keeps up with his studies. I will try and get more private lessons for him, since he is still ahead of the other students in his class.”

His parents nodded again, still exchanging glances with each other, but Mr. Albrecht was still talking. “And there are two others students I have my eye on, who, with a bit of luck, might get the same opportunity. He will share his lessons with them, and I will make sure to get them all acquainted with each other. And if everyone puts in a bit of work, we will see where it leads us.”

“All of that sounds quite amazing,” his mother replied quietly. “Almost too good to be true.”

“No worries Mrs. Ermendrud, the Empire takes care of their own,” she was assured. “And with your son's potential, it would be a shame to not at least try.”

*

Bren was fifteen.

He was fifteen, it was a week before he, Astrid, and Eodwulf were supposed to leave for Rexxentrum, and he had just made a terrible mistake. Or rather more than one mistake, the entire night had been one mistake after the other if he was being honest.

A few hours ago Astrid and Wulf had shown up in front of his window with a mischievous smile and a bottle of ale each, asking him to join them in celebrating their acceptance to the Soltryce Academy. Their letters had already arrived weeks ago, but the closer they got to leaving, the more excited all of them became.

Bren hadn't even hesitated in climbing out and going with them. His parents would notice at some point, but he was sure they would understand. After all, he'd never caused any serious trouble before, never had the opportunity with the workload the school had been putting on him and the other two, so what better time time to enjoy himself a bit but now?

But really, he should have expected something to go wrong. And now, sitting in a holding cell as he slowly sobered up again, waiting for someone to pick him up, Bren really wished he could turn back time, just a little bit, and avoid this whole mess.

It was still dark outside, but he knew it was early morning when he heard keys turn in a lock down the hallway and two sets of footsteps approaching. Some kind of flickering light came closer, and finally two people stepped in front of his cell. First, the guard who had picked him up that night, holding a torch. And second was his father, arms crossed over his chest and an unreadable look on his face. One thing was for sure though, he did not look happy.

For the first time in his life, Bren felt something akin to fear as he looked at the man.

“You got lucky, son,” the guard called out, as he moved to unlock the door. “If it wasn't for yer father busting you out, you'd be sitting here a bit longer.” The man seemed awfully cheery for their situation, but maybe this was the only part of his job he actually enjoyed. Delivering delinquent teenagers to their displeased parents.

Bren didn't move. “Dad, I-”

“Not now. Let's get you home,” his father interrupted, his voice unusually cold.

Bren held his father's gaze for a moment longer before finally getting up with a shaky exhale, and walking out. The man just nodded and gestured for the guard to lead the way out again. There was no hug, no pat on the shoulder, nothing. Hell, Bren had even preferred if he'd grabbed his arm, dragged him out by the ear, something. But they walked out in silence. Before leaving the building though, the guard held out his hand towards his father.

“Not a word about this. To anyone,” Leofric muttered, before dropping a small sack in the guard's hand that was clearly filled with coins. Now Bren knew why the guy was in such a good mood, at least.

With a last look at the man, who just gave him an unabashed grin, Bren quickly followed his father outside. The few attempts he made at conversation where still shot down though, and eventually he stopped trying. By the time they got home, the first sliver of light was visible at the horizon.

“Go to your room, Bren,” his father told him, locking the door behind them as always but not looking at him. Not once, since they had left the stockades. “Get some sleep. I need to talk to your mother, she was worried sick about you, and then I have to go to work. We will talk when I get back.”

The boy didn't have it in him to protest. He hadn't slept all night, his head was starting to hurt from the alcohol, and his father's behaviour was almost worse than any outcome he had expected. So he gave a brief nod and did as he'd been told.

Despite the rising sun and the noise of a city waking up outside, he was out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

A few hours after noon, Bren finally woke up again. He still felt rather terrible, and not only because of the hangover he had, but at least the guilt got him moving. Sitting on the edge of his bed he spotted Frumpkin for the first time.

The cat was curled up on his desk, eyes open and the tail swishing from side to side as he gave him a look that could only be described as reproachful. “Oh shut it,” he muttered. “I don't need your judgement as well.”

Nevertheless he scratched the cat between the ears as he finally got up, getting a gentle purr in response, and it was enough to get him out the door and into the kitchen. If Frumpkin couldn't stay mad at him for long, surely neither would his parents.

“Mother?” he asked quietly, as he carefully opened the door and stepped inside. The woman stopped what she was doing and looked up at him, a smile washing over her face as she did. Before he could react, she was already up and had her arms around him. He was still an inch shorter than her, and his mother wasted no time in tucking him against her chest and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“You're awake. When I checked your room again last night and you were gone... I was so worried,” she whispered, and he could still hear it in the way her voice shook. Once more he berated himself for being this stupid. If nothing else, he could have at least left them a note. “And then Eodwulf and Astrid showed up in the middle of the night and-”

“Wait, they did?” he finally pulled away from her again, with a confused look. “What- did they tell you what happened?”

“Some of it,” she told him. She still had both arms on his shoulders, but also looked a lot more serious now. “I'm sure they didn't tell us everything, but at least they let us know where we could find you. Eodwulf looked so scared, I thought you got hurt at first.”

“No, no I'm fine. I promise, mom, I'm fine,” he assured her quickly, though he was sure she knew that already. “I'm just... surprised they came here. Did they go with father?”

“No, he send them straight home. Pelor knows it's enough if one of you gets in trouble,” she sighed. “And then he went to get you. He probably told you, but your father is going to... have words with you, when he gets home from work.”

“I know,” he mumbled, averting his eyes now and looking to the ground. He had an idea what she really meant with that phrasing, and for once in his life had to admit that he deserved it. “Or I expected as much. I'm so sorry, mother, I didn't mean to worry you. Either of you.”

She reached out, laying a gentle hand on his face but forcing him to look at her again. “Bren, this isn't just about scaring us. Do you understand what you could have lost tonight?”

At his lost expression she just shook her head and let go again, taking a step back. “Well, nevermind. I think it's better if you have this conversation with your father. For now, why don't you help me with preparing dinner?”

“I- yes, of course,” he replied quietly. He had so many questions now, but his mother seemed very set on not answering any, and he knew there was no sense in trying to change her mind. The two of them did fall into an easy rhythm though, and before long, dinner was done and he could hear his father's key in the door.

For an hour, they all seemed to pretend that nothing had happened. They ate together, his parents even managed some small talk about work, and afterwards his father helped with washing up. But as soon as that was done, there was a noticeable shift in the mood.

“Bren, would you go wait for me in your room please?” his father asked, a forced easiness in his voice. “I think we finally need to discuss what happened last night.”

So Bren went to his room again, sat down on his bed, and waited. Five minutes passed. Then ten. Then twenty. And then he finally heard his father's footsteps approaching.

As the man stepped inside their eyes caught each other, and Bren quickly looked away in shame. He heard his father sigh, and a second later felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Son, look at me.”

Bren hesitated for another moment, but eventually lifted his head again.

“There we go. I don't like seeing you ashamed, doesn't suit you. But considering the circumstances we're in, at least you got a good reason to. Before we do this, tell me what happened.”

“Everything?”

“What do you think?”

Bren sighed, and had to remind himself once more to keep his father's gaze. “We... we just wanted to celebrate a bit, that's all.”

His father nodded and finally took a seat beside him on the bed, making it a lot easier for Bren to actually tell him the truth. Looming over him like he had been, it made him feel very small. “So you'd planned this for a while then?”

“No, not at all,” he told him. “They just showed up, and I thought what can go wrong? So I climbed out the window and joined them... they already had the ale, I'm not sure where they got it from, and we went to the old Schwarzwasser farm, knowing that no one would disturb us there.”

“Well that was obviously wrong, but continue.”

“Right. We, uh, got a little bit too drunk, I guess. And- and we started playing around with cantrips a bit, the one or two we can actually do.”

He could clearly see his father grit his teeth for a moment, before the man spoke up again. “You were playing around with magic, after your teacher has explicitly forbidden you from doing so? Several times even, if I recall correctly.”

“Well, I- I mean,” Bren was stumbling now, knowing very well there was no real way to talk himself out of this. During the last year, he and his friends had gotten access to actual spell books for the first time in their life. They'd only been allowed to copy spells, learn all the theoretical basics of magic casting, without any of the practical stuff. It had been interesting, but all three of them had quickly gotten the urge to try more.

“We did,” he finally answered with a sigh. “We knew we're not supposed to, but again, we didn't think anything could go wrong... it was just dancing lights at first, seeing who could send them out the furthest and things like that.”

“And then things started to go wrong?” his father asked.

“Pretty much. Wulf, he- I'm not sure what he was trying to do, but suddenly there was a loud noise, and some of the straw around us caught fire.” Bren stopped for a moment, as if he was realizing for the first time how much danger they'd actually been in. For drunken teenagers, they'd apparently gotten pretty lucky. “It wasn't really a big deal, we managed to put it out pretty quickly. But someone must have heard the noise and alerted the guards, because they came next.”

“And Astrid and Eodwulf were just faster than you?”

“Kind of. I told them to run ahead, and that I was going to catch up. I don't even remember what my plan was, probably something stupid, but before I could do anything they'd already caught me. And- well, that's what happened.”

His father nodded, staying quiet for a moment before he got up again and started pacing. “So let's see, breaking and entering, underage drinking, ignoring your teacher's warnings, and damage to property.” As he was talking, he was counting everything off on his fingers, and Bren gulped. “Do you want to add anything else to the list?”

“No.”

“That's what I thought.”

He stopped again, right in front of him, and motioned for him to get up. Ignoring the slight shaking in his knees, Bren did. Sure, he'd gone over his father's lap a few times, but that had been years ago. And this felt different.

But they weren't that far yet, his father kept talking. “Do you know what could have happened if I hadn't been able to pay off that guard? Do you have any idea what you put at risk last night?” he asked, his eyes growing more intense again. “You could have been charged for those things, Bren. They could have ended up on your record. Do you think the Soltryce Academy accepts students with anything less than a clean slate?”

And no, he hadn't thought about that. Not once had the thought that he could lose his scholarship, everything he'd worked for for the last five years, crossed his mind. The realisation hit him like a freight train, and all he could do was stare at his father with an open mouth.

“Yes, that's what I thought,” the man sighed, sounding deeply regretful of what came next. “I can't let you off the hook for this, Bren. You risked everything, it could have all gone down the drain, and you didn't even think about it. It's the last thing I expected from you, and I'm going to make sure you never forget again. Bend over your desk.”

Still too shell-shocked to do anything than what his father asked of him, Bren turned to his desk and leaned forward. As he rested his elbows on the steady surface, he could hear the sound of his father's belt being pulled through the loops. A moment later, a comforting hand came to rest on his back.

And then the sound of leather cutting through thin air.

*

Bren was sixteen.

He was sixteen, and just finishing up his first year at the Soltryce Academy. Their last exams were in less than a month, and after that he would return to Blumenthal for a two month break along with Astrid and Wulf.

They were all looking forward to it. But while Bren missed his parents now, he also knew that he would miss the Academy as soon as he was back home. Even with the stress they were under sometimes, he loved the school. It was so much better, so much more, than what any of his other schools had been able to offer him.

Right now he was sitting in the main library with his two friends, all three of them poring over century old tomes while the sun was beating down outside. They were still covering the basics of magic in their courses, and still not allowed to do much more than cantrips, but every time Bren felt that specific feeling of magic flowing through his fingertips it was like taking a breath of fresh air for the first time.

Bren was still completely engrossed in his book as, surprisingly, Astrid was the first to throw down her pen. With a loud sigh she stretched her arms over her head and leaned back in her chair.

“Alright guys, I'm done for today,” she muttered, though she wasn't packing up yet. “Anyone want to join me outside? I think we deserve a break.”

“You're done?” Wulf chuckled, at least looking up from his reading. He was twirling his pen around his fingers, something he often did to help himself concentrate. “We're not even halfway through the material that's actually relevant for next week.”

“Bren is, he can tell us anything we need to know during lunch,” Astrid joked, while gently nudging him with her elbow. “Hey, Bren, what time is it anyway?”

“Eleven forty,” he muttered as an answer, his eyes never leaving the page.

“See? So we got lunch in 20 minutes anyway, let's take a break until then,” she insisted again, starting to collect her things now. The old leather bag she always took with her around campus was already straining at the seams, and the extra notes she'd taken just this morning weren't helping with keeping everything together.

Wulf still seemed unsure on whether to follow her or not, but finally started to pack up as well. “If I fail this, I'm going to blame you,” he muttered, though his voice was too soft to be serious about it.

“Oh trust me, if we fail this, I'm gonna jump off one of the candles,” she huffed, before clapping Bren on the shoulder to get him moving as well. “Come on, nerd.”

“Don't say something like that!” Wulf protested, just as Bren looked up and realized that they were leaving. Scrambling to catch up he stuffed everything in his bag, as careful as he could, and quickly followed his now bickering friends out onto campus. As they stepped from the the stuffy, dust filled library out into the sunlight, all three seemed to take a breath of relief, and their studies seemed forgotten for a few minutes as they started making their way towards one of the gardens.

Wulf and Astrid were still talking shit beside him when Bren suddenly got the feeling of being watched. He ignored it at first, but whatever it was made the hair on the back of his neck stand up until he finally turned his head to look around. Right by the door of the library, where they had just left, he saw one of their teachers. Master Trent Ikithon.

Bren straightened his posture as he caught the man's gaze, as if on instinct, and then quickly turned around again. He hadn't told the other two, and wasn't sure if they had noticed anything themselves, but he definitely felt like Master Ikithon had been watching them for a while now. It made him nervous, not being able to tell whether that was a good or a bad thing, or what the man was looking for. Maybe they should have just stayed in the library until lunch.

But he was quickly ripped from his thoughts again when Astrid slugged him in the shoulder. “Hey, Bren, are you even listening?”

“Huh? Yeah, I mean, no... sorry. What were you saying?”

“Wulf wants to go sit by the pond, I think it's too warm. Let's sit by the willow, at least there's some shade there.”

“Uh, yeah. Willow sounds good,” he replied, giving Wulf an apologetic shrug as his friend glared at him over Astrid's shoulder. 'Sorry' he mouthed, just as Astrid grabbed both of them and dragged them over to one of her favorite spots.

As soon as the three of them sank down beneath the tree, all leaning against each other in a pile, he realised how exhausted he was. His friends didn't seem to be doing any better, and instead of going over his notes again as he'd been planning to do, he was content to doze off along with them.

For once there was nothing but peace and quiet, in the midday heat there wasn't even a single bird there to disturb them. It felt like forever until Astrid, who'd rested her head on his shoulder at some point while her legs rested in Wulf's lap, gently nudged his side again. “Hey, Bren?”

“Hmm?”

“What time is it?”

“Twelve sixteen.”

“Alright,” she mumbled, and then fell quiet again. After a second or two, she abruptly sat up. “Wait, what?! We're missing lunch!”

It took the boys a moment to catch on, but as soon as they realized what she was saying they all hurried to their feet, picked up their bags, and started running. Not that they were risking any serious trouble, but meal times at the Academy were strict enough that they didn't want to miss them, otherwise they would have to go into the city to still get something to eat. So missing lunch would, at the very least, be a waste of time and money.

They managed to get to the dining hall in time though, sweaty and a bit out of breath, but still able to sit down with everyone else and get their free meal. Trying to keep their laughter down they settled down at a table a bit further away from most of the other students, very aware that this must have been one of the more stupid reasons for being late to something. Still, better late to a meal than an actual lesson.

“Maybe we should plan in more time for a pre-lunch nap break tomorrow,” Wulf chuckled, as they had all finally calmed down a bit.

“Certainly not the worst way to end a study session,” Bren agreed with a smile, ignoring Astrid as she started to suggestively wiggle her eyebrows at them.

“Anything to get this dork out of the library for a few minutes a day,” she finally agreed, still sounding a bit too amused for Bren's taste. But before he could retaliate, he spotted another student coming their way.

He didn't recognize the girl, but she had an intense look on her face and was definitely headed for their table. She had to be at least a few grades above them, and despite the sweltering heat, was wearing the full uniform. Not even the sleeves of her coat were rolled up, which seemed weird in a room full of people who barely managed to keep their shirts on.

Bren nudged both of his friends and nodded in the girl's direction, causing them all to freeze up until she reached their table. She smiled, and came to a stop with her arms crossed behind her back.

“Astrid, Bren, Eodwulf?”

“Yes. Can we help you with anything?” Eodwulf asked, sounding honestly curious.

“Master Ikithon sends me. He would like to talk to the three of you, privately.”

So Bren hadn't imagined the whole thing. He felt a bit better now, knowing he'd been right, but that still didn't answer his question about this being a good thing or not.

“Right now?” Astrid asked, not aware of her friend's inner conflict.

“No, this evening. You're supposed to meet him in his office at eight o'clock prompt,” the girl answered. And this time she didn't wait for an answer, instead starting to walk off again immediately.

“Shit. Do you think we're in trouble?” Wulf asked, keeping his voice down now despite the fact that they were once more alone.

“I don't know, but I think Master Ikithon's been watching us for a while. Not sure what it means though,” Bren finally told them, his voice just a quiet.

Astrid gave him a confused look. “What do you mean 'watching us'? Why didn't you tell us sooner?”

Bren just shrugged and looked down on his plate, pushing his carrots around. “Wasn't sure if I'd imagined it, honestly.”

The other two didn't continue to press him, but the mood on their little table had shifted drastically. There was no more trace of their earlier joking around, instead all three quietly finished their meals and shared nervous looks with each other. Eight o'clock couldn't come fast enough.

They arrived at the office ten minutes early, just to be sure. And it wasn't like they would have been able to relax in their rooms anyway, even after their lessons and homework were done for the day. They had tried.

Wulf had been fidgeting more than usual since the “invitation”, barely able to keep still, while Bren had gone the complete opposite way and had barely said anything at all, sitting still as a statue through their last lessons. Astrid, just as nervous, had tried to keep the mood up, but soon realized it wasn't working. Eventually she'd given up and joined Bren in his silence.

Point eight, the door in front of them swung open by itself. It revealed a spacious room, every wall lined with bookshelves, a small laboratory set up in the corner, and right in the middle, a big desk. Trent Ikithon sat behind it, finishing up a last sentence with his feather before setting it down, looking up then to face them.

“Ah, you are all on time,” he greeted them, before getting up and beckoning their little group closer. Astrid was the first to step into the room, Bren and Wulf close behind as she walked up to the desk and sat down in one of the three chairs that had been placed there.

Astrid took the seat to the right, Wulf settled down to the left, and that left Bren right in the middle. He just hoped that his breathing alone wasn't enough to give away how tense he was.

“Now, I'm sure you are wondering why I called you in here. Did it come as a surprise to you?” the man asked, as they'd all finally sat down, and as he steepled his fingers in front of him. Bren wondered if it was mandatory for teachers to look absolutely terrifying as soon as they had you alone and up close.

“We- we certainly did not expect this, no,” he blurted out, when no one else seemed to answer either. “But we did notice your... attention on us, lately. Sir.”

Ikithon chuckled quietly and leaned back in his chair. “Perceptive, I like that. And it's true, I did keep an eye on the three of you for the last few weeks. With the talent your little group has displayed, since the moment you got here, it shouldn't be unexpected.”

He got up then, starting to pace behind his desk as he continued his speech. “I am not sure if you are aware, but all your teachers speak rather highly of you. You are moving through your lessons with a kind of ease that other students are not given, and while I'm sure that you still feel very much stressed with your workload, I assure you, others are doing worse.”

He stopped for a moment and gave them an amused little smile. “Most others in your year cannot afford to take a nap just before lunch, no matter how much they may want to.”

Bren's face heated up at those words, and he was sure his skin was about as red as his hair. He hadn't been aware they were being watched that closely.

“I'm very sorry, Sir. We never meant to give the impression that we were slacking off,” Astrid spoke up quietly, and while she wasn't blushing, Bren could tell she was as embarrassed as he was.

“Oh, not at all,” Ikithon assured her quickly. “What I am trying to say is, you are wasting your time at the moment. All three of you could be much further than doing measly cantrips right now, and that's why you are here. I'm going to make you an offer, one that isn't going to be easy. Quite the opposite, your life is going to become a lot harder if you accept it. Free time will most likely become a distant memory, but I promise you, it will be worth it.”

They all resisted the urge to look at each other again. “What kind of offer?” Bren finally asked.

“I will personally take over most of your tutoring,” he told them, still looming over them as he now rested his hands on the table and looked down at them. “To get you to an acceptable level you would need to loose some of your summer break, maybe return one or two weeks earlier than everyone else so we can work on a schedule that works with the rest of your studies. But I will not only make sure that you are able to learn in a pace that actually suits your abilities, you will be able to work closely with me on furthering, and pushing, our current understanding of magic. You will get access to areas of the Academy that most students are forbidden from ever entering.”

Bren felt that sinking pit in his stomach again. The one he'd felt when his headmaster, years ago, had first suggested the Soltryce Academy to him. The same feeling he'd had every time his father told him he was meant to for greater things. The feeling that meant he wasn't quite ready, but also knowing he would never be. That a plunge into cold water was sometimes the only thing that got you swimming.

“Bright minds like yours are exactly what the Empire needs these days,” Ikithon continued. “But I do not expect an answer right away. Take your exams, go home to your families. All I expect is a letter during the first two weeks of your break, so we can make sure everything can still be arranged should you agree. Any more questions?”

There was a long beat of silence, as it seemed the three teenagers dared to breath for the first time since the man had started talking. They all looked a bit insecure at the moment, Wulf visibly struggling to keep still, but finally shook their heads.

“Very well, consider yourselves dismissed then. Enjoy your evening,” they were told, just as the door opened again behind them.

*

Bren was seventeen.

He was seventeen, and after the last year and a half under Master Trent Ikithon's care, he was finally starting to understand his place in the world. His skill level had advanced remarkably, not only concerning spells but also certain interrogation techniques. Astrid and Wulf were doing just as well, and together, the three of them were looking at a future of bringing the Empire further than it had ever been, of revolutionizing it's understanding of what was possible within magical means.

It was everything Ikithon had promised them, and so much more. Three days a week they would leave the Academy, instead going to their Master's private estate to receive further tutelage there. And some of these days, the secrets they seeked to learn demanded sacrifice.

Today was one of them.

Bren had been called in for a solitary lesson, knowing very well that this was somewhat punishment for his lack of concentration during their last training mission. Though he already reprimanded himself for that thought. It wasn't supposed to be a punishment, he needed to get better and if this was what it took, so be it. Ikithon wanted his best, he couldn't question that.

Reaching the door to the basement he gave a rapid knock, and promptly heard it unlock beneath his fingers. Pushing it open and getting a first look at the room, he barely suppressed a groan. On a small table beside a chair were a few instruments laid out, amongst them a scalpel, some gauze, and the green crystals he was so familiar with by now.

Ikithon was there as well, greeting him with a warm smile as the door fell shut behind him. “On time as always. Take off your coat and sit down, we can begin any minute now.”

“Yes sir,” Bren replied, his voice still steady as he relaxed from the frigid pose he'd been holding with his arms crossed behind his back, to take off the red coat of his Academy uniform. He carefully folded it over and left it on the chest near the door, before striding over to sit down. Not wanting to waste any time he already rolled up his sleeves as well.

Ikithon stepped closer again, placing down a bottle of rubbing alcohol before preparing a cotton swab with it.

“Take a deep breath now, Bren. Concentrate,” he told him, his tone harder now than what the smile earlier had prepared him for. Bren closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and dug his fingernails into the arm of the chair, as the first cut was placed.

The first few times, Ikithon had made sure to tie their arms to the chair first. By now, they were expected to stay in position on their own. Handling rope only wasted time.

He couldn't see it, but even over the static noise in his ears he could hear one of the crystals being picked up. A moment later, the telltale feeling of his skin catching fire, electrified, the feeling that was usually so soothing to him, left him feeling in control, dialled up to a hundred.

He grit his teeth, but still groaned in pain as a second crystal was added. And another. And another, into the other arm this time. As they reached number five, Ikithon finally stepped away. Bren could feel the tears running down his cheeks, already finding the plain close to unbearable, but he wasn't granted much of a break.

“Open your eyes, son. Get up,” Ikithon told him, still demanding. “We are going to start with a few level one spells, see how you manage.”

So Bren opened his eyes, blinking a few times against the bright torch lights, and stumbled to his feet. He always felt like his view shifted with the crystals. Everything seemed sharper, brighter, almost pulsating. The trembling had given way to a dull thrum running throughout his body, leaving him so tense that even the gentle hand leading him into the middle of the room felt like a branding iron pressed deep into his skin.

They had never gone up to five before, he wasn't sure how long he would be able to take it. But he did his best to assume an upright posture, waiting of further instructions. As Master Ikithon had already told him, they went through some of the easier spells first.

Bren was able to go through them without much trouble. Disguise self, burning hands, silent image. Ikithon just needed to call them out, and he followed without even having to think about the actions he was performing.

But with every arcane word, every somatic component, the pain started to get worse. The crystals helped to preserve energy. If it wasn't for the pain, Bren would have been able to keep at it until night fall.

But as it was, his body started to scream for a break after less than ten minutes. He was heaving for breath, gritting his teeth again so his grunts of pain wouldn't disturb the spells.

“Please,” he whispered, not daring to look over at Master Ikithon but still asking for mercy. “I-it's too much, please.”

“Stop whining, Ermendrud,” was all he got in reply. “You're better than this, let your will override your body and show me that all this time I'm putting into you is actually worth something. Let's step it up a bit, show me... a phantom steed.”

Bren swallowed another cry of pain and assumed the proper position again. But as he raised his left arm for the right gesture, a pain so blinding shot through, from his fingertips right to his head, that all he could do was fall to his knees with a loud scream. “Please,” he started to beg, hiding his left arm under his body like a beaten dog while the other cradled his head, still nothing but white light behind his eyelids. “Please, take them out! Pelor, please, make it stop.”

“Pathetic,” he heard above him, just before he was forcefully turned on his back and Ikithon grabbed his arm. “I expected better from you, Bren.”

One after the other, the crystals were plucked out again. It left him sobbing on the floor, every stimulation still kicked into overdrive, and even as the other man retreated and he could hear the crystals clatter down on the table again, he stayed down.

“Well. That was a bit disappointing, but I guess we will have to work our way up again,” Ikithon sighed, and Bren could hear him start to clean up as he slowly started to quiet down again. “I will send someone down to... help you wash up. And don't worry, in a few months, you will all get the chance to really prove yourselves.”

Bren didn't know what that meant, and right then he didn't really care. All he wanted was for the pain to finally stop, for his senses to return back to normal, and to hopefully not see these crystals again anytime soon.

Ikithon's footsteps retreated, he heard the door shut behind him, and then he was left in the dark. Safe enough to open his eyes again. Safe enough to get his breathing back to normal.

It took exactly four minutes and thirty three seconds before he heard a new set of footsteps. Two, actually, hurrying down the stairs, pushing open the door. Coming to a stop.

“Bren?”

It was Wulf. The soft gasp behind him was Astrid.

“I'm okay,” he whispered, his voice more hoarse than he would have expected. With Wulf's help he slowly sat up, though he still winced at the gentle touch. Astrid kneeled down beside him, a fresh roll of gauze in her hands.

“Are you sure? It looks bad,” Wulf whispered, tucking Bren against his chest as Astrid got to work. “That's a lot of cuts.”

“No, no I'm fine,” Bren told them again, curling his fingers into Wulf's coat with the arm his other friend wasn't currently tending to. “I got you two, I'll be fine. I'll be fine.”

*

Bren was seventeen.

He was seventeen, and he lost everything in a fire of his own making.

*

Caleb is twenty eight.

He is twenty eight, and his life begins anew.

[earthsidefieldnotes]

The First Year

Disclaimer: I wrote this post in May of 2020 and never did get around to posting it, but I am attempting to clean out my thirty-something drafts on Tumblr and make some of them into actual posts. This is one of them! Stay tuned for a recap on The Second Year.

(this is a picture of me outside our tiny, gross townhouse that we lovingly named the Shoebox last year, on my first day of grad school, holding a mug featuring a brief history of art.)

Year one. Sponsored by JSTOR, the trumpet guy at the Courthouse Metro, brain breaks in the form of half-marathon training distance runs, and a LOT of chamomile tea consumed between the hours of 10 pm and 3 am.

I am often asked, in a small-talk sensibility, “How’s grad school?” and normally answer by rattling off where I am in that particular moment: “It’s good! Just trying to finish up the semester quarantine-style. I have a presentation tomorrow. I feel pretty prepared for it, but I’ll finish up prep tonight.”

That’s not really answering the question, though. How is grad school? And how do I feel about it? What are my impressions from this wild first year of it? Here is a compilation of those thoughts, in no particular order:

i. It’s just deeper, all of it. The good runs deeper and the bad runs deeper. The highs are very high (all my weird interests of the pasts are culminating in this moment! I have been given time to study things I like and find important! I am getting paid to study those things!), and the lows are lower. Imposter syndrome feels significantly more existential. Something about getting a graduate degree is much more personal than undergrad, when you’re sacrificing years, money, and commonality with your fellow man to wade deeper into your field. There’s more at stake, which makes it more of an emotional rollercoaster.

ii. Favorite thing about grad school: TEACHING. PRESENTING. Convincing my audience why the subject material is significant. Very surprised by this.

Least favorite thing about grad school: Contributing to class discussions. Getting graded based on participation in class discussions. Not at all surprised by this.

iii. Making friends is not the same as it is in undergrad. You aren’t bound together by shenanigans, by mattresses dragged from one dorm room across the hall into another, horrified laughter from finding an inchworm in your cafeteria salad, or hammock stacks on campus in between classes. But you are bound together in a different sense: the one where you get stupid excited about the paper you’re writing, and your classmate looks you in the eye and understands why you’re so jazzed about it. This is especially happy when you are in the self-isolating scenario of studying something academic and niche. 

iv. All of my classes are in the same building, nay, the same classroom, good old Smith 106 with the boujee projector that overheats. This is a mega pro. Why? None of my classes have ever conflicted with one another. And they never will. I have never wished that time-turners were real this year (while I wished they were real every semester during registration time in undergrad). And the Lord said it was good.

v. That moment when you’re researching your way through an academic database and you find the perfect article for a class paper, only to discover that it has in fact been written by your professor who assigned you the paper topic. Or is your professor’s spouse/best friend/research rival. This happened more often than I thought it would. 

This list of things shows parts of a whole, and that whole is that at its distilled core, I am better learning how to see, to be curious, to pay attention to the creative output of humanity across time and understand how all the influences-- historical, cultural, spiritual-- compelled them to expression. People don’t understand why I study art history. They tend to find it frivolous, unable to think outside the framework of what job one can get after receiving such a master’s degree. And there are specific jobs one can get with this degree, but that isn’t really the point. The point is to learn, to grow, and to contribute meaningfully. I hope to do this well. 

(Mirror pic of me in the maskless times [RIP] on the way home from my Metro commute [also RIP] with all five volumes of John Ruskin’s Modern Painters for my first big paper of grad school [again, RIP].)

Linked are some of my favorite articles that I read this year:

- Resonance and Wonder, by Stephen Greenblatt. Changes the way you think about museum display! - Unpacking my Library, about the joy and art of keeping a collection (of anything, not just art!), by Walter Benjamin. - Sally Promey’s state-of-the-field concerning religious art in the 21st century. My particular field of study! - Graphic Knowledge: Albrecht Dürer and the Imagination by Peter Parshall. An excellent read about how Reformation theology caused a shift in the way visual artists think and create. This is also a field of study for me. :) 

You of course are not obligated to read any of those, but if you do, let me know! I would love to hear your thoughts on them. 

[lthmath]

Mathemagic: Exploring Sudoku and Other Magic Squares

Hello everyone! Today we are collaborating with Judee Shipman from Education.com to show you an interesting and creative math-activity to use in class. Enjoy!

Grade Level: 6th & up;

Objective: This activity explores the properties and uses of “magic squares.” The purpose of this activity is for pupils to experiment with magic square design while also finding more about the history of magic squares and their different uses.

Questions: At the end of the lesson pupils should be able to answer the following questions.

What is the history of magic squares?

What are their applications, other than Sudoku puzzles?

Research: Before starting any type of activity with your pupils, you need to research the topics for yourself. From my previous experience, you don’t have to stress too much if you don’t know everything. As a change, it is a great experience to learn something new from the pupils.

A magic square is a mathematical construct in which symbols (usually numbers) are arranged in a square, so that the numbers in all rows, columns and diagonals add up to the same amount. No symbol can appear more than once in any row, column or diagonal. Magic squares have been known to mankind for thousands of years. Artists, architects and designers have been fascinated by this mathematical construction (a good example is Albrecht Dürer and his painting Melencolia I). In contemporary culture, they most commonly appear in the form of the ever-so popular puzzles known as Sudoku.

Materials:

Computer with Internet access;

Color printer;

Digital camera or phone (just in case you want to take some photos of your lovely pupils and their work);

Typical office/hobby/hardware/craft supplies (paper, poster board, glue,etc);

All materials can be found in your home, at school or at local stores.

Lesson/ Activity:

Start by talking a little about magic squares, show them some images or a short video. This is the perfect time to talk about other people (not mathematicians) that have worked with them (example: Albrecht Dürer and his painting Melencolia I).

Next step is to actually give them some examples of magic squares that they can work with. Also, it is a good time to talk about Sudoku and give them some examples to try. Depending how much time you have, you could focus more on this or just go over the examples very quickly with them. At this point, use your flexibility (school timeline) to see if you can spend more time focusing on this. Generally, this type of activity helps pupils with basic operations; it develops their understanding of numbers and problem solving.

Ask the pupils to create their own magic squares. Encourage them to use colors, shapes, letters, emoji (anything else, but not numbers). Show them an example, if they are struggling. The best thing for this activity (it helps with time management) is to have templates ready for those pupils that might struggle, or that need a little impulse.

After the pupils have created their own magic squares, you need to find a way to check them. One idea would be to check them yourself after school and give the pupils feedback next day. Otherwise, you could ask the pupils to swap their work and complete a short feedback form for the magic square in front of them.

What else can you do with this activity?

You could create great posters with their work.

If you have taken photos of pupils’ work and their final pieces, you can create a science fair display (a good focus on STEM subjects).

Be creative, let us know what else you have in mind. We would love to see/read about your ideas.

Further reading:

Wikipedia topic: Magic Square

About magic squares

Internet searches of your choosing. Search words or terms listed here, or make up your own phrases. Click on any results you find interesting. Have fun surfing the net!

Hope you enjoyed this collaboration. Let me know if you would like to see more posts like this. It was a pleasure working with them and I enjoyed doing this type of content for you. Let me know in the comment bellow what other things you would like to see. Have a great day.

[theartscenter-blog]

Art in a Pandemic: Lauren DeSerres

The ArtsCenter’s new interview series “Art in a Pandemic” explores the ways that artists in our community are using the arts to stay engaged and connected in a time of crisis. Interview by Jenks Miller.

Lauren deSerres creates narrative imagery inspired by her home state of North Carolina. She uses bright, saturated color and patterns made with acrylic paint, watercolor, pastel, collage, and ink to capture vignettes from visual stories inspired by fables and folktales. Much of her imagery is devoted to themes such as conservation and community. Lauren enjoys making people smile with her work, but also wants to show the importance of appreciating and conserving our natural world. 

What does your art practice look like in normal conditions? How has Coronavirus impacted this practice? 

I usually spend each day in my studio working on my mixed media paintings. I teach private lessons, work with The ArtsCenter teaching youth classes and I travel for art fairs and exhibitions during most of the year. This year I would have traveled to about 12 shows nationwide selling and demonstrating my art. Because of COVID-19, almost all of my shows are canceled or will be canceled this year. Nevertheless, I’m still working in my studio almost every day, I’ve been selling my work online and I’ve been creating more work for an upcoming solo exhibition in October at the Halle Art Center in Apex. See my work on my website: www.LaurendeSerres.com/gallery

I’ve also moved my teaching practice online. I’m teaching private lessons, lessons through The ArtsCenter, and lessons on other online platforms. You can see my upcoming classes on my website: https://www.laurendeserres.com/upcoming-classes

Please describe the class you’re offering through The ArtsCenter’s online program. Did the crisis inspire any aspects of your lesson plan? What can students expect to learn in your class?

One of the things I liked to do best when I was a kid was to sketch in my sketchbook. I think kids are in need of some enrichment during this time at home, and so I’ve created an introductory sketching course. My class is called “Drawing Techniques” (Grade 3-6), and it runs May 4-26 from 3-3:45 pm on Mondays and Tuesdays. In this 4-week class, students will build basic drawing skills by exploring various artists, drawing tools, and techniques. We will address art techniques such as line, shape, pattern, space, proportion, mark-making, and perspective. I will demonstrate these techniques in each session and students will be able to create their own works of art using the skills they learn. In this class, students are encouraged to give each other and themselves feedback on their work in order to grow and improve. 

In week 1, we’ll be working on making interesting lines and using them to create contour drawings inspired by Pablo Picasso. In week 2, we will work with value and using contour lines to create depth and value to give our drawings dimension looking at the work of Albrecht Durer. In week 3, we’ll work on drawing in one-point perspective through the art of Vincent Van Gogh and Filippo Brunelleschi. Lastly, in week 4, students will work with human and facial proportions, examining the art of Frida Kahlo and Leonardo Da Vinci.

What media have you engaged with in this era of social distancing? 

I have used Zoom and Skype to teach my private classes online. I’ve also created “studio visit” videos on Facebook and Instagram. I’m developing new classes on Outschool and at The ArtsCenter and they booth use Zoom as a teaching tool. Both of these classes are live and interactive, and I’m looking forward to starting them in late April and May. My online classes are reaching a much wider audience than before, so I will continue to teach online in addition to in-person classes in the future. 

Are there any pieces of artwork or music, film, books, and/or TV that are helping you cope with this crisis?

I’m doing a daily yoga session with my friend Hannah Levin from Heartfelt Wellbeing on Facebook live. She reads excerpts from poems each day and those really get me through a lot of morning dread about the future. 

One of the poems that spoke to me most was by Mary Oliver. For me, it was about waiting and renewal:

Sleeping in the Forest by Mary Oliver 

I thought the earth remembered me,

She took me back so tenderly

Arranging her skirts

Her pockets full of lichens and seeds.

I slept as never before

A stone on the riverbed,

Nothing between me and the white fire of the stars,

But my thoughts.

And they floated light as moths

Among the branches of the perfect trees.

All night I heard the small kingdoms

Breathing around me.

The insects and the birds

Who do their work in darkness.

All night I rose and fell,

As if water, grappling with luminous doom.

By morning I had vanished at least a dozen times

Into something better.

I also read a lot of fiction, and I’ve just finished Spinning Silver by Naomi Novik. Excellent and imaginative story about female protagonists. I’m also reading Herbal Rituals by Judith Berger. It’s a deep dive in nature and herbal remedies.

Are there any lessons we can learn from this crisis? 

COVID-19 has had a devastating effect on human life, and a striking impact on our environment. It’s brought to light the things we’ve taken for granted like being with loved ones, going to work each day, traveling, or simply leaving home. Although it’s brought many losses to light, I think that nature is doing what it can to get our attention. It’s asking us to reflect on how we can tread more lightly on the planet, and in most cases, it’s forcing us to do so. Though much pain and suffering has and will take place, the planet is quickly healing itself as the hustle and bustle of daily life comes to a grinding halt. 

COVID-19 has also brought to light the disparity between socioeconomic classes and the inequality that still plagues our social, political, and economic systems. It has highlighted the importance of our workers, from janitors to grocery store employees, to healthcare workers. This virus is telling us that we are all in this together–not just America, not just one country or the other, but the whole world. Our actions really do affect everyone. The actions of a few people have an enormous impact on the whole. This virus is asking us to be selfless, to be patient, and to wake up and look around and most importantly, to listen. It’s telling us that what we do and what we say matters, not just personally or locally, but globally.

Lauren is based at Proud Chicken Studio, located in Pittsboro, North Carolina. She holds an MFA from the University of Massachusetts Dartmouth and a BFA from East Carolina University with a focus in sculpture. Lauren has been painting since she was 15 and has been an art educator for over 10 years, working with children in public schools, school enrichment programs, community arts centers, and other art venues. She enjoys working with children and seeks to recreate the perspective that young people bring to everyday situations. 

Lauren teaches the new online youth class Drawing Techniques, which starts Monday, May 4th. View it and the rest of our first round of youth classes at artscenter.live/YouthClasses.

Art instructors who are interested in exploring the possibility of offering online instruction through The ArtsCenter should contact Jenks Miller, ArtSchool Manager, at jmiller@artscenterlive.org for Adult classes or Allison Tierney, Youth Programs Manager at atierney@artscenterlive.org.