#quoting as much from goncharov posts as i can remember

[omgkalyppso]

Which Goncharov characters do you think your OT5 would have as their faves? Like I think Rodrigue wouldn't be able to help but root for Katya. I've still only seen bits and pieces of it myself on tv though and never the whole movie :flushedrigue:

OUGH. rodpolycule goncharov au. manuela would fit so many of katya's themes ... the knives, the stabbing. felicity in sofia's role. rufus might not be soft enough for andrey's moments of vulnerability but the tension he'd add. 😍

But back to your question.

hilda and avery also would love katya. katya being part of such a strong family with no agency of her own, married off young to goncharov. her tenacity, her struggles with independence and indulgence. does she stay up waiting for goncharov for love or ensure the safety of her own life as the tension mounts...

claude would like andrey; fighting for and against goncharov and destiny, securing his future at the cost of a love that would never be.

fae would like sofia, the orphan who rose to power for the sake of survival. i think the boat scene really solidified how ready sofia was to run away with love -- whether you believe she and katya did in the end, i know some people don't think katya faked her own death, but both interpretations are heartbreaking, since katya still has all those years with her late husband and her whole family lost even if she and sofia elope together. still, fae would like to imagine the bittersweet victory of sofia finding that seed of happiness.

and of course lorenz would like goncharov. the others would too, but while they have their favorites, lorenz appreciates goncharov for being the focal point of the story and the relations - that everyone orbits around him and look at him with love and hate and understanding, trapped in their spinning like the hands on a clockface, trapped by time and destiny but no less vibrant for it.

[chrysalis-the-butterfly]

Katya: A Poem

"Goncharov" is a 1973 Martin Scorsese film that Tumblr collectively invented in 2022. I'd heard of it, but didn't take too much interest in it. It was only recently that I found out that "Goncharov" had a sapphic ship, between Katya and Sofia. That was what piqued my interest.

In a flurry of activity, I wrote a poem.

I am indebted to all the Tumblr bloggers who came before me, whose creations were captured in this "Goncharov" master doc and this collection of quotes. I hope you enjoy the poem I strung together from your posts!

If you reblog this, make sure to add the tags #unreality and #unrealism so people who would find it triggering don't see it. Remember to Gonch responsibly!

Yekaterina Mikhailova. 

That was my name. 

It was a name that meant nothing,

because I was nothing. 

My father’s daughter,

my brother’s sister. 

For a time, we were rich. 

Then our father received a visit from his co-workers

in the mafia. 

He came between them

and his daughter. 

He died with a smile on his face. 

For the next three years, we were poor. 

My brother and I,

living – no, merely surviving –

together on the streets,

made a resolution:

never again would we fall so low. 

Never again would we be so weak. 

So penniless. 

So worthless. 

We tracked down our uncle. 

Thanks to him, we joined the mafia ourselves –

me first,

my brother later, more reluctantly. 

He learnt not to question what I did,

no matter how much of a father

he wanted to be to me. 

I only have one mother, one father, one brother, one uncle,

but I could trace a path

from Naples to my childhood home in Moscow

with the blood of all the men

who told me they loved me. 

…

Later, I trained as a spy. 

It was in that line of work that I found Lo Straniero. 

The stranger. 

He told me his real name was Leonid Goncharov. 

I chose to believe him. 

What is marriage,

but a way to escape the names of our fathers? 

When I walked towards Goncharov

at the altar,

I thought that would be the moment

I would finally become someone

real enough

to have flesh and blood

to call mine. 

Perhaps the name Yekaterina

wouldn’t sound so empty on my lips. 

And with those same lips

I called his name,

and smiled at him in front of God,

and kissed him in the dark of our room. 

And all I became was his wife. 

A wedding is no different to a funeral,

is it not? 

The old Yekaterina died to Goncharov that day;

he took my name from me,

my very history,

and I allowed him that. 

My husband is a man who collects things he can use. 

A pistol,

a pocket watch,

a woman’s love,

a wife. 

My father would have needed me to marry,

so I did. 

Goncharov would have needed me to love him,

so I did. 

I truly did. 

Oh, I was a good woman, wasn’t I?  

A wife when he needed someone to bed,

a sister when he needed someone to argue with,

a mother when he needed to cry... 

Is that all women were in his eyes?  

Actors? 

Pretty dolls to dress up and spin around

according to his needs? 

No, I shouldn’t be so harsh. 

It wasn’t his fault

he could only ever fall in love with men. 

But the way he treated me? 

That was his fault. 

I needed a new place to exist. 

I found you in the fruit stand. 

…

Sofia Ambrosini. 

That was your name. 

With your serpent bracelet twinkling,

you stooped to pick up the fallen apple

that had escaped my basket

and rolled towards your leg –

the right one,

the one made of wood. 

I recognised from your false leg

and your false snake

that you were in the same world as me –

the same world of murder

whose space we shared precariously. 

But in that moment

we could be two women in a market

shopping for two men,

me my husband,

you your brother. 

Because it’s so hard to make friends in a world of murder. 

But here we were in public,

under the Sun,

and just for a while,

we could pretend we were women

who knew each other from …

somewhere. 

Just making friends. 

Just leading each other into temptation. 

It was the apple’s fault. 

It was the apple that made me bring up Adam and Eve. 

There we so many strange apples at that market. 

I imagined the wild way they looked

was how they looked in the Garden of Eden. 

But then you said,

“I never understood why it had to be an apple. 

Why an apple?” 

I answered, “I don’t know.

Because it’s always been an apple, I suppose.

It’s easier to recreate in art.  

All the painters and sculptors

and everyone else who makes those choices,

they all came together and decided

that an apple looks pretty simple –

nice, smooth, round,

easy enough to draw in a tree –

and now everyone sees nothing but apples

in the Tree of Knowledge

ever after.  

So it’s always apples.” 

I will never forget your response. 

“The dullest possible produce.  

The Forbidden Fruit is supposed to be

something unusual,

something special.  

All the knowledge of the world

and of each other

and of the realisation

that these two fools are

running around the Garden

with their bottoms bare

in front of the Almighty.  

An apple doesn’t seem right for that.  

It’s dull.  

It’s a thing for pastry and postcards.”  

“What would you pick instead?” I asked. 

“Pomegranates,” you said immediately.  “No question.  

It’s the fruit that the God of the Dead used

to trick the Goddess of Spring

into staying with him in the Underworld.  

She tasted the seeds

and she was forced to stay down there

for half a year, every year,

forever. 

A fruit so powerful

it can trap a goddess

seems like the kind of fruit

that can banish humanity from Paradise.” 

We paused. 

We made eye contact. 

“Tastes better than apples, too,” you added. 

And it looks like a jewel

when you split it open.” 

I ate a pomegranate panna cotta

in the bistro later that day. 

And when I licked my lips,

I immediately understood you. 

I did like apples,

but pomegranates? 

They were amazing. 

I’d go to Hell for them. 

I’d go to Hell for you. 

…

“Oh, it’s six already?”

Goncharov said to me when I returned home. 

“The clock’s broken,” I replied. 

“It’s been six for hours.” 

If only time would stop for us. 

…

I was raised Orthodox,

but Goncharov and I had been attending a Catholic Mass

to better fit in with the locals. 

I was unsettled by the topic of Father Gianni’s sermon:

the sins of the flesh,

the importance of resisting Earthly temptations,

and the necessity of self-control in this life,

thereby preparing for glories to come. 

Were there any glories to come? 

You, Sofia, got up to leave in the middle of the sermon,

heading for the stained-glass Virgin Mary,

and you whispered as you passed,

“Take your glories where you may.” 

And like the fishermen who left their nets

to follow Jesus

and become fishers of men,

I got up

and followed you. 

I did not know how my husband felt about me doing that. 

I did not care. 

I started partaking of apples and pomegranates

in equal measure. 

…

Sofia, you told me you had never even touched a gun before. 

But you were clearly too skilled

when those men cornered you

and you took them all down. 

Admit it. 

You just lied because

you wanted me to give you that “hands-on” shooting lesson,

didn’t you? 

“Are we not all murderers in some way, Katya?”

you said to me when I challenged you. 

“After all, a human being is a heart. 

Break that, and how can it go on living?” 

I had to ask,

“Don’t you have a broken heart, Sofia?” 

“It still beats, Katya,” you said, quietly. 

“It still beats.” 

…

For me, it’s always been the darkness I liked;

the way the lights roll off the water between the alleyways

reminds me of the past. 

…

You were adamant in your belief

that all memory is treachery. 

But one of my favourite memories

was us together in my husband’s house,

after dinner at the casino,

me in my evening gown,

you dressed as a waiter. 

You’d asked, “What’s your poison?” 

I’d answered, “Whatever you’re having, darling.” 

For the first time since moving to Naples,

I shook off the white furs

and showed you my dress –

the woman

under the animal. 

“You look good in red,” you said to me. 

Then you called me lisichka. 

Little fox. 

Which should have sounded wrong,

a Russian pet name in an Italian accent,

but that night it sounded right. 

I returned the compliments. 

“And you look good in green,

kukolka.” 

Little doll. 

I gave you one of my pearl necklaces. 

“Every woman should be allowed

to feel like she is looked at

beautifully.” 

My husband’s voice resounded in my head:

“Time isn’t like your pearls, Yekaterina. 

You can’t buy more. 

You think you can own time by wearing it,

but it just beats itself into your bones instead.” 

Well, no-one can tell me what I can and can’t buy. 

…

“If I were cursed, Sofia,

then I would never have found you.” 

“You could still lose me.” 

“Never.” 

…

I started being Katya,

being myself,

not because I fell into my role as Goncharov’s wife,

but because I discovered my inability. 

My unwillingness. 

I knew he cared for me,

but not beyond the presentation we put on for his peers. 

The peers who could end his life at any moment. 

And it wouldn’t be so unbearable

if we were at least still friends,

but all of that went to Andrey –

the friendship, the love, the care –

at least as much as Goncharov was capable of

beyond his own inadequacies. 

Andrey could not live loyally,

so let’s see how he does in death. 

…

I didn’t want Goncharov’s name in your mouth. 

I should have taken his money and left. 

It’s not obvious why I didn’t. 

All this time wandering the wreckage of his house –

I’m sorry, Sofia, it must have killed you. 

“Unlike you,” you said to me,

“I do not lure to cannibalise. 

I watch, and I starve.” 

I rolled my eyes. 

“Well, stop it! 

What do you take me for? 

Stop watching and devour me in full already,

won’t you?” 

So you did. 

I must have looked like a jewel

when you split me open. 

…

“I’ll stay with you tonight, if you’ll have me.” 

“I wouldn’t have anyone else.” 

I lay in bed with you. 

We wanted to do so much,

but ended up doing so little. 

I ran my foot up and down your leg –

the right one,

the one made of wood. 

I thought of what I knew

(what little I knew)

about your past –

how your Jewish family came to Naples,

how you lost them somewhere,

how the Poor Clares took you in and cared for you,

how you searched for your family amidst the Nazis,

how you lost that leg in the riots. 

“The world wants you dead,” I said,

more to myself than you. 

You turned to me. 

“Do you want me dead?” 

I forced myself to meet your eyes. 

“No.” 

You shrugged. 

“Then the world doesn’t want me dead.” 

We stayed in bed together for a while after that. 

…

We were always wasting time we never had. 

How could I love something which was never there? 

Oh, darling, that’s just grief. 

Time is like blood,

and I have wasted both. 

We could not go on forever,

could not fight the story,

could not step outside the marriage

or the mafia

or else. 

We were animals,

and animals, whether wild or tamed,

cannot fight the inevitable. 

“Time stops for no-one, Katya. 

Not even us.” 

…

“What’s on your mind?” 

“Wishful thinking.” 

“Sofia, I’m not cut out for the life you’re offering me. 

That different life. 

I am chained to my history –

a short chain. 

That’s why I cannot leave with you.” 

That’s why you and I

and my husband

and his lover

and your brother

and our enemies

are all in this boathouse. 

November’s the cruellest month of the year,

and Naples is full of fools. 

…

“Of course we’re in love!” I scream at Goncharov. 

“That’s why I tried to shoot you!” 

He laughs and cries at the same time. 

“If we really were in love,

you wouldn’t have missed.” 

He’s right. 

Our love was a grenade,

and now all that remains is shrapnel. 

He loved me, but only for a minute. 

I don’t know if he could handle any more. 

Love cannot be bought;

otherwise, we would have had a happy marriage. 

When we got married, I drew this line

between us and the world. 

He’s crossed that line,

and I can’t go with him. 

He and I are,

I think,

finally out of time. 

He has destroyed and betrayed himself

for nothing. 

That is his worst sin. 

My inability to be loyal to my husband

is what saved me. 

And what now kills him. 

What could now kill you, if you let it. 

…

You are pleading with me. 

“We can have the Forbidden Fruit

and it can be whatever we want!  

Let it be a pomegranate!  

Let us glut ourselves on it!  

And why do we have to follow everyone else’s rules

about what is and isn’t forbidden, anyway?  

None of us in this boathouse

are living within the law in the first place.  

There is blood on everyone’s hands.  

Can’t you and I sin a little sweeter?  

Can’t you admit that the sin you want most

isn’t a sin at all? 

Can’t you spit out the lies you’ve swallowed

in the Hell you found yourself in? 

We could grow our own garden somewhere!”

No, Sofia. 

This is my garden,

my Tree of Knowledge,

better the Devil I know,

and you wish you were my Serpent,

but this is my Underworld to rule

as much as any queen can rule there,

unhappy

but resigned. 

Go, Eve. 

Grow your garden alone. 

The Forbidden Fruit is there to be eaten,

to force us to go,

to let us step outside the walls meant to keep us in. 

But you just can’t make everyone eat. 

The pomegranate is within my reach,

but I have lost my appetite for seeds. 

…

I do what Goncharov would do,

and you know what that means. 

Death. 

Goncharov has never meant anything else. 

I will die like my father,

with a smile on my face. 

I will die for you. 

You were once a little girl, alone and scared,

but that girl is long dead. 

The Sofia that lives now? 

The world should fear her. 

Damn them as they would damn us. 

But don’t you ever raise a hand to me. 

…

Sofia, don’t cry. 

There’s no use trying to rewrite the story now. 

Sofia, get out of this boathouse. 

Take my boat. 

It’s fine. 

I won’t need it anymore. 

Go, zolotse. 

Leave Naples. 

Leave Italy. 

Leave the mafia behind. 

But take your two candlesticks with you. 

Light them on a Friday evening,

and watch the red of the sunset

wash over the white of the candles. 

Sofia, take your day of rest. 

No, a year of rest. 

Make every day a Shabbat. 

Remember to bless yourself. 

Sofia, choose wisely what you do now,

because it might be the last time you get to choose. 

“All memory is treachery.” 

I wonder how you will remember me. 

[maniculum]

Medieval Influence in Goncharov (1973)

Something that I haven't seen discussed much in this site's new obsession with Goncharov (1973) is how Matteo JWHJ 0715 incorporates a particular thread of Neapolitan folklore into the setting -- which is fair, because I don't know how well-known this material is outside of Naples. Actually, I don't know how well-known it is within modern Naples, either, because I only know the medieval version.

See, the poet Virgil is heavily associated with Naples (his supposed tomb is there too), and by the medieval period a legend had grown up painting him as a sort of protector of the city. (Yes, this is why Andrey quotes the Aeneid in that one monologue.) Most of this protecting was done via the creation of magical objects -- popular legend attributed supernatural knowledge to Virgil, granting him genius in areas other than poetry... it's a whole thing. I dunno, we'll do an episode on it one of these days, assuming I can get my hands on the primary sources. But I digress.

In one scene, Goncharov is speaking with Ambrosini as they walk through the city streets. They stop for a moment of rather tense conversation near what seems to be a part of the old city walls, though it doesn't appear to correspond to any actually-extant architecture. Goncharov leans on the left side of an archway as he speaks, and you may have noticed the rather distressed-looking face carved into the arch. Here is a section from Comparetti's "Vergil in the Middle Ages":

(He's quoting from Gervase of Tilbury, if you're wondering.) So clearly the moment at the arch is meant to recall this and foreshadow that Goncharov's efforts are doomed to end only in tragedy, failure, and death.

We see this again on the trip to Pompeii -- there's a shot of the car, from a significant distance and height, with an old statue of an archer in the foreground. The way the car passes through the shot, it looks almost as though it's an arrow being fired from the archer's bow. Comparetti again:

Another bad omen, this time foreshadowing the destruction wrought in the Pompeii scene.

Finally, there is the case of the clock. Yes, I know, there are a lot of clocks in Goncharov (1973), it's a motif. I'm talking about that ornate one with the painting of an idealized city scene on the face. The one with a crack in the glass. Once more from Comparetti:

(That's Conrad von Querfurt, who was in Naples as an agent of the Holy Roman Empire in the late 12th century, if you want some context.) So does the clock evoking this glass bottle show us that Naples is still vulnerable to hostile powers, like the Russian mafia as represented by Goncharov? Is it part of the general statement of futility, of an inability to fight against one's inevitable doom? Honestly I think there's a lot of room for argument here.

So what can we take away from all of this? How do we better understand Goncharov (1973) through this lens? I don't know, I'm not a film critic. Honestly, I'm mostly working off of a presentation I half-recall seeing at a conference in Kalamazoo, and I don't remember what the conclusion was. They had a number of other examples, too, but all those citations are lost in time, like tears in the rain. (To be fully honest, I think I was distracted because it was nearly time for lunch and I hadn't eaten all day.) The only reason I can reconstruct any of it is because I have a copy of Comparetti on hand and I skimmed through the relevant section to see what jogged my memory.

In conclusion... i guess? Rewatch Goncharov (1973)? I don't know how to end this post.

Oh, and I hope the image descriptions on those quotations work for screen readers.

[blysse-and-blunder]

I posted 6,790 times in 2022

That's 346 more posts than 2021!

58 posts created (1%)

6,732 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@leitharstjarna

@masteroffoolhardyplans

@knifepadme

@fade-steppin

@dying-suffering-french-stalkers

I tagged 2,104 of my posts in 2022

#the untamed - 287 posts

#art - 204 posts

#cql - 179 posts

#the untamed fanart - 165 posts

#mdzs - 87 posts

#goncharov - 86 posts

#the goncharoverse - 74 posts

#unreality cw - 63 posts

#postry - 53 posts

#ilcb - 47 posts

Longest Tag: 129 characters

#‘you’re right i did need to see that’ ‘if you share the link i can watch from here!’ ‘i missed this but that’s so cool thank you’

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

in lieu of a moon cake

aug 29 - sept 11, 2022

where have the ilcb posts been the last four weeks, i hear you cry? well genuinely, the end of summer took me and i wandered out of time and thought. did watch the moon rise rich and golden last night, though, so--on balance--we're doing just fine.

reading finished my ancillary justice re-read this morning and i got so much more out of it the second time, newly attuned to the little differences between this and all the other space opera i've been enjoying. also finished obernewtyn (isobel carmodie), one of the growing list of YA sci/fantasy i'm catching up on using libby. spent a lot of last week reading or what you will, jo walton, which i think i will have more to say about when i finish it, and listening to ann leckie's the raven tower as an audiobook on various commutes-- perhaps not the best medium for it, but the reader's absolutely eating the accent work which does liven things up. i also acquired a romance novel from @dimir-charmer which is Certainly Something, not quite up to the level of some of the classics @pandolfo-malatesta would review but which has made me say out loud 'stop using that word, i do not think it means what you think it means!' every time this poor author tries to call someone 'contemporaries.'

listening so i know we all remember (for better or worse) passenger's 'let her go' from 2013 or whenever, but i have very specific tender feelings and memories attached to that whole album. a recent re-listen, followed by a tour through his recent, extensive new discography (like five albums since i last checked, holy shit), has shown me that i'm not even remotely capable of being objective, but i do think? that none of the new stuff has grabbed me? like it all sounds consistent, it all sounds, uh, the same, and the nuances and things i can pick out in the tracks from all the little lights (2012) or hell even whisper (2014) are just...not discernible (is this just a question of production)(possibly). to quote one of the new songs, uh, it leaves me cold? whereas 'feather on clyde' is still revealing and teaching me new things to get teary-eyed about (this time it was the line 'well god knows that i've failed, but he knows that i've tried'), and just...plus the string duet at the opening of 'things that stop you dreaming,' the way it builds up so, so sweetly, the lyrics taking you by surprise by leaving no breaks or breaths until the chorus, playing with pace and rhythm--still not tired of it.

watching i spent most of last week cycling between 'sandman', 'doulou continent', and 'oath of love', with a brief detour to the mdzs donghua with @hematiterings as per us-- sandman is good, though i haven't finished it. i got to the death episode and did briefly cry actual human tears about the old violinist and the young honeymooners, only to have the rest of the episode with its chronological humor (reminding me of ep 3 of 'good omens', what with the 'let's put our cast in several different centuries and enjoy what that does to their hair', thank you neilman) give me slight emotional whiplash. the problem with my cdrama habit is that, especially with duolou continent, i've had a hard time believing i've seen as many episodes as i actually have (also viki is...incapable of keeping my place) so i tend to back up to whichever episode number sort of feels right? which means i've seen episodes 11-15 like three times each. at least now i'm getting people's names.

playing finished up summer and fall of year two in stardew, won the grange fair and the ice fishing contest now that it's winter, and just bought a duck! (her name is fern)

making i think the garden is fading, we're still harvesting tomatoes but a lot of the leaves have turned yellow and crinkly, meanwhile the squash (?) vines have all withered except for one, perplexingly round little green squash (?) with a few nibbles out of it courtesy of the neighborhood fauna. when do i pluck it? is it still...getting anything out of being on its vine?

working on *cue panicked laughter* chapter 1! also that presentation / conference paper based on chapter-1-or-possibly-the-old-book-practicum! also that presentation based on chapter-2-or-possibly-chapters-1-and-2-OR-possibly-the-diss-proposal! with all the complaining i've done to various friends and colleagues, its no wonder there's not been any. further writing. distracting myself by insisting on doing things for the incoming students, which has been very fun and diverting since they are cute and much easier to help.

20 notes - Posted September 11, 2022

#4

in lieu of a break

10pm, sept 25, 2022

the title is a lie, today and yesterday have both been breaks in their own ways! but the days do start coming and they really don't stop coming, do they. kay @girlfriendsofthegalaxy did a really nice couple of posts not long ago explaining the Theory of her tuesdayposts, to which i have only to add that-- i think for me these are turning into a steam valve, where i let out whatever is happening in my head that has built up over the past little while; they are analytical or creative endeavors in their own way, sometimes, but i mainly write them for myself and my own recall (so that i can go back and check out what i wrote about first watching the untamed, for example, please see iclb 2 or 3 from way back), and to keep track of my days. which is going to mean they aren't Reviews or really Criticism, though i may dabble in both, and any enjoyment or enlightenment anyone else gets out of reading these is incidental. for this one, it's a real head empty no thoughts list of titles, so hold on to your butts let's go.

reading the big mention here is that i just finished susanna clarke's piranesi, which i didn't know how to feel about until like 30% of the way in, and then began to enjoy quite a bit as the whole conceit became clearer, and then found...melancholy but beautiful by the end. honorable mentions over the past mumblemumble weeks to (checks storygraph): squire by tamora pierce (reread), ancillary justice by ann leckie (also a reread); the raven tower (not a reread, also by ann leckie--though i still haven't finished it); and the duchess romance which i did finish mostly out of morbid curiosity.

watching strangely this will be the largest section for once! the escapism has been strong lately-- and there have been many excellent movie and tv show friendship opportunities. in reverse order, i have now seen two episodes of the new netflix bee and puppycat and find it delightful if inscrutable; i have now seen two episodes of the second season of fate: a winx saga also on netflix which i found less delightful, even more inscrutable (since i hadn't seen the first season or the previous show, lmao) but extremely funny to watch alongside more deeply invested jammies; i have now seen the first three episodes of andor and found diego luna as charming as ever; i have now seen the prestige (2006) and it did lodge in my brain in the way only very rare movies do; i have now seen the newest three (?) episodes of star trek: lower decks and did think the most recent one with the recruiting booth and the rutherford memories plotline to be incredible star trek and some of the best lower deck stuff yet; i did make my housemates watch a double-feature of the princess diaries (2001) and the princess diaries 2: royal engagement (2004), which were extremely fun and also wild opportunities for early- oughts media criticism and an in-depth examination of the portrayal of hereditary monarchy (and on the heels of qe 2's death, no less);

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20 notes - Posted September 25, 2022

#3

In lieu of a commonplace book: summer nights

begun 9pm, monday, july 25, 2022 continued 11pm, monday, august 1

this post is like a week overdue, and has been tricky to write because i've had such high hopes for it. because this post? full of things that sparked joy. so i want to do them justice! finally finished a bunch of books, finally started listening to some new music which has been so good for my mood; it's felt like (last week and this weekend in particular) there's been novelty and enrichment in my enclosure. wrote my way into something i think i can now be happy with, at least; it's long, but it's true, and i can be grateful for the small victories.

reading i want to commemorate the fact that, somehow, i ended up finishing hilary mantel's the mirror and the light on the exact day, july 28, that it ends-- *spoilers* the anniversary of cromwell's death *spoilers*-- which given that i probably started reading it like 18 months ago at this point, feels absolutely fated. also if you're laughing at the fact that i felt the need to spoiler that, just know that i didn't know he died at the end. also, didn't know his involvement in the anne of cleves marriage! also didn't quite know political the kathryn howard marriage was-- but of course it must have been, had to have been. the last, oh, maybe 100 pages of this book, where it all starts to unravel, were the most engaging of the whole thing. i think the goal for the book, the intended tone, was this slowly mounting sense of melancholy, or of fatigue, of things falling apart, but it didn't translate to suspense or tension or uhhh pathos for me, except for maybe a few brief chunks in the last five pages that were then overwritten by how...tacky the last few lines were? i wish i could say that my feelings upon finishing this book were more than just, well thank goodness that's over. i think this one was a victim of its predecessors' success, in the sense that-- it took what i liked or what worked from the first two, and overdid it.

in contrast, and what an interesting world it is that i ended up getting to read these two in conversation, my loan for victoria goddard's the hands of the emperor came in on july 18 and, despite being actually longer than mirror and the light i have already finished it, and in fact started it over again from the beginning immediately. it...stunned me a little to think about the broad similarities between these two, but think about it: two main characters who are, essentially, self-made men who worked in and through governmental policies to change the world on behalf of a monarch ruling with the force of state and church and tradition, whose succession is a Big Issue and whose temperament, for better or worse, makes all the difference. i wouldn't say that's necessarily what hote is actually *about*, but putting it out like that was a fun thought-experiment.

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22 notes - Posted August 2, 2022

#2

in lieu of a commonplace book has fans??

8 pm, july 11, 2022

wow y'all . in the last week i've been tagged in three (three? 3!!) other weekly roundup post from... loyal readers, what the fuck. friends!! first, i love that this series has been entertaining for literally anyone apart from its intended audience (i.e. future me). indescribable feeling. second, feeling flattered but dismayed by the folks who say they have never liked or commented on an ilcb post, but have apparently been reading them this whole time. wild. i had...no idea. you are all hereby empowered to engage, if you'd like (which i'd like!), and i'll do the same on yours! i love this for you guys. please revel in all the things you like and the delights that are you.

now, this post is delayed (again), because as much as i like to have them published on weekends, weekends are also where i tend to get the material i talk about. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ read on for some discussion of stranger things s4 episodes 1-5, and an extremely goofy medieval-renaissance video game. mild spoilers for the lloyd alexander novel the black cauldron.

reading i finished lloyd alexander's the black cauldron after having lingered on the last 3 pages for like....multiple weeks. (i thought there was more to go, but it turned out the last few pages were a preview of the last book.) i know a lot of people in welsh / celtic studies have nostalgia for these books but at the same time may or may not actually like them, because of the way they play with characters or lore from the Four Branches. personally i'm kind of into it? i didn't read them as a kid, so i don't have nostalgia per se-- i'm into the fact that i can recognize things, tone or theme as much as substance, and that i can imagine reading this aloud and enjoying the pronunciations and inspiring whatever children might be listening. also, the change from the first book to this one, and the changes made between this book and the movie, made me really enjoy this book. i liked adaon, and i was okay with the presence of ellidyr (he's very consistent with the spirit of efnysien, if not the reality, which could also be said about most of the book). i was...almost ecstatic about the way it wasn't gurgi, in the end, it just made so much more sense this way. this falls into the same category of reading YA fantasy i missed as a kid, initiated by the dianna wynne jones books and alison croggon's books of pellinor last year, and contrasts interestingly with the tamora pierce reread i've been doing.

listening a weird mashup of the a short hike soundtrack and the reddit manwhore playlist , because work and focus has continued to be. weird and challenging. the video game 'energizing but also focus' music is usually helpful but i nearly dozed off at my desk yesterday. still, i like that i've discovered a new game ost (owlboy) which is a lot of fun. do i know anything about the game? no! i'll have to investigate it.

watching episodes 1-5 of stranger things season 4. i'm not...having as much fun with this season as i remember having with season 3? it's something about how spread out and disconnected the cast are (they split the party ☹️) and partly also, that... as the kids have grown up, the differences in acting skill level have become more obvious. i just...have so much more fun watching joe keery and sadie sink and millie bobbie brown do their things, than i do the rest of them? the fact that david harbour basically doesn't get to speak for these whole first five episodes (plus the fact that his whole story line is just not that interesting?) feels like such a waste. a lot of what they give joyce and robin to say also feel like a waste? murray is fun but like...he's light comic relief now. what happened. the first episode of this season felt like it had a coherent vision with the dnd / hellfire stuff, but it's diffused a lot at this point. though i do giggle like a maniac when they so earnestly name-drop vecna-- having listened to crit role campaign one, i go 'oh hey i know him!' every time. i guess the thing for me is, i've always come to this show for the way it imitates and references horror/80s thrillers/etc, for the loving callbacks, more than these things themselves. i don't want or need it to be like. actually these things. and the more it tries to be, the less fun i have?

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25 notes - Posted July 12, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

My dash did a thing I thought amusing

175 notes - Posted November 1, 2022

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[sophieakatz]

Thursday Thoughts: Goncharov

Goncharov is a film released in 1973, produced by Martin Scorsese and directed by Matteo JWHJ 0715. It is known as “the greatest mafia movie ever made.”

It also does not exist. However, the fandom for this nonexistent movie is very real, and in less than a week – arguably in merely a day – it has taken Tumblr by storm. By now, the rest of the internet seems to be abuzz about where Goncharov came from (a pair of boots that inspired a movie poster), but that interests me less than what Goncharov is.

Goncharov – or the excitement around and act of engaging in Goncharov – is an example of spontaneous communal internet storytelling the likes of which I haven’t seen since Squiddles.

What’s Squiddles, you ask? Well, in the webcomic Homestuck, one of the characters has a bunch of adorable technicolor squid plushies called Squiddles. Squiddles are the characters of her favorite childhood TV show. The Squiddles TV show theme song plays at least once in a video clip, and there’s even a full album of Squiddles-related songs on the Homestuck Bandcamp.

Someone decided that it would be funny to pretend that Squiddles was a real show. It was everyone’s beloved childhood favorite, but sadly, the studio burned down, and all of the recordings were lost in the fire, so now nobody can see it ever again. The brief video clip as seen in Homestuck is all that’s left. People would make posts about their favorite Squiddles characters and describe the plot of their favorite episodes.

This internet forgery didn’t last very long or spread very far, though I remember seeing Squiddles content before I was fully aware of Homestuck. Squiddles is arguably a harmless prank, at worst causing some confusion. What strikes me as interesting in hindsight about Squiddles is that it was a kind of exploration of nostalgia – of long-lost favorites.

Have you ever tried to describe something from your childhood to someone who has never heard of it before? A book, a song, a game, a toy… a TV show? Sometimes, even though you remember loving the thing, you can’t remember enough about it to fully describe it, and so you can’t prove that it existed, leaving you standing there awkwardly while the other person looks at you like you’re making it up. But you know you’re not making it up. At least, you’re pretty sure you didn’t make it up. Why would you do that?

This was my experience with the TV series Noddy. For years I had images in my head from this show, but I couldn’t remember what it was called, or the names of any of the characters. At one point, I thought I had imagined it. And then I stumbled across a YouTube video that proved my childhood memory correct. But from the point of view of someone who never watched Noddy, does it really matter if I made it up? From the outside, all they see is my vague sort of half-remembered happiness. Practically speaking, I engage with Noddy in the same way that anyone engages with Squiddles – with vague descriptions and only a brief video clip as proof, expressing a mixture of happiness at the memory and sadness at the loss.

Goncharov is a lot more complicated than Squiddles. So far, I’ve seen Goncharov fanart, gifsets, quotes, a page of the script, shipping wars (gay and bisexual shipping wars, no less), music from the score (with sound files!), fanfiction, analysis of the clock symbolism, analysis of the film’s reception in Russia, and critique of other fans’ takes on the film (as America-centric, biphobic, etc.). Again, all of this popped up in a matter of days – and it’s all about a film that does not actually exist. My favorite bit so far was when Lynda Carter posted pictures of herself at the movie’s premiere. (Yes, Wonder Woman is one of us.)

Despite the film’s non-existence, it is nigh-impossible for me to see a difference between the Tumblr fandom culture around Goncharov and any other piece of media that I haven’t watched. At this point, I feel like I know as much about Goncharov as I know about Supernatural. I certainly know more about the plot of Goncharov than I do about the plot of Warrior Nun, despite posts about both stories appearing with similar frequency on my dash – and, again, Goncharov does not exist. People on Tumblr are making up the plot as we speak, through their “responses” to it.

But this is more than just making up the plot of a movie together. Goncharov, like Squiddles, is a form of internet role play. Real-world fanpeople are playing the part of Goncharov fans. This isn’t a role that requires a drastic stretch of the imagination. Tumblr people are already fans who analyze the media they love. This is fandom analysis of a nonexistent source text, but everyone who participates is bringing to the table what they would normally bring to the table. Art. Music. Edited gifs. Emotional connection. Music and fanfiction. Obsession with symbolism, or with shipping, or with “reading too much” into ostensibly straight characters’ sexuality, or with correcting other people for being too America-centric.

It is arguably easier to engage with Goncharov than it is with a “real” story. If I wanted to write a blog post about Supernatural, I would have to devote hours of my life to the show first. No one needs to devote any time to digesting Goncharov before jumping in, before coming as we are with the opinion that we know we would have. There’s no time commitment, and best of all – or at least most fascinating of all – there are no stakes. It is impossible to have an incorrect opinion about Goncharov. Your opinion about Goncharov or your interpretation of Goncharov is as equally valid as the take of the person telling you that you are wrong about Goncharov. There is literally nothing to worry about. It doesn’t matter at all. You can just talk, get excited, and create things together. If you get mad, it’s because you enjoy getting mad, not because there’s actually anything to get mad about or anything to be hurt about. It’s just plain fun in a way that fandom often is not fun, in an internet universe prone to dogpiles and death threats.

Ultimately, Goncharov is an exploration of fandom culture, in the same way that Squiddles was an exploration of nostalgia. We’re getting to play-act participating in fandom at its most fun and harmless. And, practically speaking, we get the same rush out of this participation, out of the joy of transformative creation, as we would in a “real” fandom. It’s just as fun to write a Goncharov fanfic as it is to write fanfic about anything else.

It’s impossible to tell from the moment just how long Goncharov will last. Things tend to cool down just as quickly as they flare up on Tumblr. I wonder if Squiddles and Goncharov are signs of things to come. As people increasingly crave connection through interactive experiences and LARP becomes more popular, will there be more “fake fandoms”? If I wanted to make this blog post even longer, I could talk about the fictional fan engagement that has sprung up around certain podcasts and webseries, in which the fans roleplay themselves in a world where the content of the story is real (I’m thinking mainly of The Lizzie Bennett Diaries and the more recent Sporadic Phantoms). But for now, I think it’s time I paused my analysis and went back to simply enjoying watching it all unfold.