#rose galbraith

[thegirl20]

Rhianne-Louise McCaulsky & Rose Galbraith - Cruel Intentions the Musical

[sesiondemadrugada]

Dracula 2000 (Patrick Lussier, 2000).

[colinarmistead]

Nearly a year ago my voice actress Phoebe chan and I were interviewed by Megan Catherine Rose and mother fucking Patrick W. Galbraith for the Journal of Femininities about my film Angelic Kitty Miracle chan!

Getting interviewed by such incredible people for the first ever academic journal devoted to the study of femininities is still by far the coolest thing I've ever gotten to do, so I'm so happy to see it finally published! please give it a read!

[beirarowling]

"A vast unfocused rage rose in her, against men who considered displays of emotion a delicious open door; men who ogled your breasts under the pretense of scanning the wine shelves; men for whom your mere physical presence constituted a lubricious invitation."

—Robert Galbraith, Career of Evil

[adamsvanrhijn]

did some snooping about Princess Arthur who is listed on the da 3 imdb and there was one who was a ww1 nurse who kept nursing for a bit after the war and ended up winning a prize for a paper she wrote on eclampsia which all points to a sybil link and either a ghost or flashback sybil (but as she's listed as branson maybe more likely some kind of ghost thing)

Downton Abbey 3 IMDb Cast page for reference

Ok so. My thinking is:

We have never had visible ghosts in Downton Abbey

We have never had visual flashbacks in Downton Abbey

Imdb is not always reliable with things like names and appearances before a film is actually out

For reference, Jessica Brown Findlay in her Lady Sybil era, Fifi Hart (Sybbie aka Sybil Branson) and Rose Galbraith (DA3 "Lady Sybil Branson") look like this when next to each other:

As another anon called out, both Princess Arthur (IRL YOB 1891, played by Lisa Dillon according to IMDb) and John Bevan (IRL YOB 1894, played by Nathan Wiley according to IMDb) (obviously could also be a case of accidental name recycling which is less likely w/ Princess Arthur) did have notable activities during WWII, and their actors on IMDb are both likely of playing age of mid ~40s :

(Lisa Dillon's photo from IMDb, Nathan Wiley's photo found on his website.)

While this doesn't negate ghost or flashback, it does potentially indicate that we might spend time on WWII, in which case we would be more likely to need an older Sybbie than an on-screen flashback to Sybil.

Which could mean nothing!

[foundtherightwords]

The Simple Thought of You - Chapter 2

Pairing: Billy Knight x OFC (Esme from "The Quiet Chaos")

Summary: Billy and Esme have been dating for nearly two years, and naturally, their thoughts turn to the next step in their relationship. But when it turns out that their future plans may not align, can they reconcile their differences and stay together?

Warnings: angst, discussion of children and being childfree, mentions of mental health issues, non-explicit smut (in this chapter)

Chapter word count: 4.2k

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Things went back to normal after that—at least on the outside. There was no more talk of kids. But Esme felt something had changed in their relationship, and not for the better. In the following months, she noticed—or thought she noticed—little things in Billy, things that perhaps had always been there but only now become clear, now that she knew he wanted kids. Whenever they babysat for Priya, or when they saw a family with children during their walks, she would catch Billy looking almost envious or wistful, if not downright dejected, as he watched the parents and kids interacting. Then he would catch her eyes and quickly look away, while the needles of guilt pricked and prodded at her again.

It wouldn't have been so bad if they could talk about it, but it seemed Billy was trying to avoid her. He had taken to stay later and later at the studio, saying he had some big project to finish, but was strangely evasive when Esme asked him what the project was. At home, he was rather distracted and would sit at his table for hours, whittling and carving something, only to discard it with a frustrated huff.

Worse still, their two-year anniversary was coming up, and Billy made no mention of it. Granted, they didn't have an "official" anniversary—neither could remember exactly when they'd started going out, only the general month, so both had agreed to have the day Esme officially adopted Angua as their anniversary. Not just because it was conveniently written down, but also because it was the day Esme finally asked Billy out—though they had been seeing each other for a while before that—and after all, Angua was the one that brought them together, so it felt only right. The previous year, they hadn't done anything special, only recreating their first date—the successful one—with a picnic, but Billy had been the one to remind her. Now it was as if he didn't even remember.

Esme knew that Billy's condition made it difficult for him to concentrate and remember things, especially when he was stressed, but she couldn't help wondering if the changes in his behavior had anything to do with their recent discussion—she wouldn't call it a row, exactly. She'd never dream that Billy could cheat on her, but her ex-fiancé had cheated and the wound remained, if not in her heart then at least her pride, and it made her wary.

On the day of the anniversary, a Tuesday, Billy came home—late, as usual—with some roses and a quick kiss and an absentminded "Happy anniversary" for her, which, if anything, actually made Esme feel worse. She'd rather he completely forget than have him go through the motions without putting his heart into it. But she didn't say anything, didn't want to be the needy, entitled girlfriend, didn't want to put more pressure on him than what he already had to deal with.

The following weekend was a Bank Holiday. Esme was a homebody, and Billy didn't like crowded places, so on Bank Holidays, they preferred to stay home or have a poke around at a flea market or an antique shop. That day, however, Billy suddenly asked Esme if she felt like taking a trip.

"To where?" she asked, trying to sound interested.

"It's a surprise."

"Billy, you know I don't like surprises! What are we going to do there, what's the weather like, what should I wear—"

Billy laughed, unfazed. "The weather looks fine, you can just wear that dress you're wearing, and we're going to have a picnic—among other things. Look, Angua's excited already." The little dog saw Billy pick up the picnic basket and was up from her bed in a flash, her tail thumping like crazy.

"That's because she knows the picnic basket means food!" 

"Come on, it'll be fun."

There was a wild glint in his eyes, but it was different from the feverish look of his hypomanic episodes, whose signs and symptoms Esme had learned to recognize, and he was smiling too, an eager little smile like that of a kid with a secret. Esme felt her heart soften—for the first time since the wedding, things between them seemed back to the way they used to be—so she smiled back and helped him pack the basket.

They went to Paddington and took the 1:50 train to Bristol. When Esme asked, rather mystified, if they were going to Bristol, Billy only said enigmatically, "Not as far as that." An hour later, as the train pulled into Swindon, he signaled to her, and they got off.

It was one of those days when the weather couldn't seem to make up its mind and kept shining a little and raining a little until everybody was thoroughly irritated. Now Esme stood on the platform, blinking in the watery sunlight of late August, while a million questions ran through her mind. What were they doing here? Billy grew up not far from Swindon. For a moment, she wondered hysterically if he still had family in the area and was going to introduce her to them. But no. That was impossible. The only family Billy had left was Jimmy, and he was still in prison after trying to attack them a year ago, good riddance.

Before she could raise a question, Billy had flagged down a cab. "To the Horse, please," he told the driver.

Esme froze, staring at Billy in shock. The Horse—the White Horse of Uffington—was where Billy, as a child, had witnessed what he thought was a murder, a traumatic, horrific incident that had haunted him for the rest of his life. When they first met, he hadn't even been able to talk about it. He had gotten a lot better since, but even so, he didn't like to mention the Horse. Yet now he was taking her to it! What was going on?

"You'll be going to the Scouring then?" the driver asked, as he pulled out of the station.

"That's the plan, yeah," Billy replied. "We still have time, you reckon?"

"Oh, plenty. They'll be going until four."

Esme remained quiet, too perplexed for words. She had seen the Horse once before—her family was big fans of Discworld, pretty much the only thing they had in common, and the Horse was featured in one of the books, so when Esme was about twelve, shortly after the book came out, her parents had taken all four kids to see it—but she had no idea what the Scouring was.

Soon enough, the familiar figure of the Horse appeared, stretched out like a white ghost on the green hills on their right. Even from this distance, Esme could see that the hills were dotted with colorful spots—people. She glanced at Billy. He was swallowing with difficulty and kept wiping his hands on his jeans. The oddly childish gesture went straight to her heart, and she reached over, took his clammy hands in both of hers, and gently rubbed his knuckles. He smiled at her, briefly but gratefully.

By the time they arrived at the foot of the hills, the sun had finally decided to come out in full force, and the clouds were clearing up, showing the pale blue sky above. The cab dropped them off at the car park, where people were crowding around a table, like some sort of signing-up station. Billy pulled Esme toward it.

A rotund, rosy-cheeked woman, looking like she could be a dead ringer for Discworld's Nanny Oggs, beamed at them. "Good afternoon, dearies," she said. "Here for the Scouring?"

"Yes," Billy said. "Two, please."

"Capital! Here's your instruction and assigned section"—she gave them a laminated sheet of paper, with a chart of the Horse printed on it—"and there's your gloves and your kneelers, and you can pick up your chalk and hammers over there. You've got half an hour, and once you're finished, just drop everything off here. Ta!"

From the hills above came a steady sound of soft tap-tapping, and Esme finally understood what it was—hammers breaking up the chalk so it could be worked into the surface of the Horse, cleaning and refreshing it.

They joined the line of people climbing up Whitehorse Hill. Volunteers were handing out buckets of white chalk and hammers. Since Esme's hands were full with their picnic basket and Angua's leash, Billy picked up two of each and led them toward their assigned section. Esme set their picnic basket down on the grass and wound Angua's leash around the handle of a chalk bucket so she wouldn't run away, not that there was any danger of it—the dog had sniffed the chalk and the hammer with great interest, and was now sitting down to watch them work. Kneeling on the provided pads, they started hammering away at the chalk, only stopping occasionally to clear away the grass that had poked through the old chalk.

The work was harder than it looked—the hammer was heavy, and it was difficult to spread the chalk smoothly and evenly. So they worked in silence at first, though Esme kept stealing glances at Billy. He was bending over the chalk with the same concentration he had with his woodcarving, the tip of his tongue poking out between his teeth. Was this why he had been so nervous and secretive lately? Was it because he had been planning this trip, working up the courage to return to his hometown and revisit his painful past? When Esme imagined how much effort this must have cost Billy and how he had chosen to share this important occasion with her, all her irritation with him over the past few months vanished. But even as her heart brimmed with love and affection for him, that voice in her head was still whispering its poison in her ears. Look at how far he's come, how much better he is. He doesn't need you. He deserves someone that will let him be a father, someone that will make him happy...

"So this is the Scouring of the Horse," she said to Billy, to drown it out.

"Yeah." Billy nodded. "I'm surprised you didn't know about it."

"I don't remember it being mentioned in the Tiffany Aching books at all."

"I've always been afraid of the Scouring when I was a kid," Billy said. He looked up for a moment, his eyes fixed on the horizon, where the town of Faringdon was just visible. "I thought all that bashing and hammering were going to wake the Horse up and it would come for me."

"Oh, Billy," Esme said, voice cracking.

"It's all right." Billy flashed her a reassuring smile. "I'm all right now. You know, from far away it may seem scary, more like a dragon than a horse, but up close it doesn't look like nothing at all. Just lines of chalk on the grass."

After their half-hour slot was over, they returned the buckets and hammers to the volunteers and filled in the horse chart to show which section was complete. Esme's arms ached, her back was sore, and her dress was dusted with chalk, but she felt peaceful, the peace she often felt after a good workout or a thorough cleaning of the flat, satisfied with a job well done. She and Billy were amongst the last to finish. While the volunteers cleared away the hammers and buckets of chalk, they returned to the windy hillside, took Angua for a walk along the path, and sat down by the Horse's neck, overlooking Faringdon, to have their picnic. Some people lingered as well, but when the sun started to dip below the hills, they all went off, until the car park was completely empty.

Even then, Billy showed no sign of wanting to leave. He sat in silence, gazing at the town beyond the hills, which had started to lose its colors and outlines under the gloaming, a distant look in his eyes. Esme, guessing what was going through his mind, said nothing either. If Billy wished to tell her, he would, in his own time. So she put her head into the crook of his shoulder, held his hand, and sat with him. The only things that moved around them were the wind and the grass. Even Angua had gone to sleep, curled up between the Horse's neck and front leg, exhausted after a whole afternoon of excitement.

When darkness finally descended on the hills, and the lights of Faringdon started twinkling to life below them, as did the stars above, Billy turned to Esme. "Do you want to go up to the eye and make a wish?" he asked. There was a slight tremor in his voice. Esme knew why—the eye was the very spot where the supposed murder had taken place.

"We don't have to—" she began, but he tugged at her hand.

"But I want to," he said, and Esme let him pull her to her feet.

Bending their heads against the rising wind, they clambered up the hill and stood on the chalky eye of the horse. There wasn't nearly enough room, so they had to squeeze together, her face pressed into his neck, his arms tight and warm around her.

"All right, now close your eyes, and turn clockwise three times," Billy said.

Esme did and felt Billy's arms move so he could do the same. They stumbled against each other, and both opened their eyes. She giggled quietly against his neck. The wind blew the sound away.

"What did you wish for?" she whispered.

"I'll tell you in a minute. You?"

Esme realized she hadn't made a wish. It felt silly, and she'd been too caught up in the moment to think of anything. But now, looking at Billy, at his eyes glowing softly in the starlight and his little smile, and feeling his warm embrace around her, she knew what she would've wished for. "This," she said. "The two of us, like this. For always."

Billy exhaled, as though he had been holding his breath, and his smile got wider. "Then I'm sorry, but you've wasted your wish," he said.

"How?" asked Esme, baffled.

"Because we'll always have this. It's a guarantee. No need to wish for it."

Her heart swelled, squeezing her throat and pushing tears to her eyes. How could she have doubted him? How could she have let her insecurities drown out her love for him? He loved her and would always love her. She was enough.

While Esme looked at him, unable to utter a word from all the emotions swirling in her heart, Billy brushed a tear away from the corner of her eyes and said, "That's why I brought you here today, you know. I know you weren't really convinced when I said you're all that I need. So I wanted to show you. Without you, I would never be able to come back here." His voice hitched. He swallowed, and continued, "For too long, I've been afraid of this place, of all those memories... But not anymore. Now I want to make new memories here, happy ones, with you, so I can remember it with joy and—"

He didn't get to finish. Esme threw her arms around his neck, pulled him down, and kissed him with all the pent-up fears and longing of the past two months. Billy responded in kind, tightening his hold around her, bringing her closer, his mouth pulling at hers until she felt like she was going to melt in his arms from the sheer heat of his kisses. And when he paused briefly to take a breath, she did melt, her knees having gone so weak that she ended up sinking to the ground. Billy didn't pull her up. Instead, he knelt down with her, covering her with yet more kisses, not just her lips but her neck and shoulders and breasts as well, his mouth like a furnace over the fabric of her shirt. She yanked impatiently at the buttons and guided him to the triangle of bare skin underneath her collar, gasping when he lightly nipped at it, the bite sending a lightning bolt that went straight through her and settled at her very core, making her pant as he kissed his way further down. She had never known him like this. In bed, he had always been passionate but gentle and shy, needing her guidance to show him what she wanted, what she liked. Now he was still gentle, but there was a newfound confidence in his touches and kisses and movements that intoxicated her, even more than the illicit thrill of being out in the open. 

Her back hit the grass. Billy went down with her. With each hand behind her knee, he lifted her legs to hook them over his waist.

"What if someone comes along?" she whispered into his mouth.

"Then that would be one hell of a memory, wouldn't it?" he grinned.

She laughed as well, but her laugh turned into an excited gasp when he settled himself between her legs. To feel him there, his heat, his hardness, so close and yet so far away still, was excruciating, and she only waited long enough to fumble with his jeans, before squeezing her thighs close, bringing him to her.

The first stroke of their bodies coming together drove all doubts from Esme's mind. Then Billy picked up the pace, and there, on top of Whitehorse Hill, while the wind murmured through the grass, blowing cool on her skin but unable to chill her, not when his mouth and his hands and his whole body were keeping her warm, the voice in her head was silenced at last, and she believed that she was enough, that this was enough, more than enough. And then pure pleasure exploded through her and light burst behind her eyelids, joining the glittering stars in the night sky above and the gleaming of his eyes in a constellation of bliss.

Afterward, Billy lay down on his back while Esme nestled against him. The wind was getting colder, but the hilltop remained quiet, save for Angua's snuffling in her sleep, and neither felt inclined to move. Esme threw an arm over his chest and laid her head on his shoulder and thought she'd never felt so close to anyone before.

"I'm sorry, Esme," she heard Billy say.

"For what?" Esme propped herself up to fix both her and his clothes, and to get a better look at him. "For involving me in the desecration of a national monument?" she said with a cheeky grin.

He grinned back. "If anything, I'd say we've consecrated it," he replied. Then he sobered up. "No, I mean sorry for the past couple of months. I've stressed you out with all that talk about having kids and made you feel like you're not good enough—"

"No, no," Esme interrupted, squeezing his fingers. "You don't have to apologize. Or, rather, if you are, then I apologize too. I should've just believed you when you said you didn't mind not having kids." She put her head back down on his shoulder with a sigh. "I'm thinking I may need therapy to deal with all these problems. It's not fair of me to make you bear the brunt of them."

"Yeah, that's a good idea," Billy said. "About therapy, I mean. Not the other part. I would bear anything for you."

He reached up to tuck a strand of hair, which had come loose from their tumble, behind her ear. His fingers brushed down her neck, caressing the hollow of her throat, where a silver pendant in the shape of the Horse nestled. In the starlight, his face looked so dear, so tender, that she couldn't help leaning over to kiss him, gently at first, then again, not so gently this time.

"Hope tonight was memorable enough for you," she whispered, pulling back.

"Maybe we can make it a bit more memorable," he said.

She looked at him, not understanding. Billy, still holding on to her hand, got up on his knees and rummaged for something in his pocket. "Thank God it didn't fall out while we were—" He blushed crimson and pulled at her wrist. "You have to stand up if we're to do this right."

"To do what right?" Esme asked, mystified.

And then she saw the ring box in his hand.

"Oh," she breathed out.

She scrambled to her feet, but when she stood up, her shadow fell across his face, and she wanted to look at him, never wanted to take her eyes off of him, so she hunched down again, and they ended up in an awkward half-sitting, half-crouching position, facing each other. What happened next was a blur. Her pulse was pounding in her ears, so she couldn't really hear what Billy was saying. Tears dimmed her eyes, so she couldn't really see him or even see what the ring looked like. But the warm grip of his hand on hers and the sweet kiss he placed on her lips told her all she needed to know.

"Now do you believe me?" he asked.

"Yes—yes—yes," she sputtered. She didn't know whether she was answering this question or the other, more important one, but it didn't matter. He knew what she meant.

Esme didn't even know why she was so emotional. It isn't the first time I got proposed to, for God's sake! And last time she'd responded just as enthusiastically. She realized back then she'd only wanted to get married, it almost didn't matter with whom. But it did matter now. It mattered a lot. She didn't just want to get married, she wanted to marry this man who had just slipped the ring over her finger and was gathering her into his arms, laughing and crying with her.

Their noises woke Angua up, and the little dog ran over to them, yapping and licking their faces, not knowing what was going on but sensing excitement in the air and wanting to join the celebration anyway. This made them laugh, and in the fuss over Angua's antics, Esme's tears finally dried. Still, it was a while before she calmed down enough to look at the ring, and when she saw it, a new flood of tears threatened to blur her eyes again. It was a ring made out of dark, polished wood, carved into the shape of a rose vine, with a blooming rose in place of the stone. She could only imagine how much love and care Billy had put into each delicate petal of the rose, each dainty leaf, each exquisite curve of the vine. If it hadn't been for the dark color and the small size, she would've sworn it was a real rose.

"Do you like it?" Billy asked anxiously.

"This is what you've been working on all those nights at the studio, isn't it?"

"Yes." He looked at her with a sheepish expression.

"You idiot!" She slapped his chest, though she was not really angry with him anymore, hadn't been since that afternoon, the moment she realized where they were going. "Why didn't you say anything? Do you have any idea how worried I've been?"

"I know, I know, I'm sorry." He caught her hand and kissed it. "I wanted it to be a surprise. I've never worked with anything so small before, so it took a while to figure out the right sort of wood and the right tools. I know it's not a traditional ring, but—"

"No, I love it," she said, and now it was her turn to lift his hand and kiss his calluses. She had always loved them, but now she loved them even more, because each of them was evidence of his love for her. She wouldn't care for a traditional ring anyway. "But—are you sure?" she asked, suddenly frightened. "Are you sure you want to get married?"

"I don't want to just get married," he said, pulling her to him for a kiss. "I want to marry you."

Those words, the exact same thought she'd had just a moment ago, went straight to Esme's heart, renewing her tears. "Let's get married tomorrow," she said with reckless abandon. "I don't want a big wedding, and I know you don't either. Let's just go to a town hall and have it be done with."

Billy stared at her. "Who are you and what have you done to my Esme?" he said in mock consternation, but all she heard was the easy way he said "my Esme". It set her pulse fluttering. "You don't want six months to plan? You don't want a ten-page spreadsheet so you can have the satisfaction of crossing things out?"

"Stop it." She laughed and smacked his shoulder, and he caught her with another kiss, a long, lingering one, and there was no more talk of wedding planning that night, there on Whitehorse Hill or on the late train home.

Epilogue

A/N: The ring Billy carved for Esme is based on this. It's by Giles Newman, an amazing woodcarver/sculptor - do check out his other works. They're pretty much how I imagine Billy's works would be like.

[dealgemeneverwarring]

De Algemene Verwarring #118 - 16 September 2024

Episode one hundred and aightteen of De Algemene Verwarring was broadcast on Monday, September 16, 2024, and you can listen to it by clicking on the link below that will take you directly to the Mixcloud page:

Pictured below is Nashville based punk band Snôôper. By the way what the hell is "egg punk" ? Can everyone just be normal and not start to corner punk bands into small categories? Jesus. Anyway, I called them "fitness punk" in the show. And since I'm having a terribly busy week here, I'll be very short. Go see this band live, they were pretty sensational last weekend at the Leffingeleuren festival. Actually they were the energy boost that made my weekend and that I needed to get started with this busy week. Which makes me think once again that seeing a good live show is always inspiring and gives you the much needed energy to get through the working week. Oh I also play a Cure track in the show and you know what? THEY ARE RELEASING THE NEW ALBUM. Now if that's not a reason to get completely pumped up, than what is? I am completely ready for a two hour double album full of long slow depressing songs OH YEAH.

Other music in the show: well read the playlist ok. I'm lazy. And you can actually find it beneath the photo. Enjoy!

Playlist

Rixe: Tir Groupé (7” “Tir Groupé” on La Vida Es Un Mus, 2024)

Snooper: Music For Spies (LP “Super Snooper” on Third Man Records, 2023)

Split System: Force Field (LP V/A “Born Bad Record Shop 25 Years Anniversary” on Born Bad, 2024)

A5: Spruch (7” “Erst Ausgabe” on Mad Butcher Classics, reissue 2023, originally released in 1980 on No Fun Records)

Oblivians: Let Him Try (7” “Strong Come On” on Crypt Records, repress 2013, originally released in 1996)

Swell Maps: Ammunition Train (LP “International Rescue” on Alive Records, 2016, reissue, compilation originally released in 1999)

The Wedding Present: Getting Nowhere Fast (LP “ George Best” on Cooking Vinyl & Vinyl Lovers, double lp reissue 2010, originally released in 1987)

The Cure: Forever (LP “BBC Sessions 1979-1985”, not on label , unofficial release, 2020)

Aroma Di Amore: Moeder Gaat Neer (12” “De Sfeer Van Grote Dagen” on Onderstroom Records, reissue 2022, originally released on Play It Again Sam in 1985)

The Prunes: Meet Dik… (LP “Lite Fantastik” on Baby Records, 1988)

Bound By Endogamy & Jupiter: La Tour Dieu (LP V/A “Born Bad Record Shop 25 Years Anniversary” on Born Bad, 2024)

Wiseblood: Prime Gonzola (LP “Dirtdish” on K.422, 1987)

Swans: Half Life (LP “Cop” on K.422, 1984) - RIP Roli Mosimann

Alastair Galbraith: Bakunin (LP “Lagash” on Nice Music, 2024)

Eftergift: Linjen Bryts (LP “Vatten Över Vatten” on Discreet Music, 2024)

Jack Rose: Tree In The Valley (LP “Luck In The Valley” on Thrill Jockey Records, 2010)

Roy Montgomery: Soundcheck (For Adrian Borland) (LP Island Of Lost Souls” on Grapefruit Records, 2021)

[myrna-nora]

2022: Books

January 1. Silent Parade (沈黙のパレード) (2018) Keigo Higashino 2. A Nun in the Closet (1975) Dorothy Gilman 3. The Maid (2022) Nita Prose 4. Rock Paper Scissors (2021) Alice Feeney 5. It's in His Kiss (2005) Julia Quinn February 6. The Chuckling Fingers (1941) Mabel Seeley 7. Untimely Death (He Should Have Died Hereafter) (1958) Cyril Hare+  8. No Exit (2019) Taylor Adams 9. Apprehend Me No Flowers (2020) Diane Vallere 10. Rules of Murder (2013) Julianna Deering + 11. The Lady's Mine (2022) Francine Rivers 12. Bats in the Belfry (1937) E.C.R. Lorac March 13. The Four Graces (1946) D.E. Stevenson 14. The Kill of it All (2022) Diane Vallere  15. The Spy Who Loved Me (1962) Ian Fleming 16. The Paris Apartment (2022) Lucy Foley 17. Nine Lives (2022) Peter Swanson April 18. The Nutmeg Tree (1937) Margery Sharp 19. A Time of Love and Tartan (2017) Alexander McCall Smith 20. Four Aunties and a Wedding (2022) Jesse Q. Sutanto ^ 21. Mrs. Pollifax Unveiled (2000) Dorothy Gilman ^ May 22. Finlay Donovan Is Killing It (2021) Elle Cosimano 23. All Creatures Great and Small (1970/1972) James Herriot 24. On the Way to the Wedding (2006) Julia Quinn ^ June 25. The Resting Place (Arvtagaren) (2020) Camilla Sten 26. Confessions (告白) (2008) Kanae Minato 27. Finlay Donovan Knocks 'Em Dead (2022) Elle Cosimano ^ 28. The Woman in the Library (2022) Sulari Gentill  29. Under Lock & Skeleton Key (2022) Gigi Pandian  30. Under Currents (2019) Nora Roberts 31. The House Across the Lake (2022) Riley Sager July 32. Miss Butterworth & the Mad Baron (2022) Julia Quinn, Violet Charles 33. Rose Cottage (1997) Mary Stewart * 34. Death in the Stocks (1935) Georgette Heyer + 35. The Swimming Pool (1952) Mary Roberts Rinehart + 36. Octopussy & the Living Daylights (1966) Ian Fleming ^ 37. The Science of Murder (Murder Isn't Easy: The Forensics of Agatha Christie) (2021) Carla Valentine August 38. The Peppermint Tea Chronicles (2019) Alexander McCall Smith 39. Spiders From Mars (2020) Diane Vallere ^ 40. Nightwork (2022) Nora Roberts 41. Parker Pyne Investigates (1934) Agatha Christie * 42. Murder Underground (1934) Mavis Doriel Hay 43. A Promise of Ankles (2020) Alexander McCall Smith 44. Till Death Do Us Part (1944) John Dickson Carr September 45. The It Girl (2022) Ruth Ware  46. A Flicker in the Dark (2022) Stacy Willingham 47. Solace Island (2017) Meg Tilly 48. Love in the Time of Bertie (2021) Alexander McCall Smith ^ 49. The Ink Black Heart (2022) Robert Galbraith ^ October 50. The Midwich Cuckoos (1957) John Wyndham 51. The Bullet That Missed (2022) Richard Osman ^ 52. A Song of Comfortable Chairs (2022) Alexander McCall Smith ^ November 53. Love Me or Grieve Me (2022) Diane Vallere ^ 54. The Couple at the Table (2022) Sophie Hannah  55. The Twist of a Knife (2022) Anthony Horowitz ^ 56. Kurashi at Home (2022) Marie Kondō December 57. Mystery in White (1937) J. Jefferson Farjeon 58. Murder for Christmas (1949) Francis Duncan 59. The Christmas Card Crime & Other Stories (2018) Martin Edwards (Editor) + read what I already own challenge ^ finished or caught-up in series * re-reads

[redrosecrown]

Robin Ellacott under disguise for a Halloween party.

[kissingrhi]

safe haven ♚ jesse pinkman

notes: obviously breaking bad/el camino spoilers! this is tooth rotting fluff and extremely self indulgent because i just love him! maybe listen to fix you by coldplay while reading because that song reminds me so much of post el camino jesse.

this is also posted on my ao3, @peachyrhi

you were at the grocery store, your jacket hugging your body, shielding you from the nipping cold in the air. you were buying basic necessities for your average life: working as a mail sorter down at the post office, just 1.5 miles from the store you were at. you bought whatever seemed to suit your interests, not thinking too hard as to what you put in your cart. you enjoyed the freedom of living in such a secluded place. after years of having a clouded mind, you finally felt at peace.

as you were checking out though, someone caught your eye. that someone being one of the most beautiful men you’d ever seen. while his face was littered in fading scars, his rose tinted skin and arctic blue eyes had you holding your breath. he was a few isles away from you, so you could sneak glances without being obvious. what you didn’t know was that he was paying attention to you all the same.

he was obviously new in town. in a place like this, everyone knew everyone. he was obviously trying to keep a low profile, a black beanie with a white eagle imprinted on the side with a maroon hoodie thrown over top. he was avoiding eye contact with the cashier, picking at his nails as the worker scanned his very random choices: a comforter, two boxes of captain crunch, and hot sauce. he was intriguing. you wanted to drink him in as much as you could.

that was only the first instance. the second time you bumped into ‘isaac driscoll,’ you were at your job. on days where you weren’t sorting mail, you worked the front desk at the post office, face adorned with a blank smile as you said, “have a good one.” for what felt like the 20th time today. you were now sitting, drumming a pencil against your desk to the beat of some song you’d heard on the radio earlier that day. you were tonguing a cut on the side of your cheek, holding your head flat against your palm as your leg uncontrollably jumped up and down.

you were bored. really fucking bored. that was until you were greeted with none other than the mystery man who’d festered his way into your head for the past couple days, head perking up to the sound of the bell jingling. you finally got to see him closer. he looked about your age, maybe a year or two older. but god, he looked like he’d been through hell. his eyes were worn and exhausted, a dusty pink underneath them, the scars on his face raised and still healing.

you wiped your now sweaty palms on your uniform, eyes widening at the sight as he walked closer and closer. “good afternoon. what can i do for you today?” you asked, drumming your fingers against your thigh, tilting your head. “i’m here to- uh.. pick up a package.” he sounded uncertain, even to himself, like he didn’t understand the words coming from his mouth. his voice was gravely yet chipper, he was obviously expressive in how he spoke. he seemed extremely nervous, so you tried to tread lightly.

“alright, what’s your name? and whose the package from?” you asked, avoiding eye contact with the wiry man in front of your desk. “isaac.” the silence droned on, isaac spacing out in front of you. “isaac driscoll. the package is from ed galbraith.” he sputtered, shifting his weight from foot to foot. he was anxiety ridden, not cracking a smile even once.

“alright, i’ll go check in the back.” and so you went into the storage facility, sifting through clear boxes labeled “pickup.” finally, you settled on one of the biggest packages you’d ever seen, muttering a quiet, “oh fuck me.” you made the annoyingly long journey to find a trolley. i mean come on, a package this size was just insane. maybe you were just being dramatic.

after retrieving the hefty package, you pushed your way back into the office, giving a pained smile to the tired man ahead of you. “albuquerque, huh?” you started, and isaac looked as if you had just stabbed him, his mind rushing at a million miles per hour. “y- yea.” his voice was quiet, pained. “yo, uh. you don’t mind if i wheel this out to my car, do’ya?” he nodded his head to the package in front of you. “no, that’s not a problem at all.” you handed the trolley over to him, “just bring the trolley back in after you’re done please.” you spouted, internally cringing as the two of you brushed hands. “okay.” was all he said.

and finally, the third and final instance before the two of you become inseparable. see, ‘isaac’ had began to take a liking to you as well. he enjoyed how polite you were, how interesting your style was, how you were the opposite of intimidating. you wore warm pastels in contradiction to the bitter alaskan air, you smelled like vanilla from what little scent he’d picked up at the post office, you always have on a single brown, braided hair tie. the final time the two of you had an awkward exchange was at one of the only bars in haines, the fogcutter.

you’d had a rough day, your dad calling you and being a hardass, making you cry at work. no matter how many times you asked him to stop calling, told him that you needed space, he never stopped. and you couldn’t find it in yourself to block him. so you found yourself walking down the street as the sun set, brushing cold tears from your eyes as you entered the nearly empty bar.

you plopped yourself into a chair, leaning your upper body into the bar, making eye contact with the bartender. “what’ll it be tonight?” she said, smile not reaching her eyes. “just whiskey please.” you returned the same half smile, before returning to fidgeting with your hair tie. that was until you noticed a familiar presence beside you. you could tell it was him, even if his body was turned to look at the tv in the corner of the room, seemingly interested in the football game shown. you couldn’t help yourself. “hey. isaac right?” you said, barely above a whisper.

he turned to face you, tired eyes twinkling. “yeah.” was all he said, turning back to the tv. you turned your body to face him now, “you’re new, aren’t you?” you said, legs kicking against your chair. “yeah.” he said again, not even turning to look at you. “well, you know…” you started, as he turned to you again, one of his eyebrows quirking up. “everyone here knows everyone. so we’re gonna have to actually meet one way or another.” you held out your hand, and the rest is history.

he was so shy at first, barely speaking. he listened. he listened when you two met again and you talked about your interests and what brought you to haines. he listened when he first visited your house and you talked about your passions as you ate pasta. he listened when you called him late one night in tears, going on about your “stupid fucking idiot father.” he was interested in you and enjoyed being around you. for one of the first times in his life he felt like you were never going to harm him or fuck him over. you were a real friend.

and as time progressed, you learned more about him as well. you learned how much he hated talking about his past, that he said the word bitch way more than the average person, and that he was awesome at left 4 dead 2. the more the two of you hung out, the more he opened up about himself. it was like the two of you were meant to meet each other, and what you didn’t know is that a part of him healed every time you invited him over, or bumped into him at the bar, or caught his eye at the car wash.

a few months after you two met, you had just finished dinner at your place. one of the first things you learned about isaac was that you and him both had an astounding love for mac and cheese. so any chance you got, you cooked it. and as you were cleaning up your mac and cheese, putting the leftovers in tupperware for isaac, something clicked in your mind. you glanced at the clock at your microwave. 10:48. it was pretty late anyways, right? you don’t think it would be too far if- “isaac?” you said, looking up at him as you closed the red top of the tupperware. “you wanna spend the night? it’s pretty late.” you said, sliding the leftovers across the counter to where he stood.

you waited for a response, biting your cheek as you looked back at the flushed man in front of you. “i mean- sure. it’s just. i don’t have any clothes.” he said, awkwardly laughing and scratching the back of his neck. “it’s fine.” you drew out the word, walking over to him, elbowing him as you teased, “most of my clothes are way too big and besides, we’re about the same height anyways.” he slapped your elbow, rolling his eyes and spitting out, “hey, i’m still growing. i’m a growing boy, bitch.” and you laughed, leading him to your room and pulling out a pair of plaid pajama pants and a giant black shirt with white stripes on it. “alright these are the biggest i could find.” you said, throwing the pile of clothes at his chest, glaring as he raised his eyebrows at your statement.

you then sat down on the corner of your queen sized bed when the two of you finished changing into your pajamas, patting the space beside you for isaac to sit. “hey.” you smiled. “hey.” he grinned, pulling his legs to sit criss cross and face you. “i know this might be like- totally out of line.” you started, looking in his eyes for any sign to stop. instead his face just stiffened up, and he waited for you to continue. “and i know you hate talking about your past but i just like-“ you cut yourself off, staring down at your feet. “it’s ok.” he said, voice quiet and unconvincing. “i wanna know if you’re okay?” you asked, tilting your head at his bad posture and achingly sad demeanor.

“y’know how i told you i used to be really heavy on drugs?” he asked, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. and that night, the man you now knew, ended up bawling into your chest. it was only when the two of you fell asleep: one of your hands holding his head against your chest, the two of you curled into each other as you whispered kind words into his head, telling him that you loved him all the same, addressing him as jesse. when he knew he’d gone to the right place. when he knew he’d found a safe haven.

[ultraozzie3000]

The Tragic Pose

In an age of toe-tapping musicals and screwball comedies — which served to distract from the grim realities of the Great Depression — one playwright was content to continue mining the deep veins of tragedy and pessimism than ran through the 1930s.

Nov. 7, 1931 cover by Margaret Schloeman.

A Chekhovian realist, Eugene O’Neill (1888 – 1953) had yet to write his masterpiece, Long Day’s Journey into…

[sesiondemadrugada]

In the Mouth of Madness (John Carpenter, 1994).

[antoine-roquentin]

Weber’s book is about state engagement in the market, most immediately through price controls. It focuses on debates among Chinese economists in the 1980s under CCP leader Deng Xiaoping that steered China’s economy away from radical price liberalization and helped construct a political economy that facilitates productive state-market relations. Weber details the process by which Chinese reforms and leaders grappled with—and ultimately resisted—the neoliberal prescription of a sudden freeing of prices meant to “shock” the economy out of planning. She shows that rather than adopt the reform advice of the World Bank and Western economists, reformers pursed a path of gradual change by slowly liberalizing markets and ownership and relaxing price controls in stages.

This process unfolded over the long 1980s and was akin to “groping for stones to cross a river,” as key reformer Chen Yun put it at the time. Reformers worked to identify the best practices for economic growth and forged ahead “seeking truth from facts,” in the words of Deng Xiaoping, rather than following orthodox economic theory on marketization. Although the reforms began with the simple aim to improve the economy and living conditions of Chinese peasants, the piecemeal, gradualist approach—as opposed to a complete overhaul of all economic institutions and practices, as international organizations and neoclassical economists such as Milton Friedman recommended—resulted in a dramatic transformation of the Chinese economy. In 1978 China had a centralized command economy with controlled prices, state-run markets, and no private enterprise; by 1993 markets were open, prices were liberalized, entrepreneurship boomed, and Deng Xiaoping had toured southern China, touting Shenzhen as one of the world’s most successful free trade zones.

The resulting political economy is certainly not neoliberal, however—at least not in any simple sense. As Weber points out, the economic orientation is not a “full-fledged institutional convergence with neoliberalism” but rather a mixed arrangement whereby the state actively engages in the market to fulfill developmental goals. Like the industrializing economies of the nineteenth century and the East Asian and Latin American developmental states after World War II, the Chinese state participates in the market by creating favorable conditions for its firms through investment incentives and developmental practices. Beijing’s recent intervention in the commodity market is one exhibit of the continuing legacy of this economic model, where the state engages the market through the release of built-up commodity stock and price-lowering among state firms, rather than subsuming the market and forcing desired price controls. Neoclassical economics would have us believe that state action in the market is an aberration, and almost always harmful. But there is significant historical precedent for state-market relations—including in the United States—and Weber reminds us that state engagement in markets has been the norm rather than the exception for much of human history.

The book opens with a chapter on the Guanzi, a Warring States treatise (475–221 BCE) advising a ruler on how to run his state in an age of warfare and economic transition. The message is to actively manage supply-and-demand conditions by controlling the “heavy,” or important, essential goods, and releasing the “light,” or unimportant, unessential goods. This counsel was put into practice in the grain market, whereby the state purchased surplus grain from the peasants at the time of the autumn harvest when prices were low, or light, and money was heavy, thereby propping up the price of grain on the market and protecting peasants from selling too low to merchants. In the spring, when supplies dwindled and grain prices rose the state released grain and balanced the market. Institutionalized in the “ever normal granaries,” the practice was most effectively used by the Qing state, facilitating the prosperity of the Qianlong period.

A more recent example is that of the United States during World War II. Drawing out the universal character of market engagement for state identified ends, Weber shows how the United States instituted prices controls to balance wartime production needs with consumer demand. In 1941 the newly formed Office of Price Administration created constraints on 40 percent of wholesale goods and then moved to set a ceiling on prices. At the same time, wages were frozen and public stocks of grain and cotton were put on the market to stabilize agricultural prices. The result was low inflation, stable prices, and exponentially high production output. So successful was this practice that the United States instituted a similar system of price controls during the Korean War and the Vietnam War. Of course, none of it was specific to the United States. As economist and politician John Kenneth Galbraith put it, “Controls over prices and wages were the rule.”

It is unclear whether the Chinese reformers at the heart of Weber’s book were aware of these practices and history, but it serves as herbackdrop. In 1949, for example, many of the people who would become key actors in the 1980s reforms cut their teeth grappling with the problem of runaway inflation in the new People’s Republic of China. Having inherited an economy in tatters, where the population had no trust in the currency and was prone to panic buying and hoarding, CCP policymakers moved not to assert political command over the economy but rather to intervene in the market to shore up prices and restore financial trust. Drawing on CIA files from the time, Weber shows that they did this by issuing price lists to state retailers for essential goods but not imposing these prices on private firms or other sellers. State traders would then distribute goods at list prices through the state retailers. Once the public began to see consistent price stability and have faith in the currency, the government gradually released prices back to the market. “This practice prefigured the dual-track price system of the 1980s,” Weber writes.

from the book:

Besides recognizing grain as the “people’s Master of Destiny” (ibid., 384, 77), the progression of the seasons is another condition that qingzhong economic policies take as a starting point. We read in the Guanzi that “the climatic changes of the four seasons and the rotation of day and night were objective laws. They could not be decreased if they were oversupplied and could not be increased if undersupplied” (as in Hu, 2009, 105). From this, the following problem arises: qingzhong suggests that the price depends on whether something is oversupplied or undersupplied. Depending on the season, grain is oversupplied (harvest) or undersupplied (spring). As a result, the price fluctuates—which is bad both for peasants and for urban consumers. Thus, the ruler faced the question of how to balance the price of grain throughout the year.

According to the Guanzi, “states that adhere to the way of a true king act in accordance with the seasons” (ibid., 1998, 365). This suggests that, in general, the state must “make use of what is valued to acquire what is not valued and what has been acquired cheaply to ease the price of what has become too expensive” (ibid., 381–382). Furthermore, “when the prince mints coins to establish a money supply, the people all accept them as a medium of exchange” (ibid., 380). Hence, the prince can issue money. “Therefore those who are skilled in government manage mediums of exchange in order to control the Masters of Destiny” (ibid., 378). The government has a responsibility to stabilize the price of grain in order to stabilize the overall price level and the value of money.

This principle manifested as government purchase of surplus grain from the peasants in autumn, at harvest time, when it was oversupplied and its price was low—in other words, grain was “light” and money was “heavy.” By demanding relatively large amounts, the government drove up the price of grain. It thereby balanced the relative quantities of money and grain in the market, prevented the downward movement of the grain price, and protected the peasants from selling their grain at overly low prices to private merchants. In each locality, the government established public granaries to store the grain. In spring, when the farmers were plowing and sowing, and in summer, when they were weeding, their grain reserves would run low. The supply of grain on the market was short, and the grain price was high. At that time, the government used parts of the grain stored away to increase the supply in the market. The government balanced the upshot in the price of grain and protected the peasants from having to buy grain at very high prices from private merchants.9

This scheme stabilized both the price for grain and the general price level. First, we have seen that in the Guanzi, the prices of all things depended on that of grain. Second, by participating in the market for grain, the state adjusted the money supply. Since the value of money, like that of all other commodities, was found to depend on its quantity, a change in the money supply would affect its value in relation to all other goods. In other words, it would change the overall price level.10 According to the Guanzi, “When grain is cheap, he [the prince] exchanges money for food” (Guanzi as in Rickett, 1998, 377–378). In such a situation, money would be “heavy” and would buy a relatively great amount of grain, hence the price level is low. As the state bought a considerable amount of grain, the price of grain rose, but the value of money also fell, and hence a deflationary tendency was balanced. The opposite occurred in spring and summer, when grain was expensive. The state balanced the price of grain in money and the price of money in grain by balancing the quantities of money and grain in circulation. This is how the Guanzi envisioned the government to “manage mediums of exchange in order to control the Masters of Destiny” (Guanzi as in Rickett, 1998, 377–378). Beyond the immediate effects on prices, this scheme of grain price balancing had important implications for state revenues, inequality, and famine prevention through countercyclical policies.

First of all, although the state balanced the price movements, it did not aim for complete stability—“When water is perfectly level, it will not flow” (ibid., 308). The price of grain in autumn would still be higher than in spring and summer, but the price difference would be smaller than it had been without the state’s participation in the market. As a result of the price difference, the state participation in the grain market generated government revenues. The state did not have to impose any direct taxes: “By taking advantage of government orders to move goods and money back and forth, there is no need to make any demands on the people in the form of special taxes and levies” (ibid., 392). The rulers of Western Zhou had fixed prices by decree and extracted surpluses from the people by direct taxation. In contrast, the new art of government was to use price fluctuations to enrich the country without undermining the enthusiasm of the peasants. Mastering this new “art of planned fiscal management” was “not something to create resentment among the people or ruin their aspirations” (ibid., 362). Instead of taking away from the people by command, the state sold grain to the people when they needed it, thereby lowering the price, and bought grain from the people when they had it to sell, thereby raising the price. Instead of being subjected to direct taxation, the people would experience the state as a benevolent government. In sum, this approach would create “stability similar to placing a square object on the ground” (ibid., 367).

Furthermore, the policy of balancing grain prices prevented the most severe forms of inequalities without making all people equal.11 At the time, a class of private merchants was rising. In fact, the government learned the techniques of market participation from the merchants. As prices were not directly controlled by the state any longer, it became apparent that “[a]s the harvest is bad or good, grain will be expensive or cheap” (Guanzi as in Rickett, 1998, 379). If the government did not utilize these price movements to generate public profit, private merchants would do so: “if the prince is not able to control the situation, it will lead to large-scale traders roaming the markets and taking advantage of the people’s lack of things to increase their capital a hundredfold” (ibid.).12

The pursuit of profits was not condemned in the Guanzi but was taken as a given reality: “it is the nature of men that whenever they see profit, they cannot help chasing after it” (Guanzi as in Rickett, 1998, 219). The task of the ruler was hence not to appeal to the morality of the people but to use the prevailing interests and “regulate the people’s profits” (ibid., 379). In order to do this, the state had to “maintain control over policies affecting prices” (ibid., 366). Land reform was not enough to prevent inequalities: “Even though the land may have been divided equally, the strong will be able to gain control of it; even though wealth has been distributed equally, the clever will be able to accumulate it” (ibid., 379). If the government failed to balance the grain price, “it will only result in the people below enslaving each other.” When such “great inequality exists between rich and poor,” the “multitude is not well governed” (ibid., 380). Hence, “[s]hould the prince fail to maintain control over policies affecting prices … the economic policy of the state becomes meaningless” (ibid., 366).

Finally, and most essentially, the participation in the grain market allowed the state to accumulate grain in each locality and protect people from the consequences of natural disasters. An elaborate system of famine prevention worked hand in hand with a countercyclical fiscal policy. The government’s task was to protect the people from the changes of the seasons, climate, and the market and to ensure their access to daily necessities at all times. The state employed the people when the seasons did not require them to work in the field. In this way, the state prevented the source of wealth from drying up. The ruler was to practice frugality in normal times so as not to divert too much of the people’s time from the fundamental occupation of agriculture. However, “prodigality should be adopted in a special situation” (Hu, 2009, 116). If the people lost the foundation of their livelihood and could not work their land because of natural disasters, the state should offer them employment. At such times, the state should also encourage the rich to create work—for example, by encouraging them to have lavish funerals (Guanzi as in Rickett, 1998, 319). In sum, the Guanzi holds that those “who are good at ruling a state simply depend upon the situation to relax or intensify their demands” (ibid., 415).13

9 The basic principles of this policy of grain price stabilization are repeated in almost all the qingzhong dialogues in the Guanzi. This is a summary of the basic principles by the present authors. Variations on this scheme include (1) the use of loans to the peasants paid out in spring in grain and pegged to the high money price to be paid back when the price of grain is low in the fall (Guanzi as in Rickett, 1998, 343–344, 377–380), as well as (2) the state purchase of clothes when they are cheap because grain is expensive; they are then sold by the state when clothes become expensive in the fall, at a time when grain is cheap (Guanzi as in Rickett, 1998, 362, 367, 384, 391). Similar, yet less encompassing, policy proposals had previously been put forward by Fan Li (Chen, 1911b, 568; Hu, 2009, 35–41; von Glahn, 2016, 64) and Li Kui (Chen, 1911b, 568; Hu, 2009, 179–184; Li, 2013, 190; Spengler, 1964, 228; von Glahn, 2016, 55).

10 In the light of this insight, the Guanzi is found to be one of the earliest articulations of the quantity theory of money (Hu, 2009, 131; Nolan, 2004, 129; Rickett, 1998, 4). If we consider the suggestions for countercyclical government spending, discussed later in this section, and the elaborations on hoarding, together with the grouping of different types of money according to their liquidity, a question for further research emerges: Might we find not only the earliest articulation of the quantity theory of money in the Guanzi but also, thanks to its focus on transitional effects, a precursor to the breaking of a pure quantity theory as in Keynes’s (1936) General Theory?

11 Or, as Hu (2009) puts it, “The writer of Guanzi asserted that this inequality between rich and poor was an objective social reality, but his solution to the problem was merely to mitigate the antagonism, not to wipe it out entirely” (111).

12 Such great inequalities are, for example, reported in the Han Shu to have occurred in the period 246–207 BCE. After the selling and buying of land was allowed, some individuals became very rich and brought both land and natural resources under their control. The poor had to cultivate the land of the rich and “had to give five-tenths [of the crop] for rent (shui)” (Han Shu as in Swann, 1950, 182, insertion in original). “In profligacy and dissipation they [the rich] overrode government institutions; and they overstepped extravagance in order to outdo one another” (Han Shu as in Swann, 1950, 181). “Consequently the poor people wore at all times [garments in quality fit only] to be covering for cattle and horses. They ate, moreover food [of a standard suitable only] for feeding dogs and swine. … The people, brought to grief, had no means of livelihood; and they became thieves and robbers” (Han Shu as in Swann, 1950, 182, insertion in original).

13 This proposal for a countercyclical policy of government spending clearly anticipates, by 2000 years, Mandeville’s (1970 [1724]) Fable of the Bees, Malthus’s letters to Ricardo (as in Keynes, 1936, 362–363), and Keynes’s theory of effective demand. In light of Keynes’s 1912 review of Chen Huan-Chang (1911b), which contains a treatment of grain price policies (568–85), the question emerges whether Keynes might in fact have been inspired by ancient Chinese economic thinking.

turns out that socialism with chinese characteristics was invented 2000 years ago

[pinselwurm]

2020 reading late round-up

i promised myself i’d read more last year and i did!  but i had no time to write this because 2021 has been too busy.  i read a book every 2 weeks last year and so far in 3 months i’ve only re-read 1 single book.  i meant to read more nonfiction but it’s almost all fiction lmao.  so much for reading theory.

34 finished, 37 attempts, 26 are Lesbian Interest, only 4 written by men.  so i had a very female and lesbian book year, but sadly very few were worth the read! i read a lot but i read a lot of absolute garbage! i can only recommend a paltry 6 books i read despite trying to read stuff i though i’d like.

highlighted “LI” stands for “lesbian interest,” as in, has a lesbian author or has lesbian/bisexual woman characters and themes.  some LI books have bisexual authors but les/bi f/f romance so they get counted.

100% WOULD RECOMMEND:

The Summer Book by Tove Jansson (LI) fiction

Land of Lost Borders by Kate Harris (LI) travel memoir

Aspen in Moonlight by Kelly Wacker (LI) romance

Sister of the Earth, ed Lorraine Anderson, nature anthology, didn’t finish yet but it’s really good

Cuckoo’s Calling by Robert Galbraith, mystery

The Silkworm by Robert Galbraith, mystery

RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS

Painted Moon by Karin Kallmaker (LI) romance, beginning was wonderful ending was weird

Sing, Unburied, Sing by Jesmyn Ward, fiction, depressing black intergenerational trauma

Grave Silence by Rose Beecham (LI) mystery, romance is disappointing but the protag was very authentically lesbian

Dear America by Jose Antonio Vargas, memoir, should have just been a long essay

Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens, fiction, too heterosexual and not enough nature but ending made up for it all.  goodforher.jpg

WOULD NOT RECOMMEND

The Price of Salt by Patricia Highsmith (LI) fiction, depressing and too many damn men

If Not, Winter: Sappho translated by Anne Carson (LI) poetry, i got nothing from this

The Whale Rider by Witi Ihimaera, fiction, movie is better/more female-forward

The Sealed Letter by Emma Donoghue (LI) fiction, terrible story but SO SO well written i flew through it

Desert of the Heart by Jane Rule (LI) romance, movie is way better and not steeped in depressing psychology

Of Witches by Janet Thompson, spirituality, not helpful or interesting

Poems by Rita Mae Brown (LI) bad bad poetry

The Weaver by Emmi Itäranta (LI) dystopia fiction, had potential but tedious

Evergreen Tidings from the Baumgartners by Gretchen Anthony (LI) family, boring and trite

The Left Hand of Justice by Jess Faraday (LI) romance, had potential but the author just fucking gave up towards the end

Uncharted by Robyn Nyx (LI) romance

The Order of the Pure Moon Reflected in Water by Zen Cho (technically LI) fantasy, i cannot for the life of me understand why it was written other than to appease her publisher

Not Your Average Love Spell by Barbara Ann Wright (LI) fantasy romance, boring

Month of Sundays by Yolanda Wallace (LI) romance, boring

Comrade Cowgirl by Yolanda Wallace (LI) romance, okayish

Sequestered Hearts by Erin Dutton (LI) romance, boring

Fever by VK Powell (LI) romance, awful

Whispers in the Wind by Frankie J Jones (LI) romance, boring

Treasured Past by Linda Hill (LI) romance, boring

Claire of the Moon by Nicole Conn (LI) romance, pretentious

Racing Towards Providence by Laurel Mills (LI) romance, awfulboring

Real Love by Jeanne McCann (LI) godawful romance, racist

Alice Isn’t Dead by Joseph Fink (LI) HATED THIS

A Single Man by Christopher Isherwood, gay depressing fiction

SO BAD I COULDN’T FINISH IT

Venus Envy by Rita Mae Brown (LI) fiction, WHAT THE FUCK THIS WAS SO HOMOPHOBIC AND MISOGYNISTIC BROWN WAS REALLY SHOWING HER TRUE HOMOPHOBIC-BISEXUAL FEELINGS IN THIS SHIT

The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas, YA, style is impossible to read as an adult, either the author is very skilled or very bad at how juvenile this read

[adamsvanrhijn]

There is an actress on the Downton 3 imbd Rose Galbraith listed as playing Lady Sybil Branson. IMBD confusion?

Link: https://m.imdb.com/name/nm11635548/?ref_=m_ttfcd_cl29

Three options:

Complete mistake/misunderstanding/fake news

Ghosts are once again real at Downton Abbey but they couldn't get Jessica Brown Findlay back, so Rose Galbraith is playing Lady Sybil Branson (ghost). See also flashbacks

Rose Galbraith is playing Sybil Branson and she or her agent got mixed up around Sybbie's lack of title

[highfunctioningflailgirl]

Whumptober No 28

prompt: accident

“It’s gotta be here. It was listed in the transporter log.”

“Yeah, well, it’s missing from the cargo index now.” Raffi grimaced. “Are you absolutely sure it ever made it on board?”

Expression stormy, Rios’ head appeared behind a large, octagonal cargo container.

“Yes. I am. I personally supervised the transport. I take these things seriously, you know.”

Folding both arms across her digital clipboard, Raffi pulled an uneasy face.

“The GHF will not like this.”

Rios raked a hand through his hair.

“No, they won’t.”

“Even though it’s technically just a molten piece of junk.”

Cris threw her a reprimanding look. “Raffi…”

The “piece of junk” she was referring to was, in reality, a revered item of an extinct species on a recently discovered planet in the Galvarion sector. For several months, archeologists had dug for and pored over the traces the species had left behind, testament to a rich culture that included a complex religious belief system. The Galaxy Heritage Foundation had hired Cris to transport an assortment of religious items to Earth for further studies and a future exhibition. Some of them were small - pendants, figurines and shimmering objects made of a metallic compound that had yet to be named - while others were statues or chunks of the same mysterious material wielded together in shapes that meant nothing to the human eye but the world to a life form that had apparently been wiped out by some sort of natural disaster.

Raffi shrugged again and tapped her clipboard.

“Are you sure this one’s linked properly to your scanner?”

She gestured at the device Rios was now pointing at the label on the next container. The force field holding their precious and heavy cargo in place hummed in protest as Cris reached through it to double-check the label, but, programmed to let organic entities pass, it gave no real resistance.

“Should be,” he replied as the scanner chirped and - once more - glowed red to confirm that this wasn’t the pod they were looking for. “Ean synced them, and he doesn’t make mistakes. Not of that sort, anyway.”

“But he said it’s been missing from the cargo index since, what, last night?”

“Yeah.” Cris’ upper half popped up behind a massive rectangular container, and he placed his arms on top of it, frowning at the scanner read-out. “And it cannot have simply disappeared. Or can it?” His eyebrows rose. “I mean, we barely know anything about this new metal and its capabilities. What if it’s-”

“...vanished into thin air?” Raffi finished his thought. “But… with the container? And why would it? After all, the species that-”

All of a sudden, the force field crackled and flickered. Then, with a deep rumble, the large container Rios had been inspecting shot forward. It slammed into him, pinning him to the crates behind him. He cried out in pain and shock as he felt tissue being crushed and bones break. His entire lower body half erupted into agony.

“It’s gotta be here. It was listed in the transporter log.”

“Yeah, well, it’s missing from the cargo index now.” Raffi grimaced. “Are you absolutely sure it ever made it on board?”

Expression stormy, Rios’ head appeared behind a large, octagonal cargo container.

“Yes. I am. I personally supervised the transport. I take these things seriously, you know.”

Folding both arms across her digital clipboard, Raffi pulled an uneasy face.

“The GHF will not like this.”

Rios raked a hand through his hair.

“No, they won’t.”

“Even though it’s technically just a molten piece of junk.”

Cris threw her a reprimanding look. “Raffi…”

The “piece of junk” she was referring to was, in reality, a revered item of an extinct species on a recently discovered planet in the Galvarion sector. For several months, archeologists had dug for and pored over the traces the species had left behind, testament to a rich culture that included a complex religious belief system. The Galaxy Heritage Foundation had hired Cris to transport an assortment of religious items to Earth for further studies and a future exhibition. Some of them were small - pendants, figurines and shimmering objects made of a metallic compound that had yet to be named - while others were statues or chunks of the same mysterious material wielded together in shapes that meant nothing to the human eye but the world to a life form that had apparently been wiped out by some sort of natural disaster.

Raffi shrugged again and tapped her clipboard.

“Are you sure this one’s linked properly to your scanner?”

She gestured at the device Rios was now pointing at the label on the next container. The force field holding their precious and heavy cargo in place hummed in protest as Cris reached through it to double-check the label, but, programmed to let organic entities pass, it gave no real resistance.

“Should be,” he replied as the scanner chirped and - once more - glowed red to confirm that this wasn’t the pod they were looking for. “Ean synced them, and he doesn’t make mistakes. Not of that sort, anyway.”

“But he said it’s been missing from the cargo index since, what, last night?”

“Yeah.” Cris’ upper half popped up behind a massive rectangular container, and he placed his arms on top of it, frowning at the scanner read-out. “And it cannot have simply disappeared. Or can it?” His eyebrows rose. “I mean, we barely know anything about this new metal and its capabilities. What if it’s-”

“...vanished into thin air?” Raffi finished his thought. “But… with the container? And why would it? After all, the species that-”

All of a sudden, the force field crackled and flickered. Then, with a deep rumble, the large container Rios had been inspecting shot forward. It slammed into him, pinning him to the crates behind him. He cried out in pain and shock as he felt tissue being crushed and bones break. His entire lower body half erupted into agony.

“Fuck! Cris!”

(Read the complete story here:)