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andrea-lyn · 4 years ago

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The Recs (Less Travelled)

I’m excited to bring you the first installment of my ‘roads less travelled’ recs! I will be doing another round of this, probably once the Ted Lasso fic tag hits about 25 pages, and then I’ll also grab a couple more fandoms to collect in there!

The Rules:

Each fandom/pairing was sorted on Archive of Our Own by completed works. Anything recced here was not in the first ten pages when sorted by kudos at the time of reccing. There may be some more well-known authors on this list, but the specific fics I’ve picked are ones that didn’t crack that top ten or just didn’t get much traction and I think deserve it, so hopefully I have also balanced it out with other under the radar (and still great!) works. As ever, I have a pinned post of my other recs (none have been duplicated from there), so you can also check those out! Under the cut you’ll find 10 recs in each fandom for:

Raven Cycle

Roswell New Mexico

The Old Guard

Inception

Star Trek (mainly Kirk/McCoy)

The Raven Cycle

savor all the little pieces by littlelionvanz

“Since when do you garden?”

Ronan snorted, “Since I grew up on a fucking farm, genius. Jesus who gave you permission to pursue higher education.”

the old grip of the familiar by littleseal

"There is a single black feather and a printed out picture of Gansey, Blue and Cheng standing in front of some fucking monument Ronan didn’t care enough to remember the name of. Gansey sent it to Ronan’s phone some time ago, but it sat in his messages until Adam picked it up and grinned at it so hard that, one afternoon later, Ronan cursed and kicked and glared his old printer back to life in order to print it out.

Fuck, he thinks, I’m in love with a hoarder."

Adam collects things. Ronan is in love with him.

No Sweeter Innocence Than Our Gentle Sin by gansey_is_our_king

Ronan Lynch has wanted to kiss Adam Parrish for a long time.

(alternately titled: four times that Ronan could have kissed Adam)

Cheers to Another Seven Years! by skyermirth

Adam left Henrietta for Harvard and never returned. Now, seven years has passed, and an unexpected work assignment has brought him back to a place and people he hardly recognizes.

Row, row, row your boat by emmerrr

“What. Why are you smiling at me,” he says suspiciously.

Adam shrugs. “You’re cute.”

“I’m not cute, I’m terrifying.”

“Terrifyingly cute,” Adam says.

and now the world is ours to take / and every single move is ours to make by thatlittleblackcat

"Adam was the scientist, Ronan was the data, and Orphan Girl was the key that explained the strange outliers that Ronan presented, his previously unexplainable actions."

Adam sorts out his feelings, Ronan helps him, Gansey is the number one dad friend, Blue is the number one mom friend and Henry tries to make Ronan smile. Otherwise known as the story of how Orphan Girl became Opal.

All These Things You Make Me Feel by SilverOpals394

It was late. Adam could feel the long day catching up to him as he left Boyd’s, all his energy exhausted. When he started his car, the tape deck whirred to life once more. He sighed and raised his hand to turn it off, but before he did a soft melody began to play.

AU in which the mixtape Ronan made for Adam only plays the murder squash song until Adam realizes he's in love with Ronan, too.

Ways to Communicate by Jalules

Blue Sargent reflects on an early memory (and gets busy with her boyfriends.)

(The two things are related, trust me.)

Hold Me Closer, I'm Safe in Your Arms by actuallyronanlynch

“You wanna tell me why I had to hear from Henry Cheng that my boyfriend was at the hospital?” Adam hissed, though his voice wasn’t as acidic as it could’ve been. Ronan took small victories where he could.

“You don’t have a cellphone,” Ronan pointed out flatly. “It’s not like I could’ve gotten a hold of you.”

arts and crafts and the inevitability of death by sunshineinthestorm

Adam comes to the public library in search of a study spot, not a boyfriend.

But it must be his lucky day—because he ends up with a bit of both.

Roswell New Mexico

a conversation between insignificant others by Bellakitse

“Hey…have you noticed that our boyfriends are madly in love with each other?"

“You noticed that too, huh,” she answers dryly, letting out a huff of reluctant amusement.

***

Forrest and Maria share a drink and a conversation and start a friendship.

Own Personal Hell by BeStillMySlashyHeart

Now that Isobel's getting the hang of her telekinesis, Michael decides to test out his telepathic abilities. It backfires. Badly. Now Michael's trapped inside his own mind and only one person can break him out.

Drop the Hammer by brightloveee

Max makes a new friend at the shooting range, who turns out to be even more bad-ass than he expected.

(Takes place mid-S1)

Boys Like You by forgadgetsandgizmos

Curly, dirty blond hair (the mere description ‘curly’ felt like an injustice) twisted in every direction off his head, a sharp contrast with the scruff darkening his strong jawline and scowl-ridden face.

Alex made a mental note to compliment Maria on her excellent taste in men.

—

Or, Alex has coffee with Maria's one-night stand, a man who he definitely does not have a crush on.

let's exchange the experience by lostin_space

Michael decides they need to quarantine.

Michael floods Alex with love and care over and over and over.

This Is Hardcore by Anonymous

Michael makes a proposal. Alex accepts. Michael wonders what the hell he’s gotten himself into.

i don't know what to think (but i think of supernovas) by Milzilla

michael discovers that the console can talk. then, he discovers it can do far more than that.

iridescence on skin by Lire_Casander

In a world where (almost) everyone has a tattoo on their right wrist with one set of coordinates that point to the place where their soulmate is born, Alex thought he wouldn't be any different. He couldn't be more mistaken.

He has two.

The Real Thing by elliebird

Max checks on Michael the morning after Michael saves Max’s ass from Wyatt Long and his dumbass buddies. He sees more than he’s supposed to.

Written for a Tumblr anon who one of their friends walking in on them or anyone of them finding out about Michael and Alex in an interesting way

Sundering by romancandles

“You know it was just an Air Force balloon, right?” says Alex.

Michael smirks. “That’s what they want you to think,” he says, with a wink.

The Old Guard

Peer Reviewed by ishandahalf

[From:] Journal of Medieval Studies ([email protected])

[Subject:] Ad-hoc note from the editor

I have noticed an uncommon level of animosity in your responses to your reviewers (or rather, one reviewer in particular). I am writing to ask if you would please do your best to keep your interactions civil. In fairness, I have also sent a similar request to the reviewer you seem to have this friction with. I trust you will both try and remain more professional in the future.

Again, thank you for submitting your work to this journal.

Sincerely,

James Copley, PhD

Editor-in-Chief

Journal of Medieval Studies

An (accidental) academic epistolary romance as (inadvertently) documented via a (theoretically) rigorously blinded peer review process.[citation needed]

third for a word and the song keeps going Macremae

It was honestly shaping up to be a pretty uneventful year before the Vatican got on Nicky’s bad side.

Or: three times in 2008 that the team genuinely thought about killing Nicky if only to get him to shut up about the changes to the Catholic English Mass and his unrelenting opinions on them, and one time Nile did.

Apex Predators In Island Ecosystems (Freeman et al., in press) by Sixthlight

Palaeobotany PhD student Nile Freeman and her supervisor Joe al-Kaysani are invited to billionaire Stephen Merrick’s new project – a theme park full of cloned dinosaurs. What could possibly go wrong?

This Rough Magic by Marivan

When Joe came to Scotland to study the sea, he did not expect to also encounter a beautiful man claiming that A. he’s a selkie and B. they’re married because Joe picked up his scarf.

It sounds like a fairy tale and that’s a problem. Because Joe’s a scientist. And selkies don’t exist.

Wars for the broken by Yuliares

Five years into his exile, Booker is joined by a companion he never expected to meet. Together, they try to work on healing.

Sometimes they go down to the sewers just so she can scream and scream. “I like to hear it echo,” she explains. “Underwater, you can’t hear anything. Here, at least I can be heard.”

“I don’t feel like a warrior anymore,” she tells him, throwing bread crumbs at pigeons. “I feel broken.”

“You’re still a warrior,” he says roughly. “This is still fighting.”

a good (eighth) impression by deanniker

Over the next few months, Joe runs into Nicky every so often at the farmer’s market. Some weekends Nicky doesn’t make it, because of his work schedule - Joe doesn’t understand it because he doesn’t ask, though he does start to recognize when one of those missing weekends is coming up because Nicky will stock up on things with longer shelf-life. When they do run into each other, they make small talk and move through the stalls together.

Joe doesn’t mention it to Lykon when he stops by, because it is kind of weird, that Lykon’s ex-boyfriend texts Joe things like - If you’re here, the apples look particularly good this week and thank you for that recipe, I did not know what I was going to do with that much couscous

Or,

Joe wouldn't usually consider starting anything with his best friend's ex, but as long as they keep it casual, it shouldn't be weird... right?

get back to where you once belonged by tenderjock

Nile takes a sip of her cappuccino and closes her eyes.

(Booker and Nile get that coffee. Life happens, along the way.)

a house; a home by mehm

“Is this a kidnapping?” Joe asks as Nicky checks both their seat belts. “Like, I don’t mind. It’s just not quite what I expected for my birthday.”

In which Joe gets a birthday surprise, because that’s the stuff you have time for when you and the love of your life become mortal at the same time.

the ties that bind by damaskrose

“There’s a story I heard many times,” Andy begins, “in the Mediterranean. Threads of fate and three sisters. One to spin, one to measure, and one to cut.”

Clutter And Croutons by flawedamythyst

Joe and Nicky have an argument, and then Nicky talks to Nile about what it really means to be in a relationship for 900 years.

Inception

My Big Fat Slightly Annoying Wedding by jibrailis

Arthur and Eames elope for ~tax reasons. Certain people in their lives are not happy at the lack of a wedding.

Remember Sydney by pathera

When Eames shambles into the safe house outside of London, he finds a red light blinking on the phone.

For the inception_kink prompt:

Arthur is on a plane which is about to crash. No way anyone is going to survive. Instead of panicking he calmly calls the team's office and gets the answering machine. He hangs up before the plane crashes.

Give me Arthur's last message to the team.

(TW: Character Death / Angst)

Of Such Deceitfulness and Suavity by delires

In which emotions manifest themselves in unusual ways.

YO, K2tog (it's like a code) by lazulisong

“Oh my God,” moans Arthur. “I’ve paid less for Somnacin. Good Somnacin.” A horrible thought strikes him. “How much is the yarn --”

“I want you to have an unguarded reaction,” Eames tells him, and pulls him up from the floor.

(They run an extraction on a knitter.)

hit the ground running by orphan_account

"I travelled halfway around the world for you. I dealt with the French for you."

Valley by wldnst

It's an old story: a knight, a prince, a kingdom in peril.

If This Is Rain Let It Fall On Me and Drown Me by Brangwen

We used to be so brave, Eames thought. Of the two of them, Arthur had always been the more fearless.

a gentle familiarity by jollypuppet

Two weeks later, Eames is on his doorstep with bad Italian takeout and a grin, and Arthur tells him he can sleep on the couch.

Your Crisis Cannot Be Completed As Dialed by sevenimpossiblethings

Arthur doesn't do snow, Ariadne is determined to be as Midwestern as possible, and blizzards make cell phone service unreliable.

Let’s Say I Do (I Do) by xsilverdreamsx

There were, perhaps some things worse that this, Arthur thinks, as he glares at the letter in his hand with his name printed clearly in bold ink, indicating his presence in two weeks for his esteemed marriage to one William H. Eames, III, at St. Catherine's Church in London, England.

Star Trek (predominantly Kirk/McCoy)

Show the World That Something Good Can Work by knune

Leonard McCoy is a doctor, not a personal assistant, and maybe that's why he can't stand working for Jim Kirk.

It's in the little things by winterover

Bones is bemused by a persistent secret admirer.

"Wedding" Away with It by pendrogon

One morning, Bones wakes up and he's single. By the same afternoon, he's married to Jim Kirk for Arbitrary Fic Reasons(TM).

How Long Will You Stay (For Your Whole Life) by withthepilot

Jim Kirk, deputy director of the Enterprise parks and recreation department, sees all of his hard work fall to pieces when budget specialist Leonard McCoy arrives from the state capital to cut Jim's budget and threaten the livelihoods of his colleagues. But thanks to a major parks project, Leonard finds a place in the department, as well as in Jim's life—and when all is said and done, Jim doesn't want him to leave.

All-Time Favorite by mardia

What to do when your best friend suddenly starts making new friends.

Joy Ride by Cards_Slash

While running for their lives from an alien species Kirk had accidentally enraged, they come across a car. And well, if you were to come across a car while being chased by aliens that wanted you dead, and you possessed some lingering knowledge of how to drive a car similar to said car, you would have decided to drive it toward the nearest cliff too.

Also a gunfight.

Syncytia by epistolic

He’d signed up for Starfleet on an impulse, but Starfleet meant James Tiberius Kirk: the first – and second, and third, and fourth – big mistake of Leonard McCoy’s life.

Renovation by canistakahari

Jim has a whammy put on him by an alien death ray and he suddenly craves domesticity. He's crazy with longing to shop at space!Ikea and get potted bamboo and he starts looking into adopting AND HE HATES HIMSELF AND CANNOT CONTROL THE SHIT. Luckily, McCoy is drunk all the time and plays house.

17:08 by butterflycell

She'd watched the news holos with a sick feeling, searching for information that was completely obvious in its absence. Amidst the reports of the the Enterprise's miraculous recovery and the damages sustained, there had been next to nothing about the crew or her captain. Jim had been mentioned only in passing, his name shied away from as his first officer limited interaction to the bare essentials.

The Honey of Hybla by shrift

"Bones, prepare to be my date."

#recs #fic recs #recs project #star trek recs #inception recs #the raven cycle recs #the old guard recs #roswell new mexico recs

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honourablejester · 4 years ago

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Celtic Pantheon/Campaigns (5e D&D)(Long Post)

Okay, so I’m just going to get this out there, because every time I glance at the Celtic Pantheon in the PHB I do giggle a bit. Mind you, it’s not anyone’s fault, but a couple of centuries of academics bundling stuff together under ‘Celtic’ has mightily confused just about everything, and it really shows here.

(Note: I have no academic qualifications regarding Celtic mythology/history/folklore whatsoever, I’m just Irish and grew up with a lot of the Irish myths and legends as a kid. This also means I know very little about the Welsh and other Celtic myths, just to say that in advance. This is all just what I’m familiar with from growing up and a little bit of research, and might have errors)

This post is also brought to you by my idly scanning lfg posts for Celtic campaigns and seeing a lot of historically inspired Celts-vs-Romans campaigns which is … doubly funny to me if they’re using the PHB pantheon list. This is because, as you’ll see in a minute, the majority of the PHB list uses the Irish gods and we … didn’t have those. Romans. We didn’t have them. So. Heh.

(We had Roman traders, especially around the Waterford area, it’s a relatively quick hop over from Wales/Cornwall, and we have evidence of Roman … tourists, probably? There are Roman offerings at various Irish prehistoric religious sites, in the Midlands especially. So we did have Romans, in the sense of we met them, but we didn’t have Romans, in the sense of invasion by the Roman Empire)

So. The thing about the PHB ‘pantheon’. It’s kind of borrowing gods from several different Celtic pantheons. ‘Celtic’ covers a lot of distinct regional cultures that are believed (I think for primarily linguistic and archaeological reasons) to be descended from an original proto-Celtic culture. For extra fun, there aren’t many primary historical sources for most of them, as in Celts writing about themselves and their faiths. Most of the texts we have are either medieval Christian (a lot of the Irish and Welsh) or Roman (a lot of the Gaulish, Iberian, Germanic, Brythonic), so there’s a lot of cross-cultural influence and interpretation muddling it up in there before you ever get to celtic-vs-celtic.

So they’re all Celtic, but they’re all very distinct in terms of stories, culture and the attributes of their gods. There are some gods that were broadly shared under similar names between various of the regional pantheons (Lugh and Brigantia are two examples), although they could be very different in portrayal between, say, the Irish and Gaulish stories. (Where the PHB uses one of these, I’m going with what name they’re using for guidance)

(The various attributes given to them by the PHB are a different muddle of influences again, with I think a lot of it being straight D&D invention, but that’s its own story)

So, to have a look at the D&D breakdown:

5e PHB Celtic Pantheon

Arawn (Welsh)

Belenus (Gaulish/Romano-British)

Brigantia (Gaulish/Romano-British)

Diancecht (Irish)

Dunatis (???)(Can’t find or remember this guy at all. Only thing I’ve got is that the Irish for ‘fort’ is ‘dún’, so maybe Irish?)

Goibhniu (Irish)

Lugh (Irish)

Manannan Mac Lir (Irish)

Math Mathonwy (Welsh)

Morrigan (Irish)

Nuada (Irish)

Oghma (Irish)

Silvanus (???)(Don’t know at all. I’m going to guess continental because I think ‘silva’ is the latin for ‘forest’, hence ‘Transylvania’ or ‘Beyond the Forest’, so the dude has a latin name)(… looking this up, he’s actually straight-up a Roman god, okay then)

The Daghdha (Irish)(I usually see it spelled ‘Dagda’, mind)

This all shakes out as follows:

Irish: Daghdha, Diancecht, Goibhniu, Lugh, Manannan, Morrigan, Nuada, Oghma

Not Sure/Maybe Irish?: Dunatis

Welsh: Arawn, Math Mathonwy

Gaulish/Romano-British: Belenus, Brigantia

Straight Roman: Silvanus

So that’s more than half the list being figures from Irish mythology. And that … there’s nothing wrong with using them for an Asterix-and-Obelix Romans-vs-Celts sort of campaign. I mean, it’s your own private fantasy game, not a history lesson. Go nuts! It just … reads oddly to me. Heh. Historically speaking, very few people with Irish names calling on Irish gods would have had much cause to fight Romans. Not on any large scale, anyway.

Campaign Inspirations:

I’m going to just say, though. If you want a more historical and/or mythological feeling Celtic campaign. You have a couple of options. I’d say the easiest thing is to just look up the specific pantheons and cherry-pick your gods from there (there’s a handy Wikipedia list here)

If you want continental Romans vs Celts a-la Asterix and Obelix, use the Gaulish/Brythonic list.

If you want Romans vs Celts more along the lines of various modern interpretations of King Arthur, use the Gaulish/Brythonic and/or Pictish lists.

If you want Celtic more along the lines of full Arthurian, Excalibur, BBC Merlin, ‘dragons, druids, knights and romance’, a lot of actual Arthurian legend used Welsh myths as a base, so it’s a nice start, then throw some Brythonic on top (particularly if you want to do an 80s Robin Hood on it and throw in Cernunnos/Herne the Hunter in). If your setting is more of a fully mixed ‘Medieval England’ sort of setting, Robin Hood, King Arthur, etc, you can mix and match a whole bunch of folklore and mythology of various sources, Welsh, Roman, Norse, etc. (Alan Garner is a fantasy author who does this very well, if you want a high-fantasy example)

And if you want Celtic as in Irish myth to match the names …

If you’re going relatively low-fantasy for a more historical feel, use the Irish pantheon, and the sources you want to inspire the setting would be the Cattle Raid of Cooley and the Fenian Cycle/stories of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and the Fianna. The Five Kingdoms of Ireland (Ulster, Connacht, Leinster, Munster and Meath, with the High King sitting at Tara in Meath) makes a pretty good setting.

If you’re going more high fantasy, like the Arthurian example, use the Irish pantheon, and you want the Book of Invasions and the Battle of Magh Tuireadh as inspiration. Setting elements you can have here are the Five Kingdoms of Ireland, the Four Cities that the Treasures of Ireland came from, Tir na nOg, and the Otherworld. (Note on the four cities and their treasures: they were each guarded by a legendary bard (poet/scholar/mage), so you could go classic archmage wizard or you could throw in some high level NPC bards for fun)

There’s some very cool magic items in Irish myth too, like the aforementioned four treasures, the magic pigskin (waterskin) Lugh had the sons of Tuireann quest for (heals all wounds, but charges of various healing spells per day would probably work), the sword Fragarach (I think other D&D editions had a version, but I’m particularly interested in its sword of truth aspect that forces anyone threatened by it to tell the truth), Cuchulainn’s Gae Bolg spear, aka Belly Spear (which is made from a bone of a sea monster and is nasty – it basically grows barbs/spines once it’s in someone’s body), and basically every item ever owned/gifted by Manannan Mac Lir, who is basically the Irish god of giving away cool magic items (as well as sea god, trickster god, elder god, and the god often in charge of starting quests). If you need a quest-starter god or a god to litter magic items around your world, Manannan Mac Lir is your dude.

If you want a fantasy author that I quite like who does great loosely-based-on-Irish-myth high fantasy, I would say Michael Scott, particularly (from my reading) the De Danaan tales and Tales of the Bard. I also grew up reading Cormac Mac Raois’ Giltspur trilogy, which is an awesome kid’s portal fantasy involving some Wicklow kids winding up in Tir na nOg and fighting the forces of the Morrigan, but that’s pretty much impossible to get outside Ireland, I think.

And I promise I’m not only saying this because I personally feel like a low-fantasy ‘historical’ campaign is about the least interesting thing you could do with any of the Celtic pantheons. Honest.

#d&d #dnd #5e #celtic mythology #irish mythology #history #inspirations #fantasy

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theradioghost · 5 years ago

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Can you talk more about the history of the language and storytelling techniques/conventions of audio dramas? That's an incredibly intriguing concept but I wouldn't have the first idea where to look for more info about it. It reminds me a lot of the idea of video game literacy and how a lot of games aren't accessible to people who are brand new to video games because there are so many established conventions that aren't explained to new players

It has taken me nearly a month to reply to this, which I know is in reply to this post, and I am sorry for that! But also, yes!!!!! Hell yes, yes, I see exactly what you mean about the video game stuff.

Unfortunately I think there’s not much out there already written about the developing conventions of the new wave of audio drama. In large part, I think, because coverage of new audio fiction from outside the community has been so notoriously poor. But maybe also partly because there seems to be a strangely negative take on classic radio drama from a lot of the US sector within that community? Which I think really comes down to exactly the things I was talking about -- Old radio drama feels wrong to a lot of people now, because its storytelling language just doesn’t exist in our culture the way it once did; and even fewer people are familiar with late-20th-century American audio fiction like ZBS that might feel more comfortable or closer to other present-day mass media storytelling techniques. I see it claimed sometimes that there’s something inherently unsophisticated about old time radio storytelling, which is just flat out untrue, and I would highly encourage anyone who’s wondering to check out something like the “Home Surgery” episode of Gunsmoke or “The Thing on the Fourble Board” from Quiet, Please to see just how effective and well-done a lot of those old shows were.

(Leaving the UK out of this, because audio fiction stayed way more prominent there and I do not think the same problems exist, and leaving everywhere else out because unfortunately I just don’t know enough about how the medium fared elsewhere, or how it’s doing now. Alas.)

I’ve been thinking lately about parallels to this in other media that I have been able to study and read other people’s writing on, and I think a good comparison is possibly novels? The western “novel” as we think of it is really something that didn’t exist at all until about the 18th century (there are earlier works that have been kind of retroactively labeled ‘novels,’ some of them centuries earlier, but even if they have the characteristics of what we now call a novel, they’re very much disconnected from the evolution of the novel as something we have a name and a definition for). There are no novels from the medieval period, from the Renaissance. There are books as long as novels, but they’re not novels.

The thing is, when you read 18th and even 19th century novels, it shows, because the techniques for telling a story in that form hadn’t been really figured out yet. What you get is a lot of meandering, episodic doorstoppers, some of which have hundreds of pages before the main characters even enter the picture. A lot of writers at the time, and into the 19th century, actually hated the whole concept of novels. I think it’s a bit like going back and watching Monsters, Inc. and then watching Monsters University. The first one was revolutionary, yeah, and it’s a good movie still, but it’s not hard to see the visual difference between the two just in terms of the tools that the people making them had available to them. Before you can write a story or animate hundreds of thousands of individual hairs on one character, you have to figure out how.

One of the big, obvious things about novels from that period, though, is that many of them are first-person, and many are epistolary. It’s hard to find one that isn’t supposedly a memoir or a journal or a set of letters. The third-person perspective in long-form prose was something that had to be figured out; it didn’t just exist in the void, automatically summoned into existence the moment we started writing novels, which I think is really fascinating. There’s a lot of work in those early novels that’s being put into explaining why, and how, and to whom the story is being told. Because otherwise, how does it make sense that the book exists? It’s not a poem, or a play; it’s not taking the form of a traditional story or myth, not attempting to be an epic. Those early novels were about contemporary, real-seeming people, so the writers and audiences wanted an explanation for how the story had been recorded that relied on other existing forms of writing -- letters, journals, memoirs, sometimes claiming to be older texts that had been “found” (gothic novelists seemed to like this one). Sometimes the narrative voice is just the author using first person to actively tell you the story. They hadn’t yet bought into the presumption that we take for granted now, that a novel can have a voice that knows everything, without being the voice of any character in it.

And I think that it’s fascinating how similar that is to the heavy use of recording media as frame narrative in modern audio drama. It’s worth noting: classic radio drama doesn’t do this like we do now. By far, the standard for OTR is the same as the third-person omniscient perspective, the film camera; the storytelling presumes that you’re not going to need an explanation for how you’re hearing this. The audiences those shows were made for were used to fiction told solely in audio, in a way that a lot of modern audiences are not, and so that narrative leap of faith was kind of inherently presumed.

There’s also a way more common use of omniscient or internal narration in old radio drama that I feel like I mostly see now only in shows that are deliberately calling back to old styles and genres. A good example is The Penumbra; we hear Juno’s internal thoughts, just like so many of the noir-style detectives from the 40s and 50s I grew up listening to, and we never really ask why or how. (Except, of course, when the show pokes fun at this affectation, which I think really only works because it feels more like lampshading the stock character tropes of noir, as opposed to the actual audio storytelling technique it facilitates.) To take it further, there are some old radio shows like the sitcom Our Miss Brooks which go so far as to use an actual omniscient narrator to facilitate a lot of the scene transitions, but do so in a much more confident and comfortable way than modern shows like Bubble, where the narration reeks of “we’re making this audio drama in the hopes we can finally make the TV show, and we actually hate this medium and don’t know how to work in it, so rather than learning how to make what’s happening clear with just audio, we’re going to tell you what’s happening and then reference that we’re just telling you what’s happening.”

Bubble’s narration doesn’t work, because it’s actively pushing against the show, telling you things that sound design could have told you just as easily, sometimes actively acknowledging that the narration feels wrong instead of just not using narration. Our Miss Brooks is admittedly not one of my favorite old radio shows, but its use of narration is much smoother, because it’s written with a confidence that it’s only being used to clarify the the things that would be the absolute hardest to show with audio alone; confidence that they know how to tell everything else with sound. Internal narration from the likes of Juno Steel or Jack St. James or my favorite classic detective Johnny Dollar works because noir as a genre is inherently tied to the expressionist movement, where the (highly idiosyncratic) personality and worldview of the characters literally shapes how the world around them appears to the audience; it works to hear their thoughts, because we’re seeing the world through their eyes. We don’t have to know how they’re saying this to us, they just are.

None of which is at all to say that there’s anything inherently wrong with using framing devices! Actually the opposite, kind of. First of all, because I genuinely do think that it’s a sign that we are actively, at this moment learning how to tell these stories, and how to listen to them, which is just so, so exciting I don’t even have words to express it. And secondly, because as a person who loves thinking about stories and storytelling enough to write this kind of ridiculous essay, I am obsessed with metafiction. I’m a sucker for the likes of Archive 81, The Magnus Archives, Welcome to Night Vale, Station to Station, Greater Boston, Within the Wires. They’re stories that take the questions that framing devices are used to answer for writers and audiences who don’t feel comfortable not asking them -- Why is this story being told? Who is telling it? Who is it being told to? -- and use those questions to the full advantage of the story, exploring character, creating beautifully effective horror, creating a bond with the listener. (Hell, one of the admittedly many things that Midnight Radio was about for me was exploring how much value and comfort I have found in listening to stories that acknowledged I was listening to them.) I think, though, that not all stories necessarily are their best selves when they feel like they have to address those questions, and as fiction podcasts become a bit more mainstream I’m really hoping that writers will feel more comfortable in trusting the audience to suspend that disbelief, and that audiences will feel more comfortable doing it, and that framing devices will be less unjustly maligned.

Of course, all of that is focused on writing techniques, and I think that’s because I’m a writer who has studied writing! I know very little concretely about the part of audio storytelling that relies on sound design, so while I have a definite feeling that classic and modern audio fiction is using different sound design languages, or that the audio language of British audio drama (where there’s much more continuity in the history of the medium) is different from audio fiction from elsewhere, that’s a lot harder for me to put into words like this. It’s something I would desperately love to see explored by someone who did know that field intimately, though.

#there also ARE books out there about (mainly classic) audio fiction and I really need to read some of them #anyway! here's today's ridiculous ramble about The Medium #hope this was maybe enjoyable and/or interesting rather than just self indulgent lmao #stories and media tag #geekeryisafoot #asks #my posts

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laurelnose · 5 years ago

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the Library at Kaer Morhen

Full disclosure: I am a student of library and information science, not a historian of anything, but I do know a little bit about historical libraries and the general scope of information collection and organizational work, so! here is a brief summary of what might have been in Kaer Morhen’s library, how the library functioned, and what is left of the library as of show timeline.

The closest analogs to Kaer Morhen’s library would have been monastic libraries of medieval Europe and to some extent later medieval university libraries (which existed a little later in history than the years Kaer Morhen was active). On the other hand, Sapkowski likes anachronisms in his worldbuilding, so I don’t feel beholden to perfect historical accuracy on that front and you shouldn’t either. One big difference, for instance, is there doesn’t seem to be any shortage of paper/parchment in the Witcher world like there was in medieval Europe (especially considering the video games), so Kaer Morhen would be totally free to, for instance, keep a lot of ephemera that would never have been created in the first place/been recycled into more ‘important’ texts in an actual medieval library.

This is long, so I’m putting it below the cut.

what was in the library?

Because of the specialized focus of the School of the Wolf (Kaer Morhen’s library is what the LIS field would uncreatively call a “special collection”) most of the materials would probably have been related to the School and its goals, so primarily nonfiction, reference, and archival material.

Kaer Morhen would have two main types of materials: stuff by witchers and stuff not by witchers.

In book and game canon, non-witcher academics study monsters, as well as relevant topics such as alchemy, regular biology, and magic. Subjects like history would also probably mostly be drawn from outside the keep. Witchers might have picked these up in the course of their travels and donated them to the library or have been sent out specifically to retrieve desired volumes. The mages would likely have been able to portal in and out of the keep; this would have allowed the mages to collect texts as well (they may also have potentially had access to mage-only sources for books and materials such as other mages and the mage schools; YMMV on how willing these sources might have been to share with Kaer Morhen’s mages).

Regarding stuff-by-witchers, most of it would have been created by Wolf School witchers and affiliated mages (who I will consider honorary witchers for this purpose). Some of these materials might also have created by witchers from other schools—Kaer Morhen might have traded with other schools for materials, or non-Wolf witchers who needed to shelter at Kaer Morhen might have left materials there. Witcher-created materials might have included some or all of the following:

armor and sword diagrams

treatises and bestiaries by witchers

witchers’ personal/field journals

case/hunt reports

witcher-only alchemy recipes/alchemical research notes

mages’ research notes

important correspondence

saved contract notices

inventory and supply records (this is what the first-ever historical libraries were created to organize!)

personnel records (It’s W3 canon that records were kept of the boys who didn’t survive the Trial of the Grasses; likely similar records were kept of graduating/active witchers and their deaths.)

The collection itself probably wasn’t that big. Literacy in the Witcher seems somewhat more widespread than it was in actual medieval Europe, but for reference, in 1331 one of the largest libraries in Europe had only 1,850 books in its collection, whereas the second-largest public library system in America today keeps an average of 570 thousand books per location. If Kaer Morhen was keeping ephemera like saved contract notices the total number of individual items would probably have been a lot higher, but by modern standards it would have been pretty a small collection overall.

It also might not have all lived in one place. Smaller collections likely existed in other pockets of the keep: the mages’ tower probably had the bulk of the resources on magic and research on mutagens, for instance, and alchemy texts might have lived in the mutagen/potion labs for ease of access. Individual witchers keeping stashes at Kaer Morhen might also have had small private collections.

Fictional/artistic materials such as novels or poetry are unlikely to have been a priority of whoever was in charge of acquisitions for the library. If Kaer Morhen had any, they were likely brought to the keep by witchers who personally fancied particular volumes and gave them to the library, or they existed mostly in private collections. Plausibly some witchers might have spent winters writing poetry and such.

If there was written erotica floating around Kaer Morhen, I would guess most of it existed primarily in witchers’ private collections rather than officially cataloged or kept in the main library. This would make it much more difficult for trainees to sneak around and steal trashy romances, but stealing from specific witchers is also arguably funnier, so do with this what you will.

how did the library work?

There was absolutely at least one person dedicated to the upkeep and maintenance of the collection. More reasonably the head librarian would have had at least one or two assistants (possibly full-time, possibly on-and-off), depending on how dedicated you think Kaer Morhen was to saving and cataloging stuff. Fewer people are needed to keep a collection in order if people aren’t regularly wandering off with stuff. (Fun fact: the librarian of a monastic library was called an armarius or armarian.)

Tasks the librarian and assistants would take care of would include:

helping people find things

repairing, restoring, or copying materials that needed it

acquisitions (requires knowing what gaps of knowledge exist in the collection and figuring out what books to fill them with)

cataloging and keeping inventory (elaborated on further below)

checking out books and tracking where loaned books were

Speaking of checking books out: we have very little information about how specific lending policies worked in medieval libraries, but monastic libraries did lend things out to other monasteries and to individuals. However, witchers probably very rarely wanted to take books out of the keep with them, since books are a pain to carry around all year. Monastery libraries sometimes had written contracts for taking books out, which might have been the case for witchers who just wanted to have books out around the keep. There’s no evidence of card catalogs in medieval libraries but it wouldn’t be implausible for the library to have used something similar to keep track of checkouts if there was paper available. It is unlikely that Kaer Morhen would have enforced a certain time period for check-outs, especially if books remained in the keep; when everyone knows everyone, that becomes sort of unnecessary.

The actual organization of the library would have been…messy, by modern standards. Medieval catalogs were simple lists of items, featuring the title and author, or if neither existed, the first couple of lines of the first page, and perhaps a call number or shelf. They also often described the physical appearance of the book in detail. These lists would have been roughly sorted by either subject or by the physical shelf and shelving order of the items (or both). Some catalogs were sorted by the donor of the items, but this seems unlikely for Kaer Morhen. Sorting by surname or author seems to have been basically nonexistent.

The main purpose of a catalog was to do inventory (usually done at least once a year—probably a spring task at Kaer Morhen, after cataloging any new stuff witchers brought in over the winter), not to locate items.

Materials that existed in smaller collections (if the mages or alchemy labs had their own places to store books) might have been in the catalogs of the main library with notes that they were shelved in other buildings, or they might have had their own catalogs kept up by the people who used those resources most frequently.

When it came to actually finding stuff, the catalog would have been very difficult for people to navigate and someone looking for something specific would have just asked the librarian (or if they were a huge nerd, just been familiar enough with the collection to know where it was and cut out the middleman). Call numbers for books did exist in medieval libraries, but they varied wildly from library to library. Kaer Morhen might also have put numbers on the sides of its bookshelves to help find things, as was done in Roman libraries. (As an aside, it was common for medieval books to be color-coded for subject: red for theology, black for law, green for medicine, etc., which is not really true of books in the video game but would have helped with locating items.)

Notably, Kaer Seren, the Griffin keep, was destroyed by mages for refusing to share its library (presumably the most extensive of any of the witcher libraries); that doesn’t mean Kaer Seren and Kaer Morhen didn’t share materials with each other or the other witcher keeps, but it means outsiders likely were not allowed access to any of the witcher libraries, either directly or indirectly.

what is the library probably like as of the show timeline?

When Kaer Morhen was sacked and the secrets of the Trials were lost, that assault in all likelihood included systematic destruction of most of the library collection.

TW3 shows Ciri has access to bestiaries during her childhood, so either a few things survived in various corners of the keep, the witchers have still been acquiring and bringing back volumes to Kaer Morhen during their travels despite the dissolution of the library, or after she was brought to Kaer Morhen they collected texts specifically for her.

Attempting to properly rebuild the library, even just the non-witcher texts, would be a full-time job for anyone who wanted to pick it up, especially as the catalogs would likely have been destroyed with the books. Probably none of the remaining Wolf School witchers were quite familiar enough with the library’s structure to even begin a project like that, even if they wanted to. The violent destruction of everyone in Kaer Morhen and all of Kaer Morhen’s history would also be an enormous source of pain, so my suspicion is, while they may have a few books that they used for Ciri’s education, none of them have touched the library itself or desire to. Unfortunately? The library is, most likely, currently a room full of ashes.

#the witcher #fic reference #kaer morhen #the library at kaer morhen

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jesterkoops · 6 years ago

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PROBABILITY DISTORTION - Or why Jaime Lannister is less likely to die than you think (part 3)

Once the narrative arcs and foreshadowing analysis pokes enough holes in the “inevitable death” prediction, the arguments to support it usually tend to turn to non-text-based points such as writing style and tropes. Most of these arguments generally revolve around the idea that GRRM is evil and kills characters off to traumatize his readers, and that Jaime’s story is a redemption arc and therefore will end in a redemptive death like all redemption arcs do. These arguments, however, do not really hold much water once you take into account that GRRM actually isn’t the sadist people like to think he is (including sometimes George himself, because it makes for good PR), and that one thing this series prides itself on is trope and expectations subversion.

GRRM is a realist, not a sadist

“If you think this has a happy ending, you haven’t been paying attention.”

Of all the quotes that have come out of the show, this, right here, is the one I have come to hate the most. Not only because it is often irritatingly used as an empty argument against anything that suggests a non-tragic ending for a character (especially one like Jaime), but it’s thrown around as if it’s the most representative of ASOIAF/GoT ever. In part, I get why. It’s catchy, and the series has broken a lot of boundaries by actually killing people off, putting them through terrible ordeals, maiming and traumatising some for life. It gained its notoriety for killing off the perceived main character of the story at very beginning, and for the shocking bloodbath of “good guys” that was the Red Wedding. But I feel there’s a tendency, amongst fans and journalists alike, to exaggerate how gloomy and sadistic the story/GRRM really is, relative to the context it is set in (medieval war time).

GRRM often explained the reason why he kills characters off as fundamentally being down to two reasons: wanting to depict war realistically and annoyance at stories where the heroes are untouchable and survive, unscathed, any situation (which ties into the topic of trope subversion, too - more on this later).

“You can’t write about war and violence without having death. If you want to be honest it should affect your main characters. We’ve all read this story a million times when a bunch of heroes set out on adventure and [...] the only ones who die are extras. That’s such a cheat. It doesn’t happen that way.” (GRRM)

GRRM is a realist, not a sadist. And I would argue he’s not as bloodthirsty as people perceive him to be, when it comes to main characters. If you think about it, only *two* POV characters have been killed off so far: Ned and Cat. Jon, the other main POV to be killed off in the books, we know will be resurrected thanks to the show. And just as GRRM inserts POVs for a reason (when he needs that new perspective, or when a character’s story needs to be told), there’s a similar reason in his killing too. It usually comes when the characters have fulfilled their purpose in the story, or if their death is a plot point for someone else’s. In Ned and Cat’s case, they die after falling into Littlefinger’s scheme that pits Lannisters against the Starks, kicking off the War of the Five Kings. Ned’s purpose was to discover the true paternity of Robert’s children and Cat dies after tasking Brienne to bring Jaime to King’s Landing in return for her daughters (which sets off a massive domino effect of plotlines). They also both needed to die in order to break down centralized parenthood in the Stark family so that the Stark children could go their separate ways and have their own stories and development.

While POV and non-POV deaths alike can be shocking and/or heartbreaking, they aren’t thrown in there just to fill some death or shock quota for no other rhyme nor reason. This is not The Walking Dead. And “realism” also means a ton of other options that have nothing to do with death. It’s not just an issue of “death vs. survival”, to post another excerpt from the quote above:

“They go into battle and their best friend dies or they get horribly wounded. They lose their leg or death comes at them unexpectedly.”

Having a loved one die, or horrible injuries are also part of realism for GRRM, not just death. Does that “lose their leg” sound familiar? Thought so. So saying that Jaime (or any character) will most likely get killed anyway because GRRM is a sadist is not only a weak argument, but a big misrepresentation of GRRM’s writing style. Jaime, who has already added his contribution to the “realism” jar by losing his hand, might die if and when he has fulfilled his purpose in the story, but not because “GRRM is a jerk”.

Subversions

Perhaps a stronger case for Jaime’s survival odds is the fact that, if there is one thing this series loves to do, it’s subverting tropes and expectations, and, alongside Ned’s death and the Red Wedding, Jaime is perhaps one of the most famous examples of how this story does character trope subversion so well.

Right out of the gate, it wants us to hate him, because he’s arrogant, ruthless and incestuous, he betrayed and murdered the King he was sworn to protect and he pushed a child out of a window. From book/season 3 onwards, that initial perception is slowly challenged and eventually subverted, especially throughout his journey with Brienne and with the revelation of why he killed the Mad King, but also in how he takes risks to protect Tyrion and Sansa from his own family. In the show this is particularly fun, because once you go back to earlier seasons, you notice several subtle moments of writing and acting where the seeds of these revelations were already being planted. While I understand he is not everyone’s cup of tea and some hate him just as much as day one, I think that we can all agree at least that this is what the story is aiming to do, even if not all readers/viewers embrace it. And that’s the most important thing when making a point about authorial intent.

I already mentioned when discussing narrative arcs, that the difference between the classic redemptive character trope and Jaime is that, in Jaime’s case, the story is exploring the process of redemption, rather than seeing redemption as the last minute goal, and how that makes a classic redemptive death less likely. But there is another difference with the traditional trope that makes Jaime not only subvert expectations but, partly, also subvert the redemption trope itself. And that is that many (not all, but many) of the things we are initially supposed to hate Jaime for, actually turn to be misconceptions or prejudices from other characters’ perspective (a huge point of having a POV structure). While Jaime undoubtedly goes through a transformation through the story, for many things it is our initial perception of Jaime is meant to change, not Jaime, the character (again, POV structure!). Looking at Jaime as the trope of the “bad man who is turned good by the good woman” (i.e. Brienne) is a complete misread of the character. Brienne exists to reawaken what Jaime used to be like in his past/can potentially still be, not to transform him into something else (it is Beauty and the Beast they are based on, after all - the beast used to be a prince, and gets turned back into that prince). Therefore applying the outcome of the traditional tropes to Jaime (i.e. a redemptive death) makes little sense when Jaime is meant to be a subversion of that trope to begin with, if not even a different type of character altogether.

Another trope worth considering is the “all the bad guys will die” trope.

Not only this view fails to acknowledge that most characters and families in this series (and its extended universe - see the Targaryen as portrayed in Dunk & Egg) aren’t 100% “good” or 100% “bad”, they sit on a spectrum, but even if you wanted to see a specific character or family as “evil”, that doesn’t necessarily mean they will die or go extinct. We can go back to his quotes about why he kills off characters to see how “bad guys will die” is also a trope he might be interested in subverting.

“It’s really irritating when you open a book, and 10 pages into it you know that the hero you met on page one or two is gonna come through unscathed, because he’s the hero. This is completely unreal, and I don’t like it.” (GRRM)

This quote above can be looked at in reverse too: just as it is annoying to open a book and know 10 pages in that the hero will survive (and GRRM subverted that trope with Ned), it is annoying to know 10 pages in that the villain will die (and Ned’s villain counterpart in book one is Jaime), or that the family that is perceived as the “evil family” (i.e. the Lannisters) will go extinct in the end (let alone if it’s with the exception of the “good” Lannister, Tyrion, playing right into the trope of both “good vs bad” guys and “good vs bad families”, since the only Lannister allowed to survive is the “good” one).

So even if one doesn’t want to buy into Jaime’s redemption and trope subversion, and wants to hold onto the book/season one interpretation that he’s an awful human being, if the author(s) intend for Jaime to be a subversion of the redemption death trope, or to subvert the “all bad guys must die” trope (or both), then his odds of death or survival are not really influenced by whether the audience agrees with that or not.

GRRM is both a gardener AND an architect

As I wrap up my 3-parter, one final aspect of GRRM’s style is important to note, because it ties it all together.

GRRM says he is a “gardener”, who likes to plant seeds and see how they grow. So one might argue that there is no guarantee that just because he set off in book one to make Jaime the subversion of the villain who must die (through redemption), he will never decide at some point that, actually, a death will be a fitting and satisfying conclusion.

However, it is important to remember that when he talks about being a gardener he means it in the sense that he finds knowing the *details* of how a story will develop to be a turn off for his inspiration and motivation, not that he does not plan anything ahead and has no idea where the story is going.

“For me, writing a book is like a long journey, and like any trip, I know the point where I start the journey and the point I wanna get to. I also know a little bit of the route, such as the main cities in which I wanna stop by, and even a few monuments I would like to visit. What I do not know is where I will eat the first night or which songs will be on the radio. I discover all that details while I am writing the book and that’s the reason why I go so slowly: because sometimes I have to go back to change certain things.” (GRRM)

While he creates the story as he goes along, he does work with the broad strokes of the endgame and the final fates of the main characters in mind:

"I know the broad strokes, and I've known the broad strokes since 1991. I know who's going to be on the Iron Throne. I know who's gonna win some of the battles, I know the major characters, who's gonna die and how they're gonna die, and who's gonna get married and all that. The major characters. Of course along the way I made up a lot of minor characters, you know, I, uhm...Did I know in 1991 how Bronn, what was gonna happen to Bronn? No, I didn't even know there'd be a guy named Bronn. [...] So a lot of the minor characters I'm still discovering along the way. But the mains-"

[question if he knows Arya's and Jon's fates]

"Tyrion, Arya, Jon, Sansa, you know, all of the Stark kids, and the major Lannisters, yeah." (GRRM)

Furthermore, he absolutely loves to drop cues, hints and foreshadowing to future events and plot twists, something that would be completely impossible for him to do if he were writing with no clear ending and direction in sight. So he sets out to make sure his story adds up and makes sense, even if it means having to give up the surprise factor, either because someone already figured it out (e.g. R+L=J):

“The fans use to come up with theories; lots of them are just speculative but some of them are in the right way. [...] They say: “Oh God, the butler did it!”, to use an example of a mystery novel. Then, you think: “I have to change the ending! The maiden would be the criminal!” To my mind that way is a disaster because [...] the books are full of clues that point to the butler doing it and help you to figure up the butler did it, but if you change the ending to point the maiden, the clues make no sense anymore; they are wrong or are lies, and I am not a liar.” (GRRM)

or because the show surpassed the books:

Though he used to worry about it getting to the end before him, he's not even about that life anymore.

“I said, to hell with that. Worrying about it isn’t going to change it one way or another. I still sit down at the typewriter, and I have to write the next scene and the next sentence … I’m just going to tell my story, and they’re telling their story and adapting my books, and we shall see.” (GRRM)

Jaime’s fate, as a “main Lannister”, is therefore already clear in GRRM’s mind and he has been seeding and foreshadowing and working towards it, even if *how* he will get there is anybody’s guess (and the show and books have already substantially diverged in that sense). It will likely not change on a whim, invalidating everything that has been written all along.

So, as we reach the end of part 3 and take all the stuff I’ve discussed in this 3-parter in consideration, I think it’s safe to conclude that: given Jaime’s arc and related foreshadowing, knowing that GRRM develops his stories sloooowly, carefully and purposefully, always with a goal in sight, going back to change things if they don’t fit or contradict, relying heavily on the concept of butterfly effect across arcs and characters, and with a penchant for trope subversion sprinkled on top, you can see why I feel that the odds of Jaime’s death in the fandom and general audience are HIGHLY overinflated, and mostly due to selectively attending to one or two pieces of evidence, without considering how they fit in the overall picture. While this is still no guarantee he’ll definitely survive, I’d argue that a likelihood of survival follows from the material (and general writing style) more than death.

Now, if you’ve made it this far without falling asleep, congratulations! I’ve addressed pretty much everything I wanted to address to estimate Jaime’s survival odds from a relatively non-speculative angle, using the current material and quotes available, rather than theorizing too much about what I think are likely future developments for his story. I tend to dislike when people use events that have not yet happened and may never happen (looking at you, valonqarists), to make a case for their arguments, so I refrained from doing it as I don’t really think it’s helpful or even necessary to make my case. BUT, if you’re interested in taking a wild leap into theory-land and how that may further affect his survival odds, I’ll be posting a more speculative part 4 hopefully soon (which will be heavily Jaime/Brienne friendly - you’ve been warned).

#jaime lannister #jaime lannister meta #game of thrones meta #asoiaf meta #asoiaf #game of thrones #my meta #essay

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qqueenofhades · 6 years ago

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The Punisher as Medieval Romance: Tropes, Themes, and Characters

So a few days ago, an anon asked about more mythologies/inspirations for Kastle, apart from Hades/Persephone, and I mentioned that Frank’s character and his overall story arc have substantial (and fascinating) parallels with medieval romances. I was just answering quickly, but I then started to think about it in more depth, and realized that in fact, damn near all of The Punisher can be read as a modern-day medieval romance, sometimes subverting long-established tropes and sometimes playing them almost straight. This extends into Daredevil canon as well, as the characters around Frank also fit into recognizable mythic-medieval roles, and… yes. I resisted writing a long and research-heavy meta, clearly what I needed to do on the last week of term, for oh, forty-eight hours. Then, well, we know how that goes.

A note that I work specifically on medieval history, rather than medieval literature, so if I say anything clangingly bad, I hope my brethren and sistren medievalists can forgive me for it. Also, I don’t know if any of this is intentional on the part of the writers, so it’s not like I am identifying anything they’re specifically doing (or if they are, I don’t know about it), but this is just me, as a nerd, wandering into the candy store and being like “OH HEY GUYS LOOK AT THIS.” Of course, not all the examples fit in every aspect between medieval romance and modern Marvel canon, but there are still enough of them in a number of ways to make this interpretation plausible. And indeed, considering how Marvel stories have become ubiquitously embedded in our popular lexicon almost exactly in the way Arthurian legends and stories did for their medieval equivalent, it’s a noteworthy comparison.

(As you may be able to guess, this will be long.)

Let’s start with the source material. The medieval Arthurian romances are part of what is known as the Matter of Britain: the vast corpus of texts, written and rewritten across several centuries and by countless authors (usually French or English) that deals with some aspect of this mythology. Arthur, Guinevere, Lancelot, Merlin, the Knights of the Round Table, and other characters appear in various guises and playing different roles in each of these texts. They are still “themselves” on each appearance, but the interpretation and the storyline is largely up to each individual author. One may remark that this bears some similarities with the Marvel comic universe. The characters have been written and re-written in a vast array of formats from their first creation to their present modern iteration (and likewise, Hollywood is still making a King Arthur movie every other year). They have been interpreted by many authors and given different plots and re-imaginings, and are part of our collective pop-culture reference in the way that Arthurian romance and chivalric literature was in the medieval era. If Twitter had existed back then, we would have fans begging for Arthur Pendragon to be saved from Camlann the way we now have fans begging NASA to save Tony Stark. It’s a kind of cultural entertainment that you’re probably at least aware of, even if you’ve never participated in, and thus has reached similar levels of saturation. The Arthurian romances inspired endless knock-offs. We likewise have an omnipresent superhero genre. It reinvents and redefines the hero’s journey for its particular day and age on a massive scale. In some sense, we don’t even need to explain these characters or tropes, because everyone already knows who and what they are.

So… onto Frank. At first glance, he is a considerably unlikely medieval romantic hero, right? He’s rough around the edges, has (to say the least) grey morality, and is generally regarded as an outcast and a loner in his community, rather than some idealized, flawless Sir Galahad type who has never done anything wrong in his life and nobly avoids all temptation. But he’s actually a hero in the middle of his trials and tribulations and the corresponding loss (and eventual reaffirmation) of heroic identity. The broad strokes of Frank’s character arc, as seen in Daredevil season 2 and Punisher season 1, are these:

Separation from home and family;

Exile from society and the implied loss of chivalric (military) virtue;

Test of honor/contests against other knights, good and bad (Matt Murdock, Wilson Fisk, Lewis Wilson, etc);

Search for the Grail (life, restoration to honor, vengeance for his family, completion of the chivalric quest);

Partnership with worthy knights on the search (David Lieberman, Curtis Hoyle);

Resisting temptation from a knight’s wife (Sarah Lieberman);

Saving a fair maiden and having to be worthy of her love, while bound by a code of secrecy (Karen Page);

Confrontation of betrayal by an intimate/revelation of the dark side of chivalric honor (Billy Russo);

Menaced by a quasi-mythical and possibly demonic figure who must be defeated, who fights him in a parallel battle at the beginning/end of the story (Agent Orange/Rawlins);

Attempt to re-enter society and re-establish identity (end of s1, though that will be once more disrupted and complicated by s2);

All of this is, basically, the overall character arc for a medieval hero. Pretty much beat by beat. Also, while we’ve gotten used to think of ‘chivalry’ as implying a certain kind of idealized and virtuous behavior around ladies (holding doors, gentlemanly actions, whatever) that was only a small part of the overall code of chivalry – which, at its core, was an ethos about fighting, military prowess, and the display of valor through acts of war. Frank says that he loves being a soldier, and this would be a sentiment familiar to a medieval knight. Chrétien de Troyes has a line about how, essentially, only morally suspect half-men prefer peace. The soldier’s proper right, duty, and true joy in life is the practice of war, and he earns chivalry – martial renown – by doing it. It is not merely a pretty or romantic veneer on courtly behavior (though that is often how it is presented), but about war, the military, the destruction of opponents, and the very nature of being a constant soldier. To say the least, this fits Frank’s character extremely well. He is the consummate soldier who in fact needs a constant war to fight, and who has built an honorable legacy for himself (decorated Marine, Navy Cross, etc) prior to his forcible separation from society. This darker, grittier underside of chivalry, when the violence, bloodshed, and distortion of self was a constant concern, also fits very well with the tone of The Punisher.

That separation is often the keystone for a medieval hero’s journey, and functions to drive him out from the context in which he has until now been respected and earned his living. Sometimes we have an outright reason for that action, sometimes the hero just leaves Camelot and sets out on a quest, but Frank’s separation from society bears some similarity to Bisclavret, a twelfth-century werewolf romance written by a woman (Marie de France), and interesting for various reasons. (Some literature is available via Google Books.) In this case, the hero (the eponymous Bisclavret) is driven from society by the treachery of his wife, who hides his clothes so he can’t turn back from a wolf into a human and is forced to spend seven years in the forest as a beast. Of course Frank loses his wife, rather than being betrayed by her, but there’s still the connection between loss of wife – loss of home – loss of self, resulting in exile to the margins of society and transformation into a “monster.” Bisclavret never gives up his principles and identity even while forced to remain a wolf, and Frank gains a reputation as the “Punisher,” but likewise adheres to his own code of honor. He remains a knight, even if a knight-errant.

Bisclavret is rescued and brought back from the woods by an unnamed king, who sees his humanity and treats him well even as a monster (and yes, there are some definite homoerotic undertones in the fact that it’s the king’s love that restores him to himself, after his wife rejects him for his monsterhood or arguably, queerness). However, you could credibly parallel this to Frank and David Lieberman, who believes that he can help Frank and they can restore him to his former self/his good name. David of course physically helps Curtis care for Frank after his injuries in TP 1x05, and in general performs the humanizing role for the “monster.” He serves as Frank’s companion in the wilderness and believes that he is not the way the rest of society sees him (just as everyone else in Bisclavret sees him as a werewolf and has to be convinced by his good behavior that he’s really a man). Likewise, Karen recognizes early in Daredevil season 2, and never gives up in believing, that Frank still has honor. He’s (literally) not a monster to her. He has been expelled from the chivalric society in which he operated before, but he has not completely abandoned his morality.

Next, as noted, the motif of contests against other knights is essentially a central theme in all quest narratives. Frank must match his wits and skills against challengers, and be paralleled and anti-paralleled to them. One of his most obvious foils is against Matt, as they are explicitly set up as reflections and reverse images of each other. In some sense, Matt is the perfect chivalric knight, at least in DD s1/s2. His morality tends to the black and white, he always has some sense of how his faith informs or restricts his actions, and he constantly incorporates the church’s teaching into his sense of self. As Richard Kaeuper discusses in Holy Warriors: The Religious Ideology of Chivalry, this is basically exactly what the medieval church would want for a knight. Some degree of coexistence (sometimes a great deal) exists between chivalry and Christianity, but the underlying question of violence and sin always underlies it – can a man who makes his living by killing people really claim to be acting in a holy cause? Matt avoids this paradox (or tries to) by not killing anyone, but Frank almost exactly embodies the tension between these two ideologies that was ever-present in the medieval era. Clerical moralists always worried that knights were too comfortable with killing, violence, and general unethical behavior (even as they needed and co-opted that violence for their own purposes, such as the preaching and popularization of the crusades). For their part, the knights often selectively used the parts of Christianity that they liked, and fashioned it into their own ethos, just like Frank does to justify his campaign of vengeance.

In other words, Matt and Frank are perfect symbols of the struggle between church and chivalry, with Matt embodying one side (reconciliation) and Frank embodying the other (estrangement), but neither of them are completely excluded from knighthood despite their differences. They’re in fact the central tension of its existence – how violent can a knight be, and how much consideration, superficial or otherwise, does he have to pay to the church’s restriction of his ethics and behavior? There is some argument that chivalric literature was written as an attempted correction or moral instruction for real-life knights, who were supposed to take it as guidance on their own behavior and be more merciful. This isn’t always the case, since as noted, the literature exalts the very kind of violent behavior that built a chivalric reputation, but there was always that inherent wariness about how much was too much. Matt and Frank push and pull each other on this very question, end up working together at points because they are both within the system, but can’t fully reconcile.

(Also I’d like to point out: Stick, Matt, and Elektra as Merlin, Arthur, and Morgana. Stick is the mysterious, possibly immortal mentor, who teaches and mentors both of them, but also misleads and manipulates them for his own purposes. Matt becomes the ‘hero,’ son of the dead/fallen king (Uther Pendragon/Battlin’ Jack Murdock), while Elektra becomes the villainess/feared sorceress, marginalized by a society frightened of her agency and unwillingness to play nice. Also, one of Arthur’s two half-sisters, usually Morgause but sometimes Morgana, is the mother of his illegitimate son, Mordred, who is prophesied to be his destruction. So there is a dark/forbidden/taboo sexual aspect to their relationship, and just as Mordred causes the ultimate fall of Camelot, Matt and Elektra are literally caught in a falling building at the end of Defenders, which destroys their current identities. Matt enters Once and Future King stage after that and at the beginning of DDS3, where he is ‘gone’ or sleeping or suffering a crisis of faith and must summon up the wherewithal to return, and the character of Benjamin Poindexter becomes one of the many Arthur imposters. There are also some parallels for Elektra with Nimue, the ambitious young student of Merlin’s who overthrows him, ends his reign, and imprisons him in a tree.)

Anyway, back to Frank. So what are knights actually doing with all this questing? Well, various things, but they’re most often searching for the Holy Grail: symbolic of eternal life, forgiveness and atonement of sins, return to self. For this reason, few of them actually find it or are able to encounter it without being changed. It too has a deeply underlying Christian context, and Frank, the ex-Catholic, has been estranged from his belief but not separated entirely. (Likewise, if you were not worthy to look on it, you could be blinded, so… the fact that Matt himself is blind is arguably a commentary on who he actually is vs. how he imagines himself.) The Grail is also, interestingly, in the custody of a figure known as the Fisher King. He is the keeper of the castle where the Grail is hidden, and in the context of the Punisher, he’s basically Curtis.

The Fisher King, for a start, is always wounded in the legs or the thigh, and unable to stand. Some scholars have interpreted this as a metaphor for castration (since “thigh” is often a euphemism for the genitals), and that the Fisher King is passive and impotent because he is physically unable to perform warfare and thus to acquire chivalry. Either way, the Fisher King is the keeper of eternal life, but is physically disabled and needs the help of a knight to activate that power. Curtis is to some degree a subversion of this trope, because he is explicitly not helpless and functions to enable other questing knights (veterans with PTSD) to search for the Grail (health and reconciliation to society)… but in TP 1x09, he still needs Frank to save him. Frank has to encounter the Fisher King and make the correct choice/ask the right question (which wire to cut) to save him and continue his own path toward the Grail. Curtis, by running the veterans’ group, is symbolically the keeper of eternal life, where questers have to literally ask questions/talk to each other to restore themselves, and Frank, by going at the end of s1, is still trying to reach it. But true to form, with the beginning of s2, he’s not going to be able to entirely get there. There is still another obstacle/quest to overcome.

So what about Karen? Visually and to some degree topically, she is set up as the lady whose love Frank needs to obtain and maintain, even in the wilderness of his exile. Karen is blonde-haired and blue-eyed, which was often viewed in the medieval era as the ideal/most beautiful kind of woman (because white supremacy in Europe has always existed to some degree, even if in differently constructed ways. However, the thirteenth-century Dutch romance Morien, and some other ones, feature black and mixed-race protagonists, who are just as able to achieve the predicates of the heroic quest as others). She is also, as discussed above, one of the only people to believe in Frank’s honor and to reach out to help him. However, this relationship has to be kept secret, and has the potential to destroy them both if revealed. This is a fairly close parallel to another of Marie de France’s romances: Lanval (adopted in fourteenth-century English form, by Thomas Chestre, as Sir Launfal).

In brief, Sir Lanval, after being cast out from Camelot, meets a fairy woman and they become lovers, and she promises him that he will have everything he needs, as long as he keeps her secret and never mentions her to anyone. (Marie’s original version of this is much less misogynist than Chestre’s, which adds Guinevere making sexual advances to Launfal and her jealousy being the cause of him being thrown out, so yes, Dudes Ruining Stuff has a long history.) This is not an exact analogue to Frank and Karen, but keeping the code of secrecy (Karen obviously can’t tell anyone about Frank, Frank receives what he needs from her in terms of information, emotional support, etc, but likewise can’t tell anyone about it) is paramount in both relationships. Speaking about the relationship or revealing it to the outside world will result in its destruction, and the fairy lady has to vouch for Lanval’s goodness to the court in Camelot, just as Karen stoutly defends Frank to the court of public opinion/literally everyone. In some sense, while the knight has to rescue the fair maiden, the fair maiden is also the arbitrator of his fate and his overall reputation. (Also, all of TP 1x10 is basically Lancelot, the Knight of the Cart, in which Lancelot must rescue the abducted Guinevere from Meleagant, and having to struggle with the revelation of this relationship and the fact they can’t be together and the dictates of public/proper behavior. Anyway.)

Lastly, Frank’s initial and final conflicts, and the overall shape of his quest, are dictated by his encounters with two archvillains: Billy Russo and William Rawlins, or “Agent Orange.” These are made especially painful for him by the fact that they are or were both close to him. Billy was his best friend, essentially part of his family, and as noted, there is a major theme in chivalric literature revolving around a betrayal (and subsequent murder) by those closest to you. We already discussed King Arthur being overthrown and killed by his incestuous illegitimate son, Mordred; the best-known version of that tale is of course Thomas Malory’s Le Morte d’Arthur, though only the seventh book, as linked above, actually tells the story of Arthur’s death. There is also Arthur’s half-sister and Mordred’s usual mother Queen Morgause; in the Morte, she is killed by her son Gaheris for committing adultery with Sir Lamorak and dishonoring her husband, King Lot. So in one sense, the knight is always doomed to face a betrayal from within his family, or from a close friend.

However, Billy Russo is also straight-up one of the demon knights of Perlesvaus, or, The High History of the Holy Grail. In Perlesvaus, Lancelot is haunted by the specter of these demon knights, who engage in a dark mockery of chivalric behavior, excesses of violence, and satanic imagery, and are otherwise the “dark side of the force” of honorable knighthood, as Richard Kaeuper puts it in Chivalry and Violence in Medieval Europe. Honor and chivalry are not permanent or unchangeable qualities, and in fact are very fragile. The perfect knight can and should have both of these, but he can also lose them very quickly by impious, dishonorable, murderous, or otherwise wrong actions. The demon knights are a metaphor and a commentary on the same tension we discussed in regard to Frank and Matt: when does a knight-errant become a bad knight? When does his behavior permanently transgress him and cast him beyond the reach of repentance? Billy outwardly embodies the same qualities as Frank, has been through the same wars, is part of the same order, but he isn’t a hero on a quest whose chivalric identity can eventually be reconciled to him. He has crossed too far to the wrong side of the line; now he is the embodiment of evil, a shadow parallel and a cautionary tale. He is not a knight-errant, he is merely a monster.

Then, of course, there’s Rawlins/Agent Orange. Noting the fact that his nickname is also color-coded, we can see some parallels to Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. In short, in this tale, a mysterious “Green Knight” challenges any man to strike him, with the condition that he will get to return the blow in a year and a day. Sir Gawain accepts and beheads him, after which the Green Knight stands up, picks up his head, and remains Gawain of his promise. Gawain has to struggle to both honorably keep his bargain and avoid dying, and is eventually struck at in return by the Green Knight, wounded, but not killed. In some interpretations, this has just been a test all along for Gawain to prove his honor, or an attempt by Morgana to deceive him and cause him to betray his chivalric ideals, and the Green Knight is just a pawn to achieve this. In others, the Green Knight is a potential embodiment of the Devil. (He also has a dual identity, as the Green Knight/Sir Bertilak, as Rawlins does.) Frank strikes at/beheads/blinds Rawlins, as seen in the flashbacks of TP 1x03, so Rawlins literally wants to do the same to him (an eye for an eye) in TP 1x12. In the story, Gawain and the Green Knight part on cordial terms, but in this case, Frank has to actually complete the death/destruction of his opponent. Like Gawain, however, he is wounded but not killed, and must find some way to survive his encounter with a possibly demonic entity determined to pay back in exact measure the physical wound/symbolic beheading inflicted earlier.

So. . . yes. Overall, both in the broad parameters of his character arc, in the obstacles he confronts, and the other people he meets and the encounters he plays out with them, Frank is actually an excellent hero for a modern-medieval romance. The essential core of the medieval romance was not about love, though that was often present, but about identity, adventure, and the challenge to self, and while in some places these tropes have been updated or nuanced or subverted, in others they’re played as recognizably or directly descended from their medieval counterparts, and the way in which we have thought about stories and enjoyed them for a very long time.

#mcu #the punisher #the punisher meta #frank castle #kastle #frank x matt #medieval history #medieval literature #yes of course i ended up writing this #i am nothing if not predictable #long post

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fellowshipoffoucault · 4 years ago

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Reading I: On design authorship

Source papers:

Andrew, Bennett 2005: The Author (ch.2, p. 29 - 54)

Rock, Michael 1996: Designer as author, online text published in https://2x4.org/ideas/1996/designer-as-author/ . Article is an adaptation of Graphic Authorship (1996) for publication in Multiple Signatures: On Designers, Authors, Readers and Users (Spring 2013).

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In this text I will be considering authorship from the point of view of a designer, and where applicable, a graphic designer more precisely. I will also establish a view where author is to be considered as someone who tells something, and it is not to be restricted with only textual or verbal outcomes. I will also use terms graphic designer and visual communication designer interchangeably.

What does a more modern communication theory have to say about authorship? What does it mean to be called an author if the message is considered to develop in the process of forming, designing, sending, receiving and interpreting a message and not straightforwardly in between a sender and a receiver? Would the authorship be shared between the parties of the communication (sender, designer and receiver in this case)? In a way this would shatter the concept of a singular author in its regular sense. Referring to this, Michael Rock brings out a valid concern over how design authorship relates to collaborative design as well; is there such a thing as co-authorship (if there is considered to be an element of authorship in the first place), where an idea or message is originated in between dialogues and collaboration? Rock also discusses a notion of “decentered texts” with skewed meanings in postmodern times; the message is not a direct vector from sender to receiver as previously mentioned, but is an object for multiple forces such as medium, language and culture. The position of authorship is thus definitely not an easy task to locate in this postmodern system. Rock also brings up the concept of a “reader-based text”, where it is mostly up for the receiver, a reader, of the message to interpret multiple references that are often present; This might, in some cases at least, translate to lacking originality (and therefore also authorship in some sense). It is also noted, on the other hand, that the authorship in a work of a visual communicator manifests itself rather as a recognisable pattern through a canon of their work rather than in an examination of a singular design product or message (Rock). This also somehow differentiates the nature of a designer’s authorship compared to the one of an artist, for example; the scope for authorship is undeniably limited on one singular project, and I see a myriad of working designers agreeing to this assumption as well.

What is the relationship between the text or a product and the author of a said design outcome, then? Questions of authorship bring us to a question of author’s independency from, and their involvement in, their product; how much of them is in it, and what does it mean to be called an author in relation to a certain text or a product? If we do accept that the text or a product is a result of an individualistic author or an artist at work, we would agree that this product would be specific for this particular author and therefore most likely not replicable by any other author. This, then, would in its part contradict with the idea that texts are somewhat of a common ground (products of common textual and visual tradition) and not produced by this one and only individual (“the sender” or originator of the message, as earlier discussed).

In a quote by Plato on (Bennett, p. 37), is is described that a poet (read: an author) has to go “out of his mind”, in other words they are no longer “themselves” but are in a way, entering another space and leaving this rational human carcass behind while singing/writing. Traces of such dualism might still exist, but would probably be harder to rationalize these days when the “poet” is not so much differentiated from the intellectual; This might be partially due to societal development and the ability of humankind to appreciate different ways of knowing and producing information. This might, on the other, seem to stretch mostly to artistic ways of producing information, while design still floats in a limbo between art and other, already more established practises. Also on page 37 (Bennett) it is noted that Socrates has implied that it would be “the god itself” and not the poet themselves who are speaking. This comes around to the idea that the product resulting from actions of authorship originates from and is, something more collective or shared than purely an individual product. The concept of a medieval auctor continues a similar line of assumptions; the “spirit” behind the texts that auctor scripted was considered to come from elsewhere (god in this context). They were considered to “transmit” a message through their work (Bennett, p. 41). In a way we might considered this to be the case also in our postmodern environment; especially for visual communicators who work in the context of familiar signals in terms of text and visuals. This is the rivalry between discovering or using the already existing and inventing / originating.

It is described that the rise of individualism and maybe even the actual question of authorship in a more modern context is connected to a development of mass culture (printing, in this case; Bennett p. 45). Mass production created a highlighted need to individualize products, when their production process became increasingly stripped of personal, handcraftmanship-like qualities. I think there is still an ongoing questioning about the relationship between handmade and “produced”; who is an artisan, and what exactly are they making? Craftmanship and the added value often tied to artisanal products could be looked through possessive individualism (Bennett, p. 51). In this sense we might also want to discuss what Rock also brings up in their text; the position of illustration in terms of design authorship. Illustration has a peculiar position in a current field of visual communication; I agree with Rock in the assumption that illustrators have been often successful in claiming authorship over their design process and products. Illustrators also work with a varying degree of familiarity in their work, and of course signals like colour and shape still remain relatively universal. How it differs, however, in my opinion is that the possibility of origin for the idea is not so strongly tied into referencing and rearranging the already existing, but has a stronger bond to its creator. Already by stating that an illustrator can quite unproblematically be referred to as a “creator” of the work is an indicator that they have a wider scope for authorship compared to a graphic designer who works with layout designs, for example. They are, in one sense, one layer further from a familiar form of authorship; the originator. These lines and categorizations are, of course, by nature flexible and by no means definite.

My final questions for following discussions would also be: Who are authors telling things for? Who has access to the platforms, where these messages are being published? Who benefits from these? These are all critical questions in need of constant evaluation.

A great question is raised right at the start of the article by Rock; how does the attempt to define authorship of a designer relate to the ongoing aim to overcome the so called “brilliant designer”, an individual author? We come around to the questions from the start; is authorship in a sense owned by the individual, or is it to be considered more collective? Are authorship, agency and origination just buzzwords to boost confidence or legitimately considered questions in dire need of answers? It might even look like design as a field and practise is confused and insecure in its authorship, which is, history considered, maybe not such a miracle. Next to these notions inevitably rises the concept of design as a tool, as a tool to produce value for other aims. Clearly the question of authorship brings as a lot of difficulty, if this is the case. Maybe we gained more scope for independency by claiming design as value itself than a tool; Rock also states that “authorship is not a very convincing metaphor for the activity we understand as design”, and I couldn’t agree more. We are tangled with the question because we narrow our path with the assumptions and conditions that we have set for ourselves; we are obsessed with the question of authorship partially in order to claim academic or artistic recognition when neither of those might not be what we are actually looking for. Can design as a system not have value in the way it connects, reshapes, transforms, communicates to us and surprises us?

Who else than us, ourselves as designers, would be the first ones to proclaim design as a third intrinsically valued institution, not in between, but right next to, science and art?

-Stella

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howtofightwrite · 7 years ago

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So I just played the Witcher 3 game, and I was marveling at the fighting style Geralt uses. Obviously there are so many differences between that game and realistic swordplay, but the main one I wanted to know about was where you'd store your sword when you're not fighting. I know you've said storing a sword on your back isn't very practical, but what I'm wondering is where you'd store a long sword or a hand-and-a-half sword. Would it still be at the hip? Thanks in advance for the reply!

I love the Witcher 3′s combat system, so you get no arguments from me.

The sword is called a sidearm, you may have heard that term before in reference to handguns. It’s the same, the modern handgun has replaced the sword as a weapon but serves a similar purpose both functionally in combat and culturally. You wear it buckled on your hip.

For a weapon to function, it needs to be in a place that’s easily reached and at the ready. Whether it’s a sword buckled on our back or the staff we left in our room or the pepper spray buried at the bottom of our purse. A weapon doesn’t do us a lot of good if we don’t have access to it.

When you’re trying to come up with ways your character might store or what places on their body they carry their weapons, here’s some simple rules.

1) Accessible

2) Easily drawn

3) Nowhere that hinders

4) Sensible i.e. not annoying

The action of drawing your weapon, whether it is a knife, a gun, or a sword should be one smooth motion that transitions quickly into a defensive stance. If you’re about to be attacked or in process of being attacked then time is a luxury you don’t have.

On to the Witcher:

The Sword’s Path has a great breakdown on The Witcher 3 combat vs HEMA (Historical Martial Arts) fencing. I would give it a look. He talks a lot about the fundamentals of sword combat and how you could use techniques similar to what we see in the Witcher 3 but would actually work. He also does a great job of explaining the fundamentals and logic behind it. He’s got a nice video for beginners interested in HEMA with a great breakdown of the longsword and lots of resources.

I’d also checkout sieniawskifencing, a channel run bySztuka Krzyżowa dedicated to the Polish fencing discipline called Cross-Cutting, Sabre Cross-Cutting, or Polish Sabre Cross-Cutting. Compare with Scholagladiatoria dueling with what will be probably be the more familiar 19th century British military sabre.

The Witcher 3 is a video game made by Polish developers. The games are loosely based on The Witcher series. The books are written by a Polish author, Andre Sapkowski and are basically the Polish Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter. If you ever want to hear Sapkowski get testy about the video games, you can find it. (Read his books, you’ll understand.)

Both draw heavily on Polish history, Polish culture, Polish fairy tales/mythology, and the Polish approach to medieval/renaissance/longsword combat in their design rather than what we see from Western Europe like France, Germany, England, etc. They’re Polish. Sword combat in Western and Eastern Europe is not unified, it varies culture to culture, sometimes a lot within the same culture, and the limitation in HEMA is that its a historical reconstruction based on the sources available. The only documentation we have is from the people who bothered to write it down, and were lucky enough to have their writings survive. So, pointing to a historical text and saying “that’s how this German swordmaster did it” doesn’t help us that much when it comes to looking at Poland.

Geralt’s fighting style is obviously over the top and built on flourishes, but I remember seeing that The Witcher 3′s combat was based off a fencing style or there were fencers who consulted. I unfortunately can’t source it. However, if you look at Polish Sabre Cross-Cutting you may see some move sets that are similar even though they’re performed with a sabre instead of a longsword.

The combat in The Witcher 3 is not quite as far out of reach as you might think. It just needs a little tweaking and less spinning.

-Michi

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#writing advice #writing reference #the witcher #swords #the witcher 3 #fightwrite answers #michi answers

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voxrepulsori · 7 years ago

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The French Origins of « You Will Not Replace Us »

THE NEW YORKER | 04.12.2017 | Thomas Chatterton Williams

The European thinkers behind the white-nationalist rallying cry. The Château de Plieux, a fortified castle on a hilltop in the Gascony region of southwestern France, overlooks rolling fields speckled with copses and farmhouses. A tricolor flag snaps above the worn beige stone. The northwest tower, which was built in the fourteenth century, offers an ideal position from which to survey invading hordes. Inside the château’s cavernous second-story study, at a desk heavy with books, the seventy-one-year-old owner of the property, Renaud Camus, sits at an iMac and tweets dire warnings about Europe’s demographic doom. On the sweltering June afternoon that I visited the castle, Camus—no relation to Albert—wore a tan summer suit and a tie. Several painted self-portraits hung in the study, multiplying his blue-eyed gaze. Camus has spent most of his career as a critic, novelist, diarist, and travel essayist. The only one of his hundred or so books to be translated into English, “Tricks” (1979), announces itself as “a sexual odyssey— man-to-man,” and includes a foreword by Roland Barthes. The book describes polyglot assignations from Milan to the Bronx. Allen Ginsberg said of it, “Camus’s world is completely that of a new urban homosexual; at ease in half a dozen countries.” In recent years, though, Camus’s name has been associated less with erotica than with a single poignant phrase, le grand remplacement. In 2012, he made this the title of an alarmist book. Native “white” Europeans, he argues, are being reverse-colonized by black and brown immigrants, who are flooding the Continent in what amounts to an extinction-level event. “The great replacement is very simple,” he has said. “You have one people, and in the space of a generation you have a different people.” The specific identity of the replacement population, he suggests, is of less importance than the act of replacement itself. “Individuals, yes, can join a people, integrate with it, assimilate to it,” he writes in the book. “But peoples, civilizations, religions—and especially when these religions are themselves civilizations, types of society, almost States—cannot and cannot even want to . . . blend into other peoples, other civilizations.” Camus believes that all Western countries are faced with varying degrees of “ethnic and civilizational substitution.” He points to the increasing prevalence of Spanish, and other foreign languages, in the United States as evidence of the same phenomenon. Although his arguments are scarcely available in translation, they have been picked up by right-wing and white-nationalist circles throughout the English-speaking world. In July, Lauren Southern, the Canadian alt-right Internet personality, posted, on YouTube, a video titled “The Great Replacement”; it has received more than a quarter of a million views. On greatreplacement.com, a Web site maintained anonymously, the introductory text declares, “The same term can be applied to many other European peoples both in Europe and abroad . . . where the same policy of mass immigration of non-European people poses a demographic threat. Of all the different races of people on this planet, only the European races are facing the possibility of extinction in a relatively near future.” The site announces its mission as “spreading awareness” of Camus’s term, which, the site’s author concludes, is more palatable than a similar concept, “white genocide.” (A search for that phrase on YouTube yields more than fifty thousand videos.) “I don’t have any genetic conception of races,” Camus told me. “I don’t use the word ‘superior.’ ” He insisted that he would feel equally sad if Japanese culture or “African culture” were to disappear because of immigration. On Twitter, he has quipped, “The only race I hate is the one knocking on the door.” Camus’s partner arrived in the study with a silver platter, and offered fruitcake and coffee. Camus, meanwhile, told me about his “red-pill moment”—an alt-right term, derived from a scene in the film “The Matrix,” for the decision to become politically enlightened. As a child, he said, he was a “xenophile,” who was delighted to see foreign tourists flocking to the thermal baths near his home, in the Auvergne. In the late nineties, he began writing domestic travel books, commissioned by the French government. The work took him to the department of Hérault, whose capital is Montpellier. Although Camus was familiar with France’s heavily black and Arab inner suburbs, or banlieues, and their subsidized urban housing projects, known as cités, his experience in Hérault floored him. Travelling through medieval villages, he said, “you would go to a fountain, six or seven centuries old, and there were all these North African women with veils!” A demographic influx was clearly no longer confined to France’s inner suburbs and industrial regions; it was ubiquitous, and it was transforming the entire country. Camus’s problem was not, as it might be for many French citizens, that the religious symbolism of the veil clashed with some of the country’s most cherished secularist principles; it was that the veil wearers were permanent interlopers in Camus’s homeland. He became obsessed with the diminishing ethnic purity of Western Europe. Camus supports the staunchly anti-immigrant politician Marine Le Pen. He denied, however, that he was a member of the “extreme right,” saying that he was simply one of many voters who “wanted France to stay French.” In Camus’s view, Emmanuel Macron, the centrist liberal who handily defeated Le Pen in a runoff, is synonymous with the “forces of remplacement.” Macron, he noted acidly, “went to Germany to compliment Mme. Merkel on the marvellous work she did by taking in one million migrants.” Camus derides Macron, a former banker, as a representative of “direct Davos-cracy”—someone who thinks of people as “interchangeable” units within a larger social whole. “This is a very low conception of what being human is,” he said. “People are not just things. They come with their history, their culture, their language, with their looks, with their preferences.” He sees immigration as one aspect of a nefarious global process that renders obsolete everything from cuisine to landscapes. “The very essence of modernity is the fact that everything—and really everything—can be replaced by something else, which is absolutely monstrous,” he said. Camus takes William F. Buckley, Jr.,’s injunction to stand “athwart history, yelling Stop” to the furthest extent possible, and he can be recklessly unconcerned about backing up his claims. On a recent radio appearance, he took a beating from Hervé le Bras, a director emeritus at the Institut National d’Études Démographiques, who said that Camus’s proclamations about ethnic substitution were based on wildly inflated statistics about the number of foreigners entering France. Afterward, Camus breezily responded on Twitter: “Since when, in history, did a people need ‘science’ to decide whether or not it was invaded and occupied?” Camus has become one of the most cited figures on the right in France. He is a regular interlocutor of such mainstream intellectuals as Alain Finkielkraut, the conservative Jewish philosopher, who has called Camus “a great writer,” and someone who has “forged an expression that is heard all the time and everywhere.” Camus also has prominent critics: the essayist and novelist Emmanuel Carrère, a longtime friend, has publicly reproached him, writing that “the argument ‘I’m at home here, not you’ ” is incompatible with “globalized justice.” Mark Lilla, the Columbia historian and scholar of the mentality of European reactionaries, described Camus as “a kind of connective tissue between the far right and the respectable right.” Camus can play the role of “respectable” reactionary because his opposition to multicultural globalism is plausibly high-minded, principally aesthetic, even well-mannered—a far cry from the manifest brutality of the skinheads and the tattooed white nationalists who could put into action the xenophobic ideas expressed in “Le Grand Remplacement.” (At a rally in Warsaw on November 11th, white-nationalist demonstrators brandished signs saying “Pray for an Islamic Holocaust” and “Pure Poland, White Poland.”) When I asked Camus whether he considered me—a black American living in Paris with a French wife and a mixed-race daughter—part of the problem, he genially replied, “There is nothing more French than an American in Paris!” He then offered me the use of his castle when he and his partner next went on a vacation. Although Camus presents his definition of “Frenchness” as reasonable and urbane, it is of a piece with a less benign perspective on ethnicity, Islam, and territory which has circulated in his country for decades. Never the sole preserve of the far right, this view was conveyed most bluntly in a 1959 letter, from Charles de Gaulle to his confidant Alain Peyrefitte, which advocates withdrawal from French Algeria: It is very good that there are yellow Frenchmen, black Frenchmen, brown Frenchmen. They prove that France is open to all races and that she has a universal mission. But [it is good] on condition that they remain a small minority. Otherwise, France would no longer be France. We are, after all, primarily a European people of the white race, Greek and Latin culture, and the Christian religion. De Gaulle then declares that Muslims, “with their turbans and djellabahs,” are “not French.” He asks, “Do you believe that the French nation can absorb 10 million Muslims, who tomorrow will be 20 million and the day after 40 million?” If this were to happen, he concludes, “my village would no longer be called Colombey-les-Deux-Églises, but Colombey-les-Deux-Mosquées!” Such worry about Muslims has been present across Europe at least since the turn of the twentieth century, when the first “guest workers” began arriving from former French colonies and from Turkey. In 1898 in Britain, Winston Churchill warned of “militant Mahommedanism,” and Enoch Powell’s 1968 Rivers of Blood speech alleged that immigration had caused a “total transformation to which there is no parallel in a thousand years of English history.” Anxiety about immigrants of color has long been present in the United States, especially in states along the Mexican border. This feeling became widespread after 9/11, and has only intensified with subsequent terrorist acts by Islamists, the Great Recession, and the election of the first black President. Meanwhile, white populations across the world are stagnant or dwindling. In recent years, white-nationalist discourse has emerged from the recesses of the Internet into plain sight, permeating the highest reaches of the Trump Administration. Attorney General Jeff Sessions and the White House senior adviser Stephen Miller endorse dramatic reductions in both legal and illegal immigration. The President’s former chief strategist, Steve Bannon, has returned to his post as the executive chairman of the far-right Web site Breitbart. In a 2014 speech at the Vatican, Bannon praised European “forefathers” who kept Islam “out of the world.” President Trump, meanwhile, has made the metaphor of immigrant invasion literal by vowing to build a wall. In Europe, which in recent years has absorbed millions of migrants fleeing wars in the Middle East or crossing the Mediterranean from Africa, opposition to immigration is less a cohesive ideology than a welter of reactionary ideas and feelings. Xenophobic nationalism can be found on both the left and the right. There is not even unanimity on the superiority of Judeo-Christian culture: some European nationalists express a longing for ancient pagan practices. Anti-immigrant thinkers also cannot agree on a name for their movement. Distrust of multiculturalism and a professed interest in preserving European “purity” is often called “identitarianism,” but many prominent anti-immigrant writers avoid that construction. Camus told me that he refused to play “the game” of identity politics, and added, “Do you think that Louis XIV or La Fontaine or Racine or Châteaubriand would say, ‘I’m identitarian?’ No, they were just French. And I’m just French.” Shortly after Trump’s Inauguration, Richard Spencer, the thirty-nine-year-old white nationalist who has become the public face of the American alt-right, was sucker-punched by a protester while being interviewed on a street corner in Washington, D.C. A video of the incident went viral, but little attention was paid to what Spencer said on the clip. “I’m not a neo-Nazi,” he declared. “They kind of hate me, actually.” In order to deflect the frequent charge that he is a racist, he defines himself with the very term that Camus rejects: identitarian. The word sidesteps the question of racial superiority and co-opts the left’s inclusive language of diversity and its critique of forced assimilation in order to reclaim the right to difference—for whites. Identitarianism is a distinctly French innovation. In 1968, in Nice, several dozen far-right activists created the Research and Study Group for European Civilization, better known by its French acronym, GRECE. The think tank eventually began promoting its ideas under the rubric the Nouvelle Droite, or the New Right. One of its founders, and its most influential member, was Alain de Benoist, a hermetic aristocrat and scholar who has written more than a hundred books. In “View from the Right” (1977), Benoist declared that he and other members of GRECE considered “the gradual homogenization of the world, advocated and realized by the two-thousand-year-old discourse of egalitarian ideology, to be an evil.” The group expressed allegiance to “diversity” and “ethnopluralism”—terms that sound politically correct to American ears but had a different meaning in Benoist’s hands. In “Manifesto for a European Renaissance” (1999), he argued: The true wealth of the world is first and foremost the diversity of its cultures and peoples. The West’s conversion to universalism has been the main cause of its subsequent attempt to convert the rest of the world: in the past, to its religion (the Crusades); yesterday, to its political principles (colonialism); and today, to its economic and social model (development) or its moral principles (human rights). Undertaken under the aegis of missionaries, armies, and merchants, the Westernization of the planet has represented an imperialist movement fed by the desire to erase all otherness. From this vantage point, both globalized Communism and globalized capitalism are equally suspect, and a “citizen of the world” is an agent of imperialism. When Benoist writes that “humanity is irreducibly plural” and that “diversity is part of its very essence,” he is not supporting the idea of a melting pot but of diversity in isolation: all Frenchmen in one territory and all Moroccans in another. It is a nostalgic and aestheticized view of the world that shows little interest in the complex economic and political forces that provoke migration. Identitarianism is a lament against change made by people fortunate enough to have been granted, through the arbitrary circumstance of birth, citizenship in a wealthy liberal democracy. Benoist’s peculiar definition of “diversity” has allowed him to take some unexpected positions. He simultaneously defends a Muslim immigrant’s right to wear the veil and opposes the immigration policies that allowed her to settle in France in the first place. In an e-mail, he told me that immigration constitutes an undeniably negative phenomenon, in part because it turns immigrants into victims, by erasing their roots. He continued, “The destiny of all the peoples of the Third World cannot be to establish themselves in the West.” In an interview in the early nineties with Le Monde, he declared that the best way to show solidarity with immigrants is by increasing trade with the Third World, so that developing countries can become “self-sufficient” enough to dissuade their citizens from seeking better lives elsewhere. These countries, he added, needed to find their own paths forward, and not follow the tyrannizing templates of the World Bank and the I.M.F. Benoist told me that, in France’s Presidential election, in May, he voted not for Marine Le Pen but for the far-left candidate Jean-Luc Mélenchon, who shares his contempt for global capitalism. Benoist’s writing often echoes left-wing thinkers, especially the Italian Marxist Antonio Gramsci, who wrote of “hegemony”—or the command that a regime can wield over a population by controlling its culture. In “Manifesto for a European Renaissance,” Benoist argues that white Europeans should not just support restrictive immigration policies; they should oppose such diluting ideologies as multiculturalism and globalism, taking seriously “the premise that ideas play a fundamental role in the collective consciousness.” In a similar spirit, Benoist has promoted a gramscisme de droite—cultural opposition to the rampaging forces of Hollywood and multinational corporations. The French, he has said, should retain their unique traditions and not switch to “a diet of hamburgers.” Despite Benoist’s affinity for some far-left candidates, “Manifesto for a European Renaissance” has become a revered text for the extreme right across Western Europe, in the U.S., and even in Russia. The crackpot Russian philosopher Aleksandr Dugin, who promotes the ethnopluralist doctrine “Eurasianism,” has flown to Paris to meet Benoist. “I consider him to be the foremost intellectual in Europe today,” Dugin told interviewers in 2012. Earlier this year, John Morgan, an editor of Counter-Currents, a white-nationalist publishing house based in San Francisco, posted an online essay about the indebtedness of the American alt-right to European thought. He described Benoist and GRECE’s achievement as “a towering edifice of thought unparalleled anywhere else on the Right since the Conservative Revolution in Germany of the Weimar era.” Although Benoist claims not to be affiliated with the alt-right—or even to understand “what Richard Spencer can know or have learned from my thoughts”—he has travelled to Washington, D.C., to speak at the National Policy Institute, a white-nationalist group run by Spencer, and he has sat for long interviews with Jared Taylor, the founder of the virulently white-supremacist magazine American Renaissance. In one exchange, Taylor, who was educated in France, asked Benoist how he saw himself “as different from identitarians.” Benoist responded, “I am aware of race and of the importance of race, but I do not give to it the excessive importance that you do.” He went on, “I am not fighting for the white race. I am not fighting for France. I am fighting for a world view. . . . Immigration is clearly a problem. It gives rise to much social pathologies. But our identity, the identity of the immigrants, all the identities in the world have a common enemy, and this common enemy is the system that destroys identities and differences everywhere. This system is the enemy, not the Other.” Benoist may not be a dogmatic thinker, but, for white people who want to think explicitly in terms of culture and race, his work provides a lofty intellectual framework. These disciples, instead of calling for an “Islamic holocaust,” can argue that rootedness in one’s homeland matters, and that immigration, miscegenation, and the homogenizing forces of neoliberal market economies collude to obliterate identities that have taken shape over hundreds of years—just as relentless development has decimated the environment. Benoist’s romantic-sounding ideas can be cherry-picked and applied to local political resentments. The writer Raphaël Glucksmann, a prominent critic of the French far right, told me that such selective appropriations have given Benoist “a huge authority among white nationalists and Fascists everywhere in the world.” Glucksmann recently met me for coffee near his home, which is off the Rue du Faubourg SaintDenis, one of the most ethnically diverse thoroughfares in Paris. The Nouvelle Droite, Glucksmann argued, adopted a traditionally German, tribal way of conceiving identity, which the Germans themselves abandoned after the Second World War. The Nazi theorist Carl Schmitt argued that “all right is the right of a particular Volk.” In a 1932 essay, “The Concept of the Political,” he posed the question that still defines the right-wing mind-set: Who is a people’s friend, and who is an enemy? For Schmitt, to identify one’s enemies was to identify one’s inner self. In another essay, he wrote, “Tell me who your enemy is, and I’ll tell you who you are.” The Nouvelle Droite was fractured, in the nineteen-nineties, by disagreements over what constituted the principal enemy of European identity. If the perceived danger was initially what Benoist described as “the ideology of sameness”—what many in France called the “Coca-Colonization” of the world—the growing presence of African and Arab immigrants caused some members of GRECE to rethink the essence of the conflict. One of the group’s founders, Guillaume Faye, a journalist with a Ph.D. from Sciences-Po, split off and began releasing explicitly racist books. In a 1998 tract, “Archeofuturism,” he argued, “To be a nationalist today is to assign this concept its original etymological meaning, ‘to defend the native members of a people.’ ” The book, which appeared in English in 2010, argues that “European people” are “under threat” and must become “politically organized for their self-defense.” Faye assures native Frenchmen that their “sub-continental motherland” is “an organic and vital part of the common folk, whose natural and historical territory—whose fortress, I would say—extends from Brest to the Bering Strait.” Faye, like Renaud Camus, is appalled by the dictates of modern statecraft, which define nationality in legal rather than ethnic terms. The liberal American writer Sasha Polakow-Suransky, in his recent book, “Go Back to Where You Came From: The Backlash Against Immigration and the Fate of Western Democracy,” quotes Camus lamenting that “a veiled woman speaking our language badly, completely ignorant of our culture” could declare that she is just as French as an “indigenous” man who is “passionate for Roman churches, and for the verbal and syntactic delicacies of Montaigne and Rousseau, for Burgundy wines, for Proust, and whose family has lived for generations in the same valley.” What appalls Camus, PolakowSuransky notes, is that “legally, if she has French nationality, she is completely correct.” Faye’s work helps to explain the rupture that has emerged in many Western democracies between the mainstream right, which may support strict enforcement of immigration limits but does not inherently object to the presence of Muslims, and the alt-right, which portrays Muslim immigration as an existential threat. In this light, the growing admiration by Western conservatives for the President of Russia, Vladimir Putin, is easier to comprehend. Not only do thinkers like Faye admire Putin as an emblem of proudly heterosexual white masculinity; they fantasize that Russian military might will help create a “Eurosiberian” federation of white ethno-states. “The only hope for salvation in this dark age of ours,” Faye has declared, is “a protected and self-centered continental economic space” that is capable of “curbing the rise of Islam and demographic colonization from Africa and Asia.” In Faye’s 2016 book, “The Colonisation of Europe,” he writes, of Muslims in Europe, “No solution can be found unless a civil war breaks out.” Such revolutionary right-wing talk has now migrated to America. In 2013, Steve Bannon, while he was turning Breitbart into the far right’s dominant media outlet, described himself as “a Leninist.” The reference didn’t seem like something a Republican voter would say, but it made sense to his intended audience: Bannon was signalling that the alt-right movement was prepared to hijack, or even raze, the state in pursuit of nationalist ends. (Bannon declined my request for an interview.) Richard Spencer told me, “I would say that the alt-right in the United States is radically un-conservative.” Whereas the American conservative movement celebrates “the eternal value of freedom and capitalism and the Constitution,” Spencer said, he and his followers were “willing to use socialism in order to protect our identity.” He added, “Many of the countries that lived under Soviet hegemony are actually far better off, in terms of having a protected identity, than Western Europe or the United States.” Spencer said that “clearly racialist” writers such as Benoist and Faye were “central influences” on his own thinking as an identitarian. He first discovered the work of Nouvelle Droite figures in the pages of Telos, an American journal of political theory. Most identitarians have a less scholarly bent. In 2002, a right-wing French insurrectionary, Maxime Brunerie, shot at President Jacques Chirac as he rode down the Champs- Élysées; the political group that Brunerie was affiliated with, Unité Radicale, became known as part of the identitairemovement. In 2004, a group known as the Bloc Identitaire became notorious for distributing soup containing pork to the homeless, in order to exclude Muslims and Jews. It was the sort of puerile joke now associated with alt-right pranksters in America such as Milo Yiannopoulos. Copycat groups began emerging across Europe. In 2009, a Swedish former mining executive, Daniel Friberg, founded, in Denmark, the publishing house Arktos, which is now the world’s largest distributor of far- and alt-right literature. The son of highly educated, left-leaning parents, Friberg grew up in a wealthy suburb of Gothenburg. He embraced right-wing thought after attending a diverse high school, which he described as overrun with crime. In 2016, he told the Daily Beast, “I had been taught to think multiculturalism was great, until I experienced it.” Few European nations have changed as drastically or as quickly as Sweden. Since 1960, it has added one and a half million immigrants to its population, which is currently just under ten million; a nationalist party, the Sweden Democrats, has become the country’s main opposition group. During this period, Friberg began to devour books on European identity—specifically, those of Benoist and Faye, whose key works impressed him as much as they impressed Richard Spencer. When Friberg launched Arktos, he acquired the rights to books by Benoist and Faye and had them translated into Swedish and English. Spencer told me that Arktos “was a very important development” in the international popularization of far-right identitarian thought. Whether or not history really is dialectical, it can be tempting to think that decades of liberal supremacy in Europe have helped give rise to the antithesis of liberalism. In Paris, left-wing intellectuals often seem reluctant to acknowledge that the recent arrival of millions of refugees in Europe, many of them impoverished, poses any complications at all. Such blithe cosmopolitanism, especially when it is expressed by people who can easily shelter themselves from the disruptions caused by globalization, can fuel resentment toward both intellectuals and immigrants. The philosopher Bernard-Henri Lévy, who has long embodied élite opinion on the French left, sometimes falls prey to such rhetoric. A 2015 essay, which attempted to allay fears of a refugee crisis in Europe, portrayed Syrian refugees as uniformly virtuous and adaptable: “They are applicants for freedom, lovers of our promised land, our social model, and our values. They are people who cry out ‘Europe! Europe!’ the way millions of Europeans, arriving a century ago on Ellis Island, learned to sing ‘America the Beautiful.’ ” Instead of making the reasonable argument that relatively few Muslim refugees harbor extremist beliefs, Lévy took an absolutist stance, writing that it was pure “nonsense” to be concerned about an increased risk of terrorism. Too often, Lévy fights racism with sentimentalism. Lévy recently met with me at his impeccable apartment, in a sanitized neighborhood near the Champs- Élysées. In our conversation, he offered a more modulated view. “I’m not saying that France should have received all two or three million Syrian refugees,” he said. “Of course, there’s a limited space.” But France had involved itself in Syria’s civil war, by giving support to opponents of the regime, and had a responsibility to help people uprooted by it, he said. Recent debates about European identity, he noted, had left out an important concept: hospitality. “Hospitality means that there is a place—real space, scarce, limited—and that in this place you host some people and you extend a hand.” This did not mean that he wanted an end to borders: “France has some borders, a republican tradition, it is a place. But in this place we have the duty to host. You have to hold the two. A place without hosting would be a shrinking republic. Universal welcoming would be another mistake.” A necessary tension is created between “the infinite moral duty of hospitality and the limited political possibility of welcoming.” When I asked Lévy why the notion of the great replacement had resonated so widely, he dismissed it as a “junk idea.” “The Roman conquest of Gaul was a real modification of the population in France,” he went on. “There was neversomething like an ethnic French people.” Raphaël Glucksmann made a similar critique of the idea of “pure” Frenchness. He observed, “In 1315, you had an edict from the king who said anybody who walks on the soil of France becomes a franc.” This is true, but there is always a threshold at which a quantitative change becomes qualitative; migration was far less extensive in the Middle Ages than it is today. French liberals can surely make a case for immigration without pretending that nothing has changed: a country that in 1900 was almost uniformly Catholic now has more than six million Muslims. The liberal historian Patrick Boucheron, the editor of a recent surprise best-seller that highlights foreign influences on French life throughout the ages, told me that he had little patience for people who bemoan the country’s changing demographics. French people who are struggling today, he said, are victims of unfair economic policies, not Muslims, who still make up only ten per cent of the population. Indeed, only a quarter of France’s population is of immigrant origin—a percentage that, according to Boucheron, has remained stable for four decades. Boucheron sees identitarians as manipulators who have succeeded “in convincing the dominated that their problem is French identity.” For Boucheron, it’s not simply that the great replacement is a cruel idea; it’s also false. “When you oppose their figures—when you say that there were Poles and Italians coming to France in the nineteen-thirties—they say, ‘O.K., but they were Christians,’ ” he said. “So you see that behind identity there’s immigration, and behind immigration there’s hatred of Islam. Eventually, it always comes down to that.” But to deny that recent migration has brought disruptions only helps the identitarians gain traction. A humanitarian crisis has been unfolding in Paris, and it is clearly a novel phenomenon. This summer, more than two thousand African and Middle Eastern migrants were living in street encampments near the Porte de la Chapelle; eventually, the police rounded them up and dispersed them in temporary shelters. “We don’t have enough housing,” the center-right philosopher Pascal Bruckner told me. “The welfare state is at the maximum of its capabilities. We’re broke. And so what we offer to those people is what happens at Porte de la Chapelle.” Many liberals have downplayed the homeless crisis, rather than discuss potential solutions. “We turn a blind eye to this issue, just to look generous,” Bruckner said. At one point in my conversation with Lévy, he flatly declared that France “has no refugees.” Far-right figures, for their part, have relentlessly exploited Paris’s problems on social media, posting inflammatory videos that make it seem like marauding migrants have taken over every street corner. Jean-Yves Camus, a scholar of the far right in France (and no relation to Renaud Camus), told me that there is a problematic lack of candor in the way that liberals describe today’s unidirectional mass movement of peoples. “It depends what you call Frenchness,” he said. “If you think that traditional France, like we used to see in the nineteen-fifties and sixties, should survive and remain, then certainly it will not survive. This is the truth. So I think we have to admit that, contrary to what Lévy says, there has been a change.” But what, exactly, does the notion of “traditional France” imply? The France of de Gaulle—or of Racine— differs in many ways from the France of today, not just in ethnic composition. Renaud Camus recently told Vox that white people in France are living “under menace”—victims of an unchecked foreign assault “as much by black Africa as it is by Northern Islamic Africans.” Yet feminism, Starbucks, the smartphone, the L.G.B.T.Q. movement, the global domination of English, EasyJet, Paris’s loss of centrality in Western cultural life—all of these developments have disrupted what it means “to be French.” The problem with identitarianism isn’t simply that it is nostalgic; it’s that it fixates on ethnicity to the exclusion of all else. The United States is not Western Europe. Not only is America full of immigrants; they are seen as part of what makes America American. Unlike France, the United States has only ever been a nation in the legal sense, even if immigration was long restricted to Europeans, and even if the Founding Fathers organized their country along the bloody basis of what we now tend to understand as white supremacy. The fact remains that, unless you are Native American, it is ludicrous for a resident of the United States to talk about “blood and soil.” And yet the country has nonetheless arrived at a moment when once unmentionable ideas have gone mainstream, and the most important political division is no longer between left and right but between globalist and nationalist. “The so-called New Right never claimed to change the world,” Alain de Benoist wrote to me. Its goal, he said, “was, rather, to contribute to the intellectual debate, to make known certain themes of reflection and thought.” On that count, it has proved a smashing success. Glucksmann summed up the Nouvelle Droite’s thinking as follows: “Let’s just win the cultural war, and then a leader will come out of it.” The belief that a multicultural society is tantamount to an anti-white society has crept out of French salons and all the way into the Oval Office. The apotheosis of right-wing Gramscism is Donald Trump. On August 11th, the Unite the Right procession marched through the campus of the University of Virginia. White-supremacist protesters mashed together Nazi and Confederate iconography while chanting variations of Renaud Camus’s grand remplacement credo: “You will not replace us”; “Jews will not replace us.” Few, if any, of these khaki-clad young men had likely heard of Guillaume Faye, Renaud Camus, or Alain de Benoist. They didn’t know that their rhetoric had been imported from France, like some dusty wine. But they didn’t need to. All they had to do was pick up the tiki torches and light them.

Thomas Chatterton Williams

This article appears in the print edition of the December 4, 2017, issue, with the headline ““You Will Not Replace Us”.”

Thomas Chatterton Williams, a contributing writer for the Times Magazine, is a Holtzbrinck Fellow at the American Academy in Berlin. He is at work on a book about racial identity.

#France #US #USA #Alain de Benoist #Renaud Camus #Guillaume Faye #Identité #identity #idenditarian #Immigration #gramscisme #gramscism

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badcharacterization · 8 years ago

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A Court of Mist and Fury

This book has appeared on so many “Best of 2016″ lists, and after reading it I wonder how many 2016 releases these people actually read... Strap yourselves in, kiddos, this is like 8 pages of rage in the original Word document. Unpopular opinions under the cut.

Note: I originally took these down as notes on my phone, I’ve edited for clarity and punctuation and stuff, but not everything is properly capitalized because this book has taken enough of my precious time already. I did something similar with ACOTAR, and will probably post that one later (it is on goodreads though). I should have cited page numbers but that would have taken forever so you’re just going to have to guess from context clues.

-time skip time skip

-the mating bond sounds super yucky

-is this foreshadowing, is Ianthe going to steal Feyre’s shitty man?

-look at them sweet gender roles

-“inherent female magic.” no thank you bro

-Feyre is straight up depressed…and it’s actually depicted well…whoa

-I’m already tired of male this and female that though. We gotta make sure that everyone knows that the Fae are “primal” and “animalistic”

-and everyone is super duper straight apparently?

-so basically Amarantha was faerie Hitler? Just in case you didn’t already think she was super evil. There’s still no explanation of why she was so twisted, and I don’t expect the author will ever give one.

-I smell some vaguely Middle Eastern cultural appropriation

-also Feyre hasn’t learned to read after months in the spring court?

-Amarantha banned holidays, like the White Witch. How original.

-Rhysand suddenly has Feyre’s best interests at heart. He must have an identical, nicer twin.

-I’m still not over him drugging her and forcing her into skimpy outfits. That will never be okay to me, no matter how nice to her he is

-let’s have some more foreshadowing about Ianthe. It’s a little not subtle and barely qualifies as foreshadowing

-I know Feyre is depressed but she is passive in an out-of-character way. She used to disobey Tamlin pretty much reflexively.

-what did Feyre think Tamlin did for income? Of course it’s egregious taxes on all his subjects

-it’s almost like the author realized that ACOTAR had problems at some point and is trying to correct them all. She apparently doesn’t really plan or outline any of her books

-it feels like Tamlin has even less self control in this book than the last one, though it was always pretty bad. The author/narrator acts like this is a significant change and a sign of how what happened has traumatized him but it…isn’t? He was always physically intimidating her and manipulating her.

-I appreciate the author acknowledging that Tamlin is an abusive overprotective jerk, but Rhysand has issues too and he hasn’t really apologized or made amends at this point

-I didn’t expect Tamlin to want a domestic wifey but I guess this is a fae thing or an “omg look how evil he is now” thing

-have some awkward writing

-it is kind of a relief when she leaves the Spring Court, mostly because nothing interesting seems to happen there and it’s all a lot of foreshadowing about Ianthe, and Feyre being surrounded by courtiers with no bearing on what happens

-the introduction of Azriel, Cassian, and Amren is kind of…fanfiction-y. There’s something about the dialogue and how you can tell them all apart in an instant that feels like it was once part of a fanfiction.

-if Velaris is so famous for art and has so many artists and its location is supposedly secret…then who’s buying the shit?

-also where are the farms

-if a girl notices a guy’s scent, it’s done.

-have some more pretty fae dudes, as if there weren’t enough already

-I don’t think the Illyrians were supposed to be POC but their portrayal as warlike, women-abusing brutes is still kinda not nuanced. The name also refers to a historical region and people in the real world so…that’s not great

-Also the mating bond seems to be purely sexual, judging by the case of Rhysand’s parents. It’s actually kind of horrifying, the idea of becoming magically bound to someone you’ve just met and may come to hate in time. Why is it so desirable? Does it usually work out fine? What happens when one partner is already married or spoken for?

-Also it’s creepy as per the usual

-Also obvious foreshadowing lol

-Also a great excuse not to properly develop a relationship

-Time to bash Feyre’s disabled father again

-Ellipses everywhere

-“You needed not to be alone.” How about you quit telling her what she needs mmmkay?

-This sentence made me gag a bit, so I’m sharing it: “the voice was at once the night and the dawn and the stars and the earth, and every inch of my body calmed at the primal dominance in it.”

-And she’s using her pet word, primal, again

-There are flushing toilets in what seemed to be a medieval shit-land…okay

-At least this relationship is being built up better, but I still can’t get over the forced drugged striptease shit

-Amren’s back story is cool

-“Deadly bit of flirtation” Feyre needs to stop being so melodramatic, he was just flirting

-The Weaver is exactly the kind of weird, creepy faerie I’ve wanted to see in this series.

-Barbecue is an odd choice of words

-Rhysand feels more like her tough life coach than a potential love interest right now.

-Why is Feyre acting like Ianthe approaching Rhysand for sex was some unforgivable assault, when he had the power to make it stop immediately? It’s not even comparable to Amarantha.

-And how could Ianthe theoretically force herself on Lucien when males seem to hold more power than females in the Spring Court? Are priestesses an exception? Are there rules about turning them down? Does she enjoy some kind of special status?

-Foreshadowing about Ianthe and Tamlin again

-It’s almost like…Ianthe was behaving like literally every male character in this goddamn series. “The ownership and arrogance in that gesture” hmmmmmm…that sounds familiar

-Double standard time: Sexually aggressive men are just alpha males, sexually aggressive women are eeeeeevil

-Feyre complains that being rich and a woman in the human world is restricting but it seemed like she had a lot of freedoms when she went back and her father had his fortune back. Also, when she was poor. Someone had to know she was sleeping with that Isaac guy. Nesta certainly did.

-Almost forgot about the female mercenary, too

-Also apparently there are queens who are in charge in the human lands, though it was only mentioned in this book?

-The whole humans not having holidays thing is still dumb. They would have created new ones after disavowing fae ones. Whenever people abandon an ideology en masse, something usually crops up to fill the psychological void.

-time to reminisce about how shitty Feyre’s human life was

-It’s not like Feyre’s sisters were also kids when they lost their mother and their fortunes fell or anything

-Cassian and Nesta’s hate thing is a little exaggerated; the ship is almost too obvious. “Look, they’re acting like they hate each other” is a sloppy shortcut to “they have sexual tension and they’re going to end up in a relationship.” Because the author doesn’t want to spend too much time fleshing out any of the other relationships in this damn book

-If Amren ends up being a villain, too, I’m gonna lose my shit.

-Feyre’s human life sucked guys, remember? REMEMBER??? ISN’T SHE SO MUCH BETTER OFF IN DOUCHEY MISOGYNIST FAERIELAND???

-There’s an unnamed brown faerie…such diversity. Much wow

-The food is so good and spicy and shit it’s somehow curing her depression a bit…okay

-Feyre pays a lot of attention to Azriel. Begins to feel weird after the first couple of times

-“Yeah, Rhys, thanks for making me dance like a stripper, but the magical disembodied music was great”

-I almost like Cassian now. Almost

-Unless Ianthe is secretly super powerful I think Lucien doesn’t have to worry about her “preying” on him. Chill.

-So Rhysand and Feyre are basically texting…okay

-Rhysand is petty as shit about Tarquin: “I know we’re not in an actual relationship or anything…but I’m mad because you smiled at him.” All the men in this series need to chill

-Varian and Amren makes no sense. It just crops up out of the blue…and is…a thing

-The language around attraction is interesting and gendered. Men are “predatory” when they’re interested in a woman. He gets “lethal focus” on her. Which leaves me wondering…does he want to fuck her or eat her? I honestly can’t tell.

-What does “tattooed panes of his chest” even mean? His chest is a window?

-Have a very vague description of Rhysand’s room

-SJM always writes romances where the characters instantly click or feel attraction, and the only thing keeping them apart is stubbornness

-This part feels like a draft, it’s a summary of Feyre’s training and interactions with Mor, and I actually want to see what that’s like. Mor was supposed to be a less manipulative replacement for Ianthe, but we hardly get to see her interactions with Feyre

-The way Feyre is dressed, she’s basically being presented as Rhys’s partner and she doesn’t seem to mind? Unless Mor gets a crown, too, and the author just neglected to mention it

-So two of the queens are married to each other? Yay! Background token LGBT characters

-How do the mortal lands even work, politically? Two of the queens can be married to one another and not have to worry about producing heirs? Why so many queens? Do they rule together or each govern different kingdoms?

-Most of the queens get a sentence or two of description, but then SJM goes on and on about the beautiful one and treats her as the most important woman in the group

-Also all beautiful women hate each other at first sight y’all

-I thought she only picked Mor’s name because she thought it sounded cool but she’s actually (clumsily) referencing Irish mythology

-So humans and fae can interbreed, like in the Throne of Glass series

-“The Black Land” seems like the author gave up on names. It also resembles the name for Ancient Egypt, and the description of its history confirms that

-Also what is with all the evil faerie queens running around? How can someone be much worse than Ms. Tortures-Everyone, Amarantha?

-If the queens know of the Veritas but have never actually laid eyes on it, how would they know it shows the truth?

-Okay, let’s have entire pages all about the sex lives of Illyrians. Thanks, Sarah, I really needed to know that

-Of course sex stuff is more thought out than anything with the politics, magic system…or like anything else

-Okay, obviously Rhysand is someone she likes now, why is flirting with him still “lethal” and “dangerous”? Is she afraid of Tamlin’s reaction?

-…how would wings make for interesting sex positions? Maybe my imagination is just lacking but…why

-the description of the court of nightmares is super vague

-It feels like YA female protagonists always have to have a female friend or servant who’s more into clothes and makeup to dress them. It’s almost like a main character can’t actually be invested in girly things

-I think this scene is meant to show how much things have changed since Rhysand forced Feyre to dance like a stripper and drink drugged wine Under the Mountain, because now he asked her permission before including her in his schemes…but it rings hollow for me. This romance doesn’t work unless you ignore everything from book 1

-“That primal, male rage” you just gotta gender everything

-also really convenient that the author gets to attribute everything awful Rhysand has ever done to his “mask” or persona as a high lord

-Yeah let’s keep woobifying him and brining up how awful Amarantha was. It makes him look better…if you don’t think about it too hard

-The Starfall scene is kinda vague and doesn’t do much narratively, just like the solstice scene in book 1.

-LOOK LADIES RHYSAD IS A FEMINIST!!! DOESN’T THAT CANCEL OUT EVERYTHING BAD HE’S EVER DONE?!??!?!?

-So the Illyrian blood rite is basically faerie Hunger Games.

-So Rhysand is not only the most powerful high lord alive, but he’s also the most powerful of all time?

-Feyre’s description of him fingering her is ridiculous. “Every point in my body, my mind, my soul, narrowed to the feeling of his fingers…”

-Why does it seem like SJM has a thing for whipping? Also why are they whipping him? Torture for information? Just to show that they’re a bunch of irredeemably evil dicks?

-This isn’t a YA novel. It just isn’t.

-I sense some drama over the whole “you knew we were mates all along” thing

-Yep

-How is this the most important thing in a fae’s life though?

-Feyre has every right to be mad at him, and confused and shit. Jeesh.

-So the mating bond involves the female offering food to the male…gender roles galore

-If he felt the mating bond when she was human, does that mean that high fae can bond with humans, or that she was meant to change?

-So the faeries who tried to assault Feyre on Calanmai are called “Picts”…that’s an actual historical people, just like Illyrians. Kinda icky, even if no one really identifies with those names anymore

-Her descriptions of orgasms are always ridiculous

-“A slow, satisfied male smile” WE GET IT SARAH HE’S MALE JESUS CHRIST

-They sexed so hard they caused an avalanche? The fuck?

-What’s with all the roaring

-Another “male” smile. This is my least favorite phrase

-Post mating bond behavior is not cute. He wants to fight any “male” who looks at or comments on Feyre, including Cassian, who’s just a little shit

-“Feral” returns

-The mating bond makes them act like animals in heat and FEYRE CAN’T SO MUCH AS GLANCE AT ANOTHER MALE WITHOUT RHYS REACTING? HOW IS THIS DESIRABLE?

-And, sure, he’s fighting it, but this is still being presented as a model relationship?

-“Purr” has returned

-oh no the human queens are such awful bitches for not trusting the people who historically screwed humans over a bunch.

-The description of what happens and what Mor looks like when she holds the Veritas is kind of vague

-It’s understandable and logical for the queens to suspect manipulation, the only really bad thing about them is that they’re willing to abandon the humans on Prythian

-Lemme guess, Nesta and Cassian are mates, too? Isn’t it supposed to be super rare?

-So the beautiful young queen is nice after all. Beauty=goodness, kiddos

-How does Feyre know that the other queens betrayed them? The info could have been tortured out of them and they could be dumping the other bodies all over the city for all she knows? It seems like she’s leaping to conclusions [note: she ends up being right, of course]

-How can Feyre see Amren? Are they that close to each other? Cassian and Azriel are airborne but it sounds like city streets are between Feyre and Amren and buildings should be obstructing the view

-Sometimes SJM tries too hard to be a serious writer

-The fight is pretty cool, it just feels a little too effortless and efficient. It’s also frustrating that Feyre has had this vast power and hasn’t really used it much in combat until now

-her skill is made a little more believable by the fact that she doesn’t have a lot of precision, just raw power.

-Rhys is respecting her autonomy! Let’s just forget about book 1 completely

-So…the ring retrieval was a test to determine if she was strong enough to be his mate, too…not a douche move at all

-So convenient that all of the Hybern soldiers/underlings are sadistic creeps, it means the mains don’t have to regret killing them

-Jurian is described as tan, like many of the other characters in the book. But it just makes me think they’re meant to be white people with tans.

-The King of Hybern has no name and is also described as “blandly handsome” like a man in his 40s…wait I thought all fae are super beautiful and look young?

-So…literally all the faeries in Hybern’s court are dead-eyed and evil and there’s no art or furniture. That sounds fake…but okay.

-Just in case you didn’t understand that Tamlin isn’t just a bad person, now he’s super evil and possessive…oh wait he always was

-He actually has a point about Rhysand, how can you ever fully trust someone who could possibly mess with your mind?

-Also kind of messed up how two of the evil humans queens are like the only queer characters in the goddamn books so far

-why would the queens buy the idea that the king of Hybern is on their side? He wants to bring down the wall, unless he somehow hid that part from them

-it’s baaaaad for women to want power and eternal life. They can only have it if men give it to them

-Speaking of which, IANTHE IS EVIL GUYS! WHO SAW THIS COMING???

-So Hybern and Ianthe’s plan is to overthrow the high lords and let the priestesses rule. I know they’re supposed to be corrupt or whatever, even though there’s not any concrete evidence of this, but how is overthrowing the high lords a bad thing?

-While the twist with Nesta and Elain has interesting potential, Nesta and Cassian being mates is boring

-And super obvious

-Weird that Feyre suddenly thinks of her father, out of the blue, after weeks of not giving a fuck about him, when Elain is changed. Also prioritizing men’s feelings…again

-King of Hybern made a creepy comment about Mor and then forgot her, very cartoonish

-THIS SCENE IS DRAMATIC ENOUGH!!! Why add the Elain/Lucien mates reveal? Jeesh

-Gotta demonize that young ambitious queen for looking at fae men

-Sudden convenient powers

-And now a sudden chapter from Rhysand’s POV

-So Amren says mating bonds can’t be broken, but I’d be more interested in the story if it was in fact breakable and if Feyre and Rhysand would have to decide to live and love without it. This book treats it like the end-all-be-all though

-Awww Amren cares about Feyre after all

-Rhysand’s narrative voice sounds like Feyre’s, where I would expect him to sound very different

-GUYS RHYSAND MADE FEYRE HIS HIGH LADY DOESN’T THAT MAKE HIM THE BEST FEMSINIST EVER?!?!? WOMEN CAN STILL ONLY DERIVE POWER FROM MEN IN THIS UNIVERSE…BUT RHYSAND IS A SEXY FEMININST

-this is treated like a plot twist and I wish the scene had actually been shown…although that would only make this godforsaken book even longer.

-Aaaaand it’s totally confirmed after like two pages that the mating bond isn’t broken…just kill the drama and tension…just murder it

-Lucien is obviously suspicious of Feyre

Final thoughts

-Tamlin allying with Hybern comes off as stupid, not evil. Granted, he did not seem all that intelligent in ACOTAR, but you would expect someone who’s lived for centuries to be a bit savvier. He had to have heard of what Hybern was all about

-Women are constantly defined by their relationships with men. Like apparently the mating bond existed when Feyre was still human and Rhysand sent her visions of the night sky to comfort her and she painted it on her dresser drawer. It’s a minor thing but it just keeps coming up

-Feyre just kinda lacks agency in general. It’s supposed to be this cool, “she’s learning how to fight and defend herself” plot in the middle of the book, but Rhysand determines her goals, and his wants and needs drive the plot more than hers. It gets worse after the mating bond sets in.

-Also Ianthe is the only female character who does not have a devoted relationship with one man and she is demonized for keeping herself independent and sleeping around. Mor also isn’t in an established relationship, but it’s obvious that the author is hinting at her and Azriel being a potential couple.

-I would like to see Cassian cope with a disability, one that makes him worthless in the eyes of his culture…but I know that shit is getting cured ASAP, of course after milking it for a bit of melodrama and man feels. Like, there is no way he’ll actually have to go without his wings

-Ianthe’s betrayal of Feyre’s sisters lacks a real punch. Even when Feyre implicitly trusted her, she obviously didn’t like Ianthe much and her sinister intentions were heavily foreshadowed. If that relationship had actually been established as a strong friendship, the betrayal would seem like much more of a betrayal. Instead, it’s kind of like “Oh no, I knew there was a reason I didn’t like her all along.”

-This book seems to call into question the idea that the high fae are superior to and different from lesser faeries, especially if Illyrians can interbreed with high fae. This still doesn’t indicate where things like the Suriel and the Weaver fit in the hierarchy. It’s implied that both are more powerful than individual high fae, though it seems that the Suriel is pretty easily deceived and captured. The world building doesn’t make any sense if you question it too much

-The whole “lesser faeries deserve better” message that crops up once or twice, in between all the feels and sex, also rings hollow because pretty much all lesser fae so far have been demonized or portrayed in a negative light. The Picts, the Naga, the Attor and his dudes, etc.

-If Rhys is so awesome, why let the Court of Nightmares keep existing in its current state? Especially if he supposedly cares about Mor so much?

-In that scene where Feyre is watching her sisters get dunked into the cauldron, it all feels very detached. She’s watching Cassian and Lucien’s reactions, when I feel like she should be very narrowly focused on her sisters and what’s happening to them. The author doesn’t fully commit to the first person POV, because she wants to make it very, very super obvious to the audience that Cassian is Nesta’s mate and Lucien is Elain’s, but it makes the scene lack something emotionally. First person gives you the ability to make the narration emotional and immediate, but that comes at certain costs. One character can’t see or notice everything you want them to.

-Also she’s just always got to prioritize male feels over female suffering. OH LOOK SOMETHING HORRIBLE IS HAPPENING TO A WOMAN AND OH NO A MAN IS REALLY REALLY SAD AND ANGSTY ABOUT IT LET’S FOCUS ON HIM INSTEAD

-The author just seems to care more about men than women, in all honesty, and this is part of the reason I can’t just escape into this world or consider this book even a guilty pleasure. The Throne of Glass books were starting to get this way, too, especially because she keeps killing off the girls of color in that series.

-And basically any woman who’s greedy or doesn’t derive her power from a man is demonized. Especially if they’re sexually active or aggressive in their pursuit of the men they want. Rhysand’s behavior in ACOTAR was even worse than Ianthe’s, it’s such a double standard and it’s laughable that anyone would call these books feminist. There is nothing in Ianthe’s actions to imply that she is violating any of the men she’s pursued. She’s pushy, shady, and needs to learn when to back off, sure, but it’s not like she’s assaulting anyone. Especially when the men she’s gone after are obviously way more powerful than her (Lucien, too, is obviously the heir of the Autumn Court, even if he enjoys lower status in the Spring Court).

-I’m still not over the idea that getting rid of the High Lords would not be bad. Like, Rhysand and Feyre both agreed that the current social system is stultified and deeply unfair to “females” and “lesser faeries”? How is the idea itself so bad and repulsive to them? They react with disgust and shock when Hybern brings it up

-I feel like pretty much every character is more interesting than Rhysand, with the possible exception of Tamlin. This may be mostly because I feel that they have potential and that the author hasn’t written enough about any of them and hasn’t had the chance to ruin them or waste their potential (like Manon in Throne of Glass). She just tries way too hard to make Rhysand seem sympathetic and loveable after all of the questionable things he did in book 1. And it shows.

-Come to think of it, it’s super strange that the Night Court lands are so neatly divided into “sadistic shitty assholes” in the Court of Nightmares and “peaceful artsy people” in Velaris. Like, what nation has ever been like that? People aren’t either irredeemable dicks or good people, every place has a mix of people.

-Amren feels like the kind of character I would love with a different author, but is barely developed. Same with the rest of the inner circle: Azriel is too much of a cipher to really make me care, Cassian is kinda all over the place, and Mor is built up as this amazing female role model who’s been through so much and has great inner strength…but then the author barely pays attention to her. Basically, the author cares about her self insert and her perfect love interest, and everyone else is just set dressing.

-The King of Hybern is so boring, and is just like the King of Adarlan in Throne of Glass. The comparison is even more obvious because neither of them ever receives an actual name.

-There were some moments where ACOTAR was well written/compelling, however fleeting. There were also spots that showed some potential. There are more of those in this book, but as more of the world is revealed, it becomes clear that it’s all built on heteronormativity and a rigid view of gender and gender roles. The magic system is poorly developed, the politics and geography is poorly established, and the plot limps. Instead of tightening these things up, the author chooses to focus on romance and sex, pausing frequently to allow the main characters to have sexual tension, going on for pages about the sex lives of her winged fetish-boys, and demonizing anyone who stands in the protagonists’ way. This story isn’t really about the looming war, it’s about two people falling in love and having a bunch of sex. All of the other stuff is just stuff she needs to put down on the page so she can get back to describing male abs and sex scenes. That’s not to say that this is a bad thing, but I expect more plot, world building, and character development out of something that’s labeled as “fantasy” and about 600 pages long. And the romance just doesn’t work for me. Too much brooding and woobifying, the bond is just boring and too convenient.

-There were a few times I almost quit this book, but about midway through I started hearing about what a shitfest ACOWAR is and that motivated me to finish, because I love a good shitfest, if I’m in the right mood.

#Books #YA #Fantasy

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boatfire · 7 years ago

Text

The Dance of Death, Panel by Panel.

Clasped in the arms of Death, no one escapes its grip, a fatal one to be sure, but here anguish conceals its own depressive force and displays defiance through sarcasm or the grimace of a mocking smile, without triumph, as if, knowing it is done for, laughter is the only answer.” Julia Kristeva on the Dance of Death in her essay ‘Holbein’s Dead Christ‘

Modern images of the moment of death are predominately photojournalistic in nature, with an incidental, documentary approach, however intentional this may actually be. Although we may assume a certain intent in publishing such an image, most likely a desire to induce empathy, this is not necessary for the creation of an effective photograph. In contrast, the late medieval motif of the Dance of the Death, which also depicts the moment of death, emphasizes the allegorical intent of the image: no matter who you are or what your level of privilege may be, death can arrive for you at any moment. The king, merchant, peasant or baby that death ensnares is, in fact, every king, merchant, peasant or baby. The language of the Dance of Death, despite depicting the moment when death comes to claim another victim, is more akin to that of the editorial cartoon or comic strip than the documentary photograph. These images are meant to inspire contemplation and fear, not empathy.

The Dance of Death motifs first appeared in paintings, especially frescoes on the walls of churches or graveyards. The first known Dance of Death, now lost to time, is thought to have been painted in 1424 on the wall of the charnel house, a vault for storing bones unearthed when digging new graves, at Cimetière des Innocents in Paris. The composition, a single horizontal line of figures starting with the most powerful on the left and descending in social station to the right, set the template for future Dances. This composition emphasizes the allegorical and editorial in its very structure. The wealthy and powerful come first and everyone else follows. But death takes them all. The ‘dance’ depicted is that of the farandole, or community dance, where hands are joined in a line, thus uniting all of society in Death’s grip.

Unlike a single, traditional image (rectangle or square), the Dance of Death is ‘read’ rather than seen. The reader starts at one end and progresses to the conclusion, as with a comic book. From the beginning, the Dance of Death incorporated text, and in the case of the Saint Innocents mural also depicted a narrator. At each end of the sequence, the author sat at a desk in a separate book-lined space, or comic panel, if you will. The text in the author panels was contained in unfurled scrolls (or banderoles), again conjuring the comic’s modern caption box. Each station in the line of the Innocents mural had accompanying text, most likely painted below the images, as it appears in subsequent and surviving murals throughout Europe. It is fair to assume the text came first, inspired by the 13th-century French literary genre Vado Mori (I prepare myself to die), in which people of various social classes rail in verse against the inevitability of death. But it is the introduction of the mocking voice of Death addressing his victim that gives the text of the Dance of Death mural its mischievous sting:

Death:

Patriarch, it is not by lowering your head only

that you can be acquitted.

The cross of Lorraine which is so dear to you,

Another will receive it: it is all justice.

Think no more of honours,

You will never be Pope at Rome;

You are now called to account (of your acts).

The foolish hopes deceive man.

Death’s mocking is then followed by the words of the vanquished lamenting the futility of their striving for position and honour. It is only the Hermit who deviates from this and seems to accept his fate.

The Hermit

Despite a hard and lonely life,

Death does not grant a delay.

Everyone sees it and must be silent.

I pray to God to give me a gift:

Let him erase all my sins.

I am pleased with all the benefits of

which I have profited by His grace.

Who is not happy with what he has, has nothing.

We have only the prints of Guy Marchant’s drawings of the Dance of Death in the Cimetière des Innocents to go by, as the mural was destroyed in 1669 in order, it is said, to widen a road. Marchant’s drawings were reproduced in a popular pamphlet that enjoyed multiple editions. The pioneering anatomist Andreas Vesalius, author and illustrator of one of the most influential books on human anatomy, De humani corporis fabrica (On the Fabric of the Human Body), is said to have developed his interest in anatomy after examining the bones in the charnel houses of the Innocents cemetery. It is easy to imagine the seed for one of his most famous images from De Humani, that of a skeleton contemplating a skull, being planted as Vesalius contemplated the first known mural of the Dance of Death.

The first known picture of a printing press appears in a similar context. An image in La grat danse macabre des homes (Lyon, 1499), of which only two copies survive, depicts Death in its familiar skeletal form disrupting a book shop, interrupting the work of a compositor placing type, and halting the printing of a book. Contemplating this image, I wonder if the printer could be alluding to a deeper purpose in his work – to cheat Death’s erasure of the words of man through the means of reproduction. Pondering the relationship between death and the written word leads to a rabbit hole of associations, from images of Saint Jerome translating the bible with only a candle and a skull on his desk to the popularity of the skull as an image on ex libris, perhaps serving as much as a warning to a book thief as a memento mori.

Most people encounter the Dance of Death in book form, as I did in the dustiest of bookstores, Hood Used Books, in Lawrence, Kansas. More specifically, I stumbled upon Hans Holbein’s Dance of Death, which is the most widely known and reproduced iteration of the genre. I found my copy among bright spines of pop art catalogues and monographs on Impressionism, its black spine with faded gold type standing out in the negative, a slice of darkness among stripes of colour. It is from 1947 and, written in pencil next to the price of $12.50, is ‘out-of-print’. But, of course, that applies only to this edition, for Holbein’s Dance of Death is never out of print and likely will never be (it has recently been reissued as a Penguin Classic). The cover of my copy, also black with gold embossing, depicts Death beating a drum, framed in an oval that contains the words: Vitas Brevis, Ars Longa (Life is Short, Art is Long).

Given that my own artistic output at the time leaned towards punkish images of apocalypse and alienation, I no doubt instantly responded to the social critique imbedded in Holbein’s images. And I must have recognized something of the editorial cartoon, if only in the familiar configuration of a single image with a caption below. Due to the need for a separate vignette for each page in the sequence, the original dance, the farandole, or community dance, is lost. Holbein was doubtless aware of this, given that it is likely he would have seen Guy Marchant’s drawings of the Innocents mural, which paired figures but retained the pillars of the charnel house and the joined hands of the dance. Holbein’s choice to isolate the figures, imbuing each image with details specific to the individual’s station in society, is not insignificant. Indeed, Holbein’s other leap forward, to take the Death images out of the symbolic and into the everyday, realistic lived space of late medieval life, would not be possible, or at least quite clumsy in a single image mural (though it’s fun to imagine something akin to a Bruegel crowd composition applied to this theme).

With his emphasis on specifics, Holbein expands what was previously a moral lesson — Death as the great equalizer, putting all social stations on notice — into the realm of social criticism that is tied to the reform ideas of his time. For instance, anti-papacy sentiment is expressed in the image of Death coming for the pope. Demons symbolize corruption and Holbein deepens the reformist critique by depicting the king kissing the foot of the pope, in contrast to Jesus washing the feet of the poor. A corrupting demon makes only one other appearance, blowing bellows into the ear of the Senator to mask the words of the imploring poor man at his shoulder. Such details abound and reward deeper viewing. The nun is distracted from her prayers by a handsome minstrel, as a broken hourglass, a recurring symbol of approaching death, lies broken at her feet. The astrologer points to his model of the universe as Death presents a skull, an object considered more worthy of his contemplation. In contrast, the Ploughman, unlike the nobles and other powerful characters, who resist or ignore Death, is the beneficiary of Death’s help as it implores his horses with a whip towards the setting sun.

One image I return to, which is among ten plates that only appears in later editions, is the Idiot Fool. Perhaps this one captures my attention because it is hard to identify our modern equivalent, or perhaps there is something in the specific details that I find compelling. His misshapen head, exposed member, finger in mouth and what the text refers to as a ‘bladder bauble’ makes one wonder if such a fool actually crossed Holbein’s path at one time. Unlike many of the other encounters, which are set in urban scenes, the one between the Idiot Fool and Death takes place in a rocky, barren landscape. Death plays the bagpipes and gently tugs on the fool’s clothing, while the fool looks quizzical and even entertained, unlike most of the other victims, who regard Death with fear and alarm. Is the fool’s lack of concern due to a deficiency of mind or does he, like the Hermit, benefit from a life lived without worldly desire? Holbein’s images also contain objects and details contemporary to the time, a feature highlighted in the introduction to my edition. The writer notes the variety of instruments, costumes, furniture, etc, ending with “Whatever one’s profession, business, or special hobby, he is sure to find relevant interesting illustrations in the following pages”, as if trying to ignore that the subject of death is quite relevant enough.

Holbein’s Dance of Death was printed in 1538. It was immensely popular. In addition to the eleven editions published in the subsequent twenty years or so, it inspired around a hundred unauthorized copies or imitations. Most notable of the subsequent versions influenced by Holbein’s imagery are the dramatic and elaborate series by the Baroque artists Rudolf and Conrad Meyer, whose Sterbensspiegel was published in 1650. By the 1800s, many examples of the genre return to a stripped-down allegorical form, isolating the figures without backgrounds and eliminating other characters or symbolic props. In one example, a series of delightful 19th-century German ceramics, the context is removed completely. Nonetheless, by virtue of the indomitable structure of the motif and playful text, Death is still the mirthful and mocking equalizer even if the pointed editorial content is subdued.

However, Alfred Rethel’s 1848 Auch ein Totentanz (Yet Another Dance of Death) marked a departure in the genre. Rethel’s Dance of Death is a conservative response to the 1848 revolution, though art historians disagree about Rethel’s political leanings. Yet the message is unmistakable. Unfolding in a sequential series with text below, Rethel’s Dance of Death recasts Death not as a mocking and mirthful dancer but as a political seducer who manipulates the mob for his own purposes. When printed on a broadside, as it was, the six-panel series would call to mind the classic six-panel structure of modern comics and the visual language of editorial cartoons. For example, the first panel presents vices such as Frenzy, Falsehood and Bloodthirstiness as women, who greet and aid Death as he is woken by the revolutionary cries of ‘Liberty, Equality and Fraternity’. The careful viewer will notice Justice tied up in the background.

From here, Death proceeds, in a series of beautifully composed panels, to ride to an industrialized town (wearing an 18th century coat symbolic of the Enlightenment and broad-brimmed hat favored by radicals of the time) and seduce the mob and ultimately incite them to revolutionary violence. In the last panel, Death is fully revealed in his skeletal nature save for a victor’s wreath, triumphantly astride a horse that steps among the corpses — ‘all as brothers, free and equal.’ Death is again the equalizer, but using revolution to do his bidding. With its balanced diagonals, historic details and sharp satire, Rethel’s Dance of Death harks back to Holbein’s aesthetic and message but for entirely different political ends. Although Rethel chose to call it a Dance of Death, the differences in social class are not equalized but championed in the depiction of the perils of revolution.

In contrast, Thomas Rowlandson’s The English Dance of Death (1815) gives the comedic and social satire possibilities of the motif full rein. Nagging wives, leering husbands, fetching chambermaids, obese drunkards in wheelbarrows are all rendered in grotesque parodies of human folly. A pitiless and delighted Death chases, drags or leads the characters to their inevitable fate. As with Holbein, all social stations are represented, although not in the traditional order, and Rowlandson melds the motif with portions of its obvious cousin, the seven deadly sins. The gluttonous, the vain and the conniving all make appearances, as do some curious modern equivalents such as the Quack Doctor, the Catchpole (tax collector) and Genealogist. Only a few appear noble, such as the Recruit, which only serves to show death at its cruellest. In both style and content, it seems that Rowlandson’s Dance of Death is the clearest expression of the motif as editorial cartoon.

Despite adopting the title and exploring the social foibles and hypocrisy of Holbein’s template, Rowlandson was not slavish in his interpretation. This is true of many modern riffs on the motif. Today, the Dance of Death’s most enduring feature, that of the personification of Death, is unleashed in all sorts of forms and permutations, though some themes recur. For instance, many of the images in the war-related artwork of the Richard Harris Collection, including works by Goya, Käthe Kollwitz, Otto Dix and John Heartfield, draw on the Dance of Death theme, with antecedents in post-Holbein images of Death taking the soldier as well as Rethel’s repurposing. It is, of course, inevitable that the figure of Death and war are linked and, interesting that this is more often in the form of a print rather than an original painting – so much the better for wide distribution.

Perhaps the most curious and inscrutable of the Dance of Death’s permutations is that of the Death and the Maiden. First appearing in Germany in the early 1500s, the motif is typified by a skeletal figure embracing a naked woman in the bloom of her youth. Erotically charged and tinged with the taboo, it reads like a censored panel of the Dance of Death. It has inspired generations of artists, from Edvard Munch to Joseph Beuys. One modern depiction, attributed to the prolific poster designer Josef Fenneker in 1919 used the image to promote a film written by Fritz Lang that purports to be about a beautiful dancer exploited by a cripple to lure men to their deaths. Like the original mural at the Cimetière des Innocents, the film, entitled Der Totentanz ((Dance of Death), is lost to time.

In contemplating the original mural and all the subsequent Dance of Deaths, one wonders if they had the intended effect of inspiring a more virtuous populace. One can imagine how the less fortunate classes may have taken pleasure in seeing their oppressors and those lucky enough to be born into wealth brought low by the great equalizer. Perhaps the effect was less like a photograph that might inspire empathy and more like the editorial cartoon, that tireless tormentor of the corrupt blowhard. It is not hard to imagine a bit of comfort being derived by applying this motif to the least humble and most privileged in today’s society. I suspect such an image would go viral much faster than something closer to the cautionary intent of the original Dance of Death. For instance, a conscience-prodding image that shows shoppers being chased by Death through a climate-changed landscape may have more power than an image seeking to elicit sympathy by depicting a migrant welcoming Death in the desert. For whatever ends, and whichever side of human nature it appeals to, the adaptability of the Dance of Death comes from a universality that extends beyond content to form. In fact the single image with a single caption, a form once seen in the mural of a Parisian cemetery, is referred to by contemporary cartoonists as a ‘gag’ comic. The term not only conjures up the involuntary laugh but also the deathly grip. The mirthful grinning skull is the dark punchline, reminding us that the joke is on us. All of us.

This essay appears, with many other essays and hundreds of images in Death: A Graveside Companion edited by Joanna Ebenstein, a must have for anyone interested in this subject.

#danceofdeath #death deathandart

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