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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

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Ad Libitum I

Warnings: nonconsensual sex (series, to be warned later on)

This is dark!Loki and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are face with the opportunity of a lifetime, however you might have told a rather big lie to get there.

Note: I promise my other series are still going. I have half chapters I’m chipping away at every day! For now I’ll post the intro to my first Victorian AU.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

‘For the consideration of one, Mister Everet Ede.

After a close and contented reading of your recent piece ‘The Oyster’s Wealth’ in Cornhill Magazine, I write you to present an offer upon your skills.

Your work does show potential and I believe, as an editor and an author myself, it would benefit both parties should I aid you in refining such talent. While your writing does prove adequate and at times, provoking, there is much a young writer might learn from one as esteemed and experienced as myself.

Under the marquee of my own publication, The Asp’s Tongue, and my name, I would extend to you an offer of residence and should it prove productive, a place upon my list of regular authors.

It was only two years ago that my journal opted to discontinue our bursary for writers but it is in my own purview, aside from those of my investors, that young minds require honing and it is upon my own coffers that I do make this offer of sponsorship for your development as an author.

Should you choose to accept, I would expect your arrival upon the first Sunday of June at my estate of Emerald Hills. You will come with all that is required for your education; nibs, ink, paper, et cetera, as well as any personal possessions required for daily existence. Your board will be allotted by manor throughout your residency. Aside from that, you would require only your wit and basic literary competency.

I expect confirmation of your acceptance by the last day of April so that I may have the manor prepared for your arrival. Tardiness in all matters will not be tolerated.

I anticipate a valuable and vibrant professional accord,

Lord Loki Laufeyson, Duke of Wynselm

Founder and Operator of Laufey’s Publishing’

You read the letter once more. The folds of the paper were deep and fragile, the corners curling from your repeated reviews. In the months since its delivery, you had memorised ever curlicue of its script. It was better than any letter of acceptance you’d ever received. The only flaw was the pseudonym across the top. One day, you hoped, it would be your true name that greeted you.

The coach rocked and you caught yourself against the side, jostled atop the hard wooden seat. You shifted in your stiff skirts and peeked out the window. There was still doubt. Still anxiety. You’d accepted the offer without a thought and without much explanation.

What would the great lord publisher think of you? A woman masquerading as a writer? Well, you hoped that he might overcome the shock and uphold his integrity. It was your work he had read. It was your words which had driven him to write. So why should your sex change the merit of your skill?

There was a sinking feeling in your stomach. It was a slim hope you had, truly. You expected him to laugh you back to your measly London apartment like all the other editors you had ever dared face beyond the stain of your inkwell. Had this all been for not? Another prospect dissolved by that feminine curse?

Besides, even if you were a man, the Duke was infamously misanthropic. It was reported in the papers that he hadn’t left Emerald Hills in several years. That he had grown cynical of society, not so much as submitting a sentence to his very own periodicals. So it was with great surprise that you’d received his letter and with greater hesitation. His reputation was not one of a fond patron but rather a unyielding despot.

Yet it was an opportunity you did not expect to ever occur again, so you leapt, without thinking, and now your fear bubbled in your chest. To have come all this way and to be told what you’d always been told. To be denied again. In the flesh, you could not be Everet Ede, you could not hide behind your pen. Perhaps his own penchant for artifice might soften his rigid spine.

The manor stood on the highest hill in Wynselm. The gates were locked and a solemn doorman appeared from a small shed to open them. You pulled the curtain shut, afraid you would be found out before even breaking the threshold. The coach rumbled up the winding and steep path and stopped just before the broad stone steps.

You peeked out as the driver stepped down from his perch. You waited a moment, watching the front doors of the manor. It seemed as if the entire place was dead. Abandoned, even. The driver opened your door and offered his hand to help you down. Though his service was the cheapest you could acquire, his manners suggested otherwise.

He unloaded your trunk as you clutched your valise. You thanked him as he set the heavy luggage beside your dark skirts and you offered him a coin from your purse. He accepted with a toothy smile.

“Should I wait and help you carry it in?” He asked.

You considered the offer. It might be best if he tarried in case you were swiftly dismissed. What would you do if you were stranded here? And yet, you were determined not to be turned away. Your best option might be to force your presence upon this man.

“No,” You answered staunchly and pushed your shoulders back. “You’ve been a great help, sir. You should hurry back to the city.”

“Miss,” He removed his hat. “Good day to you.”

“And you,” You nodded and watched him climb back up onto his seat.

He snapped the horse into action and their hooves clopped around and down the path until you could no longer see them. You gripped your valise even tighter and turned to the manor. The doors suddenly shifted and a man in a plain grey suit appeared. He pushed both open and stood aside as he waited silently.

You heard footsteps from within, the tap of leather sols upon the wood. A lithe figure emerged from the shadows and the sunlight lit his pale skin. His dark hair was pushed back so that his curls gathered behind his head and his high, starched collar made his features seem even sharper.

He stopped sharply at the top of the stairs and blinked at you. He peered around and squinted, slowly stepping forward to descend the steps. He stood straight across from you, a brow arched as he stared you down.

“Are you lost? I fear you sent away your valet much too soon, madam.” He said.

“My lord, Mr. Laufeyson?” You ventured.

He frowned. “Everet is a rather odd name for… a woman.”

“My apologies for my deception but you must understand as an editor yourself, a woman’s name doesn’t sell stories, does it?” You let out a shaky breath. “Not that I think it should matter when my physical attributes have little bearing on my writing.”

“Even so, I do value honesty in my writers. Foremost. A lack of such in life might reflect deceit on paper.” He challenged. “And I am not equipped to house… a woman.”

“Women hardly require more than a man. Often less.” You countered. “You made an offer on the grounds of my work, I accepted on the same. I see no reason why it should be an issue. I am determined, would have to be to have a story published, devoted to say the least, and by your own words, a competent writer.”

“I did not… I was not aware…” He sighed. “You can’t expect-- After being so underhanded… How could… I cannot…”

He cleared his throat and glanced over his shoulder at the man in the grey suit.

“I’ve taken two coaches and train. I’ve packed up my livelihood in this trunk, I’ve been nothing but honest other than… my true name. You cannot claim my work as ingenuine nor my intentions. I’ve come here to write.” You declared. “I see not how my sex should preclude me from these matters. Would you argue inadequacy based upon my physical stature after proclaiming me capable previously? Sir, I would argue that should suggest a lack of honesty on your part. Not mine.”

He tilted his head and his chin jutted out in irritation. His slender fingers ran the length of his jacket and fiddled with the button.

“Well, you certainly speak like a writer.” He said. “Very well. We shall see what we can mold out of you.” He gestured to the man in the grey suit. “Horace.” He nodded to the trunk. “But do not think my standards shall bend upon your favour, madam.” He warned as the man came down to lift your trunk, barely able to drag it up the steps. “Oh, and your real name, to begin with.”

You recited your name and he spun without acknowledgement. He preceded the man he called Horace through the doors and you hurried forward to grab the other end of your trunk, your valise clutched in your other hand.

Inside, the large foyer was barely lit by the candelabras in the corners. The chandelier above was dark and dusty. You struggled to keep hold of the trunk as you followed Horace. He set down his end and bid you to do the same.

“Madam, please, I will get proper help,” He waved to the lord of manor, already halfway up the staircase. “You might leave your valise and both will be deposited in your rooms.”

“Thank you, sir,” You said before you turned to hurry up behind Lord Laufeyson.

“Your rooms are in the north wing, mine in the south. You needn’t venture very far from your own. I have a maid in the kitchen who will set out meals and Horace oversees our maintenance and the cleaning servants when they are present.” He began. “You will only be required in the bureau where you will take your lessons.”

“Yes, my lord,” You felt completely out of place. You weren’t used to such an immense house, let alone such a prestigious host.

“Sir will do just fine,” He corrected. “Do you type, madam?”

“No.” You admitted. “I hand write my stories and they are often transcribed by the journals.”

“Mmm, well, then we should add that to the schedule.” He remarked. “I have written out your daily itinerary as you will find in your rooms. “You will wake at six, take your breakfast by the next hour as you will be expected at seven for your first lesson. Lunch will be at noon, you will be permitted recreation at three, tea the following hour, and we shall add typing practice to your evening exercises.”

“Sir,” You said as you followed him.

“This is the bureau where your lessons will be,” He opened a single door. “That…” He looked to the pair of doors at the end of the hall. “Is the library. It will be unlocked during your recreational hour though you might visit the gardens if you choose.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you attend college, madam? I understand they offer schooling for women now.”

“No,” You answered plainly. “I finished public schooling and the rest I did upon my own.”

His eyes strayed in his thoughts and he hummed.

“Well, that sort of discipline is promising, I suppose,” He said. “And you are… unmarried?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, to be expected. A husband shouldn’t allow a wife to live unaccompanied with another man. And yet, an unmarried woman should not allow herself the same discrepancy,” He remanded. “There are proprieties which must be attained. You understand?”

“Sir, I am not wholly unaware of our social bounds. I’ve travelled to write. I haven’t any interest in men to this point and I highly doubt this circumstance should change that.”

He gave a half-chuckle before he caught himself.

“I always found you urban poor had trite mouths,” He sneered. “The factories do allow for unfortunately low association. You lot do sell your morals for a penny.”

“I see no immorality in work,” You argued. “In fact, the poor can rarely afford immorality.”

He looked at you, sternly.

“Let me show you your rooms and you might accommodate yourself to the arrangements,” He gestured you back down the corridor.

Again, you trailed behind him. The walls were lined with portraits, their frames powdered with dust and canvas washed out with age. He must’ve lived a rather small existence in this immense place.

He stopped before another door, his fingers wrapped around the handle then he recoiled. He reached into his jacket and slipped out a key with a black ribbon threaded through its loop. He held it out to you.

“These are your rooms. Keep the time. It is late. At four I expect you to take tea in the dining room. The cook should have it upon the table by then.” He watched as you reached to take the key. “When you are finished, our first lesson shall commence in the bureau. Come prepared with a manuscript in hand. I trust you did not come without forethought, especially considering… well, I shall excuse you to acquaint yourself with your quarters.”

He bowed his head, his spine rigid and straight. He sidestepped you and you listened to his hard soles on the wooden floors. You turned as his silhouette disappeared around the sparsely lit corner, the glow of candles flickering along the columns of the rails that overlooked the foyer.

You unlocked the door, your hands unsteady as your nerves remained riled. You’d overcome the first obstacle but this man seemed greater than any challenge you’d known before. Stiff-lipped editors, boastful male writers, dismissive reviewers; you’d faced every kind of foe.

You shut the door softly behind you, the click made you jump. You were pleasantly surprised to find it the room with the least dust. The windows were open and the curtains were freshly pressed and hung. The bed matched in its tidiness and the roll top desk against the wall was faced with a leather-cushioned chair.

The afternoon sun streamed in enough to light much of the room. Tall candelabras stood on four feet in the corners opposite of the bed. An oil lamp sat on the desk and a smaller candle holder sat on the table beside the bed. A small stool with an embroidered cushion was nestled in the corner and a chair in the French style peered out the far window.

You turned and faced the vast portrait of a man and woman. The former was silver-haired and staunch in his bearing, the woman was seated and gold waves were confined atop her head as a few ringlets framed her face in a style favoured by the previous generations. You tilted your head as you admired the artistry. It was almost as if the elegant couple was truly there before you.

A knock came at the door and you went to it. Horace was there with the man who had opened the gates. They dragged in your trunk and placed your valise at top with overly cordial ‘my lady’s’ in your direction. You wanted to snicker at the undeserved address. You thanked them and they refused a coin from your purse. You were thankful for that as you hadn’t many left.

You took your valise to the bed then returned to the trunk. You unbuckled the straps that held your trunk closed and tossed the lid open. The monstrosity was older than you. You’d bought it used. The lining was torn and most of it gone. You took out the stacks of paper sheathed in leather and rolled up the lid of the desk. You left them there and unpacked your pens and inkwell.

You sat and allowed yourself a breath. You tried to calm yourself. You slowly unwound the strap of the first folder and shuffled through the leaves. There was the story you’d written about the widow left homeless by her dead husband’s gambling debts. The other about the officer who finds himself by a foreign people.

Then there was that one which you had yet to show any. The one which told the story of a woman; a fraud; a liar. She pretends to be a true lady but is found out. She is tried before the county though she never stole nor harmed anyone. Tried upon her birth and nothing more. You tucked that one away and set aside the one about the widow. Nothing so novel but good enough, you supposed.

You reached to your belt and checked the watch that dangled from it. Like the trunk, it was previously owned by another. It made you want to write a story, a fantasy of its former owner. Of how the initials etched into its back had come to be near indiscernible beneath a series of frantic scratches.

3:37. You recalled Lord Laufeyson had said tea was at four. Not much longer. Barely enough time to ready yourself for his frigidity. Oh yes, he was the very modicum of Victorian temperance. How very dull.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #dark loki x reader #dark!loki x reader #victorian au #au #fic #series #ad libitum #marvel #MCU #dark fic #dark!fic

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evandearest · 4 years ago

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The Garden of Eden | Part IV: Betrayal

Pairing: James March x reader (you) | ~Part: (4/4)~

Summary (Part Four): Warnings are to be remembered, although most stored away for future use only to be forgotten. Cycles repeat to teach lessons; to warn of future events. Threats may remain even if not for the blind eye to see. However, ignorance might be the biggest threat of all.

Warnings (in this part): murder, blood, death, poison, religious twists, dark themes

Word Count: 5,018 (haha this part ended up with the most words... to end it off I suppose!)

Notes: This is the last part of the Garden of Eden! I just want to say thank you to all who read - especially @etoile-writings , for supporting me. Please go check out her series Adam and Eve, as it is a literary masterpiece and she deserves so much recognition.

I have seriously had so much fun writing this - it really has been my pleasure. I also want to apologize to all those who may have been waiting for awhile for the final part! Disclaimer: I tried my best to edit the grammar and everything in this but this is the best I could do! I hope there’s not many mistakes I may have missed. Please ask any questions and give me all your comments about this finale - I’d love to hear any and all thoughts! I also hope everyone is safe, healthy, and happy :) Feel free to send in other requests, whether it be AHS or Supernatural.

Also a heads up - keep a look out for the final review and analysis if you are interested. It is still in progress but it should be out within a couple of days at best.

A few side notes - the Countess and James are still legally married here, as they are in the show, but in this situation it is only because they haven’t gotten the chance to divorce. This part may seem to have very long sentences, but I just wanted to let you guys know that it is a writing technique that I used to create mood, tone, and theme. That’s all, thanks!

Tag List: @etoile-writings @haileyybird @ietss

Something about the young couple in the bar had your mind reeling. Their hands remained interlocked on the table, both of them staring at one another with all the joy and adoration that only true love can bring. Their relationship was new and exciting. The honeymoon phase was always so perfect. You remembered how that had felt with James; so invigoratingly energizing. It was enough to make you feel as if you ruled the world; love blinding a vision of truth. It was, for many years, what you had considered paradise to be.

Paradise.

You realized now that it never had been perfect with you and James. There were so many things standing in the way, so many hidden threats. When you were younger, it had been your parents and their obsessive need to marry you off like an object to a rich man. Even as he had began his journey to success, James’ social status as new money hadn’t seemed good enough to them. When you had first gotten back with James only just around a month ago, you had thought that you’d conquered everything. You had been blind to the truth which was right in front of you once again. You should have expected some kind of change in James. It was inevitable, after all that time spent apart.

But now, however, right at this present moment... well, now, everything was out in the open. Now, you and James truly understood one another. Now there really was nothing in your way. You could see no obstacles ahead, no threat, so long as James was by your side. All you saw was James, and all that clouded your mind was your admiration and devotion to him. He was your everything; your soulmate, your leader, your God. He had dragged you from the fire and brought your paradise back to you; good, true, and everlasting this time around. Your precious Garden of Eden, controlled by none other but you and your God.

Your God; who had been the utmost of clever in his recent schemes. He’d been outraged when he did it, but it wasn’t to say that he wasn’t brilliant. He was of excellent prosecution; his statement out in the open and clear. A Sunday morning: police finding piles of dead bodies compiled with numerous copies of nothing other than the book of God himself. It was sadistic and morbid, but it was perfect. It was everything that James needed to say. He was on the verge of something momentously renowned.

Once James was finished, no one would ever forget his message: religion was the worst thing to happen to society. It controlled the will of man, when truly nothing in creation could stop anything. Everyone was put equal on the Earth to sin, to live in the most pleasurable way.

It was the entire reason Adam and Eve had been cast down. They were sinners, except the garden was a place controlled by God’s rules. They had wanted to control their own lives, so God banished them to Earth. James, however, had created his own paradise; his own Garden of Eden. He had climbed so far above all other men that he now controlled the garden. He had to prove to others the ridiculousness of holiness--for all were meant to sin. Religion was, essentially, suppression. To some, it may seem horrible, but to you, it was art. A simple expression of belief that most didn’t understand.

Voices floated into your ears, startling you out of your thoughts. Soft echoes through the lobby of your beloved’s name piqued your interest, your feet immediately carrying you to the railing without much thought. You left your drink on the bar’s counter--still full, but long forgotten. Your eyes landed on four men clad in black suits, shiny gold badges on their shoulders reflecting light from the chandeliers above. You scanned the area, noticing a certain maid standing close by, listening in, much like you were.

“We have suspicion based upon evidence that Mr. March was involved in the murder this past Sunday. We have already taken the time to get a warrant for his arrest,” one of the officers explained to the receptionist at the front desk. Time seemed to take a standstill, your heart seeming to stop completely as your brain registered the man’s words. No, this couldn’t be happening.

The cycle was repeating again. They were trying to tear you apart again.

You didn’t understand how this could’ve happened. He said he was careful, and you could never see James making a mistake with something this important. He was detail-oriented, his brain practically ran off of the certainty of perfectionism. He would never let a small mistake ruin everything for him.

The entire empire he’d built, and everything you’d rebuilt, was about to be destroyed all over again.

Your body seemed to catch up with your mind as you sprung into action. You twisted around, your feet pushing you forward only to come to a halt at the close proximity of the once unknown presence behind you. Your eyes widened, a sharp breath escaping your lips at the stop you made compared to your sudden momentum. You stared into the eyes of none other than The Countess, clad in only the most extravagant clothing and makeup.

“That’ll be a hard one to get out of,” she said, although her face was seemingly expressionless. You stared at her, your frenzied brain jumping to the first conclusion you could make.

“Did you...” you trailed off, your breathing suddenly heavy. James couldn’t have made the mistake, so that means that somebody else had to of given the police some kind of tip in order for them to seek James out. The woman standing before you was quite possibly the number one suspect. “Did you do this?” Your voice held tones of disbelief and anger.

Would Elizabeth really go to such extent when she hadn’t even expressed a major disliking? She hadn’t talked to you at all since that first time, in fact the only interactions you’d had with one another were passing glances. She’d seemed to have just steered clear of anything to do with you or James. You had no idea what she had thought, but you had supposed that she didn’t care about you and James, otherwise she would have spoke her concerns. Had you been wrong about her? Could a simple mistake end it all over again? Elizabeth scoffed, her face hardening.

“Oh God no...” she said wryly, a small sarcastic grin forming on her lips as she looked at you quizzically, “what would I get out of it now? As I am still his present wife, I don’t need James dead to use his money. And besides, now that he has you he no longer bothers me.” She was smug as she spoke to you. She grinned, all teeth and mischief, her eyes sparkling. “It’s a winning situation for the both of us if you ask me.” She paused, her grin falling slightly as her gaze wondered off to peer down into the lobby.

“I could bet I know who the rat is, though,” She said, turning back to you. “I’m wagering it’s his loyal minion. That poor woman has been in love with James since the beginning of time.” She paused, her eyes intense as they rested on your face. “And based on your expression you think so too.” She smiled at you and then turned, walking slowly away from you. “Good luck,” she called back to you without turning around, your eyes watching her back as she went.

You stood contemplating her words for a moment. Elizabeth was smart and straightforward, and from what you could tell if she had a problem she would speak her mind. And what she had said made sense. Miss Evers was in love with James, but her love was unrequited, and that’s why she constantly seemed at odds with you. She could never even have a chance to be with him, so long as you were around.

Your feet carried you quickly as you raced to the elevator. The police were still conversing with the receptionist, but you knew it was only a matter of time before they found out where James was. You recalled a conversation you’d had with him in the morning, concluding that he had to be caught up attending to his hobby.

The police would find him in his office, in the middle of his business, and it would all be over. He would be taken from you once again.

You didn’t even knock upon arriving; you opened the door and closed it quickly behind you. You turned to face James, in all his blood-covered, god-like glory. You took in the scene of James’ office quickly, your eyes tracing over every detail. A large bin sat in the center of the room, a rugged corpse contained within it. James had been busying himself with pouring a substance over the body, of which could only be acid, as it had sizzled upon impact with the dead man’s skin. At your arrival, James halted his methods in confusion.

Several items were scattered across the floor, one of which catching your interest. The glass of the vase; a damp spot surrounding the area where the unaltered mess remained. The roses remained too, the petals wilting from lack of nourishment. You paused, your mind trying to puzzle out their unmoved position. Miss Evers had to have been in here since last night, so why wouldn’t she move them? She might have been scheming, but she was extremely adamant on being neat when it came to James’ specific rooms. You couldn’t see her ignoring it, and yet here it was sitting puzzlingly. You were caught off guard for a reason not entirely known to you. Something about their appearance had you alarmed, a string of words suddenly ringing out in your head; perhaps a memory brought to the surface.

“If you betray the rose, the rose no longer profits you.”

The old woman was suddenly prevalent in your mind, her warning dawning upon you, your heartbeat stuttering at the looming echo of her words. James was waiting for you to explain yourself--the police were coming--Miss Evers had betrayed you--everything you and James had worked so hard for was crumbling down around you. Your heartbeat was fast, the pulse beating quickly, perhaps the reason for the pounding in your head.

You looked James in the eyes, studying his features. He was so handsome--even before you knew him, that day in the garden when you had first seen him--you had marveled at his beauty. And that was before he’d become such a man; his features sharp and masculine, beautifully sculpted by the gods. His dark brown eyes and hair, so dull yet so prominent--a symbol of his darkness. You could stare at him for eternity and never bore, your love for him everlasting.

And yet, here you were at the end with no escape, hell a threat once again hanging above your heads, looming just around the corner. Just a few more minutes and everything would be over. Just a few more minutes and you’d be lost again, stranded without your guide; your purpose--your God.

“James,” you gasped, stumbling slightly as you made your way to him. You’d just managed to get to him before you fell over slightly, your arms reaching out to grasp onto his tightly. He caught you, keeping you level as his face filled with concern. The pounding in your head was intense, beginning to drown out your thoughts and quicken your breath.

“Darling, tell me--what is it?” James demanded, his voice panic-stricken. He lifted your chin to look you in the eyes, his widened orbs meeting yours with intensity.

“I-it’s--the- the police,” you barely managed to get the words out, clinging onto James like he was your lifeline. Nothing seemed right; your thoughts suddenly taking too long to form into words, your breathing heavy, vision blurry, and it was becoming much harder to stand. What was happening? You stared into James eyes, shifting all your focus into him. “They’re here to arrest you.” One hand gripped his arm firmly as you brought the other to rest upon his cheekbone, leaning chest to chest as your body began to collapse into him. He held you steady, forever the one and only thing to truly support you. “They’re going to take you from me,” you sobbed, an onslaught of tears overcoming you. “Again,” you cried quietly, gasping for air.

The door opened, your heart skipping a beat at the intrusion, your mind going straight to the thought of the police. Your eyes landed on Miss Evers instead, confusion settling on you once again. She’d gotten what she wanted, hadn’t she? Why was she here now, to prove something? You wished you had the strength to question her, to say anything, but everything felt heavier and heavier as more time passed.

“Tell me,” James barked at her just as she’d closed and locked the door, “what in all creation is happening? Speak right this instant, and quickly.”

“The police are here,” Miss Evers explained, James grip on you tightening as you leaned onto him for support. He glanced down at you, worry glinting in his eyes as you just barely managed to look up at him.

“Darling,” he whispered, “what is happening? Are you ill?” A moment of silence passed as you tried to respond, your mouth opening but no words becoming audible. A moment of silence passed, the only action being James assessing you. Your words couldn’t seem to form, a burning spreading through your entire body. It was unlike anything you’d ever felt. You began to wonder yourself if you were somehow ill.

“It was supposed to be me!”

The maid across the room suddenly shrieked, desperation clouding her judgement as she flung her arms up in the air. “I was the one for you!” She sobbed, stumbling slightly as an expression of hurt formed upon her face. “I always loved you, and these women--they never did! They used you, and I always cared!” James eyes widened, shock coming across his features. He stared at the woman, contemplating her words.

“But you never saw,” the woman said sadly, her head hanging in shame before her face went emotionless. “And so I did the only thing I could.” She looked at him, dead in the eye, a type of malice suddenly overcoming her. “You’d be surprised how easy it was.” Her eyes settled upon your frame, your head moving slowly to get a glance at her. You stared, blinking rapidly as your vision faded in and out. You could barely comprehend what she was saying, but you felt as James’ breath quickened. It was taking all of your willpower to stay awake--you needed to, for James.

“What?” he stated, his voice deeper than you’d ever heard it, a rage within his eyes even you had never seen before as he stared at her. He was tense, as hard as a rock, glaring daggers at the woman who had seemingly betrayed him.

“I--,” Miss Evers hesitated, obviously intimidated by his fury, but decided to continue. “I’ve found that you have a secret stash of cyanide in the bar.” She faltered once again, her eyes shifting away from James and to the floor. “I wanted us to be together, and she-” she pointed at you, “-she was always in it for the money! They all are, all but me!” She burst into tears, falling onto her knees in hysterics. Your eyebrows furrowed as you racked your brain to gather all of the information. She poisoned you at the bar. You remembered brief flashbacks of the one tiny sip you’d taken of your previously forgotten drink.

James seemed to be shaking as he gently moved you to sit in a chair by the wall, turning away from you for only a moment. Your eyelids began to flutter as sleep beckoned you, visions of James’ movement around the room the only thing to hold your focus. A loud pop suddenly reverberated off of the walls as it rang out, causing you to sit up slightly from your slouched posture, your eyelids flying open to search for the source. James stood over the body of his betrayer, smoking gun resting within his palm.

You felt so weak, your thoughts jumbled, unable to focus on only one. Only now you knew it wasn’t just an overreaction. You’d only taken a mere sip of the drink from the bar, but you supposed now that it had been enough for the poison to go into effect. You wondered briefly how she’d gotten the cyanide into the drink in the first place, and exactly how much she had put in for it to have such a potent effect on your body.

Your eyes traveled to her corpse, and to the fresh blood splattered across the wall from the headshot. You blinked, barely registering what had just occurred before you. You were too dazed to process the incident, even if you understood what had occurred subconsciously. Relief was the only thing you felt; relief for one less thing to worry about standing between you and James.

Eyes shifting slightly to the left, you stared at the browning roses, the sweet old lady’s warning once again echoing, a distant memory brought to the surface of your mind. James crouched in front of you, suddenly the only thing in line of sight, his lips moving but you couldn’t hear his voice over your own in your head. The roses were dead. You left them on the floor. You betrayed them for--

You sprung up once again as a loud banging at the door shocked you back into your senses. James glanced briefly at the door before turning back to you quickly. He pulled you out of the chair, holding you up and close to his chest as he stroked your hair tenderly.

“James,” you just barely whispered as he shushed you.

“I know, darling,” He said reassuringly, pulling back to look into your eyes. “It’s all going to be okay, dear. It’ll all be over before you know it.” He smiled charmingly as you nodded weakly, holding tightly onto the cloth of his shirt to maintain stability. And you believed him in that moment, as he always seemed to find a way.

One way, or another.

You rested your head on his chest, closing your eyes as the pounding on the door increased. Or maybe it was the pounding in your head; at this point you couldn’t decipher what was real and what was just a figment of your imagination. Cold metal pressed against the skin of your temple, your brain too bleary to question it. Mere seconds passed as you contemplated moving, but suddenly it was as if everything had settled away. James’ warm body faded from your grasp.

-🤍-

Your eyelids fluttered open, eyeballs moving back and forth as you tried to become familiar with your surroundings. You recognized the familiar room immediately, for it was your bedroom when you had first moved into the Cortez. You felt strange. Zen, almost, but maybe that was just because the pounding was gone. You felt... disconnected. It was the most out of touch with yourself you’d ever felt.

You climbed to your feet from the floor, thoughts running rampant at what was unknown to you. Where was James, how did you get here, how long had you been here, and why did you feel so cold? Flashes of what seemed to be both years ago and only moments ago clouded your mind, filling you with dread. Scenarios of what could be frightened you and sent you into a state of panic, pushing you forward.

Out of the room you went, through the quiet and empty halls, searching, searching, searching--no fixed destination ahead except something, anything, that could lead you to your James.

It seemed that days had passed before you finally found the lobby of the hotel. Navigation through the building was proving to be much more difficult than you remembered. Why was it taking so long?

The lobby was sparsely populated, unlike the usually crowded area that you were used to. You glanced around, noticing only a few people in the bar, the receptionist, and someone asleep on the sofas. Your feet carried you to the hotel entrance, pushing the first door open, the sunlight peeking through the opaque glass surprising you. If it was the daytime, then why was the hotel so empty? On ordinary occasions people came and went like flies; the Cortez was a hotspot in the city of Los Angeles, after all. Your hands reached out to push open the door to the outside, the metal handle of the door cool against your skin, and then suddenly nothing. In front of you was the door no longer; profound confusion coursing through you as you stared at the walls of your bedroom once again. You had been there one second, and in the next it was as if you had been teleported back in time.

And so the cycle repeated for what seemed like years; many times set adrift through the halls, eventually to the lobby where the sunlight no longer shone through the windows and unusually few people inhabited. You were reaching forward for the handle of the first door for what seemed to be the hundredth time, only to freeze at the call of your name from a familiar voice.

“Y/N.”

Your name sounded of honey dripping off his tongue. It was like hearing that voice for the first time again. All your worries deflated and anxieties subsided--for you had found your God once again. You turned to face him, to see his face--the face you had longed to see for what felt like years but may have been minutes. You still didn’t entirely understand the detachment from your body you felt; it was as if you no longer had a life source, no blood running course or lungs cycling air. You felt out of place and trapped at the same time.

Just as your hopes had soared, they plummeted at the sight of the bare lobby. Emptiness sat instead where you had expected James to be, crushing all sense of direction. You wanted to cry, to scream, to tear the hotel to shreds with your bare hands. But just before you gave up all hope completely, your eyes caught on the tiniest of details.

Barely noticeable, unless payed close attention to; unless already a prominent object in one’s mind. Small, dainty, white petals lay scattered in high correlation, leading on to an unknown but obviously specific destination. You treaded lightly as you followed the path closely, afraid any disturbance would somehow make them disappear.

Unease settled through you, possibly just a usual feeling as of late, but considerably appropriate when meeting the isolate hallways once again. You began questioning your sanity; was this just yet another repeat in the cycle? You’d been lost for so long, was this just another loop? What was the energy here, and why did it not feel like you and James’ beloved Cortez, the place you called home? You felt like you were stuck in a punishment of some kind; a purgatory; a hell.

And at last, you arrived; the room in which this cycle had began, or ended. The office of James Patrick March: Room sixty-four. You paused, contemplating, before making a bold decision and gripping the handle, opening the door and entering the room. There you stood in what was once James’ office, now empty of most furniture, only few items remaining. And there it remained: the vase on the table in the center of the room, petals leading straight to their source.

Inside sat the very white roses themselves, southern California glory and all. They looked just like the ones in that very first garden: huge, bright and beaming, petals spread with all the beauty and radiance of nature and purity. And just behind them stood their God; the master of the garden who held the utmost control in his realm. Your God, who’d saved you from hell; who’d broke all cycles.

The feeling you felt at sight of James did not fail to excite you just the same as it had on that first day years ago. Something about his presence next to yours soothed you, for you knew that he was still there, that he hadn’t been taken from you, that no matter what had happened you were still okay so long as he stood next to you.

You rushed forward and into him, basking in his embrace. His arms wrapped around you, but the challenge once again presented itself: an unignorably apparent absence of warmth. It’d been just before you’d first woken up what seemed like years, or maybe just hours ago, that you’d been in his embrace just the same, his warmth seeping into you and igniting your soul as you had faded in and out of consciousness. But now, you couldn’t feel it. You felt his body wrapped around yours, but nothing inflaming, the detachment from your own warmth just the same. It was missing, a shell of a comfort that used to always be present; something you had gotten entirely used to, for to be absent of warmth was to be dead...

You gasped, pulling away from James to look him in the eyes, the reality setting in and the drunkenness fading away. Your mind was becoming clear, all clarity suddenly bestowed upon you.

“James, are we...” you froze in panic, for it felt as if you didn’t have lungs, the normal rise and fall of the simplicity of breathing gone... the feelings of life were all gone...

And it clicked.

“James,” you whispered, your eyes tracing over the details of the room. The blood stains on the floor and walls were the only evidence of foul play left. You felt strange, for people didn’t normally expect to see the place of their death after the fact. Realizations settled over you as you stared at the room, just as you had initially when entering to warn James of the police, the truth of the events that had happened finally dawning upon you. In your poison-induced state of mind, it’d been hard to realize. You had been dying, the poison slowly but surely shutting your body down. You’d barely processed it when James had held the gun to your head and pulled the trigger, ending your pain.

“Yes, darling?” James replied to you, bringing you back to your conversation. You stared at him longingly. Although you didn’t entirely understand why you were still here, or the concept of the afterlife, you were glad to have James next to you. A moment of silence passed as you tried to pinpoint what you wanted to ask him exactly.

“I have so many questions,” you said, deciding to just speak your mind. You furrowed your eyebrows, blinking rapidly as you tried to sort out your thoughts. “I-I’m so lost, James.”

“Of course you are, dearest,” James said reassuringly, his hand brushing the stray hairs away from your face. He stared at you sadly. “I’m terribly sorry for all that happened, you must feel perplexed beyond understanding my dear.” He paused, his eyes traveling over your features as you stared up at him, listening intently. “This was simply my only choice, darling. You were succumbing to the poison’s grip long before I finished your pain. Miss Evers...” He trailed off, his jaw clenching tightly. “Nevermind that. I came to a conclusion upon the authorities’ arrival, and that was that if I was damned to be put away I might as well flee with you, my queen... it was the only right option.” He smiled down at you softly.

You smiled right back at him, your love for him the only warmth left inside of you now that you no longer had your body to call home. You basked in the feeling of being close to him as he pulled you to his chest, his lips leaving a soft kiss against your scalp. Even if you didn’t feel warmth, simply the love you had for him was enough. He tenderly stroked your back, calming your nerves. It amazed you how he could ease your mind so easily, if only just a little. However, you couldn’t shake your thoughts away. Sure, you could just let it all go, but the truth of the matter was simple.

Your entire life had been a cycle. A cycle of undeniable foolishness; you’d been ignorant of the truth for all of your living years. Oh, how it angered you. You hated something truly for what seemed like the first time in your life. You hated yourself; you’d let yourself believe false truths just to live in an illusion that you thought was happiness. You were naïve. And ultimately, that was what had ended you.

You’d ignored all warnings and left the roses to wilt, betraying the one thing that had always been on your side. You’d ignored all threats and committed yourself to making paradise in the land of the evil; it was simply impossible. The Garden of Eden wasn’t a place for the living. It was a place of freedom, and so long as you’re living, you can never truly be free. For in life, one threat always remains: death. You could never truly be protected. You could never truly have paradise.

But with James, in the Cortez, in the paradise he’d created for you... even death didn’t stand a chance. It was a gateway to greatness; a place where nothing truly stood in your way, where no threats were great enough. You couldn’t be harmed, or imprisoned, or separated here; you were finally utterly invincible; real Gods. Hell and Earth were no longer a threat. It was your true paradise that James had promised you.

Your Garden of Eden.

---------

Series Masterlist: The Garden of Eden Series

Main Masterlist

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jooniely · 4 years ago

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i really want to know wth mxtx was smoking when she wrote svsss ,the premise was cool the first chapters were adorable and funny so how come it became soooooooo horrible, bingqiu is one of the worst toxic relationships ever, like it makes no fucking sense, one instance SQQ call LB a child the next they're in true love uwu ,The power inbalance is soo jarring ,LB literary never listens to a word SQQ says, hurts him,balantly disrespects SQQ friends ,coherce SQQ and guilt trip him into loving him, and leaving everyone he knows for him, what Binghe needs is a restraining order, and life long therapy and fix his daddy issues, but it seems that the majority of danmeis idea of love is toxic abusive relationships ,i am not against the ship , from the way the fans talked about Bingqiu i was looking forward to see their love blossom and them making up in a healthy way, but god was i dissapointed , like at least make it believable ,give them time to talk about their feelings ,clear the misunderstandings ,heal the wounds ,not whatever the hell that rape scene was about ,so is mxtx trying to tell us that raping the man you love with their consent "whatever the fuck this is supposed to mean " tormenting hurting and making them bleed ,is more important than them having a heart to heart conversation about the fuck ups they commited ,and showing how much they cherish each other , the fans will tell you that NO it's a deconstruction of the papapa to save the world trope ,like wtf is that even supposed to mean ,she deconstruct it by using the same awful shit

Anyway svsss was good at first and then it spiraled to complete nonsense ,it felt like mxtx just wanted to get it over with and move on, sooo much lost potentiel ,i recommend reading well written fix it fanfictions to get over the atrocity of canon, there are plenty of good liushen and qijiu fics out there

And sorry that i rambled a lot and for my bad english, i am just super dissapointed ,this wasn't what i signed up for when i read the many positive reviews

Hey anon let's be friends lol. I agree with everything here. You can clearly tell this was mxtx's first novel. Someone said they wrote it when they were in high school? So maybe it was also cuz they were young that it had some not so great things.

I finished the novel this morning and I was still NOT a fan. That scene was written in a way to make it seem like it was not sexjal assault but it clearly was. Binghe wasn't even mentally present and was not able to give consent and was terrified of what he did. This is the first time I saw the old binghe from the past come out. Shizun didn't give consent either. He basically just accepted his fate. You're right, how is it deconstructing a trope if you're gonna write the trope? And I think a lot of readers don't realize that this entire scene didn't need to happen. It was some bullshit reason that the author fully knew was bullshit. You have to wait for the special item to load? That's never happened, if it loaded right when shizun asked for it, then there would have not been that assault scene.

A lot of ppl use in universe reasons to explain why some things needed to be done but I'm here wondering why the author needed to add these things. At least let your characters suffer the consequences? Consequences for actions don't always mean getting hurt physically after making a wrong decision. It means after so much trauma, both binghe and shizun would barely be mentally functioning. Shizun's thoughts should have been a mess because this is his student but he also raised him and now that student is obsessed with him. One dream he meets old binghe and literally gets his limbs ripped then the next second sees baby binghe and he's okay after it. Even when he sees older binghe there's no residual fear.

With binghe being a psycho, and it being his sword that was poisoning his mind, why didn't someone immediately try to destroy the sword? Then when binghe is getting his therapy we could have explored the love between them.

As it stands I still don't see the love. I don't wanna read the extras to see whatever love that will develop there because those are extras. That shit should have been in the main book. But whatever I gave it a skim and literally already we got another assault scene. And old binghe wants shizun all of a sudden? The same one you repeatedly tortured?? Why???

Tbh old binghe and old shizun would probably get along well if shizun hadn't been abusive towards him cuz they were both psychos.

Shen yuan essentially looked like he just accepted whatever fate he had. Not once did I feel like he realized this world was his life now and not still some book, he's no longer and outsider. And also to just leave everything? It doesn't seem like to us but he spent years with his sect and qingge and qi ge. Oh my god the connection between old qingqiu and his child hood "friend" that should have been focused on more because in those few scenes we got so much material. So much emotional and complex scenes. I really hope there's a fic that explores this thread.

Anyways I still think their relationship is toxic. I know a lot of ppl still enjoy it and I'm okay with that as long as they know it's fictional. Some ppl are okay with toxic things as long as it's fictional but no matter what some say, it's scientifically proven that fiction affects reality. So as long as things stay fictional and ppl aren't looking at them and thinking this is okay or healthy then I have no issue. Not everyone will agree and understand each other so each side should stay on their own with one hating and the other loving, on their own.

I also ended up ranting lol. If u wanna talk more u can send another ask or just message me I don't mind! If u have read mxtx other works I would love to talk about them as well! Also you're English is perfect!

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aaknopf · 5 years ago

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Today we present a preview of a major new biography of Sylvia Plath, Red Comet, coming this fall. Through committed investigative scholarship, Heather Clark is able to offer the most extensively researched and nuanced view yet of a poet whose influence grows with each new generation of readers. Clark is the first biographer to draw upon all of Plath's surviving letters, including fourteen newly discovered letters Plath sent to her psychiatrist in 1961-63, and to draw extensively on her unpublished diaries, calendars, and poetry manuscripts. She is also the first to have had full, unfettered access to Ted Hughes's unpublished diaries and poetry manuscripts, allowing her to present a balanced and humane view of this remarkable creative marriage (and its unravelling) from both sides. She is able to present significant new findings about Plath's whereabouts and her state of health on the weekend leading up to her death. With these and many other "firsts," Clark's approach to Plath is to chart the course of this brilliant poet's development, highlighting her literary and intellectual growth rather than her undoing. Here, we offer a passage from Clark's prologue to the biography, followed by lines from one of Plath's celebrated "bee poems."

from Red Comet: The Short Life and Blazing Art of Sylvia Plath

The Oxford professor Hermione Lee, Virginia Woolf’s biographer, has written, “Women writers whose lives involved abuse, mental-illness, self-harm, suicide, have often been treated, biographically, as victims or psychological case-histories first and as professional writers second.” This is especially true of Sylvia Plath, who has become cultural shorthand for female hysteria. When we see a female character reading The Bell Jar in a movie, we know she will make trouble. As the critic Maggie Nelson reminds us, “to be called the Sylvia Plath of anything is a bad thing.” Nelson reminds us, too, that a woman who explores depression in her art isn’t perceived as “a shamanistic voyager to the dark side, but a ‘madwoman in the attic,’ an abject spectacle.” Perhaps this is why Woody Allen teased Diane Keaton for reading Plath’s seminal collection Ariel in Annie Hall. Or why, in the 1980s, a prominent reviewer cracked his favorite Plath joke as he reviewed Plath’s Pulitzer Prize–winning Collected Poems: “ ‘Why did SP cross the road?’ ‘To be struck by an oncoming vehicle.’ ” Male writers who kill themselves are rarely subject to such black humor: there are no dinner-party jokes about David Foster Wallace.

Since her suicide in 1963, Sylvia Plath has become a paradoxical symbol of female power and helplessness whose life has been subsumed by her afterlife. Caught in the limbo between icon and cliché, she has been mythologized and pathologized in movies, television, and biographies as a high priestess of poetry, obsessed with death. These distortions gained momentum in the 1960s when Ariel was published. Most reviewers didn’t know what to make of the burning, pulsating metaphors in poems like “Lady Lazarus” or the chilly imagery of “Edge.” Time called the book a “jet of flame from a literary dragon who in the last months of her life breathed a burning river of bale across the literary landscape.” The Washington Post dubbed Plath a “snake lady of misery” in an article entitled “The Cult of Plath.” Robert Lowell, in his introduction to Ariel, characterized Plath as Medea, hurtling toward her own destruction.

Recent scholarship has deepened our understanding of Plath as a master of performance and irony. Yet the critical work done on Plath has not sufficiently altered her popular, clichéd image as the Marilyn Monroe of the literati. Melodramatic portraits of Plath as a crazed poetic priestess are still with us. Her most recent biographer called her “a sorceress who had the power to attract men with a flash of her intense eyes, a tortured soul whose only destiny was death by her own hand.” He wrote that she “aspired to transform herself into a psychotic deity.” These caricatures have calcified over time into the popular, reductive version of Sylvia Plath we all know: the suicidal writer of The Bell Jar whose cultish devotees are black-clad young women. (“Sylvia Plath: The Muse of Teen Angst,” reads the title of a 2003 article in Psychology Today.) Plath thought herself a different kind of “sorceress”: “I am a damn good high priestess of the intellect,” she wrote her friend Mel Woody in July 1954.

Elizabeth Hardwick once wrote of Sylvia Plath, “when the curtain goes down, it is her own dead body there on the stage, sacrificed to her own plot.” Yet to suggest that Plath’s suicide was some sort of grand finale only perpetuates the Plath myth that simplifies our understanding of her work and her life. Sylvia Plath was one of the most highly educated women of her generation, an academic superstar and perennial prizewinner. Even after a suicide attempt and several months at McLean Hospital, she still managed to graduate from Smith College summa cum laude. She was accepted to graduate programs in English at Columbia, Oxford, and Radcliffe and won a Fulbright Fellowship to Cambridge, where she graduated with high honors. She was so brilliant that Smith asked her to return to teach in their English department without a PhD. Her mastery of English literature’s past and present intimidated her students and even her fellow poets. In Robert Lowell’s 1959 creative writing seminar, Plath’s peers remembered how easily she picked up on obscure literary allusions. “ ‘It reminds me of Empson,’ Sylvia would say . . . ‘It reminds me of Herbert.’ ‘Perhaps the early Marianne Moore?’ ” Later, Plath made small talk with T. S. Eliot and Stephen Spender at London cocktail parties, where she was the model of wit and decorum.

Very few friends realized that she struggled with depression, which revealed itself episodically. In college, she aced her exams, drank in moderation, dressed sharply, and dated men from Yale and Amherst. She struck most as the proverbial golden girl. But when severe depression struck, she saw no way out. In 1953, a depressive episode led to botched electroshock therapy sessions at a notorious asylum. Plath told her friend Ellie Friedman that she had been led to the shock room and “electrocuted.” “She told me that it was like being murdered, it was the most horrific thing in the world for her. She said, ‘If this should ever happen to me again, I will kill myself.’ ” Plath attempted suicide rather than endure further tortures.

In 1963, the stressors were different. A looming divorce, single motherhood, loneliness, illness, and a brutally cold winter fueled the final depression that would take her life. Plath had been a victim of psychiatric mismanagement and negligence at age twenty, and she was terrified of depression’s “cures,” as she wrote in her last letter to her psychiatrist—shock treatment, insulin injections, institutionalization, “a mental hospital, lobotomies.” It is no accident that Plath killed herself on the day she was supposed to enter a British psychiatric ward.

Sylvia Plath did not think of herself as a depressive. She considered herself strong, passionate, intelligent, determined, and brave, like a character in a D. H. Lawrence novel. She was tough-minded and filled her journal with exhortations to work harder—evidence, others have said, of her pathological, neurotic perfectionism. Another interpretation is that she was—like many male writers—simply ambitious, eager to make her mark on the world. She knew that depression was her greatest adversary, the one thing that could hold her back. She distrusted psychiatry—especially male psychiatrists—and tried to understand her own depression intellectually through the work of Fyodor Dostoevsky, Sigmund Freud, Carl Jung, Virginia Woolf, Thomas Mann, Erich Fromm, and others. Self-medication, for Plath, meant analyzing the idea of a schizoid self in her honors thesis on The Brothers Karamazov.

Bitter experience taught her how to accommodate depression—exploit it, even—in her art. “There is an increasing market for mental-hospital stuff. I am a fool if I don’t relive, or recreate it,” she wrote in her journal. The remark sounds trite, but her writing on depression was profound. Her own immigrant family background and experience at McLean gave her insight into the lives of the outcast. Plath would fill her late work, sometimes controversially, with the disenfranchised—women, the mentally ill, refugees, political dissidents, Jews, prisoners, divorcées, mothers. As she matured, she became more determined to speak out on their behalf. In The Bell Jar, one of the greatest protest novels of the twentieth century, she probed the link between insanity and repression. Like Allen Ginsberg’s Howl, the novel exposed a repressive Cold War America that could drive even the “best minds” of a generation crazy. Are you really sick, Plath asks, or has your society made you so? She never romanticized depression and death; she did not swoon into darkness. Rather, she delineated the cold, blank atmospherics of depression, without flinching. Plath’s ability to resurface after her depressive episodes gave her courage to explore, as Ted Hughes put it, “psychological depth, very lucidly focused and lit.” The themes of rebirth and renewal are as central to her poems as depression, rage, and destruction.

“What happens to a dream deferred?” Langston Hughes asked in his poem “Harlem.” Did it “crust and sugar over—/ like a syrupy sweet?” For most women of Plath’s generation, it did. But Plath was determined to follow her literary vocation. She dreaded the condescending label of “lady poet,” and she had no intention of remaining unmarried and childless like Marianne Moore and Elizabeth Bishop. She wanted to be a wife, mother, and poet—a “triple-threat woman,” as she put it to a friend. These spheres hardly ever overlapped in the sexist era in which she was trapped, but for a time, she achieved all three goals.

They thought death was worth it, but I Have a self to recover, a queen. Is she dead, is she sleeping? Where has she been, With her lion-red body, her wings of glass?

Now she is flying More terrible than she ever was, red Scar in the sky, red comet Over the engine that killed her— The mausoleum, the wax house.

from “Stings” by Sylvia Plath

More on this book and author:

Learn more about Red Comet: The Short Life and Blazing Art of Sylvia Plath by Heather Clark

Learn more about Heather Clark

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#poetry #poetry month #poem-a-day #sylvia plath #red comet #heather clark #National Poetry Month

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lucidpantone · 4 years ago

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Wtfock Fanfic Recommends (Worlds/Lit adapt) Pt.2

Elaba Fockers! 🤘🏽(they tell me thats how the Belgians say what up!)

Catch up on previous recommends here.

Worlds/Literary adaptation

Literary adaptation is the adapting of a literary source (e.g. a novel, short story, poem) to another genre or medium.

ITW = In the works

Please refer to Pt.1 concerning the new rating system for each fic.

Game of Thrones Cont.

Dragon’s blood (complete) by MeraxesTargaryen (PG-13)

I want more, thats all I can say. This feels a little bit like a working preface to what will be a larger fic and I am already thirsting for more word count. I love that similar to the other GOT sobbe fic you also see Robbe as a Tyrell and Sander as a Targaryen and omg I squealed at the reworking of the winter rose crown scene where Sander gives the crown to Robbe. You can not play with my emotions like that Sobbe and GOT is just to much for me to process. I know the GOT world is monolithic but if you could grace us with more word count I would be forever grateful.

Harry Potter

This rough magic (complete) by aholynight (R, could be PG-13 but airing on the side of caution) | @aholynight

I mean what can I say that hasn’t been said before about this author. One of the og GOAT’s of the wtfock fanfic tag. A nice HP spin on enemies to lovers. I especially love the detail writing around the Quidditch matches. So many beautiful details around scenes that take place in the dining hall and corridors of Hogwarts but I love the way that its not emulating J.K. Rowlings specific voice but aholynight is writing a variation of Hogwarts thats as detailed but still very stylistic to their writing style. A lot of this fic mirrors wtfock s3 canon so its nice they used HP as their world so it doesn’t just feel like a retelling of s3. Especially the Ohn scene. We also spend a lot of time with Robbe in his dorm and I don’t know why I have a soft spot for all the dorm room scenes. Also not gonna ruin the surprise for those who haven’t read it but guess what houses Robbe and Sander belong too? (I know some people disagree with the selections).

flower moon (complete) by cicelstickssobbe (PG-13)

I can tell that this author is a huge HP stan because some of the details in this fic are things I wouldn’t remember about the wizarding world unless someone pointed them out. Firstly this fic is written in canon via the S3 timeline. However it’s not identical and the way its framed via HP folklore makes it really refreshing. So things I love about this fic. The whole explanation behind enchanted portraits was bellissimo. The usage of the room of requirement was so perfect to me and I adore the sorta of the homage to the original concept of a safe place. The origins background to both Robbe and Sander is really cool and their life interest. Of course Sander is on the Quidditch team and Robbe is our lonely boy with an uncool hobby. I don’t want to give to much away because the HP nuggets in this fic will be appreciated greatly by hard core HP stans.

Sobbe hogwarts au (ITW) by Sassywarlock29 (PG-13)

Forget the Hogwarts lore and just give me sobbe making out in the Gryffindor corridor and getting house points deducted because they can’t keep their hands to themselves in the great hall. This fic is swift and to the point with a spoonful of HP.

Sander Driesen and The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known (ITW) by @supersoaker111 (PG)

Woah thats cool, is all I gotta say. There is some real interesting lore that is occurring in this fic about possible dangerous spells that help aid the troubled mind. DAMN!! I would love to see this fic completed because I really love the direction its going and also I live for when Robbe and Sander don’t go home for winter break and have the castle all to themselves. Howler scene was amazing too and I laugh at the idea of Sander tutoring anyone. Also very interesting house choices overall not sure I agree but unexpected and surprising for sure.

Ataraxia (ITW) by @feathers-n-silk (PG)

Presented in a kinda of pseudo clip style. Baby Robbe is a seeker he’s actually the best seeker to grace Hogwarts in some time. Sander & Lucas NL are related. VDS makes a cameo if your looking for VDS HP crossover. I love that Sander is pretentious in this world too and thinks quidditch is beneath him hahahaha. Nice one author I couldn’t stop laughing at that. Most of the lore in this fic is very quidditch centric but it makes sense since Robbe is the star jock at Hogwarts.

Mythology/Celestial Lore

the blood of both is my limbo (ITW) by tokyometropolis | @luludemauryyy (R, thus far but marked explicit for future chapters)

Say it with me people exposition, exposition, exposition. Did I know that I needed to know what a bar looks like in the 9th circle of hell? NO, but did luludemauryyy describe it in the most vivid unbelievable way? Hell yes, they did. This author and maybe a couple of more really focus on exposition writing and give you so much world building its really inspiring to read. They are a master of this style. Also the conflict being brewed between angels and demons and purgatory being their in-between meeting point is engaging and am screaming for an update.

Souls of the Underworld (ITW) by createdforyou | @sonderthroughthestreets | @embeddedinmybrain (PG)

New addition & just dropped on AO3 but the summary says demigod Robbe and I am ready!! I love the concept already of Robbe’s mama being a goddess and is Sander maybe a rival demigod checking out his competition in class? I think he may be. Cool concept will definitely be updating this review once more chapters get added.

More World/Lit Adapt fics continued in part 3....

#wtfock #wtfam #part 3 still to come #ao3 centric reviews #lucid wtfock fic recommends

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claudia1829things · 4 years ago

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"THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK" (1977) Review

"THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK" (1977) Review I have seen my share of movie and television productions that are based on novels and plays by Alexandre Dumas père and his son Alexandre Dumas fils And for some reason, I never get tired of watching them - over and over again. And one of them is the 1977 television movie, "THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK".

Directed by Mike Newell and adapted by William Bast, "THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK" is loosely based on Alexandre Dumas père's 1847-50 novel, "The Vicomte of Bragelonne: Ten Years Later". The novel was the third and last of the author's "The d'Artagnan Romances" literary trilogy, following "The Three Musketeers" and "Twenty Years After". The movie begins with Philippe Bourbon being snatched by a group of mysterious men from his small French estate and imprisoned at the Bastille. It turns out that the men behind this kidnapping is King Louis XIV's finance minister, Jean-Baptiste Colbert and the head of the Musketeers, D'Artagnan. Aware that Philippe is the twin brother of the king (and the rightful monarch of France), the pair plan to conduct a bloodless coup to eventually switch Philippe with the corrupt and malicious Louis. However, their plans are stymied when the Chevalier Duval, an aide of the also corrupt Superintendent of Finances Nicolas Fouquet, stumbles across Philippe. Fouquet, via instructions from Louis, orders Duval to take Philippe from the Bastille and install him in another prison on the coast. Fortunately for Colbert and D'Artagnan, they learn of Philippe's fate from Louis' reluctant and disenchanted mistress Louise de La Vallière and plot to rescue the royal twin and continue with their plot to replace him with Louis. When I saw "THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK" for the first time, I thought it was perfect. Flawless. And it became one of my favorite Alexandre Dumas adaptations and television movies for years. After my recent viewing of the television movie, I now realize that it is not perfect. I feel that screenwriter William Bast had changed one aspect of Dumas' novel, "The Vicomte of Bragelonne: Ten Years Later", that had an impact on the 1977 movie's narrative. The novel had portrayed Louis as the older twin and rightful king of France. For some reason, Bast had made Philippe the oldest twin. Why? I have no idea. To justify Philippe's theft of the French throne? Unfortunately, this narrative change left me wondering why Philippe, as the "older twin" was not allowed to be his father's heir and later, successor. In one scene, Colbert explained that former French minister and lover of the twins' mother Queen Anne, Cardinal Mazarin, had Philippe taken away following the latter's birth, in order to manipulate then King Louis XIII. This explanation struck me as lame and confusing. And Bast should have never changed this aspect of Dumas' plot. Many moviegoers have become increasingly critical of any production that have not closely adhere to its literary source over the years. I have no idea how many of them felt about this 1977 television movie. But I have a pretty good idea how I feel about it. Although I found the major change mentioned in the above paragraph troubling, I had no problems with many of other Bast's changes. I have read Dumas' novel. It was interesting . . . to say the least. I have no problems reading or watching a story with a downbeat ending if it suits the narrative or if I am in the mood to embrace it. I have never been in the mood to embrace Dumas' 1847-50 novel. Which would probably explain why I enjoyed the changes in this adaptation a lot. But wait . . . extreme changes had been made in other adaptations of "The Vicomte de Bragelonne". What was it about this particular adaptation that I enjoyed? I found it better written than the other adaptations. For me, "THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK" was a tight and well-written story that did not drag or rush the movie's narrative. Which is more than I can say for Dumas' story. Most Dumas' adaptations tend to be part-dramas/part-swashbucklers. "THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK" - at least this version - seemed to be eighty-five percent drama and fifteen percent action. In fact, the only real action sequence in this production turned out to be D'Artagnan's rescue of Philippe from the coastal prison. And if I must be honest, I thought Mike Newell's direction, Freddie Young's cinematography and Bill Blunden's editing made that sequence a tense, yet exciting affair. However, the meat of "THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK" centered around its dramatic scenes. Thanks to Newell's direction, Bast's screenplay and a talented cast, the television movie featured some very memorable scenes. Among my favorites are Philippe's discovery that he is the King of France's twin brother, Louis' malicious reaction to his failure to impress Louise de La Vallière, a tense conversation between Philippe and Queen Marie-Therese, and the last verbal duel between Colbert and Fouquet. If I had to select my absolute favorite scene, it had to be the one that featured Louis' "Sun King" ballet, Louise's failure to be impressed and Louis' malicious act of using the Queen as a scapegoat for his embarrassment. As I had earlier stated, the dramatic scenes in "THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK" would have never been fully satisfying to me without its top notch cast. Yes, there were solid performances from the likes of Denis Lawson, Hugh Fraser and Brenda Bruce. But I found myself impressed by other members of the cast. They include Vivien Merchant, who did an excellent job in conveying Queen Marie-Therese's mixed emotions toward her emotionally abusive spouse - whether it was desire, resentment or a combination of both. Ian Holm was excellent as Minister Fouchet's aide, the Chevalier Duval, who seemed to be brimming with cunning intelligence and stealth. I would never associate Louis Jordan portraying a swashbuckling figure. But I must admit that he made an excellent man-of-action in his portrayal of the experienced, competent and quick-thinking D'Artagnan. Jenny Agutter gave a sublime and passionate performance as Louise de La Vallière, Louis' reluctant mistress who ended up falling in love with the latter's twin. Ralph Richardson's portrayal of France's finance minister Jean-Baptiste Colbert struck me as one of the more entertaining performances in the production. I found Richardson's Colbert cunning, intelligent, patient and more importantly - at least to me - witty. I have seen Patrick McGoohan in several heroic and villainous roles. But I must admit that his Nicolas Fouquet struck me as one of the most subtlety portrayed villains I have ever seen on screen. McGoohan's Fouquet could put Sheev Palpatine from the STAR WARS saga when it comes to subtle villainy. And I like subtle villains. I find them more dangerous. If I had to give an award for the best performance in "THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK", I would give it to its leading man, Richard Chamberlain. Mind you, Chamberlain had to portray two characters - the decent, yet slightly hot-headed Philippe Bourbon; and the vain and egotistic King Louis XIV. Mind you, I thought Chamberlain did an excellent job of conveying Philippe's sense of confusion, anger and passion. But the actor's portrayal of Louis literally knocked my socks off. Chamberlain's performance was not over-the-top. He did a subtle job of conveying Louis' villainy. And yet, he managed to inject a great deal of - how can I put it - joie de vivre quality in his performance that I found truly entertaining. There was no doubt that Chamberlain's Louis was a villain. But his Louis proved to be one of the most entertaining villains I have seen on screen. I realize that I have yet to discuss the television movie's production values. We are talking about the 1970s. Although I can recall a good number of television miniseries with first-rate production values, I cannot say the same about several period television productions from both sides of the Atlantic. And "THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK" is a television movie with a 100 minutes running time. However, I thought its production values were first-rate. Despite being a made-for-TV movie, "THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK" was shot on several locations in both France and Great Britain. Thankfully, Freddie Young's photography did an excellent job in enhancing those locations. John Stoll took advantage of those locations and skillfully re-created France and Louis XIV's court of the late 1660s or early 1670s. I am not an expert of 17th century fashion - in France or anywhere else. I have no idea whether Olga Lehmann's costume designs or Betty Glasow's hairstyle are historically accurate. But I cannot deny that I found the hairstyles satisfying and Lehman's costumes beautiful, as shown below:

In the end, I am happy to state that "THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK" remains one of my all time favorite adaptations of an Alexandre Dumas père novel. Despite my quibble of one of William Bast's changes in Dumas' story, I feel more than satisfied with his other changes and thought he had presented a first-rate story. And my satisfaction also extends to Mike Newell's top-notch direction and the excellent performances from a cast led by the always superb Richard Chamberlain.

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penguiduck · 4 years ago

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The Relationship Between Online Readers & Writers: Motivation and Appreciation for Writers: Perspectives

Introduction | Part 1: What is this Relationship? | Part 2: Creating Motivation and Appreciation for Readers | Part 3: A Day in the Life of… | Part 4: Creating Motivation and Appreciation for Writers: Perspectives | Part 5: Creating Motivation and Appreciation for Writers: Implementation | Part 6: How to Write the Best Feedback | Part 7: Where Does This Leave Us?

We’ve gone into some detail about the relationship between online readers and writers. I’ve also discussed what writers can do for readers to thank them for the support and attention. Let’s continue the conversation on how to motivate and show appreciation for your favorite writers.

I thought long and hard about how to begin addressing this complex topic and decided to divide this up into two parts:

Part 1: Perspectives (Why is leaving feedback so important and how does the online experience differ from a more traditional in-person one? Why should you leave feedback? What’s in it for the readers?)

Part 2: Implementation (What are ways in which you can contribute feedback? What is appropriate feedback?)

This chapter will discuss the writer’s perspective. I mentioned previously that writers write because they have a story to share, a craft they wish to polish and smooth. Writers who do not want to share their works do not post them publicly. Thus, if they choose to make their work available to a broad audience, unless explicitly stated otherwise, it makes sense that they would appreciate feedback on their craft.

In the introduction, I brought up the dynamic between readers and writers, and how I do not see this relationship optimized. It seems quite simple: “From a writer’s perspective, receiving feedback is crucial. From a reader’s perspective, giving feedback means pleasing the author who produces the work I so want her to update.”

This had me thinking: Why is this relationship not optimized? And what obstacles stand in the way of that ideal optimization?

It makes sense. It’s mutually beneficial. This online relationship dictates that writers cannot flourish without an audience and readers cannot enjoy work that is clearly not written.

I brought up the notion of currency in Chapter 2. By virtue of posting their work online and making it available free of charge, writers have already paid a huge portion, if not all, of their currency in this relationship. (Of course, this doesn’t mean there is no room for improvement — this is addressed in Chapter 3.)

The remainder of that responsibility falls on readers to ensure that their favorite writers are properly motivated and appreciated so that they may continue to create and craft.

I’d like to highlight the previous chapter I posted: A Day in the Life…

The reason why I chose to include this is because I want to provide perspective on just how real writers are — we have lives of our own, some of which I’m sure are quite busy. My schedule is rather uneventful, but there are still plenty of obligations and responsibilities. In my free time, I choose to write and provide content for my readers because not only do I enjoy the writing process, but I also wish to make others happy with quality writing.

I am sure other writers feel the same. Motivations for writing are varied and many, but we all share a joy for both the craft and enriching the lives of our readers.

My goal for the remainder of this chapter is to develop empathy for writers. To be perfectly candid, I think it is lacking in the online community — I am of the potentially unpopular opinion that if readers understood and truly empathized with writers, there would not be a lack of feedback or feelings of shouting into a void. Writers would not feel frustrated with the lack of reviews or comments on their works, and their motivations would not be so subject to the ebb and flow of support they may or may not receive from the online community.

That being said, again, this piece is not meant to criticize or guilt. I am not calling out individuals but noting trends that I see as a whole — there are many readers out there who do, in fact, provide incredible support and feedback for writers, and should be acknowledged and appreciated. I only seek to make an objective assessment through analysis that can kindle an honest discussion about how this relationship between online readers and writers may be improved.

I’d like to start by stating the obvious: Writers online provide their content free of charge.

This is their currency, their gift to you, a labor of their love and care. For me, this is time that could be spent binging my favorite shows on Netflix or on other leisure activities; this is time that could be spent working overtime for extra cash; this is time that could be spent going to the gym to improve my health; this is time that could be spent on food prep; this is time that could be spent catching up on much-needed sleep.

But no. Writers choose to spend that time and effort to create a gift for the community.

I urge you to think of writing as a gift because this will change your perspective and nurture a better sense of appreciation.

So what is a gift?

According to dictionary.com, a gift is “something given voluntarily without payment in return, as to show favor toward someone, honor an occasion, or make a gesture of assistance; present.”

And that’s just it. Writers who post their work online are giving gifts to their readers, expecting no payment in return. They pay the price of their gift in time, effort, and care — all of which are opportunity costs in their personal lives.

Now, assuming that online fiction or other such content is a gift, what does that mean for readers?

Let’s take some real life examples and extrapolate this out.

Imagine you’re an avid baker. You bake a batch of cookies and bring them into work to share. Clearly, you’re expecting no payment for your culinary confections, even though you spent money from your own pocket and the time and effort to make them. Sure, you enjoy the baking process, but you also just want to brighten the day of those in the office.

At work, you arrange your cookies for your coworkers to enjoy. People come and start to take cookies. They devour them and enjoy them — you know this because you see them do it — but they say nothing, do nothing, acknowledge nothing.

You receive no thanks, no compliments on your cooking, no gestures of appreciation.

Perhaps you feel underappreciated for your efforts? How likely is it that you are going to bake cookies to share with your coworkers in the future?

And on the opposite side of that coin, as a taker and muncher of cookies, do you not think that basic courtesy dictates that you at least express your gratitude, if not offer your compliments to the chef?

Writers are bakers, and they’re providing you with the most scrumptious, delectable cookies for the soul. They expect no compensation, and they’re not professionals, but shouldn’t they at least receive the most basic of acknowledgement for their time and effort?

Baking not your thing? Let’s take a look at another example:

This time, imagine you’re a soccer player. You and your team are called away to the state championship because you’re just that good. Your school, friends, and family come along to watch you play. You play well and hard, shooting goals and making saves, and your team wins.

However, not once do your friends and family cheer you on. Whenever you make a skilled play, there is only silence in the stadium. Even when the game is over, your teammates say nothing to you about your performance or sharing in the celebration. Your friends and family offer no congratulations, no words of encouragement, no acknowledgement of your hard work and countless hours of practice.

You have your victory, and your efforts have clearly paid off — what more could you possibly want?

Isn’t it only socially acceptable that you receive some sort of congratulatory message for your success? Perhaps you feel ignored or hurt that these people who came to watch your game don’t give you the kudos you feel you earned?

As a friend or family member, would you not feel awkward or impolite leaving the game without saying anything at all? Does your soccer star not deserve some words of encouragement, a handshake, a clap on the shoulder? Should you not offer to buy them ice cream or simply tell them how wonderful their performance was today?

Writers are all star soccer players. They work hard, spending countless hours honing their craft. When others come along and enjoy their performance, the fruits of their labors, do they not deserve congratulations for their literary successes, however minor?

Let’s took at one more example:

You are a painter. You offer to paint a mural for your community free of charge so there can be a little color added to the walls, so you can bring some joy to those who come by. You sketch out a design for approval, doing research on important figures and symbols in the community to customize this art. Your sketch is approved by the board, and you get to work.

More than anything, you’re doing this as a service to your community because you want others to be happy. You spend hours upon hours painting this mural, even using your own high quality art supplies for the best effects and colors. This process takes all week, and by the time you’re done, your arms are sore, your back hurts a little, but you stand back and admire your work. You are proud of it.

Members of the community come by as you’re cleaning up. You recognize many of them, and they are well-aware that you have volunteered your artistic talents to create the mural. They look at it, perhaps, enjoying the beautiful colors and ideas, and they then walk away.

They say nothing, even after seeing you hard at work for hours, day after day. No one says thank you for adding life to the community, for the money and time you’d spent. No one compliments your hard work, your artistic gifts, the method by which you choose to express yourself.

Perhaps you’re feeling a little sad? Unloved? Hurt? Underwhelmed with the lack of support after you just gifted the community hours of your time and artistry?

As a member of the community, someone who found some joy looking at the mural, would you not agree our artist deserves a few words of encouragement and praise for their talents? Would a few moments of your time, your kindness, be worth the delight and glee you see on their face?

Writers are artists. They boldly make their work public so that others may enjoy it. After spending all that time and energy, sometimes even funds from their own pockets to improve their craft, should they not receive praise for their wonderful contributions to the community?

I think I’ve made the point quite clear, but if you’re a baker, athlete, or artist, I’m sure you can come up with your own metaphors.

Now, some people may argue that internet culture is different — there is a screen of anonymity behind which you can hide. It’s not like you have to awkwardly sneak a homemade cookie from your coworker’s desk and earn a stink eye if you don’t say thank you.

I would challenge readers and writers, anyone who partakes in such an online community, to think differently because, regardless of medium of communication, there is a person behind the screen, a human being with talents, aspirations, and a very real need to feel appreciated for their efforts. This is human psychology.

In the cookie example above, I would ask: Why do you think you should snag a delicious cookie to enjoy without thanking your coworker?

It’s basic manners, a common decency to your fellow human. Most people wouldn’t dream of behaving so inconsiderately — universally, a thank you is warranted in this situation. Sneaking away a cookie without expressing some form of gratitude (thanks, a compliment, acknowledgement, etc.) is objectively ungracious. As such, social etiquette dictates that partaking in the hard-wrought, creative expressions of a writer, even online, deserves similar consideration.

Readers can easily provide feedback and/or gratitude as their form of currency in this relationship. It’s worth noting that writing a creative piece is not like your typical Facebook status post or Twitter tweet. I would argue that a “like” or “love” or “favorite” isn’t necessarily or always adequate if readers wish to motivate and show their sincere appreciation for writers. (I will address this point in more detail in the next part.)

Writing is a creative pursuit, and as such, motivation must be intrinsic. If writers are not in the mood to write or do not feel there is purpose for their writing, then the content will either suffer or not be composed at all — obviously, readers do not want this.

While this correlation may seem obvious, I would challenge those who are not actively supporting their favorite writers through feedback and kind words to sit down and actually write twenty chapters of a story. The writing process is involved and sometimes requires great mental fortitude. As I mentioned in the previous chapter, it is not as easy snapping your fingers or swallowing a spoonful of sugar.

The writing process is wonderful and fulfilling, but it is also occasionally intimidating and frustrating, especially amidst a life with a busy schedule. For me, whenever I post a chapter that was difficult for me to get through and I see how pleased my readers are, that overwhelmedness simply melts away. It’s like how you feel after acing a semester of your least favorite school subject — the months prior are terrible and stressful, but after you see that A on your transcript, you are so relieved and proud of yourself.

Having experienced the highs and lows of writing, I think one of the most rewarding parts of the writing process is hearing from my readers how much they enjoy and appreciate my work. Truly, it makes me feel that all of my efforts are well-placed and worth the while, and I am refreshed and motivated to begin writing again.

To come full circle, the relationship between readers and writers is a mutually beneficial one. When both parties support one another, we optimize the potential for creativity and quality content. Most importantly, this is an opportunity available to everyone — both readers and writers are invited and encouraged to partake in order for the community to flourish.

Writers should not feel underappreciated or hurt or neglected when posting their works; they should not feel the sensation of shouting into the void. Readers have the power to change that dynamic — while they may not be in charge of the story, they may have a surprising amount of influence in ensuring that writers are in the best position to continue updating their works.

So, dear readers, if you enjoy the gift of writing bestowed upon you by your favorite writers, please take a moment of your time to reciprocate a small fraction of the consideration and time they have and will continue to dedicate to you. This piece of the relationship is in your hands — it is your opportunity and responsibility.

In the next part, I will provide ideas and methods by which readers can motivate and show writers appreciation.

This is also posted on AO3.

#writing #Writing tips #writing inspiration #writers on tumblr #online fiction #fanfiction #Writing tutorials #Writing tutorial #Readers and writers #The relationship between online readers and writers #an analysis #Writing blogs #writers #readers #feedback #writers online #readers online #writing help #Writing advice

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my-lady-knight · 5 years ago

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Favorite Reads of 2019

As seems to be my usual, I’m posting this at what feels like the last second.

Writing this year’s post was hard. I’ve been complaining offline all year that it feels like I read far fewer books I really, truly enjoyed. Even the books I did enjoy, they didn’t stick around long in my head for me to remember details. On the other hand, this list ended up being thirteen items long, so it can’t have been that bad. And having to go back to the books in order to write this list did make me remember how and why I loved them, so there is that.

Presented in chronological order of when I read them:

The Lions of Al-Rassan by Guy Gavriel Kay

The first book I read in 2019, and I knew would end up on this list as soon as I finished. It’s also the first book of Guy Gavriel Kay’s where I finally understood what the fuss was about - when he commits to writing three-dimensional characters with compelling interpersonal and socio-political relationships, he commits. The cultural/social details of this secondary-world version of medieval Spain set at the beginning of the end of the Caliphate and the rise of the Reconquista are evocative, and the scope deftly alternates between being vast without tripping over itself and touchingly personal. Most importantly, this book gave me an OT3 I wasn’t even expecting in the form of Amman ibn Khairan, famed soldier, poet, and advisor now outcast from the city-state of Cartada, Rodrigo Belmonte, beloved cavalry captain with a complicated loyalty to the rulers he serves, and Jehane bet Ishak, an esteemed physician whose path intersects with them both. Together they represent the connections and tensions between their respective, secondary-world Muslim, Christian, and Jewish communities, cities, and leaders in this secondary-world Spain and form a triangle of everything the country has, is, and can be. A year later I still love this book.

How to Write an Autobiographical Novel: Essays by Alexander Chee

This book is difficult to write about, because I remember loving it as I was reading it, but I can’t remember any of the essays very well several months after the fact (see above). What I do remember is that they were difficult, and complicated, and messy, and they did the thing I love when essays do where the fact that the things Alexander Chee was writing about are super-specific to him made them somehow feel all the more relatable. All the essays were nicely crafted stories and emotional journeys, withAlexander Chee tracing all the various aspects of his life through his writing, as an Asian man, a gay man, an aspiring writer, a professional writer, a resident of NYC, and a survivor of sexual assault, using prose that was both artistic and clear as water.

The Raven Tower by Ann Leckie

Amal El-Mohtar wrote in her NYT review that this book was akin to “Hamlet”, “if [the play] were told from the point of view of Elsinore Castle addressing itself to a Horatio who mostly couldn’t hear it,” to which my response was “huh?” Then I read the book and it a) made so much more sense and b) ended up being an astute, apropos explanation of the kind of book The Raven Tower is. It’s the story of a soldier and companion to the heir of a country investigating the disappearance of its ruler and the ascendency of another in his place. It’s also the story of a calm, patient god in the form of a stone who predates all of history and narrates the changing existence of gods, their power, and their relationship to humans and their civilizations. It’s an understated yet powerful book, full of Ann Leckie’s brilliant and clever writing, world-building, storytelling, and otherworldliness. It’s Ann Leckie. She knows what she’s doing. And it fucking works.

Sal & Gabi Break the Universe by Carlos Hernandez

This book - is bonkers. It is insane. It is one thousand percent over the top. I kept asking myself “why am I not irritated???” Instead I loved it. Sal is the new kid, a practicing magician with as showman’s flair for the dramatic and boundless energy, and he can open up portals into other universes. Gabi is the sharp-eyed, bossy class president and editor of the school newspaper who just knows something’s up with Sal and his shenanigans. Together, they become friends! And open up more portals into other universes. This book is warm and empathetic and funny and kind-hearted. It’s too-muchness quality somehow worked. The whole thing felt like the literary equivalent of a hug.

The Parting Glass by Gina Marie Guadagnino

This wasn’t a Deep book, but I could not stop thinking about it, nor could I stop recommending it to people. It’s a zippy historical fiction novel set in 1830s NYC prior to the Potato Famine. Mary (or Maire) and her brother Seanin are Irish immigrants working in the same wealthy family’s house, she as lady’s maid to the marriageable daughter named Charlotte, he as a groomsman. Mary is half in love with her Charlotte; unfortunately so is Seanin, and the two of them are carrying on an affair, the aftermath of which leaves Mary in a bind about where her loyalties lie. I love that this book has a queer take on a love triangle that I’ve never seen before, and I loved Mary’s anger and resentment, her unashamed attitude towards her desire for Charlotte as well as other women, and her selfishness as well as her loyalty. I also loved the upstairs-downstairs nature of the book and the clash of Anglo-American and Irish immigrant ethnic and class mores and the larger social and political setting of the city and time period.

The Bird King by G. Willow Wilson

I don’t even know how to begin describing this book. It’s a story about maps and boundaries and borders. It’s an epic of daring escape and adventure about a mapmaker named Hassan with a magical gift and a concubine named Fatima, two friends fleeing the Inquisition after the surrender of Granada, in search of a mythical island ruled by the King of Birds. It’s a story of faith and trust and bonds forged from disparate people, and transformation, transformation of yourself and the world around you because you will it to be so. It’s a beautiful, beautifully written book.

(As a side note, I’m intrigued by the fact that two of my favorite books on here are set during the Reconquista.)

On the Come Up by Angie Thomas

In some ways I liked this even better than The Hate U Give. I loved the complexity that arose out of Bri rapping about the injustices she’s experienced, with people drawing completely different meanings out of her words, people wanting her to use her rapping and her voice for differing reasons, and Bri herself working to figure out the power she has with her rapping and how she wants to use her talents, when it comes to financially supporting her family, standing up for herself, and being herself when so many around her are creating all these false images of her based solely off her words. I loved Bri’s anger, the way she kept speaking before thinking, her loving, sometimes complicated relationships with her family and friends...Angie Thomas’s writing and storytelling is phenomenal.

Kindred by Octavia Butler

I’m not even sure what to say about this book that hasn’t been said but, um, yeah, it’s Octavia Butler, it’s a classic, and really my favorite aspect of the book is how it so effectively bridges the gap between history and present and demonstrates how the two aren’t so far apart, and effectively blends them such that for Dana, the present becomes the past and the past is her present and suddenly she isn’t visiting history at a somewhat removed vantage point, she is part of history, her own history, her ancestors’ history, in all its horror, caught in a catch-22 of needing to repeatedly save the life of her white, slave-owning ancestor who over time grows more and more violent towards her, in order to ensure the chronological security of her own life.

The Weight of Our Sky by Hanna Alkaf

This was a harrowing read. Set in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia during the 1969 Malay-Chinese race riots, sixteen-year-old Melati has OCD, or what she understands as a djinn living inside her that forces her to obsessively count in order to keep her mom alive, a secret she tries to hide so people don’t think she’s possessed. When the race riots break out across the city, Melati has to make her way through the violence in the streets in order to find her mom, all while battling the djinn as its power increases in the chaos. I repeat, this book was brutal. The descriptions of Melati’s OCD alone make it a tense, taxing read - combine it with the violence and unpredictability of the race riots and all the threats to Melati’s safety and her ever-growing fear for her mom and it’s a lot. Even so (perhaps because) I could not put this book down. The recreation of this part of history (which I had no clue of before and knew nothing about) was both immersive and informative, the story was deftly plotted, and I loved how Melati’s characterization and her relationship/the depiction of her OCD and how it specifically affects her in her particular circumstances.

Jade War by Fonda Lee

CLEAN BLADE CLEAN BLADE CLEAN BLADE

*ahem*

The second book of the Green Bone Saga was even better than the first. It took the story of the Kaul family and the No Peak clan and the worldbuilding of Jade City and turned everything up to eleven, expanding the story beyond Kekon into the global theater, particularly Espenia, bringing into the picture Kekonse immigration, diaspora, assimilation, and cultural heritage - what it means to be Kekonese, to be a Green Bone and carry jade and follow aisho outside of Kekon. The gang warfare between the No Peak clan and the Mountain clan spills over the domestic sphere into the international. Espenia grows more aggressive in its moves to gain control over jade at Kekon’s expense. It’s family loyalties and betrayals, it’s gang politics and warfare, it’s community, municipal, national, and international politics and culture clashes, and the changing world of being a Green Bone and wearing jade in a post-colonial world. Anyone who’s followed me this year because of Peaky Blinders - READ JADE CITY AND JADE WAR. YOU WILL LIKE THESE BOOKS I PROMISE.

Hexarchate Stories by Yoon Ha Lee

With this short story collection, Yoon Ha Lee has not only successfully published fan fiction of his own work in the Hexarchate universe and is getting paid for it, he’s published good fanfiction. The cute Cheris and Jedao backstory pieces of flash fiction he first published on his website are drabbles. One of the original pieces in this collection is straight-up PWP. (How the hell Solaris agreed to it I have no idea, there is literally no plot.) The very last story (also original) is fix-it fic for Revenant Gun that left me kicking and screaming over the CLIFFHANGER that Yoon Ha Lee ended it on HOW DARE YOU I DEMAND TO KNOW WHAT CHERIS AND JEDAO ARE GOING TO DO NEXT YOU BETTER BE WRITING MORE STORIES SET IN THIS AU TIMELINE. In sum, Yoon Ha Lee is a delight, I love him, and I loved this collection.

The Deep by Rivers Solomon

A novella about the weight of history, especially painful, traumatic history, and the necessity and yearning for it when you don’t have it. To be forced to bear the burden of history alone is to be crushed and subsumed by it. To lose or become detached from it is to lose connection to the people you’re from. Either way, it is difficult to impossible to maintain a people’s history alone. Rivers Solomon is such a poetic writer with her prose, painting beautiful images with just the right collection and arrangement of words, all while packing an astutely aimed punch in 160 pages.

Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo

I had some issues with how convenient some of the magic/magical artifacts felt, and the various threads of the murder plot didn’t tie up as nicely as I wanted, but oh, Alex Stern is a marvel - a survivor in every sense of the word who embraces that part of herself over and over, even as what being a survivor means changes for Alex over the course of the book. A dark/contemporary urban fantasy set at Yale where the university’s elite student societies are also magical societies— Alex is a dropout who got into drugs as a teenager in order to shield herself from the ghosts she can’t stop seeing, recruited to act as overseer of the societies’ magical rituals, and who takes it upon herself to investigate the murder of a young woman not too different than herself. The centrality of power and its abuse in this book is delicious, the read is gripping, and Alex is worth the price of admission. Yes, I will be reading the second book when it comes out.

(Also, this is literally the second book I’ve ever read that makes any mention or inclusion of Ladino (both Alex and Leigh Bardugo are Sephardi.))

Honorable Mentions

Finding Baba Yaga by Jane Yolen

King of Scars by Leigh Bardugo

How Long ‘til Black Future Month? by N. K. Jemisin

Our Year of Maybe by Rachel Lynn Solomon

Dragon Pearl by Yoon Ha Lee

The Boneless Mercies by April Genevieve Tucholke

The Best American Science Fiction and Fantasy 2018 edited by N. K. Jemisin and John Joseph Adams

The Calculating Stars by Mary Robinette Kowal

Amnesty by Lara Elena Donnelly

Storm of Locusts by Rebecca Roanhorse

Let Me Hear a Rhyme by Tiffany D. Jackson

The Monster of Elendhaven by Jennifer Giesbrecht

Pet by Akwaeke Emezi

Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir

It’s also been my practice over the past few years when making these posts to crunch the numbers regarding the number of books I’ve read by PoC authors. This year I read a total of 30 books, which is the exact same number as last year, but since I read fewer books this year, they accounted for 47 percent of my reading, compared to last year’s 43 percent. My goal since I started has been to get to 50-50 parity between PoC and white authors, and this year’s the second-closest I got (I reached 48 percent in 2017.) The goal for next year is once again 50-50.

#long post #book recs

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mediaeval-muse · 5 years ago

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Video Game Review: GreedFall (Spiders, 2018)

Genres: action RPG, fantasy

Premise: Players assume the role of De Sardet, a human noble who arrives on the recently-discovered island of Teer Fradee. Able to ally with either the natives who inhabit the land and/or any of the foreign nations competing to colonize it, De Sardet seeks out a cure for the mysterious illness that plagues their family, while also battling monsters and magic.

Platform Played On: PC (Windows)

Rating: 3/5 stars

Disclaimer: My rating is in response to multiple aspects of the game, not just its politics. If I were evaluating solely on politics and gave the developers the benefit of the doubt that they were trying to make something with a good message, my rating would be around the 1 to 2-star range, depending on player choices.

***Full review under the cut.***

I am evaluating this game based on four key aspects: story, characters, gameplay, and visuals.

Story: I’m immediately wary of any pop culture item that tries to tell a story about colonialism and Indigeneity because it usually ends up indulging in colonialist fantasies rather than critiquing them. Complex, morally-grey stories are great and all, but when it comes to tales about colonialism, “both sides” narratives tend to look a little insensitive. So, I can’t tell you why I decided to play GreedFall, other than I heard that it filled the Dragon Age-sized hole in people’s hearts. Since I’d rather use my own judgment than read video game reviews, I bought this game on sale and gave it a go. If nothing else, I told myself, I could use my history and literary analysis chops to say something intelligent about it.

In terms of politics, I don’t think GreedFall was as terrible as games where the goal in itself is colonization, but I also don’t think it achieved a narrative that was critical enough of colonization. De Sardet’s primary goal is to achieve balance between all the nations (which I’m calling factions because they’re mostly that). While I can admire that GreedFall really pushed for peaceful relationships, as well as pushed back against abuse and racism, I ultimately thought the developers didn’t consider how the struggle for balance actually facilitates colonialism. This game presents colonialism a diplomatic issue, so as a result, Teer Fradee is kind of a fantasy where colonists can settle on native land while maintaining friendly relationships with Indigenous peoples (at least, if you play it that way - at worst, you can seize absolute power). The experience was similar to the one I had playing BioShock Infinite, whose politics involve a “both sides” argument - the difference is that BioShock Infinite made explicitly clear by the end of the game that Booker was the true villain. With de Sardet, it’s a bit more ambiguous, depending on how you play, but I do think the game pushes you to be diplomatic rather than power-hungry. As a whole, it brings up the very valid question of whether or not colonialism should be in media period, or if there’s some value to be derived from consuming problematic media that tries to do good and talking about it.

Still, I have to give credit where credit is due. GreedFall had the guts to actually try to tackle little-discussed themes in this game, such as forced conversion, abuse within the sciences, and institutionalized bullying. While the missions associated with these big themes were accomplished with varying degrees of success, many of them added emotional depth to the game. Companions would have emotional reactions to these quests that tugged at my heartstrings, and there were never any shots of graphic violence or mutilated bodies, so it didn’t feel like I was playing the game for an edgy thrill. All of the side quests had a lot of bearing on the main plot and the worldbuilding - I don’t think I encountered any “fetch quests,” so most of the things I was doing actually related to enhancing my understanding of the world and its social dynamics.

The game also did a good job of presenting players with factions that were constantly in conflict with one another, lending an added layer of complexity to all the political aspects of the plot. Character’s personal quests were also very well done and had emotional depth. Vasco’s arc about learning about his true family was a nice exploration of birth family vs found family (he’s a sailor whose birth family gave him to the naval faction, the Nauts). Kurt’s quest was also a good one about the bonds between military recruits and really showed his commitment to people over institutions (he’s de Sardet’s commander at arms). Siora’s quests were more about staying true to her culture (she’s a native and daughter of one of a now-deceased tribe leader), while Aphra’s were about learning to be open minded when learning about a different culture (she’s a scientist interested in plants). Petrus’ were a mix of taking down the head of his Church and helping your character find their roots (he’s something of a pastor who also wields magic to fight). You can tell that the developers were inspired by Bioware games in that you can cultivate reputations with your companions and eventually romance them. Many of these romances are available to both male and female PCs, so there’s potential for a queer ship.

I will say that by the end of game, I was emotionally wrecked, despite all the political problems. So, I do think the developers of this game have a good sense of storytelling - I just wish they had done better politically.

Characters: Similar to Mass Effect or Dragon Age, GreedFall gives players a player-controlled character (PC) and a host of companions to take on an adventuring party. De Sardet, the PC, doesn’t have much personality when they’re being diplomatic, but I did enjoy the moments when they were confronted with information that impacted them emotionally. I played a female de Sardet, and the voice actress did a good job of balancing emotion with the facade that’s required of a diplomat. Constantin, de Sardet’s cousin and governor of New Serene (one of a few colonial settlements on Teer Fradee), is also carefully written as a charismatic, sympathetic nobleman’s son who wants to prove his worth. He and de Sardet share a close bond, which made moral decisions a bit more personal and emotionally difficult. I do think he became a scapegoat for all the evils of colonization, though, and I wish more was done with him to implicate every colonizer on the island. The companions are likewise very likable and fairly unique. Each of them had personal quests and stories that were compelling and sympathetic. I do wish there had been more opportunities to chat with them, or that they talked to each other during exploration (like Bioware companions do). I also appreciated that the Teer Fradee natives weren’t one, homogeneous group. I think too often we see pop culture try to write Indigenous peoples as having the same culture and goals, but with this game, there was some variety regarding what the best course of action would be against an invading force. I’m sure, however, that the depiction of the natives overall was problematic, but I’m not well-versed enough in native representation in pop culture to articulate the issues. While they weren’t portrayed as primitive or child-like (at least, I didn’t think so), I don’t doubt that there were tropes in there that I just couldn’t recognize (for example, Siora maybe a Chief’s Daughter/Indian Princess trope - it’s complicated). I suggest finding and reading an Indigenous critique of the game. (There’s also this one, which is valid, and I do think the game’s efforts and failures are worth talking about.)

Gameplay: This RPG mainly relies on balancing skills, talents, and attributes. Skills define what weapons you can use and how (one-handed blades, two-handed blades, firearms, magic, etc). Talents are things like charisma, science, or lockpicking - stuff which will affect the way you interact with the world. Attributes are mental and physical abilities like strength or willpower which affect how you wield weapons. Overall, the process of leveling up and gaining points to spend in these areas was pretty straight-forward, and I enjoyed the mental challenge of building a character that fit my play style.

Combat was a little clunky; basic attacks ran just fine for me, but there wasn’t much grace in the way characters dodged or rolled. I also kept getting thrown off by the fact that you can’t press space to jump! But in all, it wasn’t the worst experience. Enemies had helpful health bars, and I enjoyed the combination of a pistol and a rapier to finish off my foes. The diplomatic elements were by far the best part of gameplay for me. If players assign their skill points well, de Sardet can use a number of different tactics and choose from multiple dialogue options, from intimidation to taking advantage of intuition to laying on the charisma. It was fun to figure out which tactic would work on which characters, and how my skill sets translated into consequences for my decisions. I do think, however, that more options could have been presented to players in terms of dialogue choices and role-playing elements. While players make important choices regarding how to handle any given situation, there was little opportunity to purely role play. More opportunities to influence the direction or tone of the dialogue in non-crucial situations, I think, would have helped and made my De Sardet feel more unique.

Visuals: Aesthetically, I very much appreciated that we were given a fantasy game that wasn’t set in the faux Middle Ages. I loved the 18th century vibe to all the clothing and town layouts, and each of the maps were distinct and fully-realized, from the urban settings to the natural ones. There was a bit of repetition in the urban layouts; the palaces, for example, were the same, and some houses were recycled, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as Dragon Age II. I also appreciated that there were people of various races and genders in all positions and all social circles. There were women in the guard, women working on ships, and so on, without any hint that it was unusual. There was also a fairly wide variety of skin tones, with people of color being included in higher social classes and not relegated to lowly servant roles. There are some problems in that “diversity washing” detracts from the racial conflicts that were very present in the 18th century. I don’t think the developers thought through the implications of putting POC in positions of power where they could commit violent colonial acts against the natives. The creatures on the island were interesting to look at. Their designs frequently combined natural imagery (such as vines and wood) with horror to create foes with an eldritch, elemental vibe. The same creepiness was reflected in the fictional disease that afflicts the colonists; the afflicted had black, vine-like tendrils running through the skin, and there was an impending sense of dread whenever I looked at someone who was infected. Despite all the things I liked, GreedFall’s biggest problem is its animation. For a game that was made in 2019, facial expressions and combat are quite clunky, to the point where the characters felt robotic. I understand that not every video game needs to have top-tier level animation, but playing GreedFall was similar to my experiences playing the first Witcher game or the first Mass Effect or Dragon Age: Origins games. Still technically playable, but it feels very outdated.

In-Game Triggers: violence (especially racial violence), colonialism, racism, religious zealotry, torture,

I feel the need to point out that while I don’t think this game is gory or explicit in any way (PG-13 would be my rating), there are some scenes that people may find triggering. There’s also one where a Native is killed by a religious zealot, and I found it extremely upsetting (it happens when you first enter San Matheus, if you need a heads up). Other than that, you never actually see characters torture native peoples, but you do hear about it later.

Recommendations: I would recommend this game if you’re interested in the 18th century, the age of imperialism, role-playing games, and fantasy. You might also like this game if you’re a fan of Bioware RPGs.

#video game review

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canchewread · 5 years ago

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Editor's note: while I've certainly been away from Can't You Read for quite a while, anyone who follows my work at ninaillingworth.com or my Patreon blog already knows that I've been writing (and podcasting) again. You can check out some of my latest essays here, here and here; to listen to the podcast I co-host with Nick Galea (No Fugazi) just click here.

Today however I'm back on my bookworm bullsh*t with another curiously dated review of left wing literature from my extensive library of pinko pontification. In today's review, we're going to be taking a look at “The Chapo Guide to Revolution: a Manifesto Against Logic, Facts and Reason” written by five members of the popular left wing podcast “Chapo Trap House” - specifically, Felix Beiderman, Matt Christman, Brendan James, Will Menaker and Virgil Texas.

Baby Steps up the Ramparts

It is I will theorize, utterly impossible to write a review about the Chapo Trap House book without engaging in the extremely online, three-sided culture war that has sprung up around both “the Chapos” themselves and the enormously popular podcast they host. In light of the fact that seemingly everyone on the internet who detests the show regard the Chapos as slovenly crackpot losers born on third base and podcasting from mom's basement, it really is alarming how much digital ink has been spilled about the various types of “threat” to all that is good and holy this simple irony-infused podcast supposedly represents. While I intend to largely sidestep that discussion by focusing entirely on the book and not the podcast (which I don't listen to regularly, to be honest with you), I accept that virtually nobody reading this is going to be happy unless I do something to address the elephant in the room, so here goes:

Neera Tanden and her winged neoliberal monkeys can eat sh*t, but extremely online leftists have a point that the Chapos themselves occasionally skirt the line between mockingly ironic reactionary thought and just plain old reactionary thought; although this is not particularly alarming to me because they're Americans and America itself is a breeding ground for reactionary ideas – decolonizing your mind is a process and I'm pretty sure it's one I myself am also engaging in still every single day of my life at this point. Importantly, in my opinion this failing does not make them cryptofascists so much as the product of American affluence; I'm having a hard time understanding how teaching Marx and Zinn to Twitter reply guys serves the fascist agenda in any meaningful way. While I obviously can't pretend to know another person's heart, in my opinion the Chapo boys are definitely leftists but they're obviously not labor class and yes it's a little hard to explain away the group's loose affiliation with the (objectively strasserist) Red Scare podcast through co-host Amber A'Lee Frost - but I'm not going to waste a couple thousand words trying to untangle Brooklyn independent media drama from half a country away and besides, Amber didn’t write this book. Despite these critiques however, I think it's important to note that under no circumstances am I prepared to accept the argument that with fascists to the right of me, and lanyards, um also to the right, the real problem here is... Chapo Trap House.

Ok, with that out of the way let's dive right in and talk about the question I think most folks who've written about The Chapo Guide to Revolution have largely failed to grasp – namely, what kind of book is it precisely? Combining elements of comedy, playful online trolling, historical analysis, political theory and good old-fashioned cross platform promotional marketing, the book has often lead critics to compare it to catch-all comedic efforts like Joe Stewart's “America” or even humorous men’s lifestyle advice texts like “Max Headroom's Guide to Life.” This is I think an essential misreading of the fundamentally earnest and direct tone the book actually takes in its efforts to reach a fledgling audience growing more receptive to left wing ideas. The Chapo Guide to Revolution is, as the cover says, a manifesto; but rather than serving as the mission statement for a particular formed political ideology, the Chapos have written an extremely effective, entry-level argument for why labor-class millennials should be leftists – and, of course, why they should listen to Chapo Trap House; this is still a cross-promotional work after all.

Naturally as befits a book about a comedy podcast, albeit a very political one, the Chapo Guide to Revolution is an extremely funny book that does a remarkable job translating the type of caustic online humor previously only found in left wing Twitter circles, onto the written page. While its certainly true that this quirky style of comedy can be a little difficult to grasp for the uninitiated, and typically a cross-promotional work of this type will get bogged down in self-referential humor and inside jokes, the book mostly avoids this trap by sticking with the basics and assuming that the reader has literally never heard an episode of Chapo Trap House, which in turn makes the humor fairly universal and extremely accessible – at least for anyone under the age of fifty. This endeavor is greatly aided by the dark and dystopian, yet hilariously eviscerating art of Eli Valley; a man who himself has since become one of the leading left wing critics of establishment power online through his extremely provocative sketches and ink work.

The truth however is that if the Chapo Guide to Revolution was merely just a funny book, I wouldn't be reviewing it here today. No, the reason this book is worth writing about at all lies in the fact that underneath all the jokes, taunts and “half-baked Marxism” lies an objectively brilliant work of historical analysis, cultural critique and left wing political theory – albeit an unfocused theory that borrows heavily from half a dozen functionally incompatible left wing thinkers and literary giants, but a fundamentally serious work of political philosophy nonetheless.

Yes, that's correct; I said brilliant. Where think-tank minions and neoliberal swine in the corporate media see a petulant pinko tantrum, and online leftist academics see privileged dudebros appropriating Marx (poorly), I see a brilliant and yet stealthy synthesis of political theories, historical analysis and organizational ideas originally presented by writers like Howard Zinn, Noam Chomsky and Thomas Frank. Drawing on historical theories from Marx, Gramsci and Rocker, the Chapos have cobbled together a rudimentary political philosophy that represents a crude and yet promising welding of anarchist concepts about labor, Marxist concepts about economics and democratic socialist concepts about politics, collected together under the generic banner of “socialism.”

At this point some of you are undoubtedly snickering, but please bear with me for a moment here because what the Chapos (or their ghostwriter) have done in this book is truly a marvelous thing to behold precisely because you can't see it unless you're paying close attention. By positioning The Chapo Guide to Revolution as both a comedic work and an introductory level text, the authors have created a sort of unique crash course in left wing history, geopolitics, philosophy and political theory for a newly awakened generation of Americans who find themselves increasingly politicized whether they like it or not.

Underneath the acerbic millennial humor, “extremely online” diction and unrelenting waves of sarcasm, The Chapo Guide to Revolution is also a surprisingly accurate “CliffsNotes” style textbook presentation of multiple broad-based social science subjects – here are just a few examples:

In “Chapter One: World” the book presents a rudimentary and yet deliciously insightful history of post-World War II American empire that draws on authors like Howard Zinn and Noam Chomsky, with a touch of contemporary writers like Greg Grandin and Naomi Klein. In particular the attention devoted to condensing the target audience's formative experiences with empire like the War on Terror, the invasion of Iraq and the war in Afghanistan, into a short and coherent narrative that can be easily shared with other novice political observers makes this book an invaluable resource for budding millennial leftists Additionally, while it certainly might have been an accident, the Chapos' choice to wrap this “Pig Empire geopolitics for newbs” lesson in a protracted joke about America as an extremely ruthless corporate startup at least touches on ideas presented by writers like Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz, Sheldon Wollin (or Chris Hedges repeating Sheldon Wolin), Joel Bakan, Rosa Luxemburg and others.

In Chapters Two and Three, entitled “Libs” and “Cons” respectively, the authors conduct a remarkably thorough political science lesson on the two major mainstream political “ideologies” in American culture, including both a rough outline of their history and their modern calcification inside the Democratic and Republican parties. Of course both of these sections rely heavily on the personal experiences of the authors growing up in a politicized America, but these discussions also dip into the works of Thomas Frank and Cory Robin to explore and critique the liberal and conservative political mindset respectively; in particular the Chapos summary of Robin's work on the conservative worship of hierarchies is an inspired distillation. More importantly however, the Chapos also expose the way in which these two ideologies represent a false dichotomy within the greater confines of a larger capitalist socioeconomic order; which is of course a (still absolutely correct) idea straight out of the works of Karl Marx.

In Chapter Six, appropriately entitled “work” the authors engaged in a disarmingly earnest discussion about wage slavery, the false promises of the protestant work ethic and the history of terrible jobs available to the labor class under various iterations of the capitalist project. This is followed by a humorous, but dystopian review of what future jobs might look like if the neoliberal socioeconomic order continues on as it has so far, and an extremely brief but sincerely argued pitch for completely transforming the role of work in society through some from of technologically assisted anarcho-communism. This last idea is admittedly a little half-baked but you have to admire their balls when the Chapo boys flatly call for a three hour workday; a position that will undoubtedly be popular with the labor class who're currently engaged in all those sh*tty jobs the book describes earlier in the chapter. Once again this synthesis of left wing ideas about work does represent a new and unique formulation, but despite the humorous and original content you can also clearly see the influence of anarchist writers like Kropotkin, Rocker and Goldman in this chapter, as well as contemporary authors like David Graeber and Mark Blyth.

Unfortunately, if there is a downside to writing a brilliantly subversive comedy book that functions as a “my little lefty politics primer” for politically awakening millennials, it's that you simply don't have the space for an intellectually rigorous examination of all the ideas you're sharing – there is after all a big difference between reading the Cliff Notes version of Zinn, Chomsky or Marx, and reading the original theories in their full form. Furthermore, the individual life experiences, idiosyncrasies and humor styles of the authors do at times bleed into the text in a way that I personally suspect was detrimental to the overall analysis. Here's a short list of “sour notes” I found in this otherwise remarkable book:

From what I have listened to of the Chapo Trap House podcast, it has always been my impression that the Chapos were particularly effective critics of American corporate media, so I was a little disappointed that the chapter on media in The Chapo Guide to Revolution was a fairly tepid and narrow discussion about (admittedly vapid) bloggers turned celebrated pundits. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure power dunking on the likes of Matty Yglesias, Meagan McArdell and Andrew Sullivan was viscerally satisfying for the book's target audience, but there's really not much of a broader critique of the media's ideological role in American capitalism and culture here like one would find in Herman & Chomsky's “Manufacturing Consent”, Matt Taibbi's “Hate Inc” or Michael Parenti's “Inventing Reality.” This absence I fear has the tragic side effect of reinforcing the idea the American corporate media sucks because egg-shaped moron bougie pundits are bad at their job and not because of the inherent failings of the for-profit media model and the institution's true role as an ideological shepherd keeping the masses aligned with the goals of elite capital and the ruling classes – almost exclusively against the bests interests of the labor class.

The introduction is written in what I can only assume is a sarcastic imitation of right-leaning self improvement books with a touch of Tyler Durden's Fight Club ethos thrown in; this might have been a better choice in a completely different book but it's largely out of place with the rest of this book. At this point I should also say that the best part about the Kidzone intermission is that it was only two pages long. Needless to say, neither one of these sections did anything for me whatsoever.

While it's entirely possible that at forty-three years of age, I'm simply too old to really get the “millenialness” of the chapter on Culture, the simple truth is that I found most of it to be a fairly useless examination of pop culture influences the Chapos hold in reasonably high esteem. As someone who isn't particularly engaged in watching lengthy television series or regularly playing video games, I really couldn't dig into most of the material presented and the less said about the art jokes and the bizarre absurdist discussion of elevator brands, the better. There is however one rather notable exception here in the brief essay on The Sorkin Mindset, which is an objectively brilliant evisceration of the liberal obsession with the West Wing and the tragic effect that obsession has had on Democratic Party politics – this really could have gone in the chapter on “Libs” because it's that valuable of a tool for understanding and critiquing the modern liberal lanyard worldview. Finally I guess I should note that while the Chapo boys' insightful critique of the vapid “prestige TV” phenomenon is both interesting and correct, it really only “matters” if you're a consumer of these types of series – and I'm not.

While I certainly understand the authors' decision to use their notes section to preemptively debunk bullsh*t complaints about the more outrageous accusations they level against the American establishment, I would have liked to see a “recommended reading” section. It is very clear that the Chapos have a reasonably strong background in imperial history, political science and labor theory and I feel like pointing readers towards writers who expand on the theories they summarize in The Chapo Guide to Revolution might have been a better use of space than printing links to old internet articles bad faith actors will never type into a search engine anyway.

Although it might seem like there was more about the book I didn't like, than I did, this is a little misleading – the first three chapters of The Chapo Guide to Revolution are pure fire and comprise over half of the volume. If you throw in the brilliant chapter about work and labor theory, the overall package is far more substance than style, despite the fact that it remains humorous and a little bit edgy throughout the book. While it's certainly fair to say that an introductory primer on why you should be a leftist for newly-politicized millennials isn't a must-read for everyone, the simple truth is that the vast majority of online leftists I know could learn a thing or two from this rudimentary synthesis of various left wing ideas into the seeds of a working, modern political ideology compatible with a uniquely Americanized, millennial left.

While no three hundred page comedy book written by five podcasters from Brooklyn is going to teach you everything there is to know about socialism and left wing ideology, there's something to be said for offering an accessible, entry-level alternative tailor-made for a target demographic already being heavily recruited by the fascists. As a starting point for exploring left wing political thought, you could do a lot worse than The Chapo Guide to Revolution and for a generation of kids who've mostly been encouraged to be passive accomplices to their own subjugation while blaming their misery on anyone even more powerless than they are, there is perhaps nothing more valuable than a condensed narrative that explores how to even think about another way to live.

Remarkably, this book finds a way to deliver on that monumental task while simultaneously failing to grasp one single relevant thing about the cherished American novel Moby Dick. Despite this infuriating literary myopia and insolence, this still might literally be the best book ever written for young American leftists who simply aren't going to spend ten years reading academic literature written by dead white guys from Germany and Russia. - nina illingworth Independent writer, critic and analyst with a left focus. Please help me fight corporate censorship by sharing my articles with your friends online! You can find my work at ninaillingworth.com, Can’t You Read, Media Madness and my Patreon Blog Updates available on Twitter, Mastodon and Facebook. Podcast at “No Fugazi” on Soundcloud. Chat with fellow readers online at Anarcho Nina Writes on Discord!

#chapo trap house #book review #The Chapo Guide to Revolution #left wing politics #geopolitics #humor #leftism #introduction to leftism #Noam Chomsky #Howard Zinn #Thomas Frank #Cory Robin #culture war #politics #news #media #bloggers #savage burns

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years ago

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summertime sadness .3.

first day

Sequel to kiss me in the d-a-r-k

Part 1 Part 2 (masterlist under construction)

Warnings: dub con sex (intercourse, oral)

This is dark!(dad)Steve and dark(professor!)Bucky explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: You start your new job as you juggle the men in your life.

Note: back at it again with part 3. I'll keep y'all updated about a possible new posting schedule and an announcement regarding Patreon. Apparently writing every day and stressing myself out is not good for my mental health lmao. But I'm enjoying this one and I'm not sure yet if we're gonna be able to stick to 6 parts. Bon appetit. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think in a reblog, reply, or like. I'm loving the feedback from y'all and the excitement! You guys are gold. Also as always, memes accepted.

💋💋💋

You woke to the buzzer. You rolled over and grabbed you phone from the table. Your voice was thick and groggy as you answered it.

“Hello?” You nearly coughed through your dry throat.

“Delivery,” The monotone response came.

“Okay,” You shook your head confused and hit the button to let him up.

You dragged yourself from the bed and staggered to the door. You watched through the peephole as the carriers appeared at the top of the stairs. The two men in their brown uniforms carried a large box between them. They knocked once before you managed to unhook the chain and opened the door.

“Um?” You stared at them confused.

“Delivery for apartment 6,” The man read off his tablet. “Signature?”

He turned it toward you and you read your name across the top. You hadn’t ordered anything. You couldn’t afford to. You signed, still confused, and held the door open for them to drag the box inside. You thanked them and watched them go before you shut the door. You crossed your arms as you stared at the package. You needed coffee.

You brewed your usual morning potion and sipped it slowly as you paced around the box. It took up much of the space you had left. You set your mug down and grabbed your keys to slice through the plastic tape. Within was an instruction booklet and a litany of boards and screws. It was a desk.

Your phone vibrated on your night table and you stood. You grabbed your coffee and sat on the edge of your bed as you opened your phone.

‘You got your present?’ Steve’s message popped up.

‘You?’ You responded with an O face.

‘Figured you needed something better than that lumpy double,’ He returned and you tutted.

‘Thanks’ You replied with heart eyes.

‘Don’t worry. I ordered the smallest desk I could find.’

‘Still don’t think it will fit.’

‘You should be used to a tight squeeze.’ He kidded and you finished your coffee.

‘Uh huh. Well I guess I gotta day ahead of me, don’t I?’

‘Good luck.’ He sent a winky face alongside the taunt.

You returned a smiley and tossed your phone on the mattress. You stood and sighed as you once more ruminated over the box. Well, a little something to keep your mind off your nerves on your last day of freedom.

💋

You were pressed, preened, and as professional as you could get. Button up blouse patterned with small daisies, blush-toned blazer, and ironed beige pants. In your bag, you had a fresh notebook, your laptop, and about a dozen pens, including the golden on gifted to you.

You strode through the front doors of the city tower as your nerves jittered in your chest. You hadn’t been there since the workshop. You and the other students had gone on a tour of the offices and your submission earned you a page in the company’s Sceptre Magazine. It also gained you the unexpected offer for this job.

After an elevator ride which seemed to make time stand still, you stepped off into the shining offices of Adder Press. It was just as you recalled only even more intimidating. You approached the receptionist’s desk tentatively and resisted your habit of wringing your hands. The buoyant redhead greeted you with a bubbly smile.

“Hello, you must be the intern,” She chimed.

“Um, yeah, I guess that’s me,” You answered.

“Well, I’m Stacey, I don’t know if you remember me, and you can just head on over to his office. He’s waiting for you.” She clicked something with her mouse and hit the intercom button on her phone. “Mr. Laufeyson, your 8 a.m. is here.”

“Very well,” His voice replied from the speaker.

She nodded for you to you pass her desk and you ducked your head down as you left her. You vaguely recalled the layout of the office. The round desks and the cozy seating all around. You bit the inside of your lip as you wandered cluelessly through the maze of employees who knew what they were doing.

You looked up and a familiar slim figure appeared in the doorway of the office along the back of the immense space. Loki Laufeyson, the editor and owner of Adder Press, greeted you with a handshake as you neared. His green eyes sparkled above his trademark smirk. In your brief introduction, you found he always looked as if he had a secret.

“Good morning,” He let go of you and stepped back to let you into his office. “You’re early.”

“A habit,” You assured him as you entered his roomy office.

“An admirable one,” He followed and passed you as he rounded his desk. “Sit,” He waved to the seat across from him before he took his own. “First, we’ll go over the job and your expectations. Any questions you have…” He checked his watch as he crossed his legs and leaned back. “And then we have a long day ahead of us.”

“Okay,” You said as you cradled your bag in your lap.

“You’ll be shadowing me for the most part. You’ll get an idea of how the business works and everything that goes into publishing.” He explained. “And we’ll get a taste of your editing skills. I’ll hand you a few minor pieces and go from there. Meetings, pitches, and so on.”

You nodded and listened to him as you sat on the edge of the chair.

“I trust you will attune well. Your article was exceptional and I have no doubt there is a place for you in this business. Literary or otherwise.” He continued. “You are the first intern we’ve had that wasn’t a fourth year. I hope you realise the gravity of this position. Of this opportunity.”

“Of course,” You assured him. “And I’m am grateful for it.”

He tilted his head and squinted at you as he thought. He sat forward and smiled again.

“Well then, we should get started. I’ll show you your desk before we attend the morning meeting. Then you can sit in on my next. The board must select the winners of the contest for our Pride Issue of Sceptre, among other significant decisions.” He stood and tapped his desk with two fingers. “Tomorrow, we’ll deal with the marketing side of things. Just as important as the content itself.”

“Alright,” You rose, excited though too nervous to show it.

He seemed amused and turned to guide you out of his office. Your stomach flipped a second time that day and you swallowed down the storm. You had to keep reminding yourself that this was what you wanted. An actual dream come true.

💋

Your first week flew by. The workload kept you busy and your desk was quickly cluttered from it; both at work and at home. Your nights were late and mornings early. The true university experience but not for the usual reasons, though it was just as thrilling as any party.

To your surprise, Loki was an accommodating boss; in his own way. His expectations were clear but not easily met. His standards fueled you; encouraged you to fight harder to meet them. And when you didn’t, he wasn’t disappointed; rather encouraging in his singular discerning manner. That he did expect so much of you, was flattering on its own.

And your first edited piece, a quarter page review, had passed his grueling rounds of criticism. You couldn’t help but beam as he read over your final submission and uttered that single word, ‘adequate’. He looked up from his screen and across his desk. “It’ll print.”

You were still smiling as you walked out onto the street. You took out your phone, long ignored for your work. The screen was filled with notifications. Both Steve and Bucky sent identical messages; ‘How was your first week?’

You answered Steve first. ‘It was good. I think I’m getting the hang of it.’

Then Bucky. ‘Great! I’m learning so much.’

‘Awesome. Facetime tonight?’ Steve replied and you accepted the invitation.

‘Have you eaten?’ Bucky’s text popped up.

‘Not yet.’ You answered.

‘You still downtown?’ He asked. Another confirmation sent.

‘I’m at the Beer Garden. My treat. They have amazing tacos.’

‘Ten minutes,’ You promised and opened up your Maps.

When you got there, Bucky was waiting. A pitcher sat before him and two glasses; one empty, the other half-finished. You neared and set your bag on one of the tall chairs as you climbed up on another.

“Hey,” You greeted. “Didn’t think I’d ever be here again.”

“Why not? Good beer, good food,” He poured you glass as he spoke. “Good men.”

“Sure, sure,” You laughed as he set the pint before you. “So, how are classes?”

“Ugh, can we not?” He grumbled. “I didn’t come here to think about school.”

“Only to get me tipsy, eh?” You sip from the foamy stout.

“It never takes very much,” He grinned. “And I figured, we could take a walk after. There’s a nice little bookshop down the street.”

“Books? So this night will be worth it after all?” You kidded.

“Free food,” He reminded as he slid a menu over to you.

“I can get food at home, cozy in my bed with a good doc on my laptop,” You chided. “But new books? That’s better than--”

“Sex?” He ventured coyly.

“Almost.” You answered as you lifted the menu. “Though the more I think about it, free food might just change my mind.”

💋

Your stroll to the bookshop led you past Adder Press once more. It was a small nook between a cafe and a foreclosed business. As you entered a bell chimed and the smell of aged paper filled your nostrils. The walls were lined with shelves and small desk sat along the left side of the store. Books; used, new, rare, surrounded you.

You followed Bucky to the back of the shop and perused the non-fiction section as he looked over the military memoirs. The shelves between you and the front of the store blocked the view of the street through the wide bay window. It seemed darker back there; quiet.

As you scanned the back of a book on the old studio system in Hollywood, you felt a tickle along your side. Bucky’s hand gripped your hip as he turned you and slowly edged you back against the shelf. He glanced towards the front desk but cared little as he leaned in. He took the book with his other hand and blindly put it aside.

“Long week,” He purred.

“It was,” You said. “But I think you can wait a little longer.” You patted his chest and tried to push him away. “Maybe until we’re somewhere more...private.”

“Ah come on, have a little fun, miss priss,” He rubbed his nose against yours. “Just a kiss.”

He pressed his lips to your and you squirmed. You kissed him back as he trapped you in the corner. His arms wrapped around you and he slid along the shelves. Several books fell behind you noisily and he pulled away at last. You sneered and bent to pick them up as the cashier craned to look around the shelves.

“Sorry,” You waved to him as you gather the books. “Clumsy.”

You put them back on the shelves as you stood and Bucky watched you with a smirk. You growled and grabbed his arm.

“Fine, let’s go,” You snarled.

“You want that book, baby?” He teased as you dragged him back down the aisle.

“I want sleep,” You said. “And the quicker we’re out of here, the quicker I get my wish.”

He chuckled as you shoved him out onto the street. “You’re sexy when you’re mad.”

“I’m not mad.” You insisted.

“Sure,” He slung his arm over his shoulder and led you back down the street. “Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll find a way to cheer you up.”

💋

Bucky had never been to your apartment before. You always met at his; it was bigger, cozier, and less stressful. When he pulled up to your building, he killed the engine but you didn’t say anything as he followed. Surely he knew a student couldn’t afford a condo.

When you showed him into your meagre flat, he glanced around and smiled. “Quaint.”

“Affordable,” You said as you set your bag on the chair.

“Cute.” He commented as he neared your desk.

“New addition,” You explained. “Steve sent it last week.”

“Of course he did,” He mused. “Always practical, isn’t he? Well, in most things.”

“Mmm,” You grumbled and took off your blazer. “I suppose.”

“Did you send him a pic?” He asked and you lifted a brow. “Of the desk?”

“No,” You said.

“Well, why don’t you?” He winked. “We can do a little photo shoot for him.”

“I don’t think so,” You scoffed.

“For me too,” He said. “Sexy school girl. Classic.”

“Stop,” You neared him as he pulled out his phone and tried to take it from him. “Or I’m gonna send you home early.”

“Take your clothes off,” He held his phone above you. “Come on.”

“No,” You squealed. “Now put that away.”

“You can keep your panties on,” He bartered. “Just give a smile.”

“Bucky…”

“Hey, if it’s gonna be another week, I need something to keep me from getting lonely.” He argued.

You stepped back and stared up at him. You sucked your lip in and nibbled on it.

“You’re thinking about it,” He said. “I know that look.”

“One photo. That’s it.” You sighed and unbuttoned your blouse. “And it stays between you and Steve.”

“You have my word,” He grinned.

He watched you undress until you were in nothing but your bra and panties. You went to the desk and stood in front of it stiffly. You smiled. “Okay?”

“I said panties,” He intoned. “Nothing about your bra.”

You frowned and swiftly unhooked your bra and tossed it aside.

“Up,” He gestured with his hand as he held his phone up.

You pushed aside the chair and turned to clear a spot for you to sit before you climbed up awkwardly. You turned back to him and leaned on your hands.

“Stick your chest out a little,” He directed. “Good, and cross your legs. Mmm, yes. Like that.” He hit capture and lowered his phone. “Wow.”

“What?” You leapt down and scrambled over to him. “I must look awful.”

“You look… hot,” He growled the last word. “Fuck. Get those panties off while I send this to Steve.” He rubbed his crotch as he flicked his thumb over his screen. “I can’t wait much longer.”

You rolled your panties down your legs as you turned away from him. You heard him set his phone down as you neared the bed.

“No, I want you back on that desk,” He said. “Now.” You spun back and put your hands on your hips. He shook his head in warning. “You know what happens to bad girls.” He warned.

You strutted over to the desk as he pulled his shirt over his head. He kicked off his shoes as he slowly closed in on you. He stripped deliberately until he was before you, naked and hard. You stared up at him and he lifted you up onto the desk. He pushed your knees apart and stepped between your legs.

“Do you remember that first time? On my desk? Hmm?” He inhaled your scent as he dragged his nose along your cheek. “I’ve been thinking about that all week.”

“Oh yeah,” You breathed as you felt along his sides and around his broad back. “Do you think about me when you teach?”

“Always,” He snarled. “I think about fucking you, front and centre, right in front of everyone.”

“Really?” His lips tickled your temple as he plied kisses one at a time. You leaned back and bared your throat.

“You know, what I really want,” He nuzzled your neck as he spoke. “I want you under my desk as I mark… help keep me focused.”

“Oh?” You moaned as his fingers inched along your stomach. “When do you mark?”

“Whenever you’re free, baby,” He nibbled at your skin between words.

“Tomorrow?” You felt long his thigh and brushed your fingertips along his sac. He shivered.

“Tomorrow.” He gulped as you gripped him. “Meet me at my office.”

“Mmm,” You pulled him close as rubbed his tip along your folds. “What about tonight?”

“Tonight,” He lifted his head as you guided him to your entrance. “Tonight I’m gonna fuck you till you scream.”

He pushed into you and you gasped. You wrapped your arms and legs around him, hungry for him. Each time he thrust, the desk wobbled and clattered against the wall. You clawed at his back as you curled your pelvis towards him, longing to take every inch of him. You moaned and locked your legs around his ass.

“Make me scream,” You taunted.

He grunted and plunged into you harder. You were at the edge of the desk, entirely at his mercy. He pushed his hand between your bodies and pressed his thumb to your clit. He rubbed you roughly, painfully almost, yet the thrill of it was delicious. Your moans grew louder and louder.

He reached back with one hand and tore your arm from around him. Your other arm slipped as he pushed you onto your back and pulled your ass over the edge of the desk. Your grasped onto the desk above your head as he crashed into you. Your body jerked across the painted white wood and you gritted your teeth as your voice rose.

“Come on, baby,” He rutted into you, harder and harder. “Come on.” He hissed as his thumb worked your clit. “Scream.”

He impaled you entirely and you obeyed. He wrenched your orgasm from you and your legs quivered around him as you shrieked. Your head lolled and you covered his hand with yours as his thumb kept its motion. When it stopped, he dug his fingers into your hips and began to thrust again.

His own climax was barely smothered as he hung his head back and bit down on his lip. He pulled out and his cum spilled onto your vee and dripped down your cunt. You gulped and gasped as you tried to catch your breath and he lowered your legs back to the floor. Your sat up as his cum cooled along your thigh.

“You still mad, baby?” He asked as he framed your face with his hands.

You pulled his hands away and placed them on your tits. “You still have some work to do.”

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ongshat · 5 years ago

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For a comprehensive list of most of my print work (not including magazine articles) see this list on Goodreads.

All my works dedicated to the memory of my dearly departed friends: The members of The Formless Ocean Group – Nina Graboi, Elizabeth Gips, Paddy Long, Betsy Herbert, and Robert Anton Wilson. Also to my departed friends: Dave, DW Cooper, Dr. Hyatt (Alan) and humdog.

PAST WORK

Beats In Time: A Literary Generation’s Legacy (Chapter 12 is my interview with Diane DiPrima) also to be included in Conversations with Diane di Prima to be published by the University Press of Mississippi, in 2021/22.

Transmedia: Who Invited the Lobsters Anyway?

Legend-Tripping Online: Supernatural Folklore and the Search for Ong’s Hat by Michael Kinsell – While clearly this is a book about my transmedia project it also includes a lot of things that I wrote as examples, so I include it here. Metamodernism, anyone?

Rebels and Devils: The Psychology of Liberation edited by Christopher S. Hyatt, Ph.D. introduced by S. Jason Black foreword by Nicholas Tharcher contributions by William S. Burroughs Joseph C. Lisiewski, Ph.D. Timothy Leary Ph.D., Robert Anton Wilson, Austin Osman Spare, Genesis P-Orridge, Aleister Crowley, Joseph Matheny, Peter J. Carroll, Israel Regardie, Jack Parsons, Phil Hine, Osho, and many others

Black Book Omega: CIRQUE APOKLYPSIS by Christopher S. Hyatt, Ph.D. Joseph Matheny, Nick Pell, Calvin Iwema, Wes Unruh, Antero Alli (more info here)

Contributor YouTube: An Insider’s Guide to Climbing the Charts (more info here)

Introduction to The Art of Memetics Aside: When I posted about this book on Greylodge, Seth Godin references the post as a good example of “How to write like a blogger“ This made me happy. 😉

Contributor/Editor:This is Not a Game: A Guide to Alternate Reality Gaming with Dave Szulborski (Excerpt here )I edited and contributed to : “This Is Not a Game” which was included in the annual Tween market report that went to marketing executives worldwide in the toy, gaming and youth market industries. Also, I appeared as myself/in character, in person, in the “Catching the Wish” ARG by Dave.

Third Realm (The Yellow King) Written and executed by me, produced in conjunction with Foolish People http://www.argn.com/2009/10/puzzles_for_the_apocalyps

4P2 My first foray into the True Crime arena. Formula: Just put up a single, spooky web page, that purports to be a recruitment drive for an organization whose actual existence is speculative at best and at worst is fiction presented as fact or paranoid, hysterical hand-waving in the interest of selling books and you will get all kinds of reactions. In all fairness, I think the theories mentioned read as good fantasy crime fiction and this was a conceptual attempt at that very thing. Apparently, it succeeded. The unnerving side of this was the equal amount of applications I received asking to join (Really? Join a group of underground serial killers? Really?) or outright death threats by people who really believe in such things. (Someone summed it up pretty well in this article from The Fenris Wolf)

the-fenriswolf-iss-no-4-pp-87-116 PDF Excerpt

El Centro & OMEGA This was a ARG/Transmedia style story with occult/horror/conspiracy elements, started in 2004 and ended in 2006. It utilized Web, print (booklet), radio, phone trees, theater and news wire services. [A version of the doughnut shop scene from this story was used in Amsterdam production of Terra: Extremitas by Foolish People.] This project was done in collaboration my late friend Dave Szulborski. There’s a LOOOOOONG story about this project. So long in fact that it will take up at least three chapters in an future book.

Contributor: What Would Bill Hicks Say with Ben Mack, Amelia the Great and Soft Skull Press (along with Jeff Danziger and Martyn Turner; writers Neal Pollack, Robert Newman, and A.L. Kennedy; and Thom Yorke of Radiohead and others…)

Contributor: 2004-2005 Exquisite Language project for the 2004 ELfest and collected in the Spring 2005 issue of of 2 Gyrlz Quarterly. NOW AVAILABLE AT POWELLS.COM

Introduction, afterward and editing for Poker Without Cards– First Edition. I orchestrated the first release campaign for this book, with the main character becoming “real”on the Internet for a while. After the first few months I turned it over to the author. (statement regarding this work here)

GALT’S ARK: The Black Symphony, First and Second Movements Produced by Cthulhu The Players: Joseph Matheny, Christopher S. Hyatt, Ph.D., Father Daniel Suders & Nicholas Tharcher Illustrated by S. Jason Black, Jonathan Sellers, Weirdpixie & MobiusFrame

THE BLACK BOOK Volume III, Part I

THE BLACK BOOK Volume III, Part II

(The Black Books are considered the workbooks for The Psychopath’s Bible, which I wrote an infamous jacket blurb for.)

The Incunabula: Ong’s Hat Project [ Reviews | Interviews, etc. | Wikipedia | History] This was a ARG/Transmedia style story started in 1988 and ended in 2001. It utilized zines, BBS, early Internet, Web, CD ROM, CD Audio, DVD, print (book, graphic novel and magazine), radio, phone trees, fax, and news wire services. I gained and leveraged exposure in both the mainstream and alternative media to distribute over 2 million copies of CD ROM, ebook and print versions of the story combined. Story elements from Ong’s Hat were also included in the EA Game, Majestic which unfortunately ended prematurely due to 9/11. It was the subject of a full 4 hour show on Coast to Coast AM, been the subject of an article on the Weekly World News and been covered on many radio shows world wide, books, newspapers, magazines, etc. Links to media here.

Description: “…a bizarre Internet phenomenon: an “immersive” online experience—part mystery, part game, part who knows what—known as both the Incunabula Papers and Ong’s Hat. The Incunabula Papers/Ong’s Hat was, or is, a “many-threaded, open-ended interactive narrative” that ”weds an alternate history of chaos science and consciousness studies to conspiracy theories, parallel dimensions, and claims that computer-mediated environments can serve as magical tools…. the documents provoked a widespread “immersive legend-trip” in the late 1990s. Via Web forums, participants investigated the documents—manifestos—which spun up descriptions of brilliant but suppressed discoveries relating to paths that certain scientists had forged into alternate realities. Soon, those haunted dimensions existed in the minds and fantasies of Ong’s Hat’s many participants. That was evident as they responded to the original postings by uploading their own—all manner of reflections and artifacts: personal anecdotes, audio recordings, and videos—to augment what became “a really immersive world, and it was vast”. – The Chronicle of Higher Education—-

“Ong’s Hat was more of an experiment in transmedia storytelling than what we would now consider to be an ARG but its DNA – the concept of telling a story across various platforms and new media- is evident in every alternate reality game that came after.” – Games Magazine 2013

Though Ong’s Hat may not have set out to be an ARG, the methods by which the author interacted with participants and used different platforms to build and spread its legend has been reflected in later games. –Know Your Meme

The Incunabula Papers are arguably the first immersive online legend complex that introduced readers to a host of content, including what religious historian Robert Ellwood has called the “alternative reality tradition. – Legend-Tripping Online: Supernatural Folklore and the Search for Ong’s Hat

As a companion piece to understanding some of the history of the transmedia work that centered around Ong”s Hat you may also want to read Legend-Tripping Online: Supernatural Folklore and the Search for Ong’s Hat, reviewed here.

The Incunabula Papers CDROM was recently included in the BNF (Bibliothèque nationale de France) digital art collection.

Game Over? (currently re-vamping this for re-release)…but if you just HAVE to have it now, someone is selling one for $900 over here. 😛

What Really Happened at Ong’s Hat?

The Incunabula Papers (CD ROM) Free ebook versions here

Incunabula: The Graphic Novel Free ebook version here

Why DVD? (B and N Digital Bestseller)

A booklet published in April-99

Over 100,000 in circulation to date

Available from booksellers nationwide in October reprinted by:

DVD Creation Magazine

Videography Magazine

(printed copy sent out with each issue – July,1999)

Video Systems magazine

and many others

Convergence 2000 (B and N Digital Bestseller) Free ebook version here

Covert Culture Sourcebook

Earth Dance 2000 (Video and DVD)

The Millennium Whole Earth Catalog

Transmedia Litany (with Genesis P’Orridge)

Thee psychick bible

esoterrorist (publisher)

My idea for an Exquisite Corpse jacket blurb using faxes. (WSB missed inclusion by a day). Used on Esoterrist

Banishing Ritual (cover) with Illusion of Safety (audio here)

The Last Book

Also contributed a few articles to Bob and Arlen Wilson’s Trajectories.

A write up I did about my old friend Rob Brezsny for disinfo.com

Interview that I did with with Beat poet and author Diane DiPrima

Nina Graboi Interview, bOING bOING, Number 8 (written under my nom de plume: Michael Kelly)

I’ve contributed articles to AlwaysOn and Adotas. I’ve contributed book, music, and movie reviews to Gnosis and Magical Blend in the past as well as the old Boing-Boing print magazine and Fringeware Review. Note, in the interest of full disclosure, I’d sometimes contribute more than one article or review to a single publication and to avoid the appearance of saturation, I’d use the pen name: Michael Kelly for some of the articles.

Writing For a comprehensive list of most of my print work (not including magazine articles) see this list on Goodreads…

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misscecil · 6 years ago

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How To Be A Great Art Ally to your Creative Friends.

Slightly tweaked from my 2015 post How To Be A Great ART ALLY

I’ve been having a lot of heart to hearts lately with my friends who are authors and artists and we’re all saying the same thing: It is getting harder and harder for everyone who isn’t in the top 5% of their industry to get the word out about work they are doing.

Because of the way the industries are now, many artists are not getting the marketing and push that they deserve or need. Much of that promotion and publicity now falls on the artist’s shoulder. Your artist friend may have a good career, but unless they are crazy lucky, or have the “it” thing of the moment, your artist friend is probably really struggling.

“What. But they have so many books out! They are on tour all the time! They are always doing some wacky play!”

Sadly, about 90% of artists are struggling and barely making a living wage. According to the NY Times (1/5/19) The median wage for most authors is $20,300

Most of your creative friends have full-time day jobs on top of their full-time art careers. Or they are taking a lot of side speaking gigs, lecturing or school visits and other supplemental work to add to their income to meet basic needs.

Remember, every new project that they do is like starting from scratch.

For example, many of the people who I know who are not artists see all the stuff that I am doing and think that it’s going so great for me that I don’t need their help to get the word out about my books. But I do. All of your artist friends (even the most famous ones) need your support all the time.

To be a great Art Ally for any of your author/artist friends I’ve drummed up a list of things that you can do. I’ve focused on books, since I’m an author, but I’ve added helpful tips within to give you ideas on how to help your music, performer, filmmaker, comic book, visual artist and indie game maker friends.

1) Pre-order their stuff. Seriously. If your friend has a book (or CD or DVD or indie game or comic book) coming out pre-order it. Pre-orders give the publishing company an indication of interest and can help with print runs. Good pre-orders sometimes help a book because the publishing company may give a book a little push with extra marketing money and publicity based on those numbers.

2) Show up. If your friend has a reading or something, go to it. “But I went to it once for another book!” That’s great! You are a supporter! But, every book is a whole new thing! (Go to their rock show! Play! Art gallery opening! If your friend is in a film/made a film go opening weekend, that’s when the box office counts. Or order it on VOD the week it drops. Or buy the game the week it comes out. You get the idea.)

3) When you are there, buy the book. “But I already pre-ordered it!” Yeah, I know. But buying it at the store or the reading helps the bookstore and the numbers and will help your friend do another reading there the next time. This is especially important if your friend is doing a reading not in their hometown. (If your friend is a musician, buy merch because that might be how they are paying for gas. If your friend is an artist, buy a piece of art because that might equal a bag of groceries.) (comics peeps put your pals book on your pull list) (etc)

3a) “But argh! This is not my kind of book. I don’t read that genre. It’s not for me. I’m not a kid/teen.” Sure, that’s fair. The book might not be for you. But I bet you one million dollars that you know somebody that the book (or other thing) would be perfect for. Maybe a strange aunt? Maybe your weird nephew? Maybe your co-worker? And remember the holidays are always just around the corner! Why not get it signed? Think of it as a back up present. You can give it at a white elephant exchange. If all else fails, get a copy and donate it to your local library or if it’s a kids book, to the school library nearest you.

4) Signal boost their work. While it may look to you like everybody knows about your friend’s book, they probably don’t. Remember that we are all kind of in a bubble when it comes to social media. Authors (and artists of all kinds) are always looking for new readers/audience and you totally have a bunch of friends that your author/artist friend doesn’t know. And those friends might have never heard of your friend’s book, movie, game, music and it might be right up their alley. And those friends have friends that you don’t know. And so on. And so on. So every once in a while, if you like and in a way that you are comfortable with, an easy Art Ally action is to Tweet, Instagram, Pintrest or Facebook (or repost) something about that person’s art thing on the social medias! This signal boosting helps to get new eyeballs on the book (or art thing) that your friend is doing.

5) Review it / Rate it. Perhaps you are on Goodreads? Or perhaps you frequent Amazon or B&N or Powells? If you really are a fan of the book (or art thing), a simple way to help boost your friend’s work is by giving it a star rating or a review. (For musicians you can do this at those places as well. Also you can add their album to your streaming site and rate it! For films rate it on Netflix if it’s there! For games there are places to do this too!)

5a) For books, on Goodreads it’s also helpful if you add it to your to read shelf. It’s both helpful before the book comes out and when the book comes out. So if you haven’t done it already, go to it! Add all your friends books to your to read shelf. It’s not too late!

6) Make sure that it is in your local library branch! Libraries are the biggest purchasers of books! An author wants their book to be read! Libraries help with that! Maybe you are librarian? Or someone super close to you is a librarian? This is where you can really help to get it on the library radar by making sure that it is on the order list for your branch or for your system. Sidenote: Many libraries are too poor to purchase books this is a great place for you to donate that extra book!

7) Consider using it in your class! Many books have reader guides or teacher guides. Are you a teacher? Or is someone super close to you a teacher? If you love the book, Or if not that, you can donate the book to your (or your teacher pal’s) school library or classroom library for students to enjoy.

8) Book Club it. If you have a book club, suggest your group read your friend’s book. Or maybe just have a one-off book club and get a group of your friends together to read your friend’s book. If your friend writes for kids, do a mother/ daughter or father /son book club with a group of people. I’m 100% certain that your author friend would be delighted to come over (or if they live far, Skype) to discuss their book with your book club. (for musicians you could host a living room show at your house)

9) Ask your art pal to come in and speak! Maybe your school or library has a budget to bring in a variety of guest speakers for classrooms or assemblies? Your friend would be perfect for this. If your institution has no budget, you can still ask your friend to come and speak! Lots of authors have sliding scales and can organize a way to sell their own books and that can offset a pro bono visit. Also, it will help them to get new readers. Being an art ally is all about getting new audiences for your arty friends. (Your other artist pals would make great classroom / assembly visitors as well.)

10) Vote and Nominate. It’s possible that there are lists that you can vote on or nominate your friends for that they may be eligible for and deserving. This could be anything from your local publicly voted on thing to a list that is for professionals which you might be. It’s easy for everyone to remember to nominate the big best sellers of the year or the debut books that are getting the big pushes. But there are many midlist books that are wonderful and get lost in that shuffle. Make sure to champion the midlist! They really need help to be seen! (This is the same for all of your artist friends. There is always a thing that is going on where they can use your vote or nomination. You’ve gotten those emails / updates.)

11) Hand sell. Maybe you are a bookseller? Make sure that the book is on the shelf. And then, when and if you love it, hand sell it! You can also help by making sure that the book is still on the shelf once it’s sold. Many stores don’t automatically re-order a book if it doesn’t sell more than a certain amount. If you are not a bookseller, you can still hand sell by just talking up the book to people. (Talk up their music, game, comic, play, and movie.)

11a) If you work in retail anywhere and your pal is a musician and you like their music: Try putting their album on at work! Who knows? Maybe someone will ask you who that swell band is? Your pal may gain a new listener!

12) Be a Microphilanthropist. Support their Patreon/Kickstarter/Go Fund me. It really helps to get that support whether it be a small patreon contribution or a small contribution to getting that dream project done. Support their Indiegogo or Kickstarter or Patreon. For your other artist friends who are making movies, plays, albums, comics, indie video games support their crowdfunding or patreon effort. Really. You can totally afford the $5-10 level (even if you think the project is lame.) for a crowdfunding and $1 for patron. And it will really help them and boost morale.

13) Be a good literary citizen. If you are an author, remember to be a good literary citizen. Promote yourself, but also do stuff for the larger literary community. Participate and include others. There are many things you can do. You can organize events. You can pitch panels. You can show up to things. You can volunteer to be a judge for things or to moderate panels (be a good moderator if you do.) You can write essays about other works. Remember to extend past your own inner circle of friends to include people who you might not know. Being an artist is very hard. There are many ups and downs in a career. At some point everyone goes through a hard time and needs help. Avoid the cool kids table mentality. Be kind. When you are on the top, don’t forget to keep helping your community. Diversify your literary and artistic world. (Other artists, you know what this is in your own field. Art citizens for the win!)

14) Invite your friend over to dinner. Or buy them dinner. Or have a potluck. Everyone could use a good night out with friends and conversation. It’s a spirit booster. No lie.

#art ally

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preserving-ferretbrain · 6 years ago

Text

Harry Potter & the Deathly Hallows: Afterword

by Dan H

Friday, 10 August 2007Dan concludes his series of articles and his Ferretbrain coup.~Having just dedicated the best part of a fortnight to producing a chapter-by-chapter review of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, I thought it best to conclude with an overview of the series, highlighting some of the things I found most discomforting about Rowling's Opus.

This is going to be in three sections, so bear with me.

Chekhov's Guns: Rowling and Style

Commendation has, of course, been heaped upon Rowling from all corners for her epic septology, and one of the most common articles of praise is her supposed mastery of something that the internet likes to call "Chekhov's Gun".

This is the thing JK uses all the time, where something gets mentioned in passing in book X, only to become a crucial plot point in book X+1. See, for example, Harry's ability to speak to snakes, the diary from book 2 turning out to be a Horcrux in book 6, or the diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw showing up in the Room of Lost Things as a random piece of junk.

Rowling's fans view this sort of trick as the Height of Good Writing, and they frequently cite Anton Chekov in support of this.

The actual line they are referencing (or, as I hope I am about to demonstrate, mis-referencing) is the following:

One must not put a loaded rifle on stage if no-one is thinking of firing it

It is sometimes also couched in the following terms:

If in the first act you have hung a pistol on the wall, in the following one it should be fired. Otherwise do not put it there.

There are two crucial things about Chekhov's guns which The Internet At Large fails to notice.

The first is that in both cases, Chekhov is talking about the stage. Small details matter a lot more on stage than in a book, because novelists are expected to describe their locations in greater detail than playwrights are.

The second, and significantly more important thing which people seem to get wrong about this Chekhov quote is that they seem to mentally reverse the word order. In particular, people seem to read it as:

If in the second act, you intend for a pistol to be fired, you must have hung it on the wall in the first act.

The difference here is important. The first (original, correct) sentence is an admonition. It's basically saying (and I take some license with this, I admit) "do not introduce details into your text which do not serve to drive the narrative forwards." People usually take "Chekov's Gun" to be something implied more strongly by the second sentence, very roughly: "if something is important to your narrative, it should be introduced well in advance." Or, to put it in the most condescending way possible "it is desirable to introduce seemingly pointless details, so that you will look clever when they become important later on."

"But Dan," I can hear at least one person shouting from the electronic wilderness. "Why does it matter what Chekhov might or might not have originally said, and what he might or might not have meant by it? If people enjoy the way that Rowling introduces seemingly irrelevant detail, only to have it become important later on, isn't that good enough?"

Well no. It isn't.

Chekhov's Guns are an example demonstrating the importance of placing the focus on the story you are trying to tell. You don't put a gun on stage unless somebody is intending to fire it. You don't give the hero's mentor a Dark Past unless it is going to be somehow important.

Rowling's "Guns" are the exact opposite. They represent the primacy of world over narrative. The difference here is subtle but vital. Chekhov's Gun is a setting detail which drives the story. Rowling's Guns are story details which drive the setting.

Take the Dumbledore backstory. In Book 1 we read, on a chocolate frog card, that Dumbledore defeated the Dark Wizard Grindelwald. In Book Seven we learn that in fact he and Grindelwald were close friends, and plotted to take over the world together. But neither of these revelations drive the story. They are both equally unimportant, and Anton Chekhov would, I am certain, have considered both of them to be an unfired gun.

"But Dan," the guy from before is still saying "some people clearly liked the Dumbledore backplot, so why does it matter what you think Chekhov would have thought of it?"

And here, frankly, I'm going to get snarky.

By using Chekov's Gun to validate the fact that the pointless crap in the previous books gets revealed to be bigger but equally pointless crap in the final book, people are claiming that a cheap trick has literary merit. They are equating the fannish desire to be rewarded for obsession with detail with the creation of a strong, tautly plotted story.

The Invisible Man: Rowling and Virtue

JK Rowling has stated on a number of occasions that, if she were to join Hogwarts, she would want to be sorted into Gryffindor, because she values bravery above all things.

I genuinely believe this. I also believe that JK Rowling has a really messed up definition of "bravery".

In the final book of the series it is revealed that the Invisibility Cloak, which Harry has carried around since book one, is in fact the greatest of the Deathly Hallows. Its true glory, Dumbledore explains in the final chapter, is that it can "protect others as well as the wearer." Why that is more true of the Cloak than the Wand (which can presumably be used for shield charms as well as killing curses) I will never know.

I do, however, think it is very telling that JK Rowling's great hero possesses, as his defining quality, invisibility.

The original invisible man is driven slowly mad by his condition. Of course it's a slightly different situation, since Griffin's condition is irreversible, whereas Harry can put the cloak on or take it off as he pleases. However, the central point of the original Invisible Man story is that to be invisible is to lose all sense of identity, all contact with the world, and all need to face the consequences of your actions. This image (or perhaps non-image) resonates throughout fiction. The invisible man is no man at all.

Yet for Rowling, invisibility is a hero's virtue. This becomes even more interesting when we realise that as well as having the power to become physically invisible, Harry is "invisible" in many other ways as well. His very lack of personality, of drive or motivation, is held as his greatest and most admirable virtue.

This strange situation goes right back to the first book. In Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Quirrel is unable to find the stone, because when he looks into the Mirror of Erised, all he sees is himself handing the stone over to Voldemort. The mirror spies into his mind, and determines his true motivation for wanting the stone, and finds him lacking. Harry, however, looks into the mirror, and sees himself finding the stone. Dumbledore later explains that "only one who wished only to find the stone, find it and not use it" would be able to pass that particular test.

Now by itself, there's nothing wrong with that. It's a standard children's fantasy setup: the magical doohickey looks into your heart and sees that you are Good and True and Pure, and you win. In the context of the wider series, however, it sets a strange precedent. Harry is able to find the Philosopher's Stone because he has no motivation for looking for it in the first place, and this continues throughout the series, and is singled out as the quality which makes Harry a "better man" than the other characters.

Throughout the series, the most noble reason for any course of action is no reason at all. Harry seeks the Deathly Hallows because he thinks it might maybe be what Dumbledore was expecting him to do. And according to Dumbledore, had he sought them for any other reason, he would not have been worthy to find them. When Dumbledore tried to unite the Hallows, he was actually trying to achieve something, and therefore proved himself unworthy.

Harry spends seven years doing what he thinks other people might expect him to. He's utterly passive. The piece de resistance in this directionless saga is, of course, Harry's "sacrifice" at the "climax" of the seventh book. Having seen in the pensieve that Dumbledore intended for him to be killed by Voldemort, he immediately decides to lay down and die. Rowling, apparently, views this as the height of courage. The act of a True Gryffindor. I view it as utterly craven.

JK Rowling seems to view "courage" as the quality which allows you to accept the world as you find it. Now if we were talking about things which genuinely were beyond your control, that would be one thing, but Potter is a hero, and the protagonist of the stories. He is supposed to be changing the world (and according to Rowling's later interviews, he totally does, after the books end).

Harry goes willingly to his death, not to protect anybody, not to save the world, not to destroy Voldemort, but because somebody tells him he's meant to. It's pathetic. But in the afterlife, Dumbledore heaps praise upon him, and tells him that he has become the true "Master of Death" because he killed himself on instruction.

The flip-side to Harry's passive Gryffindor "courage" is of course the "ambition" of House Slytherin. Many fans were deeply upset that the Slytherins all abandoned Hogwarts in the final fight: "they were supposed to be ambitious, not evil" is a common complaint. To Rowling, however, ambition is evil in and of itself. Actual desires, actual motivations, are reprehensible things. No action is pure unless it is motivated by a nonspecific sense of duty.

I'm currently reading Robin Hobb's Farseer trilogy (the ones about the assassin). It's interesting to compare Fitz unwavering loyalty to the Farseer line, and Harry's unwavering loyalty to Dumbledore. Fitz's absolute loyalty is presented as much as a failing as a virtue. While laudable, his utter devotion to a single master gets in the way of his developing real human relationships. In many ways, Fitz is prevented from becoming a complete human being by his dedication to his master.

Harry, on the other hand, shows a similar blind loyalty, not only to Dumbledore, but increasingly to a spurious and nebulous sense of "should be" and this is what makes him a "better man" than Dumbledore. JK Rowling glorifies her hero for having no personality, and tells us that his blind following of the plot makes him a great man.

Like fuck.

Dulce et Decorum Est: Rowling on Death

This is where I go from being a bitter ex-fan, to being genuinely angry. JK Rowling's attitude to death in the books is trite, patronising and offensive.

In the penultimate chapter of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Harry becomes the "Master of Death." He does this by willingly sacrificing his life to Voldemort, and by "understanding that there far worse things in the living world than dying."

I'm onside with the idea that there are worse things than death. It is most certainly better to die than to - say - slaughter hundreds of innocent people in a misguided attempt to divide your soul into seven pieces and attain immortality. I might even go so far as to accept that it's better to die than to betray your friend, his wife, and his infant son to a murderous psychopath.

However Harry does not go to his death for any of these reasons. Harry goes to his death because Dumbledore told him to.

Now before you all start writing in, I get the whole "Harry was a Horcrux" deal. I understand that Voldemort couldn't die while Harry was alive. I get the prophecy. I understand why Dumbledore told Harry to go and kill himself. But it's not the issue. The issue is that nobody tried to find a solution to the problem that did not involve Harry sacrificing himself. Harry's death is considered to be a desirable end in and of itself.

And this is what gets me. It is not courage which Rowling praises, it is not struggling, or striving, or fighting. It is not defiance in the face of evi. It is the very act of dying which she glorifies.

As I pointed out in my earlier article, every single man, woman and child who stayed to fight the Battle of Hogwarts was willing to die to protect something or somebody. But because they fought, because they tried to stay alive, because they tried to solve their problems by confronting them head on, their struggle is considered somehow less noble than Harry's ritual suicide.

Perhaps I would find Rowling's portrayal of death less offensive if I didn't know she took such pride in it. She talks about how being a children's writer means being a "cold, callous killer."

Then there's

this

interview with msnbc, in which she tells us, with reference to the death of Lupin and Tonks:

"I think one of the most devastating things about war is the children left behind. As happened in the first war when Harry's left behind, I wanted us to see another child left behind. And it made it very poignant that it was their newborn son."

Except that we don't see the child until the epilogue, and when we do, we don't see any sign that he has been affected in any way by the death of his parents. Harry expresses no sense of obligation towards his orphaned godson, no sense of responsibility. Harry's words of wisdom are to his natural son Albus Severus, not to fellow war-orphan Teddy Lupin.

And of course, Teddy Lupin was only orphaned at all because Remus and Nymphadora chose to fight at Hogwarts. They clearly felt not only that there were worse things in the living world than dying, but that parenthood was one of them.

Of course, the Lupins aren't the only couple to completely reject their parental duties the moment they get the whiff of an opportunity for heroism. The late James and Lily Potter make an all-singing all-dancing cameo as the Super Suicide Cheerleader Squad, when they appear before Harry and tell him that they are "very proud" that he is marching blindly to his death and that it "won't be long now" and that dying is "quicker and easier than falling asleep."

I said it before, and I'll say it again. That is fucking fucked up. He is their fucking son for fuck's sake. I don't care how evil Voldemort is. I don't care how cool your afterlife is. Did Lily Potter really stand in front of a Killing Curse for Harry just so that he could go and stand in front of another one sixteen years later?

As I think I have already said, the message of the Harry Potter books is supposed to be "there are far worse things than death." Now to be honest, I don't think that's a massively controversial statement. But she takes it way too far. She spends so much time talking about how it's okay to be dead, so much time telling us that Harry's decision to die is Brave and Right and Honourable, and so much time talking about dead characters, that it seems like in the Potterverse, life is just an unfortunate preamble to the main event.

Interestingly, this is exactly the same attitude which C.S. Lewis is routinely lambasted for presenting. The difference is that Lewis presented it deliberately, and it was founded in a devout Christian faith. Rowling's freaky death-cult is the accidental result of a bad writer cramming one too many sentimental cliches into a badly thought-out treatise on bereavement.

I think the basic problem is that JK herself doesn't know what she thinks about death. She just knows that it's Very Very Important and that she wants to say something about it. She knows that when people die it is very sad, but wants to reassure her readers (and dare I suggest, herself) that ultimately death is a perfectly natural part of life. The problem is that all of these conflicting motivations spill out into a terrible jumble on the page. So sometimes we're told how terrible death is ("the suddenness and completeness of death was with them like a presence" and of course murder is the "supreme act of evil") but at the same time we are told that actually dying and being dead are perfectly fine. Even if you're only seventeen, or have a new-born child to bring up.

I'm going to get into some slightly murky water now, and play the "what I think a complete stranger's life is like" card.

It's fairly well publicised that, around the time Harry Potter was first getting going, JK's mother died. She apparently had MS and the last six months of her life were hellish. This being the case, I can well see that you would develop an idea of death as something tragic but ultimately merciful. But what is a welcome release to an old woman with a terminal illness is just a senseless waste for a young couple with children, or a seventeen year old boy.

Rowling tries to confront the horror of death and the futility of war, but because she is unwilling to present any of the characters who die as anything but heroic (if they are good) or irredeemable (if they are evil), she manages only to glorify it. Sweet and honourable it is to die for Hogwarts.

And indeed, Owen says it better than I can, so I'll leave you with him. If you're reading JK, I'd take some notes.

If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs, Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud Of vile incurable sores on innocent tongues, My friend you would not tell with such high zest To children ardent for some desperate glory, The old Lie; Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori.

Themes:

J.K. Rowling

Books

Young Adult / Children

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Wardog

at 15:41 on 2007-08-10I think you're being a little harsh on the Chekov's Gun (aka Puzzlebox) style of book. I'm not say it's great literature and I'm not actually sure who is claiming its great literature but one of the few things that DH Appreciators can actually sell me on is how fun it is to see the books fitting together. David, for example, loves that sort of thing. And apparently if you read back it's very rewarding. I'm just saying.

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Dan H

at 16:02 on 2007-08-10I'm totally fine with the Puzzlebox style. I just find it annoying that people confuse it with literary merit (which I think they do).

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Mystiquefire

at 18:05 on 2007-08-11I read all your DH reviews and I couldn't stop laughing. I agree with every single word. As much I used to love HP, I completely hate DH. I honestly think you're a 100 times better writer than JKR.

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Dan H

at 21:46 on 2007-08-11That's very kind of you.

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Wardog

at 21:53 on 2007-08-11Hehe, that's not saying much - a large portion of her fan community are better writers than JK ;)

My jumping off point was definitely the 5th book ... retrospectively I'm a bit peeved with the 4th but I remember just being hungry for more Potter at the time and not minding the length much beyond thinking "well, this is a wee bit indulgent."

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Arthur B

at 01:18 on 2007-08-12I think the reason I tend to hold the 4th book in higher esteem than, say, the 5th is that a) something actually happens in it, and it is actually - while flabby - much leaner than book 5, and b) when blokey dies at the end it's genuinely striking and powerful, because none of the good guys have ever actually died in a HP book so far, so you had a sense that a line had been crossed.

The problem is, with the exception of Dumbledore, Voldemort and (arguably) Sirius and Hedwig, every death after that has been of a less important character, rather than a more important character.

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http://lunabell14.livejournal.com/

at 04:56 on 2010-01-06I hadn't thought about a lot of these points until I had read your reviews, and even then I was unwilling to completely side with your point of view. I did notice I didn't like the characters as much once it hit Half-Blood Prince, but I've also been reading the series since I was 8, and I'm currently 19, so I really, really wanted to continue loving the series. But I must admit, you are pretty much completely correct about Harry Potter, particularly Deathly Hallows.

The only disagreement I have is about the suicide cult. They truly, honest-to-God, believed that the only way to destroy Voldemort and save the Wizarding World was for him to sacrifice himself. They were proud of him for doing the right thing and making an ultimate sacrifice. I can see why you do think the mauraders and Lily encouraging his walk to death was creepy, though.

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Dan H

at 11:22 on 2010-01-08I think the issue here is that I tend to engage with texts on a more (for want of a better term) "meta" level. Yes in the text Harry sacrificing himself is the only way to defeat Voldemort, but the reason it's the only way to defeat Voldemort is that Rowling chose to *make* it the only way to defeat Voldemort.

This is partially a personal, political preference, but I have real issues with the fetishisation of martyrdom, particularly when the martyrs are children. "Killing yourself in order to kill your enemies" isn't noble, it's suicide bombing.

There's also the simple fact that there was no actual reason to *kill* Voldemort other than the (again rather dubious) notion that it is desirable to slay one's enemies. His Horcruxes didn't make Voldemort all-powerful, or even indestructible. They didn't stop anybody from putting him in prison or even from simply taking his wand away (which would have rendered him entirely powerless). As I think I point out in the reviews, Harry's sacrifice very specifically *isn't* about saving anybody, it's about killing somebody.

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Frank

at 16:45 on 2010-01-08

"Killing yourself in order to kill your enemies" isn't noble, it's suicide bombing.

It isn't suicide bombing. It's just suicide, and Harry's attempt at it killed no one.

taking his wand away (which would have rendered him entirely powerless).

As for being wandless, Quirrel and the kids at the orphanage didn't find him lacking power.

Harry's sacrifice very specifically *isn't* about saving anybody, it's about killing somebody.

I agree. More specifically, it's about making someone killable. This would be cool if Rowling did more with it, making him more human, having Harry forgive Voldemort who would then experience different sort of love magic.

But alas, she limp-dicked it, made it an action movie lacking thought, heart or potency.

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Shim

at 17:09 on 2010-01-08Sorry Frank, I have to go with Dan on this one. On a pedantic level (my usual level) it's not strictly actual suicide bombing, but I think it's a reasonable comparison.

On the other hand, I seem to remember people casting spells without a wand, so I'm with you there.

On a third, mutant hand, I'm not sure about the forgiveness bit - it's been done and is typically a bit nauseating and unlikely (especially given Harry isn't exactly the pure noble benevolent type who usually gets taht role). But taking away his power and locking him up, or indeed going through some kind of Due Process and executing him (the wizarding world being fairly brutal) - that'd work.

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Sister Magpie

at 20:01 on 2010-01-08That makes me think of the mixed fan reaction to the finale of Avatar (the Last Airbender series, not the James Cameron film!).

Spoiler alert:

Ozai, the villain, is stripped of his powers and put in jail--this after the main conflict for the hero is how to succeed without killing, because he comes from a pacifist society (that was wiped out by these bad guys). A lot of people just couldn't accept at all that this was a victory because Ozai would still be a threat as long as he was alive.

Myself, I thought it worked. A guy without powers was neutralized and wouldn't get out of prison--and if somebody wanted to write him doing that in a fanfic that's fine, but it wasn't really a problem. But it just struck me how people didn't see "strip him of his magic powers and put him in prison" was a viable option.

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Dan H

at 01:46 on 2010-01-10I suspect that part of this is just narrative neatness. If the villain doesn't die, then there's a lot of awkward questions to ask about what actually *does* happen to them. It's often the same with ex-lovers - better for them to die than for them to be hanging around spoiling the ending. Heck it's the same with mentors.

On the other hand, there's something more than a bit iffy about a mentality that says "no, just stopping them from hurting anybody ever again isn't enough, we need to kill them in public."

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Robinson L

at 15:00 on 2010-01-15

I'm not sure about the forgiveness bit - it's been done and is typically a bit nauseating and unlikely

Well, that's not to say it can't be pulled off, even in fiction (as my father is pointing out, there's a lot of stuff you can get away with in nonfiction that would be infinitely less credible in fiction). I do agree, however, that Harry was probably not the best candidate for that role.

I suspect that part of this is just narrative neatness. If the villain doesn't die, then there's a lot of awkward questions to ask about what actually *does* happen to them.

You're more forgiving than I am, Dan. I consider it lazy, often as not. Many times, I'll grant you, killing off the villain (as opposed to merely neutralizing them) is integral to the plot - but I've seen loads of other examples where the only reason for killing off the villain seems to be that it's the cultural default. (While killing off the mentor is even more cliche, it, at least, can often serve to advance the plot.)

On the other hand, there's something more than a bit iffy about a mentality that says "no, just stopping them from hurting anybody ever again isn't enough, we need to kill them in public."

I don't know about "in public," but yes, I am painfully aware of said mentality (it's practically a staple here in the US) and it's very, very disturbing.

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Robinson L

at 00:00 on 2010-01-20Bugger! I forgot to point out that while an “all as forgiven” ending (as written by Rowling) would undoubtedly have been nauseating and unlikely, I question whether it would've been actively

worse

than the epic anticlimax she actually delivered.

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http://deralte.livejournal.com/

at 07:04 on 2011-06-04*wandering by very late after the fact* Thank you for these reviews. I was surrounded by Rowling fans after I read the book and never really had the chance to rant properly about the book so reading this was cathartic.

I think you missed out on a point that drove me insane about Rowling from Book 5 onwards. Namely, she started requiring Harry et al to be stupid for her plot to work. That was hard to forgive after she plotted her third book so well.

That and the fact that in each book, Harry acted exactly as a kid/teen at that exact age is supposed to act (in Rowling's mind at least) and never seemed to have a personality beyond that (capslock!Harry is a good example), were the two things that really drove me insane, up until the final book when interminable camping trips and illogical mcguffins were added to the list. I also like your three points above;)

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Ashimbabbar

at 20:02 on 2016-05-19Just happened on this on

http://listverse.com/2013/01/14/deleted-book-chapters/

"J.K. Rowling considered two possible endings for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows. In the end she chose the version we all know: Voldemort dies and Harry saves everyone. The alternative ending was not so happy. Instead it is implied that Voldemort may have lived on as a statue in the grounds of Hogwarts.

Furthermore, Harry, now the headmaster of Hogwarts and an old man, wipes everyone’s memories of Voldemort and it is implied that Harry’s own great-grandson is to be the next great dark wizard. Rowling never intended for this to become public knowledge but her friend (the only one who knew about it) leaked it to the Internet."

Sounds way better to me…

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Robinson L

at 06:30 on 2016-05-21

Ashimbabar: Sounds way better to me…

Can't say I concur, on the face of it.

I mean, it sounds like it could be better, if it were handled with sensitivity and subtlety. It also sounds like it could as easily be as melodramatic and sloppy as the ending we actually got if mishandled. If, for instance, it was done in the spirit of "Look at me and how Dark and Grim I'm being here," I think it would be about equally aggravating - and given how much Rowling indulged in that kind of thing already with all the Serious and Important Points she was Making about Serious Issues like Death and Intolerance and such, it's no more than I would expect.

In general, I don't think sad or ambiguous endings are any better (or worse) than upbeat endings: it all depends upon how well the author handles them, and there's nothing in the two paragraphs you quoted which sounds to me any more intrinsically meritorious than the ending we actually got in its broad outlines.

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Ichneumon

at 07:33 on 2016-05-22As usual, I'm going to be the one who goes, "I don't think it was really that bad, guys," but I'll refrain from the apologist route here and say that such an ending could only have gone well if Rowling had returned to the tone of the early books, which seems unlikely given where her writing has gone in general. The offhand mix of the whimsical and sardonic that marks the first few chapters of The Philosopher's Stone would be perfect, but the moodier, more involved style of the later books could make things excessively grim. And mind you, some of the best bits in the sixth book are in the flashbacks, which are consistently ominous, but it just wouldn't jibe with that sort of conclusion.

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Arthur B

at 12:04 on 2016-05-22I am not sure how you spin "Harry's descendant becomes the next dark lord" in a way which is whimsical and sardonic rather than just grim, particularly when - as you point out - it comes at the end of the most densely grim books of the series.

It just kind of sounds... fanficcy, to me. Like it's an ending which in principle matches the facts but is entirely wrong for the tone and narrative arc.

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Melanie

at 20:50 on 2016-05-22

I am not sure how you spin "Harry's descendant becomes the next dark lord" in a way which is whimsical and sardonic rather than just grim

Yeah, that might've been why she didn't go with that ending.

Honestly, I don't find the-ending-that-could-have-been and similar things that significant. Any first draft or early outline might have all kinds of things the author later thought better of for whatever reason.

It feels more relevant if it's, say, a movie or tv show or video game and it's something like "we wanted to do x but we ran out of budget/couldn't make the effects work/something happened to an actor partway through and we had to work around it".

Though tbh you usually don't actually

get

the alternate ending to compare it directly (including whatever flaws it might have had if it'd actually been made) so even then it tends to just be relevant for purposes of critiquing the writing. E.g. it's a little unfair to criticize the fact that they killed off a character abruptly and offscreen if the reason was that the

actor

died--a factor they had no control over whatsoever.

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Arthur B

at 22:09 on 2016-05-22Yeah, sometimes you have situations where an entirely alternate ending was filmed or something (

First Blood

is a classic example of this), but "We/I considered doing this but then thought better of it" by itself isn't very interesting.

I'm sure Rowling must have at least given a brief bit of thought to embracing the "Dumbledore is Ron from the future" theory, but that doesn't mean there was ever any serious prospect of it actually making it into print.

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Sister Magpie

at 21:02 on 2016-05-24FWIW, you could totally read the ending of the book now and decide Voldemort lives on and Harry's descendant could be the next dark lord.

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Janne Kirjasniemi

at 09:20 on 2016-05-26

am not sure how you spin "Harry's descendant becomes the next dark lord" in a way which is whimsical and sardonic rather than just grim

Perhaps "the dark lord" part is a aesthetic and he is actually just a really fun guy. Then the sardonic part could be how a more capable candidate for the position of the Minister of Magic loses, because the Dark Lord is just so much more popular and wins every debate with well timed magical guitar shredding (he has put his wand into the guitar). A kind of a Salieri-Mozart dynamic. The whimsical part could do with grandpa Harry's disapproval of his descendants shenanigans, until he is able to remember a part of his rotten childhood, that actually brings back good memories and has something to do with muggle rock music he heard when he was a child. In a whimsical way.

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Ichneumon

at 12:54 on 2016-05-26

I am not sure how you spin "Harry's descendant becomes the next dark lord" in a way which is whimsical and sardonic rather than just grim, particularly when - as you point out - it comes at the end of the most densely grim books of the series.

I was thinking more of the other details, with that particular element being more of a sour, unsettling kick at the end. Which, again, wouldn't be entirely out of keeping with some of Rowling's earlier stuff: Consider how the first chapter of the first book begins with rather on-the-nose social satire and ends somewhere entirely different, all the while keeping roughly the same atmosphere. I feel like a sort of warped reprise of that same mode of writing would have been interesting, at the very least, but pulling off that sort of intentional tonal dissonance is quite the balancing act, and the last book makes a lot of... *odd* choices to begin with.

#Ferretbrain #Harry Potter #Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows #J.K. Rowling #Dan H

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pcnnydime · 6 years ago

Text

I’m Leaving Tumblr.

Dramatic? Probably, but it’s come to my attention (again, and again, and again) that a great number of people feel uncomfortable in my presence, so I’d rather the title sum up the post. You can read this and try to see things from my point of view, or you can move on with your lives. Either way, I hope this doesn’t cause much drama for anyone not involved, and I hope everyone regardless of involvement has a good day/night.

First, I apologize if this post seems robotic, but after countless anxiety attacks , multiple lost friends, and a few instances of self harm due to everything that’s been happening around me, I find myself lacking the emotional energy to put more ‘pep’ or ‘enthusiasm’ into this post. I’ve been on Tumblr since Red Thread was at its peak, however many years that may have been, and roleplaying, meeting people here, and developing characters that mean the world to me has helped me grow as a person. It brought me out of a near 2 year long depression that included an extremely abusive relationship, being left behind by all my close local friends, and a failed suicide attempt. Writing on tumblr introduced me to my best friend, many dear friends, and my current romantic partner. It’s seen me through a really tough job, two cross-country moves, and some of my worst and lowest points. But with the word ‘racist’ following me at every turn, I no longer feel welcome or supported by what was once my favorite hobby and best coping mechanism.

The reason being labelled a racist has effected me so deeply is because I come from a multi-racial home. I am half Puerto Rican, one quarter African American, and one quarter white. I have tan skin, very hispanic features, and very curly, thick hair with dark brown eyes. I don’t look white. I grew up in a rural area where I was one of very few people of color in BOTH of the schools I attended, and I’ve never lived in very diverse areas in all my 21 years. I don’t believe I was treated any differently because of it, I never had any race-specific issues in my childhood, and I’m very lucky because of that. Sure, I’ve had a few ‘playful nicknames’ but nothing that ever hurt me as much as being bullied about my height, weight, or chest size.

My Grandmother is white and my Grandfather is black - they got together in the 60′s and dealt with a great deal of prejudice and hardship due to being an interracial couple. They and my mother raised me to look past what people look like on the outside - weight, height, gender, age, race, religion - they believe, and I believe that it shouldn’t matter. People should be judged and valued or ignored based upon their personalities. In a near-perfect society, that’s how everyone would feel, but ours is far from perfect. People of color are faced with violence, hate, and even murder on a daily basis all over the world - not just in America - and by no means has it ever been my intent to diminish that, I simply am deterred by conflict because it hurts me to see.

Now that I’ve described myself, the way I’ve been affected, and my views on race and in/equality, I will explain my experience as a “racist”. For months, I’ve been blocked, shunned, and ignored due to this. I spent MONTHS not knowing why people were blocking me, why all of a sudden people I had been writing with and even admired for their graphic and literary skill were suddenly ignoring me and treating me like I was less than a stranger.

Because no one told me.

Not until sometime around perhaps September or October, when someone was finally kind and considerate enough to step out of their comfort zone and inform me that I’d made a comment about Black Panther without thinking about my wording. On Twitter, I said something to the effect of ‘Black Panther has too much black power for me’, something along those lines. What I should have said was: Black Panther was a good movie, and I liked Killmonger as an antagonist until he began building a highly advanced army of thousands of near-superpowered warriors and devastating militaristic technology to declare war on what was clearly intended to be Caucasians as a race. At that point, I became uncomfortable because racial war of any kind isn’t something I would have paid money to see in a theatre, had I known it was going to be included. But I didn’t say that because twitter has a character limit, and I didn’t think anyone wanted to read an entire thread of my review of what was, all in all, an excellent movie.

Another individual recently followed suit and gave me a few more examples of why people believe I’m racist and discriminatory.

1. I’ve used the “n” word on multiple occasions. This is not true. I am incredibly uncomfortable around the use of that word, in any form, even it’s reclaimed version. I don’t like it. I don’t know where or when I would have used it before, but even as someone who is African-American and has multiple African-American family members who say it ‘affectionately’ to refer to each other, I have not EVER said that word. Not as a joke, and certainly not as an insult.

2. I hold people who speak English as a secondary, third, or otherwise language to a higher standard than those who do not.

No. If anything, it’s the opposite. I strongly admire and respect anyone who speaks more than one language, as someone who only speaks English and very broken Spanish. I formerly had an RP partner whose first language is Spanish, and is very proud of their heritage. My father, who I’m no longer in contact with due to estrangement and abandonment, primarily speaks Spanish and I had no quarrel with him because of that. Some contradictory things you may have read can be found here and here. These are screenshots from the rules page on an old blog of mine that I would rather not explicitly name, for the sake of privacy for people who used to interact with me. In these screenshots, I say “[Does] Understand that English is not everyone’s first language. It’s okay if you have some errors with grammar or spelling, as long as you’re making the best effort that you can.” perhaps that can come off as me saying ‘you have to try really hard if you want to write with me’, but in fact, it just meant that I wanted some manner of effort to be present. I.E., if I write 2 paragraphs, at least write one in response, rather than a single sentence. Could I have worded that better? Absolutely. But since realizing that can be perceived incorrectly, I removed it from my rules page entirely to avoid offending anyone.

In the other screenshot, I mention not tolerating anyone who is ‘cis or heterophobic’. This ties back into my ideal of not seeing people for who they are on the outside, but rather, who they are on the inside. I’ve had great friendships with people who were either cisgendered, heterosexual, or both, and it upsets me to see all the jokes about ‘down with cishets’ and the hate that the LGBT+ community sends their way. I understand that being a ‘cishet’ doesn’t put them in any ‘legitimate’ danger like being LGBT+ does, but it doesn’t feel good to be judged for being LGBT+, so it doesn’t seem right to judge ANYONE based on sexuality or gender without personal experience. If someone has been repeatedly hurt, offended, or otherwise wronged by individuals of those designation, I understand, but mob mentalities frighten me.

I’ve apologized for these accusations, and explained my reasoning and my ‘side’ behind them, and there’s one last thing I’d like to address. My being perceived as acting like a victim. This, I can’t contest. Perhaps I have been overly dramatic over this hole thing. Roleplay is a hobby, at the end of the day, and while it may not be a great one, I do have a life outside of Tumblr and Twitter. What I don’t have, however, is friends. My only friends are miles and miles away, and they’re few and far between. The ones I did have began telling me I was a racist, to me, seemingly out of nowhere. I had no clue when these things began to spread because again, I wasn’t confronted. I’ve lost two people I consider to be good friends, and I’ve been doing my best to keep to myself ever since. I stopped reaching out, out of fear that people would find me obnoxious or abrasive, not knowing how far my reputation had spread. The absolute last thing I wanted was to hurt anyone, so when I vented to my friends I asked them not to make a big deal out of it. I didn’t want them with the label as well. I didn’t want to see them ostracized, or to be the reason they lost a hobby they enjoyed. When one of them went against my wishes and said something on their blog, it was deemed ‘public drama that didn’t belong on the dash’ and I was TERRIFIED that they would end up losing the chance to interact with others. Thankfully they didn’t, but that’s the example I have. No, something like that didn’t necessarily belong on the dash, but they were simply trying to look out for me while watching me have an anxiety attack and contemplate dropping all of my muses and completely deleting all social media. I’ve moved twitters multiple times due to trust issues this whole ordeal has caused for my own mental health. I’ve hidden behind locked accounts because the thought of people who are triggered by public drama having to see something of this scale was at the forefront of my mind. In short, if it seemed as though I was playing the part of a victim, it’s because I have, for months, been confused and hurt without understanding what was going on. When I tried to move past it and remedy my mistakes, I was pushed away and hurt even more by people I called friends.

To sum the entirety of this long post up, I’m upset. Far more upset than perhaps I’ve conveyed here, because I’m doing my best to remain logical and fair. I understand why anyone who has heard these things about me would block me and would want to avoid contact - I wouldn’t want to interact with a racist either. But I’m not a racist. I’m not judgemental. I’m open-minded to a fault, it seems, and my ideal of perfect equality is unrealistic in the world we live in full of murder and segregation. If anyone would like to talk to me in more detail about anything they’ve read here, they may do so at my open twitter which is solely for responding to inquiries about my reputation, my tumblr blog here, which will no longer be active, or my personal discord, which is mad dog!#6346 .

There are likely many issues I forgot to address, or simply don’t know about, but I’d like to thank anyone who read this far. Your attention means more to me than I can express.

#racism tw #segregation tw #murder tw #prejudice tw #self harm tw #suicide mention tw #attempted suicide mention #suicide tw #homophobia mention #war tw #anxiety tw #anxiety attack tw #n word mention #n word tw #anxiety mention #supremacy tw

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