#without the Elan filter

[ryuki-draws]

4: wears gloves for some reason Me: I cast nerve damage

[adracat]

GWitch: A Tale of Two Calibans

In the Tempest, there is a character called Caliban. If you've seen episode 21 then this will sound familiar to you. We're told Guston and Belmeria need Suletta to pilot this monstrous gundam and it's without a permet filter. A true cannibal. Dire stuff, and not what we want for Suletta.

Yet I'm not entirely sure she will. Though she has some characteristics of Caliban, bound in servitude to Prospero, he's a symbol of impotent wrath beneath a slaver's chains, the injustice of colonialism, and failed revolution.

He loathes Prospero and is routinely tortured by the man's magic. Yet Suletta, even while outcast by her family, never succumbs to anger. Hers is a heart filled with love even as her Miranda (Eri) and master forsake her.

Caliban by contrast is unable to forgive Prospero for his misdeeds and scorned by Miranda's harsh treatment of him after her rejection. You can interpret that his love was true and he did not intend rape, but his affection for both Miranda and Prospero has soured into hatred.

It's a bit ill-fitting to place Suletta in the Caliban machine as a monstrous gundam capable of devouring its pilot. But then if it's not her, who else?

The Tempest describes Caliban as the son of a witch whom Prospero took as his servant. 'Hag-born, not honour'd with a human shape'

Elan 5, like Suletta, is the unnatural progeny of a 'witch', in this case Belmeria. And also subject to the injustices of Peil, his Prospero. He rankles beneath his fetters and wants more than anything to gain freedom. We're told Peil steals orphans to be used as research, the effects of space colonialism. He's the closest to a true Caliban this show has.

And like Suletta. he was rejected by Miranda. Only his was an attempted violation. It's no coincidence as I see it that 5lan aggressively harasses Suletta either. They are specifically invoking the Caliban parallel. And it's the same for his sympathetic moments

5lan wants freedom from his chains, to live freely without sacrificing himself for a corporation's whims. He's sly and angry but not without cause. And there's a certain weight to how he was forced into servitude wearing another man's face. It's like Suletta, but unlike her he does not serve with love. Only discontent.

As with Caliban, who allies himself with Trinculo and Stephano in the hopes of killing Prospero, I see 5lan doing the same. Him using a brutish path to freedom because it's all he knows and throwing it all on using a gundam, even if it means his death, would be fittng. We know he wants to live but in the wake of Norea's demise I wonder if he's concluded death is inevitable so why not take Peil down with him? This is just speculating on my part, but I did find his change in attitude strange. He's weirdly calm, it reminded me of 4lan. And that's not a good thing. Most tellingly, while Caliban rails against his master, he isn't freed; a message none of us want for Suletta.

I may very well be reading into things, as is my habit, but the fact these two are juxtoposed is significant. We do have two unanswered gundams coded with a black name, one male and the other female; Calibarn and Schwarzette.

[evangeline-of-montfort]

ash garden (ii)

chapter 1 read it here on ao3

The words leave me in a jumble, trying to push from my mouth before the enemy arrives. Trying to call for aid before I am utterly trapped. “Elane, there’s an active raid. I’m in trouble: Sector E-1. Please– ”

The ground itself shakes with the force of drumming hooves as figures burst from the treeline, surrounding me in seconds. I don’t get much further before a gust of wind rips the wireless broadcaster from my fingers and sends it flying over the ledge behind me. Windweaver. 

Now I’m well and truly on my own. I pray that the raiders hadn’t interfered with the second broadcaster, that Elane heard me and sent aid. 

If not, I could die here. 

I count a dozen other raiders, each sitting astride a wall of shaggy fur and horns.  Bison. From experience, I know that they can sustain over a dozen bullets before going down. The animals’ eyes are flat and glassy, a sure sign they’re under the control of a Silver animos. 

Fuck. 

“You weren’t broadcasting for aid, I hope?” the lead raider asks coolly. Her nose and mouth are covered with a black bandana; above it, her eyes are hard and unforgiving. I reach out with my ability, scanning her up and down. She carries two pistols with eight rounds each, bright copper and heavy tungsten; her belt buckle is silver. 

I weigh my options, wondering how many enemies I could cut down before the bison trample me into the earth. The odds are not good, so I start talking. “No help is coming for me, I’m afraid. I seem to have been cut off from my unit.” 

The raider shrugs. “I apologize—we may have interfered slightly with your broadcasting capabilities. It wouldn’t have been ideal for newblood freaks to rush us from all sides as soon as we got close to you.”

As soon as we got close to you. Any lingering hope I had of this being a random attack vanishes. They targeted me specifically, but why? 

I choose my next words carefully. The voice I use belongs to a lost princess from a lost court, but it serves me well here. “Why waste thirteen seasoned raiders on one patrol officer? You must think quite highly of me. Either that, or you aren’t sure of your own abilities in the slightest.”

As I talk, I study the raiders, trying to pick out the details that might save my life. Why are they here? Who are they? 

Each of them wears a black bandana covering their noses and mouths. Their eyes are all hard and cold, veined with gray. Their clothes seem relatively new, a far cry from the mismatched rags that raiders usually wear. I spot an emblem of some sort—a shield emblazoned with a silver stripe—and it looks disgustingly familiar. 

My stomach drops as I realize what it is. 

The Nortan Silver Secession is here.

One of the raiders slides off her mount, moving with a liquid, easy grace.  Silk. “Why waste thirteen raiders on one person? Well, that would be very simple,” she says, talking like she would to a child. “We do indeed think a great deal of you, Your Majesty.” 

She stops before me and sinks to one knee. It feels like a mockery, and it may very well be. “Lady Evangeline Samos. Daughter of Royal House Samos and House Viper. Betrothed of not one but two Calore kings. Former Queen of the Rift.”

My legs go weak at her words. They call me back to an old life, titles won in a country that no longer exists. What game are the Secessionists playing now? “I am no longer any of those things,” I manage. “What do you want with me?” 

The silk tuts as she rises and approaches me, swaying almost hypnotically in my vision. Something in her face reminds me of Sonya and her family. They’re probably related, after all. “I am no longer any of those things,” she mocks. “I see our poor queen has been brainwashed by the Montfort bastards. I hear you have renounced all titles and family ties, my dear. That you walk as equals with Red rats in the streets. That you take a girl to your bed each night—”

“Enough!” I snap, sounding braver than I feel. Her words struck deep, an unwelcome reminder that I am the antithesis of all I was born to be. “Cut the bullshit. What do you want?” 

She is unperturbed. “Why, we want to restore you to your throne, Your Majesty. To crown you queen of all of Norta. Second to no other. And, if you so wish—” She leers, and I can see the disdain in her eyes—“the Lady Haven shall be named your princess consort.”

Her words release an old yearning inside me, a longing for power and for freedom. It tears through my insides before I can control it, and the greed has to show on my face.

“That’s it, little magnetron,” the silk coos. “You need not resist. Blood need not be shed. And before the week is out, you will have a throne and a crown.”

She is offering me what I was raised to want. I was  born to be the queen of Norta. Such a deep-seated desire does not simply disappear. I feel my old ambitions surge to life, a roaring tide inside my head. 

But I know now that what the silk offers is not true. To wear a crown is to lose your freedom of choice. Power given can be just as easily taken away.

And here in Montfort, with its too-close sky and sheer granite cliffs, roaring whitewater falls and dark green pines, I have everything I want. Ptolemus and Wren are here. I am free to love Elane, to marry her, and to grow old and die with her. I do not need a throne. 

What I need is to get out of here alive. I need to stall for more time and hope that backup is on its way.

“A crown and a country,” I say slowly. Every word is an extra second I’m alive. My mind searches frantically for an escape route and comes up empty. Please, Elane. I need you. “Now, that’s a hard offer to beat, Lady…” 

“Tana Iral, Your Majesty.” So she is related to Sonya, maybe a cousin or aunt. Her eyes gleam with barely-suppressed excitement, watching me as a cat watches its prey. As my mother’s wolves used to watch me. 

I briefly wonder what will become of me if they have their way. They could make me their puppet, controlled in every action by a Merandus whisper. The thought terrifies me like no other. 

Keep talking. It’s all I can do. 

“But… enlighten me,” I continue, forcing the fear away. “There is already a stable government in place in Norta. Democracy. Equality of blood. You speak of a waiting crown, but I see no throne.”

Tana laughs, showing even white teeth. “ Yet, Your Majesty. A government led by Reds and their allies is no government at all. They cannot hope to stand against us for long.”

My stomach twists even tighter. “You propose civil war.”

“A restoration of the throne to its rightful owner.” 

“Countless lives will be lost,” I say slowly. “Silver lives. Valuable blood.” I try to fall into my expected role: a blood supremacist, a Silver lady. It isn’t difficult—after all, it’s who I used to be. 

Another one of the raiders shifts impatiently. “Those Silvers forfeited their lives when they betrayed their people. We have no qualms about clearing them out of the way. Will you, Your Majesty?” His words carry a thinly veiled threat. 

They’re getting tired of stalling. My time is almost up.

I don’t know what I would’ve done if left to my own devices, but suddenly, several things happen all at once. 

Tires screech on asphalt as a cycle roars down the Hawkway. Someone dismounts and runs towards me, and a glowing blue shield erupts across my vision. My heart jumps in my chest. Davidson. Elane came through.

I scan the Hawkway for more reinforcements, but there are none. The premier’s the only person I’ve got, but I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have here except Tolly.  

The raiders overcome their surprise and attack. I feel exactly six guns fire at once, and without blinking, I stop the bullets in midair and throw them back. Two of them cut through flesh, and the rest go sailing into the woods, missing the raiders entirely. I grit my teeth—I’m out of practice. 

A gale-force wind picks up. I stagger and lose my balance, and it throws me to the ground. My ribs slam into the dirt, knocking the wind from my chest. 

The air itself turns into a vacuum, sucking the breath from my lungs as I scrabble uselessly for purchase. I try to shout as I’m flung towards the edge of the cliff, but my own breath chokes me, forcing the sound back down my throat. Stars swim across my vision, bright spots of color that almost hurt my eyes. 

The windstorm is cut off as suddenly as it began. The sounds and sensations of battle abruptly disappear as a dome materializes around me and the premier, blue as a robin’s egg and nearly an inch thick on all sides. 

Still on the ground, I cough and gasp for air, stunned by both the impact and the sudden silence. My heartbeat pounds in my ears, and every breath is unnaturally loud.

“Can you stand?” Davidson bends over me, his eyes alight with concern.

I grasp his offered hand and gingerly pull myself up. Nothing seems broken—I can already feel the bruises spreading, but I’ve definitely had a lot worse. “Thanks for the save. You’ve clearly been practicing.” 

He smiles at that. “Even old dogs can learn new tricks.” 

I suddenly lose my balance again, catching myself on his arm. At first, I think my brain hasn’t reoriented itself properly, but then I realize it isn’t me. 

The ground is trembling again. 

I look up in time to see the bison charging us, a moving wall of pure muscle. A mountain of shaggy fur slams into the shield, inches from my face, with enough force to knock down a small house. The dome shakes under the impact. Despite myself, I flinch back, nearly colliding with Davidson. 

An awful crunch filters through the muffling effects of the shield. One of the animals collapses sideways, its neck bent at the wrong angle. The others begin to sway uncertainly, stamping at the ground, but their eyes go flat as the animos reasserts control. They shake their heads, stunned, and charge us again. 

The dome flickers, growing weaker with each impact, each passing second. It’s incredibly disorienting, like the entire world is underwater, distorted. Everything is blurry except for Davidson at my side. The ground shakes, my vision flashes blue, and the drumming of hooves rumbles in my ears like thunder. I want to curl into a ball on the ground and put my head between my knees until it’s over. 

Instead, I put a hand on Davidson’s shoulder. It trembles with strain, nearly in time with the flickering shield. “Don’t give out on me,” I say, trying to bolster us both. “I’d like to get out of this alive.” 

His eyes meet mine for the briefest second, the only acknowledgement he can manage. I can’t begin to fathom the amount of willpower it takes to maintain that dome. He doesn’t look it, but the premier might be the strongest Ardent I’ve ever met—and I’ve fought the lightning girl. 

My legs brace automatically as another charge begins. I can feel the vibrations in the iron soles of my boots, like standing on top of a rattling transport. Next to me, Davidson grits his teeth. His stare is so intense I can feel it, even though it’s not leveled at me. 

“How much longer can you last?” I ask, and my voice echoes around the tiny space.

He only shakes his head, the smallest of movements. We don’t have long at all.

The Nortans prowl around the edges of our bubble. They don’t waste energy attacking—they don’t have to. All they have to do is wait for Davidson to give out, and they’ll have us outnumbered eleven to two.

Who has the advantage? Lord Arven’s voice echoes bitterly through my brain. That question has an easy answer. 

The hard part is neutralizing the advantage. 

“We have to kill the animos,” I realize suddenly. 

Briefly, I wonder if their animos is family. One of my mother’s Viper cousins, here to drag me back to Norta at long last. I can only think of a few nobles who could control half a herd of bison for this long.  “Which one of them do you think–”

Even with the bandana, even through the uncertain light cast by the dome, her face is familiar. We have the same eyes, after all—Viper eyes—but hers are brown to my gray.  There’s no mistaking it.  

“Atara,” I whisper. 

In another life, we were friends and allies—cousins—at court. She helped organize my birthday gala when we were fifteen. I cheered her Queenstrial, even though I knew she didn’t stand a chance. She was my mother’s favorite niece. 

Davidson seems to realize. “I’m… sorry,” he says. “If—if there were another way…” 

The strain in his voice surprises me—the premier isn’t one to display exhaustion. We’re out of time. This isn’t the place for doubt, or morals.

“There isn’t,” I say flatly. “She’s chosen her side. I’ve chosen mine. Drop the shield on ten.” 

The premier nods, unable to manage words. A sheen of sweat coats his brow. I slide a steel ring off my right hand, forming it into a bullet with a burst of willpower. 

The blue shield disappears. Sound and color rush back to the world, but I barely notice. My vision tunnels until all I see is Atara’s black-clad figure. I take a deep breath and let the projectile fly, and like an extension of my own arm, I feel its trajectory across the clearing. I feel the miniature crosswinds as it slices through the air. 

I feel it puncture fabric, flesh, and bone, in that order.

Atara crumples to the ground.

I’m sorry. 

[fluideli123]

Will I make posts analyzing the songs on my playlist and explain why they're so fucking perfect? Yes, absolutely. In fact, here have some lyrics matched with scenes from my fic until we can get to the point where I can make full-blown detailed analysis posts without spoiling major plot points:

Too Sad by Ex:Re and Chapter 2: Time Spent Together

Those dusty amulets Write chords and regrets I cannot readjust Into the life before I loved you I see our fingerprints on household things I'm too sad to touch

Even though Leo was used to his father's uniqueness—there's no way he couldn't be—the slider couldn't help but linger in places he knew Splinter had been. It was odd and something he didn't want to dig into, but it's something Leo's grown to notice about himself. Sometimes he'd catch himself making his way out of the kitchen at 2AM with a cup of tea and stand in front of his father's Do Not Touch Cabinet. 

Why? He never asks.

Leo could guess this was one of those times. As he watched the light from the room change with every scene that flashed up on the projected screen, the muffled voice of Raphael and Splinter mixing with the sound of scripted laughter, he could feel himself staring at where he knew his Dad sat. 

Spinning by Elan Noon and Chapter 4: The Lady In Blue (is dancing with me)

Do you feel the world? Spinning like a top it ain't slowing Maybe, maybe not; there's no knowing If the world you're living in is bursting at the seams Everything Caught in between Everything Just what it seems

Sudden queasiness and self-loathing settle in the back of his throat, making his chest heavy. The filter over his feelings gets torn, partially dampening the aggressive emotions that claw their way into the pit of his chest, but not enough to keep him from straining to hold on to his thin remains of control.

He clenches his jaw as he stares at himself, unable to look away from the beaming, charming smile and the silly tongue sticking out of his mouth as he had made a peace sign in the mirror with the hand that wasn't holding the phone. The dress elegant and fitting, perfect in every way.

Leo hates how he looks, how happy he is, and how he can feel the way something had been lifted in how his eyes shined, unable to look away from himself. He hates how something in him clicked at the feeling of that thing on him. 

It wasn't him, and he knew it wasn't him because Leonardo didn't enjoy those things. He wore snapbacks, jean jackets, and skinny jeans. Not- not this. Never this. Because this picture was of someone else, some weird version of himself that he never wants to be again because it was all wrong. 

Deep Breaths by Sushi Soucy and Chapter 1: Prologue, Chapter 5: Crayons

His lungs were too big And maybe too small The doctors never figured it out So they did nothing at all They said "Take a deep breath," but he couldn't And they told him that his body shouldn't Be like this But there was something in his chest And he was trying his damn best To fit in with everyone who could breathe Breathe

[Prolouge]

"So, you feel like you're out of place and uncomfortable?" Splinter questions, chuckling a bit when Leo gives him a confused look at the first part. "Out of place is like when you have a bunch of apples, and then you have a grape which shouldn't be with all the apples. You're feeling like the grape amongst apples."

"Oh, does that mean Lou Jitsu is a grape when he goes in bad guy's places?" Leo asks in pure curiosity, making Splinter smile and nod his head. "Oh, okay. I'm feeling like a grape Lou Jitsu and uncomfy, and I don' know why. Do you know why?"

"No, I don't," Splinter states honestly, watching as his son's hopeful expression turns into a deep frown.

[Crayons]

When Leo's done with the large void-looking circle, he puts down the crayon and shoves the picture towards his brother, who picks it up and studies it for a long moment.

"Wow, you have to feel really bad..." Mikey sympathetically states, staring at the black part sadly. "Does it hurt?" The boxer turtle looks at Leo, eyes searching his brother. 

The slider shakes his head. "No. It just feels...big and..." Leo trails off.

Mikey leans closer to Leo. "And what?" 

"And...like, I don't know- like, something feels wrong," Leo concludes, bringing his knees to his chest. "I don' like it." 

Writing about Leo's issues isn't enough. I must hear the absolute pain and eventual healing he'll go through.

(Yes this is a link to my SAA fic playlist)

[filmforthought]

Youth

Starring Huang Xuan, Yang Caiyu, Miao Miao and Elane Zhong Rating: ★★★★ When you see a fifty-year-old bald man driving around in the suburbs with the hood down of a convertible mustang, it’s clear he misses his youth. Youth is a time in our lives that some of us cherish, while others see it as a difficult time that hopefully panned out for the better. In our youth we gained experiences good or bad, learned from them, and these moments developed us to be the people we are today. For the members of the Military Cultural Troupe during the Sino-Vietnamese War, their youth culminated amid a difficult time in Chinese history.

Set during the late 1970s, a Military Cultural Troupe travels throughout China to perform songs and dances for the troops. One of the members is Feng Liu, played by Huang Xuan, who is one of the most well respected young leaders of the troupe. On the other hand there’s Xiaoping He, played by Miao Miao, who gets bullied the most. The stories of Feng and Xiaoping standout beside the other members who have their own stories as well.

Youth is an epic whose scale reminds me of classic films like Doctor Zhivago. The film touches upon bullying, unrequited love, the suffering of war, the importance of friendship, and class structure. Its score can give you goosebumps and the cinematography is gorgeous.

Feng Xiaogang’s direction is reminiscent of the legendary David Lean. Lean was known for his direction on great epics such as Doctor Zhivago, Lawrence of Arabia and The Bridge on the River Kwai. These three features contain a pivotal backdrop in history, and a colossal cast and crew to lead. Xiaogang successfully tells the stories of youth in a unique setting, by facilitating a massive production. Very rarely in Hollywood do we experience such films with a production like this. Xiaogang’s budget was around $18.5 million, but it looks much better than blockbusters such as the latest Pirates of the Caribbean, who had a budget between $230 to $320 million. Instead of going the easy route by using CGI to make it seem like there’s a ton of people on set or to polish the brutality of war, Xiaogang’s Youth has a grand scale with hundreds of actors on set and a stellar production design by Haiying Shi. Although I’m an admirer of David Lean’s work, I haven’t seen any of his features on the big screen. However, Feng Xiaogang’s Youth is the closest feeling to it.

Another factor that helps Youth feel like an epic is its gorgeous visuals. Not only does the film transport us to a unique time in Chinese history, but it shows us the beauty of the country. Imagine driving along with the arts troupe up a long windy road in the thick of winter as a towering mountain serves as the backdrop. Once you reach the destination, you’re in high altitude where the rest of the world is under your feet. The cinematography by Pan Luo also stands out in times of battle. There’s a battle scene that is reminiscent of Hacksaw Ridge, but without any cuts. Hidden soldiers are spitting bullets from the tall grass, tanks rover in the open fields, airplanes drop bombs, and flamethrowers scorch the enemy. All before this horror, a butterfly floats among a marching line of troops who are blindsided by an attack. Both the beauty of China and the terror of war are captured for a film that was meant to be for the big screen.

What pairs well with the stunning cinematography is the beautiful score by Lin Zhao. As we look out to the great plains or vast mountains, the score rushes over us. When the score played, I felt goosebumps on the back of my neck. It captivates each scene extremely well and is fantastic to listen to on its own. If someone were to take a shower with this music playing in the background, they would feel majestic.

Just as an epic contains stunning visuals and a massive production, there are multiple story lines that circle around coming of age. Xiaoping He’s tale goes through the hardships of being a victim of bullying and the social implications of class structure, while Feng Liu deals with unrequited love. Unfortunately, all the characters deal with the implications of war. During one’s youth, it’s difficult to grapple with the thought of someone the same age never coming back. Young people have a long road ahead of them, but the interests of the country may cut their journey short. The main characters look back on their youth and they are grateful to still be standing. This feeling of gratitude is especially felt when walking through a memorial sight for those lost in war. So many young lives were lost and the country still battles with the past.

The Chinese government put a temporary ban on Feng Xiaogang’s piece for its initial National Day release. The Sino-Vietnamese War is still a touchy subject even almost forty-years later. It’s courageous for Xiaogang to direct a feature that gives an honest look at the War and recognizes the many young lives lost in a country where the subject is swept under the rug. This puts into perspective how lucky the United States is for having little filter on the films that receive a wide release. There are countless films that criticize government actions and wars. Youth is not blunt like the recent Thank You For Your Service that bashes Veteran Affairs, but more like American Sniper. It pays homage to those who served, but also shows the ramifications of war through a humanistic lense.

Whether you’re a fifty-year-old bald man having a midlife crisis or someone who is currently living through their youth, Feng Xiaogang’s film is a masterpiece all should experience. Every feature about the Chinese film is flawless and will leave audiences breathless. While the credits rolled, I sat around a little longer in awe. Youth is the reason why we go to the movies. It transports us to a unique period in history, grips our emotions, and leaves us complete.

The Best Film of 2017

[fashionmiddlefan]

Hira Ali Studios “Snap Trapped” Bridal Collection PLBW18

Hira Ali Studios exhibited her debut bridal collection "Snap Trapped" at PFDC L 'OréalParis Bridal Week. This collection is the excitement of contemporary youth culture.

Honoring a woman who breaks individuality and stereotype giving inspiration is the core of each Hira · ant work. This collection is a celebration of a woman who is not afraid of breaking the chain tied to social media pressure and sending life without a filter. These young wild spirits refuse to be detained by an invisible burden deprived from their personality. The color palette of the collection is based on vivid hues, but the silhouette consists of traditional works with contemporary utilities that add contemporary charm. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); Hira Ali Studios is a couture fashion brand that creates a balance between contemporary design and traditional elegance. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({}); Hira Ali Studio is a popular reputation as one of the most exciting fashion brands in Pakistan, and debuted on the platform of PFDC Sunsilk Fashion Week, famous in 2016. This brand is best known for its modern and sharp interpretation with minimal design. Currently, Hira Ali Studios is housed in a stand-alone studio space in Lahore, Pakistan for formal, bridal and luxury Prét wear. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || ).push({});

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[brightbeautifulthings]

All Our Wrong Todays by Elan Mastai

"'There's work to do here, in this world, the world you live in, not the world you dream of. They don't actually even need you. Not like we do.'"

Year Read: 2017

Rating: 3/5

Context: I received a free copy of All Our Wrong Todays from a Read It Forward giveaway. The premise grabbed me immediately. I like science fiction, but it rarely makes it into my reading list through all the horror, the YA, and, you know, those books you're supposed to read.

About: Tom Barren lives in a utopian 2016. A machine invented back in 1965 has provided clean, unlimited energy for the entire world, leading to zero pollution, advanced technological leaps, and no poverty anywhere. His father, a renowned scientist, is on the brink of inventing time travel, but Tom has always felt like a disappointment to his father and his friends. When a series of mistakes (mostly Tom's) causes him to disrupt the past, he's flung back to a 2016 that looks, well, exactly like ours. Torn between a newfound family and the utopia he accidentally destroyed, Tom has to decide whether it's possible to go back and fix his mistake--or if time travel can only ever make things worse.

Thoughts: The premise of this book is better than its execution, and there are a lot of bitchy little comments in my margin notes. The first problem is Tom, who is a self-proclaimed shiftless idiot who's constantly bemoaning what a disappointment he is without ever really trying to improve himself. His biggest sin as a narrator is that he's not interesting; he rarely does anything except make things worse for himself, and the fact that he realizes that he's mildly sexist doesn't do much to overcome it. The two other main characters in Tom's 2016 are his father, who is too distant to really be called a "main" character, and Penelope, who's as driven as she is self-destructive. I don't have any sympathy for characters who deliberately try to ruin their lives and then are surprised when it happens.

The writing style is also extremely off-putting. It's scattered and repetitive as well as littered with Tom's personal affectations, most of which should be confined to the dialogue, not the narrative. The problem is that Tom is actively narrating the story, but he's already established that he's neither smart nor interesting (nor, for that matter, a writer), and we're left with his vague descriptions, adjectival overkill, and vapid insights. I don't like Tom. Tom doesn't like Tom, and the story suffers from being filtered through his perspective. There are also two borderline offensive sections that summarize the past several chapters (worse than the annoying section that’s written backwards or the entire chapter comprised of the words 'shit' and 'fuck'--also unnecessary but not as insulting). There's a weak explanation for them later, but they're hardly necessary to the novel itself. Readers are not stupid; we didn't just forget everything that happened in the past hundred pages.

The bad news is that it's a painful first hundred pages or so. The good news is that it gets better. I'm never going to be crazy about the writing style, but I stopped noticing it as much once I got into the story. To his credit, Mastai does a nice job keeping the science at a level that's both plausible and accessible. I know very little about physics, but hey--I bought it, and that's really all you need from a science fiction novel. The science doesn't have to be true; it just has to seem like it could be.

Tom also gets better. He's more suited to the current 2016 than his utopian one, and he starts to make better choices under the influence of Other Penny and his sister, Greta. There are a couple of interesting questions: What does this say about people who feel like there's something deeply, stuck-in-the-Matrix wrong with the world? How much are we the products of our environment, given the differences between Tom's current 2016 family and his utopian 2016 one? But they're mostly lost among the rest of Tom's bumbling and rambling and the soap-opera like segues into someone's love life.

There's an interesting internal struggle as utopian Tom's consciousness struggles with 2016 Tom's consciousness (who's actually called John, which helps to keep them separate). It turns out that John, an architect, has always been vaguely aware of Tom, so much that he pulled building designs from Tom's utopia. Tom’s narrative problem of too much telling and not enough showing is most evident here. He claims that John is trying to act through him, but there are maybe two instances in the entire novel where that actually happens (and we’re not even present for one). 

I didn't guess where the end was heading, and I worried that there was going to be some cheesy "but this reality was the better one all along" attempt at glorifying Tom's wiping out a basically perfect world. It's easy to see why he prefers our 2016, since he has a family, a girlfriend, and a promising career in it, but it's hard to argue against no war, pollution, or poverty. Fortunately, Mastai resists all such urges. He never tries to justify Tom's mistake and instead delivers a clever and ultimately pretty satisfying solution to the myriad problems of time travel. Mastai has a good story to tell, but it gets in its own way too much for me to really enjoy it.