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#anyway. enough dwelling but like. it's all so pathetic and not-real-problems but also has been totally devastating and ruinous for me.

drop-of-infinity · 3 years

Text

I have continued my weird destiel fic thing! This part is canon compliant with season 6.

Chapter one is here

Chapter two is here

<><><><><><><><><>

Chapter 3: season 6

The Third Man

{“I pray to Castiel to get his feathery ass down here-“ and then suddenly Cas was there in all his trenchcoated glory. He hadn’t come when Sam had prayed all those times, but Dean had called once and here was Cas. Well, no time to think about that now.

{“Dean and I do share a more profound bond..” he’d been very careful with his wording, yet the that was too honest feeling had returned. Cas sighed inwardly. He was not built for emotions. He was not built for choosing his words.

{“You’re gonna torture a kid?”

“I can’t care about that Dean! I don’t have the luxury.” Cas’s voice cracked as he said it, and Dean knew he did care about it. After all, if there was one thing he knew about Cas, it was that he cared more then he should.

6-7

{“I don’t know what’s wrong with him, but I do want to help.” Couldn’t that be enough for Dean? Cas had a war to worry about, he didn’t have time for this. Yet he was helping Dean anyway, because- no. Shut it down. Yet he was helping Dean anyway. Wasn’t that enough? Aren’t I enough?

{“Of course. Your problems always come first.” Coming from anyone else, Dean would think that was sarcasm, but this was Cas. Plus, the look the angel gave him... well, he was pretty sure Cas was being honest. The guy had a war to fight, and he was still helping them. Dean felt a twinge of guilt, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it, because Cas was already gone. Fricking angels.

Caged Heat

{“I learned that from the pizza man.” Dean couldn’t help but stare at Cas and the demon he had just been making out with. Since when has he been interested in that stuff? He watches Cas smooth a hand over swollen lips. An odd burning sensation roots itself in Dean’s stomach. Suddenly, he wants to strangle Meg. Because she’s a demon, probably, he tells himself. It’s just instinct.

My Heart Will Go On

{“You have me confused with the other angel. You know, the one in the dirty trench coat who’s in love with you?” Dean’s brain wisely decided to shut down at that. When Balthazar left, the only thing he let himself think was Cas’s coat isn’t dirty. The other thoughts-well they weren’t so much thoughts as half formed screams and fast heartbeats-he pushed to the back of his mind to be taken out and examined never.

{“You need new friends Cas.”

“I’m trying to save the ones I have, Dean.” It’s always strange to call Dean his friend. The word friend encompasses so much to humans, everything from ‘this person makes me happy’ to ‘I don’t want to live without you.’ Humanity is still fascinating. Cas will keep Dean safe. It is his priority, always. This person makes me happy.

{“50000 new souls for your war machine.” As fate talks, Cas can only be grateful that the Winchesters can’t hear her. If they knew... well, it wouldn’t be pretty. Dean takes trust so seriously. Cas has the odd feeling that he is digging himself into a hole. This is the only way, he thinks. Lie, beat Raphael, keep them in your life. Simple enough. He stops Balthazar from stabbing fate, because her sisters would come after the Winchesters, and he can’t have that. As time unfreezes, and Cas watches Dean startle awake back into his own timeline, green eyes flying open, he realizes something terrifying. He is an entity, an eldritch being millions of years old. He has known Dean for less then a fraction of his immortal life and yet... I don’t want to live without you.

18-19

{“I think you call him when you need something.” Rachel’s words cut deeper then they should. Dean considers Cas the best friend he’s ever had, but their life means friendship is built in the middle of life threatening situations. There was another thought too, buried deep. At least needing something gives me an excuse. At least if he doesn’t show up I can pretend he doesn’t want to help, not he doesn’t want to see me. It’s strange to need an excuse to talk to someone, but Dean can’t help it. Instead of studying either of these revelations, he denies what this angel has said, and resumes arguing with her.

{“There are millions of lives at stake here not just two!” Even as Cas says it, he feels the weight of his words on his own actions. How many people had he sacrificed to save two recently? Cas doesn’t stop Dean from leaving with the children. He could have, but he knows how hypocritical it would be. The greater good doesn’t always mean everything, he reasons.

{When Cas gets his powers back, the first thing he does (well, after smiting all the monsters in the diner) is heal Dean. The bite on his neck vanishes as Cas places a hand on Dean’s shoulder. He tells himself it is for grounding purposes, but he knows he doesn’t need to touch someone to heal them. He also knows he doesn’t usually want to. He also knows that he’s had to use the word usually instead of always a lot more since he met Dean.

The Man Who Would Be King

{“But Cas, you’ll call right? If you get into real trouble?” There is more Dean wants to say, but he can’t. Usually they would be hunting Crowley together, but Sam and Bobby think Cas-their Cas, who has saved their lives more times then he can count-might be working with the king of Hell. It’s ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. And yet... his instincts are telling him they’re right. He always goes with his gut, but with Cas... there’s something in his heart straining against it. Innocent until proven guilty, he thinks stubbornly. As Cas teleports away, Dean wishes he could believe the angel will call if he has to, but he has a feeling those words will be ignored.

{“I still considered myself the Winchester’s guardian. After all, they taught me how to stand up, what to stand for.” As he goes over the story in his head, Cas thinks about what else he’s learned from them. From Dean. How to smile, how to cry. How to feel so much and then repress it like your life depends on it. How to love.

{“This is Cas guys!” Dean knows it’s a weak argument, but they don’t know the guy like he does. He thinks of Cas saying “profound bond” and realizes it’s true. Sam and Bobby weren’t there in Hell. They weren’t there sitting on that park bench, or in that bar. They didn’t sit in the Impala afterwards, actually laughing for the first time in years. Dean blinks a few times. There is an emotion hovering at the surface of his mind that he does not want to look at too closely right now.

{“Where were you when I needed to hear it?”

“I was there. Where were you?” There are tears in Dean’s eyes as he looks at Cas over the fire. I hurt him again, he thinks numbly. Sam and Dean don’t understand the stakes of the war in heaven is all. They don’t understand that this betrayal was necessary. But as Cas looks at Dean, his certainty wavers. It feels like the moment before he chose to stop Lucifer, except this time he is already in the wrong, and it is too late, and he hurt Dean.

{“I’m doing this for you Dean. I’m doing this because of you.” Dean stares at the angel in front of him. Cas is always saying shit like this, but this time it’s a lie and they both know it. Has it always been a lie? What were his real motives? Of course he wasn’t always doing this stuff for me. I was stupid to believe it. His father’s words ring in his head. Useless. Pathetic. Cas betrayed them. Cas betrayed him, and it hurts like hell.

{“Next to Sam, you and Bobby are the closest things I have to family.” It feels like a knife, sliding below Cas’s layers of self righteousness and belief and inserting itself into his chest. He stops breathing. Dean did legitimately care about him, and now he’s gone and burned it all down. What choice did I have? He thinks desperately. It is too late now.

Let It Bleed

{“I do everything that you ask, I always come when you call, and I am your friend.” Dean wishes he could accept that. All he wants is to hug Cas and tell him it’s okay, and have everything go back to normal. But Cas betrayed them, and now Lisa and Ben are in danger, and Dean feels like he’s falling through the floor.

{“I wish this changed anything.”

“I know. Me too.” He ruined it. Castiel, the broken angel, the fallen angel. Whatever he might have had with Dean he ruined it like he ruined everything else. It feels like a black hole opening up inside him. He feels something on his face, and lifts a shaky hand to touch his cheeks. They are wet. Just keep going. All you can do now is defeat Raphael. Now you have no reason not to. Now you will do what you must. Dean clearly doesn’t care anymore, so there is nothing holding Cas back.

The Man Who Knew Too Much

{“we were family once. I’d have died for you. I almost did a few times. I’ve lost Lisa, I’ve lost Ben, I’ve lost Sam. Don’t make me lose you too.” It was the closest Dean could come to saying what he meant, which was please, I need you here. He thought he saw Cas’s expression waver for a moment, but then the angel steeled himself and Dean felt a sinking sensation. He knew it-whatever it was or had been-was over before Cas opened his mouth.

{“You’re not my family Dean. I have no family.” He almost choked on the words as he said them. It was true, he told himself. Dean wasn’t family, he never would be. He was just a human. He is more than family, whispers the traitorous part of himself that had made him betray Heaven for this one human. But Cas sees his words hit Dean like a javelin, and he knows there is no going back. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

{All the souls from purgatory are in Cas, and he remembers why he wasn’t supposed to fall. This is his destiny.

{As Castiel tells them to kneel or die, Dean remembers why he’s been scared to fly since forever. There’s always a crash.

Then all hell-well, all Purgatory breaks loose, and neither of them have time to get lost in memories.

#destiel #supernatural #spn #deancas #castiel #supernatural thoughts #spn thoughts #destiel fic #destiel fanfic #deancas fic #deancas fanfic #spn season 6 #supernatural season 6 #the man who would be king

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writingsoftheghost · 4 years

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Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing

Word count: 1209

Summary: Remus after Janus leaves, angst. Song fic, wolf in sheep’s clothing by set it off.

Ha ha ha, this is about you!

Remus scribbled angrily across the portrait he'd been working on for over a month. Sitting on his bed, surrounded by art supplies that all seemed so pointless now, this was his latest work and it was pointless now! It was almost finished, but now it was taking a new direction. Remus growled in his throat as he angrily slashed out the eyes with his charcoal pencil.

Decei—no, Janus, Remus corrected himself bitterly. The name spoken to someone besides him first makes him angry too. Everything about what happened does. That, that snake didn't trust him with it. Maybe that's for the best, especially if he was going to...to just leave anyway.

Like Virgil. Except Virgil had told Remus his name. Virgil had been Remus's best friend. Janus's too. They were both so important to him, and he...he thought he was important to them too. Clearly they had lied to him. Everything had been a lie and he hadn't seen it! He let out an anguished scream as he reached over and flung the nearest breakable thing he could find. His bedside lamp shattered against the far wall.

Beware, beware, be skeptical

Of their smiles, their smiles of plated gold

Remus remembered all the times Virgil swore he wasn't going to leave. Then he remembered the weeks after he had, Janus had sworn to him over and over that he wouldn't abandon him. He'd given Remus that smile, not the smirk, the real smile, well, what Remus thought was real...

Deceit so natural

Remus had fallen for all of it! He'd even trusted that liar not to leave him! Believed they were fami—friends! And look what he was doing! Remus felt hot tears at the back of his eyes, he let them fall. He jumped up off the bed, blinded by the moisture in his eyes and threw his artwork of the snake at the wall. He wanted to give it to Janus as a gift, now it was a cruel reminder that he was alone now. He screamed and punched a hole into his bedroom wall. Memories of Janus filling his head as he did.

But a wolf in sheep’s clothing, is more than a warning...

He punched the wall over and over, the thing crumbling easily beneath his fists, blood trailed down his knuckles and he just kept punching the wall. He remembered all the times Janus had told him he wasn't bad. "Good and bad is all made up nonsense," he'd told the crying creativity when they were younger after Roman had called him wicked. Maybe he really was no good. Maybe that's why everyone was leaving him.

Bla-bla-black sheep, have you any soul?

No sir, by the way, what the hell are morals

Jack, be nimble, Jack, be quick

Jill's a little whore and her alibis are dirty tricks

He thought about how Janus lived with the light sides now. How he spent time with his brother, the good creativity. How he hadn't spoken to Remus since he left. It'd only been a week, but it wasn't like Remus lived on the other end of the world.

So could you

Tell me how you're sleeping easy

How you're only thinking of yourself

Show me how you justify

Telling all your lies like second nature

Listen, mark my words, one day

You will pay, you will pay

Karma's gonna come collect your debt

Aware, aware, you stalk your prey

With criminal mentality

You sink your teeth into the people you depend on

He was probably baking cookies with Patton, or discussing philosophy with Logan, hanging out with Virgil like Remus had wanted to do since the anxious side had left. Discussing plays with his brother. With the good guys. He probably wasn't even thinking about him. He wasn't going to come see Remus. That was just another one of the endless lies.

Remus bit his cheek hard enough to make it bleed as he punched the wall one final time, sliding to the floor and spitting out the blood. Maybe, the others will see he's not a nice guy, that they had him right all along, then he'll come back, he'll have to, where else will he go? But maybe, maybe Remus won't take him back, he thinks cruelly, then, he can see what it's like to be left alone. What it's like to be unwanted...

Infecting everyone, you're quite the problem

Feefifofum, you better run and hide

I smell the blood of a petty little coward

Jack, be lethal, Jack, be slick

Jill will leave you lonely dying in a filthy ditch

So could you

Now he was probably listening to all of them as they talk about how bad Remus is. What has to be done with him. Maybe Janus will be the one to get rid of him, send him somewhere he can't come back from. He doesn't think any of the others have the stomach for it. Except maybe Roman.

Worse yet, they could also try to convert him. Try to make him "good" like they think Janus is. Like they think they all are. Make him into their cute little creativity. With a little behavioral problem that can be controlled with just enough force. Years ago Remus would’ve been happy with their attention, but now the thought of them trying to change him, and their disappointment when they realize it can’t be done, make him feel sick, and not in a good way.

Maybe you'll change

Abandon all your wicked ways

Make amends and start anew again

Maybe you'll see

All the wrongs you did to me

And start all over, start all over again

Then again, maybe Janus really was just busy, Remus thought hopefully. Maybe he'd come see Remus, after all, they were all the other had for years. Surely...surely that was worth something?

Who am I kidding?

Remus quickly crushes the hope.

Now, let's not get overzealous here

You've always been a huge piece of shit

Remus thinks about running over there and yelling at the snake. Or hitting him. His hand itches to just grab his mace and turn the tears into a powerful swing. That would be better than this.

If I could kill you I would

But it's frowned upon in all fifty states

He doesn’t want to keep dwelling on this, he’s tired of crying. Tired of being pathetic. He doesn’t need Deceit anyway. He’s fine. Fuck the snake, he’s better off without the bastard.

Having said that, burn in hell!

Remus refuses to spend another minute thinking about this. The traitor doesn’t deserve his grief. He doesn’t deserve anything. Well, Remus thinks wickedly, he deserves what’s coming to him. He slaps the crumpled portrait onto his wall, a pin through the heart holding it up. He grabs his mace and slips out the door.

So tell me how you're sleeping easy

How you're only thinking of yourself

Show me how you justify

Telling all your lies like second nature

Listen, mark my words, one day

You will pay, you will pay

Karma's gonna come collect your debt

Karma's gonna come collect your debt...

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lallivaesterstroem · 3 years

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Emil and Lalli. Stargazing. Emil tries to name all the constellations he knows. Lalli knows all of them, but listens to the Swede anyway.

ANON ILUSM FOR ASKING this is such a wonderfully sweet prompt i just had to take it the extra mile and it got away from me once again :’)) so this is waaaay too long for a ficlet LOL but i hope you enjoy it anyway!

EDIT: A BETTER VERSION OF THIS IS NOW UP ON AO3, GO GIVE IT SOME LOVE this will stay up for posterity tho<3

quick summary: Emil and Lalli meet up in a a dream. The night sky is too beautiful to ignore.

Lalli knew the colours spilling around him as well as he knew himself. He blinked once, twice, watched the familiar forest and lake take shape, molding slowly into a place he called his own. Then came the gentle noise of water, the rustling of branches and chirping of birds, and he could smell the pine surrounding him. He could sit here in silence, look into the water, wait for a sign and hopefully receive none. And so the mage sat up, arms resting on his knees and head hung low, listening to the sounds of forest, waiting for-

Someone else was here. Not a spirit, he could feel that much, a someone.

He stood up quickly, hoping to all the gods that it was neither braid guy nor Onni- he wanted nothing more than to be alone tonight- which only left the category of ‘things that want to kill him’ open. One hand reaching for his dagger, the other pushing his fur coat away, he spun around, looking for the source of the disturbance.

Emil was standing on the shore, glowing in the speckles of light passing through the branches, confused but smiling, and the moment he saw him, the ground opened up under them.

Once the dust had settled, he found himself on a grassy cliff with a steep slope, overlooking nothing but darkness, one of thousands around the world, yet somehow still familiar. Emil was a few feet away from him, looking around frantically. It dawned on Lalli that it was probably that hill they climbed in Reykjavik, that long day in the pouring rain, but he couldn’t think clearly enough to wonder why they ended up there, why it seemed to have been split in half, why it was the dead of night. The shock still hadn’t quite worn off. Emil had never appeared in his dream before, not like this, not in his dream. They’d always end up in a place like this, in-between together. Never in his space.

When he turned to Emil again, just to make sure they were both still in one piece, his friend was looking up for some reason.

“Your dream has a sky?” he said, and it sounded less like a question aimed at Lalli and more like thinking out loud, as if he were trying to get to the bottom of a problem.

“Of course. Everything has a sky.”

“I guess I just never thought about it before,” Emil said, still craning his neck, still in that distracted tone, his eyes wide in a strange sort of wonder. Lalli didn’t get it, really. He could see the real light-speckled veil covering the Earth any time he wished, and there was nothing special about the one appearing in dreams. The stars, glittering gold forged by the sky-smith, were now a mere image in their minds, dream-approximation, not worth dwelling on this much.

Lalli looked into the distance instead, trying to make out the shapes- houses but no lights on, a village, indiscernible layout, shifting in the darkness. He couldn’t tell if it was the Icelandic village, or his own hometown, or something else entirely, perhaps a fragment of Emil’s memory. It was like the houses were in the bottom of a murky lake, roofs submerged, waves distorting everything, and by the time it reached his eyes they were unrecognisable. He didn’t dare to peer over the edge of the cliff, didn’t want to look straight down at whatever may be there. The wind whipped around him, against his face, and for a moment he felt completely alone.

A rustle coming from behind startled him out of his thoughts- Emil, sitting down on the grass, still looking up with that smile on his lips. He said something about knowing ‘a thing or two’ about the stars, pointed upwards at nothing in particular, and Lalli decided to join him. It seemed that there was nothing to look at beyond the dark plunge beneath the cliff, which he’d already scrutinised, and the stars in the sky. He sat next to Emil. He waited.

“See that one? That’s the big dog. Those three stars are the head, and then these are the tail,” Emil gestured, eyes fixed on the night sky.

Iso koira. The easiest to spot, with the brightest star at its head. Emil’s struggle to point it out was a little pathetic and a little adorable, depending on whether Lalli was looking at his fumbling outstretched hand missing the mark or his excited expression, squinting to see better. And then he turned to look at him and that excitement was gone, replaced by a frown.

“You can’t tell where I’m pointing at from there,” he said, fake-upset, “look here.”

Emil’s face was suddenly right next to his, an arm around his shoulder and the other still pointing at the sky, and Lalli froze. Perhaps it was the unexpected touch, the closeness, but something about it made him jump. To his credit, Emil noticed, letting go and moving away, an apology already on his lips. But before he could get to it Lalli inched closer, at his own pace, wanting to say that it’s okay, just let me, hoping his expression would do the trick instead. He just needed to ease into it, and soon enough they were close once again, so Lalli looked up, pointedly avoiding Emil’s gaze, in order to urge him to do the same. Back to the stars.

“And the little dog- huh, shouldn’t it be somewhere around…”

Pieni koira, just a little off to the side, trailing behind Orion. Kaksoset, Härkä, Yksisarvinen. The stars were his constant companions, by his side every night when no one else was. Köli, Ajomies, Virta. His gaze swept across the sky. He knew them by heart.

Not that he’d say a word of it to Emil. It was much more amusing waiting for the realisation, that moment he stops talking and lets the cogs in his head turn: hey, what if that silly Finn who spends all night outside, where the stars are, maybe knows a couple things more about them…

But this was fine too. He didn’t have to think as long as he kept talking. Emil’s hair looked grey in the moonlight but with that same shine, messy from the wind, and Lalli couldn’t help but reach up and tuck a lock behind his ear, just so that it doesn’t bother him. No other reason. Emil turned to look at him for a moment, not enough to read his expression, and then quickly looked away.

“Orion is also, ah, somewhere,” his hand was now flitting between several constellations, none of them the one he was looking for. “This sky is weird. Did you ever notice that? That the dream sky is weird. But you probably already know, because you’re… you know. And I’m so new at this. Not at dreaming! Just, this whole...”

He decided to let Emil ramble nervously until he tired himself out, ending his rant with a frustrated little groan. It was strange that he couldn’t quite focus on the sound of his voice, how he could feel that lilt all Swedes had to their words but still understand him- another peculiarity of dreams he never really noticed until he and Emil became connected like this. Then they were quiet for a couple of heartbeats, taking in the view.

The corner of Lalli’s lips twitched into a smile, as close to softness as he could get. Emil was too busy staring up at the sky to notice. Lalli was too busy looking at him to care.

But something changed moments after. He could feel it in the air, creeping in slowly. Emil’s expression turned melancholy, resigned, and when he finally spoke, he echoed a statement he made a long time ago. This time, he said it with a smile, almost sad, mostly distracted, like he didn’t know the words would come out until he said them: “Makes me not want to wake up tomorrow.”

In the resulting silence, Lalli could hear something from the depths, from the village, and when he looked down, he saw a sliver of orange in the distance, like the stroke of a brush, a splatter. Fire. Emil’s fire. An uncomfortable feeling settled in his gut, a pain for someone else, something tugging at his heart.

“Why? You’re safe now. You have food and shelter,” he said instead, trying to keep him occupied. Steadying his voice took more effort than he expected, but he didn’t want Emil to notice anything was amiss. It was Lalli’s fault that his dreams were no longer silly meaningless thought-leftovers that played during the night. It was Lalli’s fault he was here in the first place.

“But I’m not… like this. With you,” Emil sounded distant, and he was looking away now, not at the stars and not towards Lalli, but at the ground next to him. Like he was trying to hide his face, but didn’t want to go too far, move too much. Like he was counting the blades of grass beneath them.

Lalli knew that he probably wasn’t talking about… whatever it was that they were. He was surely talking about the feeling of safety, the freedom of dreaming- the fact that they were in it together was simply a byproduct of an accident, his own mistake, surely not something Emil looked forward to, surely-

Lalli bit his tongue. He had to force himself to say it while he still could, before the connection that kept them here crumbled again. Before he had to deal with pouring his feelings into words, then forcing those words into the confines of a language he barely spoke. The wind whistled around them and he knew this was his last chance. He put his hand on top of Emil’s, caressed it with his thumb, not quite knowing what he was doing.

“You could be, if you want to.”

And then the world was plunged into darkness and he could feel reality looming in the edges of his consciousness. He’d deal with the consequences when he woke up.

#emilalli #ssss #sssscomic #stand still stay silent #asks #anon #oh this got away from me so much adnjsnjds it was meant to be a tiny scene and then #the finnish btw is just constellation names #for lalli's brain reasons #anyway i had s o much fun writing this and imagining it and ilu anon <3

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prurientpuddlejumper · 4 years

Text

A Deep and Rapid River, Ch. 8 [18+]

<- Chapter 7 | Chapter 9 ->

Summary: PANIC.

Bess’s face is paper-white, her irises like pin-pricks in her eyes. She stands frozen in the doorway, unable to comprehend what she was utterly unprepared to see upon entry.

“B-Bess?” you stammer stupidly, also barely processing the reality of the situation.

The noise was enough to snap her out of her paralysis, and, like a rabbit freed from a snare, she turns and bolts.

She only makes it a few paces from the door, into the yard, when she staggers to a halt, breathing hard, muscles shaking, her hands clenching into fists. She roars like a lion—a savage, feral battle cry summoning courage she doesn’t have—and charges back into the barn. In one swift motion she crouches, still running, and snatches the pitchfork from the floor.

Brandishing the weapon at the enormous monster pinning you to the wall, she screams, “LET GO OF HER, YOU FREAK!”

She was ready for a fight that she knew she might lose. She wasn’t expecting the horrific brute to just stand there, slack-jawed. She wasn’t expecting you to shriek and throw your arms around your attacker, protecting it.

Her eyes drift down to your legs wrapped around his waist. Your bodies intertwined. Undressed.

Her tight-lipped grimace of fear evolves into a different kind of wide-eyed dread. This wasn’t an attack. Her rescue attempt wasn’t wanted. This was… what the fuck was this?! She drops the pitchfork and runs, and this time she doesn’t come back.

You feel your whole world spinning.

Nothing is real.

You can barely see.

It feels like you’re being strained through a narrow tube, squeezed like an apple in a cider press. You are vaguely aware of some pathetic whimpering noises, which you realize are coming from your throat.

The creature pulls out his flaccid cock from between your legs, and a flood of cum shocks you awake.

“Oh my god, oh god, oh fuck!” you repeat on loop as he sets you down, pacing as soon as your feet hit the floor. “Fuck. Oh my god.” She saw you—she saw you doing that! With your skirts around your waist and—you barely have time to be humiliated (though apparently embarrassment and terror can coexist, evidenced by your burning-hot face) because more importantly she saw him!

The look on her face. She was horrified. Horrified by what you were doing. What did she think was happening? Some kind of satanic ritual? Some dark witchcraft with a demon or evil spirit? That’s what everyone thinks, isn’t it? That you were being haunted by dark forces—and now they’ll know it’s true! All those suspicions and rumors confirmed tenfold!

Stupid!

You shouldn’t have been so quick to try to defend him from her—if you played along and acted as if he were attacking you, he could have escaped and you could've…

Could have what? Salvaged your own reputation and destroyed his once and for all? No. Your body moved on instinct anyway. Even rationally knowing she posed no real danger to him, you couldn’t let her threaten him without jumping in the way.

“Maybe she will understand,” the creature suggests. This time he is the voice of reason, placing a steadying hand on your shoulder to stop your pacing and muttering aloud. “The girl is your friend.”

You bark a cynical laugh. “Did it look like she understands? Maybe—maybe—if I could explain, but she’s gone. She—” Oh god. Your parents. She must have run straight to the house and told them what she saw!

You risk a peek outside, and glance up the hill. They aren’t storming down from the house at this very moment.

“They hitched the mule to the cart this morning, to bring jugs of milk to town to sell,” the creature explains. In your panic, you’d forgotten. One blessing on this cursed day.

“Bess must have run home, then. At a full sprint, that means we have about five minutes until the whole town is alerted, and about five minutes after that until they break down the barn door with torches and guns.” Finally you’re starting to think again, to plan. “What do we do?”

He clenches his jaw. He had hoped that your promise could come true. That you might be able to introduce him to others, and this time, with your aid, he would not be driven away. Though it was an accident, perhaps being seen by your friend was an opportunity.

But from experience, he knew you were right. That girl was certain to scream ‘monster’ to the entire town, and the hunter who had just sighted him not an hour before would validate her tale, and would be all too happy to learn where the vile creature was living. Any chance of a cordial introduction was ruined. His greatest concern now was your safety—being discovered as his ally placed you in grave danger of being hurt by a mob intent on killing him.

“We must run.”

“But where? There’s nowhere to go! We can’t just show up in a neighboring town—we’ll have the exact same problem, only worse, because I’ll be a stranger to them too.”

“Before our meeting, I wandered for many months in the wilderness, away from the persecution human eyes. The desert mountains and dreary glaciers were my refuge. The caves of ice were a dwelling to me, and the only one which man does not grudge.”

“Are you joking? We can’t just run away into the woods—I’ll starve! You might be fine, but I…” You’re breathing too fast, too shallow. The edges of your vision start closing in again. He takes your shoulders, enveloping them in his warm hands

“Food will be more plentiful now, berries and edible greens more abundant. Mousserons are growing. I will take care of you, I swear it.”

It isn’t terribly convincing, at least not to your panic-addled mind. You imagine yourself huddled and shivering on a floor of damp leaf litter, unable to feel your fingers. Goosebumps rush down your arms just picturing your freezing state. Feverish. What if you get sick?!

He senses the nightmares swirling before your eyes, and knows his words have done nothing to reassure you. There’s one more card he has yet to play which may yet abate your fear, though he is loath to admit it. “I know a place we may find shelter. Perhaps a home.”

“How? Where?”

“Geneva. Victor Frankenstein.”

Your eyes snap to his. “Your father? But, you despised him. He abandoned you. What makes you think he would help us now?”

“When I was first given the spark of life by his hand, I arose an uncoordinated, senseless mass of flesh. Endowed of all my present hideousness yet lacking any sign of intelligence, I must, in my infancy, truly have been a horror to behold. My creator could never have imagined I would ever find myself a companion so lovely.

“Such negligence on his part is why I hated him. To create a being capable of sensitive thought, who desired only to be loved, and was too ugly ever to be loved. Why must he have made me able to feel such longing!—such intense emotion!—yet deny me the possibility of companionship? For the maddening solitude he abandoned me to, I wished to inflict upon him suffering matching my own.

“Yet now, any reason I held for anger against him is dissipated. You make me happy to have been created. If the sorrow of my creation is the price to be paid for finding you, then I would happily pay it again. Therefore, for your sake, I can put aside resentment to beseech his aid.

“Perhaps his horror will have diminished now that I can petition myself to him rationally, and have a beautiful, charming mate to attest to my character. He is a scientist. He cannot be so prejudiced against me, whom he created, that he would not be moved by our tale.

“If he is not, regardless, I will not be so easily abandoned this time. He owes me a debt, as a father. He must help. He will help.”

A flicker of hope ignites inside you. If you have a destination—a benefactor—towards which you can run, then perhaps you won’t die like a lost lamb separated from the flock. You nod in understanding. Frankenstein may not willingly offer hospitality, but he will be convinced to give it one way or another—and if your daemon is willing to confront his past for your sake, then you must at least be willing to try.

“OK. I can pack all the supplies I’ll need to survive for a few weeks… warm clothing, blankets, food, what coin I have… and we’ll figure it out from there!”

Yes. This could work, this could really work!

Your spirits kick into high gear. “Hurry—we must hurry! How much time have we wasted talking? You are in the most danger if you are seen. I’ll pack a bag and meet you at my hiding spot behind the boulders in five minutes. Go!”

He kisses you quickly on the lips, and you both dash away to your respective tasks.

********

Your feet pound up the creaky wooden staircase to your bedroom. Your home is small and rustic, but built large enough by your ancestors (out of wood from the surrounding forest) that you were afforded your own private room. It was a bedroom meant to be shared by many siblings, but you were the only one to survive past childhood. Heat filtered up to it from the cast-iron stove through loose floorboards, though on the coldest nights you slept in the kitchen.

It is dark for midday. Even after you throw open the shutters, you need to light a tallow candle to locate your belongings, and start shoving them into your pack. The sky outside is overcast with gray, foreboding clouds.

You look around for the last time at all of your needle-pointing hanging from the walls, charcoal drawings of birds and flowers sketched longingly on a winter day, and pages and pages of writing hidden under the mattress, bearing far too much of your heart to be found. It was a room full of yearning to leave, but it was yours. And you were leaving.

You squish the mass of fabrics down to make room for hardtack, carrots, cheese, and a jug of water you intend to steal from the kitchen. Less space is freed up than you hoped. You pull out a blanket that would have only gotten soaked and moldy the first time it rained anyway.

Will this really be enough to survive? It will have to be, you tell yourself as you sling the straps over your shoulders. It’s time to go.

The sound of voices and hoof-beats drift in through the walls. A jolt shoots through your chest. They were too close. If you ran out the door now, they would almost certainly see you. Shit. You weren’t an especially fast runner, you’d never lose whoever it was in a fair race. You pray they’ll head straight down to the barn looking for the creature, who should already be safely waiting at your meeting place. Then, once they’ve passed, you can slip out quietly and disappear into the trees.

The door opens.

Your hope is crushed beneath the threshold.

Is this it? Are you going to die? Is a mob going to pull you, screaming, heels dragging, from your home and burn you as a witch? Your breath catches in your throat, and you try to swallow but find that you can’t. All you can think is, I don’t want to die.

By a strange miracle, your terror is short-lived. There are only a handful of voices, not an angry mob, and two of them are your parents. Maybe they hadn’t heard yet. Maybe your best friend didn’t stir up a riot to hunt you down and kill you. Maybe, somehow, it was going to be OK.

They call your name. “Are you here? Come downstairs, we have a matter of urgent importance to discuss. Immediately.”

Maybe not.

You finally swallow the lump in your throat, and, tucking the bag behind your bedroom door, slowly descend the creaky stairs.

Your mother and father both have their arms crossed, and a different, yet equally stern expression upon their faces. Your father looks as though he could skin you alive and but would be too annoyed by the effort. Your mother looks at you disapprovingly, but with an odd smile threatening to show in the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and mouth—as if she had just won a game you had forced her to play.

As you continue down the stairs, a third person comes into view. A young man with sandy blond hair. Ferdinand. Hairs raise on the back of your neck. What the hell is he doing here? The look on his face is almost the same as your mother’s, except his smile is unrestrained, vicious.

“Hello, darling! Wonderful news. We’re getting married!”

#frankenstein #Frankenstein's Monster #monster x reader #the creature x reader #monster x human #my writing #much shorter update I hope it doesn't feel rushed? I wrote it surprisingly quickly #everything starts happening really fast now

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jewpacabruhs · 4 years

Text

hi guys! so this post is gonna be a rambly mess but fuck it, here ya go. if u dont wanna read all of it, u dont have to; skip down to underneath the tl;dr in bold text for the important bits :)

(there’s a brief & non-graphic mention of a triggering topic in the next paragraph. please be sure to skip this next paragraph if the thought of suicide is going to upset you.)

alright. so i didn't share this originally, but i spent some time in a psychiatric unit this month. suicidality related. 1000% unrelated from anything online, i've just struggled with depression for a very long time & shit happens. i didn't intend to share that at all & i certainly don't want pity; i'm telling u guys bc my time in the unit was extremely eye-opening, and i have some insight to share. since i've gotten out, with the help of my newest anti-depressant (fourth time’s a charm lol), i'm seeing the world in a better light & i finally have the energy to and the interest in exploring what it has to offer, which frankly i've never had before.

with that has come the realization that i’ve come to do something very unhealthy, and i want to break out of it. and that’s how much i’ve come to rely on my fandom life. i don’t want to get too candid publicly, but mental illness took a lot from me, and i lost most of my life, my future, and my options in the last few years. next year will involve a lot of working on rebuilding things. but in the time that i let things fall to pieces around me & i absolutely couldn’t get out of bed, i had a phone and i had a laptop. so when i couldn’t get up and physically face the world, i built up a new world online.

and i don’t think that’s a completely uncommon experience. most people are able to better manage things, and evenly juggle real life with an internet life (like i did back in middle school), because most people can’t abandon their real lives entirely like i managed to; but i do think a lot of people nowadays rely on their fandom life and their fandom friends when their irl situation isn’t ideal. and that’s an excellent coping mechanism in theory, but i think it’s debilitating in the long run.

forgive me for sounding like an old person, but i’m a heavy nostalgist and a bit of an anarcho-primitivist in that i resent modern technology's influence on society - but that hasn't stopped me from letting it be a big part of my life out of accessibility. the internet kept me occupied during my low points, and i became dependent, but i've realized i don't wanna live like that anymore. i’m vaguely grateful that it usually kept me busy enough that i wasn’t thinking the bad thoughts as frequently, but more than anything, i’m resentful that my grasp on reality got lost somewhere along the way, and i let time get away from me, too. because, again, an internet life should be a fun hobby, but when it’s a lifestyle and it becomes an excuse to avoid dealing with our real lives, bc our real lives aren’t as rewarding or as exciting, then it’s unhealthy.

everything’s at our fingertips these days, but i deeply believe human interaction, fun, and fulfillment shouldn't be spoon-fed to us through a screen. it's easy access, sure, but at the end of the day, is it any way to live? compared with how much world there is to see, i’m no longer satisfied with the thought of sitting behind a screen for another five years. i used to be, when i had no hope and no drive, but not anymore. i’m not gonna let myself settle for staying busy with the thing that takes the least amount of work & movement. not only because i’m a whole ass adult who needs to start sorting my shit out for the long run, but also because i deserve better.

and it’s fucking hard! especially for those of us who are neurodivergent. i dropped out of school three fucking times due to crippling social anxiety and utter lack of ambition and energy. i lost all my friends through that (making friends post-school is hard af); the thought of having to go out and remake friends makes me wanna fucking cry. i have a hard enough time making friends online, i’ve even come to struggle with correspondence thru text & email. phone calls? outta the question. but that’s therapy shit, and i know i’ll get there. i just have to stop putting life off by staying in a comfort zone.

and it’s interesting; depression and anxiety really took everything from me, and while i was dwelling in my own misery, my adhd worsened and decided to make my entire brain revolve around my fixations, so i didn’t have to deal with my own life. can’t think about how much you wanna die and how much you can’t function in society if you’re busy thinking about a ship you like or a character you find interesting. so i latched onto the safety of that. aggressively. problem with that is that once you let your “happiness” (as much of it as you can feel in the midst of your depressive episode, anyway) revolve around an interest, that’s all you have. so you become dependent and reliant, and that’s never good, especially if you’re someone like me who feels pathetic & ridiculous when you realize it’s all you can bring yourself to care about.

and i think that’s what i realized in the psych ward (where there’s legitimately nothing to do; i did soooo much more thinking than usual, and i already think too much haha); mental illness will try to fuck up your lifestyle, so you have to eradicate the things that’ll let that happen in the first place. for example, like i said, my adhd tries to counteract my depression by making me hyperfixate and/or hyperfocus on something else to protect me from bad personal thoughts, and that’s good in theory (doing something you enjoy when you feel bad, to distract urself, is the number one most basic coping skill you learn), but i can’t do it in moderation, i let it run my life, and that’s made me worse in the long run. so i have to force myself out of that completely and not let myself fixate on things that make me happy in the short term, but don’t ultimately further me as a person. having fixations helped me through some awful times, but now i need to force myself to grow up, you know?

and while tumblr and other social media is an excellent way to indulge those fixations, it’s an aggressive enabler, in more ways than one. what i mean by that... okay, so while i’m the type of person who self-destructs while unhealthy, i do occasionally lash out. and i know some people completely explode rather than implode when they’re not doing well. and that’s how you get discourse, i think. because when mental illness makes us care much more about our interests than we ought to, and someone has a differing opinion about that interest, the instinct is of course to attack, if you’re that kind of person. i don’t think i am, but depression and boredom go hand in hand, and i might be inclined to care more about discourse than i would if i were healthy, purely because it’s entertaining and something to do.

that’s a long winded way of saying, while i stand wholeheartedly by my past positions, i do regret starting shit in the first place. i’m not the kind of person who genuinely cares about much and i have little to no sense of morality (im a chaotic neutral bastard), so the fact i was bored enough to start shit really goes against my character and says a lot about how bad i’ve been. so i apologize for all that. but, again, i think that's just what happens when something is truly your everything. and i think the chronic negativity of modern fandom is a result of how damn seriously we all take it, because we care so much and we’re so dependent. fandom’s supposed to be fun, but it’s just too damn stressful this way.

idk my point in sharing all this, but i do think it'd be cool if this kinda got yall thinking. even if you don't engage in discourse, if fandom is just one of your only consistent sources of happiness, that's not healthy either. we all gotta break out & exist more & louder & more positively. and unfortunately i think tumblr fandom (and maybe all modern fandom) is no longer a place that encourages positivity and health.

but for all my criticism, i do just wanna say how eternally grateful i am that i was fortunate enough to meet the people i call my best friends through tumblr. they're my family, truly, and all the bullshit in this fandom has been worth it simply because it brought them to me. i love them to death and i always will, even if interests change, even if we grow apart, even if we quit speaking entirely in the next few years, i love them with my whole heart in a way that transcends a simple fandom friendship and i'm so glad we bonded over sp in the first place. that’ll never change.

i will also always love south park itself. now that the cat's outta the bag about my hospital visit, i can brag about my most pathetic and obsessive accomplishment; the fact that i've never let circumstance stop me from watching a new south park as it airs, and i've now watched sp on 1) an airplane, and 2) in a psych ward. i win for most dedicated fan tbfh. dsjkf & i'll keep that tradition, and i'll still watch this stupid show til it ends! it'll always hold a special place in my heart, & kyman's still my most meaningful & long-term ship. i'll never stop loving it.

tl;dr

so, to recap; for 2020 i'm making myself step back from fandom (not just sp fandom, but fandom in general) and quit letting my world revolve around my fixations so i can enjoy the outside world a little more, mental illness be damned, and the first step is gonna be quitting tumblr. this blog won't be deleted and i may occasionally post (maybe when next season airs) but you're absolutely free to unfollow bc this'll be a mostly inactive blog. i’m also unfollowing everyone, so mutuals, please don’t take that personally.

i will, however, try to write more prolifically, bc fic writing is something i'm able to do in moderation & enjoy, and i hope to get back into it. so if you'd like, you can keep an eye out for any upcoming fanfic i may post - my ao3 is leere. i also have snapchat, instagram, & twitter my mutuals can ask for asap (bc ill be logging out for good by the afternoon of the 31st, which is tomorrow) - though i'm not very active on any of them. still, if you wanna have access to me, i’ll be there.

i want some connection to the fandom still, albeit without letting my life revolve around it, so i'll be starting a new open-to-the-public kyman discord server! the post with the invite for that will go up soon. nvm im too anxious

thank you for reading, thank you for the good times (thnks fr th mmrs), and i hope everyone has a good 2020!

#txt #mine

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unluckyadept · 4 years

Text

…You Can’t Deny All That You’ve Done Wrong

[As soon as Piers had left, Felix collapsed from the weight of his guilt and crushing emotional torment, overcome by conflicted feelings.

He had dreamed—truly dreamed—something VERY similar the night before; it had given him a deep sense of relief and unexpectedly peaceful sleep.

He had been left confused, at first, and then disappointed, when he woke from the dream and went to see if it had actually happened—only to see that his calligraphy scrolls had been left untouched, meaning it had been only a dream after all.

To be given such peace and have it proved to be only his own wishful thinking had filled him with a heavy heart, resigning to a sense of sorrow; he had been certain then and there that he would not hear anything for days, at best, and he was quickly losing hope he would be offered a chance of reconciliation.

So when the man himself came merely minutes later—when he had already become distracted with the duties of drawing up business documents related to his property in Prox—he had been more than a little surprised that it was unfolding so very like what little he could remember of the dream.

It was much sooner than he had expected, and certainly more positive and forgiving than he deserved.]

[The tormented Adept put his face in his hands, overcome with guilt so heavy that he could physically feel weight on his chest making it more strenuous to breathe.]

“Why are you still at a loss?”

[Echo’s presence—let alone his response—was entirely unbidden, but Felix did not react to it in alarm; for the Djinn was, at times, truly like an echo of himself, or of some aspect of wisdom and understanding.]

“You WERE told that he was probably going to be receptive to a clear apology, given he cared enough to ask how you were doing in the first place. So why is this such a big surprise to you??”

[Felix forced himself to draw up to his feet, speaking in a deep, harsh tone that was extremely forced.]

“I can’t see how—”

[Echo hopped twice at this, completely drowning out the end of that sentence as he talked over the Adept.]

“Well obviously you have a problem with that! Why do you have such a hard time believing anyone would forgive you, period?!”

[Felix pressed his mouth into a thin line at this, cold and dark.

But it only held for a moment before he forced the tension to drop—and it did not take much effort to push from bracing himself in some semblance of composure into a drop to sheer exhaustion. It was so much, in fact, that he sat down.]

“I can’t… can’t remember a single time previously where anyone truly forgave me… and ever since I was forced into exile, I have gone to great lengths to not be in a position where it would be necessary.”

[Echo was quiet for a moment, before speaking with a tone that suggested a bit of VERY gentle correction.]

“…Your memory isn’t very good. I know for a fact this is not the first time you’ve had a breakdown between then and now. Not even the first time within the span of the last year.”

[Felix scowled at that.]

“Fine; I can’t remember it getting nearly that INTENSE, alright?”

[There was a brief pause before he spoke up again, voicing an afterthought.]

“…The thought that I could be forgetting something as bad as THIS is absolutely pathetic and utterly miserable.”

[Echo hopped again, somewhat exasperated.]

“You’re missing the point!!”

[Felix gave something of a sullen expression, but then just turned and looked away.]

“I hadn’t expected it.”

[There is another pause before he continues, though he sounds increasingly tired as he does so.]

“…It’s not that simple, Echo; breaking trust just can’t be repaired that easily. People can choose to react with mercy, but… it does not make the pain go away…”

[He fells silent, becoming lost in his own thoughts and memories.]

“…I understand what it means to be hurt by someone you cared about, someone you trusted.”

“It happened to me before—and I had forgiven them… only for them to betray me again when I needed them the most.”

“I can only imagine the pain that it has been for me for all these years; I can’t IMAGINE anything ELSE, Echo! The pain is the only thing I know!”

[He pulled a hand down his face, holding it over his mouth, his eyes reflecting a burning guilt.]

“So—I could only imagine, once I was mentally sober enough to realize that DESPITE my efforts, I had gone WAY overboard…”

[…He could only imagine Piers must have felt the same way.]

“I can’t… I can’t let this happen again…”

“Oh please, Felix. Be real, here.”

[Felix shot him a dark look, but the Djinn was unfazed by it.]

“You’re only human. Demanding the impossible of yourself will only make you miserable—as you should well know by now, given you already do that!”

“I don’t WANT it to happen again, okay!? I need to be responsible enough to do EVERYTHING I can to prevent this from happening again!”

“Yeah, working in a healthy manner on your communication skills would be the responsible thing to do, but you aren’t in any state to work on that right now. You aren’t going to get very far with getting better since you haven’t really accepted his forgiveness.”

[At first, Felix was very confused—but as it struck him, he was very sad. He looked away.

It was true that he hadn’t rejected it, but he hadn’t quite accepted it yet, either; he still was thinking and acting as if it hadn’t happened the way it did—because he didn’t deserve it.

Echo settled on his shoulder, responding to the unspoken revelation.]

“Maybe. But Piers obviously doesn’t think so.”

[Felix put his face in his hands, blinded by anguished confusion and the deafening memories of the past.

It had been ages, but he JUST couldn’t forget the WORST part of his life.

He knew it wasn’t reasonable, and it wasn’t healthy, but—]

“I STILL MISS THEM!”

[He had started, and he couldn’t stop—]

“I wish it had never happened!”

[He wasn’t really talking to anyone in particular anymore.]

“I still wonder what they’re up to, from time to time—! I used to be TERRIFIED that they would hunt me down, or be the source to take away EVERYTHING good that has been given to me since; I was haunted day and night with how poorly they thought of me, how that would be the only thing they would remember, the only thing they would EVER talk to anyone else about—! It took me years, YEARS, and for the LONGEST time, Piers was the ONLY person who showed me ANY sort of kindness after that had happened!”

[Those dark days were behind him, and he was no longer consumed by that shadow the way he once was. But still, to the present day, even now—every so often he felt burdened by a sense of loss.]

“I wish… I wish that I could… could share the joys of my life with my former friends as well. I… I wonder, in unguarded thought, what they might—what they might say, what joys they experience in their lives.”

“I wish… I just wish we could… could enjoy each other’s company again…!”

[…All the while knowing that no matter how much time had passed, no matter how distant it seemed to be, how tempting it was to believe that they would not break his trust yet again and betray him yet again…]

“Had… had to resist the urge to look back. And… at this point? Even if it were possible, and not just wishful thinking… it’s far too late. We’ve drifted apart—and I, at least, have grown apart—and I doubt… when I am honest with myself, I doubt they would be interested. They’ve moved on without me, and they’re… probably happier for it, glad to be rid of me, no longer having to put up with me. And I can’t stay in Angara anyway; the persecution is far too much. I would have to live my days constantly groveling in submission—directly or indirectly—for ‘what’ I am.”

[He SLAMMED his fist against the wall, sending a shockwave of Venus energy through it.]

“Since no one there cares about /WHO/ I AM!!!”

[He sinks down to the floor again, trembling from the strain of failed efforts to keep himself together—although he was trying his very hardest to regain composure, he’s so deeply unhappy to the very core of his being.

He barely survived the loss the first time; everything fell to pieces, and he would have to live with the pain of the betrayal and abandonment his entire life. He couldn’t go back—they didn’t want him, and they didn’t care. He would have thought that by now, the pain would go away—but he was starting to suspect that even as the span between the stabs of curiosity would grow and grow, it would never truly go away.

Because he didn’t really hate them; for better or for worse, he still cared about them, and he missed them terribly. He could still remember when they would laugh together—it was so happy, so familiar, so close that it was hard to reconcile with how badly it had ended.

It was already hard enough to carry the weight of loss for a case where he had been betrayed multiple times.]

[Carrying the weight of loss for a case where someone who actually DID care and had saved his life—]

“Can’t…”

[He just couldn’t take it.

He broke again into exhaustion, too worn out for a descent into despair.]

“Just… can’t…”

[It just didn’t seem to him that he should be so eager to go back to the way things were, as if it never happened—because it did happen, and he didn’t want to reject the responsibility of his actions, forcing (or allowing) Piers to shoulder the weight of his explosive despair.

That was what had happened with Isaac—he had, despite being haunted by how Isaac had turned on him at Venus Lighthouse, forgiven the man, and even grown to trust him again, and Isaac had seemed so genuinely apologetic, even though he clearly didn’t understand exactly how much he had hurt the unlucky Adept. And that made it even worse, in the end—and he wouldn’t readily wish that kind of suffering on anyone else. To be responsible for it, himself—he couldn’t allow that to happen.]

[But at the same time, Piers had shown him mercy… and to choose actively to dwell on the pain of guilt was not only self-centered, but also a stubborn refusal to reconcile—and to that end, an act of cowardice. Cowardice, because it WAS easier to be silent, to retreat into himself… because that was what had been so harshly beaten into his psyche—that it was unacceptable to show pain, as people either didn’t care, told him that it was his own fault and he deserved it, or else were hurt and afraid.

And yet he knew it wasn’t true, that silence wasn’t the answer. Again and again, that is what those who cared about him now had told him, and over the years had convinced him enough to be vulnerable around them—he had to trust.

He had to trust.

He had to…

And he knew, in believing so, that he did—as the blinding pain became dying embers, he knew…

He accepted his friend’s forgiveness, and was grateful for the chance at reconciliation.

But first?

First… before he could really face Piers again…]

youtube

[…he somehow had to forgive himself.]

#cje #still relevant #unluckyadept #Golden Sun: The Lost Age

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katedoesfics · 4 years

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Shadows of the Yiga | Chapter 2

Link and Aryll didn’t speak for the rest of the night. Aryll didn’t come out of her room for a moment, and Link didn’t bother try to talk to her further. Instead, he fell against the couch where he stayed for the entire night, staring blankly at the tv in an attempt to lose himself in whatever was on. He passed out shortly after finishing off a twelve-pack by himself, and only woke up when he heard what he thought to be a door slamming. It startled him, and he nearly fell off the couch. After a quick check through the house, he determined that Aryll was not there. Whether she had actually gone to school was a different story entirely. He supposed he should have attempted to text her, but instead, he trudged into the bathroom to shower off the stench of alcohol.

Despite the amount of alcohol he consumed, his hangover was relatively manageable, though his mood still sour. It made concentrating on his work difficult as his mind wandered to Aryll. He knew he couldn’t necessarily blame her for the way she had been acting. It didn’t take a genius to see her struggles, to know she was depressed. Who could blame her? Her parents were dead. Her brother - and only living family member left - wasn’t around, and when he was, he was moody, drunk, and just downright intolerable. He knew he was partly to blame for her downward spiral. He could barely keep a handle on his own life, so of course it would seem that Aryll was just another problem he needed to deal with.

The truth was, however, Aryll was all that was keeping him together. In a life where it seemed that everyone left him, she was the one who remained. She was the only constant in his life. And dammit, he wanted her to have the best life she could. It may not have looked it to her, but he was trying. Didn’t that count for something? Perhaps it was selfish of him, but he just wanted her to be able to see that.

He was so lost in thought that he hadn’t even heard Sera approach his desk. He jumped at her greeting, and Sera grinned down at him. She sat against his desk, her arms crossed. “How did your field trip go yesterday?”

Link didn't look up. He continued to scribble numbers across the paper on his desk, occasionally tapping on a nearby calculator with the end of his pen. He never would have imagined himself actually having a job that would require math. But at the same time, he wasn't exactly finding the angle of a triangle, either. And, fortunately for him, the calculator was a wonderful tool high school conveniently tried to hide from him. “Great,” he said dryly. “I even got to bring home a souvenir.”

Sera smirked. “Oh yeah? Anything cool?”

“So cool,” he muttered. “A nice fancy note saying Aryll's gonna get suspended if she doesn't get her shit together.”

Sera frowned. “Yikes. What the hell did she do this time?”

Link sighed and dropped his pen. He leaned back in his chair and let it roll backwards. “Gave some tool bag kid a black eye.”

“Nice,” Sera said with a grin. “Tough girl. I'm sure he deserved it.”

Link shrugged. “I tried to tell her violence isn't the answer.”

Sera laughed loudly. “Isn't that ironic?” She stood then, saying “Oh” as if she remembered why she had come to Link in the first place. “We've got a new guy who is just dying to meet you.” She gave him a wink before calling over her shoulder. “Wally, get over here.”

Within a moment, a kid probably only a couple years younger than Link appeared from around the corner. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with one finger as he regarded Sera. “I told you not to call me that.”

Sera shrugged. “Isn't it your name?”

“No,” he huffed. He turned his gaze to Link, then grinned. “My name's Walt.”

“K,” Link said simply.

“I'm a huge fan,” Walt said excitedly.

“Fan?”

“Well, yeah, obviously.”

Link's brows knit together. “Why?”

Walt blinked at Link for a moment. “Uh, because you're a total super hero?” He turned his gaze to Sera.

Sera grinned at Walt. “Never meet your heroes, kid.”

Link turned back to the papers on his desk, ignoring them.

“What's a guy like you doing in a place like this, anyway?” Walt said.

Link let his chin rest in his palm as he stared at his computer screen. “Hero work doesn't pay the bills.”

Walt nodded as if he understood such a predicament. “For the record, it totally should.”

“No shit,” Link muttered. “It's not enough that I almost died for this damn country.”

“Can I get your autograph?”

Link looked up at Walt, then to Sera, clearly annoyed. “Is he for real?”

Sera shrugged. “I told you he was a fan. I bet he stalked you here.”

“No, I swear!” Walt said defensively. “I mean, I knew you lived somewhere in the city. I just moved here a few weeks back. But I swear, I didn't stalk you.” His shoulders dropped slightly in an attempt to seem more relaxed. “It's cool, man. I'm cool.”

Link's brows raised and he turned his gaze back to his computer. “Yeah,” he said. “Cool.”

“Cool,” Walt said, waving his hand at Link, as if to dismiss his earlier uncool behavior. “You can get to that autograph whenever. No rush.”

Sera shoved Walt's shoulders, pushing him around the corner. “Bye, Walt!” She smiled after him as he hurried back to his desk, then turned to Link. “You have such a way with your fans.”

Link scoffed, keeping his eyes on the screen.

“So, you down for that drink this time? Sounds like you could use one.”

“Story of my life,” he muttered. He stretched his legs out under his desk and nodded. “Yeah. Alcohol. Definitely.”

*****

Sera was waiting for him outside of the building. It was just after five when he trotted down the steps and walked briskly passed her. She grinned as he walked by, then moved to catch up to him, adjusting her bag on her shoulder.

“In a hurry?”

“Yes,” Link said simply. “Every minute I’m not drinking is another minute I’m not drinking.”

Sera laughed. “Well, sure, that’s one way to put it.”

“I think it’s the only way to put it,” Link said.

Sera frowned slightly and glanced at him. Though he seemed relatively content, she knew he masked his problems well. She pulled her gaze away and sighed lightly. “That new guy is weird, right?”

Link’s gaze moved to her, well aware that she was quietly judging him. “Sure,” he said. He turned his gaze away and shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. “What a nerd.” Truth be told, something about him did make Link uncomfortable, but he didn’t dwell on it.

“If he’s a nerd for being your biggest fan, what does that make you?” Sera teased, elbowing him.

“A sucker.”

“Gee, you’re extra pleasant today,” she said.

Link sighed. “I’m tired.”

“Maybe you should skip the beer tonight,” Sera offered with a shrug.

Link shook his head. “Nope. Definitely need the beer.”

“Don’t you think you should get home and babysit Aryll?”

Link scoffed. “She’s avoiding me.”

Sera frowned. “Now what did you do?”

“Why is it always my fault?”

“It’s not,” Sera said. “But I also know that you like to feed the fire.” She shrugged. “You lectured, she argued, you fought back, and now she won’t say boo.”

“There you have it,” he muttered.

“You know -” Sera started.

“Yeah, I do know,” Link snapped at her. “I know. And that’s why I drink.”

Sera sighed. They stopped in front of the bar, and Sera held the door open for him. “Ladies first.”

“What does that make you?” Link said with a grin as he walked through.

The bar was dimly lit, just how Kit liked it. “I’d rather not see the faces of the pathetic sacks that come in here,” he used to say to Link. “I’m actually very uncomfortable seeing yours so much. It’s like we’re friends now or something.”

Link had frequented Kit’s bar over the last five years. Sometimes with Sera. Other times, even with Zelda. But mostly, he was alone. But Kit was always there, and his presence was something Link had grown oddly accustomed to, even fond of, even though they sometimes went a whole night without even speaking. If the situation had been any different, it was likely Link never would have associated with Kit, never mind called him a friend. But now, it seemed Kit was the only friend he had left. It definitely helped that he provided Link with all the alcohol he wanted.

Kit was behind the bar when they entered. He didn’t look up at first, but Link and Sera took their usual seat. Kit seemed occupied tending to a larger group of men on the other side of the bar, but he found a chance to wordlessly slide over their usual orders, throwing his middle finger up at Link over his shoulder as he moved away.

Sera made a sound of disgust. “Lonely, single girl’s night checkin’ you out.”

Link craned his neck to look around Sera in the direction of her gaze. There were five woman in a booth still dressed in their business skirts giggling and glancing in their direction. Link shrugged and disregarded them.

Sera, however, kept her gaze on them, studying them. Her head tilted to the side slightly. “I’d do the one in the middle.” She nodded to herself. “You can have one of the others.”

Link snorted. “No thanks.”

Sera shrugged. “Suit yourself,” she said. “More for me.”

“Good luck with that.”

“I get laid more than you do,” Sera said.

Link considered this for a moment, then nodded regretfully.

The group Kit was tending to made their way out of the bar, and the bartender mosied his way over to them, bringing with him two more drinks. He frowned when he saw they hadn’t finished their first.

“You’re slowing down,” he said, pushing the bottles over to them. “Come on, let’s go. I gotta make my money off of you.”

“I think you should send one of those girls a drink from us,” Sera said. “All of ‘em. I wanna get lucky.”

Kit grinned. “If you get him drunk enough,” Kit said, gesturing with his chin toward Link, “he’ll go home with the cactus in the bathroom.”

“Why is there a cactus in the bathroom?” Sera inquired.

“That’s a good question,” Kit said. “I blacked out that night. But I’m convinced Link has something to do with it. He waters it every now and then.”

“I guess you must really save on plumbing,” Sera said.

“Kit shoves it up his ass,” Link said.

Kit’s face twisted in disgust. “I know I’m a lonely guy, but I’m not that lonely.”

“Debatable,” Link said.

“Well, we don’t all have the good looks and charm of a hero,” Kit said.

“Where are these good looks and charm that you speak of?” Sera asked.

Kit shook his head. “It only comes out when he’s drunk and horny. I don’t know how he does it, but he takes a chick home every week.”

“Do not,” Link sneered.

“Oh, right,” Kit said. “You fuck ‘em and run back here to drink some more.”

Sera frowned. “That’s classy, man,” she said disapprovingly.

Link rolled his eyes. “He’s exaggerating. Why do you listen to him?”

Sera turned her gaze to Kit who shook his head.

“Anyway,” Sera said as she finished off her beer. “I'm glad you decided to come out drinking with me tonight.”

“Why?” Kit absentmindedly dried off a glass behind the counter. “He's not good company.”

Sera grinned at the bartender and tapped against the counter. “Hit me.”

Kit rolled his eyes. He set the glass down, draped the rag over his shoulder, and moved to the other end to grab her another bottle.

“In a glass with an orange slice!” Sera called to him, leaning over the counter. “Do it right, Bartender!”

Kit flashed her his middle finger over his shoulder. When he returned, he slid the bottle across the counter at her, an orange slice jammed into the opening.

Sera grinned up at Kit, then worked to remove the orange slice. “Why don’t you get together with Mipha next time she comes home?”

“Is she still doing that doctor thing?” Kit grinned. “I'd let her do surgery on me.”

“Can it,” Sera hissed. “What kinda sick shit you into?”

Kit shrugged. “She's hot. I'll be into whatever she wants.” He leaned toward Link. “Give me her number already.”

Link finished his beer and shoved it into Kit's chest. “Piss off.”

Kit grinned, happy to be getting under his skin. He tossed the bottle, then retrieved another and slid it across to Link. “That one's on me, you cheap bastard.”

“Giving away products?” Sera said. “How do you possibly stay in business?”

“You should see this guy’s tab,” Kit said. He turned to Link and grinned. “Your alcoholism supports my small business. Thank you, Sir.”

“Glad I can be of service,” Link said, not amused.

Sera frowned, but did not add in her usual two cents as the two men continued to chat.

“Where have you been, anyway?” Kit continued. “It's been a couple weeks since you've been in here.”

“Been busy,” Link said with a shrug. “And its cheaper to drink at home.”

“Touche.” Kit pulled the rag off his shoulder and wiped aimlessly at the counter, removing a wet ring from Sera's bottle.

Sera finished her drink, then dropped her payment on the counter. “Don't let him get too drunk, Kit.”

“You're such a buzzkill,” Kit said to her. He slid her money across the bar and counted it. “Where's my tip?”

Sera rolled her eyes and fished through her pockets. She dropped some change into his palm. “You didn't give me my ora-”

“You got your orange!” Kit hissed at her. His fingers closed over her money and he slid his hand into his pocket. He smiled at Sera. “I'll take care of ya boy.”

Sera patted Link's head. “That's my work husband. You better. See you boys later.”

Kit watched as she moved across the bar, pausing to chat with the women in the booth. They laughed and flirted, and a note was passed between them. Sera waved over her shoulder to them before leaving.

“Does that come with benefits?” Kit said with a grin to Link.

“No,” Link said simply. “She’s like, forty.”

“I'd hit that,” Kit said. He leaned with his back against the bar, just to the side of Link. He watched the game play out on the tv above his head.

“You'd hit anything that moved.”

“It's a lonely life, being a bartender,” Kit said. “All day long, I listen to people talk about their lives, but no one ever wants to hear about mine.”

Link rolled his eyes. “How's life, Kit?”

Kit turned around enthusiastically. “Well, Link, that's right kind of ya to ask.” He paused for a moment, looking up thoughtfully. “Shit. My life sucks,” he said with sudden realization. “All I do is work. And I don't even make enough money to pay someone to have sex with me.” He frowned and leaned back against the bar.

“Poor Kit,” Link said. “Can't get anyone to touch his dick.”

“I could,” he hissed. “I just... don't have time to play the dating game.” He regarded Link over his shoulder. “If you know any single gals...”

Link shook his head. “They're all out of your league.”

“I could get them. What about Urbosa?”

“Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

Kit craned his neck to do just that, regarding his appearance in the mirror on the wall. He ran his fingers through his scraggly hair and blew the stray strands out of his eyes. His hair was an odd shade of brown, almost appearing grey and dirty. His skin was pale. “So I look like a vampire. I thought chicks were into that sorta thing.”

“When was the last time you even saw the light of day, man?”

“That is definitely not in the bartender's job description. Day drinkers are my forte. They keep me in business.”

“You open at ten.”

“And you won't believe the line I've got at the door. It used to be eleven.” Kit sighed. “Ten a.m. to two a.m., every day. Doesn't give me much time for a life. Unless, you know, I pick up a hooker on the way home.”

“Classy,” Link muttered.

“Hashtag single forever,” Kit said with a sigh. “That's what people say, right?”

“No.”

“You're a good friend, Link,” he said with a grin.

“Anything for you, Kit.”

“The next one's not free, though.”

“Hit me.”

Kit pushed himself off the counter, moving across to grab Link another drink. He set it on the bar, trading for the empty bottle which he tossed into the bin. “Saves me some dishes, at least.” He turned back to Link. “Sera would have me cut you off after that.”

“Sera's not here.”

Kit nodded thoughtfully. “What about Aryll?”

“What about her?”

“You just gonna leave her alone all night?”

“She's sixteen. She's capable of taking care of herself.”

“You'd make a great father someday.”

“I hope not.”

Kit smiled, but it was a sad sort of smile. Link met his gaze, then rolled his eyes.

“Stop it,” he hissed.

“I didn't say anything,” Kit said, raising his hands.

“You're giving me that look.”

“What look?”

“That therapist look. It's condescending.”

“Well, you're just such a sad, pathetic sack.”

“At least I get laid.”

Kit snorted. “When was the last time that happened?” He left Link to mutter to himself, moving to the other end of the bar to tend to another patron. After a few minutes, Kit returned, his palms against the counter. He leaned against his arms slightly.

“We're friends, right?”

“I wish we weren't,” Link muttered.

“And as a friend,” Kit continued, ignoring him. “It is my duty to talk some sense into you.”

“You're not my friend until after two,” Link said. “For now, you're the bartender.”

Kit sighed. He waited for Link to finish his beer, then took the empty bottle from him. When he returned, he only had a glass of water, which he slid across to Link.

Link scrunched his nose at the glass. “The fuck is this?”

“I can't in good conscious continue to support your alcoholism.”

“I'm not an alcoholic,” Link growled.

“Link, I met you five years ago when your stupid ass stumbled into this very bar with your stupid ass friends not an hour after your father's funeral and you haven't left since.”

“I only come for your entertainment,” Link said.

“And I only let you come to extort you. I've made quite a name for myself here, you know. This is the bar the great Hero of Hyrule drinks his life away at. It's practically a tourist spot.”

“Some damn kid at work asked for my autograph.”

Kit snorted. “Why the hell would anyone want your damn autograph?”

“He looks up to me.”

“You know who I look up to? Movie stars. Those guys get all the tail they want. You? You come with nothing but problems. PTSD, alcoholism, depression. Who wants that guy's autograph?”

“He sounds like a train wreck,” Link muttered.

“I'm hoping it will be explosive.”

“Hmph.”

“Nah,” Kit said. “In all seriousness. I'm sick of seeing your ugly mug in my bar. Go drink cheap beer at home. At least be with Aryll. Get some damn help or something.”

“I don't need help,” Link grunted.

“Denial.” Kit frowned. “No one expects you to have it all together.”

“Aryll does.”

“Aryll would understand.”

Link's brows furrowed. He looked up at Kit. “How could she? She has no one left. I'm all she's got.”

“Then isn't that worth, I dunno, sticking around?”

“I'm not going anywhere,” Link muttered.

“Maybe,” Kit said. “But as a bartender, I'm kind of a self proclaimed expert in alcoholism and depression.”

“I'm not depressed,” Link hissed.

Kit raised his hands in the air defensively. “Whatever you say, tough guy.” He left Link alone to mutter into his drink, tending to more patrons.

#soty #2 #soty2 #chapter 2 #shadows of the yiga #fic #fanfic #loz #botw #legend of zelda #breath of the wild

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journeysintowebcomics · 7 years

Text

Worm Liveblog #16

UPDATE 16: The Zeroes and the Non-Heroes

Ahahaha, what a lame title I made. Oh well.

Last time it had been the time to deliver the money to the boss, but it turns out two villains stole it and are now making a show out of a fight with the Undersiders. It’s likely to involve bombs. Let’s start that!

It’s strange to read there aren’t good bugs around here. I’d have imagined that bugs had a way to permeate pretty much any place in the city, but all there’s in the storage are cockroaches, spiders and moths – and I suppose there aren’t that many. Skitter is already at disadvantage. Hopefully that won’t be a problem. There isn’t much time to consider what to do because Uber charges in, with the power of raw talent!

I didn’t get a chance to dwell on it, because Über charged us. I hurried to get out of his way. Über’s power made him talented. It didn’t matter if it was playing the harmonica, parkour stunts or Muay Thai, he could pull it off like he’d been working on it for hours a day for most of his life. If he really focused on it, the way I understood it, he could be top notch.

Huh, that’s actually a pretty cool power! As I interpret it, it’s pretty much a parallel to Tattletale’s, just that instead of intel, Uber goes for practical application. Just that is enough to be decently impressive.

Grue is not afraid of some guy with a leotard and an antenna on his head, talent or not, he confronts him straight ahead with darkness. Uber does fall to the floor, but then he channels the power of fitness and stands up in one move. Huh. May I suggest incapacitating him, then? The less he’s able to move, the better.

Skitter manages to find a nest of wasps one minute away. That’s a problem! In one minute this fight could tip onto the foes’ side. I used to have a friend who played in this online forum game called Mercenaries, and he often told me that every time a skill made one of his fighters be a minute late or so to the battle costed him the victory many times. The Undersiders better be able to hold the fort for one minute, then!

Leet stepped in as Über circled around us. Reaching behind his back, Leet retrieved what looked like an old school bomb; Round black iron casing with a lit fuse sticking out of it. The way the light bounced off it made it look wrong, though. Like it was a picture of a bomb instead of a real one.

Did he make it out of pixels? That’s...far less impressive for me than Uber’s power. How did these two get together as a team, anyway?

The bomb is thrown and the Undersiders manage to run away from it with ease – well, not without Regent making Uber trip again and eat asphalt near the bomb, which makes him fly away. These two villains are outright pathetic, sheesh. It is such a bad challenge that Tattetale has the liberty to stand around and start dishing them a speech.

“I keep wondering when you guys are going to give up,” Tattletale grinned, “I mean, you fail more often than you succeed, you make more cash from your web show than you do from actual crimes, you’ve been arrested no less than three times. You’re probably going to wind up at the Birdcage the next time you flub it, aren’t you?”

Oh god. I can’t believe it. After the bank robbery, after fighting a whole team of Wards and two recognized heroes, the next fight is against two denizens of the YouTube comedy category. The difficulty curve took a sharp dive, didn’t it? Heck, Tattetale even says that the reason why people watch this is because they’re so lame it’s funny – and I can see what she means! Also, apparently the reason why they have a videogame motif is because their objective is “Spreading the word about the noble and underrated art form that is video games.“ Underrated? I don’t know, I think in this time and age videogames are anything but underrated.

The worst part here is that these two have enough potential they could be more or less respected, in my opinion. The possibility of being good at everything and someone who can invent anything, even if it’s just once. It could be a real challenge, yet here they are. Their actions so far include falling to the floor and rolling a weak bomb – bomb that Leet can’t make again, from the sounds of this, unless he invented a machine that dispenses these bombs.

Tattetale and Regent are doing an excellent job antagonizing them, Leet is getting riled up. He’s even more ashamed when Grue simply blasts him in the face with a cloud of darkness mid-speech. They have a lot of guts broadcasting their shenanigans to the Internet if this is how their escapades tend to be.

The reason why Uber is sticking with Leet is because they’re friends. There it is, the redeemable trait.

Pissing off Leet with constant taunts make him want to fight even harder, getting more bombs and throwing them, catching Skitter off-guard enough to blast her away.

The air and the fire that rolled over me wasn’t hot. That was the most surprising thing. That wasn’t to say it didn’t hurt, but it felt more like getting punched by a really big hand than what I would have thought an explosion would feel like. I could remember Lung’s blasts of fire, Kid Win shattering the wall with his cannon. This felt… false.

...so this is pretty much a make-believe fight. Perhaps it isn’t meant to be a real fight. Perhaps it’s a distraction, keeping the Undersiders busy for a while. I don’t like this convenient timing. The money may not even be nearby anymore. I don’t think it’s impossible that this is all organized by a certain benefactor who’s getting away with scamming the Undersiders. I mean, this is pretty much a good excuse to not give them payment. The problem here is Tattletale, as usual, I’d expect she’d get an inkling of what’s going on once she has the time to think about it all. Maybe I just have overblown expectations of her power.

It’s a good thing these aren’t real bombs! Regent made Leet trip and fall near two of his bombs, which exploded and catapulted him away. That’d have been a very embarrassing way to die. Regent is pretty much kicking these two’s collective behind. I really underestimated how good his power could be during a fight.

I was about to wonder if Uber had just sat around and watch Leet get pummeled, but then I reread and found out Grue pulled him into darkness. I suppose Uber is done for.

Skitter’s bugs arrive and are a minor nuisance, while Regent continues making Leet trip, Skitter just approaches behind Leet and starts choking him with the baton. Thaaaat pretty much seals his own fate too. This whole fight lasted...what, one minute and half? And it was a humiliation show for Uber and Leet. So that’s why people like to watch their show! Nothing like public humiliation to gather the masses.

The viewers have a first-row seat to watch the Undersiders tie up these two minor villains, now it’s matter of waiting them to wake up to find out where Heckpuppy is. I shook my head, “No. These guys have henchmen, don’t they? They’ve probably got them watching over the money. We’d likely find Bitch in the same place.” Do they? I’m no internet streaming professional, but I really don’t think that’d give them enough money to be able to pay for henchmen. Maybe Leet made a few solid holographic Koopas to carry the money away. Shouldn’t be hard to track down a few bipedal turtles lugging around a bag of money.

Right after Skitter says that, a third person comes by, wearing the same Bomberman costume these two were wearing. It’s a woman with a gas mask. The special guest they were about to introduce?

“Bakuda?” Well, crap. The return of this gang happened much quicker than I thought it would! Sure, Lung isn’t around – hopefully – but I thought Bakuda and Oni Lee would do their revenge much later in the story than this! After reading a bit more it doesn’t seem like Oni Lee is around here. Instead there are a couple dozen gang members, all of them prepared to fight. Now this is great! A challenge on the level of the bank robbery chapter. Looks like the focus of this arc has been found!

“Goes without saying, I’m still with the ABB,” Bakuda stated the obvious for us. “In charge, matter of fact. I think it’s fitting that I commemorate my new position by dealing with the people that brought down my predecessor, don’t you agree?” Man, if only you weren’t wearing the silly Bomberman costume. That kinda takes a lot off the intimidation department. Still, Bakuda is bound to be dangerous. Without Heckpuppy around, the Undersiders lack some raw force, this is going to need quick planning to overcome. This is going to be great! And in the next chapter, I’m going straight ahead to read that!

And theeeeeen my excitement deflates like a balloon when I see the next chapter is an interlude. Welp. Oh well, I can’t complain. In technical terms, the interlude is placed properly, there’s suspense about how the fight will go, and the other interludes have been interesting. This is no big deal, it’s likely I’ll like this. This interlude is about nobody I have read about, it’s a new character. Name: Kayden. She has a baby.

The baby isn’t the only minor in this apartment. There’s a teenager watching the TV. Curiously enough, although the narration had talked about the baby as her baby, this teenager isn’t referred at any point as her boy or as her son, even though she seems to be taking care of him. The teenager – Theo, from now on – is rather distant, and knows Kayden is a cape. Yeah, Theo isn’t her son, it’s someone else’s, someone Kayden loathes.

“It’s fine,” Theo said, just a touch too fast. It wasn’t fine, apparently, but he would never admit it. Could never admit it. Kayden felt a flicker of hatred for the man who had eroded every ounce of personality and assertiveness from his son. She would give her right hand for a smart-alec remark, rolled eyes or to be ignored in favor of a TV show.

Huh. Sounds like this Theo kid’s father isn’t the kind of father most people would approve of. Given the relatively dark themes of Worm, I’m already imagining many grim scenarios. Kayden holds back her frustration and steps out, getting to the roof to pose for the reader’s benefit before jumping off to fly away, thinking of her baby to give herself strength.

Her powers...hmm...flight is here; any other powers haven’t been revealed yet. Her hair and eyes turn bright white, making it hard to look at her directly. A tactical advantage, fantastic. It sounds like she’s a hero, and so far she’s looking far more sympathetic than Glory Girl and Panacea. Great!

A year ago, she had made the ABB a priority target. Well that’s convenient, given what’s happening right now! Now I’m fully expecting Kayden to appear during the arc. If so, pretty much the only reason why this is an intermission and not a chapter more of the arc is because Taylor is not the narrator. Oh well. Potato, potahto.

Kayden’s work has lasted a year so far, and it includes surgical strikes against that gang. Sometimes it’s effective, sometimes it isn’t...one time she was injured a lot by Lung, stopping her job for a while. But now Lung isn’t here. She should have free reign, but things can’t be simply when powers are involved. It had been the best chance she’d get, she thought, to clean up the ABB once and for all. Get that scum out of her city, while they were leaderless. But there’s Bakuda. That’s the problem here, isn’t it? Bakuda is the factor that has stopped Kayden from doing her best, right?

Bakuda isn’t mentioned anywhere because it doesn’t seem Kayden is aware of her. Bakuda’s influence is noted, though. The ABB was still active. Even with their boss gone, they were more organized than they had been under Lung’s influence. So they’re being more effective under Bakuda than under Lung. Hmmm...maybe Bakuda isn’t in any hurry to get Lung out of the special jail, who knows...

Even broken arms and legs hadn’t hurt or scared the thugs enough to get them talking about what was going on. Welp, my sympathy for Kayden was nice while it lasted. I admit it’s not entirely gone, but breaking limbs isn’t exactly the most heroic move ever. Another reason why Kayden isn’t having much success is because her network of information and alliances isn’t working well right now. Max, Theo’s father, was to blame for that. Just as she’d left his team a more broken person than she’d been when she joined, others had gone through the same experience. Okay, so, Max is a cape too. Given that Kayden was part of his team, I suppose that means Max is a hero. Hah! Another hero with less than heroic behaviors. You’re totally doing this on purpose, Mr. Wildbow! Golly, I’m glad the Wards were introduced and shown to be decent people – so far – or else I’d think Mr. Wildbow is making heroes be bad just to make the Undersiders look better despite the Undersiders’ own bad traits and behaviors. I mean, I’m aware that it’s completely normal for a good person to have traits and moments where they don’t seem like good people, but...I don’t know, there’s something about seeing it from someone with the label of ‘hero’ that makes it stand out much more than it would otherwise. You understand?

Since the ABB was out on a big job and Kayden has no idea what’s going on, she goes to the building where Max is at. Max takes her arrival calmly, as if this was something that happened everyday. Was this something Max planned, I wonder? Pressure Kayden’s allies so she’d have no more option than go see him? It wouldn’t be a surprise if that’s what happened. “And our daughter?” Aha, so that baby is Kayden and Max’s daughter. Not a good sign. Kayden herself knows this is a veiled threat, a reminder he can take the baby away whenever he wants.

Since Kayden can’t do anything about the ABB right now, she requests to reunite the old team, to which Max replies “Not interested” Charming. The reason why nobody is helping Kayden is because they’re afraid of Max and his reaction/influence, or at least that’s what it sounds like here. Max doesn’t state he’d help, but he says that Kayden returning to his team would be good, and that he’d give her a separate team. “You’d double check with me on anything you did, but other than that, you’d be completely autonomous. Free to use your team as you see fit.” So...so Max would pretty much have control of that other team. This is a terrible bargain.

Max’s methods are no different than a villain’s. “You do it by putting drugs on the street, stealing, extorting. I can’t agree with that. I never did. It doesn’t make any sense, to improve things by making them worse.” Is the Protectorate unaware of this? Looks like these weren’t heroes after all. I mean, Max does state he wants to make things better and all, but there’s no way this all can be considered by anyone as the actions of a hero. It’s possible the public as a whole considers him a villain more, and by an extent, anyone who associates with him would be a villain as well.

And then Mr. Wildbow proceeds to throw dirt on Kayden.

“Of course,” he replied, and she didn’t miss the hint of condescension in his voice, “You left my team to go do good work, it’s just pure coincidence that it’s black, brown, or yellow criminals you target.” “And in the process, you’re doing little to shake the notion that you’re a part of Empire Eighty-Eight,” Max smiled, “It’s amusing to hear you try and justify your perspective, but you’re ignoring the elephant in the room. Cut the B.S. and tell me you don’t feel something different when you look at a black face, compared to when you look at a white one.”

Is that so? Well...my sympathy really was nice while it lasted. Look at that, it’s gone now, gone with the wind as if it was never there.

What’s more, this Max guy seems to be the leader of Empire Eighty-Eight, and he pretty much states they – including Kayden -- aren’t superheroes. Yeah, I kinda understood that many paragraphs ago, Max. Subtlety isn’t anyone’s trait, that’s for sure. Max offers to leave the whole gang to Kayden if his methods and work aren’t useful at all, and she...she’s actually considering it. She’s not even thinking about rejecting it. So much for the righteous behavior from earlier!

The deal is done. Kayden is back into the gang, her alter ego is called Purity. Max follows her example in showing off his power, he can manipulate metal and make it sprout from any solid surface around him. Interesting power. They shake hands and Mr. Wildbow calls it a day, ending the intermission there.

Well that was kind of a curveball. I didn’t think this was how the thing with Kayden would go, it sure was a twist for me. These were no heroes; my former thought was wrong on that regard. There’s no room for discussion in that these two are full-fledged villains, even if they don’t seem to be in a hurry to think of themselves like that. So that’s the leader of the Empire Eighty-Eight gang...huh. The war between gangs continues.

I don’t think it’s likely anymore that Kayden or anyone will appear during the ABB’s fight with the Undersiders, but I suppose it isn’t impossible for Max to be aware of where the gang is right now and that Bakuda is commanding it. There’s a chance she’ll appear during that, so I’m not ruling it out. That aside, that fight is bound to be good to read! Unfortunately for me, the intermission managed to sap the remaining free time I had today to read, so I’ll have to leave the fight for next time.

Next update: five updates

#worm #worm liveblog #book liveblog #story liveblog #liveblog

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preserving-ferretbrain · 5 years

Text

The Demon's Blah Blah Blah

by Wardog

Wednesday, 01 September 2010

Viorica was right, and Wardog was wrong. Wardog tears into The Demon's Covenant.~

The Demon’s Covenant is the sequel to The Demon’s Lexicon, which I reviewed

here

, and very much enjoyed. I sometimes suspect that being liked is a mixed blessing at Ferretbrain as all it does is prepare for the way for a crushing disappointment, and I was, indeed, disappointed by The Demon’s Covenant. I’m vaguely suspicious that I might have read a different book to the rest of the internet, because every single other review I’ve seen has been full of love and squee, and I won’t deny that The Demon’s Covenant is full of Brennan’s usual charm, but it’s also extremely self-indulgent and does very little beyond set up the third book.

It reminded me most strongly of Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire – not because there’s any real similarity between the texts themselves but because, at the point book IV came out, I was still a stalwart Harry Potter fan and, although I was surprised at the sudden jump in length compared to the third book, I decided to forgive the book its obvious flaws because I was so into the Harry Potter world. Of course by the time the fifth book came out it was clear that no amount of engagement in the text could save the series from what it had become: an undisciplined, unedited mess. The Demon’s Covenant is NOT Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire but compared to the tight plotting and exciting twists of the first book it might as well be.

In essence, nothing happens in The Demon’s Covenant until the final thirty pages. The story opens some time after the end of The Demon’s Lexicon, with Mae trying to get her normal life back, when she discovers Jamie is in contact with the Magicians. Needless to say she calls in Nick and Alan and that’s basically it until the very end of the novel when there’s a big fight between The Goblin Market and the Magicians’ Circles. Yes there’s some politicking, with Jamie being passed about like the magical McGuffin he so clearly is, and Alan does another one of his trademark manipulative switcheroos, but largely there is a lot of “stuff” in the story but not much to make it a coherent narrative.

Part of the problem, I suppose, is the natural move from novelty to familiarity that affects every sequel. There is no sense of discovery here, only further information about the people and places and concepts that were introduced to us in The Demon’s Lexicon, information which largely serves to render these things less interesting, rather than the reverse. Also the “Is Alan going to betray Nick” dance is performed a second time, although less effectively because the answer is self-evidently either “NO NEVER!” or “Probably not in the second book”. And I do recognise it’s meant to be about character not action but as much I like the characters I still felt the amount of time given over to their delineation was excessive, and the degree of detail borderline obsessive.

For example, part of the book consists of extracts from Alan’s father’s journal, charting his son’s attachment to the young demon and his own developing relationship with Nick. It a chilling, and heartbreaking account (“when I drew the blanket back, Alan was sleeping with one arm curled around the monster. In his other hand was an enchanted knife”) and yet also completely unnecessary. It doesn’t tell us anything we don’t already know, and it has to be bunged awkwardly into the narrative by having Mae read it aloud to Nick, who cannot read well when he’s emotionally distressed. Since the story is entirely told from Mae’s point of view, she spends a lot of time acting like Harry Potter with his invisibility cloak so she can be in on the right scenes for the sake of the reader. Furthermore, Alan’s father writes like a teenage girl with an LJ and literary pretentions, rather than a grief-stricken ordinary man, beset on all sides by enemies:

My blood ran heavy and cold through my veins, as if terror could turn me to stone, and I tried not to think of what bloody game or dark purpose the demon might intend for my son. That night I went upstairs with an enchanted knife in my hand and stood over the cradle. Drowning hadn’t worked, but this knife had the strongest spells the Goblin Market knew laid on it. The nightlight was on, casting a pattern of cheerful rabbits on the opposite wall. It [that’s the demon not the nightlight] lay sleeping in a pool light, but even sleeping it doesn’t look like a child. Not quite. I stood there sweating, the hilt of the knife turning slick my grasp. Then from the door, I heard Alan say, “Dad?” I turned and saw him looking at me, and the knife, and the demon. My little boy’s face went so pale it seemed translucent. He looked like the tired old ghost of a child long dead.

I know the effectiveness of first person narration depends largely on reader being willing to suspend disbelief, but there was something so self-consciously dramatised about Alan’s father’s journal that it consistently detached me from the story it was telling. I also suspect there’s a difference in a narrative being in the first person from the outset – you know it is not literally a journal any more than an epistolary novel is literally an exchange of letters – and a first person narrative being included in the body of the text as a found item, in which case basic plausibility demands that it sounds at least a little bit like what it’s supposed to be. And I’m honestly not sure what the journal of guy protecting a crazy magician ex-girlfriend and her demon spawn at the cost of his own son’s life and future happiness would sound like (Number of times tried to kill demon today: 7 –v. bad) but as much as I like the line “He looked like the tired old ghost of a child long dead” it just struck me as far too constructed to support the ‘reality’ of the journal as a journal.

Although I’m away I’m whinging here, and I have to say, I didn’t like The Demon’s Covenant, Brennan is a talented writer. She has a lot of wit and style, and I genuinely enjoy the experience of reading her, even if, in this instance, I didn’t actually like the book. Although I’d kind of reached information-overload on the emotional and psychological intricacies of the characters by the midpoint, I do have a degree of fondness for Nick, who is just as hot, ruthless, confused and genuinely entertaining as ever:

She glared at the back of Nick’s head and said, furious and irrational, “You could have danced with him at the club.” “I could have,” Nick said. “There were kids from school there. He gets hassled enough. Anyway, I don’t really dance for pleasure much.” “Uh – so you, uh, dance professionally, or what?” Seb asked. “Yeah,” said Nick. “The ballet is my passion.”

And I think I like Mae. She is strong, and compassionate and smart, and pretty much everything one would want in a female heroine, while still being flawed and human and making mistakes. The tone of the book is much more emotional than The Demon’s Lexicon, as one would expect now the point of view is not rooted in Nick, and perhaps Mae’s natural insight and interest in the people around her is partially responsible for the amount of time spent dwelling on the minutiae of character. But there was also a part of me that couldn’t shake the conviction that big advantage of Mae’s point of view for the author is that it liberates her to spend a lot of time describing hot dudes being manly and self-sacrificing at each other.

“Oh Nick,” he said in a soft, amazing voice. “No.” He limped the few steps towards his brother, then reached out. A shiver ran all the way through Nick, as if he was a spooked animal about to bolt, but he didn’t bolt. Alan’s hand settled on the back of his brother’s neck, and Nick bowed his head a little more and let him do it.

Just shag already!

Although I got through The Demon’s Covenant with my appreciation for Nick and Mae relatively unscathed, the same could not be said for Jamie and Alan. Jamie, at least, has stopped wearing purple and being fabulous, but the quirky charm I found reasonably endearing last book has paled through overuse to the point at which I find him genuinely grating. Again, this is probably completely unfair of me but from the fragments of Brennan’s LJ I have read here and there, his style and general approach to life is so reminiscent of hers that he’s evolving into some kind of gay Mary Sue:

“I can cook better than you,” Nick corrected absently. “I think monkeys can probably be taught to cook better than you.” “I’d like to have a monkey that cooked for me,” said Jamie. “I would pay him in bananas. His name would be Alphonse.”

Also I find his vulnerability when combined with his homosexuality bothersome. I know he’s a powerful magician, but he’s also sweet and forgiving to the extreme, subject to crazy crushes on unsuitable people (I mean he does kick off the books by canoodling with an incubus which naturally gives him a demon mark) and squeamish about violence. Couple this with a tendency to make a fool of himself in public and an inability to hold his drink and you’ve got a character so mind bogglingly pathetic I would be up in arms if she was a girl. Perhaps it is a symptom of my own internalised prejudice that I see these qualities as feminising but it’s less about Jamie being girly than the fact he is very much ‘other’ to the rest of the men in the text. I suppose I should probably just be relieved he’s not Magnus Bane but the implicit association of homosexuality with a ‘different’ set of virtues to those of straight men was not exactly comfortable for me.

And then there’s Alan. Oh dear. He was my favourite character in the first book, because he was unexpected, a supposedly “nice” guy, as cold and ruthless, in his way, as the demon he guards. However, in The Demon’s Covenant, his presentation seems to have moved into a space that is less interestingly ambiguous than completely unfocused. I skimmed a few reviews out there on the Internet at large and the general feeling is largely Squee!Alan. His fucked up, loveless life and his unrequited love for Mae seems to be winning him the pity vote. However, I found him icky, icky, icky and although that’s not a problem per se I couldn’t work to what extent I was meant to find him icky, icky, icky. The love triangle between Mae, Alan and Nick established in the first book is continued, or rather repeated, with little development. Alan is still in lurve with Mae, Mae still fancies the pants off Nick, Nick seems to feel some sort of reciprocal desire for Mae but obviously is supposedly incapable of love … and therefore thinks she should be with Alan, partially because he knows he can’t do the human emotions thing but also because he’d do anything, give up anything, for Alan, and if Alan wants Mae than Nick will probably do whatever it takes to ensure he gets her.

I don’t know if we’re meant to find this creepy and objectifying but it fucking well is, not least because it isn’t presented as a demon treating a human being as a trinket, but because everyone else in the book – including Mae – believe she’d be better off with Alan. And it’s annoying that Mae, who is a smart girl most of the time and managed to navigate the love triangle with some dignity intact last book, ends up in precisely the same mess this book – grinding with Nick while he’s pissed off with Alan until the point Alan interrupts them and Looks Sad. Get a new hobby, Alan, for God’s sake.

Mae also semi-encourages Alan’s attentions, even though she knows she doesn’t feel much of a spark, basically because she pities him. I know I am not the target market for The Demon’s Covenant but regardless of age and experience: pity is not the foundation of a healthy relationship. Just (wo)man up and tell him you don’t fancy him. Of course, midway through the pity fest, Alan lets rip with this little speech:

"After my dad died, I looked everywhere for someone to love me. I used to sit on the bus and watch people, see if they looked kind, try to make them smile at me. I had a hundred dreams about a hundred different people, loving me." Alan's voice was low, but he didn't falter. He reached out and touched her hair, very gently, pushing it behind her ear, "Of all the girls I ever saw," he said, "I dreamed of you the most.

Again, I know I’m not the target market here, so perhaps I’m more inclined to find things creepy that a teenage audience might find gloriously tragic and romantic but, seriously, if a man ever said that to me I’d run away screaming. Yes, right then, right there, because he clearly has a raging case of

Nice Guy Syndrome

. And guys who guild trip you into going out with them are so dreamy. Not. I’d take the demon anyday, he’s significantly less emotionally maladjusted.

And, this, I suppose was largely my problem with The Demon’s Covenant. I read lots of books for which I am not the market audience – I even enjoyed Twilight until I realised it had no sense of self-irony at all – but the more I read of The Demon’s Covenant, the more I felt the gap. I honestly just don’t get it, and I wonder if there’s just a fundamental disconnect between myself, the author and the world as envisioned by the author. One of the big themes of both books has been self-sacrifice – the brothers, and to a lesser extent Jamie and Mae, are always tumbling over each other to get themselves roundly shafted in the name of protecting the other person. I’m not saying that self-sacrifice is not a powerful device and all that, but it tends to work as a climax, or at the very least as a one-off. When people are constantly sacrificing themselves for each other, it soon loses its impact. I might be pulling justifications out of my arse here, but I also suspect is a trope that gets more play in fandom. Over-used, however, it rapidly degenerates into little more than emotional pornography.

And there’s an uncomfortable moral dimension to it: self-sacrifice, by its very nature, is an act performed in spite of, as much as because of, another person. Needless to say, because of this it tends to be largely non-consensual, which has the weird side-effect of infantalising and disempowering the sacrificee in a deeply unpleasant way. Ultimately every self-sacrifice involves a run-up of double-dealing and deceit, so that the act itself is a massive massive betrayal of trust – trust, that is somehow miraculously restored through the act of self-sacrifice.

To put it another way, mean, Sydney Carton’s sacrifice has nothing to do with Darnay – he does it for Lucie, because he loves her, and because she loves Darnay, and partially because Carton realises he’s wasted his life completely and therefore has little to give to the world, except his sacrifice for a better man. In the world of The Demon’s Covenant, Carton would love Darnay, and therefore trick Lucie into helping him look like he’s betrayed Darnay to allow him to sacrifice himself for Darnay instead.

Self-sacrifice becomes a closed system, in which the keyword seems to be “self” – it’s less about the person you save, than the personal act of saving, catching all the characters in a perpetual game of “I love you more”. Sacrificing yourself for the person you love is ultimately a pretty selfish act – essentially all you’re saying is that if someone has to live on miserably you’d rather it was then. Sacrificing yourself for the happiness of the person you love as Carton does actually has meaning. And, yes, I know, I know, Alan sacrifices himself for someone who isn’t Nick, but it’s basically sacrifice for the sake of sacrifice, and thus as irritating as hell. Of course it doesn’t help that it’s only the second book so most attempted self-sacrifices get derailed, so it seems we’re meant to be enjoying the exquisite anguish without having to actually, y’know, be upset or lose a character.

I guess I’ve been pretty harsh on The Demon’s Covenant. Although I found individual things to like about it, for example the strength of the characterisation, Mae and Nick, witty, lively writing, I can’t really say I enjoyed it. I’m willing to chalk up, largely, to me rather than the book since it seems to be generating rave reviews across the internet. I think maybe I’m just too old and grumpy.Themes:

Books

Sci-fi / Fantasy

Emocakes

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~Comments (

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Arthur B

at 13:52 on 2010-09-01I know this is absolutely nothing to do with the review, but what the hell is up with the cover?

I mean, seriously. If you ditched the title the cover only conveys four things:

- It takes place in London.

- There is a martial arts smackdown at some point.

- The weather is bad.

- Someone's been dying their hair.

None of which implies a fantasy novel, none of which implies demons, one of which implies pretty much anything I recognise from the review.

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Dan H

at 13:56 on 2010-09-01To be fair, I don't think the cover of a book with demons in it has to have a demon on the front.

Also, the word "Demon" in the title might be considered a clue.

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Arthur B

at 14:01 on 2010-09-01I dunno, "Enter the Dragon" didn't actually have any dragons in it. I think the chances of the book being mistaken for some sort of edgy modern day almost-cyberpunk martial arts thing aren't bad.

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Dan H

at 14:55 on 2010-09-01I really, really think you're reaching here.

Urban fantasy hardly *ever* has anything explicitly supernatural on the cover. You might as well complain that because /The God of Small Things/ has a flower on the cover, people might mistake it for a book about botany.

I'd also point out that this is another argument in favour of the Dark Fantasy section. Otherwise people might accidentally pick up Urban Fantasy books expecting ... umm ... cyberpunk martial arts novels.

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Arthur B

at 15:11 on 2010-09-01Actually I'm taking the piss. :P

Though that flower on GoST is floating down the river which is the allegorical spine of the book.

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http://mary-j-59.livejournal.com/

at 15:50 on 2010-09-01I kind of disagree about Nick's father's diary. It gave me more insight into Alan, and I found the man's progression from extreme hatred into love and protectiveness for Nick rather moving. I also ended up admiring Jamie, who seems braver (morally, I mean) and clearer-eyed than anyone else in the book. He may be a hopeless idealist, but I'm hoping he succeeds in finding a way to use magic for good, not evil. And I'm hoping Seb may be redeemable, in spite of his cowardice. Oh, and Annabelle rocked.

Back to Alan. I think he is creepy, and meant to be creepy, and the insight we get into his childhood explains why. I actually asked Sarah Reese Brennan about this, telling her that I found the prospect of Alan in a relationship scarier even than Nick in the same situation, because Alan is manipulative and profoundly damaged. She said I was right.

My two cents, as always. BTW, did you read "Fire"? I keep asking that!

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Wardog

at 16:32 on 2010-09-01I liked the arc, and I thought it was *interesting* - but I don't think it showed you anything you hadn't already seen, and in a book I personally found bloated with detail, it was simply one step too far. I might have liked it better had the book been generally tighter. Also the style bugegd me, as you know :)

I liked Annabelle, but I found the sudden intrusion of an adult presence a bit disconcerting, especially because of the role she plays. I think the problem with YA is that since they often function on an allegorical as well as literal level, adults strain, and sometimes break, that allegory.

I'm slightly comforted by the fact Alan was intended to come across as horrendously creepy - only slightly comforted, mind you, because that means most of the internet is REALLY SCARING ME now.

Your two cents are always welcome! I read Fire, and I loved it, I must review it :)

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http://mary-j-59.livejournal.com/

at 17:37 on 2010-09-01What you say about adults in YA is interesting. I hadn't quite thought of it that way, and it makes me wonder what people will make of the adults in my story, when/if I get it published. Glad you loved "Fire"! I think she is awesome, and I have to review that one myself.

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Sister Magpie

at 18:43 on 2010-09-01I, too, assumed that Alan was supposed to come across as unhealthy and damaged--and not really in love with Mae, tbh. I thought his late conversation with Mae was supposed to imply that, where she basically realizes that he's just manipulated her this whole time (and not even manipulated her through seduction but through pity) and seems surprised that he doesn't realized just how screwed up it is. I think she says something about how he made it impossible that he would be loved so he wasn't throwing anything away by betraying her. Like for him there was only manipulating her pity for him as someone disabled and loving her unrequitedly. Which was why his relationship with Sin seemed to have the most potential. Her repulsion to his limp made him want his good leg back.

One thing I wonder given your thoughts on Jamie--what did you think of Seb? Did he undercut the bad impressions about Jamie by passing for straight in Mae's eyes for so long?

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Wardog

at 21:16 on 2010-09-01It's possible I haven't quite appreciated the complexity of Alan - or given Brennan enough credit. But I don't think the portrayal is quite clear enough, one way or the other, and that goes beyond interesting ambiguity into slightly over-ambitious or perhaps unfocused characterisation. I mean, like I say, I think there's enough scope to read Alan as endearingly broken (he just needs someone to wuv him), and it seems a lot of people have. Again, I'm probably lying issues of interpretation at Brennan's feet unfairly

And I also read his love for Mae as sincere, although it's still something he's willing to give up or use to further his own ends, which, again I think is more interesting and complicated than straight forward exploitation.

The general feeling of other characters seems to be that Alan is a good guy but, again, perhaps that's just meant to reveal how good he is at concealing what a manipulative wreck he is. I guess I'll see how the third book plays out - and, yes, I will probably read it. Because having started I'll damn well finish.

I guess I would be interested in all these layers if there hadn't been so much to wade through.

I slightly preferred Seb, but then again, he's just another stereotype: The One Who Is Mean To The Out There Gay Because He Is Secretly Gay Himself, Zomg!

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Sister Magpie

at 21:30 on 2010-09-02

True. The reason I didn't consider him to be in love with Mae was really more that it seemed like the series in general, as stated by Mae, was sort of rejecting the idea that teenagers considering dating each other could be true love. Like at one point Mae said something about how nobody's going to "lose her" or whatever if they don't go out with her, they'll just date someone else. So it was kind of making a point of saying that romance at this point was not going to be the main driving force because nobody felt that deeply about anybody (perhaps only yet).

So the way I read the thing with Alan was that yes, he actually did have a crush on her. But once he decided to sacrifice that for Nick (like the self-sacrifice addict) that was what shaped his behavior. Like, if Alan was really hoping to date Mae he wouldn't be making speeches about dreaming about her the most because he's giving up anything like a healthy relationship chance in favor of guilting her and inspiring pity. But I could be totally wrong there. It's quite possible that that speech was Alan's true feelings coming out as a sort of tragic declaration out of hopelessness. As opposed to more of a perverse/bitter put down of himself as an object of pity that he's making work for him.

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http://katsullivan.insanejournal.com/

at 11:18 on 2010-09-07While I agree that Ryves Snr's diary did not read like the journal of a grown man, it's easily explained if you realize that Ryves had been a prose writer or poet before he became a demon huntert.

Again, this is probably completely unfair of me but from the fragments of Brennan’s LJ I have read here and there, his style and general approach to life is so reminiscent of hers that he’s evolving into some kind of gay Mary Sue

I definitely agree that Jamie comes across as authorial self-insert. Whether Brennan did this deliberately or this was subconscious is arguable. I don't think that automatically makes him a Mary Sue.

It's interesting that you found Book 2 so padded because I found it lacking in details about the mythology of the world. I still don't understand how Jamie's power is so dissociated from his free will that a Circle will go as far as to kidnap him to have it?

The reason I didn't consider him to be in love with Mae was really more that it seemed like the series in general, as stated by Mae, was sort of rejecting the idea that teenagers considering dating each other could be true love.

Interesting you should observe that, Magpie because that was definitely the impression I had got all through out the books and I found Mae's discovery that she is in love with Nick at the end of DC extremely profound because the distinction made it clear that it was no casual teenage-type of love that she was professing.

My one grouse with the characters is the lack of demographic diversity. All the main characters are White and this includes the protagonists and antagonists. Sarah Rees Brennan has written a lot of powerful articles about female represenation in stories but the fact is that a quarter of her main cast is female. And this person is also the most magically disempowered one. Her gay presentation, as you noted, is also problematic: Jamie and Seb.

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http://katsullivan.insanejournal.com/

at 11:20 on 2010-09-07I also found the death of Annabelle extremely problematic for the same reason. She reminds me of Spock's mother in the 2009 movie: she appears in the story just long enough for her to have a Meaningful Death for the benefit of her children's own story.

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Sister Magpie

at 21:19 on 2010-09-07

the main characters are White and this includes the protagonists and antagonists.

Except for Sin. Also I would quibble that while Mae is the one non-magical person, she's not exactly disempowered as she's being considered for what seems like a very important job in the magical world.

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http://katsullivan.insanejournal.com/

at 10:12 on 2010-09-08Have fun!

Except for Sin.

*face-palm* Why is it that when the race-fail or gender-fail in a story/TV show/movie is pointed out, the first response you get is almost always: “It can’t be racist if there is one Black/Asian/non-White supporting character in a sea of major White players.”? How does it help the conversation about racism and under-representation in fiction and fictional work (and the way that under-representation spills into real life) if every time the topic is raised, tokenism is used as a defence?

Sin is racially ambiguous – her little sister is described as blonde in the first book. She is also a peripheral player until hopefully the third book which is written from her PoV. (This may still not make her a major player, just the narrator.) Apart from all these things, Sin is still one character amongst White characters like: Mae, Nick, Alan and Jamie, Gerald, Black Arthur, Olivia, Sebastian, the female leader of the other Magician’s Circle (whose name I can’t recall), and Merris Cromwell.

Also I would quibble that while Mae is the one non-magical person, she's not exactly disempowered as she's being considered for what seems like a very important job in the magical world.

A job that can go to either Mae or Sin. So that’s two women fighting for a position of power (or a White woman making a power play for a Black woman's own position of power), which is far better than two women fighting for a man, but still two women fighting for one point of significance! As opposed to the men who get to be fought over for being uniquely powerful snowflakes.

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Dan H

at 13:38 on 2010-09-08

How does it help the conversation about racism and under-representation in fiction and fictional work (and the way that under-representation spills into real life) if every time the topic is raised, tokenism is used as a defence?

To be fair, I don't think Sister Magpie was trying to present a defence so much as a clarification. I could be wrong but I didn't read her comment as dismissing your concerns, just highlighting that rather containing exactly zero non-white characters, the book in fact contains exactly one.

I'd also agree (although I haven't actually read the book) that "least magically powerful" is not necessarily the same as "disempowered".

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Sister Magpie

at 15:22 on 2010-09-08

Why is it that when the race-fail or gender-fail in a story/TV show/movie is pointed out, the first response you get is almost always: “It can’t be racist if there is one Black/Asian/non-White supporting character in a sea of major White players.”?

Dan is right, I didn't say anything about how it couldn't be racist because there was one non-white supporting character. I just corrected the statement that there wasn't one single main character who wasn't white, and who I considered at least as important as the villains. She's not racially ambiguous, I believe she says flat out what her background is and it's biracial. I thought it was just giving a neutral fact.

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Leia

at 09:52 on 2010-09-09I think what Kat is saying and I agree is that nitpicking about supporting character Sin's race just derails the discussion about race and gender representation. And, for the record, I didn't know Sin was biracial until I read the comments.

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Arthur B

at 10:27 on 2010-09-09I think it depends on how the nitpicking's done. Pointing out Sin's race but emphasising that this doesn't really change the situation because Sin is arguably only there for reasons of tokenism is different from pointing out Sin's race and dismissing the argument entirely.

Ultimately, it doesn't help to let factual inaccuracies stand unquestioned because people have this tendency to say "Well, this one thing you said isn't actually correct, so I'm going to dismiss your entire argument". If the nitpicking is done with a view to strengthening and supporting the general point that's a bit different to nitpicking done to rip the argument apart.

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Sister Magpie

at 15:01 on 2010-09-09

I think what Kat is saying and I agree is that nitpicking about supporting character Sin's race just derails the discussion about race and gender representation. And, for the record, I didn't know Sin was biracial until I read the comments.

And I just didn't see how it could be derailing a discussion to correct something that I figured was an oversight. It didn't even seem like nitpicking to me.

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Dan H

at 15:13 on 2010-09-09I think the thing is that "correcting errors" is often used as a derailing tactic - while I don't think that was your intent in this case, people do tend to fixate on minor factual-level quibbles in this sort of discussion which isn't *necessarily* helpful.

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Sister Magpie

at 15:24 on 2010-09-09

I think the thing is that "correcting errors" is often used as a derailing tactic - while I don't think that was your intent in this case, people do tend to fixate on minor factual-level quibbles in this sort of discussion which isn't *necessarily* helpful.

True. Though in this case it seemed like the opposite to me, that you don't want to make it sound like it's important that there are absolutely no non-white characters anywhere when there is one. That just leaves you open to actual derailing in the future or accusations that you just erased the one non-white character.

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Arthur B

at 15:40 on 2010-09-09I think it's like I said earlier - it really depends on whether you are correcting the mistake in order to derail the argument, or correcting the mistake in order to tighten up the argument against precisely that sort of derailing attempt. And the thing is, people do the former

far

more than they do the latter, so even though I think Kat jumped to conclusions in interpreting your original comment I think it's a completely understandable jump.

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Leia

at 15:41 on 2010-09-09Maybe that wasn't the intention but the fact is that so far, all the discussion has been about a supporting character's ambiguos biracialness and there has been NO discussion about SRB's choice to make

all

the four main characters and

all

the principal villains white. Kat's point about Mae's mother's fridging has also been completely unaddressed. Whatever Sister Magpie's intention was, bringing up Sin's

ambiguosly presented

race has shifted the discussion from this.

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Arthur B

at 16:07 on 2010-09-09To be fair I think the discussion very swiftly shifted from Sin's race to the subject of derailing itself as it relates to this conversation, and the fact that this particular point doesn't actually change Kat's point.

In fact, I think more or less everyone has declared that they actually agree with Kat's point. Which, er, leaves us with nothing to discuss.

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Sister Magpie

at 16:15 on 2010-09-09

Maybe that wasn't the intention but the fact is that so far, all the discussion has been about a supporting character's ambiguos biracialness and there has been NO discussion about SRB's choice to make all the four main characters and all the principal villains white. Kat's point about Mae's mother's fridging has also been completely unaddressed. Whatever Sister Magpie's intention was, bringing up Sin's ambiguosly presented race has shifted the discussion from this.

Yes, they are all white. But it still seems a bit sneaky to complain about everyone discussing Sin's race (which hasn't really been what people are talking about) while making an argument twice, once in bold-faced, about Sin's race with the implication that this will be the last word on the subject.

Sin refers to herself as a dark-skinned girl, Mae has a moment of awkwardness about not wanting to say something racist in response, and then Sin says that her mother was Welsh and her father's family was from the Carribean originally. I do not think this absolves the book of any and all accusations of race, sexuality or gender fail. But it didn't read as ambiguous to me.

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Sister Magpie

at 16:18 on 2010-09-09p.s. Looking back on my original comment I can see how just saying "Except Sin" could read as a gotcha, like I was saying, "Um, except SIN! Who totally pwns your argument!" That was one of those times where how something sounds in your head doesn't come across on the page. In my head it was meant to be more, "Right, except Sin everyone is white."

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http://mary-j-59.livejournal.com/

at 03:16 on 2010-09-11It was absolutely clear to me that Sin is a girl of color. Because this is set in England, it didn't especially bother me that all the other main characters are white. After all, one of the chief main characters isn't even human! But I did find Annabelle's death problematic, and can't quite put my finger on why. What I said to Sarah Rees Brennan in a recent q and a session was that she runs off with her fencing foils to help in the fight, and we are never shown that the buttons are removed. Everyone else has sharps. Sarah Rees Brennan responded that the buttons had indeed been removed, but she didn't feel it necessary to show it. So - really, I guess my problem is that Annabelle was a pretty awesome character, but she existed (as a powerful and capable woman) primarily to die. And that does bug me a bit.

OTOH, the scene between Nick and Mae in the aftermath was really, really well-done.

My two cents! (again.)

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Leia

at 05:45 on 2010-09-11

Because this is set in England, it didn't especially bother me that all the other main characters are white.

*sighs* Which is why it's never *just* a story for people who don't have the privilege to assume their race is default. If your impression of England's demography is based on SRB's fantasy monochromatic England, it's not surprising you can make a statement like that.

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Arthur B

at 16:32 on 2010-09-11And in London, for that matter! Notable statistics are

here

. Note that this actually implies that London is more racially diverse than parts of the US.

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Dan H

at 17:36 on 2010-09-11

If your impression of England's demography is based on SRB's fantasy monochromatic England, it's not surprising you can make a statement like that.

Yeah, I was a bit confused by that as well.

I think this is one of the subtler and more pernicious forms of stereotyping, it's very easy to get into the habit of seeing ethnic diversity as something which only exists in America in the twentieth century - certainly I suspect that a lot of the reason most fantasy settings are so full of white people is that most people really believe that there *were* no dark-skinned people in Europe in the middle ages.

It's rather peculiar to see somebody applying the same logic to the country I live in - it's one of those things that encourages one to examine one's preconceptions.

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Wardog

at 18:00 on 2010-09-11I'm pretty sure there are black people in England ...

Also I'm pretty sure nobody was trying to derail or racefail here.

To be honest, I find Sin genuinely problematic as a character; she does, in fact, seem there largely to fill the "except Sin" role, and I find her sexualised exoticism a bit, err, dodgy when she is the ONLY non-white character in the book. I mean I know we all like the idea of hot black women dancing around but ... y'know ... it's especially problematic, I think, because the gypsy/other feel to the Goblin Market.

Also the whole "hey, the person I have raised to take over this might be rubbish at it so let's call in the inherently talented white girl" plot is a bit icky.

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http://cammalot.livejournal.com/

at 18:43 on 2010-09-11Aw, I wasn’t quick enough. I’m a chronic lurker here, but I was going to come out of hiding to point out that England is an *incredibly* diverse society! (I have spent far less time in Wales or Scotland and so don’t feel comfortable generalizing, but I do know there are people of color in those areas as well.) Just taking into account people from the Anglosphere/Commonwealth who emigrate or are educated there takes in huge swathes of Asia, Africa, the Caribbean, and so on, not to mention the generations of non-Anglo-Saxons who are born there, or people not from the Commonwealth/English-speaking nations.

I would not necessarily attribute not knowing that to Mary’s (alleged?) race, though. There are plenty of non-white people who think that the UK is wall-to-wall whiteness. I’ve found myself unable to persuade one or two of my own relatives to visit it, due to that belief and the complex attitudes and nervousness bound up in it. Possibly this comes from them not being exposed present-day UK media or whatever, I don’t know.

For the record, I am very lukewarm about both books in the “Demon’s” series. I am going to take a bit of a departure from consensus here, though. And I’m going to be a be anti-Barthian and resurrect The Author, at least for the duration of this post: I agree with Kat’s points in terms of literature as a general body, but I’m not sure I agree with them as regards this particular book, on the subject of race. Aside: I’m glad someone above clarified above that Annabelle being “fridged” was not just a matter of killing off a female character, but that the character existed, basically, *only* to die. I’m on board with that point.

In terms of race (and I speak *only* for my individual self — I’m a black, U.S. woman, and speaking with, I guess, middle-class and Western privilege) I’ve found that I much prefer to *not* see people like me in the books of authors who might not be able to pull it off properly. I’m not keen on the idea of reading practice-run depictions of people like me in the works of authors who are just learning how. It’s upsetting, not entertaining, and it’s gotten more upsetting as I get older and more exposed to subtler types of fail. If I’m going to be misrepresented, I would rather not be included at all, thanks, and I would devote my energies to getting more diverse authors out there and telling their own stories instead.

Therefore if a white Irish/British girl (I believe she has Welsh family? Not sure) wants to write about a bunch of white Irish/British people, I am not going to have a problem with this. This is absolutely NOT to say that everyone should be restricted to writing only about people exactly like themselves — they should not, that would be horrible, and boring, and would diminish the quality of literature in general. But if something is going to be done, it needs to be done excellently, for my satisfaction. It should not be done to check off a list, and believe me, I can tell. And to be blunt, there are more than enough diverse depictions of white people in existence that one or two newbie authors’ screwups will not affect how they are perceived and treated in the real world very much. A white (read male, straight, cis, et cetera also in here, as applicable) character gets to be much more of a blank slate, un-prejudged. Screwing up a character of color feeds into far larger and more pervasive existing stereotyping, prejudice, and bad press. And, to narrow it way down, it affects how people respond to me, for real, in the actual world.

Now, I like Brennan’s blog, and the voice that she uses in it. I have also read and enjoyed her Harry Potter fanfiction. However, there were several things in her fanfiction that pinged me, as a black person, in an unpleasant way. One thing that struck me particularly was a definite sense of Hermione’s hair (large, bushy, frizzy, curly, et cetera — hey, kinda like mine come to think of it, and I know of readers of Rowling’s original work who thought that canon Hermione was actually intended to be biracial due to descriptions of her hair) being unattractive and somewhat mockable, and looking better when controlled with potions or other means of straightening. This in contrast to Draco’s (blond, fine, very pale, described as “the impossible color of childhood” in very romantic passages), mentioned in nearly every description of the character, and even treated as his one beauty when characters have called him less than handsome (Veelas think he is one of them, but wonder if he has had a disfiguring facial accident).

There were also characters she wrote about quite often that I did not know were black characters until I found myself sucked in by a Wiki one day and saw the pictures of the actors portraying them...because...I am more familiar with her fanfiction than I am with the actual Harry Potter-verse. (Yeah, it’s weird, I know, I know. I’m not a fan of those books). There were mentions of Blaise Zabini being black and attractive, but the one time I can recall that involved any detailed description of the character cited his “sleek black hair falling over his face” or similar. Now believe me, I’m well aware there are many people identifying as black with a wide variety of non-chemically induced hair textures; it would be very hard for me to have missed this. But “sleek” and “smooth” remain the only hair textures that get mentioned as attractive: I believe she referred to Ginny’s hair as both pretty and curly, but I was still bothered by the overall emphasis on sleek textures, even on a black character, while the one character’s hair that I empathized with was made fun of.

I don’t exactly hold this against the author. Fanfiction is, to me, a learning workshop, and for at least some of this time period she was a teenager. And much of the more flowery prose, I think, attributable to the fact Draco was the general fetish object of most fanficcers writing at that time; his particular characteristics would therefore be the ones that got lauded and raised above other people’s. And Brennan gets points for outright calling him point-blank unattractive to the viewpoint character(s) in a few stories. Variety!

The thing is, when you put something in writing it doesn’t go away. Even though all official sources of Brennan’s fanfic have been removed from the Internet, it’s still possible to find these examples with a perfunctory Google. How much more indelible would it be if a problematic depiction found their way into a mainstream-published work?

And I certainly don’t see how including a non-white villain would improve this.

I do not know the reasons Brennan neglected to include more non-white characters — it is entirely possible that she could write some quite well at this stage, without including the things that irked me in her fanfiction. I’d like that. I don’t know if she consciously felt she couldn’t, or if it did not occur to her, or if she just plans to do more of it later. But I would rather wait for her to do it at a point in her writing life when she can do it excellently, and I can read it un-irked. I guess I’ll wait and see how she describes Sin’s hair.

And now I’m going to contradict myself — with the books set in London, it’s WEIRD not to see more diverse ethnicities running about even in the background. Lots of times people tend to hang out with people of their own group, and that could explain the main cast, sort of. But there is a distinct lack of background color in this book, and not just in terms of people — I did not get much sense of place in any aspect. Not seeing a variety of people just *being there* is a mischaracterization, I think.

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http://cammalot.livejournal.com/

at 19:48 on 2010-09-11

Not seeing a variety of people just *being there* is a mischaracterization, I think.

That should read "not EVEN seeing a variety of people just being there..." or "Not seeing a variety of people EVEN just being there"... etc. The way it reads above seems like I'm saying people of color *should* be relegated to just "being there," when in fact I'm trying to say that "being there" is a bare minimum, especially for a city like London.

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Shim

at 13:08 on 2010-09-12@Cammalot:

I suppose one difficulty with having a varied background cast is that it's quite difficult to do subtly, because unless you highlight people's appearance (or names, but that can get a bit stereotypey) readers will probably still assume they're white. In fact, it may be especially difficult with lower-tier characters (identifiable individuals who aren't significant characters, your "Angry Commuter" and "Girl in Café" types) because they probably wouldn't merit much description in the normal run of things, and if you start highlighting their ethnicity it might seem rather heavy-handed. For crowd scenes and the like you can at least imply variety.

I'm not saying that's a get-out, mind.

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http://katsullivan.insanejournal.com/

at 11:58 on 2010-09-13@cammalot: I remember reading Hermione as a Black girl, too. For all her faults, Rowling did

start

at least by making Hogwarts casually multi-racial: the Parvati twins, Lee Johnson, Dean Thomas, Cho Chang... Of course in the end, the people that really counted were White. Maybe the silky-haired Blaise thing in SRB’s fanfiction was a call-back from the time the whole of fandom thought he was an Italian girl?

@Kyra Smith:

To be honest, I find Sin genuinely problematic as a character; she does, in fact, seem there largely to fill the "except Sin" role, and I find her sexualised exoticism a bit, err, dodgy when she is the ONLY non-white character in the book. Also the whole "hey, the person I have raised to take over this might be rubbish at it so let's call in the inherently talented white girl" plot is a bit icky.

THIS. Perhaps if Sin wasn’t the ONLY non-white character. But as it is, it’s so many kinds of problematic. And maybe it’s too simplistic a solution, but rather than insert the token non-White character with all the common prejudices (comic relief Asian best friend, exotic biracial dancer), how about making one of the ‘default’ characters non-White? What’s wrong with Mae and Jamie being siblings with Indian ancestry? Or Dan Ryves and Black Arthur being, pun not intended, Black?

@SisterMagpie:

p.s. Looking back on my original comment I can see how just saying "Except Sin" could read as a gotcha, like I was saying, "Um, except SIN! Who totally pwns your argument!"

Yeah, that was the vibe I got.

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http://mary-j-59.livejournal.com/

at 15:56 on 2010-09-13Um - sorry. I have lived in England, and am aware that it is racially and culturally diverse - and also that it's probably far more so now than when I lived there as a child, thirty years ago. I didn't mean that the way it sounded. What I meant was: is it always automatically racist if a white person writes about her own culture? If so, why?

That said, I think can seem more racist to have a token person of color than to have no person of color at all. And Sin does seem to be the token person of color. But -

1. Sin is going to narrate/be the viewpoint character for the third book. Before making judgements about her as a character, I'd like to see how Sarah Rees Brennan pulls this off. I, for one, liked Mae a lot better in "Covenant" than I had in "Lexicon".

2. And I repeat that Alan is creepy, and is meant to be creepy. So I do think, Kyra, that you're not giving Sarah Rees Brennan enough credit. But we can't tell for sure until we have the last book in hand. Heaven knows I gave JKR far too much credit! But everything I've heard from SRB reassures me that I'm not making the same mistake twice.

Which is not to say they are great, great books. They aren't on the level of Michelle Paver or Catherine Fisher or Kristin Cashore. But they are smart and fun and seem to me (so far, at least) to have a pretty solid moral core. I may be wrong, but I am willing to wait and see.

That said, the big problem I had with "Covenant" was Annabelle. I've got dead mother figures in my story, too, but there is a difference between a character's dying during a story and a character's existing solely to die. Annabelle exists solely to die, after having been a nonentity in the first book and a large part of the second, and that does bother me.

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Arthur B

at 16:26 on 2010-09-13

What I meant was: is it always automatically racist if a white person writes about her own culture? If so, why?

The thing is, the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention when folk start talking about white people's culture, because they're usually referring to one of two things:

1: The mainstream culture of the UK, or the US, or some other country which is thought of as a "white" country. The problem here is that, whilst the mainstream culture of white-majority places is obviously going to be largely influenced by the majority (that being why it's mainstream), you can't simplify that to "mainstream culture = white culture" - if you do that, you're saying people who aren't white basically can't be part of mainstream culture, which by definition is marginalising.

2: An exclusive culture which belongs solely to white people and which folk who aren't white can't participate in or understand. The thing is, when people get enthused about celebrating that sort of thing, it's usually because they're Nazis of some persuasion or another.

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http://cammalot.livejournal.com/

at 23:37 on 2010-09-13

Maybe the silky-haired Blaise thing in SRB’s fanfiction was a call-back from the time the whole of fandom thought he was an Italian girl?

It’s possible. It didn’t seem to be a spoofy usage to me, though, and it was written well after Zabini’s identity was clarified. (SRB had a clever, funnier throwaway sequence in an earlier-written piece, about Zabini changing genders with the full moon.) And again, these were all relatively tiny things taken in isolation. They just had a cumulative effect on me. And her work is still, overall, a pretty freaking stellar example of Harry Potter fic.

I do wonder, and I ask this with no belligerence whatsoever, but genuine curiosity — would Lexicon and Convenant have worked better if SRB had simply not included a “token” person of color and a “token” gay person? (I’m using the quotes because the tokenism might be disproved in the third book.) If Sin and Jamie weren’t in there, would we have noticed an absence? (Hmm. I guess we would have, since there would have been even fewer female characters.)

What I meant was: is it always automatically racist if a white person writes about her own culture? If so, why?

I have a lot of contradictory feelings on this subject, all of which are extremely subjective and reflect FAR more of “what I would personally rather read” than “what should be done in society.”

1. If a white person has to be told to include non-white characters, their heart probably wasn’t in it to begin with, and they likely won’t do the best job. So they are better off writing white characters, and that in and of itself will not offend me. (Especially if the group of characters is small — e.g. involving a family or similar.) They need to write what they are enthusiastic about rather than checking off points on a list.

2. It will annoy me no end if the sort of writer above then goes on to write non-white characters half-heartedly (or with stereotypes and cliches) while a minority writer writing on the same topics nowadays will either get paid and publicized less, get marginalized on the store bookshelves, or be instructed by powers that be to shoehorn in white characters in order to be saleable.

3. A white writer who wants to write minority characters should be encouraged to do so. (I didn’t always feel this way, but I do now, strongly.) But I really want to see it done well, and such a writer has to assume the risk that they might not do it well and might be criticized -- and will definitely be more scrutinized as an outsider than a person writing from within the race/culture in question -- and must, well, regard that risk as an invigorating challenge, I guess. That whole “fail better” thing.

An exclusive culture which belongs solely to white people and which folk who aren't white can't participate in or understand. The thing is, when people get enthused about celebrating that sort of thing, it's usually because they're Nazis of some persuasion or another.

Yes. It also posits that white people have one big homogenous culture. (Or that anybody has managed to agree on what “white people” means in the first place.) There’s a difference between writing about “white people [within a larger, diverse culture],” writing about “*a* white culture,” and writing about “white culture” (which, come to think of it, could theoretically be done without white characters, like in postcolonial lit).

But no, I don't think it's automatically racist. I don't think it's a question of anyone being a big old bigot at all, what I'm seeing in this thread isn't an accusation of oooh-you-terrible-racist at anyone, but of leaving out things and people that are there and exist in the world that's being described. There are people in our society who need to see themselves included and represented more. (I'm just wondering how best -- and who is best -- to get that done.)

@ Shimmin: This is very true. I think it was Tobias Buckell recently writing about how if you say things like "bronze skin" people (well, Westerners of all shades) tend to assume you're talking about white skin that has been tanned. Maybe it's better at this point to go bigger with it, especially for minor characters? It's unwieldy to say "The East Asian girl at the corner table," but it might just be what needs to be done. (It bugs me to admit that, too, because I have in the past been very annoyed by descriptions that go "The Asian girl" and think they have actually finished giving an adequate visual.)

I thought China Mieville did a wonderful job using quite obvious names to denote ethnicity in "Un Lun Dun," for example -- and he let the South Asian girl be the heroine to boot. On the other hand, I've found myself, at my age, actually squeeing joyfully at a couple books when I realized the protagonist(s) I'd already made assumptions about were supposed to be dark-skinned. Neil Gaimian managed it in "Anansi Boys," and I think Holly Black pulled it off once by mentioning the color of a character's scars. I felt like I had unlocked a really cool puzzle. :-) And I loved how, in that subtle way, the dark skin was not presented as some sort of deviation from a norm. So I think it's a question of skill, not necessarily method.

All that said, the big problem *I* had with the "Demon's" series was the system of magic felt a bit scattered; I don’t really feel a sense of place; and for a preternaturally emotionless guy, Nick seems to be emoting left and right. (Which for me raises an interesting question — how clueless can you honestly be about human emotions and still manage to always be bitingly quippy? Can you *be * humorous, on purpose, if you don’t have emotions?)

I am tired of bad boys. I was never that fond of them to begin with. I loved Jamie’s saying out loud that whoever he fell in love with would be very nice to him all the time and try to make him happy.

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http://cammalot.livejournal.com/

at 23:37 on 2010-09-13meep! I got very wordy there...

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http://mary-j-59.livejournal.com/

at 02:03 on 2010-09-14I'm glad you did! Basically, I agree with everything you said, except that I haven't (yet) had any major problems with the series - except for the gratuitous offing of Annabelle. And I'd been feeling a bit under attack, though I brought it on myself, I suppose, by writing in haste and when tired.

I do agree with you about Nick, but I think the so-called lack of emotion isn't really such; Nick has lots of emotions. It's just that they are mostly what we would call negative - rage, frustration, etc. But he is capable of what we (or more accurately, I) would call positive emotions, as well. It's going to be interesting to see what happens to him in the final book. At the moment, I'm shipping Nick and Mae, but expecting dead Nick. We'll see.

As far as the system of magic goes, have you read the Bartimaeus Trilogy? It's brilliant, and it almost seems Brennan must have borrowed from it - except that I think she hasn't read those books.

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http://3stan1990.blogspot.com/

at 06:21 on 2010-09-14

Sorry if this is derailing, but katsullivan and cammalot's comments suggests this is the right kind of place to ask these kind of questions. Also, it'll be kind of rambling and will involve a lot of talking about me.

A bit of context: I'm a white, cis, middle class dude from a small Australian town where casual racism, sexism and homophobia was the norm, with a strong white English heritage (my grandparents are Welsh and English and moved here in the seventies). I've been trying to challenge my views and perceptions on race and gender in order to become a better, wiser person.

I'm also an aspiring writer, and I've been trying to work the kinds of things I've learned into my writing. The thing is, I'm not sure if the attitude I'm taking is still just well meaning tokenism.

As an example of what I'm worried about, I have an Indian character (currently nicknamed The Jack, after the video game archetype). Born in India, raised in India, moved to England to study engineering and medicine at the same time, snapped under the pressure, bought a gun, became a mercenary, and is now trying to live up to the 'ultra badass' stereotype. This is intended as a parody of the (as far as I know) Western concept of the Indian nerd (seen in shows like 'The Big Bang Theory' and the movie 'Inception', though Inception plays with the concept a little), as well as a commentary on ultra-badasses in Western media (he'll pull Kirk/Mal/Renegade Shepard style stunts, which will disturb and annoy the other characters). So basically I'm writing a white guy who happens to be Indian. Same with Noiry Thief Dude - he'll act pretty much like a classic Caucasian film noir protagonist, for what I think are perfectly legitimate reasons (analysing the concept of cynicism and the motivations stemming from it), except he just happens to be Japanese.

TL;DR I guess I'm wondering whether or not all my characters being heavily based on Western concepts, despite being from non-Western cultures, is a bad thing.

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Wardog

at 11:29 on 2010-09-14I will second the recommendation of the Bartimaeus Trilogy - I LOVED those.

This is just a general rather rather specific point and apologies if I fail all over it but it was in reference to the tokenism of Jamie and Sin. I never felt Jamie was tokenistic - I thought he was a problematic depiction of a gay person, for me, because his vulnerability seems to go hand-in-hand with his sexuality, but it's obvious SRB is pretty damn interested in him, either as a weird authorial self-insert or because fandom, in general, is very into gay men. I know being "interested" can sometimes be an issue in itself (Jay Lake is clearly "very" interested in Green... altogether now EEEEWWW) but it tends to stave off tokenism. I found Sin much more tokenistic because it seems pretty clear to me that Brennan really isn't interested in the hot black girl, and she's just there to be a contrast to Mae, as well as to demonstrate Mae being friendly with other women to show it's not just about Mae and all the hot men who fancy her.

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Wardog

at 11:31 on 2010-09-14Oh, and I meant to say thanks for taking the time to comment, Cammalot - I've found your take on the book fascinating, and I'm generally just delighted to discover I'm not the only person in the world who doesn't like it! :P

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Dan H

at 13:51 on 2010-09-14

What I meant was: is it always automatically racist if a white person writes about her own culture? If so, why?

I think this is a misleading question for a number of reasons. Firstly, I think getting hung up on questions of what is and is not "racist" is often misleading and distracting. It tends to lead to people getting defensive and turns the whole discussion into one about individual white people. Ironically the more seriously we take race issues, the more sensitive we get about the "danger" of calling a white person a racist.

This touches on what Kat was talking about earlier: if somebody says "hey, anybody else notice how all the important people in this book are white" then a lot of people will respond by saying "OMG HOW DARE YOU CALL MY FAVOURITE WRITER A RACIST" which simply isn't helpful. The question is not "is Sarah Rees Brennan a racist" it's "are people of colour underrepresented in Sarah Rees Brennan's imaginary world". The answer to the first question is "I don't know, but probably a little bit but hell so am I" whereas the answer to the second question is "yes".

Sorry, that was a long and distracting preamble.

To answer your question, the problem here is that talking about "a white person's culture" - as Arthur and Cammalot have pointed out - is actually rather misleading. One of the big important items on the White Privilege Checklist is the fact that your ethnicity *is not* a major part of your cultural identity. Although as Arthur points out, a lot of *extremely racist* people like to argue that this is actually a huge injustice.

Because I am a white person living in a white-dominated country (more generally, because I am a member of my country's ethnic majority) my "culture" is the entire culture of my country. In fact since I'm English, my culture actually includes pretty much the entire English-speaking world. Hell, it arguably includes large parts of the *non* English-speaking world, because my cultural heritage includes amongst other things the British Empire and Christianity.

Because my culture - whether I like it or not - is the dominant one in the English-speaking world I have to accept that my culture *does* include non-white people, and gay people, and for that matter women all of whom have been historically margainalized by my culture and whose contributions *to* that culture have been minimized.

If I write a book about - say - being a student at Oxford and that book contains only white characters (which, to be honest, it probably would) then not only would I be erasing and margainalising non-white Oxford students (of whom there are a great many) I would in fact be *misrepresenting* my actual experiences and therein lies the problem. When a white person presents a fictional setting which ignores or margainalises non-white people, it *is* reflective of a wider cultural tendency to ignore and margainalise non-white people *in general*.

Now from the point of view of an individual text, it might be far better to ignore and margainalize a group than to tokenize, fetishize, or demonize it, but that's a different issue altogether.

To draw a rather peculiar analogy, it's sort of like recycling. I generally recycle all of my rubbish but sometimes I don't, sometimes I will throw plastic bottles in the dustbin. The fact that I recycle 90% of my plastic does not change the fact that the other 10% of the plastic I send to landfill sites contributes to global warming. Even if a person's portrayal of race (or gender, or disability, or whatever) is 90% perfect, it is still possible for the remaining 10% to *actively contribute* to a racist society.

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http://mary-j-59.livejournal.com/

at 16:43 on 2010-09-14Dan, in spite of saying mine was a misleading question, you answered it here:

Now from the point of view of an individual text, it might be far better to ignore and margainalize a group than to tokenize, fetishize, or demonize it, but that's a different issue altogether.

That's pretty much what I meant (and failed, initially) to say.

But it is interesting that, as far as I can remember, no one considered Sarah Rees Brennan racist when reviewing "The Demon's Lexicon". The issue arose in Kyra's review of "The Demon's Covenant", because Sin really does seem like a token person of color. As I said above, she is to be the narrator in the third book, and I'm reserving judgement on the series as a whole until after I've read the third.

I read "Covenant" a bit differently from Kyra. I thought the main issue was: would Jamie be seduced by Gerald into using his magic? And, if he was, would he be able to find a way to use magic for good, or is it always corrupting? That, to me, was the driving tension of the plot - Jamie's struggle with his magic, and Mae's struggle to protect him from the magicians. And I found it interesting.

Although I feel like I'm dancing around a live wire in even bringing it up again, as a white person, I'd be scared to do what Sarah Rees Brennan is attempting, and to write from the POV of a young woman of color in real, modern-day England. In a fantasy world, it's not so intimidating. But in a real-world setting, I'd be terrified to get it wrong - what do I know about being a person of color in England or America? Being an outsider - yes, I understand that. But what are the limits of imagination? Do I, as a white person, have any right to attempt to write from the viewpoint of a person of color? Especially when there are so many fine writers of color who cannot get the buzz that white writers get? As a writer, I do think I have an obligation to present the world honestly, and that definitely includes having varied casts in my stories. As a reader, I have an obligation to read actively and intelligently. As a librarian, I have an obligation to support and promote good writers of all types, and to aim for diversity on my shelves. I do take my obligations seriously. Sorry if I sound defensive here! As I said, I'm feeling a bit attacked, and I really didn't mean to say anything offensive. I apologize if I have given offense, nonetheless.

But - although I can see where Kyra was coming from in the original post, I do actually like Brennan's books so far. The questions Kyra has raised, and which others here have elaborated on, are good and valid, but, as I've said, I'm waiting to see how she completes her trilogy before judging it. After all, if Rowling had stopped her series with OOTP, I would have been convinced it was a good set of books. Even HBP didn't disabuse me of my love for the books entirely; it took DH to disenchant me and break my heart. It was only after the last book had been finished that I had all the information I needed to judge the series as a whole. I'm still a pretty optimistic reader, I guess, and I'm hoping Brennan won't disappoint me as Rowling did.

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http://cammalot.livejournal.com/

at 17:44 on 2010-09-14

This is kind of what I mean about the magical system not hanging together -- as presented so far, this feels like cheating, to me. I want more clarification as to what the source of emotion is in her mythos, so that the scenes of emoting don't feel so convenient. I don't want "It was inside him all along." That would destroy the 1st book's twist. (Although, if SRB chooses to pull something in the final book like “Alan gave Nick a part of his human soul through being so loving, and changed Nick’s essential nature while they were kids”...I might buy it. I disliked “Lexicon” until the final twist convinced me that there was some real brilliance in it, so I’m willing to hold out. And SRB has earned huge amounts of leeway from me for her depictions of Pansy Parkinson. She rounded out, redeemed, and made pretty feminist a character created to be Rowling's buttmonkey, in my opinion.)

@Kyra: Thanks for clarifying about Jamie and Sin, re: tokenism. Sin is definitely a hard character to get a handle on this time around. (In Lexicon, I found the *majority* of the cast difficult to get a handle on -- their quip-ful conversations really got in my way -- so I hope that’s reason to believe there will be more to Sin in the third volume). I liked Jamie, but 1) a lot of that is because I like SRB, and I *did* see a lot of authorial-insertiness about him (he also has a great many of the qualities of her version of Draco, but with less of the overt strength and anger), and 2) I remember having been an embarrassingly zealous Minority Warrior for gay rights in my early twenties, and have since erred on the side deferring to the more knowledgeable and keeping quiet. I’m also trying to navigate writing gay characters properly in my own fiction, so...yeah. Shutting up and learning from others now. And I will definitely look into this Bartimaeus business. :-)

And that segues into Stan’s post -- this is so very difficult to tell without seeing the writing in question. As I said above: To me, it’s less about topic or method and more about skill of execution. You should have beta readers, and some of them should of the groups you’re dealing with, or as close as possible (and even that *will not be foolproof* for all readers). If you don’t have such betas IRL, get hold of willing and trusted Internet ones. Your heart’s in the right place, but you shouldn’t take chances. There WILL be small but telling things, and you WILL miss them unaided (because what reason would you have had in your life to know them?), and readers from those groups will notice and be annoyed. Betas. Get 'em. But don’t assume that just because a person is from the group(s) in question that they have the time or inclination to educate you. Get someone enthusiastic, and choose carefully and respectfully.

And I agree with everything Daniel just said.

But it is interesting that, as far as I can remember, no one considered Sarah Rees Brennan racist when reviewing "The Demon's Lexicon".

@Mary — I don’t think anyone is calling SRB (or you) a capital-R racist NOW. We’re giving the “R-word” too much power in this conversation now, I think, which is distracting: SRB’s character isn’t the issue. It’s not about attacking any individual -- you or Sarah. But racism permeates our culture, and sometimes it will manifest in us. Privilege also exists and will manifest. This is not something we can help. This doesn’t mean that anybody is an evil, irredeemable person, or that liking the books makes you terrible. (Wanna know something awful? I liked “300.” And that shite was “problematic” up, down, left, right, and backwards. Racist, *heinously* ableist, *laughably* homophobic considering the people it depicted -- all kinds of crap. There now. I’ve ruined my fledgling reputation already. In my shallow defense, I thought the creators were being more tongue-in-cheek than they really were).

But it does mean that we need to be constantly aware and vigilant of the problems and possible problems that exist, and how to deal with them. And I don’t think anyone has written off the upcoming third book. Try to look at this theoretically, not as personal attack?

SRB has proven herself a strong and resilient young woman, and she has lots of support. I think she’ll be fine and can deal with the fact that there are people who take issue with her work (as there are people who will take issue with any work; nothing’s perfect). And you should write what you feel passionate about -- but writing in public is an act of self-exposure and requires bravery.

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Dan H

at 18:47 on 2010-09-14

Wanna know something awful? I liked “300.” And that shite was “problematic” up, down, left, right, and backwards. Racist, *heinously* ableist, *laughably* homophobic considering the people it depicted -- all kinds of crap. There now. I’ve ruined my fledgling reputation already. In my shallow defense, I thought the creators were being more tongue-in-cheek than they really were

I think you have, in fact, ruined your FerretBrain cred forever.

My favourite comments on 300 have been from my Iranian students. Highlights include: "In my country ... we do not have ninjas" and "We remember Xerxes as a great man. He was not a Gay!"

The latter comment highlights another interesting point about this kind of thing, which is that a person can be offended by something while themselves being *quite offensive*.

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http://cammalot.livejournal.com/

at 19:41 on 2010-09-14

I think you have, in fact, ruined your FerretBrain cred forever.

I know, I know. I am duly ashamed.

I was watching it with a bona fide history professor, at midnight, and we sat there going "La la la, swordy things, la la la, loinclothery, la la la, anachronistic rock music, whoo-HOO, half-naked acrobatics, and hey, isn't that the hot skinny demon guy from 'Hex' -- hey wait, did he just diss ATHENIANS for sleeping with boys?" And then it occurred to us that the rest of the theater wasn't reacting the same way, as in, no, that line was not coming across as hypocrisy, it was coming off as "time to giggle at the gay now". And then there were more things (like "holy shit, did they just VALIDATE throwing babies away??"). And then the lack of irony slowly dawned on me. Much too slowly, really. As in, not before I left the theater. Don't know what to say about that, I had thought I was more astute. And then I read the source comic. (I had not been familiar with Frank Miller before.)

I was also overly impressed that the film acknowledged that black people were around and involved in classical antiquity. Except, you know, then the beheadings and Unfortunate Implications and oh god I'm sorry I'm sorry...

(It's all...yeah, I don't know. I especially don't know what to say about the roars of theater laughter when the head flew through the air. This was, um, not a white theater, shall we say. Things are complicated. I think a lot of the audience were appreciating it as though it were a horror movie.)

a person can be offended by something while themselves being *quite offensive*.

Too true. :-)

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Jamie Johnston

at 16:49 on 2010-09-19Just caught up on this discussion. It was interesting! I have nothing to add to it! This comment may be pointless and excessively exclamatory!

Hi to Cammalot & 3stan, neither of whom I've seen around here before (as far as I remember).

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Montavilla

at 20:55 on 2010-09-28Coming to the discussion late, as I am wont to do.

Wow. This is a great discussion about writing different cultures from your own -- whether race, sexual orientation, so on. I really love how honest people are being about difficult it is to approach racial and cultural inclusion.

Long ago and far away, I edited children's reading textbooks and believe me, inclusion was a major consideration. Along with deleting any possible objectionable material, which makes for great stories. True one: I once as a joke scared my supervising editor by suggesting the team names in a story ("red" and "blue") might cause parents to think we were promoting Communism. She nearly fainted.

Anyway, we were tasked with making sure that the depiction of minority/majority race characters matched the current American demographic breakdown: 16% black, 12% Latino, 6% Asian, 2% Native American, 2% physically challenged, 2% "other." Since we were trying to use as much pre-published material as possible (as opposed to commissioned writing), we ended up changing race/gender in many cases. We also specced artwork to include crowds of racially diverse people whenever possible. Then we had to go back and actually count heads in order to justify the inclusion.

It was all very silly and artificial, but it did have the virtue of showing kids a world where not everyone looks the same. And the California State Board of Education eventually got savvier and started demanding that we follow a demographic breakdown of writers and illustrators, instead of making Ramona Quimby Hispanic. :)

As a writer, I do think about trying to include more diversity in characters. But it intimidates me at the same time. My racial heritage is Italian, Filipino, and Spanish-American. But I don't know diddly about any of those cultures, really. For me to write about a Filipina character would be as inauthentic as my writing about an Iranian woman. But I think I have to try. My only other choice is to set everything in a fantasy world where any real world culture doesn't apply. And don't think I haven't thought about it.

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Cammalot

at 17:03 on 2011-07-12RE: The Demon's Surrender, the last book in this trilogy -- Based on the first few bits... I really wish Brennan had been writing from Sin’s POV all along. I’m much more immediately sucked in, this time.

(Heh. She is also

much more obviously black/biracial now

. Thank you, British bookbinder.)

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Kat S

at 09:40 on 2011-07-18@Cammalot: The UK Cover of Surrender with Sin in front bothers me. It bothers me a lot. It is not in the same style at all as the previous two covers. When you line up the books, Surrender is a different size and the spine lettering is arranged differently. They did just about everything possible to make the book about the PoC look like if it was from a different series.

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Cammalot

at 21:03 on 2011-07-18Hmm. It’s food for thought.

I know that there’s been a shift across the board toward more photographic-looking covers (the background skyline still seems similar, though also converted to more photo style, as is the saturated color and the backdrop-to-face size ratio. I don’t have a copy in hand yet, and have refused to buy the US versions. I can’t stand the US covers. Everyone looks stiff and mannequinlike, and Sin is whitewashed. And aged way up).

I can only guess at the rest, though. It’s weird.

I tend to hate it in general when the look of a series changes midway, and it’s been happening more and more lately. Busting out with much-pricier hardcovers to capitalize on a heretofore paperback series’ steady sales, and thus upping the per unit price by almost double, or more than double in some cases, that sort of thing. I’ve begun waiting up to two years for paperbacks to come out in order to have consistency — among them Simon R. Green, Patricia Briggs, and Jim Butcher (Yes I read some fluff. More important, I can wait a very long time to read fluff, there are other piles o’ books on my poor floor waiting for me, I will not be suckered in. ;-D). Similar happened with the “Monster-Ink Tattoo” series, and Patricia Bray’s books went from trade to hc too, I believe.

As I said, I don’t have a copy in hand yet. Have you got the hardcover? Is there a trade paper even out yet? Is your copy larger or smaller than previous?

This complicates things in my mind, but in a weird way. Publishers are driven by the desire to make cash. And they tend to think in very short and direct ways about it. (This cover sold well last week, let’s imitate it fortyfold, right this instant! Or, more annoyingly: This did not sell a million copies instantaneously, let us never do anything like it again! This is exaggeration on my part, but you get me. That last mentality has especially hurt books about girls and people of color.)

The photographic thing is a definite trend right now and supposed to up sales; this, I am sure, is the thinking, from what I’ve observed. (I’m in publishing. Sadly, never in a Big Decider capacity so far.) I’m kind of surprised they didn’t go that route on the first two. That plus the size change (opposite of what I would expect if they were trying play down the non-white angle) might make me think they want to call even more attention to it...so perhaps the previous two were not selling very well? (Based on what I see on chain-store bookshelves here, what’s actually on the floor displays and what’s even kept in stock, I would tend to believe this: I’m not seeing her on the shelves. Her series has to be doing well enough for them to let her try another -- unrelated -- book, but I don’t know that it’s a blockbuster.)

Increasing the size of this last book to hardcover might say to me that sales *are* going well, and they expect to shift just as many twice-the-price hardcover copies as they did cheaper paperback ones, and will likely even re-release previous entries in the series as hardcovers if the sales on this one hold steady. (Jim Butcher had a similar mid-series redesign, and hc versions of older books are being released. Briggs has had the hc re-release without the redesign, possibly because her books started out with semi-realistic pics of people to start with.)

Smaller size, on the other hand, might say they want to lower the price in order to sell more, possibly because the previous ones did not do as well as they’d hoped. (In this case, though, I would not expect them to put a person of color, and a girl, on the front.)

Either way, change says, to me, an attempt to get more attention.

Now, if they specifically want to CAPITALIZE on the non-white angle (as opposed to thinking “Well, this is surefire and will sell either way, so let’s take an easy risk and put a biracial girl on the front” -- I can’t imagine they’re thinking the third option: “Let’s put a person of color on the front and then downplay everything so no one will notice the book to buy it, and also let’s confuse and misdirect existing fans”) -- If they think a larger size and a brown face is going to move more copies or attract new buyers -- well I say go for it. I feel very mercenary about that. I’d like it if there were more of that sort of opinion happening in the States.

All this, of course, with the caveat that I am not British and so can’t claim insider knowledge of what might drive the British/UK publishing mind-set on the issue.

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Kat S

at 15:57 on 2011-07-19The trend of photographic-looking covers was already on-going when the publishers produced the first two books. As for capitalizing on Sin's PoC-ness, they could have done that without completely changing the style of the covers. Frankly, I doubt it. The changes in Demon's Surrender versus the other books is too close to the way "Urban" romances are usually packaged by publishers.

Not sure how I gave the impression that the size was increased to hard-cover. Demon's Surrender is in paper-back.

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Cammalot

at 19:27 on 2011-07-19You wrote:

Surrender is a different size

I couldn't tell from that wording in what way it was different -- bigger or smaller. (Thank you for clarifying.) On the webpage with the cover version we are discussing, Bookdepository.co.uk has it listed as available in a hardcover edition and a paperback. (The hardcover could actually refer to the U.S. edition, but I find the setup ambiguous.)

Yes, the trend towards more photographic covers has been around for a while, but 1. it hasn't been anything near universal even for North American books and would not necessarily have affected any one particular book we could select; 2. it hasn't been pushed quite as much in the U.K. (Google the original British covers for Melissa Marr, Stephanie Meyer, Rachel Caine, and so on); and 3. it is still trending. In my experience, at least for the past decade or so (possibly before that), British books have tended far more towards the artsy covers than towards the more full and/or photorealistic human representation that U.S covers were going for, especially in fantasy. It's still more or less down to editorial/marketing whim, and still doesn't really tell me anything.

That cover is the British version, and I don't know that "Urban" fiction is that big a genre or a draw in Britain. I would posit that it isn't, just because in my experience of the “Urban” genre as it is (euphemistically) defined here, it has been wildly,

intensely

, and kind of annoyingly) U.S.-centric, and because I haven't seen those marketing categories delineated in the U.K. in the same way they are in the U.S.

at all

. They do not divide up their shelves of genres in stores in the same way; particularly, they haven't, in my experience, been separating out "'urban'-aka-'black'-books" from other types of fiction in the way our "African American interest" sections do, but integrate their authors of various colors onto shelves by topic and subject matter, not ethnicity.

But, y'know, I wouldn't swear to it, since I haven't been there since '09. It could be a new thing. They seem to have a thing called

street fiction

. But not much of it expressly delineated as such, and still, the covers...

do not look like that

. Codes and subtexts are not the same for the two markets.

"Surrender's" differences from the previous two are not striking to me. Spine text is not a large enough indicator -- variations in spine text happen frequently with all sorts of series. The face on the cover, though photographic, is positioned in the same place and at a similar angle and size relative to background to the previous two (though more of her face is showing), and like the other two, does not involve her body. The background, though also more photographic, employs the same shading as the second book (indicating a progression of artistic vision, to me). The cracked-letter effect in the cover font is identical on all three, and in the same place. The author blurbs are also positioned in the same place across the board.

(I also think that there's too much fire in the background of "Surrender" [indicating subject matter larger in scope and apocalyptic than the usual plot of the "Urban" stuff I've come in contact with] and not enough of the young woman's breasts are on display, nor is she positioned "tough-ly" enough, for me to mistake if for Urb-Lit or Urb-Rom.)

Sizing also doesn’t tell me much, as it is not unique to this series and is far more often an indicator of either financial concerns (cost of physical paper fluctuates and has been going up for some time now -- some hardcovers have leaped to nearly $27 from $22 in just the past five years and non-genre authors are under a great deal of pressure to keep their novels to 300 pages or less), or perhaps an overall push to make paperback sizes more uniform. A quick Google tells me paperback sizes across the board have been in flux both in the U.S. and the U.K.

since at least around 2008/2009

. (As Brennan’s book hit shelves in mid-2009, most of the plans concerning its manufacture and release would have been well underway anywhere from 2 to 4 years before that, and the size change could easily have simply missed those first two.)

I'm just not seeing the publishers doing "everything possible" to make the book look like some other series. It doesn't exactly match, true, but this is not unique to this series or to books with women of color on them, and it seems to me that many elements were intentionally retained (I'm looking at Amazon UK right now) in order to link this book to its predecessors. I believe a redesign was intentional, yes, but I can easily see this new full-face style as an improvement, and --*if* the books sell well enough to go to a subsequent printing -- I would not be surprised to see the other two altered to match this one.

Further, I haven't seen any big push to masquerade books as more U.S-esque "Urban" style in the U.K., even with those written by actual black British people: See

Katherine Bing

Mike Gayle

, and I'm sure others can be quick-searched. (The Mike Gayle covers have indeed been revamped -- those versions are not the ones I own, so there seems to have been ample time to take him more "Urban," but this is not the direction they went in.)

The two Urb-Rom imprints I worked for didn't have much of a footprint in the U.K. (that is to say, no corporate presence at all, but you can get books nearly anywhere nowadays what with the Internet), but I can only speak to what I know; some British people might have to weigh in on whether or not going "Urban" would be considered an intelligent marketing strategy in the U.K., especially for Y.A. It also does not seem plausible to me that the marketing team would take the very last book of a trilogy and purposefully disguise it as a new genre (especially in a country that genre is not native to or apparently very popular in) in hopes of drawing a whole new audience and abandoning the previous one.

This is not to say that British publishing doesn't have its own problems --

it does

. And I think your concern is valid. But at the moment, in the particular case of this book, I do not share the concern.

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Leia

at 09:28 on 2011-07-20The times I have noticed UK covers make changes, they tend to adapt the US covers. That's what happened with Twilight and the Cassandra Clare books. Spine text is a pretty big indicator when you line up the books side by side. Are there considerably more letters in "Surrender" than in "Covenant"?

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Cammalot

at 17:10 on 2011-07-20

Spine text is a pretty big indicator when you line up the books side by side.

But an indicator of what, exactly? Intentional genre and audience shift and exploitation, or general reconsideration of overall design? Reconsideration of overall design is a given, here; it was publically touted as such. They did in fact reconsider the design, and took it in a different direction -- that's not in dispute.

I'm simply not seeing how it's more likely that the

intent

of that new artistic direction would be to mimic "Urban Lit," a genre for which I have seen no evidence of popularity in the U.K.; a genre which is extremely U.S.-centric and reliant on U.S. tropes, codes, and cultural signifiers; a genre that a great many British blacks (who are predominantly of direct-African and Caribbean descent) would be far less likely to relate to, understand, or drawn to purchase. Nor do I see how it would make sense to hype such a thing in the U.K. Instead of the U.S., or to trust such a thing to generate any hype. (Unless the thinking here is that they’re trying to get the book to fail?)

For my own, personal self, I am very,

extremely

wary and distrustful of overextending/overattributing U.S. mindsets to people it has no reason to apply to. We do this all too often, us Americans (in all our ethnic variety), and it gives us an inaccurate and offensive understanding of other people. I am speaking for myself here, and not assuming U.S-ness in anyone else.

There are a vast number of books being published every year in the UK, many of which go to multiple printings and show an evolution of cover design. A great many of these titles are never even available in the U.S. Often several versions of the cover art remain in print and available simultaneously. (For a very long time, they had both "regular" and "less-embarrassing, grown-up" covers available for the Harry Potter series in the U.K.) Saying that U.K. covers "tend" to adopt U.S. cover design, assigning this to an entire national industry, linking this phenomenon wholly to nothing but some attempt to copy America, is an extremely big and kind of presumptuous stretch, for me. (Not to mention there’s often a lot less “adoption” going on and a great deal more “importing the actual U.S.-produced physical product, because it costs less”.) Maybe for popular Y.A. American authors, they might -- it's far cheaper to “adopt” an existing design, after all, see parenthetical -- but I would hesitate very much to apply that reasoning in this particular case, when the U.S. cover actually features a red-headed white guy in an entirely different art style.

And it still bears noting that U.K. books, particularly in the genres in question, tend to start out more artsy and less photorealistic. (Sometimes they even have wholly different titles. It’s a different market — different things appeal.) I do indeed believe that with this particular book, this move to photorealism is an attempt to mimic the similar U.S. shift toward such trends

in Y.A.

, since these sorts of Y.A. covers have proven themselves more popular (for now) in the U.S. market. That’s business, especially when speaking in terms of specific titles, and it doesn’t always go in one direction either (see the U.S. habitually copying Japanese horror films, or remaking Britcoms, or the fact that we get any translated works here at all — they have to prove popularity at home first). But I'm still not seeing a shift to "Urban Lit" in this particular case, when this specific book by Brennan is not readily available (not without high shipping fees, or secondhand purchase, or knowing about Book Depository’s no-shipping-fees policy — basically, you have to seek this thing out) to the audience that would appreciate or buy Urban Lit.

Sophia McDougall’s (UK, not available in US) books got redesigned mid-series, just in time for the last book of the trilogy to arrive this summer — a much bigger redesign, with no art elements in common with the originals at all. Terry Prachett’s Discworld went through this several times, the UK versions shifting from something that resembled a Benny Hill chase scene to a woodcut-type design. Ian Rankin’s (UK, can’t really find it quite as readily in the US) mystery/crime series underwent a spontaneous size change in or around 2009. Over here, Kelly Armstrong’s latest Y.A. series went from a something with architecture on the front for the first novel to closeups of the lower half of a girl’s face for the second two, and moved from mass market to trade paperback. Octavia Butler’s books got reissued under several different covers; the Patternmaster series that I owned had similar cover designs but a font and paper texture change midway through (less gold-leaf). Then they all got re-released with photos on the covers. This happens with a large number of manga titles in the past few years (money matters, again, as “flipping” manga for Western ease of reading costs more). Ranma 1/2 got size switched (not an improvement, IMO; I stopped buying) without even the excuse of switching to right-to-left reading. Samuel Delany’s “Neveryon” series came out under a redesigned cover quite some years ago, and there has since been a push to re-realease a lot of his older works with covers that resemble those, particularly his literary and social theory. I'm looking at the spine text on Simon E. Green's "Nightside" series (US version) and his "Drood" series, lined up on my shelf, and there is a noticeable spine text shift, particularly on the seventh Nightside one. (I actually think the text shift is very unattractive.) This doesn't, however, say "rebranding" to me. Fans of Green can still read his name very clearly and locate the book, even when only placed spine-out on the shelves. Fans of Jim Butcher were similarly not much deterred when his books stopped looking this way and started looking like this, and then gained nearly an inch in height (and a dollar and change in price).

And if we haven’t seen this happening as much with people of color on the covers, surely we must take into consideration hat getting people of color onto the cover of “mainstream” books has been and still is still a big huge fight, so no, we

wouldn’t

have seen that happening as much, but that was BAD.

Redesigns take place primarily for economic reasons, and the direction those redesigns take come with all sorts of rationales, most of which lead back to “we want more money out of this.” (Unless it’s “We can’t afford to do this anymore, how can we cut corners.” Which is more or less the same thing.) All too often this rush to the cash leads to oversimplified, racist, and other socially problematic decisions, yes. But I am not, in this case, convinced that a British publisher would have any sane reason to cynically target what we know as the “Urban Lit” audience with a book meant for release in the U.K., nor am I convinced it would be a sound financial decision for them. It just doesn’t make any sense to me at all.

I am not willing to outright go: “They don’t have Urban Lit in the United Kingdom, or indeed outside the U.S. much,” but searching for “urban fiction” on Amazon.co.uk gives me this:

http://tinyurl.com/3gjp8oq

An “Urban Lit” search leads off with “urban fantasy/paranormal romance” titles and rounds off with books from America and books on city planning:

http://tinyurl.com/3nd54zn

Searching for “street fiction” gives me this:

http://tinyurl.com/4xf895g

And “street lit”:

http://tinyurl.com/3fvrer4

— again, the one fiction book on that page that fits the bill is an U.S. book. Not even a re-covered Brit version of a U.S. book — the U.S. version. (The major-player publishers of Urban Lit are a very rare thing -- independent publishers -- and they do not have international presence, as I said before. Which is cool, in its way— they haven’t been snapped up by conglomerates.)

And only searching for both together gives me some semblance of the very, extremely US-spawned and US-centric genre that we are speaking of.

The codes and tropes and shorthands are simply not identical. We are both part of the “Anglosphere,” and so the codes and tropes and shorthands are not fully foreign or impenetrable, but they are also not the same.

Now, what’s INSIDE the book is a different matter, and frankly I am filled with a great deal of trepidation about that. But I need to finish it first.

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Cammalot

at 17:17 on 2011-07-20Arrgh. Dropped two links.

Old Jim Butcher:

http://tinyurl.com/3fdjgmy

New Jim Butcher:

http://tinyurl.com/3wfp5sd

And for comparison, Brit Jim Butcher:

http://tinyurl.com/3clzw7s

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Cammalot

at 17:50 on 2011-07-20Completely irrelevant, but eye-catching:

http://www.amazon.fr/Furie-du-Curseur-Jim-Butcher/dp/2352944600/ref=pd_rhf_shvl_2

http://www.amazon.fr/Dossiers-Dresden-F%C3%A9e-dhiver/dp/2811203427/ref=sr_1_5?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1311180535&sr=1-5

(none of these referrings I'm doing should be considered any particular endorsement, by the way)

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Cammalot

at 19:17 on 2011-07-20Last edit for a bit: "and then gained nearly an inch in height (and a dollar and change in price)." should be "nearly half an inch."

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Leia

at 06:31 on 2011-07-21

Saying that U.K. covers "tend" to adopt U.S. cover design, assigning this to an entire national industry, linking this phenomenon wholly to nothing but some attempt to copy America, is an extremely big and kind of presumptuous stretch, for me.

I said the times *I* have noticed... You clearly know more about this than I do. For the record, I'm not a, American or b, inclined to go witch-racist hunting for the fun of it. And maybe you didn't mean it but the tone of your responses is border-line implying that. Bottom line: I don't have a bone in this and I'm just going to bow out of this conversation right now.

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Wardog

at 09:57 on 2011-07-21I'm sure nobody intended to suggest that you were witch-hunting - I think we've just hit on a topic which overlaps with Cammalot's professional experience.

I hadn't given much thought to this at all, to be honest, so I actually found this discussion really interesting. I remember feeling broadly positive about the UK covers of Lexicon and Covenant - I liked the stylised, slightly impressionistic art style for the characters (better for Lexicon than Covenant, though, Nick was very characterful, whereas Mae just looked like a girl with funny coloured hair). But equally I can see why you might have wanted Sin to look more "realistic", otherwise you've got a cover with an artist's impression of a black girl on the front. I think in this instance UK did way better than US, since I believe the US got a pouting pretty boy against an orange explosion? I do think replicates the major features of the previous covers, though - even if the artwork has changed. However, I do agree with Cammalot that the covers have enough stylistic elements in common (positioning, text style, etc) to seem to be recognizably connected to me. I certainly didn't see any attempt to distance Surrender from the other two books, because it has a POC on the front, or to make it look like another "type" of book.

And for the record, I know bugger all about this, so I could be talking out of my arse.

They do not divide up their shelves of genres in stores in the same way; particularly, they haven't, in my experience, been separating out "'urban'-aka-'black'-books" from other types of fiction in the way our "African American interest" sections do, but integrate their authors of various colors onto shelves by topic and subject matter, not ethnicity.

I do most of my book shopping online these days, but I have never seen anything like this in a British bookshop. You occasionally get "hey, read these books about black people!" displays but as a general rule you just get fiction, sci/fi fantasy, comics, crime, classic fiction, romance if you're very lucky and that's about it. The two genre emergences I've seen in the last few years have been "dark fantasy" and "young adult" - and I remember how tiny-mind-blown Arthur was the first time he saw a dark fantasy section in a bookshop. This being so, I can't imagine "urban" taking off any time soon, with relation to either adult or young adult fiction. But, as I say, that's an impression constructed from a position of absolute ignorance.

I haven't read this either, by the way - I am curious though. But it suddenly stopped being available on Kindle. MYSTERY!

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Arthur B

at 10:21 on 2011-07-21I admit to not really going out of my way to look for any, but the only time I've seen an "urban" fiction book in a UK bookshop it's been a lonely novel by 50 Cent crammed into the Crime/Thrillers section.

Oh, and if I'm remembering right it was a US import. I guess they bought it in due to the name recognition or something.

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Cammalot

at 15:04 on 2011-07-21I was in fact trying to be quite careful about assuming anyone else’s nationality when I said

"For my own, personal self, I am very, extremely wary and distrustful of overextending/overattributing U.S. mindsets to people it has no reason to apply to. We do this all too often, us Americans (in all our ethnic variety), and it gives us an inaccurate and offensive understanding of other people. I am speaking for myself here, and not assuming U.S-ness in anyone else."

However, in retrospect, I guess I used some pretty nonstandard grammar and orthography in there. :-)

This topic does ping on... nearly every aspect of me, really: For the record, I am a combo of a few ethnicities of black American; both the U.S. and the U.K. have played large roles in my educational and professional life; and I've worked in publishing for most of my adult life, although I promise to stop that fairly soon; and I have a

serious problem

with Urban Lit. I am never sure how much I can express how very big and angry and depressing a beef I have with Urban Lit without impacting myself professionally, so I do try to keep it vague online. (But this is a fairly anonymous place, I think?)

And I can be a very longwinded pedant. I like to at least attempt to make sure my assertions are covered. I hope I’m not sounding too Minority Warrior. Can I even BE a Minority Warrior when talking about the UK??? :-)

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Sister Magpie

at 18:00 on 2011-07-21

I do think replicates the major features of the previous covers, though - even if the artwork has changed.

FWIW, I would probably be more likely to compare it to the second book in the US version, since that one has Sin on the cover. She's dancing in a ring of fire, iirc.

Oh, and if I'm remembering right it was a US import. I guess they bought it in due to the name recognition or something.

Do you mean this cover is an import? It's not. The UK has different covers than the US versions for all of them (the UK's are better imo)--and I don't think the UK is publishing them for name recognition. It's a first novel series in both markets published at the same time.

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Cammalot

at 18:17 on 2011-07-21I think Arthur meant his Fitty-Cent book was an import. :-)

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Arthur B

at 18:48 on 2011-07-21That's exactly what I was saying. :)

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Sister Magpie

at 20:24 on 2011-07-21Ah! Now that I read it again that's obviously what you were saying. I think I ran several posts together in my head!

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Leia

at 08:29 on 2011-07-22@Cammalot: Sorry for jumping to conclusions there. I think I was projecting a little: just out of a conversation with someone about how the casting of the Prince of Persia wasn't in the least bit racist, at all.. *le sigh*

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Cammalot

at 17:17 on 2011-07-22@Leia -- Not at all, and rereading my thing I just want to make clear that I

think your and Kat’s question is an important thing to think about and ask, and keep asking, even though I don’t think it applies here specifically. There are a host of underlying daily frustrations and problems with publishing as an industry. When I said things like “not logical” I was talking about hypothetical British top-editors and marketers, not you guys.

(Actually I’m making assumptions by saying your question was the same as Kat’s; please correct me if I’m wrong.)

I’m sorry you had to deal with such a ninny. My own feelings on PoP are convoluted, filled with caveats, and pretty tl;dr (this is probably not surprising, by now ;-D), but it’s pretty ridiculous not to concede that they could easily have been much more inclusive.

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Robinson L

at 18:02 on 2012-04-16Warning: extremely long and probably ramble-y comment.

In response to the article, I find it pretty amusing that what

I interpreted

as "cool and intense character development," you interpreted as "nothing happens until the final thirty pages."

I'm also amused that what I read as really sweet fraternal affection between Alan and Nick, you read as blatant slashing.

Dan Ryves' journal struck me as stupid and artificial at first, and I suppose it was mostly just a lot of padding. But I did warm up to it by the end.

I'm ashamed to say I sort of missed Alan's creepiness when I read the book. I might have missed his assholishness too, had Rees Brennan not explicitly pointed it out a few times, as discussed in my review.

By now, I've also read

The Demon's Surrender

, and I think what Rees Brennan did with the Alan/Sin romance was pretty interesting. Granted, there were things about it which bugged the crap out of me (about which more later), but all through the first two books, he's like this untouchable master manipulator who can deceive absolutely anybody. Whereas in the third book, we see that he has limits, and he's not able to deceive people whose life circumstances also require that they be skilled at manipulation. (In this case, the metaphor is that of a performance, because it's from Sin's viewpoint and she's a performer.) The implication to me being that the only way Alan will be able to have a happy functional relationship is if his romantic partner is someone who can see through his subterfuges. Which I think is pretty neat.

I'm pretty sure

Surrender

has a call-back to that creepy line of Alan's: "Of all the girls I ever saw I dreamed of you the most." I don't have the book to hand, but I'm almost certain in

Surrender

, Alan tells Sin that he never dreamed about her because she was too unobtainable. I wish I'd been paying more attention when I read that line, because now I think about it, depending on the context, it could have been a really creepy pedestal line.

I'm so relieved that you liked Mae, though, because I really, really liked her in

Covenant

with Jamie being passed about like the magical McGuffin he so clearly is

I find this interesting in light of the fact that he also reads to you like a self-insert character. I'm trying to figure out what to make of that dynamic.

Interesting analysis of the whole self-sacrifice motif – something else I failed to pick up on at the time.

Re: Annabel

Kat Sullivan: She reminds me of Spock's mother in the 2009 movie: she appears in the story just long enough for her to have a Meaningful Death for the benefit of her children's own story.

Yikes, I wouldn't go that far. I mean, the portrayal of Spock's mother is probably one of my biggest personal irritants from Star Trek|| because she was blatantly there for no reason other than to get stuffed into the fridge and further Spock's storyline. If you took that aspect of her out of the movie, she wouldn't have had any reason for existing in it.

Whereas Annabel, apart from being awesome, had her own nice little character arc, and played a part in other characters' story arcs which went beyond passively providing motivation. You could remove her death from the story and her presence in it would still have meaning and purpose. (To be honest, I didn't pick up on the whole fridging angle until I read this.)

And continuing the theme of Stuff Robinson totally didn't notice until someone pointed it out, the only person of color in the first two books (Sin) is exoticized and a dancer (though not an exotic dancer). And the "let's bring in a white girl to take over instead of her" aspect (ick). I didn't so much mind the "two women vying over leadership of the Market" scenario at the end of this book, but that was partially because I didn't realize what a large role it would play in

The Demon's Surrender

. (To be fair to Rees Brennan, it was significantly less terrible than it might've been, but it still wasn't pretty.)

Cammalot: I’m going to be a be anti-Barthian and resurrect The Author

I'm going out on a tangent to gush about how much I adore this wording; lovely. And only slightly more on-topic, I think in this post-TeXt Factor Season 2 world, citing the Author in this manner is entirely reasonable. (I'm thinking about how much people's perceptions of "The Host" were filtered by the knowledge that it was written by Stephenie Meyer).

Maybe it's better at this point to go bigger with it, especially for minor characters? It's unwieldy to say "The East Asian girl at the corner table," but it might just be what needs to be done.

Maybe so. Unfortunately, this

still

doesn't work if you're trying to write far-future or alternate world speculative fiction (like I am. Still haven't entirely figured out a solution yet).

and for a preternaturally emotionless guy, Nick seems to be emoting left and right. (Which for me raises an interesting question — how clueless can you honestly be about human emotions and still manage to always be bitingly quippy? Can you *be * humorous, on purpose, if you don’t have emotions?)

The part which always strains my suspension of disbelief is how, as a demon who finds human speech difficult, he's incapable of telling a lie, but is completely comfortable dishing out sarcasm. The characters even lampshade it in this book, but Rees Brennan never explains how it's supposed to work.

Kyra: I will second the recommendation of the Bartimaeus Trilogy - I LOVED those.

I'll throw in on this one, too; great trilogy. The more recent installment,

Solomon's Ring

is somewhat weaker, but still very enjoyable, and the title character at least is entertaining as ever.

Dan: The question is not "is Sarah Rees Brennan a racist" it's "are people of colour underrepresented in Sarah Rees Brennan's imaginary world"

Superbly articulated as usual.

Mary J: That, to me, was the driving tension of the plot - Jamie's struggle with his magic, and Mae's struggle to protect him from the magicians. And I found it interesting.

I think that's more-or-less how I related to it, too.

Jamie: Just caught up on this discussion. It was interesting! I have nothing to add to it! This comment may be pointless and excessively exclamatory!

Out of curiosity, were you

trying

to imitate the “Jamie” from the books there? If so: good job!

Cammalot: I can’t stand the US covers. Everyone looks stiff and mannequinlike, and Sin is whitewashed. And aged way up

I read

Covenant

with the US cover and I missed that there was an age-up, but I couldn't for the life of me tell if the character on the cover was supposed to by a whitewashed Sin or a Mae with undyed hair. Answer: whitewashed Sin. Figures.

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Kat S

at 12:08 on 2012-06-25

The whole thing is incredibly colonialist, and indeed functions as a miniature of the colonial narrative: Mae, the rich, white foreigner comes in and revolutionizes a native's land with "superior" organization and technology. But it's all for the better, and the "native" (in this case, Sin) admits that, and eventually comes to support the usurper.

This is an excerpt from a review that pretty much highlighted every issue that I have with this book. The way Sin was portrayed in contrast to Mae sickened me at every turn.

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Wardog

at 12:40 on 2012-06-25I have the third book sitting in my tbr pile and I keep looking at it and making this face:

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http://melaniedavidson.livejournal.com/

at 21:26 on 2012-06-25

...I’ve found that I much prefer to *not* see people like me in the books of authors who might not be able to pull it off properly. I’m not keen on the idea of reading practice-run depictions of people like me in the works of authors who are just learning how. It’s upsetting, not entertaining, and it’s gotten more upsetting as I get older and more exposed to subtler types of fail.

I know this is old (but recently commented-on! Who else watches the recent activity page?), but I feel pretty much the same way. I know there are good arguments on the other side*, but for my personal enjoyment I would MUCH rather read, e.g., a story which "just happens"** not to have any women in it, than one which is horrible and faily with its female characters.

*Like the "token x" thing being in some sense a step forward from an implied "x's just don't fucking exist". I guess I see it as being that they both fail, but in different ways, and it's legitimate for someone to be bothered more by one way than the other. I was going to also say something about it possibly being, for some authors, a step towards

actually

writing non-faily depictions (if they're doing it in good faith, I mean) and that they won't get there if they don't ever try, even if the trying itself can be pretty bad--but you're right; their "practice runs" don't need to be public.

**That's a little sarcastic because I don't really mean that I honestly think it

actually

just sort of happens by pure coincidence that a story is like that, but you see what I mean, right? In-universe there could be a plausible reason or it could be sort of coincidential, like being explicitly set in a single-gender environment, or your example of just small groups of characters which wouldn't necessarily be representative.

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Cammalot

at 01:48 on 2012-06-26

And the "let's bring in a white girl to take over instead of her" aspect (ick). I didn't so much mind the "two women vying over leadership of the Market" scenario at the end of this book, but that was partially because I didn't realize what a large role it would play in The Demon's Surrender. (To be fair to Rees Brennan, it was significantly less terrible than it might've been, but it still wasn't pretty.)

Yeahhhhh... I did not like that at all. I did try to think well of it, as I liked much of what was done with the character beforehand (especially her mixed family, which is something I'm noticing a lot more in London now). But as the story veered more and more in that direction... It's like when you're used to driving on one side of the road, and you go off to a place where they drive on the opposite side, and you're sitting in what your lizard brain can't quite grasp is now the passenger's side, and you find yourself desperately trying to slam on the "brakes" to no avail...

I did NOT want it to go there. And then I hoped it might be going there in a different way... but no.

Also, thank you, Robinson.

@ Melanie -- yes! Ha ha -- this is why I try not to be too harsh on fanfiction. Practice does need to happen. (Of course, I also tend to avoid fanfiction -- some, not all -- so that might not be saying much, on my part.)

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Wardog

at 09:37 on 2012-06-26Hmm... I'm not sure but I think one of the, ah, 'problems' with fanfic is that is not, and should not be perceived, as 'practice' for 'real' writing (sorry for all the scare quotes). I think it's an entirely different entity, written in a different way, with a different purpose, for a different audience. I tend to get a lizard brain effect when I'm reading published books by authors who are influential in (and influenced by) fandom - it's rather like tea from the nutrimatic machine, y'know, almost but completely unlike a book. To be fair to SRB she's made the transition better than others I've experienced (peers at Cassie Clare).

Also I'm not sure if fandom could be sensibly relied upon to be a sensible practice audience - in the post you linked to, there's a response from SRB in which she basically criticises fandom for only being interested in straight (?) white boys.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm not sure it is possible to practice run at these things. I mean if you 'practice' on yourself and your friends you'll just confirm your own prejudices and sit around congratulation yourself on your splendid portrayal of somebody who is not you.

On the other hand, published and be damned and upsetting a bunch of people doesn't seem a legitimate way forward either...

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http://fishinginthemud.livejournal.com/

at 10:19 on 2012-06-26The only thing I can imagine fanfic being good "practice" for might be some technical issue like writing reasonable-sounding dialogue for an established character or setting up a scene. If the tv-writing business were less impenetrable, a lot of fic writers would probably do much better as guest writers on long-running series than they would as novelists.

As far as creating original characters or coming up with plots that haven't been done to death, I think fanfic-writing probably does more harm than good. I think another of Rowling's many crimes is making hackery look easier than it is.

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Wardog

at 10:25 on 2012-06-26Yes! Hackery is a fine old art and should be treated with the respect it deserves! (and I mean that seriously).

Sorry to randomly bring up an old article written by me (!) but I remember trying to read

City of Bones

and being struck by how ... oddly it was constructed. I probably articulated it in a way that would enrage all fanfic writers everywhere but I found even the technicalities of it (the way characterisation worked, the dialogue) noticeably different from original fiction.

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Arthur B

at 10:48 on 2012-06-26Genuine question: could there be a publisher-side role in helping writers get the sort of practice we're talking about without necessarily unleashing harmfully offensive texts on the public? I mean, commercial publication via a publisher is more or less the only place where writers are obliged to hold to any standard other than their own whim; self-publishing and fanfic doesn't really have any filters that an author couldn't bypass when it comes to getting a text to market. If editors took it on themselves to say things like "Are you sure your portrayal of this character isn't problematic for X reasons?" alongside points like "This looks like a typo but I'm not sure what you intended with it" and "Hang on, isn't this a continuity error?" then at least

someone

is flagging areas for improvement before a text is finalised.

Then again, that'd rely on the editors themselves being clued-in sorts who by and large "get it", and the publishers being willing to hold a book back until the author gets it right. And we live in a world where publishers are willing to put out

The Straight Razor Cure

so clearly offensive handling of race isn't enough of a commercial liability to put them off provided that there's a genre audience that's willing to accept it.

So basically bad authorial habits + fandom of enablers = more fail to come. :(

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Sister Magpie

at 15:39 on 2012-06-26It's an interesting question, though isn't it, exactly how bad it is to recognize fanfic styles in an original work? Is it just jarring or actually bad? I mean, the CoB article imo does a great job in pointing out the ways it can be a problem (and I didn't take it as insulting to fanfic, but that's me), but otoh there's probably a lot of things in fanfic that aren't bad when done in original work because people enjoy them in fanfic and will also enjoy them in original fic.

Like the post above, I do think fanfic can be helpful in improving some things--any writing can be good practice. It's just that there are other things it's not going to teach you how to do, and it can also give you bad habits. At least some of the fanfic writers who have gone pro were *very* popular writing fanfic, and while there are a lot of dismissive reasons for why they were popular (right pairings, right friends etc.), I think part of it was that they were often doing things that a lot of fanficcers lack or ignore.

That is, just as one can read a novel and recognize a fanfic style, one can also be reading a fanfic and realize hold on, this person's actually writing fic like an original work, which can be great. Rare, but great.

I'm not even sure that fanfic is always a good starting point for writing for a series, actually. I've never really written much fanfic (I've done Yuletide twice now, but since that's a fest for small fandoms and a couple of the stories I did wouldn't even qualify as fanfic because of the source material), but I've done tie-in novels and I think they rely much more on the standard "pro-fic" model rather than fanfic. Not that one can't crossover--as at least some Star Trek fic authors did, of course. I don't make the distinction that notorious anti-fanfic author Lee Goldberg does b/w tie-ins and fanfic but most fanfic couldn't be a tie-in novel any more than it could be an original novel. When I read the Sarah Monette books they also seemed very heavily influenced by fanfic to me, yet I don't think she's ever written any. (She does read it, though, so it could still be there.)

Basically I'm just wondering about whether fanfic is fundamentally different from any other type of writing that can influence an author. Like, I've noticed that I'll pick up habits from different writing jobs. The magazine that I work for has a very specific style (a fiction style, that is) that I have to remind myself isn't the law.

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http://fishinginthemud.livejournal.com/

at 15:52 on 2012-06-26

Sorry to randomly bring up an old article written by me (!) but I remember trying to read City of Bones and being struck by how ... oddly it was constructed.

Yeah, I was actually thinking of that article. Like you said there, that stupid scene with the boy at the piano would have worked if he had been Draco Malfoy. If you have a reasonable idea of who a character is, or at least the fanon version of him, you can put words in his mouth and make him do things that feel authentic. That's why I think the skills used in fanfic would actually transfer to writing for established tv shows in a way that they absolutely don't transfer to writing novels. It's not that fanfic makes you better at writing original fiction, it's that it makes you better at writing fanfic.

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http://fishinginthemud.livejournal.com/

at 16:00 on 2012-06-26

I've done tie-in novels and I think they rely much more on the standard "pro-fic" model rather than fanfic.

I didn't know that, but that makes sense too. I'm thinking of the few really good tv-based fics I've read where the dialogue sounds like it could have been on the show itself, and I wonder why this person isn't writing for the show. But of course there are other issues involved in tv writing that I don't know anything about.

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Sister Magpie

at 16:11 on 2012-06-26

If you have a reasonable idea of who a character is, or at least the fanon version of him, you can put words in his mouth and make him do things that feel authentic.

Within reason. Because let's not forget that OOC! is a common criticism of fanfic. The Draco Malfoy discovered playing piano is, after all, often referred to as fanon!Draco for a reason. The key is to sit the sweet spot where you're revealing something new about the character that deepens them and feels authentic but also doesn't feel like shifting the gravity of the piece to revolve around how deep they are, or make the audience feel like you're just fangirling that character, which has certainly been known to happen too. If you start doing that you might get the same "it's like fanfic" criticism.

The CoB example, for instance, really brings up the conundrum. The reveal of the piano scene lacks something because it's not actually Draco. But was Draco in HP lacking something because he had no "piano scenes?" (He did have something close to one in the bathroom in HBP, but compared to the fanfic version that scene's cut brutally short and the emotional fallout immediately smothered. I admit I did find the canon version unsatisfying because it didn't follow through emotionally, but a full-out fanfic version would undoubtedly be out of place even without the porn!)

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http://fishinginthemud.livejournal.com/

at 16:48 on 2012-06-26Yeah, the piano scene fits Draco because it calls up the popular conception that he has a lonely inner life and a genuine but somewhat strained connection to his family and his upbringing. I think the suicide mission of HBP fulfills essentially the same purpose. At this point it's arguably moot what anyone thinks is in character for anyone in HP, but back in the day I found fanon!Draco a reasonable interpretation of the character, mostly because there was so little to him that pretty much anything would have fit.

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Cammalot

at 18:53 on 2012-06-26Kyra, I think I really, really need you to read book three. I find myself craving an article on it. :-)

in the post you linked to, there's a response from SRB

Please pardon my dumb -- can you point me to this? I've scrolled through several times and can't find this link.

My opinions on fanfic are complicated and changeable, and affected by the fact that I haven't been involved in it since about 1999, which was a bit pre-Livejournal and pre-Google and was indeed a time when you wrote the fic predominantly for your friends of like mind in "webcircles," and there was, for the longest, just one guy out there called "Minotaur" (now sadly deceased) who had a website "workshop" to teach people (mostly straight girls) how to write (gay) sex. It was not an enlightened time.

I agree that fanfic writing and fiction writing/novel writing are two different things and require significantly different skill sets. (The fanfiction skill set might overlap more with comic-book or television writing. Not necessarily with tie-in novels, as there's often a great deal of backstory creation and filling in internal-thoughtstream and motivational blanks going on there.) And proficiency at one doesn't mean proficiency at the other.

But it also looks to me, from the periphery, that in the fanfiction world of today, especially since the advent of more community-based (and less Geocities-esque) Livejournal-type sites and large fic archive-type places, there is a wider audience for it, more opportunity for feedback from people who don't know you, and more opportunities for education archived in the Wank blogs and fan history wikis and the various "Sue" and other critique (and snark) communities -- especially post Racefail.

So I'm thinking somewhat selfishly that if people are going to screw up, it might be best for them to do it there, under a pseudonym, in a place where I can comfort myself post-rage by saying, "Well, it's an amateur and at least they are not getting paid for this," or more likely, where I can avoid it entirely.

Also I'm not sure if fandom could be sensibly relied upon to be a sensible practice audience -- in the post you linked to, there's a response from SRB in which she basically criticises fandom for only being interested in straight (?) white boys.

I've read far too much critique of poor handling of characters of color in fiction to believe that fandom is [em]only[/em] interested in white boys. People are producing these versions of characters that are getting critiques. Overall, fandom might be [em]predominantly[/em] interested in straight white boys, but that is also true of the world at large (see the debacle over Rue in the Hunger Games). I feel like there is a growing movement to be inclusive and to get it right. Possibly not as large or as fast-growing as it could be. And there are still areas that need a lot more work having awareness raised than others -- awareness of racism far outstrips awareness of ablism, and acceptance of gayness is more prevalent and even more understood than issues of gender fluidity -- but [disclosure] I was born in the early 70s, so a lot of the progress I see around me looks HUGE.

So it might not be the best practice for excellent novel-writing skills, but overall, if done in public, I think it is at least starter practice for not pissing people off by being socially insensitive.

Tangentially, I saw a huge billboard covering the side of a bus for Cassie Claire's "Angel" series two days ago. I felt very resigned.

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Cammalot

at 19:12 on 2012-06-26(Correction -- not pre Google, but it was very new, and I hadn't heard of it when I sort of petered out of fandom. It was all "search.com.")

Oh, and I've got typos in my html. Darn...

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http://melaniedavidson.livejournal.com/

at 20:11 on 2012-06-26

Genuine question: could there be a publisher-side role in helping writers get the sort of practice we're talking about without necessarily unleashing harmfully offensive texts on the public?

That is more or less what I was thinking of when I said it didn't need to be public, actually--it is at least the publisher's/editor's job to make sure the book is up to standards and ready to be published (as opposed to it

not

being the job of all [insert group here] everywhere to have to educate authors about how not to fail miserably when writing about [insert group here]). But that's thinking ideally (well, sort of ideally--

ideally

the problem wouldn't exist!) and the practical problems are as you said.

Yeah, it does seem that with fanfic there is a bit less distance between author and audience and possibly therefore a better chance that they will actually see that type of criticism (because it's more likely to be in the same actual community they're part of), either about their own work or about someone else's (as sometimes you see something someone

else

has done criticized and go, "oh shit, I've done that, too, time to stop").

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Cammalot

at 20:29 on 2012-06-26

Genuine question: could there be a publisher-side role in helping writers get the sort of practice we're talking about without necessarily unleashing harmfully offensive texts on the public?

I wonder about this a great deal.

On one hand, yes, they should. On the other, A) the primary goal of publishing corporations (maybe not academic presses, but they're included, to an extent) is to make money -- to find the hit that will appeal to large numbers of people and make the cash so they can stay in business, and B) the publishing industry seem to be very homogenous, to me -- a lot of the individual editors mean *very* well but might not *know* what they're looking for in order to correct it. I spent more of my time in magazines than in books, and so I'm sure my viewpoint is limited in that way, but I have also spent time as the Only Black in the Village attempting damage control at relatively late stages in the production process pointing out things that simply did not occur to my white colleagues. Also C) the people who are doing the hands-on selection of books aren't the corporate bigwigs who actually make the decisions that stick.

I have to sort that out in my head some more.

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Cammalot

at 20:46 on 2012-06-26(I forgot to disclaim I'm talking about the U.S., and the east coast U.S., for that matter.)

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Robinson L

at 22:02 on 2012-06-26You're welcome, Cammalot; I greatly appreciate getting your viewpoint on the issues on this thread.

Cammalot: Kyra, I think I really, really need you to read book three. I find myself craving an article on it. :-)

I'd like that, too. I've read

The Demon's Surrender

and I'd really like to see - and take part in - a discussion about it. I don't feel motivated to write a review myself (although I suppose I'm somewhat open to being badgered into it).

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Cammalot

at 02:38 on 2012-06-27*puppy eyes at Kyra*

CRIKEY. That was supposed to be "critique of poor handling of characters of color in "FANfiction." You know, I truly did do a preview...my screen is small... my dog ate my keyboard...

#Ferretbrain #The Demon’s Lexicon #The Demon's Covenant #Wardog #Sarah Rees Brennan

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crazysabitch-blog · 5 years

Link

Crazy’s A Bitch

Glory

‘The blessings always outweigh the curse,’ my mother always told me. She always stood by that statement to the bitter end.

If you ask me, life is more like a rabid squirrel, chasing you through a mine field.

Which I guess you could say started when I was nine, when Mom went on to her great rewards in Heaven. My brothers and I stayed behind on Earth, with Dad and our two grandmothers. My very first glimpse at the rabid squirrels you might say.

Mom came from a long line of people of faith. She also came from a long line of looneys, hypocrites and assorted con-artists too. So, you can take your pick in our family.

After all, it’s all about balance people.

I was told all my life Mom nicknamed me Glory because she saw greatness in me. I remember her telling me I would do something amazing in this world. I always felt like I was on a pedestal while she was here.

My ex-husband however, called my Nutsy.

See? Balance.

To be honest, I did come unhinged during my marriage, but let me tell you David was a real winner. The way I see it, if you tear at my last nerve, you deserve what you get. And sometimes it comes in the form of Satan in high heels.

You need to stand your ground in this life. You know what I’m saying? I may have been blessed with grace in my mother’s eyes, but in mine, I was blessed with a good right hook. Which is I find becomes increasingly necessary as I get older.

Because, let’s face it, most people are idiots.

There’s always somebody running around on somebody, or lying about someone. Or cheating someone, stealing or beating the system. And I’ve run into most of those chuckle heads. Hell, I think they had me on speed dial or something.

Personally, I think I should have been given a medal or something for dealing with my ex-husband, the winner I mentioned before. A saint would want to pull his head off.

Far as I could tell, he wasn’t using it anyway…

In my defense, I married young, without an ounce of sense.

We met at a party. He walked in, and my brain died. There could be no other explanation for it. He just about led me around by the nose, that night. Which ended up lasting seven years. Seven long, crappy years.

David Alverez was a good looking, smooth talking, knuckle dragging, cave dwelling Neanderthal. How’s that for accurate? He could charm the birds out of the trees as my Nana would say.

Just call me Tweety.

From day damn one we had problems. Problems like, he wanted to be single and free on the outside of our front door, and the Rockstar when he came home. I turned myself inside and out trying please him, hoping to make our commitment to our marriage work.

I thought love could change him. And he was savvy enough to let me believe that.

Huh. The only thing that changed was my self-esteem. It nosed dived off edge of my sanity.

Six years into the marriage and he was still working as a part time mechanic and I was working full time for the New York Transit Authority. We were barely getting by, and he was full of promises, excuses, bad ideas, and get rich schemes.

I am sad to say I fell for it all at first. Year four of our marriage I was in it for the kids. Great plan, right? And I knew better, that was the worst part, I knew it and I just kept going out of desperation.

The breaking point came when, David had come home late, expecting a hot meal and a quiet wife.

I got close enough to smell the booze and see a smear of red lipstick that Romeo had missed. “You didn’t get all of her off you, you know,” I said, slapping the back of his dark head as he went past me.

I’m five foot eight inches tall, but David still towered over me at six foot-four.

He staggered forward. I huffed in disgust. He put his hand out to catch himself on the doorframe.

Then David’s head snapped around. His black eyes were dull, and I wondered how much of his paycheck was left. “You better watch yourself! I don’t need to come home to this shit every damn night. I’m entitled to some time to myself,” he yelled, his face was flushed, and his eyes were getting watery.

David leaned on the faded yellow wallpaper in our tiny kitchen. He smelled of motor oil and stale cigarettes. The three top buttons were undone on his light blue mechanics shirt. He was a well-built man, and he liked showing it off.

One of the things that caught my attention when we first met, those three damn buttons…

He didn’t seem so seductive at that point in our barely-there kitchen. It was so small that the only way to fit the tiny table and two wire back chairs in there was to shove them up against the wall. So, there wasn’t much wall left for David to lean on.

The living room was even worse, with the thread bare sofas and a stained rug. The kids ate kneeling in front of the nicked-up coffee table for meals. There was a crappy little television we had bought second hand, sitting on a scarred-up desk we had found in the trash outside on a random garbage day.

It was pathetic.

“You need to start taking care of your kids!” I shouted. “I make the money around here and there ain’t much left after the bills are paid. You need to put money into this household and not on some damn slut in a bar!”

The fact that I was still in my transit uniform because I had no time to change after picking up the kids, and rushing around with shopping, dinner and homework; had no effect on David.

I also had had to dislodge a raisin out of my son’s nose after said dinner, but that’s another story.

“You want a better life? Get a better job,” David slurred at me.

He was slamming around the kitchen, looking for his dinner. The one that was sitting in the garbage. Chicken and rice, his favorite. Too bad.

“The day I got to buy a man, I can damn well afford better than you!” I yelled back, dragging my kids behind me into the bedroom until David went to sleep.

I packed my up my little ones that night. My daughter Cindy was only five at the time and my son Theo was three. I hated to see the confusion and fear in their eyes from my fights with their father. We moved in with my Dad and my two grandmothers.

That was twenty-one years ago.

I am still with the MTA.

I have no regrets, it has great benefits, and my bills are always paid. A nest egg was waiting patiently for me when I retired, decades from now. But it was there.

Cindy and Theo were now adults, out there on their own. Doing their own thing. Cindy thing was going better than Theo’s thing, I have to say.

Cindy was good a fending for herself. Always could come up with the rent, sometimes late, but it got there. She didn’t party, checked in with her family, and paid her parking tickets on time. I had no real issue with my little girl.

Except when it came to men. Like mother like daughter. But honestly, she was drop dead gorgeous. She had long wavy black hair, with my striking blue eyes. She had my mother’s fine bone structure, and a smile that lit up a room. Her only issue? Her weight could creep up on her.

Just like her mother, sorry kid….

Cindy was like me, a cross between the Latina roots on my mother’s side, and Irish on my father’s side. We got the dark hair and olive complexion from Mom. From Dad we got brilliant blue eyes, and the height. We got great tans in the summer and looked good in a pair of heels. Pretty good genes if you ask me.

Now, Theo was all Latino. Tall, dark and handsome. Girls had been throwing themselves at him since before he hit adolescence. I only wished he would chase jobs down the way he chased women. Some people say I favor my son, not true. I worry myself sick over his antics and his irresponsible ways. Any mother who got frequent phone calls to save their kid’s ass would worry

And sometimes hyperventilate and have a meltdown or two; depending on the call.

That boy is gonna be the death of me. Always scraping by, I should’ve cut him off financially years ago. He drifted from one job to another. But what can I say, he’s Mama’s baby.

What are you going to do right?

It didn’t help that my Abuela was forever comparing Theo to his cousin Mateo. “Why can’t you get a good job like your cousin? He makes good money, and benefits,” she would harp on him.

This would frustrate Theo to no end.

“Lela, Mateo is in broadcasting!” I would tell her, willing her to keep quiet.

Lela was my childhood nickname for Abuela since I was two. It’s pronounced Lay-la. Something that I passed on to my kids. It’s so damn cute, I don’t care how old we are. It’s cute.

“Huh, well then how about Ricky? He has his own house, a car and takes care of his mother,” Lela shot back, nodding her little knobby head.

“He’s an accountant.” Theo said rolling his eyes.

“What? You can’t count? Excuse me Mr.-I-don’t-even-want-to-try.” she answered looking away and folding her arms.

I had to admit, Lela might be on to something...

Nana Clara, my Dad’s mother, wanted to know why Cindy wasn’t married, or even in the ballpark.

Because Cindy brought home all the broken ones, that’s why. She was her mother’s protégé when it came to men. If there was an award to be given out for collecting idiots and losers, let’s just say, we would be neck and neck right about now.

That didn’t stop me from giving Cindy advice. Not that she ever asked me. Not that that ever stopped me. I am her mother after all. I have to say something. Not that she ever listened to this advice. It went in one ear and out the other.

But my girl had damn well better get better taste in men. Because that last man of hers almost killed me. Him and that slutty Beverly Walker.

I shivered at the thought. A sharp pain suddenly gripped me. I froze.

A faint whisper of a memory floated by.

Uh-oh. Something bad had happened. It was just on the tip of all that darkness swirling around, painfully in my head. My teeth were suddenly on edge, and I couldn’t seem to catch my breath.

“Gloria? Can you hear me? I need you to open your eyes for me. This is Jared, I am a nurse and you’re in the hospital. I need you to open your eyes.” Jared’s loud and intruding voice said from somewhere over me.

My eyes were throbbing, and my mouth was dry enough to spit cotton. All I wanted was to keep drifting back to the dark, comforting space that I was being yanked out of. Why can’t people just leave me alone? I tried to shift away from Jared.

Noisy thing.

I should slap him I thought.

Pain exploded in me when I moved. I gagged. My tongue was thick, and my lungs felt raw. Had I been in a fire? Dear Lord, did Nana set fire to the kitchen again? Because Dad had proven to be the worst firefighter.

I started making this weird, involuntary clucking noise. What the hell?

And my head felt like it had been hammered to pieces and glued back together with cheapest glue they could find.

“Oh no you don’t. I see you moving. You can hear me. Gloria, open your eyes. The doctor is waiting to see you” he said.

Doctor?! What doctor? What the flaming hell was he talking about? Oh Damn, that’s right; that skank tried to kill me. It was attempted murder through and through. And I needed to live. I had to make sure Skanky paid for this crap.

My mind raced at the flash of memory.

It had been about eight thirty in the morning and I had been ready to start my shift. I was driving the one train, from Manhattan to the Bronx. A few people I worked with were on the platform as well. They were heading for the train yard like me.

I had just finished my egg, cheese, and diced jalapeno pepper breakfast sandwich, and was in the middle of gulping down the last of my coffee, when I heard people start whispering around me.

Well, that can’t be good, I thought in the back of my mind. I rolled my head around, trying to find the reason for my new-found attention.

That’s when I saw Skanky, also known as Beverly Walker. I knew it was me she was waiting for. It wasn’t hard to locate her. Somehow, she managed to look like a hooker in a transit uniform.

She was a real sight, Skanky street Walker. Busting out of a uniform, two sizes to small.

The name took off the first time I said it at a union meeting. I couldn’t believe it. But it’s not like she hadn’t earned the name herself, as I had told people countless times. But it had taken quite the imagination to come up with, if I do say so myself.

But she was a whore, no imagination needed for that.

In her first year alone, Beverly had hooked up with a quarter of all the men in our union. It was a joke that she was the unmentioned benefit, that the union was supplying. How anyone could consider a walking STD, a benefit is beyond me.

I personally think Skanky should be sanitized before and after hours. Because, you just don’t know where she’s been. And do you really want to sit anywhere near, where she has parked her lady bits?

Beverly worked hard at getting male attention. She wore heavy makeup, just shy of clown status. The only thing that was beautiful about her was her long blonde curly hair. It was a crowning glory.

Damn her.

Other than that, she relied on sex and booze to get by with men.

I have no use for that kind of crap. Especially, when she went after my Cindy’s boyfriend.

Chris Harper. Just hearing his name could piss me off.

I never liked Chis, not from day one. He was mouthy and shifty eyed. If he had been attentive to Cindy, or even smart, I could have tolerated him. Nope, he was dumber that a bag of rocks. And he was always putting my girl down. I don’t know what Cindy ever saw in him.

But when I caught him and Skanky doing the deed on one the trains that had been put away for the night an unholy rage was unleashed.

First, I videoed the show on my cell phone. Then, I stomped right on in there. You should’ve seen them both trying to pull their pants back up. Chris’s drawers were hanging around his ankles and Skanky was trying to ram here fat rump back into her skinny slacks.

Would’ve been easier to stuff a squirrel through a keyhole, if you asked me.

Then I beat the crap out of both.

You would think it would have been harder than it was, but half naked people get really distracted. Even if you are trying to break their necks.

Chris was scooting around on his bare ass, with his hands up trying ward me off. He looked like Theo when I had to take him for his measles shot when he was three.

The whole time Chris is wailing, “Please don’t tell Cindy! She meant nothing to me. Bev was just some hoe.” he whined.

Blood was streaked across his face from his nose. It was also on his chest, his pant leg, and the floor. Never had I seen a more disgusting, sniveling creature.

Me and my girl needed to have a heart to heart.

Skanky, had pulled most of her body parts into place, and was cursing him and trying to kick him too. That boy didn’t know who was going to beat his ass that night.

But that’s the price you pay when that’s the game you play.

I swatted Bev around the car for good measure too.

As I was leaving, I heard her yell ‘watch your back.’

I guess I knew I’d find her eventually waiting for me somewhere. And that somewhere was on a platform with coworkers and passengers.

Great.

“I hear you been telling lies about me again,” Skanky had shouted, tossing her hair as if she was in a shampoo commercial. She pouted and looked around to see who was paying attention.

Oh, they all were. Sonny and Mitch the tunnel custodians, had stopped placing bets on the ponies on their cell phones. Victor and Daisy two other conductors stepped closer to hear. A handful or more started to come out of the woodwork. They knew about the feud between me and Skanky.

This was gonna be high noon in every way.

The main feud had started when Skanky tried sweet talking our supervisor into giving her my run on the one train. When I had confronted her, she said I was too old to drive a train anymore. Excuse me? Forty-seven is the new thirty thank you! And I had been there in that union, doing that job when she was stuffing her first bra in junior high school.

I told her in no uncertain terms that she was unfit to do any job other than on her back.

We had to be pulled apart after that.

And so, it began.

Now I am standing downwind of the skanks cheap perfume. Nice way to start the morning. I rolled my eyes and checked my watch. Train should be here any second.

“You think you can talk crap about me and I am going to just sit there and take it?” Skanky said. She took a few steps in my direction. She turned to see if everyone was still watching.

“What have I called you that you’re not?” I asked in bored flat tone. I tossed my empty coffee cup into the trash can and turned to face her.

She looked at me smugly, and it began to dawn on me that she should be a little more discrete since I have video footage of her doinking Chris on the train. She had no evidence against me.

So, what the hell?

“I’m going to end this here and now.” Skanky said loudly, standing on her tip toes and craning her head around.

Dumbass. You want your close- up now, I thought. I was already tired of this.

“Well what you gonna do?” I asked throwing arms out to the side. You want it? Bring it, I figured.

I got a measured look from her, “Think you hold all the cards, don’t you?” she asked. Her bright pink mouth twitched, and her eyes danced.

Didn’t I? Suddenly I wasn’t feeling so superior. Suddenly, it felt like the rug might get yanked out from under me. And suddenly, I wanted to go home.

“It’s too bad your career after all these years is probably going to end up in the toilet. You’re going to be begging me soon to save your job.” Skanky finished.

“Me? Beg you? You’re off your meds, right? Listen, get your butt out of here before I go to the supervisors about this.” I blasted back.

Skanky threw back her head and laughed. Why wasn’t she scared? I had witnesses, I had seniority, I had the video. I was safe. Right?

Then it hit me. I should have figured it out sooner. She was mixing it up with one of the supervisors. There could be no other explanation for her newfound confidence. I gritted my teeth.

And Skanky winds up on top.

I eyeballed her. Pure satisfaction spread slowly across her face. She knew I understood. Damn her. She whipped out her left hand from behind her back. And even I was struck dumb. On her ring finger was a brilliant rock. She slowly brought her hand up and deliberately stroked her shiny hair. Holy crap.

“Well?” Miss Walker asked, stamping her foot. Her beady hazel eyes were on me. “Aren’t you going to apologize to me, for all the mean things you’ve done to me?”

I nearly choked. I’ve done to her? I could hear my blood pulsing through my ears.

Our coworkers started mumbling under their breath, they got the picture too. A look of utter disgust went over Sonny’s face. She had been with his brother a few months back, so he knew she had something coming to her.

Just not this.

“Never fails. Nice guys finish last.” I heard him say glaring at the ring that was still glistening like a disco ball under the light.

I grimaced. Look, I get how the world works, but I will be dipped in donkey dung before I apologize to Skanky Streetwalker.

I shrugged, “A ho’s a ho, no matter who lays claim to her.” I said, and people gasped around me.

Some of the guys cheered.

Skanky looked like she had been slapped. Her mouth shaped a perfect O. Apparently, this was not the response she had expected. I allowed myself that small satisfaction, while not letting myself think what it could be costing me.

I might be more like my son than I liked to admit.

I heard that familiar clattering behind me and breathed a sigh of relief. I checked my watch again; the train was late. And if it had been on time I would’ve missed this episode of ‘who’s screwing who’.

From behind me I heard a screech. I realized I had made a fatal mistake, one you don’t make in the streets of New York. You never, ever, turn your back on your enemy, even if they seem weaker or stupider than you.

Because sometimes stupid is more dangerous than anything else.

All I saw were distant headlights coming down the dark tunnel before something jumped on my back. I lurched forward under the weight, the breath knocked almost out of me. I couldn’t lift my head so all I saw were peoples pant legs and feet.

Fear gurgled up inside me.

“Look out!” Daisy yelled.

Really? Now you’re gonna yell that? Thanks Daisy.

I gasped, and my arms flailed for a moment. I was getting pummeled with her right fist, while being choked out with her left. I staggered around, careful to avoid the edge of the platform. My heart squeezed painfully at the sight of the bright yellow caution border on the ledge.

I squirmed and bucked trying to get her off. She was screeching in my left ear, making me more confused as I struggled to get my bearings.

My right hand reached around my neck and started pulling on her arm that was choking me.

She was a lot stronger than the last time we grappled. Having no other option, I grabbed the rock on her finger and twisted it hard enough to break her finger. Then I tucked my chin into my neck. She yelled out in pain and I swung my whole body around, knocking Skanky off.

She landed in a heap to the concrete floor. Glossy blonde hair splayed all around her. The light still danced off the diamond on finger, as she pushed up off the floor to a kneeling position.

There was blood in her eye when she jumped up. Straight into my fist. This time when she fell, it was on her ass. I stood there waiting for her to get back up.

“Help! Someone, call the police!” Skanky hollered.

I was breathing heavily, as the everything spun around me. A fine sweat broke out all over me, and I prayed I wouldn’t pass out. I would never live it down. Skanky Streetwalker did in Glory Shanahan, it would be humiliating.

Skanky was scrambling to standup, but her legs were wobbling badly. At least we were both in bad shape, I told myself. I must have given her a good shot in the head I realized. I wondered what the union could do for me at this point. Regret started creeping up inside me. I still needed this job.

My little nest egg that was waiting for me flashed before my eyes.

Instead of helping, people started laughing at Beverly. Panic was starting to seize me and the need to get the hell out of there was nearly overwhelming. I looked over my shoulder to see the train’s silver car racing towards us.

Again, stupid move.

I never learn.

I was shoved this time. The last thing I remember was grabbing her blonde hair in a desperate attempt to keep myself up on that platform.

Joke was on me; her luxurious blonde hair came with me.

Oh, shit!

The train had whooshed over me while I had tried covering me head with the stupid wig. Not exactly a helmet. “Help!” I screamed. I tried to keep my body as flat against the tracks as I could. Not an easy task at one hundred and sixty something pounds.

Dear Lord, I prayed. Let me live. I’ve got kids. I got a family. I’ll be nicer. I’ll get a new job, a better job. Helping kids maybe or the elderly. Before I could make another plea. I heard it.

The voice.

“Do not worry child. You are being saved for a much higher purpose,” the voice said.

Yeah? I strained to listen. Strangely enough, I couldn’t hear the train anymore. “You will live out your days as Karma. And be a reminder that I am always watching,” the voice said.

My body instantly relaxed at the words. I started getting this floaty, warm feeling inside me. The air around me now felt like a breeze. I waited to see if the Angels would sing for me.

But that didn’t happen. Maybe next time, I told myself happily.

“Gloria!” somebody yelled, and I was shaken out of my thoughts.

“What do you want from me,” I roared, sitting up.

There was a little Chinese man there beside me in pink scrubs.

Jared.

He jumped back in terror, arms crossed over his chest. Jared’s mouth was open in a silent scream. He dragged in a breath, almost doubling over.

Drama queen.

“I want to just see if you’re alive. Is that alright with you?” he snapped. His eyes were wide with fear and aggravation as he contemplated me.

“I am fine. Don’t you know who I am?” I asked. Better to hit the ground running with this. It was time to start flexing some mystical muscle here.

Claim my destiny.

“You’re Gloria Shanahan,” the nurse said flatly. He reached for the blood pressure cuff and pulled out his stethoscope from his front pocket. He had the nerve to look down, like I wasn’t even there.

You have got to be kidding me.

“Wrong little man. This is Karma your dealing with,” I informed him. I shifted and the whole room waltzed around me. I put my arms out to balance me. Dear Lord, why was I in pain like this? I was of a higher calling now.

I am damn sure I am not meant to suffer like this.

“Carmen?” Jared asked blankly. He blinked and ran over to his chart. He glanced it over. “I have you down here as Gloria.”

“Not Carmen. Karma. K-A-R-M-A” I spelled out for him. I had to turn my head to see him. One of my eyes wasn’t working.

I reached up and touched it. Pain shot through every nerve I had in my body. “Eeesh!” I shrieked and fell back. I needed to find out if there was somebody to complain to about these Earthly sufferings.

“Hey, I may need a barf bag or something,” I told him, begrudgingly.

“You’re…” the nurse sputtered, clutching the chart to his stomach now. “Oh Lord.” he muttered. Jared knuckles turned white from clutching the clip board, as he opened and closed his mouth like a fish.

“No, not God. You crazy or something? Karma. Although I am kind of up there now. Huh let’s see what Skanky pants thinks of this,” I laughed. I almost forgot about the raw shoulders and back, and throbbing headache.

Almost.

“Uhm, right. I need to go get the doctor Miss uh Karma,” the nurse said backing away. He was giving me a real toothy smile, still clutching my chart. Jared toppled backward over the IV pole behind him. He scrambled to stay upright.

I couldn’t blame him. This was all kinds of awesome. I would be a little overwhelmed in my presence too. After all, it’s not everyday Karma shows up in your bleak little world.

I laid back. “I’ll be needing pain meds” I called out. I had a feeling my closed-up eye looked like a mini eggplant.

No one answered. Huh.

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