Complaints coming to you from 1862

Many of the first reviewers of Les Misérables complained that the title was uncouth, overdramatic, and misleading but in his Étude sur les Misérables de M. V. Hugo, Félix Courtat took it a step further, complaining that the chapter titles themselves offended his sensibilities. He wrote that he reproached Victor Hugo for his choice in chapter titles because:  

They seem calculated to sell books by searching to stimulate the curiosity of buyers rather than coming from an austere writer who only thinks of instructing them. I will only cite two examples among many others. 

1. “Little Gavroche Takes Advantage of Napoleon le Grand.” This means that a gamin of Paris choses to live in the elephant of the place de la Bastille. 

2. “In Which an Agent of the Police Gives Two Punches to a Lawyer.” This means that he gives him two pocket pistol. 

The reason that the second example upsets him is because of the pun on “coups de poing,” the thing that the agent of police is said to give the lawyer. That word can either mean a punch but also a type of gun. Several reviewers I have found disliked Hugo’s use of puns.  You can read Courtat’s meticulous account of everything he disliked in Les Misérables here, or you can read my English translation here.  

latest promotional article for the tmatl production referring to anne stanhope/seymour as 'violent'...booooooo

APOLLO GEIST 2: THIS TIME, HE'S GAY

How was Danton responsible for the 10th of August insurrection?

According to L’école révolutionnaire des Cordeliers (published both here and as chapter three of Danton: le mythe et l’histoire (2016)) by Raymonde Monnier, ”on August 10, Danton is a key person of the situation created through the insurrection.” As evidence for this, Monnier first and foremost lifts the following decree from the section of Théâtre−Français, signed by Danton on July 30:

The section of Théâtre-Français declares […] that the fatherland being in danger, all French men are called upon to defend it; that there no longer exists what the aristocrats called passive citizens, that those who carried this unjust title are called as much to the service of the national guard as to the sections and the primary assemblies to deliberate there. Signed: Danton, president. Anaxagoras Chaumette, vice-president. Momoro, secretary.

According to the memoirs of Chaumette, Danton was still in Paris on August 5. One day later, we do however find him in Arcis, signing a decree granting his mother a house, seemingly so she had something to fall back on was he to perish during the insurrection.

As for Danton’s role in the insurrection itself, he had the following to say about it during his trial held one and a half year later:

I am accused of having retired to Arcis-sur-Aube at the time when the journée of August 10 was being planned. To this accusation, I respond that I declared at that time that either the French people would be victorious or I would be dead. I ask to bring forward as witness to this fact citizen Payen. […] Pétion, leaving the Commune, came to the Cordelier Club. He told us that the tocsin would ring at midnight and that the next day must be the tomb of tyranny; he told us that the attack on the royalists was planned for the night, but that he had arranged things in such a way that everything would be done in broad daylight and would be over by noon and that victory was assured for the patriots. As for me, I only left my section after recommending to notify me would anything new happen. I stayed in my section for twelve hours straight, and returned there the next day at nine o'clock. This is the shameful rest in which I indulged, according to the report. Danton before the tribunal on April 3 1794, as reported in Bulletin du Tribunal Révolutionnaire

I had prepared August 10 and I went to Arcis, because Danton is a good son, to spend three days, say goodbye to my mother and settle my affairs, there are witnesses to it. After that, I was very much in evidence. I didn't go to bed. Although I was an official at the Commune I went to the Cordeliers. I told Minister Clavières, who came from the Commune, that we were going to start an insurrection. After having arranged all the operations and the moment of the attack, I lay down on the bed like a soldier, with orders to warn me. I left at one o'clock and went to the Commune which had become revolutionary. I issued the death warrant against Mandat who was in possession of an order to fire on the people. The mayor was arrested and I remained at the Commune following the advice of the patriots. Notes de Topino Lebrun, juré au Tribunal révolutionnaire de Paris, sur le procès de Danton et sur Fouquier-Tinville (1875)

On December 12 1793, Lucile Desmoulins wrote a long description over what she had experienced during the night of the insurrection four months earlier, a description where Danton gets mentioned multiple times:

After dinner [on August 9] we all went to D(anton’s). Her mother was crying, she was sad, her father looked dazed. D(anton) was resolute. [Lucile then goes out with Danton’s wife and mother-in-law for a while]. When I returned to D(anton’s), I found madame R(obert) and many others there. D(anton) was restless. I ran to madame Robert, I said to her “will they ring the tocsin?” “Yes,” she told me, ”but tonight.” I listened to everything and did not say a word. Soon I saw everyone arming themselves. C(amille), my C(amille), arrived with a gun!… O God! I sank into the ground, hid myself with both my hands and started to cry. However, not wanting to show so much weakness and say aloud to C(amille) that I did not want him to get involved in all this, I waited for a moment when I could speak to him alone, and I told him all my fears. He reassured me by telling me he would not leave D(anton’s) side. I have since found out that he exposed himself. […] No one in the street, everyone had gone home. Our patriots left. I sat down near a bed, overwhelmed, devastated, sometimes dozing off, and when I wanted to talk, I was nonsense. Madame D(anton) and R(obert) reasoned. D(anton) went to bed, he did not seem to be in a hurry. He hardly went out. Midnight was approaching. One came to search for him several times. Finally he left for the Commune. The toscin of the Cordeliers rang, it rang for a long time! Alone, bathed in tears, on my knees by the window, hidden in my handkerchief, I listened to the sound of that fatal bell. In vain they came to console me, this fatal night seemed to me to be the last! D(anton) came back. Madame Robert, who was very worried about her husband, who had gone to the Faubourg Saint-Antoine as a deputy through his section, ran to D(anton), who only gave her a very vague answer. He threw himself on his bed. One came several times to give us good and bad news. I thought I noticed that their plan was to go to the Tuileries, Sobbing, I told them I thought I was going to faint… In vain did madame Robert ask for news of her husband, no one gave her any. She thought he was marching with the faubourg. “Yes,” she said to me, “if he perishes I will not survive him! But this D(anton) who remains in his bed, he, the rallying point, if my husband perishes I will be the woman to stab him!” Her eyes were rolling. From that moment on I never left her side. What did I know what could happen? To know what she was capable of… We thus passed the night in cruel agitations. C(amille) came back at 1 o’clock, he fell asleep on my shoulder. Mde R(obert) who was next to me seemed to be preparing to learn of her husband’s death. “No,” she told me, “I can’t stay here any longer! Madame D(anton) is unbearable to me, she seems to be calm, her husband does not want to expose himself!” […]

Another diarist who mentioned Danton’s role in the insurrection was Scottish physician and travel author John Moore:

It is not to be imagiened however that [the insurrection] originated in an instantaneous resolution of the various sections of Paris: all had been arranged by a junto of men, of which Danton was supposed to be a leading member, and of whom the electors of the sections were the tools. A journal during a residence in France, from the beginning of August to the middle of December 1792 (1793) by John Moore. Diary entry August 22 1792.

Two other contemporaries who attributed a leading role to Danton, albait much longer after the fact than Louise Robert and John Moore, are Billaud-Varennes and Garat:

After June 20, everyone was making small hassles at the castle, whose power was growing visibly: Danton arranged August 10, and the castle was struck by lightning. Mémoires sur la révolution ou exposé de ma conduite dans les affaires et dans les fonctions publiques (1795) by Dominique-Joseph Garat

Danton, one of the condemned in Germinal, as a member of the Convention, was admirable in his courage and resources in 1792 and 1793. He had made August 10.  Note written by Billaud-Varennes in the 1830s

Finally, Villain d’Aubigny also left a more detailed description of Danton’s handling of Antoine Mandat, the commander in chief of the national guards who started disobeying orders during the insurrection, in his Principaux évènemens, pour et contre la Révolution, dont les details ont été ignorésjusqu’à présent: et prédiction de Danton au Tribunal révolutionnaire, accomplie (1794):

I go down into the courtyard, I find citizen Dufresse there, who pulls me aside and says to me: I come from Danton, who, at this moment (around two o'clock in the morning), is at the Commune, to inform you that we have just discovered an infernal conspiracy against the people in favor of the court; that this conspiracy is about to break out; that Mandat, general commander of the national guard, is at the head of this conspiracy […], that during the agitation and confusion that such a discovery had necessarily thrown into the Council, Danton, fearing everything for the people in such terrible circumstances, had hastened to transport himself, with several members of the Commune, notably Rossignol , to the general staff, where Mandat was; that he had summoned him, in the name of the people, to follow him immediately to the General Council, to give an account of his conduct; that this traitor, believing himself certain of the success of his dreadful projects, and still unaware that his treason had been discovered, had had the audacity to reply to him that he did not recognize this so-called Commune, made up of factions and rebels; that he had no orders to receive from it, and that he only held his conduct accountable to that of honest people;  that Danton, throwing himself upon him and seizing him by the collar in the middle of his staff, said to him: “Traitor, it will force you to obey it, this Commune, which will save the people that you betray and against which you conspire with the tyrant... Tremble! your crime is discovered, and soon you and your infamous accomplices will receive the price!..." Danton and Rossignol take him to the General Council; he is questioned and shown the order signed and given by him to Carle to massacre the people. He turns pale!... he is forced to recognize it, to confess it... he is questioned about his connections with the tyrant and his court, about their projects, about the number of the conspirators... He declares that the Tuileries castle is filled with Swiss guards and all the supporters of the court; that everyone is armed, as are all La Fayette's friends; that the castle also contains a considerable quantity of munitions of all kinds; that, according to these confessions, Mandat had been placed in the custody of Rossignol and several other members of the Commune; but that Danton, who did not lose sight of the salvation of the people and the liberty of his fatherland for a single moment, had at that very moment given orders to all places where armed and insurgent people were to be found, to inform them of the treason plotted against them, and invite them to remain calm until daylight, in order to avoid falling into the traps that were set for them from all sides.

Within 24 hours of the successful insurrection, August 11, Danton also took serment as the new minister of justice (getting 222 out of 284 votes) which, in his biographer’s Norman Hampson’s (1978) words, ”suggests people believed he had taken a leading role.” Hampson does however also remain hesitant to state we actually know anything more concrete about Danton’s role in the insurrection — ”Nothing is known of what he actually did on the tenth, which has not stopped admirers from giving him a leading role or Mathiez to suggest he stayed out of the way.”

I’ve found an example of the first group Hampson’s is talking about in Danton: l’homme d’État. Centenaire de 1789 (1873). There, the historian Jean-François Robinet, besides bringing up the things already mentioned above, also includes the following part, but without including any sources… :

As soon as the possibility of overthrowing the throne and proclaiming the Republic had been demonstrated to him, Danton worked hard to assemble the military force which was to deliver the death blow to the monarchy. For this, he had put the Cordeliers battalion, which he had wrapped around his finger, into increasingly close contact with that of Saint-Marceau, commanded by Alexandre, and that of the Enfants-Rouges, Faubourg Saint-Antoine, commanded by Santerre. Moreover, he was their deputy, when the time arrived and through the ascendancy that he quickly gained over them, the body of the Marseille and Brest Federates, brought from the barracks of the rue Blanche in Cordeliers and placed, for the fight, under the command of Westermann, with the battalion of the Enfants-Rouges. At the same time, he chose the grievance which was to motivate the insurrection and which had to be high enough to legitimize it in the eyes of the greatest number, namely: the refusal, by the Legislative Assembly, to pronounce the forfeiture of the king which was voted on August 6. Finally, when the time for the fight came, that is to say in the night between the 9th and the 10th, "after having settled all the operations and the moment of the attack", Danton proposed in all sections, through his friends, most of whom were municipal administrators, the appointment and immediate sending to l'Hôtel de ville of commissioners with a mandate to “save public affairs”. He arranged the substitution of this new Council, or of the insurrectional group formed by all these delegates, for the old General Council, whose retreat was obtained by the intelligence he had in this assembly and by the direct action of Deforgues, one of his men, who served as master of ceremonies there.

On September 25 1873, a review of Robinet’s work was published in the journal La République Française. The reviewer declared himself scaptical in regards to Robinet’s take on Danton’s role in the insurrection, but him too without citing sources for his version of the story:

Your (Robinet) dantonist view of August 10 is nothing but a plan de pièce. If we had to stage this great day, we would proceed no differently from you: Danton summons the sections, Danton sets up the day, Danton directs the armed citizens, and we would even go so far as to have him ring the toscin of the Cordeliers with his own hand. This is the drama. But history shows something else. We see there that it was the section of Marché des Innocents which particularly and insistently requested a meeting of commissioners to draw up an address to the armies: we see there that it was as a result of the declaration of the fatherland in danger that the convocation of the sections and the appointment of the commissioners took place; we see that the commissioners gathered by the address to the armies did not find their mission up to the circumstances, and we do not see Danton in any of this. It was new commissioners (which did not include Danton's friends either, except for one, Fabre d'Eglantine), who, on the proposal of their committee, composed of Collot d'Herbois, Xavier Audouin, Chénier, Joly, Tallien and Mathieu, decided that an address for the forfeiture would be brought to the Legislative Assembly; it was Marie-Joseph Chénier (and not Danton) who wrote this address; it was the same Assembly which fixed the day for the taking up of arms, after having heard from the faubourgs Saint-Antoine and Saint-Marceau Huguenin and Lazouski (and not Danton); and if it was decided to march on the castle, it was the Brunswick manifesto which naturally gave birth to this idea in people's heads. Threatened with being decimated, the city wanted to have the king as a hostage. On the evening of August 9, it was decided in the sections that the tocsin would sound at midnight, but the commissioners who were sent to the Faubourg Saint-Antoine to agree one last time, resolved that they would only march in the morning, that 'we would form a surrectional council at Ilôtel-de-Ville, and this double resolution was taken on the proposal, not of Danton, who was not there, but of Xavier Audouin, who represented the section of La Fontaine-Grenelle. This is why Clavières came to warn the leader of the Cordeliers and why he went to bed. As for Danton signing Mandat's death warrant, we don't know what you’re talking about. The cordelier did go to Hôtel-de-Ville for a moment during the night as a substitute for the Commune prosecutor, and not as an insurgent, but he did not have a death warrant to sign. The order to take Mandate to the Abbey (there was no other) was given by the commissioners themselves when they had settled in the place of the municipality, and it was in the morning. This is what history shows. So, you say, Danton did not play any role on August 10? Yes he did, but far from seeing him as having a manifold and absorbing role, we believe on the contrary that his action that day was very limited. After having previously taken part in some of the preparatory measures, such as the distribution of cartridges, the barracking of the Marseillais at Cordeliers, etc, he hardly left his section, where he presided, on the 10th. We would even say that Danton's complete inaction at that time would in no way have surprised or offended us. He was too prominent, and even too hindered by his official functions, to fully act.

Robinet responded to the review in a long article with the title Le dix août et la symbolique positiviste(1873)

…If we take into account the decisive intelligence that Danton had in the Insurrectionary Directory, through Santerre, Alexandre, Westermann, Desmoulins and Legendre at least, and if we accept, according to the historians we have cited, that he attended its meetings, if we remember that he had a higher rank within the Cordeliers battalion, which put up such a good show at the Tuileries under Swiss fire, and where so many of his friends were; if we especially remember that before July 14, at the Jacobins, he had provoked the Fédérés present in Paris, already numbering four or five thousand, to take an oath not to leave the capital until liberty had been established and the wish of all the departments expressed on the fate of the executive power, and that the Fédérés, consequently, had, from the 17th, asked the Legistative Assembly for the suspension of the King and the indictment of Lafayette, in a petition written, it seems, by Anthoine de Metz then president of the Jacobins, and by Robespierre, it becomes difficult to deny, like La République Française does, that he had a part (and a most considerable part in our book) in the formation and the leadership of the armed force which made August 10.

But again, I’m having a hard time actually checking up any of these facts…

Book Review: Cohesion (Chain Reaction #3) by Aurora Crane

Read my reviews of the previous books in the Chain Reaction series: Catalyst (#1) | Reactant (#2) This book fulfilled all my expectations, and then some, for the long-awaited finale of this trilogy. The story does not work as a stand-alone; both the relationship arc(s) and external plot build on what has come before. The author has referred to this novel as “The Big Book of Feelings,” which is…

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have you watched Lighting Up the Stars 人生大事? its a jttw-adjacent movie but not really a jttw movie in the sense that jttw is a huge motif with the mc being a swk parallel, his friends being swj and zbj parallels, and their adopted kid being a nezha parallel but otherwise not really a movie "about" jttw yknow. its free on youtube with english subs (title: [中]人生大事) so i thought id bring that to your attention :3

Well anon given my lethal weakness to dad Wukong, Li Nezha who's given a decent parental figure, and stories about genuinely sucky people who genuinely try and succeed in doing better by themselves and others yeah I'm going to have to thank you for introducing me to this film. Have to note that of course it's not perfect & that some parts seem kind of overblown, but honestly I found this work to be a really touching piece on death, grief, selfish desires and their consequences, and how we might live with joy with each other even after our loved ones are gone.

Here's a link to anyone who might want to watch it!

1986. This UK-market hardcover reprint annual (whose cover is allegedly by Bryan Talbot, although it doesn't look it) contains Grant Morrison's first Batman story, a moderately florid prose story with illustrations by the late Garry Leach, featuring a Catwoman obviously based more on the '60s TV show than the contemporary comics:

Even 20 years later, Morrison's prose was frequently cringe-worthy, and this is not an auspicious introduction. If you're aching to read this literary gem, I'll put the full text behind the cut.

First page:

There are secret places under the city; closed-off storm drains, obsolete subway tunnels, the cellars of demolished buildings, Down in the dark where nobody goes, there is a network, a maze of buried galleries, Down in the dark a shadow is moving.

Listen! You can almost hear its soft and steady breathing. It has found something. Something very special. The most secret place of all. The woman with green eyes looked around. Her walk through the darkness had taken the best part of three hours. She had clambered gracefully over falls of debris and waded through flooded lightless tunnels. She had walked sure-footedly in places where the sun had never shone, until at last, shimmying her slim body through a crack in the rock, she had come upon the cavern. The eye slits in her mask held scotoptic lenses that allowed her to see in the dark and when she saw what was in the cavern, a smile spread slowly across her fine-boned features. Like the Cheshire Cat she vanished down into the shadows, grinning with strong, white teeth.

Bruce Wayne thumbed the remote control. He’d had enough of the Johnny Carson Show. Not even Superman’s guest appearance could hold his attention. He wondered why his friend agreed to these chat shows and how he managed to maintain his good humour even after the old joke about wearing his underpants on the outside had been trotted out for the thousandth time. The TV went dead and Wayne stared into space. When space became boring he decided to call his butler.

At precisely that moment Alfred Pennyworth, tall, thin and immaculately dressed, opened the door.

“Master Bruce …” he began.

Wayne turned around, startled. “Alfred!” he said. “Don’t tell me you’ve added telepathy to your list of accomplishments? I was just going to give you a call. Fancy a game of chess?”

Alfred looked uneasy. “I’m afraid I shall have to decline, Master Bruce, I just popped in to let you know that the intruder alarm has been activated.”

Wayne leapt up, with an athlete’s economy of movement.

“Where?” he said, making for the door.

“In the Batcave, sir. The Trophy Room …”

Wayne was already half-way down the hall.

“Will you be requiring any assistance, sir?” Alfred called after him.

“I’ll let you know.”

Wayne disappeared round a corner. Alfred sighed, tidied the cushions on the sofa and unplugged the TV set.

So  that there would be no noise, he went down by the stairs behind the grandfather clock instead of using the elevator. The lights threw his shadow ahead of him, casting a monstrous black bat shape on the

Second page:

whitewashed walls. He ran lightly through the computer vault of the Batcave and when he reached the Trophy Room he flipped a switch, activating banks of floodlights. In the sudden harsh brightness, nothing moved.

“Whoever you are you're in deep trouble,” said The Batman and his voice was deadly and as cold as December rain, “Come out!”

Nothing moved.

The Batman surveyed the Trophy Room with eyes as hard as diamond shards. This was the most impressive part of the Batcave; an enormous limestone cavern, as big as a cathedral. Down here were stored all the souvenirs of The Batman’s bizarre cases. There was a life-size mechanical Tyrannosaur from Dinosaur Island. There was a chess game with pawns as tall as men and a penny as big as a Ferris wheel. An enormous, eerily lit Joker mask leered down upon a giant dice shaker and a glass cabinet with a bat costume inside. There was an Egyptian sarcophagus and several dangerous umbrellas. There was a very tall penguin and a perfectly normal sized dollar bill. There were over a thousand trophies, free-standing or in cases, utterly strange or quite conventional. There were all these things and one thing more …

“Come out!” The Batman said again. He tilted his head and sniffed. On the edge of the slightly damp, subterranean smell of the cavern he could detect another scent He sniffed again and suddenly knew who was in there with him. He knew and was on his guard.

The woman with green eyes watched him move among the trophies and prepared to strike. She ran the thongs of a whip through her gloved fingers and waited for him to come closer, smiling all the while.

The Batman stopped in front of a shattered case and if he knew before, then this was the final confirmation of the intruder’s identity. He turned, with her name on his lips, and something came whistling through the air towards him.

“Catwoman …” He ducked and the whip smashed what remained of the glass in the cabinet.

“Fancy meeting you here,” said the Catwoman. She cast a critical eye around the cavern. “Wouldn’t stamp collecting take up a little less room?”

“How did you get in here?” The Batman asked, standing up, eyeing her warily. He knew better than to underestimate her. She cracked the whip once more, like a lion tamer.

“Oh, I thought I’d set up operations again in Gotham," she told him. “I came down searching for a new location for my Catacomb lair and instead I stumbled across this place. Lucky for me. A catastrophe for you.”

“Remind me to block up the hole after I’ve taken you back to prison,” said The Batman.

She only smiled wickedly. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. Once I discover exactly where under the city we are, I’ll know where to find your front door next time. And so will everybody else. Your secret will be out.”

“But you won’t find out!” The Batman said, allowing himself one icy smile to match hers. “You might have done if you hadn't given yourself away. I smelled your perfume as soon as I came down here.”

He started to advance. “And then when I saw that your cat-o-nine-taiIs was missing from its case, I was sure.”

She backed off. “I was merely reclaiming what was mine. Like a closer look?"

Suddenly the whip snaked out, lashing across Batman’s face. He pitched back, briefly blinded by razor-edged pain.

“What’s a bat but a flying mouse, after all?" he heard her say. “Let’s play cat and mouse.” Her voice grew fainter as she darted away. The Batman shook his head to clear his vision. Blinking through bruised eyelids he heard, nearby, the sound of a ratchet being pulled back.

“I see everything’s in perfect working order,” Catwoman hissed. “Purr-feet working order ...”

There was a sharp detonation. The Batman hit the floor. Something heavy whined past his ear and clipped a strip out of his cape. He did not have to see to know she had used the harpoon cannon. There was a splintering thud as the harpoon smashed through the side wall of a doll’s house. The Batman rolled into cover and looked out through stinging, tear-filled eyes. He was on the chessboard but Catwoman was nowhere to be seen.

She came from behind. The Batman whirled too late to stop the toppling chess piece from pinning his legs. “Checkmate!” shrieked the Catwoman.

Hefting the huge rook off his legs, Batman groggily pulled himself to his feet. One ankle throbbed like a bad tooth. He scanned the Trophy Room for signs of his enemy. When he spotted her, his mouth corrugated into a grimace. She was running up the steep spine of the Tyrannosaur, as surely as a tabby on a fence. When she reached the shoulders, she pulled

Third page:

back the hatch that led into the head of the dinosaur and stepped inside.

The Batman ran, ignoring the pains that thumped through his leg. He ran, while the Trophy Room echoed to the noise of machinery starting to move. With a grinding shudder, the monster’s tail twitched. It twitched once more and then it swung in a flailing arc and demolished a helicopter.

“What a wonderful place you have here!” Catwoman’s voice came through the loudspeaker in the Tyrannosaur’s mouth. “Much more fun than Disneyland!”

The monster lurched and began to move. Its tail thrashed through a row of display cases which burst like bombs, showering The Batman with glass.

“This whole night’s been one long catalogue of disasters for you, Batman dear” mocked the monster, with Catwoman’s voice. His mind racing, Batman ran under the dinosaur, out of her sight. In that comparative safety he reviewed his situation. He had been taken by surprise. He was injured and things looked bad. His only hope lay in turning Catwoman’s own nature against her. Unclipping the radio from his belt, he signalled Alfred.

“Where are you?” purred his enemy. “Come out, come out, the game’s not over.”

The tail shuddered once more, then the dinosaur stopped. The hatch opened and Catwoman jumped down, landing on her feet. “Batman …” Her voice was a lethal whisper and she moved like a hunting cat, flexing the claws on her gloves. “Where are you?”

But he had gone, melted into thin air like a man of grey vapour. She drew her lips back over her teeth and padded off in search of him. She searched the lab and the garage; she searched the storeroom and she searched the computer vault.

And that was where she found the stairs. At the top of those stairs she would find the key to The Batman’s secret identity. She could wipe out his entire operation at a stroke. Or it could be a trap. Perhaps she should escape now and return at her leisure.

She looked back at the caves and she looked up the stairs and finally, overcome by the need to know, she ran up the steps, purring. With the contented expression of a cat that has gorged itself on cream, she opened the door in the grandfather clock.

And Alfred, waiting there, spritzed her face with gas. The satisfaction changed to surprise and then to rage until at last her face went blank and Catwoman keeled over like a doll. Batman caught her.

“Everything all right, sir?” asked Alfred.

“Fine, Alfred,” replied The Batman. “Just fine.”

When she woke up she was in the Batmobile, in downtown Gotham and headed for Police Headquarters.

“Tough luck, Selina,” The Batman consoled her. “Maybe next time.” Catwoman simply snarled.

“I knew you’d try the stairs” he went on. “You just couldn’t resist it. I suppose it proves what they say . . ”

She glared at him with eyes as green as gemstones. “I know. I know,” she spat “It’s not funny.”

The Batman smiled, pulling into the Police parking lot. “Oh, I think it is,” he said. “Just like in the old story: Curiosity Killed the Cat.”

I’ve probably made this post word for word before but when the alleged daguerreotype of Joseph Smith came out last summer and everyone was discoursing about a) if it was actually him b) if he was hot or not. THE funniest thing that’s ever happened.

every time i see a post that mentions something "not being art" or being "bad art" (or being considered so by others but not by OP) i have the biggest "huh????" moment, and i'm beginning to realize this is probably a Me Thing.

see, in my mind there is nothing you can conclusively define as Not Art. Nothing. No matter what you think is Not Real Art, someone in the world disagrees with you. This idea has been built up in my mind by everything I've ever learned about art history or modern art theory, which includes entire movements of people intentionally doing art that was broadly considered to be Not Real Art. I've kind of just accepted at this point that there is no one fully inclusive definition of art besides "well, anything could be art." Which means that even though I have my own personal tastes in what art I like, and my own judgements of whether I think a work of art is successful, I'm willing to consider that pretty much anything "counts" as Art.

which is why i'm always shocked when i see a take that's like, abstract impressionism isn't Real Art, or something. my reaction is always like, guys, we've been over this, we did the whole "does complete abstraction qualify as a valuable form of artistic expression" thing ages ago, they put Rothkos in museums so clearly some people think they count, you don't have to personally like it but obviously this has a place in the art world.

and then I remember that not everyone took like three art history classes and had their brain rewired. probably most people have a definition of art that's more narrow than "pretty much anything if you can talk me into it." somehow this is still baffling to me though. who are you to decide something Isn't Art on behalf of all of humanity.

https://www.tumblr.com/beatingheart-bride/707835668198457344/theheadlessgroom-beatingheart-bride

@beatingheart-bride

Randall’s breath was held tight in his throat as he nervously awaited Emily’s response, pulse pounding as he searched her face, trying to pick up on any sign of how she was to react to this-he was relieved when she finally replied, exhaling softly as she gave her response. Behind the mask, he’d raised an eyebrow at her comment about beauty being only skin deep (it was a phrase he’d heard before, just never in regards to himself...), her elaboration on how, no matter how attraction Don Juan was, no matter how women he had hanging off his arm, he would always be alone.

And that was true! Don Juan dropped these women as soon as he was done with them, leaving him empty and alone at the end (even if such a thing was never shown to bother him)…but what did that mean for Randall himself, he wondered? Did she mean to say that, despite his accursed ugliness, he wouldn’t be nearly as lonely as Don Juan was? He supposed that was true, now that he had Emily in his life, but still...did it mean that, maybe one day, he too could be loved, surrounded by good company?

He wasn’t quite sure of what to make of that, but he could see what Emily was getting, and despite that skepticism, he put on a smile for her, saying, “Th-Thank you, my dear, I...I’ve thought about that, how people still love Don Juan, despite what he does...even we in the audience are entranced by him, and we see all he does on the stage! But him being alone, despite all that...I-I hadn’t quite thought about that!”

Victor Hugo's opinion on depictions of Jean Valjean in fanart

So, in April 1862, 21 year old Julien Girard de Rialle published a  “Critique of the Critiques” of Les Misérables his newspaper the Revue théâtrale, littéraire et artistique, along with the above image by up-and-coming artist (and former bookstore employee) Rodolphe Julian. Naturally, de Rialle sent the paper to Victor Hugo, who sent this letter in reply:

Your April edition is only arriving to me in June. Absence has its displeasures to which one must be resigned. Your article charmed me. Nothing but grace, wit, and verve! I thank those who have the goodness to be my enemies, their attacks are caresses because they bring me such defenses.   I shake your hand, Monsieur.  Victor Hugo P.S. Please congratulate on my behalf the author of the drawing, which is truly lovely and which couldn't be clearer. The bishop is sleeping soundly, the convict is hesitating profoundly. Perhaps the beard is too long. It's only a few days' growth. I make this observation because other painters have made the same small mistake.

So there you have it: temper your desire to give Valjean too long a beard.

Source: Un article prenant la defense des Miserables, une gravure pour leur illustration, et la lettre de remerciement de Victor Hugo, procurés et commentés par Gérard Pouchain (Pouchain is such a treasure trove of information of Les Mis related content. If he didn't already exist, I would have to become him. )

Chapters: 11/28 Fandom: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Series: Part 1 of Les Vrais Misérables Summary:

In "Les vrais misérables," the author (Eugène de Mirecourt aka Charles Jean-Baptiste Jacquot) contends that Victor Hugo is the true "miserable," not any of the characters of his novel. He proposes to break down Hugo's argument chapter by chapter, arguing that the true purpose of Hugo's novel is to "cook the egg of [his own] egotism."

Mirecourt was a voracious critic, now obscure, who actually spent time six months in jail for publishing racist and abusive slander about Alexandre Dumas, pere (unrelated to this book but relevant to his overall character). I will be (attempting) to translate this novel length critique of Hugo because it is at times interesting, at times unhinged and not well known, so far as I can tell.

If anyone isn’t already following this translation of contemporary critique of Les Miserables, I highly recommend it!  The ways in which Mirecourt understands (and then rejects!) Hugo’s message, or in other points utterly fails to understand it, are fascinating!

I read The Dead Romantics by Ashley Poston...

I immediately fell in love with this book. It is beautifully written that I devoured this the entire day. It’s that good. I love the eerie vibe of the heroine’s hometown and the Addams Family vibe that her family gives off. I love the concept. At first I thought it’s just another trope-y rom-com but it’s not. As I dived deeper into this book it weaves a touching and emotional story of loss by fulfilling a list of unusual requests for a funeral, with a beautiful, developing romance and a complicated personal creative journey. The plot is quite predictable for me to be honest, I already have an idea that Ben may not actually be a goner but I still enjoyed and loved it. The eccentricities of the characters are not annoying, it is actually lovable. I love the author’s humor and enjoyment in finding a comic aspect to death, even while conveying a story about the terrible, long-lasting impact a tremendous loss could have on somebody's life. Readers searching for something different in the romance genre, those who prefer a bit of grim comedy, and those on their own journeys to comprehend the inseparable connections between love and death will enjoy this book.

5/5🌟

So many color versions of this one, i love them all

You died so that I could write.

Annie Ernaux continues to move me with these introspections into her life.