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#hm. come to think of it john did have equivalents to the pool scene and the battle with the Sleeper and they fucking sucked
mayasaura · 1 year
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I don't have the book at hand to quote, but what struck me when I was reading it was John going desperately from how he had to make them his hands and fingers!! to keep them!! he IMMEDIATELY segues into how he's so sad he had to feed the revenant beasts his fingers to keep them away :( it was so awful that they made him do that :( like he makes them possessions then having objectified them he justifies having to destroy his Things to keep himself safe. which I think is where he and Harrow are going to diverge. (noting that they've already taken very different tactics as far as the order of what gets kept safe)
It's the very next line! This quote picks up exactly where the last one left off:
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That's definitely a legit way to read this passage, though it's not the way I prefer to. I mean. Hypocrisy found in God, fork found in kitchen. Come on. But yeah, that's an undeniably fucked up trajectory.
More seriously, I see John's chapters of Nona the Ninth as a confession, rather than as a justification. It's not meant to be coherent or consistant, just emotionally honest. He's expressing how he felt in the moments he made his decisions and asking to be understood, but he's not asking to be affirmed, or forgiven. "Just as there can be no forgiveness for me," and all.
The way in which his story does make sense—the way he's choosing to frame it—is fascinating for what it shows about John and what he's so deeply afraid of, in his heart of hearts. He loved them, and he sacrificed them, and then he sacrificed them again, but at least they didn't leave him.
And yet even in his confession there are still levels on which he seems to sincerely not understand what he's done wrong—mostly surrounding the autonomy and personhood of other people. Like you said, he objectifies people. He loves them as extensions of himself, because that is the only thing he understands as being real. He has no peers, as he is God. His closest friends are his fists and gestures, the fingers on his hand. As necessary to him as a limb, and losing them cripples him, but he doesn't understand them as people in their own right at all. And that lack of respect and understanding leads to him treating them horrifically.
It's kind of sad, in a way. Not to jump tracks completely, but the way John loves reminds me of this quote from episode 55 of Welcome to Night Vale:
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It's presented in the context of a romantic couple, but it works more broadly. lt seems like the only way John knows how to love is by subsuming what he loves into himself, becoming one. Leaving him once again alone.
What's interesting is that he appears to know this about himself. Right in this quote, he directly compares himself to the Resurrection Beasts. Revenants that crack open worlds to eat their souls for sustenance, then pack the dead shells onto their exteriors to become part of themselves. As he sees it, the difference is that the Resurrection Beasts will eventually be satisfied. He won't be.
As for the parallels between John and Harrow, I don't think we need to look for where they're going to diverge. I think we can point to where they already have. And it's a fair comparison, to a time before John was God.
Look at John's reaction to his cult schisming, here:
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He loves his friends, but he doesn't trust them. Deep down, he believes their love is conditional. If he fucks up, if he's caught slipping, if he admits he's wrong, he'll lose them. He's terrified of anyone finding out he's flawed, of the ugly parts of him being known, because he's certain anyone who sees that part of him will leave. He's gone ten thousand years like that, compounding lies to make them stay.
Harrow has a similarly harsh expectation of herself, but she's already taken her leap of faith, and let the mask drop. She's told the people she loves exactly who and what she is, with the full expectation they would punish or abandon her for it. With the full expectation Gideon would kill her for it, in the pool scene. And Gideon embraced her. She confronted Ortus with her failings in the River, and Ortus comforted her, and still chose to stay and risk his life to save her.
The people who loved John would have done the same for him. Did do the same for him. They stayed through his breakdown, they stayed by his side until it killed them, but John could never let his guard down enough to trust that they would have done it just for him. He couldn't submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.
This is all, of course, working with the basic premise that the way John treats people is horrific, and he did have all the opportunites in the world to stop. He could have taken that plunge any time in the ten thousand and thirty-something years he's been alive, if he'd been strong enough to accept the consequences or believed in the rewards. It was all so fucking avoidable, but here we are. My favorite kind of tragedy.
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