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queenshelby · 3 years

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DRAMA TEACHER – PART ONE

Featuring: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Smut, Divorce, Broken Relationship, Mention of Abuse

Words: 3,567

***New to Dublin***

It has been several weeks since you moved from the UK to Dublin to start a new life with your son Lucas who recently turned 16.

You left an abusive relationship and finally filed for divorce. Nonetheless, Lucas blamed you for everything even for the fact that his father wasn’t allowed to see him until the court orders have been finalised due to his addictions and history of violence.

Lucas hated the fact that he was now attending a new school and, just after two days, he was getting himself into trouble for smoking weed on school premises.

Despite this, you enjoyed your new job as a drama teacher and had recently suggested to the director of the school that it would be fantastic for the children who enrolled into your extra curriculum arts program to participate in an actual play in front of their families and the teachers of the school.

‘What do you think about it Adam?’ you asked. Adam was the school principal and your friend since high school. He always had a crush on you, but never admitted it. It wasn’t until recently that he finally asked you for a date, an offer which you declined since you were working with him on a daily basis.

‘Sure, if you think the students are willing and able to put in this kind of effort, why not?’ Adam said, allowing you to take charge of the extra curriculum drama activities as you see fit. He was just glad to have you on board after the last drama and literature teacher employed by the school was a disaster.

‘I have about six students in two of my classes who seem to be very talented and I think it would be beneficial for them to build up the confidence they need if they want to pursue a career in acting’ you explained before giving Adam the names of the six students.

‘Perhaps you can suggest it to their parents?’ you then went on to say and Adam agreed.

Three weeks later, you got notice from Adam advising you that five out of the six students wish to participate in the program but, in order to be signed off by the board, you would need to find five more students and a volunteer parent to assist you with any work that is to be conducted outside school premises due to regulations imposed by the board.

‘You’ve got anyone in mind?’ you asked.

‘Actually, one of the parents has offered and I think he would be a good fit as he is a well-known actor and has had several stage performances himself’ Adam explained.

‘I assume you are talking about Hendrix and Charlie’s dad?’ you asked, remembering having met him a few times already at pick up on Wednesdays and every second Friday.

‘Yes, Cillian Murphy’ Adam said before continuing on ‘Cillian mentioned that he’s got no engagements for the next three months, so I suggest you talk to him’ Adam suggested.

‘Alright. So, do you know each other since you are on first name basis?’ you asked surprised.

‘Yes, for a matter of fact, I do. His brother is married to my sister. We occasionally have a few drinks. He is easy going. You will get along just fine’ Adam said.

‘Alright, I will talk to him then. Thanks Adam’ you said before quickly leaving Adam’s office.

Adam had recently made yet another attempt to ask for a date which you pushed back on, which meant that you tried to engage in as little small talk as possible.

***Interested in Someone Else***

The following Wednesday, when Cillian picked up his boys from school, you approached him. You felt somewhat uncomfortable about it, knowing that he was probably overqualified for this task. But, he had offered and there was no one else who you thought could do a better job with the students than someone like him, someone with experience.

‘Uhm, Mr Murphy, do you have a minute?’ you asked as he was trying to get his sons to pack up their bags while they were too busy fighting with each other once again. They both were very creative, but also very messy and constantly argued.

‘Oh no…what did they do?’ he chuckled as he pulled Hendrix’s bag apart looking for the rest of the mandarin peel which Charlie had stuffed in there just seconds ago to get under Hendrix’s skin.

‘Jesus Hendrix’ he huffed as he found three empty chocolate wrappers instead and put them into the bin.

‘Sorry Miss L/N, you have my attention now…you were saying?’ he chuckled

‘The boys are great, really well behaved’ you said as you noticed that Cillian looked at you with concern, thinking his sons were in trouble.

‘Really? I find that hard to believe’ he laughed before telling them off again for fighting with each other.

‘I have spoken to our principal, Mr Walsh, and he mentioned that you would be willing to get involved in the drama project as a volunteer. In order to get it approved by our board, I would need one parent to volunteer’ you explained shyly.

‘That’s right, so long as it is within the next three months. After that I will be in the US for a few months for work’ Cillian explained just before the boys interrupted him.

‘I assume that’s what the beard is for?’ you grinned, having noticed that it has slowly been growing longer and longer over the past few weeks.

‘Unfortunately’ he laughed, running one of his hands over his stubble just as Charlie came over and interrupted him.

‘Seriously Dad? Do you know how embarrassing this will be for us if you are working with Miss L/N?’ Charlie huffed.

‘Yes, Charlie wants to impress Nadine Seymour and you are really going to ruin it’ Hendrix teased, causing Charlie to nudge him

‘No fighting and no girlfriends! Understood?’ Cillian chuckled before inviting you for a coffee on Friday after school so that you can discuss the drama program.

You gladly accepted Cillian’s invitation, much to his sons’ disappointment.

‘Are you having a date with our teacher? That’s so disgusting’ you then heard Hendrix say as Cillian was walking off with them.

***Two Weeks Later***

Two weeks later, your drama project was in full swing and you had decided to allow the students to practise their play at a real theatre in Dublin once per week when Cillian was available.

You and Cillian got along well and his boys continuously teased him about hanging out with their teacher. But there was nothing awkward between you until, one day, you engaged into some deeper conversation while none of the children were around.

Cillian had found out about your son’s problems at school. His boys had told him about Lucas’s reputation and, over a few hours and a few beers following theatre practise, you opened up to him about your divorce and your relationship with Lucas’s father.

You didn’t know why you told him, but you enjoyed his company. He was a good listener and he was quite reserved and private which made you trust him.

But, over the following week, you started to enjoy his company a little too much. He certainly was an attractive man and, by what you could tell, a fantastic father. He seemed perfect and you knew you shouldn’t fantasise about him the way you did over that past week.

This was easier said than done. He had everything your ex lacked. He was patient, kind and empathetic. You enjoyed working with him and your son soon noticed, giving you a hard time about it soon enough.

To your surprise, after about three weeks of working together and following the last practise, Cillian took matters a little further than you had expected and, after all the kids had left and his boys had been picked up by their mother, Cillian asked you whether you wanted to have dinner with him some time.

You politely declined his offer, explaining to him that you weren’t ready to start dating and that sure felt like a date to you.

That same night, you regretted your decision after talking to your sister about it. You trusted your sister with everything and you encouraged you to give him a chance.

You were afraid to develop feeling, to let anyone to your life, but you were of the view that you must learn how to trust before you can love again.

‘Does your dinner offer still stand?’ you texted Cillian that night, hoping that he would reply quickly to your message.

‘It sure does’ Cillian texted back within seconds.

‘Pick me up at 6 o’clock tomorrow? Lucas is having a sleep over at a friend’s place’ you responded.

‘6 o’clock it is’ Cillian texted back.

***Date Night***

The following evening, Cillian picked you up at 6 o’clock as promised and, after complimenting your outfit, which was a black buttoned dress, you both got into his car and drove into Dublin’s city centre.

‘So where are you taking me?’ you asked somewhat shyly and Cillian was quick to hand you a pamphlet.

‘A theatre?’ you asked surprised.

‘Sort of. It is a restaurant in the arts district where you can watch pop up shows during the drama festival. It’s contemporary, but you might spot some real good talent there’ Cillian explained and your excitement was growing.

His idea was very thoughtful and you appreciated the fact that this wasn’t going to be your average Italian restaurant date.

Over dinner you and Cillian talked a lot about your lives, your relationships and your children while watching the most interesting people perform the most interesting short plays. Some of them were real pieces of art and the performers put an immense effort into their performance and costumes.

After about two hours, Cillian offered to drive you home and you gladly accepted his offer.

‘Uhm would you like to come up for a drink?’ you asked as you arrived at your apartment building.

‘Sure, yes, why not’ Cillian said before turning off his car and following you to your apartment.

But the drink never eventuated and, as soon as you opened the door to your apartment, Cillian’s lips were on yours.

‘Fuck I am sorry Y/N’ Cillian said, pulling back quite quickly as he realised that things were probably moving too fast for you after what you had told him a few days ago.

‘No, don’t. I want this’ you reassured him, your voice quiet and your eyes fierce before pressing your lips back onto his.

‘For once, I want to feel like a real woman. I want to be desired... loved, I want to know what this feels like’ you said as you could see the fire in his eyes as you slowly dragged him into your bedroom.

He stepped forward then, tilting your chin up with his finger, brushing his lips over yours, and allowing his tongue to caress your lower lip. Your body shook softly as you melted into his embrace, your lips parting, granting access to Cillian's tongue, which immediately snaked into your mouth and embarked on a search for yours.

You sighed softly, draping your arms around his neck and pressing your body against Cillian's torso. The kiss was deep, passionate and almost immediately took your breath away. It was unlike anything you had ever experienced, stoking the fire already burning deep within your body. When Cillian finally released you from his embrace you were left panting and wanting more.

‘You are beautiful, you know that?’ Cillian whispered as he started unbuttoning the black dress that draped so alluringly across your breasts and waist.

‘If you say so’ you giggled before looking straight into his eyes. You proceeded to shrug the dress from your shoulders, blushing as Cillian's eyes consumed you.

He kissed you again, his hands sliding down to cup your ass as he pressed his fully hard cock against you.

‘I want you, Cillian’ you gasped softly as you felt him rubbing against you.

He walked you slowly back to the bed, laying you down gently and stripping his clothes from his body. You looked up at him, biting your lip, as he first pulled his t-shirt over his head, exposing his perfectly shaped chest and torso. Your heart began to pound as he kicked off his shoes and undid his pants, dropping them to his ankles. In no time at all his cock was free and pointing proudly to the ceiling.

You stared at it from your place on the bed, mesmerized by the way it bobbed and weaved as he gazed lustily at your nearly naked body.

You gasped when Cillian got to his knees, spreading your legs and placing soft butterfly kisses on your thighs. You blushed, knowing what Cillian intended, an act that your ex-husband had never, in all your years of marriage, performed.

‘Cillian’ you said quietly, attempting to close your legs.

Cillian held them apart gently as he looked up at your quizzically.

‘I've never...I've never had anyone do that to me’ you said, refusing to meet his eyes.

‘Really?’ he asked surprised and you answered by shaking your head almost shyly.

‘Well, there is a first time for everything Y/N. Just relax. I will stop whenever you tell me to, alright?’ he said, attempting to soothe and calm you and you nodded, biting your lip in anticipation.

And with that he reached up and grasped the waist of your panties, tugging at them gently. You submitted, lifting your hips and closing your eyes as Cillian slid the panties down your thighs. You kept your legs clamped tightly together however as he dropped them to the floor.

Your ex husband had been the first and only men you’ve been with and you were beyond nervous.

‘Cillian’ you murmured as he pressed gently on the insides of your knees in a silent request.

Your legs parted in response and you blushed a deep red at the thought of your most intimate spot exposed to Cillian's gaze. Leaning forward, he kissed the inside of each of your thighs before, a moment later, his tongue was buried in your soft folds, tasting your sweetness. Your body bucked wildly as he drew his tongue through your sweet flesh, your hips rising from the bed from the jolts of pure pleasure that shot through your body when he discovered the little bud that was your clit.

‘Oh God, Cillian!’ you moaned, covering your eyes with the back of your hand.

He opened your legs a little more, twisting his head and running the tip of his tongue the full length of your glistening pussy, savoring the sweet taste of your juice. Reaching up, he found one of your stiff nipples and tugged at it softly as he continued exploring you with his mouth.

You moaned, squirming on the bed from the pleasure building within you as he relentlessly worked at your pussy.

‘Don't stop please, fuck’ you hissed, grasping at the sheet and closing your thighs around his head.

Cillian had no intention of stopping as his tongue lapped at you, his mouth moving in circles as he sought ways to enhance your pleasure. Your body arched upwards when his lips closed around your clit, sucking it into his mouth and flicking at it gently with the very tip of his tongue. Your breathing was ragged, your moans increasing in volume as his mouth worked relentlessly at your sex. It took no more than a few minutes for your pleasure to build to an overwhelming level.

‘Oh my God! Cillian! Oh my God!’ you screamed as a searing orgasm claimed you.

Your entire body shuddered and shook as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through you. Cillian simply gripped your thighs and continued to lick your clit as your body convulsed on the bed. The orgasm seemed to go on forever and it was at least a minute before your mind was once again in control, Finally, your eyes flickered open and you looked at Cillian shyly, his head still positioned between your thighs.

‘Cillian, that was...oh my God, it was amazing. I never imagined...’ you said exhausted.

Cillian raised his head, grinning.

‘There's a lot more to come, Y/N’ he replied, raising himself to your knees.

He could see the trepidation on your face as you eyed his hard, swollen cock which pointed eagerly towards the ceiling.

‘It's okay, I will go slowly’ he said softly, caressing your thigh with his fingers. ‘Do you have…?’ he then went on to ask and, before he could finish his sentence, you shook your head.

‘I’ve just had my implant replaced’ you assured him and this was all he needed to hear.

Reaching down and grasping his member he dragged his head through your folds, causing you to moan once again. The heat from his cock was palpable, the touch of it electric, as he moved it through your puffy lips.

‘Cillian, please... I need you’ you moaned.

‘Not yet, Y/N’ he teased, sliding the head of his cock up and down your slick slit, spreading your soft lips but refusing to penetrate your just yet.

‘God, Cillian... please’ you begged.

He relented then, groaning as he pushed the head of his cock into you, your tight walls gripping him as he pushed deeper, filling you.

‘Oh god yes’ you hissed, your eyes glued to his as he began stroking the full length of his cock into you.

He kissed you, taking your mouth with his as you moaned in pleasure. Drawing his hips back, Cillian's cock slid easily from your sex, eliciting a delicious whimper from your throat. Immediately he thrust back into you in one smooth movement and then repeated the action, giving you deep hard strokes as he built to a steady rhythm.

You moaned and squirmed beneath him; your body rising from the bed to meet each thrust of his almost perfect manhood.

‘Cillian, fuck’ you gasped as he worked himself in and out of you. Your body was on fire, every nerve alight as Cillian fucked you in a way you had never before experienced. Usually, your ex-husband would mount you and simply jackhammer into you for a couple of minutes before gasping in your ear as he came. Cillian, however, was intent on ensuring your pleasure, varying the pace and depth of his thrusts, gyrating his hips against yours, and changing the angle now and then to ensure that he ground against your clit.

Fuck, Y/N... you are so tight. It feels so good’ Cillian moaned.

Cillian, no...’ you whimpered as he pulled his cock from you.

‘Don’t worry, I am not finished with you yet. Turn over’ he chuckled.

You scrambled to your hands and knees quickly, the need to have Cillian's cock inside you driving your movements. Cillian, for his part, felt the same and he wasted no time in entering you again.

He thrust deep into you, driving the breath from your body as he pounded his cock into your sweet, tight pussy over and over. You were in heaven; Cillian was taking you in exactly the way you had imagined so many times over the past few weeks when you dreamt about him. His desire for you palpable in every thrust of his rock-hard member.

As Cillian continued to thrust into you, you buried your face in the pillow, moaning continuously as Cillian took you, the friction of his shaft against your tight walls sending waves of pleasure to the sensory centers of your brain. Instinctively, you pushed back against him, attempting to get every inch of him into you. You were rewarded with a long, guttural moan.

‘Y/N, I'm close’ he warned you.

‘Good, so am I’ you gasped in response. ‘Take me, Cillian’ you moaned.

He picked up the pace, his thrusting becoming almost desperate as he fought to make you finish before he did. He held you in place tightly, his solid shaft slamming into you again and again.

Suddenly you were there, crying out loudly as an intense, almost nuclear, burst of pleasure erupted from deep within and spread through your body.

‘Oh god yes, Cillian fuck’ you screamed, your pussy convulsing around Cillian's shaft.

The sight and sound of your orgasm was too much for Cillian and after just a few more thrusts, he too erupted, forcing spurts of warm cum into you. His eyes glazed and he lost all sense of time and place as he surrendered to the intense pleasure swamping his body.

‘Fuck, that's so good!’ he panted as the two of you, shuddering and shaking in unison, reveled in the fruits of your labor.

Finally, it was over. Gently, you uncoupled your panting bodies and, rolling onto his back, Cillian gasped again, eliciting a wide smile from you.

You snuggled against his warm chest, your thigh cast carelessly over his legs. You were content, basking in the warm glow of perfect sex.

But, your sense of lust and desire was soon to come to an end as you heard Lucas shouting.

‘Mum, are you home?’ he yelled out, causing both Cillian’s and your eyes to widen.

Tag List (Cillian):

@lilymurphy03 @deefigs @theflamecrystal @desperate-and-broken @weepingstudentfishhorse @livinginfantaxy @rosey1981 @atomicsoulcollecto @peakyboyslover @nerdy4itall @elenavampire21 @hanster1998 @mariapaiva13 @fairypitou @harry-is-my-sunflower @zozeebo @lauren-raines-x @kasaikawa @littlewierdalien @sad-huffle-nerd @theflamecrystal @peakymalfoyscullymulder @themissthang @0ghostwriter0 @stylescanbeatmyback @1-800-peakyblinders @datewithgianni @momoneymolife @ntmynouis @lilymurphy03 @mcntsee@cloudofdisney @missymurphy1985 @peakymalfoyscullymulder @otterly-fey @janelongxox @uchihacumdump @basiclassy @being-worthy @chaotic-bean-of-smolness @margoo0 @chocolatehalo @vhscillian @ysmmsy

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@l0tsofpennies @trolleydolly @avonlady1985 @chrisevanshoeee @daydreamingnymph @fookingshelby

#cillian murphy #Cillian Murphy x Reader #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy imagine

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echo-hiraeth · 3 years

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The Depiction of Women in Frankenstein: Mary Shelley as a Staple of Social Commentary

A/n: As promised, my final piece of uni writing! This landed me a 13.75/20, which means that it is fairly-well substantiated and a valid piece of literary analysis. The main point of critique was that I didn't interact or go into discourse enough with existing sources. Otherwise my essay was deemed "quite inspirational". So instead of uwu fanfiction I'd like to present you this more scientific and academic (maybe even boring) side of myself. Do enjoy!

P.s. My dm's are always open should anyone be interested in going into this a little bit more or should anyone have any questions.

The Depiction of Women in Frankenstein: Mary Shelley as a Staple of Social Commentary

Daughter of two vociferous literary revolutionaries and wife to a renowned poet and activist, societal expectations for Mary Shelley and her work were always set high. Her publication of Frankenstein was nothing short of successful and pivotal in that “Shelley invented modern science fiction” (Sturgis 59). Though the novel was initially presented and perceived as a “ghost story” (Shelley 7) there appeared to be an underlying tone of social commentary present. This, however, is not surprising, as Mary’s mother, Wollstonecraft, was an avid advocate for women’s rights and gender equality. It becomes apparent through the characterisation of women within the text that Shelley seeks to denounce the idealisation of uneducated, objectified and submissive women. In doing this she presented herself, akin to her mother, as an activist for women and their rights.

In this essay I will argue that Shelley condemns the view of women as submissive, passive creatures through the male protagonists’ descriptions of women. I will do this by analysing the stark contrast in depiction and characterisation of several women within the text, through the male protagonists’ eyes. To achieve this, I will primarily focus on three female characters, namely Elizabeth Lavenza, Safie and the female creature. I chose these personalities specifically because they each represent different values and types of women. In addition to this, I will also be touching on Mary Wollstonecraft’s call to the education of women as addressed in her A Vindication of the Rights of Woman. This because Shelley herself plays around with the same ideas and concepts. In doing so I will bring forward Shelley’s own advocation for the education and emancipation of women.

Before I start analysing Shelley’s work I want to introduce Mary Wollstonecraft’s A Vindication of the Rights of Woman. In her work, which was “the first book on women’s rights published anywhere in the world” (Botting 296), Wollstonecraft called for the education of women as she believed that “if woman isn’t fitted by education to become man’s compassion, she will stop the progress of knowledge” (2). She furthermore argues that education was crucial in women’s understanding so they wouldn’t revolt or rebel against their “duty” (Wollstonecraft 2). On top of this, she condemns the sensibilization of women, stating that “their conduct is unstable because they feel when they should reason: and their opinions are wavering because of contradictory emotions” (Wollstonecraft 42). Here we see that Wollstonecraft disapproves of the emotionalism of women and how she wants to step away from the stereotypical depiction of woman as a sentimental creature. In her work she ultimately claims that due to the lack of reason and plethora of sensation, women are considered to be weak and “fragile in every sense of the word” she also adds that they are therefore “obliged to look up to man for every comfort” (Wollstonecraft 42). This then implies that the emancipation of women is achieved through education and reason.

Continuing on, I would like to shift my focus to Shelley’s novel and its female characters. As stated before, I will be analysing the three figures of Elizabeth, Safie and the female creature. In this part of my essay I will concentrate on Elizabeth Lavenza specifically. I will be analysing her characterisation and portrayal through the eyes of Victor, the main narrator in the book. In the novel, we are introduced to Elizabeth through Victor who describes that she, as a “sweet orphan” (Shelley 35) was taken in by his parents. From the very start she is presented as some sort of object, Frankenstein’s mother even referring to her as “a pretty present for [her] Victor” (Shelley 35). He seems to consolidate this sentiment, describing Elizabeth as “[his]” (Shelley 36), the possessive pronoun reaffirming the objectification. Aside from being seen as a possession, we see that after mother Frankenstein passes away, Elizabeth is appointed the new matriarch of the house. This is especially shown here: “She devoted herself to those whom she had been taught to call her uncle and cousins” (Shelley 44). Here Elizabeth is presented as the nurturing, parental figure and even further along in the story we see that she often intervenes as a nurse or caretaker: “how often have I regretted not being able to perform it myself! I figure to myself that the task of attending on your sick bed has devolved on some mercenary old nurse, who could never guess your wishes, nor minister to them with the care and affection of your poor cousin” (Shelley 64). Examples such as these reinforce the portrayal of the compassionate, caring woman. In terms of her personality, we soon learn that Elizabeth is a very emotional and sensitive woman. A good example would be her reaction to the death of William: “She fainted, and was restored with extreme difficulty. When she again lived, it was only to weep and sigh” (Shelley 72). Remarkable here is that Victor is said to be the “comforter” (Shelley 73) of the family, which coheres with a concept that Wollstonecraft previously introduced: because Elizabeth is so frail and emotional she needs Victor’s support. Wollstonecraft’s sentiment regarding the wavering of rationality and reason due to overwhelming emotionality is furthermore confirmed when Elizabeth is called on as a witness during Justine’s trial. We see here that while “simple and powerful” Elizabeth’s testimony “was excited by her generous interference, and not in favour of poor Justine” (Shelley 85). In other words: her passions and emotions contributed to the conviction of her friend, thus reinforcing the idea that strong emotions are a weakness, as they cancel out any reason. In terms of characterisation, we also see that Elizabeth is often described as a “sweet girl” with “gentleness, and soft looks of compassion” (Shelley 189-190). Throughout his narration it becomes apparent that Victor sees Elizabeth, as the perfect woman, even going so far as to state that he “never saw any woman who excited, as Elizabeth does, [his] warmest admiration and affection” (Shelley 151). We can conclude from this, that Victor deems the emotionally vulnerable, nurturing and motherlike woman the ideal one.

The second character I will be discussing is Safie. Here it is important to mention that unlike Elizabeth and the female creature, this character is observed and narrated from the creature’s point of view. We are introduced to this character in chapter XIII when the monster is in hiding, taking refuge in a local cottage. Very noticeable is that in comparison to Elizabeth, the focus with Safie mostly lies on the woman’s physical features rather than her emotionality. The creature describes her as having “a countenance of angelic beauty and expression” (Shelley 116) and being “charming” (Shelley 121). In terms of her personality, the creature deems the Arabian to be “sweet” as well as “lovely” (Shelley 117). She is furthermore described to be “always gay and happy” (Shelley 118). While these traits are directly worded by the creature, through reading her story we see that Safie is actually a very brave, smart and self-governing woman rather than an overly sentimental one. Her independence and bravery were inspired by her mother who “taught her to aspire to higher powers of intellect, and an independence of spirit, forbidden to the female followers of Mahomet” (Shelley 124). Following her mother’s advice, Safie abandons her religion and sets out to Europe as “the prospect of marrying a Christian, and remaining in a country where women were allowed to take a rank in society, was enchanting to her” (Shelley 124). This reveals to the reader that Safie’s priorities include intelligence and independence, rather than motherhood or love. While Felix is definitely a romantic partner to her, having been referred to as her “lover” (Shelley 127), the marriage is also a sort of leverage, ensuring her freedom as it offers an escape from her repressive and sexist religion, as mentioned in the quote. However during her travels to unite with Felix, Safie’s companion falls ill and passes away, leaving her “unacquainted with the language of the country, and utterly ignorant of the customs of the world” (Shelley 127). Here her true bravery shines through as she keeps pushing forward with the help of an Italian family, despite being alone in a foreign country. Eventually once settled in with the De Laceys, the creature, who is equally “unacquainted” (Shelley 127), informs the reader on their learning process, stating that “she and [him] improved rapidly in the knowledge of language” (Shelley 118). This then also supports the statement that Safie is indeed a smart woman, being capable of learning a new language in a matter of months. When we apply Wollstonecraft’s philosophy to this, we see that Safie closely resembles that new woman considering that she is in touch with both her reason and passion. She furthermore endorses Wollstonecraft’s educational stance as she actively pursues knowledge. In terms of sensibility Safie has only been described to “[appear] affected by different feelings; wiping a few tears from her lovely eyes” (Shelley 117) once, when meeting Felix. We can conclude that in terms of this character we see a healthy balance between emotionality and rationality, therefore introducing a different “type” of woman. It is safe to say that Safie is to be regarded as “the incarnation of Mary Wollstonecraft in the novel” (Mellor 5).

Moving on, the third and final character I would like to discuss is the female creature. It is once again important to note that this part of the story is told from Victor’s perspective and that this creature was never actually brought to life. She was merely an idea and request. We learn that the idea of the female creature is introduced by Frankenstein’s monster, after he fails to find a human counterpart: “I am alone, and miserable; man will not associate with me; but one as deformed and horrible as myself would not deny herself to me. My companion must be of the same species, and have the same defects. This being you must create” (Shelley 144). This request, or demand, is however not well-received by Victor: “Shall I create another like yourself, whose joint wickedness might desolate the world? Begone!” (Shelley 145). However after a lot of contemplation and convincing, Victor agrees: “I consent to your demand, on your solemn oath to quit Europe for ever, and every other place in the neighbourhood of man, as soon as I shall deliver into your hands a female who will accompany you in your exile” (Shelley 148). The task proved easier said than done, as Victor struggles to “overcome [his] repugnance to the task which was enjoined [him]” (Shelley 149). Victor seems to think and overthink his decision until ultimately he decides against it, therefore breaking the agreement. He comes to this conclusion after thoroughly considering what a new creation might bring forward:

I was now about to form another being, of whose dispositions I was alike ignorant; she might become ten thousand times more malignant than her mate, and delight, for its own sake, in murder and wretchedness. He had sworn to quit the neighbourhood of man, and hide himself in deserts; but she had not; and she, who in all probability was to become a thinking and reasoning animal, might refuse to comply with a compact made before her creation. They might even hate each other; the creature who already lived loathed his own deformity, and might he not conceive a greater abhorrence for it when it came before his eyes in the female form? She also might turn with disgust from him to the superior beauty of man; she might quit him, and he be again alone, exasperated by the fresh provocation of being deserted by one of his own species. (Shelley 165)

This revelation brings more to light than meets the eye and requires a more thorough reading. I will start with analysing the female creature’s speculated character. This is speculation because she was never actually brought to life. In other words: this version of the female creature only ever existed in Victor’s inner thoughts. Nonetheless, we see that this female is depicted as malevolent or violent and seemingly emancipated since she might not conform with what her creator, Frankenstein, imposes on her. On the other hand, the creature is also described as “a thinking and reasoning animal” (Shelley 165), which strives from Victor’s ideal woman (cf. Elizabeth) and makes her a threat. Here lies the sexism and Shelley’s critique thereof. She exposes Victor because “he is afraid of an independent female will, afraid that his female creature will have desires and opinions that cannot be controlled by his male creature” (Mellor 6). What we can also deduce from this is that Frankenstein seeks to adhere to the “sexist aesthetic that insists that women be small, delicate, modest, passive, and sexually pleasing – but available only to their lawful husbands” (Mellor 7). We see throughout the story that aesthetics and beauty are important virtues as both Elizabeth and Safie, though perceived by two different protagonists, are praised for their beauty. This is in stark contrast with the female creature, as Frankenstein reasons that the male creature might perceive her as a “greater abhorrence” (Shelley 165). Shelley with this shows the superficial mind of Victor Frankenstein and brings a whole system of sexism in societal standards to light. It is remarkable to see how, despite never even having lived, the female creature becomes one of the most crucial characters in outing her criticisms.

When comparing the three female characters with one another, we notice a sort of spectrum. On the one end there is Elizabeth who is seen as the perfect woman and wife by Victor’s standards and on the other end we have the female creature who is nothing short of horrifying, violent and a threat to him and his standards. Somewhere in the middle we then find Safie, the fictional embodiment of Wollstonecraft and her ideals. Now, what sets Elizabeth apart from these other two women is her objectification. She is often presented as a matriarch and sometimes even an object or something akin to a pet in relation to Victor. She is submissive and for the most part reliant on the men in her life as previously mentioned. The other two women differ in that they strive for emancipation and independence. Furthermore these two women are described as rational creatures, rather than “sensible” or emotional ones, which is exactly what Wollstonecraft was advocating for.

To conclude, while Shelley’s Frankenstein at first glance presents itself as a “ghost story” (Shelley 7), a thorough, more critical read brings to light a sharp piece of social commentary. Shelley masked her criticisms, which were heavily inspired by her mother’s A Vindication for the Rights of Woman, by writing mostly from the perspective of males. These criticisms entailing women and the sexist expectations that society has provided are revealed through the male depiction of three female characters. There are several things to be established surrounding these women. First of all it becomes apparent that Victor favours his Elizabeth, who is the staple of a housewife: submissive, oppressed and dependent on her husband or provider. Then there is the self-governing Safie, who travelled across the continent just to obtain her freedom as a woman. The third and final personality, the female creature, is pivotal in that she is the epitome of Shelley’s critique. Victor Frankenstein fears this female creation as she is rational and will likely have a strong will of her own and can therefore not be controlled by his male creature. He furthermore is appalled by this creature as she does not conform with the stereotypical beauty standard. Throughout this narration Shelley brought to light the intricate and subtle elements of sexism in which Victor, the man, presents himself as superior to women. Shelley’s work went on to inspire and “managed to change the Western world’s conception of women’s rights, human reason, education theory and romantic love” (Sturgis 55). In her work Shelley advocates, as her mother before her, for the education of women and gender equality and seeks to denounce the submissive woman as a whole.

(2681 words)

Works Cited

Botting, Eileen Hunt. “Crossing Borders and Bridging Generations: Wollstonecraft's ‘Rights of Woman’ as the ‘Traveling Feminist’ Classic.” Women's Studies Quarterly, vol. 35, no. 3/4, 2007, pp. 296–301.

Mellor, Anne K. “Possessing Nature: The Female in Frankenstein.” Frankenstein: The 1818 Text, Contexts, Criticism. By Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley. Ed. J. Paul Hunter. New York: W.W. Norton, 2012.

Shelley, Mary. Frankenstein. Edited by M.K. Joseph, Oxford University Press, 2008.

Sturgis, Amy H. "Feminism, Frankenstein, and Freedom." Reason, vol. 47, no. 2, 2015, pp.54-60, 6.

Wollstonecraft, Mary. A Vindication of the Rights of Woman. Edited by J. Bennett, Oxford University Press, 2017.

#uni stuff #literary analysis #mary shelley #frankenstein #mary wollstonecraft #a vindication of the rights of woman

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thatsamericano · 3 years

Text

Take My Hand, Take My Whole Life Too

Pairings/Characters: America/Romano. Background Gerita, and Seborga and Prussia are there too. Very brief appearances from Denmark and Lithuania in the video, as well as a ton of other characters who don’t get lines.

Rating: Teen, but only for cursing. Very fluffy, and no warnings to speak of.

Word Count: 2518

Summary: America sends Romano a special video for his birthday. He isn’t Elvis Presley, but it’s the best rendition of the song Romano’s ever heard.

A/N: I wanted to post something fluffy for Romano’s birthday. This will be up on AO3 soon.

It had been a nice, quiet birthday for Romano so far. Feli’s macho potato had dropped by to spend the day with him, and Prussia had tagged along too. Savino was glad Gilbert and Marcello were here, because otherwise he would’ve been stuck third-wheeling the sappiest couple in the world on his own birthday. Spain and Belgium had said they would arrive in a couple hours, which Romano was looking forward to as well. Most of the people who had sent his little brother a happy birthday message had remembered to send one to him too. America had sent them both silly e-cards, and the gifts he’d sent had arrived a week early and would be unwrapped along with all the others after they frosted the cake.

Romano was not lonely, especially not for someone who would’ve had to fly across a whole ocean to see him. He only threw a spatula at Germany’s head when he leaned in to kiss Feli right after he put the cake in the oven because the sight of the potato bastard kissing his little brother grossed him out to no end.

Feliciano pouted at him. “Fratello, that wasn’t very nice of you.”

“I had to stop you two before I lost my appetite. I want to actually be able to eat a slice of cake later!”

Germany muttered something under his breath, and Seborga giggled while Prussia ruffled his hair. “Relax, Savi. It’s your birthday.”

Romano shoved Gilbert’s hand away. “I’m relaxing just fine, damn it.” He walked over to the counter to check his phone, which had received a few new messages since he and Feli had started making their joint birthday cake.

As he was reading a message from New Zealand (who seemed to be confused by the time difference and hoped their message had arrived on time), a new text popped up on his phone. From America.

“Huh, that’s weird.”

“What’s weird?” Marcello asked.

“America sent me a link to a Youtube video.” Alfred liked to upload a lot of strange things on Youtube, including cooking videos with his twin, recordings of him prank calling England, and the occasional stunt that would’ve turned Savino’s hair gray if he’d aged like a human. Seriously, what the fuck had possessed him to surf down a staircase on a fucking ironing board?

The message before the link was cryptic as hell. Happy bday. Here’s an extra present for you. 😉 Hope you enjoy.🎶 Knowing America, Romano wouldn’t have been too surprised if he’d opened up the link and seen that one Rick Astley song the idiota still thought was funny to send to people. But Feli immediately got excited about it.

“Oh, he finally sent you the video! I thought he’d do that a month ago!”

Prussia smirked as Feli rushed over to them. “Nah, Al had always planned to upload it today.”

Germany came over with a subtle hint of a smile on his face, like he knew what all this was about too. At least Marcello still looked baffled as he leaned over to get a look at Savino’s phone.

“What the fuck are you assholes up to?” Savino didn’t like this feeling. He didn’t like that everyone except his baby brother had been plotting something behind his back.

“It isn’t bad, Romano,” Germany promised. “Just open the link and you’ll see.”

Romano didn’t trust Germany further than he could throw him, and the guy was way too heavy for him to even lift. But if Germany thought it was okay, it probably wasn’t a video involving the kinds of ridiculous shenanigans America liked to film, and it certainly was nowhere near as heart-attack inducing as some of the videos he’d seen Fredo post (especially if Prussia or Denmark were egging him on). Savino squinted at Ludwig suspiciously before he clicked on the link.

It wasn’t Rick Astley. The video started with a black screen. “No, Gil, you’re supposed to press the red button!” The voice sounded like Denmark.

“Magnus, I pressed the red button!” That was Prussia.

“Guys, maybe we could use my iPhone instead?” America asked. His voice sounded uncharacteristically strained and nervous. “The quality won’t be as good, but at this point Vinny’s probably given up anyway.”

Suddenly, the image of a white dress shirt with a navy tie (and an inexplicable ukulele) appeared on the screen. The camera zoomed out a little, and he could see Alfred smiling at him in a crowded bar with many nations Romano knew well, and many who were only acquaintances. Denmark rushed past him, but Romano could scarcely take his eyes off America. He was wearing the same outfit he’d seen him in on the day of the last world meeting he’d attended a couple months ago in Berlin, and he was cradling a ukulele in his arms. His warm smile, as always, made Romano’s heart skip a beat. But there was a hint of anxiety in his crystal blue eyes, and that made Romano wish he was there to talk to America and help him with whatever seemed to be bothering him.

“Hey, Vinny! Right now it’s still January, but by the time I upload this video, it will be your birthday, so happy birthday, dude! I hope you’re having a good day with your brothers.” He chuckled. “You guys will probably need a huge cake if you’re gonna blow out all your birthday candles.”

Romano rolled his eyes. “That’s what numbered candles are for, idiota,” he murmured.

“Anyway, I know I’m not the best singer in the world—” Prussia snickered from behind the camera and America glared at him sharply before relaxing back into the smile he’d had on his face before. “But I’ve been practicing this song a lot, so hopefully you’ll like it.”

Romano wondered which song it was. If it was the Italian version of “Happy Birthday,” America wouldn’t need a ukulele, and this video would not be three and a half minutes in length.

America started strumming the ukulele, and it wasn’t the “Happy Birthday” song. Savino vaguely recognized the melody, and apparently Feliciano knew what the song was, because he was bouncing next to him and muffling squeals behind his hand. Savino was tempted to smack him, but that would involve looking away from his phone.

Then, America started to sing in a shaky but surprisingly clear voice, staring straight at the camera. “Wise men say, only fools rush in…”

Marcello gasped. “He didn’t!”

“Oh, he totally did,” Prussia replied smugly.

Savino was too emotional to talk. He teared up as Alfred continued with the next line. “But I can’t help falling in love with you.” Fredo’s voice was full of sincerity, like he actually meant it, like he actually loved him. For so long, Romano had assumed his feelings for America were completely one-sided, that he would have to ignore them as much as possible, vainly hope they might disappear, and move on with his life as best he could. But clearly, he had been wrong, and the proof was that America was serenading him with a love song. On his birthday.

America started walking backwards with his ukulele, and Prussia’s camera followed him. At the end of the first verse, he’d reached a booth with Spain, Portugal, Belgium, the Netherlands and Luxembourg. They all held up signs wishing him a happy birthday in various languages as they sang the last line together. Spain waved and Belgium winked at the camera, and America grinned as he kept walking through the bar.

He briefly stopped by other groups of people to allow them to hold up signs wishing Romano a happy birthday as he sang. Russia, his sisters, and Canada. Lithuania, Estonia, Latvia and Poland. Hungary, Austria, Germany, Switzerland, and Liechtenstein. China, Japan, Taiwan, Vietnam, and South Korea. France, Monaco, all the UK countries, and Ireland. Australia, New Zealand, Seychelles, and Kenya. Greece, Turkey, and Egypt. All the Nordics too. It was the sweetest, most romantic thing anyone had ever done for Romano. America must have gone to so much effort to orchestrate something like this, to gather so many countries together in one bar in Berlin and convince them to go along with his plan. Savino smiled as he kept watching the video. Maybe Alfred wasn’t as good a singer as Elvis Presley or any of the many people who had covered this song, but his performance was heartfelt, and Savino loved every second of it.

Near the end, all of the countries sang the line “For I can’t help falling in love with you” together and held up their happy birthday signs. The bartender and some confused humans sang along with them. Savino laughed as Alfred chuckled sheepishly in the video, cheeks turning pink because this was an unusually public spectacle, even for him.

Alfred repeated the final chorus and sang with just him and the ukulele, as he had begun the song. “Take my hand, take my whole life too.” His eyes were shining with tears, and not the happy kind Savino had been shedding since the second line of the song. “For I can’t help falling in love with you.” He repeated the final line then took a deep breath.

“So, yeah. That uhh… wasn’t just a song.” America glanced off to the side. “I’ve kinda been hopelessly in love with you for a while.”

“About 90 years, give or take!” a tipsy voice shouted from off camera. It sounded just like Lithuania, the few times he’d had a little too much to drink at a speakeasy back when he, America, and Romano all lived together. Romano remembered those days fondly.

America hunched his shoulders with a pained look on his face. “Yeah. What Tolys said. You mean a lot to me, Vinny, both as a friend and possibly more, if you want that. If you just wanna stay friends, that’s cool. I hope you liked the song. Happy birthday.”

The screen abruptly cut to black, and the video ended. Savino wiped his eyes and looked up at Feliciano. “This is… this is why we had to fly back right away, isn’t it? Our boss didn’t call you.”

Feli shook his head. “I lied. America asked me to lie so he could surprise you with that video.”

“I can’t believe he did that for me.” Part of Savino felt like he didn’t deserve it, but a much bigger part of him was too selfish to care about what he did or didn’t deserve. He just wanted to be happy. “I wish he was here,” Romano confessed quietly. “I wish I could tell him I feel the same way.” And he wanted to kiss away every tear that idiota had ever cried over him, which was long overdue.

Savino ignored his little brothers cooing over what he had just said and tried not to bristle at the fact that even Germany seemed to think it was adorable. Prussia, weirdly enough, was too busy texting on his phone to join in on the overbearing fawning.

Gilbert chuckled at something on his phone. “Alfred’s a lot closer than you think. He decided to skip the Saint Paddy’s Day parade this year.” He grinned up at Romano, who instantly got the message. Alfred wasn’t celebrating with his Irish-American citizens. He was here in Italy, and it wouldn’t take much effort for Romano to find him.

He sprinted to his front door and flung it open. Alfred, who had been standing with his back to the front door, turned around to face him. “Vinny, I…”

Savino was too impatient to let him get another word out. He tugged on the collar of his emerald green t-shirt and sealed their mouths together. Alfred made a muffled sound of surprise and started kissing him a couple seconds later. He wrapped an arm around his waist, and Savino could feel that he was holding something wrapped in cellophane in his hand. He didn’t give a fuck what it was. He didn’t give a fuck about anything except the fact that Alfred was grinning against his mouth as he reluctantly pulled away for air.

Alfred’s face was flushed, and he had to reach up to fix his glasses. “Wow. This t-shirt never worked before.”

Savino glanced down at the shirt, which read “Kiss Me, I’m Irish!” (of course it did) and snorted. “I didn’t kiss you because of a fucking t-shirt logo. I kissed you because I watched that birthday video you sent me, which was the most adorable goddamn thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“So you liked the song, huh?”

“I loved the song. And I love you too, Fredo.”

He heard sniffling, and it couldn’t have been Alfred, who was beaming at him like every prayer he’d ever uttered had been answered just by Savino saying those words to him. And the sniffling noise was coming from behind him. At least one person had followed Romano to the front door, but Romano had been too focused on America to notice.

Romano tensed up as America laughed and put an arm around his shoulder. “Germany, are you crying, dude?”

“I… I’m verklempt. That was a beautiful moment.” Savino glanced over and saw that Germany wasn’t the only one. Veneziano, Seborga, and Prussia were all standing in the entryway, and they all looked misty-eyed.

Romano groaned and turned to bury his face in America’s ridiculous t-shirt. “Seriously, did you come out here to fucking spy on us?! What the hell is wrong with you?!” America squeezed his arm around him in a silent gesture of support. He could probably tell how embarrassed Romano was.

“Well, you were the one who decided to run out the front door suddenly,” Marcello said teasingly. “You can’t blame us for wanting to see what was going on.”

Veneziano piled on. “It’s nice of you to visit us on our birthday, America. You can come inside if you want, or you can stay out here and kiss Savi some more.”

Romano growled and turned to shoot vicious glares at both of his brothers, but America didn’t seem bothered at all. “As tempting as it sounds to stand here and kiss Vinny all day, I think I’ll come inside.” He dropped his arm from around Savino’s shoulders and presented him with the floral bouquet he somehow hadn’t noticed earlier in his mad dash to the door. “These are for you.”

“Grazie.” Savino smiled as he bent his head to sniff the bouquet of red roses mixed with white lilies. The symbolism wasn’t lost on him.

“Anything for you,” America whispered, too quietly for the others to hear. He pressed a kiss to Savino’s cheek, grabbed his wheeled suitcase, and dangled out his free hand as they headed into the house behind the others.

Romano grabbed America’s hand and laced their fingers together. This was the best birthday he’d ever had, and it was due in no small part to the fact America was holding his hand right now and smiling like he was the one who had received everything he ever wanted.

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adamsvanrhijn · 4 years

Note

not to be very annoying, but do you happen to know any good books/resources about lgbt slang/identities in victorian/edwardian/etc england? (i mean, things such as lesbians calling each other "toms" and the like). don't worry if you don't know any, but i just figured i'd ask since this was kinda in your Area Of Interest so you might know some off the top of your head.

the not annoying at all but this is a more complex question than at first glance hahaha

TL;DR: there are many types of queer language / we have way more info about men, who have their own lexicon / this era is widely seen as the era in which the concept of identity is actually coming into play / books list at the end, scroll down til you reach bolded text if you don’t want my commentary.

so when you’re looking at mid 19th - interwar lgbt communities, whether in europe or the uk or the usa it doesn’t really matter bc this is quite universal, you’ve got at least three registers, for lack of an easier word:

how self-identified homosexual, inverted, queer, abnormal etc men (henceforth gay men) speak with each other

how self-identified “” women (henceforth lesbian women) speak with each other

interactions between these groups

these naturally intersect with other socioeconomic class factors.

back to england specifically:

despite legal considerations gay men have the most agency and ability to move around and therefore are more likely to interact with each other and form communities. so now you have additional registers:

upper middle / upper class

middle / lower middle / working class (more registers here but nobody asked me and i promise i will give you recs soon)

again, interactions between them

the latter category has limited applications; most of them have to do with prostitution or casual sex and tend to be about categorizing people in terms of what sex acts they participate in. (this is universally true of most forms of gay slang and/or their origins for obvious reasons) think locker room talk. OR, we’re looking at cross class relationships and how other people view members of cross class relationships. not to generalize bc there are other things than this but what is best documented here is the upper class pov of these interactions

for the first category there is much less slang & unique community language, when you look at letters and works of literature etc etc people are picking and choosing from both medical/psychiatric terminology, which is developing rapidly from the 1860s on, and like, classical works; you get a lot of alluding to things. artistic communities (bloomsbury group, natalie clifford barney’s harem in paris and what have you) meanwhile are sort of all over the map. but bc this isn’t Polite Society talk, most of the sources for this kind of language tend to be limited in scope. which is true for all subculture language really but like in this case, authors of the day who are writing what they know are we think giving a pretty accurate picture of what their actual communities were like... but it’s put through a filter for publication.

by the 20th century urban working class gay men in certain circles are using polari, a subcultural lexicon which came from mid/late 19th century theatre and music hall slang, which came from fairground cant, seafaring , labor slang, Yiddish, cockney, theatre slang, fishmarkets, French, Italian, underground crime rings literally i could go on and there’s lots of debate about this. it’s turn of the century when it comes to be used very widely within the gay community, and while its origins are in london it made it to other uk urban centres fairly quickly. this lasted well into the latter half of the 20th century and is the base for a lot of community slang today, which leads me to

lesbian women, who also used polari, albeit to a lesser extent. these were primarily lesbians who were also in the 3rd camp above - ones who are involved in the community and interacting w/ gay men regularly. (”straight women who work in theatre” is another category of woman polari speakers haha but performance slang went thru many changes and eventually things got p separate so you had fairground & theatre cant and gay subculture slang having similar roots but very distinct in usage)

for lesbian communities the same thing as w gay men applies for the upper classes just to a lesser degree due to the relative lack of a community experienced by women

but a very important point here is that, ESPECIALLY during the victorian period, less so moving into the 20th century, intimate relationships between women are viewed very, very differently than those between men - male relationships have hard and fast boundaries of what is and isnt acceptable, those of women do not.

the development of identity w/ sexuality for women i think in many ways had a lot more to do with women who expressed their gender differently than women who had intimate exclusive relationships w/ other women

anyway the point is there unfortunately is no like comprehensive text for All Queer Language at this point in time, nor for the development of sexual identity, and the nature of this field (linguistics + history + sociology about queer stuff) means that a lot of the good work is in academic articles which i do NOT know off the top of my head. :-( but here’s some stuff !!

LIST OF THE ACTUAL BOOKS SORRY ABOUT ALL THAT

ok so these are all nonfiction, mostly academic nonfiction, but i want to stress that contemporary literature is a REALLY good way to get a (often rose tinted but not always) look into subculture and there are many novels that play with and/or poke at the ongoing development of sexual identity, especially in edwardia, especially especially in the 1920s, so if youve got endless time to read on your hands it is absolutely worth poking around there.

i have a list in the works of 1920s literature that has lgbt stuff in it and i realise thats a bit late for you but even so!!

also: compilations of letters, memoirs, etc are like super super invaluable

anyway ive bolded the most important ones:

Kosofsky Sedgwick, Eve. Epistemology of the Closet. 1990. University of California Press. [required lgbt theory reading, literally the foundation for soooo much]

Marcus, Sharon. Between Women: Friendship, Desire, and Marriage in Victorian England. 2007. Princeton University Press.

Robb, Graham. Strangers: Homosexual Love in the Nineteenth Century. 2003. [this is like, functionally prerequisite reading for any gay male stuff for the 19th century & robb is an excellent popular historian who also has an actual academic background]

Rupp, Leila J. Sapphistries: A Global History of Love between Women. 2008. NYU Press.

Russett, Cynthia. Sexual Science: The Victorian Construction of Womanhood. 1989. Harvard University Press. [touches on things but is not About sexuality/identity]

these are both already on my downton abbey research list but they both discuss language thruout and identity very thoroughly:

Brady, Sean. Masculinity and Male Homosexuality in Britain, 1861-1913. 2005. Palgrave Macmillan.

David, Hugh. On Queer Street: A Social History of British Homosexuality 1895-1995. 1997. HarperCollins.

for polari, see basically everything paul baker’s done. the 2019 might be the most accessible but i havent read it yet:

Baker, Paul. Fantabulosa: A dictionary of Polari & gay slang. 2002. London: Continuum.

Baker, Paul. Polari: The Lost Language of Gay Men (Routledge Studies in Linguistics). 2002. London: Routledge.

Baker, Paul. Fantabulosa! The Story of Polari, Britain’s Secret Gay Language. 2019. London: Reaktion.

while it predates the era youre asking about, this book is good reading that leads up to the changes of the victorian era in sexual morality & how that affects identity and language:

Donoghue, Emma. Passions Between Women: British Lesbian Culture 1668–1801. 1995. HarperCollins.

also i hate to do this but like. foucault lol. obviously not focused on britain but very much focused on the development of identity and sexuality.

ive been working on this for like three straight hours im gonna go eat lunch now

#da resources #community culture tag

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cursed-ice-queen · 3 years

Photo

My Jacob’s birthday was yesterday! So to celebrate here’s his profile! Outline provided by @hogwartsmystory.

IDENTITY

Name: Jacob Lovino Parker

Gender: Male

Age: 15

Birth Date: December 29th

Species: Human

Blood Status: Half-Blood

Sexuality: ???

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Ethnicity: White

Nationality: Irish, Italian

Residence: Cork, Ireland

Myer Briggs Personality Type: INFJ-T

THE MAGE

1st Wand: Pine, 10”, Dragon Heartstring Core

2nd Wand: He has several! All of varying lengths but all dragon heartstring

Hawthorn: Suited to healing magic and curses; suited to those with a conflicted nature, proven talent

Hornbeam: Talented with a single pure passion/obsession, adapt more quickly to owner’s style than most wands, become so personalized others find it difficult to cast simplest spells, absorbs code of honor and may refuse to perform, fine-tuned and sentient

Maple: Suited to travellers and explorers, prefer ambition otherwise magic grows heavy and lackluster, regular changes of scene cause it to shine

Pine: Independent and individual master, may be perceived as loner or mysterious, enjoys being used creatively, adapts well, owners never die young, among most sensitive to non-verbal magic

Silver lime: Works best with skilled Legilimens

Willow: Healing power, owner often has some insecurity, enables advanced, non-verbal magic, selects those of greatest potential

Yew: Matches are notorious, has dark reputation in dueling spheres, a fierce protector of others, never choses mediocre or timid owner

Misc Magical Abilities: Legilimens

Boggart Form:

House centipedes

Snape

R Messengers

Forest Vault with Acromantula over unconscious Parker

Later has Pius’ voice

Riddikulus Form:

Putting it in Disco clothes and making it dance

He has no defense for the Acromantula

Amortentia: (What do they smell like?) Books

Amortentia: (What do they smell?) Pumpkin, dusty old books, Nonna’s garden, fall leaves

Patronus: Cheetah

Patronus Memory: Duncan comforting him after accidentally coming across Snape Boggart

Mirror of Erised: Himself surrounded by friends and family acknowledging that he isn’t mad and that he was right all along about the Vaults

Specialized/Favourite Spells: Melofors Jinx, Bluebell Flames, Doubling Charm

APPEARANCE

Height: (5’5”)

Weight: (135 lbs)

Physique: Scrawny with chubby cheeks

Eye Colour: Brown

Hair Colour: Copper, darker than Megan’s

Skin Tone: A bit darker than Megan’s, “Italian” skin

Scarring:

Stretch marks across his back from growth spurt

Frostbite scars on legs and feet

Scar from Acromantula on left forearm and calf

Soccer ball-sized burn from dragon on right side of torso

Inventory: (what do they carry on them?) Notebook for taking notes and scribbling in; a separate notebook that he talks with Olivia in

Fashion: Doesn’t like to wear his Hufflepuff uniform pieces, wears a Ravenclaw scarf; sticks his wand in bun; wears fleece leggings under his pants because he’s always cold; long sleeves and pants even in summer; in winter he doubles up his shirts; socks pulled all the way up

ALLEGIANCES

Hogwarts House: Hufflepuff (Ravenclaw)

Ilvermorny House: Horned Serpent

Affiliations/Organizations: Rakepick

Professions: Wand-maker

HOGWARTS INFORMATION

Class Proficiencies:

Astronomy: Exceeds Expectation

Charms: Outstanding

DADA: Outstanding

Flying: Acceptable

Herbology: Exceeds Expectation

History of Magic: Outstanding

Potions: Troll

Transfiguration: Outstanding

Electives:

Care of Magical Creatures: Exceeds Expectation

Divination: Acceptable

Favourite Professors: Sprout, Pince

Least Favourite Professors: Snape

RELATIONSHIPS

Sister: Megan Sofía Parker

Mother: Alice Parker

Grandmother: Sofía Vitale

Best Friends: Duncan Ashe, Olivia Green

Enemy: Snape, Pius

Dormmates: (Who’s in your MC’s dorm with them?) Eric Munch, Aaron Alto, Michael Hughes, Kenny Griffiths

Closest Canon Friends: Duncan Ashe

BACKGROUND/HISTORY

Pre Hogwarts: Learns quickly to take care of Parker due to other people mocking her or teasing her

1st Year: Meets Duncan when they sail across Black Lake; 6½ minute Hat Stall, devastated that he isn’t sorted into Ravenclaw; has a horrible time at Hogwarts; begins to hear whispers and have dreams, learns of the Cursed Vaults and connects the two

2nd Year: Becomes Library assistant for Madam Pince; insists that the Cursed Vaults are real and that they are talking to him and giving him dreams, classmates bully him for this; finds and tampers with Ice Vault, unleashing curse; gets stuck in cursed ice for hours and suffers severe frostbite on his legs and feet because of it; finally opens Ice Vault and shows Dumbledore, Dumbledore realizes he is a Legilimens and tells him

3rd Year: His Boggart becomes Snape, makes his home in Room 784 in an abandoned corridor; Dumbledore gives him Legilimency lessons; Boggart curse begins without him tampering with the Vault, quickly finds and opens Fear Vault; R contacts him for the first time; meets Rakepick and is enthralled to have someone who is a professional Curse Breaker believe that the Vaults speak to him, she promises to work with him; Legilimency lessons with Dumbledore end; sleepwalking curse begins late in the year

4th Year: Duncan starts to drift away from Jacob in favor of new friends and romantic interest, Jacob becomes lonely and jealous; Black Lake Incident, Olivia begins asking Jacob for help with creating spells; connects sleepwalking curse to Centaurs and meets Torvus; Celestial Ball Incident; Jacob becomes closer to Olivia while drifting away from Duncan; Aurors take him from the Three Broomsticks and he is forcibly interrogated by the Ministry of Magic; Rakepick promises to help him open Forest Vault; Duncan’s girlfriend disappears due to curse, Jacob and Duncan agree to open Vault earlier than planned and Jacob sends message to Rakepick; forced to steal jeweled arrowhead from Torvus; while waiting for Rakepick to meet them at Forest Vault to fight Acromantula, Duncan has a nervous breakdown at seeing the half-eaten remains of his girlfriend, little girl sleepwalks into Acromantula nest and to save her they have to fight the Acromantula without waiting for Rakepick to rendezvous with them, Jacob hit by pincer and receives venomous scar on forearm and calf, they force Acromantula to retreat and Jacob opens Forest Vault; receives praise from R and told to immediately work on next Vault; Boggart becomes R messengers

5th Year: Olivia doesn’t return from summer break; R impatient about finding next Vault but Jacob can’t find any leads besides his dreams of dragons and being buried alive; R gives him instructions to create super explosive Erumpant potion, which Jacob asks Duncan to do; Duncan killed in potion explosion, Jacob expelled

Post-Expulsion: R threatens his family, mainly Megan; to force Jacob to work with them an R agent named Pius abducts Megan in the dead of night but Jacob finds out immediately, runs away to work for R, makes Unbreakable Vow with Pius to protect his family; works on finding fourth Vault for months; secretly plans to guide Megan to opening Vaults; closes first three Vaults and hides artifacts in columns; attempts Portrait Vault with Rakepick and Pius, easily opens door with Legillimency, trapped in portrait

PERSONALITY

Cannot curse. Gets flustered and stutters over his words. Avoids even saying the word “butt.”

Rather sweet and caring. A thoughtful friend who shows his appreciation with gifts.

Shows affection through physical touch. His close friends get hugs and cuddles and handholding. Expect him to use you as a pillow. (This all applies to Duncan in their early years)

Never believed in “cooties” and even if he did he wouldn’t see any problem with it.

While he was quite social in elementary school and friends with everyone, in Hogwarts he was more of a loner with only Duncan as a true friend. This was mainly because of his insistence of the Cursed Vaults being real and people thinking he was mad.

An academic prodigy. Despite coming from a largely non-magical life he learns spells with ease and spends a lot of time studying and getting ahead of his classmates. He loves learning new things, especially things that other people don’t know.

Also a voracious reader. He has a particular affinity for magical history and medieval texts. Another thing his classmates think he’s weird for.

A supportive and protective older brother. He dotes on his little sister Megan and learned from a young age that he has to protect her. In elementary school he would have to defend her from people teasing her and making fun of her crooked, discolored teeth.

MISC

Poor boy is always cold.

His first magic is giving his father purple and green boils on his arms when he tries to kidnap infant Megan.

The biggest “Men are trash” proponent you will ever meet. The amount of men and boys who made comments about his sister and he saw cheat on their girlfriends are his evidence.

Searches for the Vaults because they whisper to him and give him dreams, and he wants to confirm that he isn’t crazy or mad.

Thought that he would have a choice in what House he would be sorted into, and he’s convinced that the Sorting Hat made a mistake in putting him in Hufflepuff instead of Ravenclaw like he wanted to be.

His affinity for studying came from having little else to do around the castle. He was frequently ahead of his class and taught himself new spells from books in the Library. Whenever professors would go over spells he already knew he would skip class.

He was a 6 1\2 minute Hat Stall. The Hat couldn't decide whether to put him in Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw.

Has accidentally called McGonagall “Mom” on at least one occasion and will not admit it.

#OC: Jacob Parker #HPHM Jacob #HPHM #Nutty's Creations #I wanted to post this yesterday but I had work all day. Oh well.

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dweemeister · 4 years

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Crisis: Behind a Presidential Commitment (1963)

Over the last hundred years, the Presidency of the United States has grown in scope and responsibilities. For a newborn nation founded (and yes, I know I’m radically simplifying things) due to the legislative and taxation imposed by a tyrannical sovereign, America’s Founders crafted an executive with limited power. That power, independent from and counterbalanced by the federal government’s legislative and judicial branches, remained limited for most of the nineteenth century. Turn the page to the twentieth and twentieth-first centuries, and the office has become gargantuan. Starting from Herbert Hoover’s single term, fifteen men have presided over the Oval Office, representing the longest uninterrupted run of the Presidency accruing power – despite campaign slogans from mostly conservative presidents promising to rein in an expanding office. Over those fifteen presidential administrations, the American people, once suspicious of being ruled by monarchical fiat, have, through mass media, developed increasing expectations for their head of state and government.

These expectations are oftentimes not explicitly outlined by the U.S. Constitution, and are the constructions of politics or the public. They include, and are not limited to: reinvigorating the national economy by execution of monetary policy, introducing a blueprint for and compromising with Congress over the federal budget, managing the vast bureaucracy existing within the White House, and comforting those who have lost their loved ones after a disaster. Presidential scholars sometimes deem the burgeoning power of the office as the “Imperial Presidency” – a term that may have been first used during John F. Kennedy’s administration. That administration is at the heart of Crisis: Behind a Presidential Commitment, directed by Robert Drew for ABC News, and released a month before Kennedy’s assassination.

In 1954, the Supreme Court of the United States, in their decision for Brown v. Board of Education, ruled that the “separate, but equal” justification for racially segregating black and white children in public schools was unconstitutional. Opposition in the American South meant that enforcement and adherence to the Court’s decision proved elusive. The University of Alabama began accepting applications from black students after Brown v. Board, denying admittance from all except for one exception (the university’s administration found, after some effort and rioting, an excuse to expel the student). But in 1963, three students – Vivian Malone and James Hood for the flagship campus in Tuscaloosa; Dave McGlathery for UA Huntsville – applied for and, by federal court order, were admitted to the University of Alabama system.

Crisis follows the efforts of the Kennedy administration – mostly through Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy (JFK’s brother) – over two days, to ensure that Vivian Malone and James Hood could register for classes. Fears of rioting and violence, though unrealized, hung over the Kennedy administration. The stiffest resistance came from Alabama Governor George Wallace – who advocated for “segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever” – who vowed to physically block the doorway of the university’s Foster Auditorium to prevent Malone and Hood from registering. The President, Attorney General, and Deputy Attorney General Nicholas Katzenbach (who is sent to Alabama) work, with their staffers, to formulate a plan on how to allow Malone and Hood to register for classes as painlessly as possible.

The film, co-produced by Drew’s production company Drew Associates, is shot with minimal voiceover narration by James Lipscomb (a producer for various documentaries for National Geographic); Drew’s team also included Drew Associates regulars like D.A. Pennebaker (1967’s Don’t Look Back, 1993’s The War Room) and Richard Leacock (1966’s Monterey Pop and four episodes of Omnibus). All these filmmakers have been noted for their innovation of cinéma verité – which Crisis is an excellent example of. Cinéma verité, in its most basic form, is documentary filmmaking where the filmmakers allow the audience to observe what is happening. In cinéma verité, insights about people, places, and events are revealed through the images alone – not through interventions by the filmmakers like narration (which in Crisis only serves to identify the key individuals; note the passage of time; and explain the context of a scene after a cut), superimposed text, or talking head interviews. Narration and superimposed text can exist within a cinéma verité documentary, but they can only be factual in nature.

Drew Associates’ access to the White House, Department of Justice, and RFK’s residence was thanks to the company’s work in filming Primary (1960), which followed Kennedy and his Democratic Primary opponent Hubert Humphrey as the contested the Wisconsin Democratic Primary. How they received access to Governor Wallace’s residence and the Alabama Capitol is not clear. Before President Kennedy’s inauguration in 1960, he agreed with Drew that presidential decision making in a crisis would be a fascinating documentary topic: “What if I could see what went on in the White House during the twenty-four hours before FDR declared war on Japan,” JFK mused. Agreeing to give Drew access when such a crisis (not of top-secret military importance) came, President Kennedy believed that the film would hopefully serve for future presidents as an example of how critical presidential decisions are made. To reach the Resolute desk, the issue must be laden with controversy. Indeed, the crisis of Governor Wallace’s refusal to allow black students to register for classes with the University of Alabama generated a lot of discussion in Washington and across the South. Filmed on June 10 and 11, 1963, Crisis captures the mechanics of the tough decisions that President Kennedy and his brother, the Attorney General, make: how to use the National Guard if at all, the optics of escorting the students onto campus, anticipating worst-case scenarios, discussing electoral consequences of enraging the Southern segregationist vote, telephone calls, meeting after meeting.

For Wallace, the narration does not refer to his pro-segregation views, nor his betrayal of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) after garnering their endorsement for his first failed run for the Democratic nomination for governor in 1958 (his opponent then was endorsed by the Ku Klux Klan). If one knew nothing about Wallace prior to Crisis, the opening minutes of the film might make you think he is a dedicated family man and a diligent worker. But his rhetoric during the film makes transparent his racism. Snippets of Wallace walking among the public exemplifies his popularity among Alabaman whites, who extol him for his pro-segregationist broadsides against an overreaching federal government. When cinéma verité is applied with as little authorial editorialization as possible (there will always be some degree of such editorializing, but the aim in cinéma verité is to minimize it), what is murky in days past, over time, rises above the fray, revealing truth. Wallace’s actions are indefensible, and the fact that so many supported his actions reveals the stain of racism that continues to infect American politics for the foreseeable future. And yet, this is as fair a treatment as George Wallace could have hoped for in a documentary film.

One of the unsung individuals in Crisis is Deputy Attorney General Katzenbach, who is the one who briefs the National Guard on what is to be done the day they escort Malone and Hood on campus. His discussions with Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy in person and over telephone calls encapsulate their professionalism and mutual respect for the other. Katzenbach, the first person to confront Governor Wallace in the doorway – with both men reading prepared statements to the other, with Wallace clearly not listening as he interrupts the Deputy Attorney General – outmaneuvers the Governor, a tribute to his strategizing in the lead-up to this confrontation.

An executive order from President Kennedy federalizing the Alabama National Guard is what makes Wallace stand down. Since Theodore Roosevelt’s presidency (1901-1909), the executive order has become a tool for a president to help federal agencies and officers manage operations of the federal government. Though executive orders are not legislation nor specifically mentioned in the Constitution, they do not require Congressional approval (though Congress can pass legislation that makes the executive order difficult to perform). The regulations created through executive orders can have a sweeping effect on life in the United States – most notably Franklin D. Roosevelt’s authorization to force German-Americans, Italian-Americans, and especially Japanese-Americans into concentration camps and Donald Trump’s suspension of the U.S. Refugee Admissions Program (USRAP) and suspension on entries from several Muslim-majority nations in January 2017. Executive orders have played a growing role in the lifespans of American presidential administrations. Most recently, the uptick of executive orders under Barack Obama’s last years in office served as inspiration to his successor in how to handle the tools of the presidency.

The basis of Kennedy’s invocation of executive order is clear-cut, even though Crisis barely mentions it: Brown v. Board of Education. Kennedy’s actions, however, might have been unthinkable earlier in history even with a corresponding Supreme Court decision. The growth of the Imperial Presidency and the public’s desire for stronger central government – in contrast to how Americans perceived their constitutional republic in roughly the first century of its existence – create all the drama in Crisis. The film, curiously, does not seem terribly interested in questioning how the process of this decision – using the Attorney General and federalizing a possibly sympathetic portion of the National Guard – might play to Alabamans after it has happened. Given the changes in how the U.S. Constitution is interpreted, this same dynamic made possible FDR’s New Deal and the internment camps that detained thousands of American citizens and nationals, Barack Obama’s Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) program and Donald Trump’s efforts to decrease immigration and refugee arrivals as much as possible. In addition to providing insight to what is a credible use of executive order, Crisis – if contextualized by noting how the American presidency has and now operates – can illuminate how expansive the American presidency has become.

Debuting on ABC stations nationwide on October 21, 1963*, Crisis prompted viewers to flood ABC and its affiliates with furious calls venting about the fact cameras were given permission to roll in the Oval Office. Americans and, by extension, anyone who interested in what is happening in America, now take for granted how much access they have to their executive, legislative, and judicial branches – even if this comes at the expense of metastasizing confirmation bias in the nation’s politics. Many considered this a debasement of the office, a distraction from the agonizing work they expected their president and his officials to be performing (even though President Kennedy and those officials act as if they barely noticed the cameras). This outrage, however, would not last, due to Kennedy’s assassination in Dallas several weeks later.

Crisis was inducted into the Library of Congress’ National Film Registry in 2011, noting that the film, “has proven to be a uniquely revealing complement to written histories of the period, providing viewers the rare opportunity to witness historical event from an insider’s perspective.” It remains a singular document in which presidential crisis management and deliberation are central. Running under an hour, it is a compelling work of early cinéma verité (which has receded in the new century) that will prove intriguing even outside history and civics classes. More than enough time has passed, with the film’s truths seen in full.

My rating: 8/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. Half-points are always rounded down. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found here.

*Despite debuting on television, Crisis: Behind a Presidential Commitment is almost always treated as a cinematic film. It has been considered as such here.

#Crisis: Behind a Presidential Commitment #Robert Drew #JFK #George Wallace #RFK #Vivian Malone #James Hood #Nicholas Katzenbach #Gregory Shuker #ABC News #ABC #TCM #My Movie Odyssey

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jazy3 · 5 years

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Thoughts on Grey’s Anatomy: 15X12

I have extremely mixed feelings about this episode. On the one hand I loved Catherine’s recovery storyline and the storyline about the patient Natasha and her fiancé Garrett. On the other hand I absolutely hated the storyline about Meredith and DeLuca and I did not like how Link got treated at all. Thankfully I’m not alone on this. This was the second serious episode in a row. Hopefully next week’s will be more upbeat.

This episode starts off at Thanksgiving and moves into Christmas. None of the characters that are established to be coming for Christmas are mentioned or acknowledged which was super dumb. We didn’t get a single reference to Cristina, Nathan, or Megan. That was stupid. Meredith starts off the episode by giving Schmitt some terrifying but honest advice about the ICU. The theme of this episode is time and they do that really beautifully.

I’m really liking Teddy and Koracick! They really start to develop their relationship this episode and I’ve been pleasantly surprised. I first wanted them as friends, but now that they’re dating I really like it. Teddy deserves someone who treats her well and Koracick could use some joy in his life. Plus we know he’s great with kids so that works out well.

Come Christmas time Alex Karev Interim Chief gives his employees cured ham! I love him. DeLuca starts off the episode by being an idiotic klutz and he only gets worse from there. How do you miss three people walking down a hallway towards you? DeLuca asks Meredith out for dinner. Jo is so not having it, but Meredith likes the idea. And then DeLuca shows how completely and utterly insensitive and clueless he is. It’s Christmas Eve and he asks Meredith, a mom with three kids, out to dinner thinking she’s available. Wow. But they decide to make plans soon.

Jo hates the idea, speaking for all of us, but Alex is supportive because he’s an awesome best friend / person! Go Alex! I love him. Link shows up and is Santa for the hospital’s kids and he got Meredith cookies as a gift because he knows she hates baking, but her kids need cookies for Santa! Also he’s spending Christmas visiting kids in the cancer ward. I like him! I’m officially Team Link. Also why didn’t DeLuca get her a gift? His game is weak.

Jo says that Meredith is in a love triangle and Meredith responds with one of the best lines of the episode. “There is no love. There is no triangle. Unless the ham, the cookies, and I are in a triangle.” Jo and Alex disagree! Ben shows up at Bailey’s with presents for Tuck. I hate that they’ve split! We then cut to Christmas dinner at the Fox Webber household.

They’re all looking very fashionable. I love Catherine and Maggie’s tops. Richard’s Christmas sweater is on point! Catherine’s struggle is so hard to watch. We learn that Nico celebrates Christmas and Schmitt is Jewish. They’re very cute together. And then Natasha wakes up! It’s a Christmas miracle!

DeLuca is a real jerk and is angry at Meredith for showing an interest in Link. He claims she’s giving him false hope because he likes her and she doesn’t like him. To which Meredith responds, “Who says it’s false?” Echoing the thoughts of fans at that very moment. Meredith hasn’t gone a date with either Link or DeLuca nor has she promised exclusivity. She can like or do whatever she wants and no one person should get to tell her otherwise. DeLuca is being a controlling stupid asshole and she does not need that in her life. In fact no one does. Get the hell out DeLuca!

DeLuca continues being immature a trend we’ll see through this episode. He’s really arrogant in this episode and not in a hot way. Just because he’s infatuated with her doesn’t mean she likes him the same way back. Jeez. Also it’s super obvious. To pull off that kind of arrogance you need to be first class at what you do and know that the other person likes you back the same way. Neither of those things are true in this case.

He’s being such an ass! How is that attractive? He makes a comment about being tired of not being with her in Italian as if she owes him something which she doesn’t. Also she’s his boss. At which point Meredith looks scared. He wants this more than she does. She doesn’t want a relationship. She wants to date. DeLuca just doesn’t get it. And then he has the audacity to call Meredith Freaking Grey a Coward. Like a true asshole.

The minute he said that I though screw this guy! He needs to be killed off the show NOW! Meredith’s NOT a coward! She’s just not as into you as you are to her. TAKE. A. HINT. I was starting to like DeLuca and this episode is making me hate his guts. Who decided this storyline was a good idea? She agrees to go out with him, but she seems super reluctant in doing so. But she does smile a gorgeous smile at his fist pump as he walks away so maybe there’s hope.

Amelia visits Betty in rehab. It looks brutal and Betty looks miserable. She wants to give them custody of Leo and pretend none of this ever happened. My heart ached for her. It’s now New Year’s Eve. Alex and Jo are throwing a lavish party! Jo wears a blue sequin dress that is straight fire! The party features elaborate balloon sculptures in the background. No real party ever looks this good.

I like that Maggie’s there to support Jackson in her own quirky way. I actually liked her this episode. I like that they’ve reignited Teddy and Bailey’s friendship as well. Alex and Jo put on light up New Year’s Eve glasses and it’s totally adorable. Back in the ICU Natasha knows what’s up. She says Garrett has nicknamed Link and DeLuca Abercrombie and Stitch! Which is hilarious and also speaks volumes about DeLuca’s maturity level.

Natasha tells Meredith she should kiss the one who turns back time for her. Unfortunately, that would be Derek and Derek is dead. Poor Meredith. Alex and Jo’s apartment has apparently grown in size and there is now a bar here. Meredith stands both Link and DeLuca up in order to be with Natasha. They both got stood up. Except Link actually takes it well and DeLuca’s behaves like a pouting man child. Ugh.

Next we see that Natasha is up and walking. Yeah! And she wants tacos because this woman has her priorities straight. DeLuca and Meredith run into each other and DeLuca is pissed at her for standing him up. Rightly so, but he communicates that by asking her if she’s ever been stood up. Um she’s twice your age. Of course she has. Loser. Although he does make a good point. She could have called or texted and it has been several days. That is pretty rude.

To which he replies that, “I’m a good guy Meredith.” If you have to say it you probably aren’t. Then he proceeds to throw shade at his friend Link. What a disloyal asshole. He’s not a doormat either. We’re back to Catherine and her physiotherapists is being super patronizing. Then we cut to Owen being a jerk to Teddy. What else is new? Teddy deserves better. Then Bailey tries to talk to Ben and asks him to come home. Ben makes some excellent points as leaving the way she did was really low of Bailey. Some important things are said and Ben leaves to go back to work.

We find out that Natasha’s conditioned has worsened and there’s a really cute scene between Teddy and Koracick. Meredith is wearing a green scrub cap today and they operate on Natasha. Her and Jo give Schmitt backhanded compliments about his improved performance. DeLuca then decides this is the appropriate time, while a patient is open on the table and Schmitt is bearing his soul, to be a passive aggressive asshole just because he didn’t get what he wanted boo hoo. Can someone please explain why I’m supposed to like this guy?

He then accuses her of not fighting for love. Meredith has fought for love. She fought for Derek. She fights when it matters. DeLuca just doesn’t matter that much to her. He needs to take a hint. Also they’re aren’t in love. They’ve never even dated. What is this guy’s problem? Back at rehab Betty drops a bomb on Owen and Amelia. Her name’s not Betty it’s Brittany and her parents don’t know she’s here!

She ran away when she found she was pregnant and her parents don’t know about Leo and she’s scared to tell them. Also if she’s scared they’ll take Leo they can’t be very good parents or people. It’s now Valentine’s Day. Back at the hospital Garrett has a meltdown because Natasha is getting worse saying that if she dies he dies. Meredith comforts him and gets him to turn it around because she’s been where he’s been. First, when Derek was shot and then when Derek actually died. She speaks from experience.

You can tell how hard this is for her. We then watch Catherine go through more hardships on her road to recovery which is painful to watch. We cut to Owen and Amelia fighting about Betty/Brittany and Owen is a complete asshole. He literally describes the symptoms of addiction that Betty has and then rhetorically asks when those things became symptoms of addiction. Um since always? That’s literally what addiction is and those are some of the symptoms.

Owen is in a relationship (and was married to) an addict and he still has no idea what addiction is or what it means. God he is such a jerk! Why do women date him? You can tell how much that really hurts Amelia. She doesn’t deserve that. She’s come so far. Also he appears to have forgotten that’s she’s an addict herself. Amelia calls him out on it and he apologizes saying he was way out of line. To which she replies, “You don’t even see the line!” He doesn’t which is why she needs to get out of this relationship.

He says he’s scared about losing Leo, but that still doesn’t justify what you said asshole. Back at the hospital DeLuca decides to vie for the title of biggest asshole this episode and accuses Meredith of not fighting for love in the most passive aggressive way possible. Meredith HAS fought for love. She fought for Derek and she was clearly talking about him when talking to the patient’s fiancé. HOW does DeLuca not get this? He knows her husband’s dead. What a complete asshole!

Also how are him and Meredith in love? They’ve never even gone out on a date. They barely now each other and she’s super reluctant. DeLuca’s in love with the idea of being in love. He’s in love with the idea of Meredith and being in love with her. None of that has anything to do with reality. Meredith has been there done that. There’s no reason for her to go back. And then she gives him the same excuse she gave to Riggs. That can’t be a coincidence!

It’s also the excuse she uses when anyone she doesn’t already know gets too close especially romantically. The fact that they’re intentionally using that line again makes me think DeLuca won’t be on the show for very long (here’s hoping). He literally accuses her of acting like scared little kid when she has three little kids. Also he’s terrible with kids. The last kid he was in charge of escaped and fell down a manhole and almost died. I wouldn’t trust him to water my cactus let alone leave him in charge of my kids. Heck no.

Also it’s already been established that her kids don’t like him (especially Zola). Ugh I hate him. Make him go away! Annnd here comes Link. And just to proves she’s open to love (and because Link’s actually been nice to her) she asks him out on a date! On Valentine’s Day no less! I like him! So both Link and DeLuca have been chasing her and now that she’s said yes to Link he doesn’t know what to do about it. It’s as if he never expected her to say yes. But he does say yes!

We cut to Bailey getting home to find that Ben is building her a treehouse! They decide to get back together. My heart! Then we’re back at the hospital and we find out that Natasha’s choosing to discontinue her care because she’s lost her quality of life and it’s only getting worse. I’m so glad her fiancé supported her. Everyone deserves someone like that in their lives. Poor Natasha!

Alex decides to give them the wedding under the stars that they wanted! My heart! He’s such a softie underneath his hard exterior. Like a cooked marshmallow. He’s such a romantic. Owen shows up at the Neuro Lab with flowers for Amelia. Well at least Owen can admit he’s been an ass. That’s something I guess. Then Teddy shows up for her date with Koracick. The look on their faces! As if Teddy’s not supposed to date. Also Owen looks jealous and Amelia noticed.

Richard and Catherine have a romantic Valentine’s Day by the fire! I love them. Catherine gets her sexy back! Yes! You go Catherine Fox! You go! Back at the hospital Meredith reads Natasha’s vows and Garrett thank her for marrying him making us all cry. DeLuca then asks Meredith to come with him and she does sadly and reluctantly.

He then brings her to roof for some champagne on ice. To which she responds that she’s supposed to be on a date right now and he replies that she already is. So he has her stand Link up for him? After yelling at her for it earlier? What an asshole! He’s also a terrible friend! Ugh! She’s also super not into this. Not even close. Meredith just looks sad.

We then cut to Koracick’s date with Teddy which is very sweet. She deserves someone who treats her well! Also Ben and Bailey are officially back together! We find out that because of DeLuca, Meredith left Link waiting at a fancy restaurant on Valentine’s Day. He did not deserve that. God I hate DeLuca. He’s such an asshole. Meredith looks miserable and all she’s does is sigh loudly. How am I supposed to buy into this?

It seems like she kisses him just because he’s there and she’s sad. Which is terrible. This is George all over again and we all saw how well that turned out. It’s also a terrible way to start any kind of relationship. This is incredibly not sexy. It just looks awkward and weird. What the hell?

Now let’s look ahead for what’s in store for next week. Oh God. According to the promo she actually goes out with DeLuca next episode. Spare me. Oh great now he’s distracting her at work like an asshole. Remind me again why I’m supposed to like this guy? Ugh. Oh and Betty’s parents show up! Poor Amelia and Owen. It looks like they’re going with the perennially stupid ‘they share blood so they should get custody’ BS storyline.

I hate that people think blood relation matters in real life and on TV. It’s so stupid. If Betty was so afraid to tell them she ran away and lied why should they get custody? Owen doesn’t deserve to lose Leo because Betty lied. Her parents suck based on the promo. Next week’s episode looks awful. I’m super not excited for it. But I’ll watch anyway so I can form my own opinion.

That’s all for now folks.

Till next time!

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hannahharrington · 5 years

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CRYING IN EUROPE (postcards from italy)

I struggled with whether or not to post this; I still am, honestly, because it is very raw in every sense. This is something I wrote a year-minus-two-weeks-ago, holed up in an AirBNB in Rome, about losing my good friend Jaymee and the bizarreness of having the best and worst time of your life simultaneously. I did not look at it ever again until a few days ago. It wasn’t written to share with anyone, only because I needed to put thoughts down at the time. Any editing has been very minimal.

The last section I wrote yesterday.

CRYING IN EUROPE (postcards from italy)

1. The first time is on the first day. I land at Heathrow only to find out the express train isn’t running because of the snowstorm and the tube is beyond fucked. I nearly cry out of frustration and jet lag exhaustion but I don’t. I end up emerging from Shepherd’s Bush Market half a mile from the hotel and have to drag my suitcase through blustery snow that whips me so hard in the face it makes tears leak out of the corners of my eyes.

2. The second time is the next morning, five minutes after I first find out you’re dead. I guess the first five minutes are a mix of me just having woken up, an hour before my alarm, still on New York time as I scroll idly through my phone messages only to see it blowing up with the news; and maybe shock can be used as an excuse, even though we all knew it was coming.

3. Over the Hilton London Kensington breakfast buffet for Hilton Honors Members. I’m telling Barry how I was supposed to see you before it happened. My voice cracks and eyes overflow with tears, and I’m apologizing and Barry is being so kind about it even though I can tell he’s not really sure what to do or say, which is okay because I don’t know either. It occurs to me later that in all the years we’ve known each other, this is the first time I’ve ever cried in front of him.

You said you were terminal, and released to home hospice care, and I told you I would fly to California if you wanted and read you mean celebrity blog comment sections, like how I did for you when you visited me in Brooklyn (I’ll never forget how we laughed until we cried like middle schoolers at a sleepover). I followed your lead in trying to blunt reality with a joke because that’s what you always did. The last thing you posted on any social media was a repost of our Facebook “Friendaversary”, saying how you were due for another one of my dramatic readings. I was going to buy a plane ticket when I got back from this trip. I was supposed to be there.

4. The first cigarette I smoke.

5. And the second, all while thinking about how terrible a person I am for smoking because you hated it and hated having cancer and hated that I would do something that could make me sick. You wanted me to stop, and if this were a movie I’d quit on the spot. But it isn’t and so instead I stand chain-smoking and hating myself.

6. In the shower.

7. We go see the Hamilton matinee hours after we find out, and it’s the cruelest twist of fate, experiencing this thing you loved so deeply and brought into my life and that we shared together. You’re the reason I saw it with everyone else at the matinee Obama attended. I lost the lottery, the lone one of all of us without a way in, and I was feeling a little sorry for myself and about to leave. I went to say goodbye to you, and immediately you pulled your Jaymee magic and got me a ticket at the literal last minute. And it really did feel like magic.

When you first saw it at the Public, I tried the lottery and lost, and I joked for you to go on without me, to die a million happy deaths. You said if I were being mugged and you were the only one who could save me, you’d still make me wait until after the show. I know if I skipped it you’d literally come back to life and kick my ass. But that doesn’t seem like a bad deal. I’d never see Hamilton again, I’d burn all of my playbills, even the one from the off-Broadway run I got signed by the original cast at the stage door. I’d tear the donut bag in half, the one we joked about being good luck, the one I had Lin-Manuel Miranda autograph. I’d do all of that if it gave me five more minutes with you.

I keep my shit together more or less until the second act. When Hamilton pleads to Washington with Why do we have to say goodbye?, I start crying and don’t stop until curtain call.

8. Right before I left on this trip, I threw together a playlist for my phone. The last song I added was Eva Cassidy’s cover of “Fields of Gold”, thinking it’d be pretty background soundtrack for train rides through lush, rolling Italian countryside. A year ago I went down one of my weird little Internet research rabbit holes and read all about Eva, her melanoma, how she died and her last performance, and wondered why there hadn’t been a movie made about that particular beautiful tragedy. After Hamilton I tell Barry I feel better, like it was an emotional release, but then the next afternoon we go to a pastry café and they play a jazz standard cover of “Fields of Gold” over the speakers and my chest seizes.

9. Friday night we’re supposed to meet up with Jen for dinner before she flies back to Philly. I’m sick to my stomach in the cab ride over to her hotel, and when we get to her room I drop my purse and hug her and don’t let go. That thing happens where I’m trying not to cry and it makes me cry harder and I can feel Jen crying too. We sit and Jen and Danielle talk about their travels and the whole time I feel on the verge of throwing up. Finally I say we need to talk about you, about what we’re going to do. Jen says June told her sometimes in Filipino culture they ask for donations for the family instead of flowers, so she’s not sure what’s preferred. I don’t know why I was expecting Jen to have more information, something to make me feel better, but nothing she tells me does. I take one of the Ativans my mom gave me for the plane ride because I can’t calm down. You said they gave you Ativan at the end. You said it helped. It helps me too.

I excuse myself from their room and get lost in the dimly lit maze of their hotel, until finally I find a side exit to the courtyard, and I light a cigarette and text my mom, who happens to be around. I try calling, but this stupid SIM card I got won’t let me connect to the US, so I wait until I’m back at the hotel and Barry is out at his show. The instructions to dial out don’t tell me the overseas rates, but I call my mom anyway, and spend twenty minutes on the phone with her sobbing like a child.

When we check out of the hotel, I’ll find out the call cost me over a hundred pounds, which probably with the obscene exchange rates approximates to three hundred dollars. I rationalize that’s what I would have paid out of pocket for an emergency therapy session anyway.

10. I find your aunt on Facebook and ask her what the family wants done. An hour later she messages me back to say flowers would be lovely. Your mother is beside herself with grief, she says. You were her best friend, she says.

It feels better to be doing something, to feel productive, so I make it my mission to organize the flowers for your memorial. The whole next day between sightseeing at Kensington Palace I’m looking up florists in San Mateo, figuring out who wants to contribute, making sure everyone is included. Bridget agrees to place the order. It’s midnight my time when I run downstairs for a smoke. Bridget and I are trading texts, trying to figure out what to write on the card. I’m not a writer, she says. You should do it, she says. I start crying because I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this. When I go to head back into the hotel, a British girl with blue hair sees me wiping at my eyes. She calls me love and asks if I’m okay. I’ve been in New York too long; my own public meltdowns don’t even embarrass me anymore. I’ve forgotten that the rest of the world doesn’t politely ignore you when you’re losing your shit on the sidewalk. I know how I must look, crying messily in my pajamas, walking around like an open wound just bleeding over everything.

I try to stop the tears long enough to assure her I’m fine, really, and when I stumble out the words that a friend of mine just passed away, she grabs me in a hug before the words finish getting out. She’s so nice that it makes me cry even more and I let her convince me to take the free cigarette she offers. She tells me she’s here with her gay husband and I joke through tears that I’m here with mine too. We stand and talk about Camden Market and the magic of New York at Christmastime, and when she’s satisfied I’m not a suicide risk she adds me as a friend on Facebook.

11. Things feel different in Venice. I start to feel like maybe I’ve hit the bottom of this, it’s only up from here, and even as I’m thinking it I know it’s delusional. I had the same feeling when my dad died, and I learned then that grief is not linear. There can be moments where it’s all temporarily bearable, only for a fresh wave of pain to knock you flat on your ass a minute later.

But for most of Venice I feel lighter, like the darkest clouds of the storm have passed. We get lost in the labyrinth of alleyways and eventually I duck into a Murano glass shop. Back in January when I went to Fort Myers, I took an Uber from the airport, and for the first time ever I had a woman driver. During the drive to the beach somehow the subject of this trip came up. I mentioned I’d be in Venice, and she told me how her day job was at an art gallery. They made jewelry from Murano glass, a Venetian technique. She made me promise to seek it out when I went.

The shop has all kinds of figurines, and in the back corner I discover these thimble-sized cows. Cows were your thing. Not just thing—borderline obsession. I still don’t know what it is about them you loved so much, but you did. When I was in Amsterdam I passed by an actual Cow Museum, snapped a photo of the storefront and sent it to you. You couldn’t believe I didn’t go inside. Now I’m here in Venice, looking at these little cows and thinking of you, and of course I have to get them. I scoop four of them into my palm and go to the cashier and whatever part of my heart that’s been healing over gets ripped open raw again. My throat burns too much for me to manage anything more than a cursory grazie as I watch him bundle them delicately in bubble wrap. It almost feels selfish to hurt this much, when there are people in this world who loved you longer and harder and better than I did. But I do.

12. In Florence Barry and I split up for the day. He runs off to the Duomo while I visit the Ambrogio market, the one the owner of our B&B tells me is for locals. I pick up random ingredients for my mother, whose burgeoning interest in the culinary arts still baffles me considering I subsisted on almost nothing but microwave dinners as a child, and two sweaters for myself.

I’m back at our apartment-sized suite, arranging the packaged pasta and sun-dried tomatoes on the wooden table for an Instagram photo when I click some random button that takes me to my inbox.

There’s only one message in there and I realize it’s from you, from over two years ago. I click to see it’s a video taken in Marie’s Crisis. Some pitch perfect soprano sings bars from an unrecognizable show tune at the piano, and then you turn the camera to yourself, bobbing your head along with a coy smile. I can’t believe it. I click out accidentally and have to Google for instructions on how to find it again. The video is only fifteen seconds but I watch it ten times in a row and then put my head down on the table and cry until it hurts.

13. Bucket list items have a greater sense of urgency now than they used to. At the last minute I find a woman who agrees to take me to a horse farm in Tuscany. She meets me at the Piazza Cavalleggeri behind one of Florence’s countless gorgeous ancient basilicas and takes me to meet her business partner so he can drive. He’s an old guy who speaks zero English, and it becomes evident when he climbs into the driver’s seat that he has Tourette’s. Every ten seconds his tic makes him jerk the steering wheel so the whole car swerves. We lurch our way up narrow roads that wind up huge hills, endless greenery on all sides, the woman chattering happily about vineyards and olive trees as I brace myself in the backseat, positive the guy is going to tic us right into oncoming traffic and certain death. It rains on the way there, and the woman worries it’ll be too wet to ride, but sure enough we arrive and the sky clears up just long enough for me and two other American girls to go for an hour-long trek. It’s been ten years since I’ve been on a horse, and I’m nervous about it, but the second I’m in the saddle everything comes back to me. We ride through steep hills, surrounded by the kind of scenery that’s beyond picturesque. It’s so gorgeous it doesn’t look real, like an oil painting. For the first time in days I feel a weightless kind of happiness. I know as it’s happening that this is something I will remember for the rest of my life.

When the woman drops me back off in Florence, I trip over myself thanking her profusely, holding back tears because I don’t want to explain that that was maybe the most beautiful experience of my life and I’m so grateful that for three hours the Jaymee is dead, Jaymee is dead, Jaymee is dead track stopped spinning in my head.

14. Rome is a welcome change of pace. I like big, bustling, metropolitan cities; they make me feel comfortable. Safe. Even just through glimpses out the taxi window I can see Rome is bursting at the seams, vibrant and colorful and a startling clash of ancient and modern. Our driver asks where we’re from and I say New York. He laughs and tells us he doesn’t like America, but he likes New York.

On a tour of the Vatican museums, our guide shares all the juicy stories of how Raphael and Michelangelo loathed each other, and the illicit love between Antinous and Hadrian, and we marvel at the frescos on every wall and the breathtaking scope of the Sistine Chapel and the inside of St. Peter’s basilica.

I was skeptical as I always am of anything to do with organized religion, but you liked the new Pope. You thought he was progressive, refreshing. You’d joke all the time about your “Jesus problems”, how you struggled to reconcile your Catholicism with your personal politics.

Afterward Barry scurries off to scale the bell tower. I ask our guide if there’s anywhere in the basilica to light candles, like how you can do in St. Patrick’s. She tells me it’s not allowed—it’s too much of a hazard, especially after a crazy man declared himself the second coming of Jesus and attacked Michelangelo’s Pietà with a hammer, chipping off fifteen pieces in the mayhem, including Mary’s nose.

Instead of waiting for Barry outside in the square I retreat back into St. Peter’s, to the closed off chapel. The guard asks me if I will be praying. It forces me to confront what I’m really planning to do, and after a heartbeat of hesitation I stutter out a yes, slip through the parted curtains to the pews. I’ve never prayed in my life; I have no idea how to do it. I look to see how others around me kneel and try to imitate the stance, hands folded in front of me, knees against the padded rest. It all feels clumsy and awkward until suddenly it doesn’t. Suddenly I’m just crying. I watch my thick tears plop onto concrete and absently wonder how many people before me have spilled salt on these floors. Probably a lot.

I don’t know how to pray. In my head I’m just screaming please forgive me, and I don’t know if I’m saying it to God or to you. I guess I know now what Catholic guilt feels like.

I should’ve been there. I should’ve brought Schmackary’s cookies and the good luck donut bag and flown out to California and seen you. Why didn’t you tell me how bad it was? Why did you have to make your yes a joke? (A quip about doctor’s orders, it comes as no surprise you embraced the gallows humor.) Why couldn’t you be earnest? Why couldn’t just say I need you right now, I don’t have much time, please be here? Did you even know? Because I swear I didn’t. I thought I could wait. I thought you had more time. None of it fucking matters because I can’t forgive myself, not ever.

…And that’s it. That’s where I stopped writing. I didn’t cry on European soil again after that. Not because the last cry was cathartic or healing; it wasn’t. The healing would come later, long after my plane touched down again in New York. It happened in ways I can’t explain, slowly, until one day the thought of you didn’t automatically bring me to the brink of tears or knock the wind from me like a sucker punch to the gut, where the tenderness of loving memory ran parallel with the heartbreak rather than being subsumed by it. Eventually the day came where I could think of you and how you were and what we shared, not only of the ways I failed you. A year later and I still think of those too, sometimes. And there are still tears, sometimes.

I feel like I always had this idea that you go through The Worst Thing and life just evens out after that. My Worst Thing happened when I was in my teenage years and I was supposed to be in the clear afterwards. But life doesn’t work that way. There’s no plateau, no neat ever after. And every so often we break in ways where yes, you can scrape the pieces together and carry on, but you’re never made whole again. You’re never the person you used to be. You become a new version of yourself, mismatched and full of jagged lines, and you find a way to forge ahead.

In the immediate soul-crushing wake of the 2016 election, someone created a Subway Therapy project in the tunnel of the 14th Avenue station that stretches from Sixth to Seventh. I went to see it then, a modern day marvel: the long tiled wall papered with thousands of bright post-its, each full of encouragement and commiseration from fellow grief-sick New Yorkers. The sight was a life preserver in the sea of misery I’d floated in that entire week. I was not alone in the feeling, however singularly devastating it felt.

Countless others have been here. I am not the only one to have shed my tears on ancient chapel floors, unable to imagine I would ever feel okay again. Experts painstakingly restored the Pietà after the attack, but if you were to find your way behind the bulletproof glass and touch the Virgin Mary’s cheek, you would still feel hairline traces of their work, a difference of texture; if you were to peer close enough, you would see the faint lines on marble that belie its pristine repair. It was broken once. It could not be remade exactly as it was. It’s no less a masterpiece.

That day in the 14th Street station, I peeled off a blank post-it and wrote out an Abraham Lincoln quote I’d read once: Perfect relief is not possible, except with time. You cannot now realize that you will ever feel better… And yet this is a mistake. You are sure to be happy again.

Time buffers out the rough edges. It is the only thing that does.

#jaymee

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mamusiq · 6 years

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6 Famous Renaissance Music Pieces and Composers By Dr Justin Wildridge - Jul 20, 2018 Even though the Renaissance period covered over two hundred years of cultural history many of what would be considered to be famous pieces from that time are from a reasonably narrow time period.

The High Renaissance (1520-1560) and the Late Renaissance (1060-1600) are the dates where most of these works originate. In this article, I will take a brief look at some of the compositions from the Renaissance that have endured in our musical memories and if not familiar to you will serve as a good introduction to the Period of Music in question.

Famous Renaissance Music Pieces and Composers

1. Josquin des Prez (1450 – 1520) The composer who is often heralded as the master of the High Renaissance is Josquin des Prez. He was a remarkable craftsman who was incredibly productive bringing the Renaissance style into an altogether more sensitive and communicative manner. Josquin was Italian by birth and began life as a singer at the Cathedral Santa Maria Maggiore in Milan. This is likely to have had a profound influence on his compositions. Josquin’s works fall broadly into three areas; the Masses, the Motets and the Chansons (including instrumental works). A wonderful place to begin is Josquin’s “Missa L’Homme armé super voces musicales”. This work follows the established formal pattern of the Mass (Kyrie, Gloria, Credo, Sanctus/Benedictus, Agnus Dei), but it is what Josquin does with it that is remarkable. His structural approach is intricate and very carefully measured out. It pays homage to the earlier works of Dufay but is wholly unique in its use of luxurious arching melodies and subtle application of intricate motivic devices that provide a characteristic otherworldly sensation to his works. Like many of Josquin’s works, the textures are richly polyphonic with a full exploitation of vocal combinations during the Mass.

2. Giovanni Palestrina (1525 – 1594) As the Renaissance moves in the Late Renaissance more familiar composers and famous compositions emerge. Giovanni Palestrina is one of the most celebrated names from this period of music. He represents to many, the Italian composer whose mastery of counterpoint and melody was almost second to none. Palestrina’s output was impressive and as you might expect comprised Masses, Motets, Madrigals and Hymns. One of Palestrina’s most enjoyed compositions is the “Missa Aeterna Christi munera”, originally composed for four voices. It is a pure and delicate work that shows Palestrina at the height of his musical powers. An equally distinguished work of from this Italian master is the “Stabat Mater” for eight unaccompanied voices. This is a motet is beautifully transparent in spite of its textural complexities that neatly captures the essence of the Renaissance.

3. Gregorio Allegri (1582 – 1652) It would be a mistake in this article not to include the “Miserere” by the Italian composer Allegri. He was by all accounts a devoted and pure man whose compositions were dominated by vocal works, this perhaps being the most renowned. It is a setting for nine voices of the 51st Psalm (Miserere mei, Deus, secundum magnum misercordiuam tuam). The story that has encircled this composition is that Mozart had heard the work performed on a visit to the Sistine Chapel in Rome and was so impressed by the beauty of the work notated it afterwards with only one hearing. True or not what we have is a choral composition that represents one of the most stunning settings of this text and one of the most exquisite works from the Renaissance.

4. Thomas Tallis (1505 – 1575) Tallis was an English composer, and one of the most important figures in Renaissance music. There is little reliable information about his early years but it is likely Tallis like many of his contemporaries, began life as a chorister. We also know he was an organist as one of his first appointments was at Dover College in Kent. Later he found royal favour and secured a post at the Royal Chapel composing for monarchs including Henry VIII, Queen Mary and Queen Elizabeth; the later who granted him a twenty-one-year monopoly on polyphonic music. “Spem In Alium” is probably the best-known of Tallis’s substantial output. It is an impressive work composed for eight choirs, each with five voices. This creates a choral piece of magnificent textural complexity and stands as an extemporary Renaissance Motet.

5. William Byrd (1543 – 1623) There is much evidence to support the reputation that this English composer has attracted. It could be argued perhaps that as a student of Thomas Tallis, Byrd’s future always looked promising, and similar to Tallis, Byrd became a gentleman of the Chapel Royal and great favour with Elizabeth 1st. Byrd wrote for all the common forms of Renaissance music from Masses to Motets and made a significant contribution to the development of instrumental musical forms including the Fantasia. It is his sacred choral works that have stood the test of time and remain key compositions in of the Late Renaissance. These Masses collectively demonstrate Byrd’s innovation and inspiration approach to this type of music.

6. Claudio Monteverdi (1567 – 1643) Monteverdi is one of the greatest composers of the Late Renaissance. His collection of compositions includes numerous sacred and secular works and he is rightly credited with developing the Italian operatic style that gave rise to so many breath-taking operas in later periods. Monteverdi was a formidable composer of the madrigal, of which there are nine books. His ability to capture the essence of each text through his magnificent word-painting and his fine use of polyphonic textures remains almost unsurpassed. Here are two links to madrigals from the eighth and fifth books that serve as a good starting point into Monteverdi’s work. “The Vespers” are perhaps Monteverdi’s most well-known work. They were written in 1610 and stand as a sublime amalgamation of both the new Renaissance practices and the old. The Vespers is a gigantic piece of choral music. In it Monteverdi encapsulates both sacred and secular music, woven into a choral piece of outstanding beauty and elegance; rightly earning Monteverdi a major place in musical history.

https://www.cmuse.org/famous-renaissance-music-pieces-and-composers/

#Renaissance Composers

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officialyourdailyinspiration · 3 years

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Buying The Truth

a Sermon delivered by Charles H. Spurgeon

“Buy the truth, and sell it not.” – Proverbs 23:23

John Bunyan pictures the pilgrims as passing at one time through Vanity Fair, and in Vanity Fair there were to be found all kinds of merchandise, consisting of the pomps and vanities, the lusts and pleasures of this present life and of the flesh. Now all the dealers, when they saw these strange pilgrims come into the fair began to cry, as shopmen will do, “Buy, buy, buy–buy this, and buy that.” There were the priests in the Italian row with their crucifixes and their beads. There were those in the German row with their philosophies and their metaphysics. There were those in the French row with their fashions and with their prettinesses. But the one answer that the pilgrims gave to all the dealers was this–they looked up and they said, “We buy the truth; we buy the truth,” and they would have gone on their way if the men of the Fair had not laid them by the heels in the cage, and kept them there, one to go to heaven in a chariot of fire, and the other afterwards to pursue his journey alone. This is very much the description of the genuine Christian at all times. He is surrounded by vendors of all sorts of things, beautifully got up and looking exceedingly like the true article, and the only way in which he will be able to pass through Vanity Fair safely is to keep to this, that he buys the truth, and if he adds to that the second advice of the text, and never sells it, he will, under divine guidance, find his way rightly to the skies. “Buy the truth, and sell it not.”

Is not the parable we have just read a sort of enlargement of our text? When the merchantman all over the world had travelled to find out some pearl that should have no flaw, some diamond of the purest water fit to glisten in the crown of royalty, at last in his researches, he met with a gem the like of which he had never seen before, and, knowing that here was wealth for him, in the joy of his discovery, he sold all that he had that he might buy that pearl. Even so, the text seems to tell us, that truth is the one pearl beneath the skies that is worth having, and whatever else we buy not, we must buy the truth, and whatever else we may have to sell, yet we must never sell the truth, but hold it fast as a treasure that will last us when gold has cankered, and silver has rusted, and the moth has eaten up all goodly garments, and when all the riches of men have gone like a puff of smoke, or melted in the heat of the judgment day like the dew in the beams of the morning sun. Buy the truth. Here is the treasure. Cost it what it may, buy you it. Here is the piece of merchandise which you must buy, but must not sell. You may give all for it, but you may take nothing in exchange for it, since there is nothing that can be likened unto it.

With this as a preface, let us now come straight up to the text, and we shall notice:–

I. THE COMMODITY THAT IS SPOKEN OF.

“Buy the truth.” I shall not speak tonight of those common forms of truth that relate to politics, to history, to science, or to ordinary life, yet would I say of all these–buy the truth. Never be afraid of the truth. Never be afraid in anything of having your prejudices knocked on the head. Always be determined, come what may, even though truth should prove you to be a fool, yet to accept the truth, and though it should cost you dear, yet still to pursue it, for in the long run they who build mere speculations, fancies, and errors, though they may seem to build suitable structures for the time, shall find that they are wood, hay, and stubble, and shall be consumed; but he that keeps to what he knows, to matters of fact, and matters of truth, builds gold, silver, and precious stones, which the trying fire of the coming ages shall not be able to destroy. I would sooner discover one fact, and lay down one certain truth, than be the author of ten thousand theories, even though these theories should for a while rule all the thought of mankind.

But I speak now of religious truth. Buy that truth; buy that truth above all others. And here we must have three heads. First, in the matter of doctrinal truth, buy the truth. Holy Scripture is the standard of truth. To the law and to the testimony; if they speak not according to this word, it is because there is no truth in them. “Thy word is truth.” Here is silver tried in the furnace and purified seven times. Speak of Infallibility? It is not at Rome, but it is here in this Book. Here is an infallible witness to the truth of God, and he that is taught of the Holy Spirit to understand it gets at the truth. Now, dear brethren, do aim to get the right truth, the real truth, as to matters of doctrine. Count it not a trifle to be sound in the faith. Think no error to be harmless, for truth is very precious, and error, even when we do not see it to be so, may lead to the most solemn consequences of mischief. In this world we see too much of salvation without Christ–I mean we meet with many who believe that they are saved because they have been baptized, or confirmed, or passed through the ceremonies of the church to which they belong. They have not looked to the precious blood; they are not depending simply upon the finished work of the Redeemer, but something else than Christ has become their confidence. Now, avoid that, and buy the truth, which lies here, “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved.” We hear too much nowadays of regeneration without faith–the supposed regeneration of unconscious babes, the new birth of people through drops of water, when they are not able to understand what is performed upon them. I beseech you believe that there is no new birth where there is not a confidence in Christ, and that the regeneration which does not lead to repentance and faith, which is not, indeed, immediately attended therewith, is no regeneration whatever. Buy the truth in this matter. Stand to it that it is the work of the Holy Spirit in rational and intelligent beings, leading them to hate sin, and to lay hold of eternal life. Alas! we have in some quarters too much of faith is trusted in, which is not practical. Men say they believe, but they do not prove it by their lives. They remain in sin, and yet wrap themselves up in the belief that they are God’s chosen ones. From such turn away, and remember that a faith without works is dead, and only the faith that changes the character, sanctifies the life, and leads the man to God, is the faith which will save the soul. We must see to it that in our doctrine we bow our judgment to the teachings of Scripture, and try to be conformed to all the revelation of God, and especially to all the teachings of our Lord Jesus Christ. May we not fall into one error or another. Scylla is there and Charybdis is there, and he is a happy helmsman who can steer between the two. You shall fall into this ism or into that, unless you keep to the truth. Never mind whether you can make the truth always consistent to your own judgment or not. If it is the truth, believe it; and though it should seem to contradict another truth, yet hold to it, if it is in the Word, waiting till clearer light shall reveal to you that all these truths stood in a wonderful harmony and consistency which, at first, you could not perceive. In doctrine, buy the truth.

But, secondly, buy experimental truth. I know not another word to use; I mean truth within, the truth experienced. See that this be real truth. How easy it is to be deceived with the notion that we are converted when we still need to be converted; to fancy that, because we have the approbation of our minister and of our Christian friends, we must, therefore, necessarily be the people of God. There is only one true new birth, but there are fifty counterfeits of it. In this respect, then, buy the truth. Let me have you beware of an experience which has a faith in it that was never attended with repentance. I am afraid of a dry-eyed faith. That faith seems to me to be the faith of God’s elect, whose eyes are full of tears. If thou hast never felt thyself a sinner, never trembled under the law of God, never felt that thou hast deserved to be cast into hell, I am afraid thy faith is a mere presumption, and not the faith that looks to Christ. Beware of an experience that lies in talk, and not in feeling. Mr. Talkative, in Bunyan’s Pilgrim could speak very glibly about religion; no man more so than he; he was fit to take the chair in an assembly of divines; but it was not heart-work; it was all surface-work. Plough deep, my brethren. Feel what you believe. Let it be with you real homework, soul-work, the work of God the Holy Ghost–not a temporary excitement, not head-knowledge, not theory. May the truth be burned into your souls by the operation of the Holy Ghost. In this respect, buy the truth. Alas! we see nowadays in many professors a great deal of life without struggle, and I think I have learned that all spiritual life that is not attended with struggles in a mistake, for Isaac, the child of the promise, is sure to be mocked by Ishmael. No sooner does the seed of the woman come into the world than the seed of the serpent tries to destroy it. You must, and will, find a battle going on within you if you are a believer. Sin will contest it with grace, and grace will seek to reign over sinful corruptions. Be afraid of too easy an experience. “Moab is at ease from his youth; he hath not been emptied from vessel to vessel; for the time cometh when the Lord will search Jerusalem with candles, and punish the men that are settled upon their lees.” There must be strivings within, or we may well beware of such an experience. And I think I have noticed a growing feeling abroad of confidence without self-examination. I would have you hold to believe God’s Word, but do not take your own state at haphazard. Do not conclude that you are a Christian because you thought you were ten years ago. Day by day bring yourself to the touchstone. He that cannot bear examination will have to bear condemnation. He that dare not search himself will find that God will search him. He that is afraid to look himself in the face has need to be afraid to look the Judge in the face when the great white throne shall be placed, and all the world summoned to judgment. Confidence is quite consistent with self-examination, and I pray you in this thing buy the truth, and seek to have a religion that will bear the test–a true faith, a living faith, a faith that moves your soul, a deep-rooted faith, a faith which is the supernatural work of the Holy Ghost, for the time cometh when, as the Lord liveth, nothing short of this will stand you in good stead.

Again, I spoke of three sorts of truth–doctrinal truth, experimental truth, and now practical truth. By practical truth I mean our actions being consistent, and those of a right and straightforward course. In this matter, buy the truth. You profess to be a Christian: be a Christian. You say that you are a follower of Christ: follow him, then. You know it is right to be a man of integrity and uprightness: be so. Let no dirty tricks of trade, let no meannesses, let none of those white lies which degrade commerce nowadays, ever come across your path, except to be reprobated and abhorred. Walk straight forward. Learn not to tack. Do not wish to understand policy, and craft, and cunning. Buy the truth. It will shame the world yet. He that speaks out his mind, says what he means, and means what he says, does the just thing, does the right thing, fears no man, and lifts his head boldly in the face of all creation if it dares to whisper that it will enrich him by his doing wrong–that is the man that buys the truth practically. You know how it can be carried out in commerce readily enough, in the parlour, in the drawing-room, and in the kitchen. There is a truthful way for a shoe-black to black shoes in the street, and there is a lying way of doing it. There is a truthful way of doing the commonest actions, and there is a false method of doing the very self-same thing. In this respect, then, buy the truth, as to the straightforwardness, the clean, sharp transparency of your moral character and of your Christian conduct. Never seem to be what you are not, or if you must for a while be in that position, count that you are unfortunate, and escape from it as soon as you can. Never do what you are ashamed of; it matters not who sees. Think always that God sees, and with God for a witness you have enough of observers. Only do that which you would have done if all eyes were fixed on you, and you were observed even of your most cruel critics. Never stifle conscience. Carry out your convictions. If the skies fall, stand upright. What God’s Holy Spirit tells you, that do. What you find in this Book, carry out. If you bring any mischief to other people through it, that is their business. If I keep on the right side of the road, and run over anybody–that is his fault; he should have kept out of the way. I would not run over him if I could help it, but I cannot turn aside from the right road. Stand in your place. Let malignant eyes look at you, but, like the sun, shine on, and if others envy you, yet fret not because of them, neither be you grieved to act the truth, but in this respect again fulfil the text and “buy the truth.”

So have I shown you what the commodity is–doctrinally, experimentally, and practically. “Buy the truth.” Now let us come and think specially to the first part of the text.

II. HOW THIS COMMODITY IS OBTAINED.

“Buy the truth.” Let us correct an error here. Some might suppose that Christ, and the gospel, and salvation–all of which are included in the truth–can be bought. They can, but they cannot. They can in the sense of the text; they cannot in any other sense. You cannot purchase salvation; merit cannot win it. Christ’s price is, “Without money and without price.” Has not the prophet so worded it? “Yea, come, buy wine and milk, without money and without price.” Salvation is of free grace, and is from the very necessity of its nature, gratis. You cannot merit it; you cannot earn it. It is not of the will of man, nor of blood, nor of birth, but “he will have mercy on whom he will have mercy, and he will have compassion on whom he will have compassion.”

What, then, does the text mean? I will try to expound the Word. It means, first, to be saved, give up everything that must be given up, in order to your receiving the free salvation. Every sin must be given up. No man shall go to heaven while he lives in, and favours any one, sin. A man may sin and be saved, but he cannot love sin and be saved. Give up, then, thy drunkenness, if that be thy sin. Give up, then, thine unchaste living, if that be thy sin. Conquer that angry temper, that love of greed–whatever it is that keeps thee back from Christ. Buy the truth, and give up these. Thou wilt not merit salvation then; but if this must be given up, let it not stand in thy way. Give it up, man! Since thou canst not have thy sin and have Christ too, get a divorce from thy sin and take holiness, and take the Saviour. Thou must also give up all thy self-righteousness. Some are trusting in their prayers, some are trusting in their tears, their repentances, their feelings, their church-goings, their chapel-goings, and I know not what men will not trust in. Give them all up. They are all lies together. There is no reliance to be placed on anything you can do. Come and trust what Christ has done, and if it be, as it certainly is, needful for you to give up your own righteousness to win Christ and be found in him, then do it, and in this sense part with all you have that you may buy Christ. Yourself, your sinful self, and your righteous self–oh! that you might be willing to part with both, that you might buy the true salvation!

And the text means this, again, that if, in order to be saved, it should cost you a deep experience and much pain, yet never mind it. It is better that you should bear all that and get the truth, than that you should escape without this heart-searching work, and be deceived at the last. If the price at which you shall have a true experience is that of sorrow, buy the truth at that price. Be willing to let the doctor’s lancet wound you, if thereby he shall heal you. Be willing to lose the right eye or the right hand, if thereby you shall enter into life eternal.

It also means this–buy the truth; that is, be willing at all risks to hold to the truth. Buy it as the martyrs did when they gave their bodies to be burned for it. Buy it as many have done when they have gone to prison for it. Buy it if you should lose your situation for it. Lose your situation sooner than tell a lie. Like the three holy children, be rather willing to go into the fiery furnace, than to worship the image which Nebuchadnezzar has set up. Run the risk of being poor. Do not believe, as all the world says, that you must live. There is no absolute necessity for it. Sometimes it is a grander thing to die. Let the necessity be, “We must be honest; we must do the right; we must serve God,” for that is a far greater necessity than that of merely living. Count all things but dross that you may be a true man, a godly man, a holy man, a Christly man, and in this sense make sacrifice of all, and thus “buy the truth.”

I think that is what the word means. I expound it to mean this–give anything and everything, sooner than part with Christ, part with the living work of grace in your heart, or part with the integrity of your conduct. And now let me:–

III. PARAPHRASE THESE WORDS.

“Buy the truth.” Then I say, buy only the truth. Do not be throwing away your life, and your abilities, and your zeal, and your earnestness, for a lie. Some are doing it. Thousands of pounds are given to erect edifices for doing mischief. Multitudes of sermons are preached, very zealously, to propagate falsehoods, and sea and land are compassed to make proselytes, who shall be ten times more children of hell than they were before. Buy only the truth. Do not buy the glittering stuff they call truth. Never mind the label; look to see if it be truth. Bring everything that is propounded as truth to the test, to the trial. If it will not stand the fire of God’s Word, then do not buy it; nay, do not have it as a gift; nay, do not keep it in the house. Run away from it. It doth eat as doth a canker; let it not come near you. Buy only the truth.

“Buy the truth” at any price, and sell it at no price. Buy it at any price. If you lose your body for it, if you lose not your soul, you have made a good bargain. If you lose your estate for it, yet if you have heaven in return, how blessed the exchange! You certainly will not need for it to lose your peace of mind, but you may lose everything else, and you shall make a good bargain. Come to no terms with Christ. Throw all into the soul-bargain. Let all go, as long as you may but have truth in the doctrine, truth in the heart, and truth in the life, and Christ, who is the Truth, to be your treasure for ever.

Buy all the truth. When you come to the Bible, do not pick and choose. Do not try to believe half of it, and leave out the other half. Buy the truth–that is, not a section of it that suits your particular idiosyncrasy, but buy the whole. Why need you break up pearls and dissolve them? Buy all that is true. One doctrine of God’s Word balances another. He who is altogether and only a Calvinist probably only knows half the truth, but he who is willing to take the other side, as far as it is true, and to believe all he finds in the Word, will get the whole pearl.

Buy now the truth–buy tonight the truth. It may not be for you to buy tomorrow. You may be in that land where God hath cast for ever the lost soul away from all access to the truth, where truth’s shadow, cold and chill, shall fall upon you, and you, in outer darkness, shall weep and wail, and gnash your teeth, because you shut out truth from you, and now truth has shut you out, and all your knockings at her door shall be answered with the dolorous cry, “Too late, too late! Ye cannot enter now!”

Thus I have paraphrased the text. Buy only the truth; buy all the truth; buy at any price the truth; and buy now the truth. Briefly let me give you:–

IV. THE REASONS FOR THIS PURCHASE.

You want the truth, and you will never be received by God at last unless you bring the truth in your right hand. Only the truthful can enter those gates of pearl. You want the truth now. You are not fit to live any more than to die without an interest in the truth as it is in Jesus. Accept Christ to be truly yours, so truly yours as to make you true. You know not how to fight the battle of life at all without the truth. Your life will be a blunder, and the close of it will be a disaster, except you buy the truth. God grant that you may buy the truth now. You need it. You need it now, and you will for ever need it. Oh! I would to God that that hymn we sang should not merely be heard by you, but felt by you:–

“Hasten, sinner, to be wise, And stay not for the morrow’s sun.”

Oh! that fatal “tomorrow”! Over the cliffs of “tomorrow” millions have fallen to their ruin. Tomorrow, ay, tomorrow! Here are these put-offs, and these delays, and yet God has never given you a promise of mercy tomorrow. His word is “Today, if ye will hear his voice, harden not your hearts.” A better day shall never come than this day. Oh! that you would accept it now.

“If you tarry till you’re better, You will never come at all.”

And till times are more propitious, if you wait, you will wait on for ever and for aye. God grant you may buy the truth now, for the text is in the present tense, for now you need it. Let me direct you to:–

V. THE MARKET WHERE YOU CAN BUY IT.

These are the words of Jesus Christ when he appeared to his servant John, “I counsel thee, buy of me,” said he. There is no place where truth can be found in its power and life, except in Jesus Christ. Truth is in his blood; it will wash away what is false in you. Truth is in his Spirit; it will eradicate what is dark and vile in you. His love will make you true by conforming you to himself. Come to Christ. Bring nothing with you. Come as you are, empty-handed, penniless, and poor. The rills of milk and wells of wine are all with him. He is the banquet-giver, and the banquet too. To trust him is to live. To look to him alone for salvation is to find salvation in that look. Oh! that these simple words might point someone to the place where he shall buy the truth! And now let me repeat my text again, “Buy the truth.”

Do not misread it. It does not say hear about the truth. That is a good thing, but hearing is not buying, as many of you tradesmen know to your cost. You may tell people where to go, but you do not want them merely to hear; you are not content with that; you want them to buy. Oh! that some of you, my hearers, would become buyers of the truth! I know some of you. I happen to look about, and find out here and there one–some of you, whom I know, and respect, and esteem, and pray for I had thought that you would have bought the truth long ago, and it often staggers me why you have not. Oh! that you were decided for God! I am afraid I am preaching some of you into a hardened state. If the gospel does not save you, it will certainly be a curse to you, and I am afraid it is being so to some of you. Do think of this, I pray you! Why should you and I have the misery of doing each other hurt when our intention is on both sides, I am sure, to do that which is kind and good? Oh! yield you to my Master. The Light of the World is with his hand at your door knocking tonight softly. Do you not hear the knock of the hand that was pierced? Admit him! He comes not in wrath; he comes in mercy. Admit him! He has tarried long, even these many years, but no frown is yet upon his brow. Rise now and let him in. Be not ashamed. Though ashamed, be not afraid, but let him in, and blushing, with tears in your face, say to him, “My Lord, I will trust thee; worthless worm as I am, I will depend upon thee.” Oh! that you would do it now, this moment! The Lord give you grace to do it! Do not hear about it only, but buy the truth.

Do not merely commend the truth by saying, “The preacher spoke well, and he spoke earnestly, and I love what he said.” The preacher had almost rather that you said nothing than that, if you do not buy the truth. How it provokes the salesman when a customer says, “Yes, it is a beautiful article, and very cheap, and just what I want,” and then walks out of the shop. Nay, buy the truth, and you shall commend it better afterwards, and your commendation shall be worth the hearing.

And, I pray you, do not stand content with merely knowing about the truth. Oh! how much some of you know. How much more you know than even some of God’s people. You could correct many of my blunders. But ah! he that knows is nowhere unless he also has. To know about bread will not stay my hunger; to know that there are riches at the bank will not fill my pocket. Buy the truth, as well as know it; that is, make it your own.

And do not, I pray you, intend to buy it. Oh! intentions, intentions, intentions! The road to hell–not hell–that is a mistake of the proverb–the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Oh! ye laggards, pull up the paving-stones and hurl them at the devil’s head. He is ruining you; he is decoying you to your destruction. Turn your intentions into actions, and no longer intend to buy, but buy the truth.

And do not tonight wish that the truth were yours, but buy it. You say the cost is too great. Too great? It is nothing. It is “without money and without price.” Do you mean, however, to say, that it is too great a cost to give up a sin? What, will you burn in hell rather than give up a lust? Will you dwell in everlasting burnings for ever, sooner than give up those cups that intoxicate you? Must you have your silly wantonness, and lascivious mirth, or any kind of sin? Must you have it? Will you sooner have it than heaven? Then, sirs, your blood be on your own heads. You have been warned. I hope you are sober, and have not yet gone to madness, and if you be, you will see that no pleasures of an hour can ever recompense for casting yourselves under the anger of God for ever and for ever. Buy the truth. Do not merely talk about it, and wish for it, but buy, buy the truth. And then, lastly:

VI. A WARNING AS TO LOSING THE PURCHASE.

“Sell it not.” My time has gone, and therefore, as I never like to exceed it, there shall be but these few words. When you have once got the truth, I know you will not sell it. You will not, I am sure, at any price; but the exhortation, nevertheless, is a most proper one. There have been some who have sold the truth to be respectable. They used to hear the gospel, but now they have got on in the world, and keep a carriage, and they do not like to go where there are so many poor people, so away they go where they can hear anything or nothing, so that they may be respectable. Ah! I have the uttermost contempt for this affectation of gentility and respectability that leads men to be so mean as to forsake their Christian friends. Let them go; they are best gone. Such chaff had better not be with the wheat, and those that can be actuated by such motives are too base to be worth retaining.

Some sell the truth for a livelihood. I pity these far more. “I must have a situation; therefore, I must do what I am told there; I must break this law of God and that, for I must keep my family.” Ah! poor soul, I pity thine unfortunate position, but I pray that thou mayest have grace even now to play the man, and never sell the truth, even for bread.

Some sell the truth for the pleasures of the world. They must have enjoyment, they say, and so they will mingle with the multitude that do evil, and give up their Christian profession.

Others seem to sell the truth for nothing at all. They merely go away from Christ because religion has grown stale with them. They are weary of it, and they go away. I shall put the question painfully to all, Will ye also go away? Will ye to be respectable, will ye to have a livelihood, will ye to have the pleasures of sin for a season, will ye out of sheer weariness–will ye go away? Nay, we can add:–

“What anguish has that question stirred, If I will also go! Yet, Lord, relying on thy Word, I humbly answer, No.”

Sell it not; sell it not; it cost Christ too dear. Sell it not; you made a good bargain when you bought it. Sell it not. Sell it not; it has not disappointed you; it has satisfied you, and made you blessed. Sell it not; you want it. Sell it not; you will want it. The hour of death is coming on, and the day of judgment is close upon its heels. Sell it not; you cannot buy its like again; you can never find a better. Sell it not; you are a lost man if you part with it. Remember Esau, and the morsel of meat, and how he would again have found his birthright if he could. Remember Demas; remember Judas, the son of perdition. You are lost without it. It is your life. Skin for skin, yea all that you possess, part with for it, and be resolved, come fair or come foul, come storm or come calm, come sickness or come health, come poverty or come wealth, come death itself in the grimmest form, yet none shall separate you from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus your Lord, and none shall make you part from the truths you have learned and received from his Word, the truths you have felt and have had wrought into your soul by his Spirit, and the truths which in action you desire should tone and colour all your life.

God bless you, dear friends, and keep you, and when the Great Shepherd shall appear may you have the mark of truth upon you, and appear with him in glory.

#Charles Haddon Spurgeon #Buying the Truth #Proverbs 23:23

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