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butternuggets-blog · 5 months

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FOR WANT OF A NAIL

@baldwin-montclair @adowobsessed @sylverdeclermont @nicki-mac-me @thereadersmuse @kynthiamoon @wheresthesunshinesblog @adowbaldwin @beautifulsoulsublime @lady-lazarus-declermont @adarafaelbarba @dogblessyoutascha

Part Thirty-Nine

Summary: Baldwin Montclair had a string of ex girlfriends, a single child, and a lifetime longer than most people could dream of to make all kinds of mistakes. His family knew one which kept coming out of the woodwork to irritate him every other century.

Also on AO3

'We should build in contingencies for when this madness ends,' said Martin.

The other delegates had broken off, each claiming an administration room within the palace for themselves. Philippe had, of course, picked the most spacious one for himself; a broad fireplace, sturdy wooden chairs and large windows with a clear view of the city.

'You think it ever will?' Gerbert sneered.

'The humans can hardly hate us forever.'

'Wait and see.'

'In the meantime, how long should we lead for?' Philippe interrupted, brandishing a quill.

'One hundred years' said Gerbert.

'Witches may live that long, but not daemons' Martin pointed out.

'Seventy years' said Philippe.

Martin raised an eyebrow. 'Do you want an infirm daemon making decisions? Fifty years. The better part of a life, with room for a second term if they prove particularly long-lived.'

'They should be allowed to serve terms back to back,' Gerbert said through a smile.

'But only after being sworn in officially a second time.' Martin added.

Philippe took notes through argument and counter-argument.

'-all creatures are to abstain from achieving positions of authority within religious orders whereby they can shape religious doctrine or practise?'

'What?' Gerbert demanded.

Martin glared at him. 'I refuse to stage another false funeral for you because you want to be Pope. I have not the strength.'

'Which leads us into-' Philippe checked his list of suggestions. '-"All creatures will refuse any honour above the lowest rank accorded a man of state".'

'A baron' Gerbert sat back hard in his chair.

'Do you mean to tell me this will limit your political machinations?' Martin scoffed with a grin.

________________________________________________________________

The witches were surprisingly accommodating. They had been open to the idea of a one hundred year seat, with back to back terms, and made no fuss about religious isolationism.

'We will, of course, concede to the majority,' Jean de Villiers inclined his head towards the rest of the room. He was sitting beside Irakli, a witch from Sakartvelo, and Quincey Toussaint, another Frenchman. 'A fifty year term. Now, we do have some suggestions of our own.'

He paused and cleared his throat.

'No member of the Congregation may hold a seat of power within it concurrent to governance within any other organisation.'

Martin raised his hand. 'This is for human organisations as well as creature? Or only the former?'

'The former, I think. To simplify matters.' Polissena, the daemon nun who had spoken up during the initial meeting, was from Milan. She was sitting across from Martin on the right, flanked by a Swedish hän called Uoti, and a male daemon from Scotland called Ingeramium.

'And will you be relinquishing control of the Knights Hospitaller?' Philippe asked. Martin looked at him with the corner of his eye; he was projecting an outward sense of calm, but Martin knew him well enough to see the anger sizzling beneath.

No other De Clermonts in the Congregation. Not as long as they are the head of the Knights of Lazarus. Pity.

'I have already made arrangements to pass on my appointment' Jean reassured.

________________________________________________________________

Martin clutched the leatherbound book in his hands as the carriage lurched through Arles. He had painstakingly written down the agreed-upon tenets of the Congregation's laws, binding his notes so that he would not lose them. He had even had them signed; Philippe volunteered a signature, then Gerbert. Polissena's spider-like lettering prickled across the page above her seal, next to Uoti's blocky handwriting and Ingeramium's neat scrawl.

The carriage lurched over something and there was a clank as the seals hit his leg. Jean had said that they would authenticate the copy and make it more official. Irakli had laughed and said that the seals made the book look like a patent of nobility.

The carriage swung sharply to the left, up a secret track leading up into the forest at the edge of the city. The track smoothed into a cobblestone laneway as they climbed higher into the mountains, a tree tunnel of silver birch obscuring Martin's view.

The road ended in a solid wall of interlocking branches choking the way. As the carriage rolled closer the branches parted to reveal a wide forecourt and a towering golden-brown fortress.

Martin had many mansions and castle throughout Burgundy, but Kamb-atsu was his true home. It had started life as a wooden fortress he had built atop a series of rockpools and caves, and when the mineral deposits in the ground had turned the foundations to stone he had used magic to rapidly petrify the rest.

Kamb-atsu's outer shell was an inverted copy of his castle at Beaune; a rectangular pentagon pointing out over a cliff with a river flowing gently below.

There were four towers, two to each side. A door set in the front tower on the left led into the library and the entrance hall. The tower to the right, and the section of the building behind it, contained the kitchen and laundry, the stores, and the servant's quarters.

Martin's guests were waiting for him in entrance hall. 'Ladies, welcome.'

'You summoned us, m'lord?' Rochelle Laisnié bowed stiffly, and smiled to let Martin know she was joking. Bertille Garnier and Joachine Moreau hadn't bothered standing; they raised their hands and Martin kissed the back of them, and pulled out Rochelle's chair for her so she could sit down.

'I am sure you are all aware that this meeting is..no longer legal.'

'We are, m'lord' Joachine grimaced like she had tasted something foul. She and Bertille had known Martin their entire lives; Rochelle's family had moved into the area when she was sixteen.

'I do not wish to sacrifice the relationship your families have with me,' Martin said evenly. 'But that is not for myself alone to decide.'

The witches stirred, glancing at each other.

'You know me. There will be no repercussions if you wish to leave.'

Bertille hesitated, then reached out and gently to Rochelle and Joachine by the hand. She straightened in her chair.

'What is a little high treason among friends?'

Author's Notes

Excerpt from The World of All Souls, page 37 (I believe this may be a picture of Hamish's notes on Congregation law):

Notes on Creatures from the Jerusalem Codex (trans. from Latin)

"We therefore agree, because of the dangerous temper of the times, to undertake these solemn oaths and promises to ensure the safety and well-being (solus?) of our selves, our progeny and our future. We undertake to bind daemon to witch, witch to lamia, and lamia to daemon within the solemn vow of the covenant."

"With respect to the great controversies and inconveniances that have accompanied the holding of titles and offices by the lamia, the covenant forbides them from accepting any honour above the lowest rank accorded a man of state. The daemons and witches are likewise barred from accepting such honours, for to do otherwise would sow discord among the covenanted."

"Similarly, daemons, lamia, and witches must, from this moment forth, abstain from debates over matters of faith. Covenanted creatures may choose to enter religious orders, but shall not aspire to positions within them that shapes religious doctrine or practise."

The Congregation was originally founded in Jerusalem, but moved to Constantinople after the fall of Outremer. I decided to speed up the process.

Jean de Villiers and Jaques de Taxi were real people! According to Wikipedia, "[he] was the twenty-second Grand Master of the Knights Hospitaller, serving from 1285 until 1293 after the death of Nicolas Lorgne. Jacques de Taxi became Grand Master ad interim, perhaps through 27 June 1286, while awaiting the arrival of the newly elected Grand Master from the Holy Land. De Villiers was present at the Siege of Acre in 1291, but escaped just before the city fell to the Mamluks. He was succeeded by Odon de Pins."

I feel that daemons have a long history of electing female spokespeople for the Congregation.

The Finnish language doesn't have gendered nouns or personal pronouns like she/her, he/him, they/them. Instead, they use hän as a gender-neutral, all-encompassing term. It was first recorded in the Abckiria, or the ABC book, which was the first book published in the Finnish language in 1543, but the term pre-dates the this.

In this instance, I have used hän as a descriptive for Uoti both because it is correct grammar for a Finnish person, and because they are a gender-neutral individual. Non-binary people have existed in the past, even as far back as the Iron Age:

https://www.theguardian.com/world/2021/aug/09/1000-year-old-remains-in-finland-may-be-non-binary-viking-researchers-say

This is what a patent of nobility looks like:

Kamb-atsu - bend in a river

#a discovery of witches #adow #baldwin montclair #all souls trilogy #baldwin de clermont #all souls series #all souls tv series #a discovery of witches season 1 #a discovery of witches season 2 #a discovery of witches season 3 #bibaldwin

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orthodoxydaily · 3 months

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Saints&Reading: Thursday, March 7, 2024

february 23_march 7

HIEROMARTYR POLYCARP, BISHOP OF SMYRNA (167)

Saint Polycarp, Bishop of Smyrna, who was “fruitful in every good work” (Col. 1:10), was born in the first century, and lived in Smyrna in Asia Minor. He was orphaned at an early age, but at the direction of an angel, he was raised by the pious widow Kallista. After the death of his adoptive mother, Polycarp gave away his possessions and began to lead a chaste life, caring for the sick and the infirm. He was very fond of and close to Saint Bucolus, Bishop of Smyrna (February 6). He ordained Polycarp as deacon, entrusting to him to preach the Word of God in church. He also ordained him to the holy priesthood.

The holy Apostle John the Theologian was still alive at this time. Saint Polycarp was especially close to Saint John, and sometimes accompanied him on his apostolic journeys.

Shortly before his death, Saint Bucolus expressed his wish that Polycarp be made Bishop of Smyrna. When Saint Polycarp was consecrated as a bishop, the Lord Jesus Christ appeared to him. Saint Polycarp guided his flock with apostolic zeal, and he was also greatly loved by the clergy. Saint Ignatius the God-Bearer of Antioch (December 20) also had a high regard for him. Setting out for Rome where execution awaited him, he wrote to Saint Polycarp, “This age is in need of you if it is to reach God, just as pilots need winds, and as a storm-tossed sailor needs a port.”

The emperor Marcus Aurelius (161-180) came to the Roman throne and started up a most fierce persecution against Christians. The pagans demanded that the judge search for Saint Polycarp, “the father of all the Christians” and “the seducer of all Asia.”

During this time Saint Polycarp, at the persistent urging of his flock, stayed in a small village not far from Smyrna. When the soldiers came for him, he went out to them and invited them in to eat. He asked for time to pray, in order to prepare himself for martyrdom. His suffering and death are recorded in the “Epistle of the Christians of the Church of Smyrna to the Other Churches,” one of the most ancient memorials of Christian literature.

Having been brought to trial, Saint Polycarp firmly confessed his faith in Christ, and was condemned to be burned alive. The executioners wanted to nail him to a post, but he declared that God would give him the strength to endure the flames, so they could merely tie him with ropes. The flames encircled the saint but did not touch him, coming together over his head in the shape of a vault. Seeing that the fire did him no harm, the pagans stabbed him with a dagger. So much blood flowed from this wound that it extinguished the flames. The body of the hieromartyr Polycarp was then cremated. The Christians of Smyrna reverently gathered up what remained of his holy relics, and each year they celebrated the day of his martyrdom.

A story has been preserved about Saint Polycarp by his disciple, Saint Irenaeus of Lyons, which Eusebius cites in his ECCLESIASTICAL HISTORY (V, 20):

“I was still very young when I saw you in Asia Minor at Polycarp’s,” writes Saint Irenaeus to his friend Florinus, “but I would still be able to point out the place where Blessed Polycarp sat and conversed, and be able to depict his walk, his mannerisms in life, his outward appearance, his speaking to people, his companionable wandering with John, and how he himself related, together with other eyewitnesses of the Lord, those things that he remembered from the words of others. He also told what he heard from them about the Lord, His teachings and miracles....

“Through the mercy of God to me, I then already listened attentively to Polycarp and wrote down his words, not on tablets, but in the depths of my heart. Therefore, I am able to bear witness before God, that if this blessed and apostolic Elder heard something similar to your fallacy, he would immediately stop up his ears and express his indignation with his usual phrase: ‘Good God! That Thou hast permitted me to be alive at such a time!’”

During his life the holy bishop wrote several Epistles to the flock and letters to various individuals. The only one that has survived to the present day is his Epistle to the Philippians which, Saint Jerome testifies, was read in the churches of Asia Minor at divine services. It was written by the saint in response to the request of the Philippians to send them some letters of the hieromartyr Ignatius (December 20) which Saint Polycarp had in his possession.

The composer H.I.F. Bibier (1644-1704) has written a Sonata “Scti Polycarpi” for eight trumpets in honor of the holy martyr.

THE MONK ALEXANDER, FOUNDER OF THE "UNCEASING VIGILANCE" MONASTERY (430)

Saint Alexander, Founder of the Monastery of the “Unsleeping Ones,” was born in Asia and received his education at Constantinople. He spent some time in military service but, sensing a call to other service, he left the world and accepted monastic tonsure in one of the Syrian wilderness monasteries near Antioch, under the guidance of igumen Elias. He spent four years in strict obedience and monastic effort, after which he received from the igumen blessing to dwell in the desert. Going into the wilderness, the monk took with him nothing from the monastery, except the Gospel. The monk then struggled in the desert for seven years. Afterwards, the Lord summoned him to preach to pagans.

The saint converted to Christ the local city ruler named Rabul, who afterwards was consecrated a bishop and for 30 years occupied the bishop’s cathedra of the city of Edessa. Together with Rabul all the local inhabitants accepted Baptism, and before receiving the sacrament they burned their idols in the city square. Having confirmed the newly-converted in the Faith, Saint Alexander again went into the desert, where by chance he came upon a cave of robbers. Unafraid of the danger that threatened him, he preached the Gospel to them and urged them to repent. In fact, all the robbers did repent. They accepted holy Baptism, and they transformed their cave into a monastery, where they dwelt in prayer and penitence. Saint Alexander appointed an igumen for them, gave them a monastic rule, and he himself resettled still farther in the desert.

For several years he lived in complete solitude. But even there lovers of solitude began to flock to the monk. A monastery emerged, numbering 400 monks. Desiring at this monastery to establish uninterrupted praise to the Lord, the monk prayed for three years, that the Creator would reveal to him His will, and having then received the revelation, he initiated at the monastery the following order: all the monks were divided into 24 watches of prayer. Changing shifts each hour, day and night they sang in two choirs the Psalms of David, interrupting this only for the times of the divine services. The monastery received the name “ the Unsleeping Ones,” because the monks sang praise to God throughout the day and night.

Saint Alexander guided the monastery on the Euphrates for twelve years. Afterwards, leaving one of his disciples, the experienced Elder Trophimus as its igumen, he set out with some chosen brethren through the cities bordering on Persia, preaching the Gospel among the pagans. After this missionary journeying, Saint Alexander lived with his monks for a certain while at Antioch. There he built a church for the city-dwellers, and a home for the sick and homeless with the money that charitable Antiochians put at his disposal. However, through the intrigues of the jealous, Saint Alexander was compelled to move to Constantinople.

Here he founded a new monastery, in which he also initiated a monastic rule of “unceasing vigilance.” Saint Alexander and his monks suffered at Constantinople under the Nestorian heretics, enduring beatings and imprisonment. After this, when the storm of unrest abated, Saint Alexander spent the last days of his life at the Constantinople monastery he founded. He died in extreme old age in about the year 430, after 50 years of incessant monastic effort. He is also commemorated on February 23.

Source: Orthodox Church in America_OCA

1 JOHN 4:20-5:21

20 If someone says, "I love God," and hates his brother, he is a liar; for he who does not love his brother whom he has seen, how can he love God whom he has not seen? 21 And this commandment we have from Him: that he who loves God must love his brother also.

1 Whoever believes that Jesus is the Christ is born of God, and everyone who loves Him who begot also loves him who is begotten of Him. 2 By this we know that we love the children of God, when we love God and keep His commandments. 3 For this is the love of God, that we keep His commandments. And His commandments are not burdensome. 4 For whatever is born of God overcomes the world. And this is the victory that has overcome the world-our faith. 5 Who is he who overcomes the world, but he who believes that Jesus is the Son of God? 6 This is He who came by water and blood-Jesus Christ; not only by water, but by water and blood. And it is the Spirit who bears witness, because the Spirit is truth. 7 For there are three that bear witness in heaven: the Father, the Word, and the Holy Spirit; and these three are one. 8 And there are three that bear witness on earth: the Spirit, the water, and the blood; and these three agree as one. 9 If we receive the witness of men, the witness of God is greater; for this is the witness of God which He has testified of His Son. 10 He who believes in the Son of God has the witness in himself; he who does not believe God has made Him a liar, because he has not believed the testimony that God has given of His Son. 11 And this is the testimony: that God has given us eternal life, and this life is in His Son. 12 He who has the Son has life; he who does not have the Son of God does not have life. 13 These things I have written to you who believe in the name of the Son of God, that you may know that you have eternal life, and that you may continue to believe in the name of the Son of God. 14 Now this is the confidence that we have in Him, that if we ask anything according to His will, He hears us. 15 And if we know that He hears us, whatever we ask, we know that we have the petitions that we have asked of Him. 16 If anyone sees his brother sinning a sin which does not lead to death, he will ask, and He will give him life for those who commit sin not leading to death. There is sin leading to death. I do not say that he should pray about that. 17 All unrighteousness is sin, and there is sin not leading to death. 18 We know that whoever is born of God does not sin; but he who has been born of God keeps himself, and the wicked one does not touch him. 19 We know that we are of God, and the whole world lies under the sway of the wicked one. 20 And we know that the Son of God has come and has given us an understanding, that we may know Him who is true; and we are in Him who is true, in His Son Jesus Christ. This is the true God and eternal life. 21 Little children, keep yourselves from idols. Amen.

MARK 15:1-15

1 Immediately, in the morning, the chief priests held a consultation with the elders and scribes and the whole council; and they bound Jesus, led Him away, and delivered Him to Pilate. 2 Then Pilate asked Him, "Are You the King of the Jews?" He answered and said to him, "It is as you say." 3 And the chief priests accused Him of many things, but He answered nothing. 4 Then Pilate asked Him again, saying, "Do You answer nothing? See how many things they testify against You!" 5 But Jesus still answered nothing, so that Pilate marveled. 6 Now at the feast he was accustomed to releasing one prisoner to them, whomever they requested. 7 And there was one named Barabbas, who was chained with his fellow rebels; they had committed murder in the rebellion. 8 Then the multitude, crying aloud, began to ask him to do just as he had always done for them. 9 But Pilate answered them, saying, "Do you want me to release to you the King of the Jews?" 10 For he knew that the chief priests had handed Him over because of envy. 11 But the chief priests stirred up the crowd, so that he should rather release Barabbas to them. 12

Pilate answered and said to them again, "What then do you want me to do with Him whom you call the King of the Jews?" 13 So they cried out again, "Crucify Him!" 14 Then Pilate said to them, "Why, what evil has He done?" But they cried out all the more, "Crucify Him!" 15 So Pilate, wanting to gratify the crowd, released Barabbas to them; and he delivered Jesus, after he had scourged Him, to be crucified.

#orthodoxy #orthodoxchristianity #easternorthodoxchurch #originofchristianity #spirituality #holyscriptures #gospel #wisdom #bible #saints

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simgirlsofhillsidehaven · 1 month

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Having been compelled to forget the worst of Chloe's recent bite, Vicky was in a good mood. She knew they had to come up with a plan to get Chloe back into school and reunite her with her family as much as they could. The less time Chloe was considered dead (and had to hide), the better. Vicky had been told that Chloe would have a difficult time with control for a while. The syndicate had insisted that Chloe be closely monitored and not return to her previous home until she was no longer a threat to the general population and the secrecy of vampire kind. Vicky didn't like the restrictions, but she knew (instinctively) the syndicate was powerful and could cause them trouble, even harm, if Chloe and Vicky didn't toe the line. Personally, she didn't feel that Chloe was a threat to anyone (little did she realise how slyly Chloe had bitten her).

Vicky talked it over with Chloe. It was agreed that they would contact Zuri and reunite mother and daughter there at Hillside Haven. Zuri would be allowed to visit and likely Chloe would go over in turn, but Chloe could not live with her only family; at least for the time being.

They also agreed that Chloe would return to Copperdale High School. Zuri would know the truth, though they wouldn't tell Principal Prescott. As far as the school and other students knew, there had been an attack and Chloe had been mistakenly thought dead, but she had in fact recovered from her injuries. As long as they weren't specific about the nature of those injuries, Chloe might not even have to show signs of any infirmity or scarring. Chloe would pretend to be embarrassed, shocked and forgetful about the attack and generally change the subject as quickly as possible. Vicky and Chloe would do their best to deal with any situations as they arose.

So Vicky rang Zuri Samuels. A very confused and visibly grieving Zuri came, as arranged, early that evening to meet the stranger who had merely said that she had "information about your daughter Chloe".

Vicky told Zuri "I have recently been contacted by a secretive syndicate who monitors and conceals the existence of vampires among us. They learnt about my work at Hillside Haven here. The group home I run for girls. This syndicate, they wanted me to provide a home for your daughter Chloe. See, Chloe was attacked by a vampire and awoke in the funeral home. She's alive Ms. Samuels. Just not quite the way you and I are..."

During this speech, Zuri's face ran a gamut of emotions. Fascination, confusion, shocked disgust and then disbelief. Zuri had vivid memories of choosing a coffin for her seventeen-year-old, of seeing her only child's lifeless body.

"Chloe" Vicky called "Come and join us" and Chloe walked out of the kitchen to face her mother.

Once more Zuri's expression changed rapidly. Shock, awe and disbelief warred with joy and longing. Chloe and Zuri embraced for a long, long moment.

Finally the pair pulled apart.

"How?!" Zuri exclaimed.

"Vicky told you. The man that attacked me was some sort of vampire. I woke up at the funeral home, I guess it was lucky that it was late afternoon, but not too late -not many people around. Mr. Anderson is part of that syndicate thing, that's why he works as an undertaker, to look out for the victims of vampires who become vampires themselves. "

Zuri held her hands out in a 'Stop. Wait' gesture.

"Yeah. It's totally weird. I don't get it all myself. I had to wait at the funeral home for what felt like ages. And they bought me blood. In bags, you know? And Mr. Anderson told me I'm a vampire now, that there are actually a lot of them, well, us..."

"Do you believe it? All the girls at school going on about Edward Cullen and all this time there's these honest to God creepers running about sucking people's necks."

Seeing her Mum struggling, Chloe rushed to reassure "But don't worry. Vampires don't have to bite people. Only the few really bad, out of control ones hurt others. Most vampires live on donor blood... bags, remember?"

Zuri hadn't truly slept in days and was still wearing the same paint spattered clothes in which she had answered the door to every parent's worst nightmare. She was beginning to think she was dreaming or going mad.

Believing she would awake at any moment, faced again with the loss of Chloe, Zuri listened as Vicky explained how Chloe could not come home, how Zuri was welcome to visit anytime. The trio sat in the living room and for a time no one spoke further. The other girls (Jamie and Rose) had agreed to stay upstairs and take themselves to bed if necessary. Vicky fetched coffee and Zuri wondered at the aroma, the warmth and the rich taste. Surely no dream was like, that. You didn't smell things in dreams. Zuri wondered again if Chloes death had shattered her mental facilities completely.

Then Chloe began showing signs of restlessness. Her hunger was getting the better of her again. Vicky pressed a business card into Zuri's hands and as politely as possible, shooed her out the door and into her car...

#sims 4 #simblr #hillsidehavengirls #first year #ts4 vampires

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sregan · 3 months

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Thoughts on Denis Villeneuve's "Dune: Part Two" (2024)

Following on from my recent viewing of the first part when it returned to cinemas, I've now been able to apply myself to view the second part also. Once again, in lieu of a proper essay I have merely recorded my impressions in roughly chronological order.

As a reminder I previously wrote about how I might adapt Dune, years before Villeneuve's latest effort, as well as creating some concept art (I am working on my take on Shaddam Corrino IV). I did not re-read the book ahead of my most recent viewing and therefore some of my critique might be inadvertently comparing it to my own ideas on adaptation rather than the source material.

I was amazed and a little aghast that after all the talk of not doing introspection and critiquing the 1984 version's clunky opening narration by Princess Irulan, Villeneuve's Part Two opens with ... a clunky opening narration by Irulan. Perhaps there was a desire to have the 'other woman' do the narration as the first film opened with Chani as our viewpoint character; here we start with the view from the Imperium, introducing the Emperor.

Irulan implies the Emperor loved Leto like a son and is torn up about ordering his death. Was this in the books? When she says 'And the Emperor says' - we are on the edge of our seats, waiting for Walken's dialogue - 'nothing'. I am unsure if this was a clever trick or not. Shaddam here is portrayed as an older man, perhaps infirm, manipulated by those around him and particularly women. This is part of the sexual politics Villeneuve presents to us specifically in Part Two which stood out to me as either peculiarly heterodox for a mainstream modern Hollywood production, or perhaps was intended to be progressive but poorly assembled and unable to overcome Herbert's own (but noticeably different) views - some might say hang-ups - on the sexes.

My sense is very little time has passed on Arrakis since the end of the first film, despite Irulan's narration creating the impression it is old news. The column is still carrying Jamis's body and on its way to the sietch.

This sits oddly with Stilgar's blithe dismissal that the Harkonnen are there for the two Atreides. Are you sure? In-universe that was no more than 72 hours ago (the first night in the desert and the second in Kynes' weather station, with the sun coming up during the Jamis fight). He doesn't know the Baron ordered Rabban to commit genocide against the Fremen, so the logical conclusion is they are still looking for Paul and Jessica.

The opening fight scene seemed interesting, even if I wasn't sure why Paul and Jessica were where they were or why they didn't seem to be armed. Villeneuve seems to have forgotten that at the very least Paul has his crysknife and the gun he used to threaten Stilgar just hours earlier in-universe. I didn't mind the pregnant Jessica clubbing the Harkonnen over the head to protect her son, even though I feel like if this film had been earmarked differently by the usual suspects on YouTube and Twitter it would have been viewed as ridiculous and 'woke' given criticism of the same in games like Wolfenstein II.

As a note: The Harkonnen in the opening scene are now using Sardaukar antigrav tech; I feel this works poorly because we've been conditioned from the first film to associate this with the Emperor's forces, even though they weren't involved. I wondered if they had just randomly changed up the Sardaukar uniforms (which they have, but more on that later).

Sietch Tabr felt interesting but not quite as I imagined; did I miss something or were we really not properly introduced to the terraforming effort? We see some bird nests and the precious underground water and Stilgar says when Lisan al-Gaib comes he will use the water to transform Arrakis, but we seem to have dropped any mention of the idea they were already working towards it. And indeed, Kynes won't appear in this film at all - my preference to kick off a two-parter would have been Kynes wandering in the desert, dying of dehydration while having his revelation about how the sandworm life-cycle works, re-introducing us to the setting and the worms.

I feel the need to mention Villeneuve's racial politics here, which, like his sexual politics, seem awkward in ways commentators don't seem to have entirely picked up on.

When the sietch receives Paul and Jessica with hostility, there is a noticeable shift in who the camera lingers on, to the extent that the Fremen seem abruptly almost entirely black or very dark-skinned, with the lighter Stilgar and Chani the only ones speaking up for the outsiders. I hope I shouldn't need to explain this; if it's calculated, it is calculated to induce a kind of gut-reaction fear in white audiences. I noticed this in the first film where Jamis was cast as black and presented as noticeably wilder and crazier than the other Fremen. One might be tempted to suggest this is establishing ethnic groups within the Fremen - after all, later we learn that Stilgar comes from the south, so perhaps the north is darker-skinned (which would sync with some of the black city-dwellers we see in Arrakeen). It would even make sense as the south is said to be covered with dust storms and thus not exposed to direct sun. Except, as soon as the sietch turns and becomes more welcoming, the camera begins favouring the lighter-skinned north Africa and Middle Eastern Fremen actors.

This leads quite neatly into the Fremen culture and language. David Peterson, the linguist who worked on Game of Thrones, was tapped to create languages for Dune based on the phrases in the book, and others have picked up on the strange decision to avoid using actual Arabic words wherever possible - explained in inverviews as Peterson feeling that thousands of years into the future languages would have evolved so far that any similarities are mere coincidence. This means that words that are too important to the franchise to change, such as 'Lisan al-Gaib' (which they use a *lot*, seemingly to avoid relying on real-world messianic titles like Mahdi), stay as-is but others are radically changed. "Ya Hya Chouhada", a real-world battlecry meaning 'long live the martyrs', is changed in Part Two to a fictional phrase (I didn't remember it and seemingly others I haven't either) in the Peterson conlang. This is disappointing and actually not true to life given how Latin survived for thousands of years as a holy language.

UPDATE: The new phrase based on Peterson's conlang is something like 'A t'la abisi a santar!'. I can vaguely see something like 'life' in 'santar', but it's from a Latinate root. 'Toward the fighters, life'? Maybe 'At'la savaşçı uzun ', incorporating the Turkish word for 'fighter' and '?

It also means that Villeneuve's Dune is oddly sanitised and stripped of the book's Islamic and Central Asian cultural touchpoints. Very little mention is made of God; characters pray but I think at one point Paul says that they prey to their dead relatives (?). 'Jihad' and any mention of the book's main religions (Zensunni and Orange Catholicism) are excised.

All this begs the question - where is the line between inclusion and Orientalism? Where is the line between diversity and caricature? Or between cultural sensitivity and the kind of flattening that insists on Western neoliberal values everywhere at all times, even in our fiction? In 1984, the Fremen were mostly cast as white (likely due to actor availability) - not necessarily an incorrect reading of the book, given Herbert's inspiration 'The Sabres of Paradise' was not about Arab but Caucasian mountain tribes. Change them to a mix of interchangeable 'non-white' actors and have them led by Timothee Chalamet and the accusations of 'white savior complex' gain weight. Selectively show darker extras when you want the audience to be afraid and lighter when you want them to feel sympathetic and, to be honest, you probably deserve a few thinkpieces which I haven't seen in the press.

Stilgar threatens Jessica that he'll have her killed unless she agrees to become the new Reverend Mother. I felt this went back on his development in the first film, or even a couple of scenes ago where he fought their corner against the unsympathetic female elder. Jessica's flippant, almost Marvel-esque dialogue in the next scene where she references this annoyed me. Villeneuve has Jessica's experience with the water of life happen early in the movie and long before Paul's. This is somewhat true to the book and better than the 1984 version where Paul only takes the Water when his prophetic dreams randomly stop working, but my favoured method of compressing this for film has Jessica take the Water, fall into a coma, and Paul rescue her by taking the Water himself, entering into the same vision. This is when Jessica begins to suspect they are not merely using prophecies created by the Bene Gesserit, but Paul may in fact be the Kwisatz Haderach.

In Villeneuve's version, Chani is initially skeptical of the prophecy, saying only the southerners are superstitious (an invented distinction not found in the book). This is set up fairly competently as a romantic conflict; Paul wins Chani when he only wants to be one of the Fremen, but doing so means giving up on his revenge - however, the way it's resolved is frankly offensive and one of the things that I found most disrespectful about Villeneuve's Dune as an adaptation.

The first we see of wormriding in this film (Stilgar on a small worm) didn't entirely impress me; I feel it should have been much farther off to give a greater sense of the scale of the worms. However, Paul's own wormriding trial eliminated my doubts; again, no-one is doing cinematic scale like Villeneuve right now, where the audience is absorbed completely in *witnessing* a monumental event, without the need for quick cuts or snappy quips.

The 'naming' scene was also great and felt plausible as Paul being welcomed as one of the Fedaykin (interestingly Peterson didn't rename that one, despite being almost identical to 'Fedayeen').

The Harkonnen 'evil spice harvesters' bothered me - the harvesters we saw in the first film *WERE* Harkonnen harvesters! The Atreides literally just assumed control of the operation days earlier. The ornithopter mini-guns were pretty great but also felt un-Duney. The use of lasguns also felt good even if perhaps not book-accurate.

I actually really liked Rabban's failed reprisals, with the Harkonenn getting lost in the dust of their own carpet bombings and and the big guy losing his nerve when he sees Muad'dib's shadow. Bautista is surprisingly (?) one of the stand-out performances in the two movies.

We get some much-needed off-world politics, with Irulan talking to the Reverend Mother and deducing (I feel this wasn't in the book) that Muad'dib is Paul Atreides. There's clearly an effort made to present Irulan as a more hard-nosed politician in the making, with Shaddam even saying she will be a 'formidable Empress'. Mohiam introduces us to the idea of Feyd-Rautha being an alternative 'candidate' to Paul (did they actually say 'to be the Kwisatz Haderach'?? I don't think they did).

My feelings on Giedi Prime being an insane hellplanet are a matter of public record; it goes against a central theme of Dune, which is that a harsh environment breeds both discipline in the sense of espirit de corps and discipline in moral life. Whether you agree or disagree with the 'Fremen Mirage', this is Herbert's central idea. In the book, Giedi Prime is a neo-feudal world, with a cheerfully painted blue keep where 'fearful perfection' under military jackboot is the order of the day, but just off the main street you can see dilapidation and decay. It's a Potemkin village, feeding into the idea that Baron Harkonnen and his house are fundamentally about falsity and fakeness. He wears suspensors to convey the idea he is more physically able than he is. Feyd fights in a gladiatorial arena, but the combatants are drugged to make him look more competent. When a combatant isn't drugged, it's a plot to win over the crowd and he's not really in danger. Everywhere gets a fresh coat of paint and smiles at gunpoint when visitors arrive, but under the surface they don't genuinely care for the people.

In Villeneuve's Dune, Giedi Prime is an infrared nightmare under a 'black sun' (yes, the pasty skinhead Harkonnen live under a black sun, a seemingly deliberate allusion to fascist occultism trivia that made me raise an eyebrow). No diversity among the Harkonnen; it's just an anonymous tide of bobbing bald white heads. Again, I was unsure how to read this obvious Villeneuve innovation (in the original books the Harkonnen are mentioned as having dark hair). For what it's worth, Lynch did something very similar when he decided the Harkonnen were universally ginger. I also feel we've seen this archetype quite recently in 'Mad Max' with the white-painted radiation-sick Warboys.

This decision to make the Harkonnen interchangeable mooks does somewhat detract from Austin Butler's Feyd Rautha, who is just another chalky bald guy among many. Butler tries his best to infuse the role with random acts of violence against his own minions that put the 1984 version's heartplugs to shame. Couple it with Rabban's temper tantrum smashing the overseer against his monitor and you have to ask - why does anyone follow these psychopaths? At some point the bad guys end up killing more of their own than the enemy and it makes them feel incompetent and stupid.

In this version, the undrugged slave was a 'birthday present' from the Baron, who wanted to see who Feyd really was under pressure. In the book, Feyd contrives the assassination attempt with Thufir Hawat to increase his own standing with the people. There's no poison on Feyd's blades (he even licks one) but I think (the moment was super-fast) the Bene Gesserit watching mention that he uses an implanted word to stagger the slave momentarily. Odd to see that in this version the Harkonnen seem to worship their leaders ('the holy birthday of our beloved na-Baron'?).

It's an interesting reversal as in the book, Feyd tries to poison the Baron by having one of his sex slaves implanted with a needle (foreshadowing his own use of a similar hidden device in the final fight).

Margot Fenring appears here unaccompanied as a Bene Gesserit femme fatale, and her seduction of Feyd Rautha and their subsequent discussion of his levers was well done.

Around this time Villeneuve starts deciding that the Bene Gesserit are psychic, which is jarring and I don't believe foreshadowed (Jessica communicates using sign-language with her son but not in glances). I almost wondered if this scene - and the later one where the Bene Gesserit have an impromptu psychic discussion - were rewritten after filming.

Returning to Arrakis after the harsh black and white Giedi Prime seemed like a breath of fresh air and I think that was the intent. Villeneuve uncharacteristically doesn't linger long enough on the dunes for my tastes.

I should note here that in this version, Jessica emerges from the water of life trial changed, and while her motives are to protect Paul, she is subsequently framed in a very antagonistic role, always pushing for Paul to cynically embrace the prophecies and so, in this version, drive a wedge between him and Chani. This syncs up with my observations in Part One that Villeneuve almost presents her as a romantic interest for Paul; if so, here she is almost the 'other girl', and Paul has to choose between mother/prophecy and Chani/a simple life among the Fremen (this latter choice is highlighted by him removing the signet ring when he feels welcomed by the Fremen but keeping it in his stillsuit).

Gurney Halleck in this version is not leading a ragged band of Atreides guerillas like 1984's Patrick Stewart version. Rather he is now keeping a low profile and working as a spice miner, seemingly having given up hope that any remnants of House Atreides remain. The Fremen attack the harvester but Paul recognises him and tells them to stay their hand and presumably save the rest of the crew, though I don't think we see anyone else after this and he's more or less framed as the last remnant of Paul's old retinue in the final scenes. This *really* bothered me. Gurney says he managed to get offworld after the attack. OK; we know he has knowledge of the location of the Atreides atomics and hates the Harkonnen with every bone in his body; first for killing his family prior to the events of the first movie (as he reveals for I think the first time here); and then the loss of his new family with the death of Duke Leto. And so, Villeneuve imagines, he...

...goes back to Arrakis to work for the Harkonnen (the movie really seems to have forgotten who owns the original harvesters) and forgets about the atomics. What the absolute fuck? They do establish that the door is gene-coded so only a direct descendent of the Duke can open it (the line 'your genetic heritage only, m'lord' made me visibly cringe in the theatre), but in-universe, is there *any* reason he wouldn't go to, say, House Richese and say 'The Emperor was involved in the attack on Arrakis. I saw Sardaukar among the Harkonnen. I know where there are untraceable nukes on Arrakis; send in a covert mining team and you can tunnel down to get them. All I ask is you use some of them on Giedi Prime and the rest on Kaitan.'

For all that 1984 stretched plausibility that Gurney and his men could have survived in the desert without Fremen skills, it still feels more plausible than him getting off world then just coming back to work on a harvester.

(Note: in the book he joins a smuggler crew. Did they mention in an off-hand remark in the film that the crew he was with were not Harkonnen?)

The worm-drowning scene was well-done, even if I thought they should probably have set up the sandtrouts here if they have any hope of filming 'God-Emperor'.

Feyd Rautha's anti-grav ships bombard Sietch Tabr, causing heavy casualties. I almost feel like more attention should have been placed on this and how *this* is what changes Paul's mind; seeing his own new family injured and dead, rather than continuing for several scenes with will-he won't-he back and forth. Leave me here and go south - the people will only go if you go - there's an important meeting, they call the Lisan al-Gaib to appear, etc. The reunion between Paul and Chani *should* have been the conclusion of their romance arc here. I noticed the 'I will love you as long as you stay true to yourself' and anticipated the subsequent tension, but it felt clumsy.

Paul apparently just shows up and abruptly decides to drink the Stuff on a whim. This felt really bad and rushed. There was a jarring cut between him arriving and the guardian offering him the drink that I *think* was meant to represent Jessica's Voice command taking effect; she warns him 'leave or die' and then finds herself administering the Stuff.

(as a note: just how powerful is Villeneuve's Voice? It can apparently implant suggestions that take effect days or weeks later)

The female voice in Paul's visions has apparently (I think) been Alia? I am not sure about this as my assumption after the last movie was that it was future!Jessica. I didn't think the 'mind opening' was that well done in terms of mind-warping visuals, other than seeing an ocean in the desert. We caught of a glimpse of what I think were meant to be the face of his female ancestors, but a big point in the book is that the Kwisatz Haderach can access the memories of both his female and male ancestors (for all that this makes very little sense). This was crying out for a cameo from Duke Leto, instead of all people he sees Jamis (this may have been book-accurate, I can't remember at point of writing).

In the vision, he learns that Baron Harkonnen is his grandfather and 'we are Harkonnens'. So the pasty skin, black teeth and hairlessness of the Harkonnen is just environmental? Or even just fashion? This is interesting to see given the Harkonnen have been very deliberately racially 'Othered'.

In a reverse Sleeping Beauty scenario, Chani administers some more Water of Life, mingled with her tears, which wakes Paul up, because it vaguely fits the (fake, fabricated by the Bene Gesserit) prophecy? I am struggling to see how this works in-universe, for all that they clearly wanted some more action for her as female co-lead. Was it just a 'hair of the dog'?

The Fremen war council was spectacular, in a vast cavern (?) with lit podia (or was it just one with reflections on the walls?). Chani is again regrettably throughly modern, breaching her own society's rules by barging onto the podium to lecture to her leader. Her having to be restrained in accordance with Fremen decorum by Gurney Halleck *might* have been intended to be character development for him, but I think was just clumsy writing.

In general, Chalamet's acting was up to par, but something different was needed from him after his transformation into the Kwisatz Haderach and we didn't get it (for those saying he wasn't really changed; nonsense - he now has psychic powers that would make Kyle MacLachlan's version blush, actively reading minds when this is supposed to be impossible in-universe). What was called for here was a very elevated style of talking when he is consciously assuming the messianic role, reminiscent of holy text - not necessarily thees and thous but 'shall's and 'unto you's.

I cringed a little when, for example, he threatened the Emperor later in very unelevated, thuggish language. I can somewhat forgive the sections he is speaking Peterson's conlang-Fremen language it sounds quite rough; part of this is probably the difficulty getting the actors to sound fluent but it also had some echoes of rough and tumble military braggadochio in languages like Turkish.

The Emperor's reflective sphere-ship was certainly imposing; possibly too much so as it dwarfs Arakeen, something not immediately obvious from the ground shots so later when we see it just hovering over what just looks like a landing strip I wondered why it was suddenly out in the middle of nowhere before realising the shapes on the ground were the quarters of the entire planet's capital city!

I am always annoyed at the possibly royalties-motivated redesign of uniforms in sequels, and the Sardaukar here are a particularly offensive example. It's literally been less than nine months since the Battle of Arakeen; probably less given Jessica is not (I think) massively pregnant at the end. I did wonder if the redesign was to emphasise that 'the hunter has become the hunted'; now the Sardaukar are, like the Atreides, mostly bare-faced and their opponent is now the masked Fremen. On some level I feel this was deliberate, as when later the Sardaukar assume an Atreides-like sword line. I was also annoyed that we didn't hear any throat-singing as the Sardaukar form up outside the palace-ship. This would have immediately worked to remind us 'Oh yes, those guys', and differentiate them from the Harkonnen mooks who the Fremen have been killing all movie.

The attack on Arakeen was generally great - I would have liked to have seen the nuke scene handled differently and linger more on Paul silhouetted against the mushroom cloud.

The worm attack was also good; I did notice that suddenly the Harkonnen ornithopters become significantly less powerful than in the first movie, both rockets and miniguns seeming ineffective against worms and infantry Fremen alike. There wasn't really any sense that Shaddam's hubris led to him remaining on-planet (even the Dune 2000 game did this better, with the Truthsayer whispering 'Retreat, with victory in sight? Release the Sardaukar!"). I also felt like they sneakily tried to resolve a discrepancy between the visions of the first movie and this one by putting Chani in the role of infantry leader; she ends a shot in the exact same pose as Paul in the first movie when he has a vision of killing Sardaukar in a power suit (these don't appear in the second movie). In the second movie, he arrives on a worm instead. I guess this is a slight retcon and he is seeing himself in the place of whoever the vision is about. It seems a real waste though as presumably this sequence was shot - or was this implied to be during the galactic jihad?

One thing that stood out to me was the (redesigned) Sardaukar trying to regain formation after the blast takes down the mountain and the following storm. The first thing we see is one trooper trying to lift the Corrino banner and, as the wind overcomes him, another one helping to get it upright again. This felt *immensely* true to the book's universe.

Walken wasn't as bad as I feared; he mostly resisted the mugging I feared and wasn't given any lines containing 'walk without rhythm' or 'weapon of choice'. He plays Shaddam, again, as elderly, weary and manipulated, with the suggestion of fire re-emerging when he tells Paul 'your father was a weak man' ringing true. His throne room was appropriately Villeneuve-brutalist while still feeling Dune-y, and he thankfully replaces the Palpatine robe he wears at the beginning with an understated but still decently ornate tunic when holding court. No Burseg helmet as per the books, sadly. Should we read anything into the Emperor's throneroom being lit in a very obvious cross?

I understand why the plot was changed to give Paul a chance to meet the Baron and enact his revenge personally. Feyd wasn't in the first film and despite much more screen time compared to 1984 and even the mini-series doesn't feel satisfying as a final target for Paul's vendetta.

(As a note, the Baron throughout this movie now has a floating respirator with him that I am certain he didn't have in the first film. Is this supposed to be a lingering consequence of the gas attack?)

In this version, the duel between Paul and Feyd Rautha is explicitly a challenge to Shaddam for the throne, with Feyd serving as the Emperor's champion. This felt odd; has it been established that in this version the Padishah Emperor is a role you can have a knife-fight for, like the Klingons in Star Trek? I believe in both the book and 1984 version the coup was presented as a fait accompli with the duel a simple matter of honour and arguably an unnecessary risk by Paul; Shaddam's forces are shattered with only those immediately around him still loyal.

This is further reduced in the 2024 version as Paul has his Fremen kill the remaining Sardaukar and bring the Emperor to the visitor accommodation. This was a really missed opportunity as it deprives us of a huge and obvious shot; the victorious Paul sitting on the throne.

Feyd has no secret poison spikes in this version and, annoyingly, there's no tension in Paul choosing whether or not to use the Voice (Feyd Rautha reacts to Paul commanding the Reverend Mother to be 'Silent!' as if noting and remembering the ability, but we've already established he's vulnerable to it). This continues a trend of Villeneuve forgetting about the Voice in combat, where in the first film Jessica doesn't use it against Stilgar and Paul doesn't use it against Jamis, without even a one-off line like 'and no Bene Gesserit tricks'. Rather, he wins the first two clashes, even leaving a knife embedded in Paul's shoulder, before Paul kills him in a grapple that recalls his first on-screen spar with Gurney Halleck; Feyd is focused on the knife he is pushing further and further through Paul's seemingly exhausted grip, but he - and the viewer - can't see Paul's knife further down.

I *think* we were supposed to understand that as a possible Kwisatz Haderach Feyd is outside Paul's newly acquired precognition (this was sort of foreshadowed when he says he didn't foresee the attack on the sietch), together with the mention by Feyd that he dreamed about Lady Fenring, but wasn't spelled out.

A moment somewhat mocked on social media, but which I felt rang very true, was Bardem's frantic "Lisan al-Gaib!" when it is clear Paul has just barely survived the duel. This is *not* Stilgar the believer once again extolling his messiah's supernatural powers. This is Stilgar the politician and tribal leader realising that Paul looks very vulnerable and *un-supernatural* right now, and if he doesn't quickly get the watching Fremen on board with a chant of 'Lisan al-Gaib' the spell may be broken.

I liked how the Emperor was forced to plead for his life via the medium of his daughter, and the ambiguity of Paul's gesture; I initially thought he was commanding Irulan to step away from her father and take his hand in marriage (and this might be intentional), but instead, Shaddam is forced to go down to his knees and kiss Paul's ducal ring; a good use for the ring finding its way to Paul, which I complained about in the first movie (he also uses it in this movie to seal the ultimatum to the Emperor earlier).

The other Houses refuse Paul's ultimatum to accept him as Emperor (did he say this? I thought they only asked the other Houses to hear him out), leaving Paul to command his Fremen 'Lead them to heaven', ushering in the jihad. But we see their ships leaving seemingly without ill effect. This was crying out for first a few then intensifying rockets from the ground; perhaps even one of the ships burning and falling to emphasise that, yes, Paul just declared war on the entire universe and the ships are *fleeing*.

The final shot, incomprehensibly, is a grumpy Chani on her own, preparing to ride a worm. Perhaps Villeneuve has a plan for how Dune: Messiah will play out with her, maybe even taking some of the role of Alia, who obviously doesn't have the same interaction with the original cast here, being a psychic fetus the entire film-

(At this point I should violently interject; Villeneuve's politics, by God. What are we to make of the fetal personhood on show multiple times in this movie, at this time in American politics? She isn't even called an 'abomination'; that line is transferred to refer to Paul (who irritatingly doesn't even get to declare 'Look into that place you dare not look; you'll find me there' to justify it, just use the Voice, which the Bene Gesserit already know he can do!

Is the fact that it is most clearly championed by Jessica, who in this version has an antagonistic or at least 'bad influence' bent, intended to make it ambiguous? I feel this choice was probably intended to avoid the time-jump implied by a child actor; or perhaps to avoid the controversy of Alia of the Knife being a murderous toddler. But, as with his sexual and racial politics, what emerges is something that feels very odd, like he accidentally ended up throwing in a pro-life message.)

-All this should make us wonder. Villeneuve clearly likes the idea that Chani is the viewpoint character of Dune, beginning the first film with a voiceover from her and concluding with changing the story (no "history will call us wives" here) to leave her on her own but also seemingly abandoned in favour of the swanky princess; again, I feel like this last one wasn't intentional. There was probably an intent that 'Chani is her own woman and in this version she wouldn't want to marry Paul after he gives in and embraces the messianic role', but does it read as that? Or does it read as 'Chani missed her chance and Paul has married someone more suitable' (again, there's a racial reading here that can't be ignored; something not present in the 1984 version where Chani is played by Sean Young). Is this simply neo-Puritanism over the idea of the protagonist having multiple wives (I don't think any adaptation has thrown in the fact that Paul is honour-bound to marry Jamis's wife also)? Did someone say 'this feels a bit harem anime'?

The Guild are almost completely missing, and instead of using his knowledge of the worm lifecycle to threaten to use the stored water to create a chain reaction that will poison the worms, Paul just threatens to nuke the spice fields with his family atomics. When he does that, the Emperor says something like 'You've gone insane!', but no-one chips in to explain that, in fact, if he destroys the spice, the Guild can no longer navigate space, the Imperium will fall, and most of humanity dies due to the end of interstellar trade. This is the dilemma! The jihad claiming billions of lives vs. terraforming Dune claiming *literally all the lives*.

What was needed for the final shots of Dune was something like - of all things - the denouement of Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog. We should see the Fremen rampaging across the universe; ships burning; the shot from the vision of Paul looking out over Caladan, his again; Giedi Prime getting bombed into ashes - just to provoke us to think 'well, they liked violent gladiatorial games, but did they *really* deserve to die en masse because of what the Baron did?'. And then we cut to Paul on the Emperor's throne, looking shocked and hollow. He, like Dr Horrible, gets 'Everything (He) Ever Wanted', and it will haunt him forever. We grasp the cyclical nature of power - Paul Atreides, the exile turned revolutionary and mystic, is back on top - the very, very top, replacing the Sardaukar with his *own* brutal shock troops from a wasteland world. We needed to see that, and other than a few visions, we don't. Instead, we finish with what might, optimistically, be the message 'the traditional Fremen life will go on'? 'Sisters are doing it for themselves'? 'A woman needs a man like a fish needs a desert'? 'You can't please everyone all of the time'? In-pardon my language, fucking-scusable.

All of this means I think there's definitely room for a different Dune at an appropriate distance in time once Villeneuve's series - however long it runs, and God-Emperor is looking like a possibility - concludes. I have suggested an animated film or series as something very different from the existing adaptations, possibly leaning into precognition as the conceit, and after viewing Villeneuve's Part Two I think I've worked out how to do it.

The first scene in the book is someone - we don't see faces - being administered the Water of Life. We then cut to the dunes and the muad'dib mouse, and then it becomes clear we are watching it from the perspective of Paul and Chani.

They discuss the mouse on the moon and Paul decides that his name 'will be Muad'Dib'. Paul then awakens years earlier on Caladan. At about the two-thirds mark, Jessica takes the Water of Life but begins seizing. She sees herself drowning deep under an endless blue ocean. Paul says 'I can't reach where you are' and impulsively drinks the Water of Life himself; as Chani holds onto him he reaches out and holds his mother's hand and we see in the now shared vision that he swims down into the ocean, grabs her hand, and pulls her up. When they surface he experiences the rest of the vision, and then, awakening, says "I saw it all - I was back on Caladan; I saw us travel to Arrakis for the first time - but I also saw Baron Harkonnen; I saw him plotting with the Emperor - Shaddam! The Emperor is behind the downfall of our family". The entire first two-thirds of the movie *is* the Water of Life experience. Paul has watched the entire movie so far and for the rest of the film knows everything we, the audience, have seen, and more.

In general, Villeneuve's Dune is still probably one of the most striking and solid sci-fi films in recent decades. It is not as clearly stand-alone as I think reviewers have been prone to claim - much like the Lynch version which infamously issued a physical guide for cinema-goers to consult to understand the universe, Villeneuve's Dune does not clearly establish some of the book's most distinctive elements.

You might reasonably assume that the shields are why this universe relies so heavily on hand-to-hand combat - but why so few lasguns? (because in the book, hitting a shield with a lasgun obliterates both parties).

Why do the Harkonnen and Sardaukar feel so much weaker in the desert? Because shields act like a thumper and call worms.

(Note: This was in fact mentioned in the first film.)

Why do some people roll their eyes and do mental maths? They're mentats, human calculators. Why do they exist, and why are there no robots in this oddly run-down, primitive-feeling future? Because a thousand years ago a war called the Butlerian Jihad resulted in the absolute prohibition of thinking machines everywhere in the Imperium (it's bizarre this wasn't mentioned given AI is such a hot topic).

By the end of the second film you've also forgotten that the spice is vital for space travel (why? because it makes Navigators able to see the future, something Villeneuve has decided to emphasise only applies to Paul, and thus able to predict where a hyperspace jump will lead).

The Harkonnen were I think handled the worst of the characters, which isn't new. Skarsgard's Baron is overall acceptable and Rabban has decent menace, but he and Feyd Rautha suffer from the Lynchian 'kill your underlings' brain bug which no longer makes villains feel scary, and the random lurid elements Villeneuve has invented (gimp spiders, child slaves, cannibal prostitutes) feel just as over-the-top as the disfigured 1984 Baron pulling his servants' heart plugs for fun. The decision to make them all pasty bald troglodytes speaks to a fear to present villains as anything more than interchangeable cannon fodder lest, perhaps, the audience find them too compelling? The Fremen suffer from weird racial politics (a need to cast for diversity applied, we notice, most diligently to the desert-dwelling tribesmen, but coupled with the apparent desire to make them darker when you're meant to find them scary, which feels distinctly un-progressive) and the Corrinos from limited screen time. The Atreides in the first film felt most like a believable future society, while the glimpses we got at the Spacing Guild seemed intriguing, with their Daft Punk helmets, but were never followed through.

#dune

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dalleyan · 9 months

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Elfwine Chronicles (new LoTR stories, Chronicles 090-097 posted, 8-9-23)

The life of the royal family of Rohan is viewed from an affectionate perspective. (Fluff, Humor)

Partners - (May, 3020 III)

“The world is so empty if one thinks only of mountains, rivers and cities; but to know someone here and there who thinks and feels with us, and though distant, is close to us in spirit--this makes the earth for us an inhabited garden.”

--- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

I suppose most of my kind are only meant to be functional. We endure all manner of weather, from soaking rains, to chilling snow to baking sun. Little thought is given to us or the hardships we suffer. If we become infirm, then we are simply replaced with another that is new and fresh.

In my case, however, things were somewhat different. I was not destined for just any location or just any owner – I was given to the queen of Rohan. Probably because of that fact, I was a bit more ornate than the garden benches usually carved in the woodshop. I was carefully crafted, sanded and painted to reflect who my august owner would be. Indeed, I think a goodly portion of love went into my making, by a craftsman eager to honor his sovereign.

I do not know if my maker ever learned of how appreciated his efforts were, but I believe the queen has cherished me ever since she received me. Servants have come to place a covering over me in the worst weather, likely at her direction. Few other benches receive such doting treatment.

But even more important to me than the care I am given, is the importance I seem to have in the lives of the royal family members. The queen herself made frequent use of me when first I came to rest in a place of honor in her garden. I watched as she slowly expanded the existing garden, and under her guidance it began to flourish in a way not seen for many years in Rohan.

During the course of her work there, or at day’s end, the queen was fond of settling on me to survey her handiwork. She also enjoyed coming to visit her garden, and me, even when she was not working. Together we watched many suns set, and even quite a few of them rise. Sometimes she came alone, and sometimes the king accompanied her. Over the years, her family grew and the children joined their mother, pleased to sit and talk with her of life and love, problems and joys.

Though they grew older, their fondness did not wane, and they still returned to visit with her, and usually in turn, to end up seated on me, deep in discussion. I am just a garden bench and do not know much of man’s wisdom, but I truly believe the queen was an inspired wife and mother and friend. All whom she counseled here seemed deeply affected and helped by her guidance.

In my most egotistical moments, I like to think I played a small part in that. Not that I did anything of great significance, but perhaps I helped provide a setting conducive to the exchange of thoughts and feelings.

Despite the care taken of me, I have had to be repaired and refurbished a number of times, but the queen is unwilling to part with me. I know she could ask for a new bench and it would readily be given, but perhaps in my weathered wood she sees an echo of her memories. Perhaps we are tied together in a way normally known only to the Elves, who I have heard commune with the very trees.

I do not know how long it will be before the queen is forced to lay me aside. Eventually, it is likely I will be beyond repair. When that happens, I can only hope she has me removed to an inobtrusive part of her garden, and lets me age back into the elements, here in the garden I have come to think of as my own.

THE END

also on AO3:

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/49237417/chapters/125314105)

#Eomer #Lothiriel #Lord of the Rings #Elfwine Chronicles #LOTR #Elfwine

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hellsitesonlybookclub · 1 year

Text

The Time Machine by H.G. Wells

Chapter 8

Explanation

“So far as I could see, all the world displayed the same exuberant

richness as the Thames valley. From every hill I climbed I saw the same

abundance of splendid buildings, endlessly varied in material and

style, the same clustering thickets of evergreens, the same

blossom-laden trees and tree ferns. Here and there water shone like

silver, and beyond, the land rose into blue undulating hills, and so

faded into the serenity of the sky. A peculiar feature, which presently

attracted my attention, was the presence of certain circular wells,

several, as it seemed to me, of a very great depth.

One lay by the path

up the hill which I had followed during my first walk. Like the others,

it was rimmed with bronze, curiously wrought, and protected by a little

cupola from the rain. Sitting by the side of these wells, and peering

down into the shafted darkness, I could see no gleam of water, nor

could I start any reflection with a lighted match. But in all of them I

heard a certain sound: a thud—thud—thud, like the beating of some big

engine; and I discovered, from the flaring of my matches, that a steady

current of air set down the shafts. Further, I threw a scrap of paper

into the throat of one, and, instead of fluttering slowly down, it was

at once sucked swiftly out of sight.

“After a time, too, I came to connect these wells with tall towers

standing here and there upon the slopes; for above them there was often

just such a flicker in the air as one sees on a hot day above a

sun-scorched beach. Putting things together, I reached a strong

suggestion of an extensive system of subterranean ventilation, whose

true import it was difficult to imagine. I was at first inclined to

associate it with the sanitary apparatus of these people. It was an

obvious conclusion, but it was absolutely wrong.

“And here I must admit that I learnt very little of drains and bells

and modes of conveyance, and the like conveniences, during my time in

this real future. In some of these visions of Utopias and coming times

which I have read, there is a vast amount of detail about building, and

social arrangements, and so forth. But while such details are easy

enough to obtain when the whole world is contained in one’s

imagination, they are altogether inaccessible to a real traveller amid

such realities as I found here. Conceive the tale of London which a

negro, fresh from Central Africa, would take back to his tribe! What

would he know of railway companies, of social movements, of telephone

and telegraph wires, of the Parcels Delivery Company, and postal orders

and the like? Yet we, at least, should be willing enough to explain

these things to him! And even of what he knew, how much could he make

his untravelled friend either apprehend or believe? Then, think how

narrow the gap between a negro and a white man of our own times, and

how wide the interval between myself and these of the Golden Age! I was

sensible of much which was unseen, and which contributed to my comfort;

but save for a general impression of automatic organisation, I fear I

can convey very little of the difference to your mind.

“In the matter of sepulture, for instance, I could see no signs of

crematoria nor anything suggestive of tombs. But it occurred to me

that, possibly, there might be cemeteries (or crematoria) somewhere

beyond the range of my explorings. This, again, was a question I

deliberately put to myself, and my curiosity was at first entirely

defeated upon the point. The thing puzzled me, and I was led to make a

further remark, which puzzled me still more: that aged and infirm among

this people there were none.

“I must confess that my satisfaction with my first theories of an

automatic civilisation and a decadent humanity did not long endure. Yet

I could think of no other. Let me put my difficulties. The several big

palaces I had explored were mere living places, great dining-halls and

sleeping apartments. I could find no machinery, no appliances of any

kind. Yet these people were clothed in pleasant fabrics that must at

times need renewal, and their sandals, though undecorated, were fairly

complex specimens of metalwork. Somehow such things must be made. And

the little people displayed no vestige of a creative tendency. There

were no shops, no workshops, no sign of importations among them. They

spent all their time in playing gently, in bathing in the river, in

making love in a half-playful fashion, in eating fruit and sleeping. I

could not see how things were kept going.

“Then, again, about the Time Machine: something, I knew not what, had

taken it into the hollow pedestal of the White Sphinx. Why? For the

life of me I could not imagine. Those waterless wells, too, those

flickering pillars. I felt I lacked a clue. I felt—how shall I put it?

Suppose you found an inscription, with sentences here and there in

excellent plain English, and interpolated therewith, others made up of

words, of letters even, absolutely unknown to you? Well, on the third

day of my visit, that was how the world of Eight Hundred and Two

Thousand Seven Hundred and One presented itself to me!

“That day, too, I made a friend—of a sort. It happened that, as I was

watching some of the little people bathing in a shallow, one of them

was seized with cramp and began drifting downstream. The main current

ran rather swiftly, but not too strongly for even a moderate swimmer.

It will give you an idea, therefore, of the strange deficiency in these

creatures, when I tell you that none made the slightest attempt to

rescue the weakly crying little thing which was drowning before their

eyes. When I realised this, I hurriedly slipped off my clothes, and,

wading in at a point lower down, I caught the poor mite and drew her

safe to land. A little rubbing of the limbs soon brought her round, and

I had the satisfaction of seeing she was all right before I left her. I

had got to such a low estimate of her kind that I did not expect any

gratitude from her. In that, however, I was wrong.

“This happened in the morning. In the afternoon I met my little woman,

as I believe it was, as I was returning towards my centre from an

exploration, and she received me with cries of delight and presented me

with a big garland of flowers—evidently made for me and me alone. The

thing took my imagination. Very possibly I had been feeling desolate.

At any rate I did my best to display my appreciation of the gift. We

were soon seated together in a little stone arbour, engaged in

conversation, chiefly of smiles. The creature’s friendliness affected

me exactly as a child’s might have done. We passed each other flowers,

and she kissed my hands. I did the same to hers. Then I tried talk, and

found that her name was Weena, which, though I don’t know what it

meant, somehow seemed appropriate enough. That was the beginning of a

queer friendship which lasted a week, and ended—as I will tell you!

“She was exactly like a child. She wanted to be with me always. She

tried to follow me everywhere, and on my next journey out and about it

went to my heart to tire her down, and leave her at last, exhausted and

calling after me rather plaintively. But the problems of the world had

to be mastered. I had not, I said to myself, come into the future to

carry on a miniature flirtation. Yet her distress when I left her was

very great, her expostulations at the parting were sometimes frantic,

and I think, altogether, I had as much trouble as comfort from her

devotion. Nevertheless she was, somehow, a very great comfort. I

thought it was mere childish affection that made her cling to me. Until

it was too late, I did not clearly know what I had inflicted upon her

when I left her. Nor until it was too late did I clearly understand

what she was to me. For, by merely seeming fond of me, and showing in

her weak, futile way that she cared for me, the little doll of a

creature presently gave my return to the neighbourhood of the White

Sphinx almost the feeling of coming home; and I would watch for her

tiny figure of white and gold so soon as I came over the hill.

“It was from her, too, that I learnt that fear had not yet left the

world. She was fearless enough in the daylight, and she had the oddest

confidence in me; for once, in a foolish moment, I made threatening

grimaces at her, and she simply laughed at them. But she dreaded the

dark, dreaded shadows, dreaded black things. Darkness to her was the

one thing dreadful. It was a singularly passionate emotion, and it set

me thinking and observing. I discovered then, among other things, that

these little people gathered into the great houses after dark, and

slept in droves. To enter upon them without a light was to put them

into a tumult of apprehension. I never found one out of doors, or one

sleeping alone within doors, after dark. Yet I was still such a

blockhead that I missed the lesson of that fear, and in spite of

Weena’s distress, I insisted upon sleeping away from these slumbering

multitudes.

“It troubled her greatly, but in the end her odd affection for me

triumphed, and for five of the nights of our acquaintance, including

the last night of all, she slept with her head pillowed on my arm. But

my story slips away from me as I speak of her. It must have been the

night before her rescue that I was awakened about dawn. I had been

restless, dreaming most disagreeably that I was drowned, and that sea

anemones were feeling over my face with their soft palps. I woke with a

start, and with an odd fancy that some greyish animal had just rushed

out of the chamber. I tried to get to sleep again, but I felt restless

and uncomfortable. It was that dim grey hour when things are just

creeping out of darkness, when everything is colourless and clear cut,

and yet unreal. I got up, and went down into the great hall, and so out

upon the flagstones in front of the palace. I thought I would make a

virtue of necessity, and see the sunrise.

“The moon was setting, and the dying moonlight and the first pallor of

dawn were mingled in a ghastly half-light. The bushes were inky black,

the ground a sombre grey, the sky colourless and cheerless. And up the

hill I thought I could see ghosts. Three several times, as I scanned

the slope, I saw white figures. Twice I fancied I saw a solitary white,

ape-like creature running rather quickly up the hill, and once near the

ruins I saw a leash of them carrying some dark body. They moved

hastily. I did not see what became of them. It seemed that they

vanished among the bushes. The dawn was still indistinct, you must

understand. I was feeling that chill, uncertain, early-morning feeling

you may have known. I doubted my eyes.

“As the eastern sky grew brighter, and the light of the day came on and

its vivid colouring returned upon the world once more, I scanned the

view keenly. But I saw no vestige of my white figures. They were mere

creatures of the half-light. ‘They must have been ghosts,’ I said; ‘I

wonder whence they dated.’ For a queer notion of Grant Allen’s came

into my head, and amused me. If each generation die and leave ghosts,

he argued, the world at last will get overcrowded with them. On that

theory they would have grown innumerable some Eight Hundred Thousand

Years hence, and it was no great wonder to see four at once. But the

jest was unsatisfying, and I was thinking of these figures all the

morning, until Weena’s rescue drove them out of my head. I associated

them in some indefinite way with the white animal I had startled in my

first passionate search for the Time Machine. But Weena was a pleasant

substitute. Yet all the same, they were soon destined to take far

deadlier possession of my mind.

“I think I have said how much hotter than our own was the weather of

this Golden Age. I cannot account for it. It may be that the sun was

hotter, or the earth nearer the sun. It is usual to assume that the sun

will go on cooling steadily in the future. But people, unfamiliar with

such speculations as those of the younger Darwin, forget that the

planets must ultimately fall back one by one into the parent body. As

these catastrophes occur, the sun will blaze with renewed energy; and

it may be that some inner planet had suffered this fate. Whatever the

reason, the fact remains that the sun was very much hotter than we know

it.

“Well, one very hot morning—my fourth, I think—as I was seeking shelter

from the heat and glare in a colossal ruin near the great house where I

slept and fed, there happened this strange thing. Clambering among

these heaps of masonry, I found a narrow gallery, whose end and side

windows were blocked by fallen masses of stone. By contrast with the

brilliancy outside, it seemed at first impenetrably dark to me. I

entered it groping, for the change from light to blackness made spots

of colour swim before me. Suddenly I halted spellbound. A pair of eyes,

luminous by reflection against the daylight without, was watching me

out of the darkness.

“The old instinctive dread of wild beasts came upon me. I clenched my

hands and steadfastly looked into the glaring eyeballs. I was afraid to

turn. Then the thought of the absolute security in which humanity

appeared to be living came to my mind. And then I remembered that

strange terror of the dark. Overcoming my fear to some extent, I

advanced a step and spoke. I will admit that my voice was harsh and

ill-controlled. I put out my hand and touched something soft. At once

the eyes darted sideways, and something white ran past me. I turned

with my heart in my mouth, and saw a queer little ape-like figure, its

head held down in a peculiar manner, running across the sunlit space

behind me. It blundered against a block of granite, staggered aside,

and in a moment was hidden in a black shadow beneath another pile of

ruined masonry.

“My impression of it is, of course, imperfect; but I know it was a dull

white, and had strange large greyish-red eyes; also that there was

flaxen hair on its head and down its back. But, as I say, it went too

fast for me to see distinctly. I cannot even say whether it ran on all

fours, or only with its forearms held very low. After an instant’s

pause I followed it into the second heap of ruins. I could not find it

at first; but, after a time in the profound obscurity, I came upon one

of those round well-like openings of which I have told you, half closed

by a fallen pillar. A sudden thought came to me. Could this Thing have

vanished down the shaft? I lit a match, and, looking down, I saw a

small, white, moving creature, with large bright eyes which regarded me

steadfastly as it retreated. It made me shudder. It was so like a human

spider! It was clambering down the wall, and now I saw for the first

time a number of metal foot and hand rests forming a kind of ladder

down the shaft. Then the light burned my fingers and fell out of my

hand, going out as it dropped, and when I had lit another the little

monster had disappeared.

“I do not know how long I sat peering down that well. It was not for

some time that I could succeed in persuading myself that the thing I

had seen was human. But, gradually, the truth dawned on me: that Man

had not remained one species, but had differentiated into two distinct

animals: that my graceful children of the Upper World were not the sole

descendants of our generation, but that this bleached, obscene,

nocturnal Thing, which had flashed before me, was also heir to all the

ages.

“I thought of the flickering pillars and of my theory of an underground

ventilation. I began to suspect their true import. And what, I

wondered, was this Lemur doing in my scheme of a perfectly balanced

organisation? How was it related to the indolent serenity of the

beautiful Overworlders? And what was hidden down there, at the foot of

that shaft? I sat upon the edge of the well telling myself that, at any

rate, there was nothing to fear, and that there I must descend for the

solution of my difficulties. And withal I was absolutely afraid to go!

As I hesitated, two of the beautiful upperworld people came running in

their amorous sport across the daylight in the shadow. The male pursued

the female, flinging flowers at her as he ran.

“They seemed distressed to find me, my arm against the overturned

pillar, peering down the well. Apparently it was considered bad form to

remark these apertures; for when I pointed to this one, and tried to

frame a question about it in their tongue, they were still more visibly

distressed and turned away. But they were interested by my matches, and

I struck some to amuse them. I tried them again about the well, and

again I failed. So presently I left them, meaning to go back to Weena,

and see what I could get from her. But my mind was already in

revolution; my guesses and impressions were slipping and sliding to a

new adjustment. I had now a clue to the import of these wells, to the

ventilating towers, to the mystery of the ghosts; to say nothing of a

hint at the meaning of the bronze gates and the fate of the Time

Machine! And very vaguely there came a suggestion towards the solution

of the economic problem that had puzzled me.

“Here was the new view. Plainly, this second species of Man was

subterranean. There were three circumstances in particular which made

me think that its rare emergence above ground was the outcome of a

long-continued underground habit. In the first place, there was the

bleached look common in most animals that live largely in the dark—the

white fish of the Kentucky caves, for instance. Then, those large eyes,

with that capacity for reflecting light, are common features of

nocturnal things—witness the owl and the cat. And last of all, that

evident confusion in the sunshine, that hasty yet fumbling awkward

flight towards dark shadow, and that peculiar carriage of the head

while in the light—all reinforced the theory of an extreme

sensitiveness of the retina.

“Beneath my feet, then, the earth must be tunnelled enormously, and

these tunnellings were the habitat of the New Race. The presence of

ventilating shafts and wells along the hill slopes—everywhere, in fact,

except along the river valley—showed how universal were its

ramifications. What so natural, then, as to assume that it was in this

artificial Underworld that such work as was necessary to the comfort of

the daylight race was done? The notion was so plausible that I at once

accepted it, and went on to assume the how of this splitting of the

human species. I dare say you will anticipate the shape of my theory;

though, for myself, I very soon felt that it fell far short of the

truth.

“At first, proceeding from the problems of our own age, it seemed clear

as daylight to me that the gradual widening of the present merely

temporary and social difference between the Capitalist and the Labourer

was the key to the whole position. No doubt it will seem grotesque

enough to you—and wildly incredible!—and yet even now there are

existing circumstances to point that way. There is a tendency to

utilise underground space for the less ornamental purposes of

civilisation; there is the Metropolitan Railway in London, for

instance, there are new electric railways, there are subways, there are

underground workrooms and restaurants, and they increase and multiply.

Evidently, I thought, this tendency had increased till Industry had

gradually lost its birthright in the sky. I mean that it had gone

deeper and deeper into larger and ever larger underground factories,

spending a still-increasing amount of its time therein, till, in the

end—! Even now, does not an East-end worker live in such artificial

conditions as practically to be cut off from the natural surface of the

earth?

“Again, the exclusive tendency of richer people—due, no doubt, to the

increasing refinement of their education, and the widening gulf between

them and the rude violence of the poor—is already leading to the

closing, in their interest, of considerable portions of the surface of

the land. About London, for instance, perhaps half the prettier country

is shut in against intrusion. And this same widening gulf—which is due

to the length and expense of the higher educational process and the

increased facilities for and temptations towards refined habits on the

part of the rich—will make that exchange between class and class, that

promotion by intermarriage which at present retards the splitting of

our species along lines of social stratification, less and less

frequent. So, in the end, above ground you must have the Haves,

pursuing pleasure and comfort and beauty, and below ground the

Have-nots, the Workers getting continually adapted to the conditions of

their labour. Once they were there, they would no doubt have to pay

rent, and not a little of it, for the ventilation of their caverns; and

if they refused, they would starve or be suffocated for arrears. Such

of them as were so constituted as to be miserable and rebellious would

die; and, in the end, the balance being permanent, the survivors would

become as well adapted to the conditions of underground life, and as

happy in their way, as the Overworld people were to theirs. As it

seemed to me, the refined beauty and the etiolated pallor followed

naturally enough.

“The great triumph of Humanity I had dreamed of took a different shape

in my mind. It had been no such triumph of moral education and general

co-operation as I had imagined. Instead, I saw a real aristocracy,

armed with a perfected science and working to a logical conclusion the

industrial system of today. Its triumph had not been simply a triumph

over Nature, but a triumph over Nature and the fellow-man. This, I must

warn you, was my theory at the time. I had no convenient cicerone in

the pattern of the Utopian books. My explanation may be absolutely

wrong. I still think it is the most plausible one. But even on this

supposition the balanced civilisation that was at last attained must

have long since passed its zenith, and was now far fallen into decay.

The too-perfect security of the Overworlders had led them to a slow

movement of degeneration, to a general dwindling in size, strength, and

intelligence. That I could see clearly enough already. What had

happened to the Undergrounders I did not yet suspect; but, from what I

had seen of the Morlocks—that, by the bye, was the name by which these

creatures were called—I could imagine that the modification of the

human type was even far more profound than among the ‘Eloi,’ the

beautiful race that I already knew.

“Then came troublesome doubts. Why had the Morlocks taken my Time

Machine? For I felt sure it was they who had taken it. Why, too, if the

Eloi were masters, could they not restore the machine to me? And why

were they so terribly afraid of the dark? I proceeded, as I have said,

to question Weena about this Underworld, but here again I was

disappointed. At first she would not understand my questions, and

presently she refused to answer them. She shivered as though the topic

was unendurable. And when I pressed her, perhaps a little harshly, she

burst into tears. They were the only tears, except my own, I ever saw

in that Golden Age. When I saw them I ceased abruptly to trouble about

the Morlocks, and was only concerned in banishing these signs of her

human inheritance from Weena’s eyes. And very soon she was smiling and

clapping her hands, while I solemnly burnt a match.

#hellsitesonlybookclub #the time machine #h.g. wells #hg wells #sci fi #science fiction #literature #ebook #free ebook

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navree · 1 year

Note

Hey, hope you’ve been good!

I just finished reading your HOTD fics and I wanted to say that I really enjoy your writing. Spring’s End is my favorite, but Gods In Godless Times was a fun read (I’m weak for modern aus, like, if you have any modern au Green thoughts/headcanons-whether they’re related to your au or not-pls share, cause I’ll eat them up).

Would That They Were Not was also a good read. I really liked that Alicent was the one who ordered the dragons to burn Jahaerys’s body per the Targ tradition. And Aegon’s grief was 🤌

Thanks :)

Anon this was so nice to wake up to thank you so much!!!! You're so sweet, I'm glad you liked it all so much, these were all actually quite fun to write and I'm really happy that people are taking the time to let me know that they enjoy the, I really really really appreciate it.

Making Alicent be the one to burn Jaehaerys's body was very intentional of me, mostly because I always wanna refute the idea that her kids aren't "true Targs" just because of her, and to also show how close knit the entire family is and how that extends even to the dragon bonds, that they'll listen to her in that moment because of what she means to their riders. Aegon's grief was particularly gut wrenching to write, but I really wanted to sell just what an unexpected evil it was that happened to him give Aemond an extra gut punch to see his older brother so affected by the consequences of his (unintentional) actions.

I won't say too much because I do have a lot of chapters planned for Gods in Godless Times where I'm dumping most of these headcanons, and I do fully intend to get back to this fic, it's just that right now I'm taking two science classes (and I'm not scientifically inclined) as well as working on submitting applications to transfer into a four year college, which is taking up a lot of my free time. And I've also got a few one shot drafts for some other fandoms (mostly TMA and W359) that have been languishing for a while that I'm trying to finish and send off into the world.

But with all that being said, some headcanons include: -Daeron is a chaos gremlin of a kid. He's the youngest of four (five, technically if you count Rhaenyra) and this is a high pressure lifestyle, but also just personality wise he's bouncing off the walls and causing problems on purpose and being a lil whippersnapper, but still precious. -Aegon isn't entirely sure if he finds Alys really cool or still creepy (and yes I've aged her way the hell down but in the real world you cannot have a teenager in a relationship with a woman in her late thirties/early forties, you just can't, so that's why she's instead Helaena's friend and therefore her age instead) -Helaena was actually pretty chill when Aemond and Alys started dating, she likes that her lil brother is coming out of his shell and she thinks Alys is neat too anyway -Helaena is still Otto's favorite grandkid, and he Will go to town on any teachers who try and say she should focus more during school -Alicent isn't necessarily a typical PTA mom because a) idk if they've got that in the UK and b) the family position doesn't necessarily give her an opportunity for it, but she's still incredibly involved not just in the kids' personal lives but also in their schooling -Daemon is a family friend who is incredibly close to Viserys and practically grew up with him and who's one of those "honorary uncle" types, rather than Viserys's out and out brother -Viserys isn't infirm, just constantly sick due to age and bad health but still capable of having a job (not sure if I've mentioned this yet but Viserys is both a lord/peer as well as the current President of the Supreme Court in the UK) -Spoilers for the next chapter but the Starks are a prominent American political family and the Northerners are mostly American politicos/East Coast wealth, to parallel how the North in Westeros is far away and culturally removed from most of the country -The general conceit of this world is that certain elements of Westeros are in our world, things like the Free Cities being cities in Western Europe (Myr and Lys for me are specifically in France) and Dorne being some kind of wine country à la Napa or Bordeaux -Helaena wants to study biology and engineering, bugs aren't just a special interest for her but she's genuinely interested in how they and most stuff works -Aemond did, in fact, lose an eye in an accident involving his Strong nephews (it will be discussed) and he does have a lot of issues about it, though he's being slowly convinced by his family and Alys to maybe see someone about it -Rhaenyra is incredibly more distant in this, she's got her own family and the relationship was irreparably fractured almost worse than it was in the show after Aemond's accident -Aemond cannot cook. Helaena is passable. Aegon is actually very good cook -Helaena tries out all possible new hairstyles on Aemond, it's almost rare to see him with his hair loose rather than in some elaborate do Helaena was trying out -Aemond still has his long silky hair in this. People who give Aemond short hair in their modern aus are cowards I said what I said -All the Greens dragons are cats. Sunfyre and Dreamfyre and Tessarion are just normal cats, Vhagar is an old alley cat Aemond picked up at a shelter (it will be elaborated on) and who is incredibly protective of and fiercely cuddly for him and him only -Obviously, but the Greens have a much better and extremely more tight knit relationship in this than they do in show canon. They're incredibly ride or die for each other

Also this counts for the modern AU but is also true of basically all my Greens fics, the Green kids refer to Alicent almost exclusively as "momma", no matter what age or level of maturity.

And for anyone curious:

Spring's End: an Alicent centric fic written after episode 2 exploring Alicent's state of mind in the lead up to her wedding with Viserys and how she struggles to adapt to her new role as queen to be and Viserys's future wife/mother of his children. Warnings for Alicent's spiraling mental health, implied child abuse/CSA/grooming (Alicent is FIFTEEN and Paddy filmed this while in his fifties with Viserys's age unconfirmed she's a child I hate Viserys so much)

Mea Maxima Culpa: ficlet from Aemond's perspective set immediately after episode 10 as he tells the Small Council what happened at Storm's End.

Would That They Were Not: speculative fic on how the show might adapt Blood and Cheese and its immediate aftermath, Aemond and Alicent centric and told from their perspective, and as always, Greens sympathetic. Warnings for child death and spoilers for what's going to be a pretty big plot in season 2 if you haven't read the book and don't know what Blood and Cheese is.

Gods In Godless Times: multi chapter fic of unconnected stories about the Dance-era Targaryens in a modern AU, specifically modern day UK where the Targaryens are a longstanding noble family and Viserys is both a peer of the realm and the current President of the Supreme Court and most of the noble houses of Westeros are media moguls, Fortune 500 companies, politicians, and other upper echelons of society. Primarily focused on the Greens kids, but is planned to have chapter stories focusing on adults, "allies" of the Greens, and some members of Team Blacks and their "allies" as well.

#personal #answered #anonymous #team green #the greens #fic recs #yes i'm adding in some shameless self promo but i think i deserve some love i have to do College Applications #and also my tummy hurts :(#but seriously anon this is such a nice thing to send i love u so much

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rafent · 1 year

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hibiscus : how does your muse view the gentler , daintier things in life ?as things worth preserving & caring for , or things only bound to wither & disappear ?

HIBISCUS: How does your muse view the gentler, daintier things in life? As things worth preserving & caring for, or things only bound to wither & disappear?

On average Rafal tends to see daintier concepts through a detached lens, enjoying them and recognizing them from a respectful distance due to the strong impression he has toward being undeserving of those things.

Regarding gentler things like love and friendship, it's understandable considering the majority of his formative years and his entire adult life was spent as Nil's imposter. Any happiness he experienced during that phase felt like duplicity- precious moments and experiences meant for someone else, forming his imposter syndrome in a some literal sense of the term- and that mindset even one thousand years later takes considerable effort to change.

The time spent with Nel in Lythos was a stolen treasure in Rafal's own words. He reflects over it in the light of nostalgia, already measuring a retreat from his rights to their bond and not fighting to justify his place in it. Their bond being something he could reciprocate and enjoy, but not anything that would last forever due to the imposter role he played. Nel's gentle nature to Rafal would surely shatter once Nel understood who he really was beneath the facade, so rather than considering their time to be just a pleasant memory, it was also an hourglass on limited time, a joy fated to run out of sand.

Rafal: "You were so gentle and giving with me. So kind. I began to think of you as my one true sister...even now, the memory of our time at Lythos Castle...is priceless to me. But that treasure is a stolen one."

Examining him from another important lens, the beauty of the world is made more obvious to Rafal in his state of post-destruction clarity. Friendships, connections, and communal experiences- all things he reduced to shambles after the actions he undertook in the name of power and Sombron's legacy. His conversation with Ivy reveals a remorseful side of him that expresses empathy for the gentler, daintier experiences that he destroyed. He's asserted as someone who not only identifies the intangible things that others treasure, but sees their value and respects it.

Ivy: "Those unexpected connections are another reason the academy is special to me."

Rafal: "The Ivy from the world I come from must have had similar experiences at her academy. When I think of all the friendships she must have forged... and the effects of my actions..."

During their support, Ivy extends to him an equivocal offer of friendship for his good deeds as 'classmates'. Rafal not only seeks to confirm if the request is what Ivy truly wants, he also exorcises his desire for their special connection out of the equation. He'll be friends- classmates- with Ivy as she wishes, but not as he himself wishes, because when acting with penitence in mind he doesn't consider himself to be in any position to make demands of others. Because in the specific context of their support Ivy's alternate self is someone who he has hurt, the first royal he turned Corrupted in his original world.

Rafal (to Ivy): "If that is your desire, then it cannot be wrong. Your wish is what began this endeavor, after all."

Comparing his response to Alfred and his extension of a bond, however, the nature is somewhat different. Though Rafal thinks of himself as undeserving of friendship and love- the aforementioned gentler and daintier things in life- I don't see that always being the case, thus why I pointed out it being on average. Bonds forged on his own feet, as Rafal and not Nil, or without the distracting anxieties of redemption, are collectively empowering as they should be. It's why Alfred is presumably an illuminating support for Rafal.

Alfred is a weakling of comparable infirmity who pushes himself to be stronger. And more importantly, Alfred once given the full mast of Rafal's sins returns a response of acceptance, eliminating that worry entirely. When given the chance to be 'brothers', Rafal then accepts his offer with only the protest that he be considered the elder brother and not the younger one between them. It shows that Rafal when weighing himself separate from his need to repent and to be emotionally abstinent can and will engage in the playful interactions that resemble normal life. He can find it in himself to chase after the kind, gentle things he used to spurn.

#◜ ₊ — 𝓡 ˚ ₊ 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 ╱ askbox.#◜ ₊ — 𝓡 ˚ ₊ 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 ╱ headcanon.#alyration #engage spoilers #spacing out these things because i am a big talker #i've wheeled through rafal's supports twice now #xenologue characters don't have too many but each time i find something new to appreciate #rafal as you can Suspect is very troubling in some aspects #what i like though is how observant he is toward the small details that evaded his large sweeping movements as a 'villain'#rafal from that standpoint is someone who enjoyed looking at mountains and vistas but now finds greater pleasure observing ants #a more humble and quaint life so to say

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publicdomainbooks · 2 years

Text

VIII. Explanation

“So far as I could see, all the world displayed the same exuberant richness as the Thames valley. From every hill I climbed I saw the same abundance of splendid buildings, endlessly varied in material and style, the same clustering thickets of evergreens, the same blossom-laden trees and tree ferns. Here and there water shone like silver, and beyond, the land rose into blue undulating hills, and so faded into the serenity of the sky. A peculiar feature, which presently attracted my attention, was the presence of certain circular wells, several, as it seemed to me, of a very great depth. One lay by the path up the hill which I had followed during my first walk. Like the others, it was rimmed with bronze, curiously wrought, and protected by a little cupola from the rain. Sitting by the side of these wells, and peering down into the shafted darkness, I could see no gleam of water, nor could I start any reflection with a lighted match. But in all of them I heard a certain sound: a thud—thud—thud, like the beating of some big engine; and I discovered, from the flaring of my matches, that a steady current of air set down the shafts. Further, I threw a scrap of paper into the throat of one, and, instead of fluttering slowly down, it was at once sucked swiftly out of sight.

“After a time, too, I came to connect these wells with tall towers standing here and there upon the slopes; for above them there was often just such a flicker in the air as one sees on a hot day above a sun-scorched beach. Putting things together, I reached a strong suggestion of an extensive system of subterranean ventilation, whose true import it was difficult to imagine. I was at first inclined to associate it with the sanitary apparatus of these people. It was an obvious conclusion, but it was absolutely wrong.

“And here I must admit that I learnt very little of drains and bells and modes of conveyance, and the like conveniences, during my time in this real future. In some of these visions of Utopias and coming times which I have read, there is a vast amount of detail about building, and social arrangements, and so forth. But while such details are easy enough to obtain when the whole world is contained in one’s imagination, they are altogether inaccessible to a real traveller amid such realities as I found here. Conceive the tale of London which a negro, fresh from Central Africa, would take back to his tribe! What would he know of railway companies, of social movements, of telephone and telegraph wires, of the Parcels Delivery Company, and postal orders and the like? Yet we, at least, should be willing enough to explain these things to him! And even of what he knew, how much could he make his untravelled friend either apprehend or believe? Then, think how narrow the gap between a negro and a white man of our own times, and how wide the interval between myself and these of the Golden Age! I was sensible of much which was unseen, and which contributed to my comfort; but save for a general impression of automatic organisation, I fear I can convey very little of the difference to your mind.

“In the matter of sepulture, for instance, I could see no signs of crematoria nor anything suggestive of tombs. But it occurred to me that, possibly, there might be cemeteries (or crematoria) somewhere beyond the range of my explorings. This, again, was a question I deliberately put to myself, and my curiosity was at first entirely defeated upon the point. The thing puzzled me, and I was led to make a further remark, which puzzled me still more: that aged and infirm among this people there were none.

“I must confess that my satisfaction with my first theories of an automatic civilisation and a decadent humanity did not long endure. Yet I could think of no other. Let me put my difficulties. The several big palaces I had explored were mere living places, great dining-halls and sleeping apartments. I could find no machinery, no appliances of any kind. Yet these people were clothed in pleasant fabrics that must at times need renewal, and their sandals, though undecorated, were fairly complex specimens of metalwork. Somehow such things must be made. And the little people displayed no vestige of a creative tendency. There were no shops, no workshops, no sign of importations among them. They spent all their time in playing gently, in bathing in the river, in making love in a half-playful fashion, in eating fruit and sleeping. I could not see how things were kept going.

“Then, again, about the Time Machine: something, I knew not what, had taken it into the hollow pedestal of the White Sphinx. Why? For the life of me I could not imagine. Those waterless wells, too, those flickering pillars. I felt I lacked a clue. I felt—how shall I put it? Suppose you found an inscription, with sentences here and there in excellent plain English, and interpolated therewith, others made up of words, of letters even, absolutely unknown to you? Well, on the third day of my visit, that was how the world of Eight Hundred and Two Thousand Seven Hundred and One presented itself to me!

“That day, too, I made a friend—of a sort. It happened that, as I was watching some of the little people bathing in a shallow, one of them was seized with cramp and began drifting downstream. The main current ran rather swiftly, but not too strongly for even a moderate swimmer. It will give you an idea, therefore, of the strange deficiency in these creatures, when I tell you that none made the slightest attempt to rescue the weakly crying little thing which was drowning before their eyes. When I realised this, I hurriedly slipped off my clothes, and, wading in at a point lower down, I caught the poor mite and drew her safe to land. A little rubbing of the limbs soon brought her round, and I had the satisfaction of seeing she was all right before I left her. I had got to such a low estimate of her kind that I did not expect any gratitude from her. In that, however, I was wrong.

“This happened in the morning. In the afternoon I met my little woman, as I believe it was, as I was returning towards my centre from an exploration, and she received me with cries of delight and presented me with a big garland of flowers—evidently made for me and me alone. The thing took my imagination. Very possibly I had been feeling desolate. At any rate I did my best to display my appreciation of the gift. We were soon seated together in a little stone arbour, engaged in conversation, chiefly of smiles. The creature’s friendliness affected me exactly as a child’s might have done. We passed each other flowers, and she kissed my hands. I did the same to hers. Then I tried talk, and found that her name was Weena, which, though I don’t know what it meant, somehow seemed appropriate enough. That was the beginning of a queer friendship which lasted a week, and ended—as I will tell you!

“She was exactly like a child. She wanted to be with me always. She tried to follow me everywhere, and on my next journey out and about it went to my heart to tire her down, and leave her at last, exhausted and calling after me rather plaintively. But the problems of the world had to be mastered. I had not, I said to myself, come into the future to carry on a miniature flirtation. Yet her distress when I left her was very great, her expostulations at the parting were sometimes frantic, and I think, altogether, I had as much trouble as comfort from her devotion. Nevertheless she was, somehow, a very great comfort. I thought it was mere childish affection that made her cling to me. Until it was too late, I did not clearly know what I had inflicted upon her when I left her. Nor until it was too late did I clearly understand what she was to me. For, by merely seeming fond of me, and showing in her weak, futile way that she cared for me, the little doll of a creature presently gave my return to the neighbourhood of the White Sphinx almost the feeling of coming home; and I would watch for her tiny figure of white and gold so soon as I came over the hill.

“It was from her, too, that I learnt that fear had not yet left the world. She was fearless enough in the daylight, and she had the oddest confidence in me; for once, in a foolish moment, I made threatening grimaces at her, and she simply laughed at them. But she dreaded the dark, dreaded shadows, dreaded black things. Darkness to her was the one thing dreadful. It was a singularly passionate emotion, and it set me thinking and observing. I discovered then, among other things, that these little people gathered into the great houses after dark, and slept in droves. To enter upon them without a light was to put them into a tumult of apprehension. I never found one out of doors, or one sleeping alone within doors, after dark. Yet I was still such a blockhead that I missed the lesson of that fear, and in spite of Weena’s distress, I insisted upon sleeping away from these slumbering multitudes.

“It troubled her greatly, but in the end her odd affection for me triumphed, and for five of the nights of our acquaintance, including the last night of all, she slept with her head pillowed on my arm. But my story slips away from me as I speak of her. It must have been the night before her rescue that I was awakened about dawn. I had been restless, dreaming most disagreeably that I was drowned, and that sea anemones were feeling over my face with their soft palps. I woke with a start, and with an odd fancy that some greyish animal had just rushed out of the chamber. I tried to get to sleep again, but I felt restless and uncomfortable. It was that dim grey hour when things are just creeping out of darkness, when everything is colourless and clear cut, and yet unreal. I got up, and went down into the great hall, and so out upon the flagstones in front of the palace. I thought I would make a virtue of necessity, and see the sunrise.

“The moon was setting, and the dying moonlight and the first pallor of dawn were mingled in a ghastly half-light. The bushes were inky black, the ground a sombre grey, the sky colourless and cheerless. And up the hill I thought I could see ghosts. Three several times, as I scanned the slope, I saw white figures. Twice I fancied I saw a solitary white, ape-like creature running rather quickly up the hill, and once near the ruins I saw a leash of them carrying some dark body. They moved hastily. I did not see what became of them. It seemed that they vanished among the bushes. The dawn was still indistinct, you must understand. I was feeling that chill, uncertain, early-morning feeling you may have known. I doubted my eyes.

“As the eastern sky grew brighter, and the light of the day came on and its vivid colouring returned upon the world once more, I scanned the view keenly. But I saw no vestige of my white figures. They were mere creatures of the half-light. ‘They must have been ghosts,’ I said; ‘I wonder whence they dated.’ For a queer notion of Grant Allen’s came into my head, and amused me. If each generation die and leave ghosts, he argued, the world at last will get overcrowded with them. On that theory they would have grown innumerable some Eight Hundred Thousand Years hence, and it was no great wonder to see four at once. But the jest was unsatisfying, and I was thinking of these figures all the morning, until Weena’s rescue drove them out of my head. I associated them in some indefinite way with the white animal I had startled in my first passionate search for the Time Machine. But Weena was a pleasant substitute. Yet all the same, they were soon destined to take far deadlier possession of my mind.

“I think I have said how much hotter than our own was the weather of this Golden Age. I cannot account for it. It may be that the sun was hotter, or the earth nearer the sun. It is usual to assume that the sun will go on cooling steadily in the future. But people, unfamiliar with such speculations as those of the younger Darwin, forget that the planets must ultimately fall back one by one into the parent body. As these catastrophes occur, the sun will blaze with renewed energy; and it may be that some inner planet had suffered this fate. Whatever the reason, the fact remains that the sun was very much hotter than we know it.

“Well, one very hot morning—my fourth, I think—as I was seeking shelter from the heat and glare in a colossal ruin near the great house where I slept and fed, there happened this strange thing. Clambering among these heaps of masonry, I found a narrow gallery, whose end and side windows were blocked by fallen masses of stone. By contrast with the brilliancy outside, it seemed at first impenetrably dark to me. I entered it groping, for the change from light to blackness made spots of colour swim before me. Suddenly I halted spellbound. A pair of eyes, luminous by reflection against the daylight without, was watching me out of the darkness.

“The old instinctive dread of wild beasts came upon me. I clenched my hands and steadfastly looked into the glaring eyeballs. I was afraid to turn. Then the thought of the absolute security in which humanity appeared to be living came to my mind. And then I remembered that strange terror of the dark. Overcoming my fear to some extent, I advanced a step and spoke. I will admit that my voice was harsh and ill-controlled. I put out my hand and touched something soft. At once the eyes darted sideways, and something white ran past me. I turned with my heart in my mouth, and saw a queer little ape-like figure, its head held down in a peculiar manner, running across the sunlit space behind me. It blundered against a block of granite, staggered aside, and in a moment was hidden in a black shadow beneath another pile of ruined masonry.

“My impression of it is, of course, imperfect; but I know it was a dull white, and had strange large greyish-red eyes; also that there was flaxen hair on its head and down its back. But, as I say, it went too fast for me to see distinctly. I cannot even say whether it ran on all fours, or only with its forearms held very low. After an instant’s pause I followed it into the second heap of ruins. I could not find it at first; but, after a time in the profound obscurity, I came upon one of those round well-like openings of which I have told you, half closed by a fallen pillar. A sudden thought came to me. Could this Thing have vanished down the shaft? I lit a match, and, looking down, I saw a small, white, moving creature, with large bright eyes which regarded me steadfastly as it retreated. It made me shudder. It was so like a human spider! It was clambering down the wall, and now I saw for the first time a number of metal foot and hand rests forming a kind of ladder down the shaft. Then the light burned my fingers and fell out of my hand, going out as it dropped, and when I had lit another the little monster had disappeared.

“I do not know how long I sat peering down that well. It was not for some time that I could succeed in persuading myself that the thing I had seen was human. But, gradually, the truth dawned on me: that Man had not remained one species, but had differentiated into two distinct animals: that my graceful children of the Upper World were not the sole descendants of our generation, but that this bleached, obscene, nocturnal Thing, which had flashed before me, was also heir to all the ages.

“I thought of the flickering pillars and of my theory of an underground ventilation. I began to suspect their true import. And what, I wondered, was this Lemur doing in my scheme of a perfectly balanced organisation? How was it related to the indolent serenity of the beautiful Overworlders? And what was hidden down there, at the foot of that shaft? I sat upon the edge of the well telling myself that, at any rate, there was nothing to fear, and that there I must descend for the solution of my difficulties. And withal I was absolutely afraid to go! As I hesitated, two of the beautiful upperworld people came running in their amorous sport across the daylight in the shadow. The male pursued the female, flinging flowers at her as he ran.

“They seemed distressed to find me, my arm against the overturned pillar, peering down the well. Apparently it was considered bad form to remark these apertures; for when I pointed to this one, and tried to frame a question about it in their tongue, they were still more visibly distressed and turned away. But they were interested by my matches, and I struck some to amuse them. I tried them again about the well, and again I failed. So presently I left them, meaning to go back to Weena, and see what I could get from her. But my mind was already in revolution; my guesses and impressions were slipping and sliding to a new adjustment. I had now a clue to the import of these wells, to the ventilating towers, to the mystery of the ghosts; to say nothing of a hint at the meaning of the bronze gates and the fate of the Time Machine! And very vaguely there came a suggestion towards the solution of the economic problem that had puzzled me.

“Here was the new view. Plainly, this second species of Man was subterranean. There were three circumstances in particular which made me think that its rare emergence above ground was the outcome of a long-continued underground habit. In the first place, there was the bleached look common in most animals that live largely in the dark—the white fish of the Kentucky caves, for instance. Then, those large eyes, with that capacity for reflecting light, are common features of nocturnal things—witness the owl and the cat. And last of all, that evident confusion in the sunshine, that hasty yet fumbling awkward flight towards dark shadow, and that peculiar carriage of the head while in the light—all reinforced the theory of an extreme sensitiveness of the retina.

“Beneath my feet, then, the earth must be tunnelled enormously, and these tunnellings were the habitat of the New Race. The presence of ventilating shafts and wells along the hill slopes—everywhere, in fact, except along the river valley—showed how universal were its ramifications. What so natural, then, as to assume that it was in this artificial Underworld that such work as was necessary to the comfort of the daylight race was done? The notion was so plausible that I at once accepted it, and went on to assume the how of this splitting of the human species. I dare say you will anticipate the shape of my theory; though, for myself, I very soon felt that it fell far short of the truth.

“At first, proceeding from the problems of our own age, it seemed clear as daylight to me that the gradual widening of the present merely temporary and social difference between the Capitalist and the Labourer was the key to the whole position. No doubt it will seem grotesque enough to you—and wildly incredible!—and yet even now there are existing circumstances to point that way. There is a tendency to utilise underground space for the less ornamental purposes of civilisation; there is the Metropolitan Railway in London, for instance, there are new electric railways, there are subways, there are underground workrooms and restaurants, and they increase and multiply. Evidently, I thought, this tendency had increased till Industry had gradually lost its birthright in the sky. I mean that it had gone deeper and deeper into larger and ever larger underground factories, spending a still-increasing amount of its time therein, till, in the end—! Even now, does not an East-end worker live in such artificial conditions as practically to be cut off from the natural surface of the earth?

“Again, the exclusive tendency of richer people—due, no doubt, to the increasing refinement of their education, and the widening gulf between them and the rude violence of the poor—is already leading to the closing, in their interest, of considerable portions of the surface of the land. About London, for instance, perhaps half the prettier country is shut in against intrusion. And this same widening gulf—which is due to the length and expense of the higher educational process and the increased facilities for and temptations towards refined habits on the part of the rich—will make that exchange between class and class, that promotion by intermarriage which at present retards the splitting of our species along lines of social stratification, less and less frequent. So, in the end, above ground you must have the Haves, pursuing pleasure and comfort and beauty, and below ground the Have-nots, the Workers getting continually adapted to the conditions of their labour. Once they were there, they would no doubt have to pay rent, and not a little of it, for the ventilation of their caverns; and if they refused, they would starve or be suffocated for arrears. Such of them as were so constituted as to be miserable and rebellious would die; and, in the end, the balance being permanent, the survivors would become as well adapted to the conditions of underground life, and as happy in their way, as the Overworld people were to theirs. As it seemed to me, the refined beauty and the etiolated pallor followed naturally enough.

“The great triumph of Humanity I had dreamed of took a different shape in my mind. It had been no such triumph of moral education and general co-operation as I had imagined. Instead, I saw a real aristocracy, armed with a perfected science and working to a logical conclusion the industrial system of today. Its triumph had not been simply a triumph over Nature, but a triumph over Nature and the fellow-man. This, I must warn you, was my theory at the time. I had no convenient cicerone in the pattern of the Utopian books. My explanation may be absolutely wrong. I still think it is the most plausible one. But even on this supposition the balanced civilisation that was at last attained must have long since passed its zenith, and was now far fallen into decay. The too-perfect security of the Overworlders had led them to a slow movement of degeneration, to a general dwindling in size, strength, and intelligence. That I could see clearly enough already. What had happened to the Undergrounders I did not yet suspect; but, from what I had seen of the Morlocks—that, by the bye, was the name by which these creatures were called—I could imagine that the modification of the human type was even far more profound than among the ‘Eloi,’ the beautiful race that I already knew.

“Then came troublesome doubts. Why had the Morlocks taken my Time Machine? For I felt sure it was they who had taken it. Why, too, if the Eloi were masters, could they not restore the machine to me? And why were they so terribly afraid of the dark? I proceeded, as I have said, to question Weena about this Underworld, but here again I was disappointed. At first she would not understand my questions, and presently she refused to answer them. She shivered as though the topic was unendurable. And when I pressed her, perhaps a little harshly, she burst into tears. They were the only tears, except my own, I ever saw in that Golden Age. When I saw them I ceased abruptly to trouble about the Morlocks, and was only concerned in banishing these signs of her human inheritance from Weena’s eyes. And very soon she was smiling and clapping her hands, while I solemnly burnt a match.

#the time machine

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whatdoesshedotothem · 2 years

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Monday 9 June 1834

8 ¼

two kisses the last a good one last night very fine morning F68° in our bedroom at 8 ¼ am - had Hutton to measure Miss W- for an habit - breakfast at 10 - Had Ward gone back to live with Lady Stuart - she poorly or would have written - hoped to see me at 2 - Lady Stuart de R- would be delighted to see me - Ward would take my note -wrote a ¼ sheet full enough to admit folding to ask when I should call, and sent it by Ward to ‘The Lady Stuart de Rothesay 4 Carlton Terrace’ - then wrote 3 pages of ½ sheet to Lord Hillsborough saying I was from home and only got his letter on setting off to come here - much obliged to him about the Courier Degarlieb - my aunt still living and likely to continue many months could be far or long absent from home during the remainder of her life that had no hope of going north this year, but my northern tour only delayed, not given up and I should be very glad to find Degarlieb at liberty when I was ready for him - if he, Lord H-, had 5 minutes to spare should be exceedingly glad to see him - going to Paris, but should not be off till Wednesday morning - Coates and Billing sent me a dirty postboy and shabby pair of horses and harness to my own carriage - out at 2 - In passing left my note with Degarlieb’s letter in German under cover to ‘the Earl of Hillsborough, 40 Berkeley square’ and then drove to Whitehall - there at 2 ¼ - Lady S- not returned from her bath - found the dean of Windsor alone in the drawing room - soon got acquainted - talked of

SH:7/ML/E/17/0042

Copenhagen, and the de Hagemanns, etc and got on very well - thought him very pleasant and agreeable - then came in Lady Albina Cumberland and she and I too made each other’s acquaintance very comfortably - at last after 3 came poor dear Lady Stuart looking ill, suffering from Lumbago as well as erysipelas and much more infirm than when I saw her last - sat with her till 4 ½ and then returned home - Miss W- had been at Dumergue’s (42 Albemarle street) and had her tooth taken out and seemed very well after it – we went out at 5 ¼ - shopping – back at 8. Had Hutton to try an habit – dressed- dinner at 8 55 – very kind note from Lady Stuart de Rothesay begging me to go to her at 1 - the people said it did not come till just after I went out - another note this evening (also a very kind one) to say there must surely have been some mistake about her note this morning - sat down and wrote answer to go in the morning to say I would be with her soon after 12 – wrote 1 page of ½ sheet to Lady Harriet - tea at 11 – very fine day F66° at 12 ½ tonight - Miss W- wrote 2 ¾ pages and I wrote the rest and ends of letter to my aunt Shibden that went by tonight’s post giving an account of our journey and of my being unwell but saying I was quite better

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orthodoxydaily · 1 year

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Saints&Reading: Wednesday, March 8, 2023

march 8_february 23

SAINT POLYCARP, BISHOP OF SMYRNA (167)

Saint Polycarp, Bishop of Smyrna, who was “fruitful in every good work” (Col. 1:10), was born in the first century, and lived in Smyrna in Asia Minor. He was orphaned at an early age, but at the direction of an angel, he was raised by the pious widow Kallista. After the death of his adoptive mother, Polycarp gave away his possessions and began to lead a chaste life, caring for the sick and the infirm. He was very fond of and close to Saint Bucolus, Bishop of Smyrna (February 6). He ordained Polycarp as deacon, entrusting to him to preach the Word of God in the church. Furthermore, he also ordained him to the holy priesthood.

The holy Apostle John the Theologian was still alive at this time. Saint Polycarp was especially close to Saint John, and sometimes accompanied him on his apostolic journeys.

A story has been preserved about Saint Polycarp by his disciple, Saint Irenaeus of Lyons, which Eusebius cites in his ECCLESIASTICAL HISTORY (V, 20):

The composer H.I.F. Bibier (1644-1704) has written a Sonata “Scti Polycarpi” for eight trumpets in honor of the holy martyr.

SAINT GORGONIA, SISTER OF SAINTED GREGORY THE THEOLOGIAN (372)

Most of the information about Saint Gorgonia (Γοργονία) comes from her brother, Saint Gregory Nazianzus (January 25) in his Oration VIII, "On his Sister Gorgonia," which was delivered sometime after their brother Saint Caesarius (March 9) went to the Lord in 369, and before the repose of their father, the elder Saint Gregory Nazianzus, in 374.

She was the daughter of Saint Gregory Nazianzus (January 1) and Saint Nonna (August 5), and was named for her maternal grandmother Gorgonia. Saint Gregory the Theologian tells us that she derived her existence and her reputation from their parents, because they sowed in her the seeds of piety.

In praising her virtues, Saint Gregory states that her modesty surpassed those of her own time, and those who lived before her. She blended the excellence of the married state with that of the unmarried state, avoiding the disadvantages of each, while combining all that is best in both. Thus, Saint Gorgonia proved that "neither of them absolutely binds us to, or separates us from, God or the world." It is the mind which nobly presides over marriage and virginity, arranging and working on them as "the raw material of virtue."

Saint Gorgonia had consecrated herself to God, and also won her husband Alypios to her side. He was from the city of Iconium, where Faustinus was the bishop. She made Alypios "a good fellow servant, instead of an unreasonable master." This pious couple had five children; two sons who became bishops, and three daughters: Alypianḗ, Eugenia, and Nonna. Moreover, she made her children and their children's children the fruit of her spirit, dedicating to God not only her soul, but also her entire family and household. As long as she lived, she showed herself as an example of all that is good. Her devoted brother even compared her to King Solomon's virtuous woman (Proverbs 31:10-31).

This daughter of a saintly family took both her natural and spiritual parents as her models of virtue, and they were the source of her goodness. She did not wear fine clothes or expensive jewelry, nor did she use pigments to enhance her beauty. The only red coloring dear to her was the blush of modesty; and her only white coloring was the tint of temperance.

She adorned the churches with offerings, and thereby presented herself to God as a living temple. She opened her house to members of her family who were in want, and even to strangers. She was sympathetic to those in trouble, and compassionate toward widows. She "dispersed abroad" and "gave to the poor" (Psalm 111/112:9). The only wealth she left to her children was the excellence of her example.

In her fasting, her chanting of the Psalms, her vigils, her tears, and her prayers, she surpassed not only women, but also the most devout men, thereby demonstrating that the distinction between male and female is one of body, not of soul.

One day, as Saint Gorgonia was riding in her carriage, the mules bolted and the carriage was overturned. She was dragged over the ground and suffered serious injury. Those who were not Christians were scandalized that God would permit such a thing to happen to this righteous woman. Although she was bruised in her bones and limbs, she would not allow a physician to examine her, in order to preserve her modesty. She trusted that God would heal her, and He did. Seeing her unexpected recovery, people concluded that the accident had occurred so that by her patient endurance and her miraculous healing, God would be glorified.

Saint Gorgonia longed for death, preferring to be with Christ rather than remain on earth. She had a vision in which the day of her death was revealed to her so that she might prepare herself. As that time drew near she took to her bed, and spent her last day giving instructions to her husband, her children, and her friends. After discoursing about spiritual matters, she reposed in the year 370 at the age of thirty-eight. Her last words were, “I will both lie down in peace and sleep” (Psalm 4:8).

Source of all texts: Orthodox Church in America_OCA

ISAIAH 5:16-25

16 But the Lord of hosts shall be exalted in judgment, And God who is holy shall be hallowed in righteousness. 17 Then the lambs shall feed in their pasture, And in the waste places of the fat ones strangers shall eat. 18 Woe to those who draw iniquity with cords of vanity, And sin as if with a cart rope; 19 That say, “Let Him make speed and hasten His work, That we may see it; And let the counsel of the Holy One of Israel draw near and come, That we may know it.” 20 Woe to those who call evil good, and good evil; Who put darkness for light, and light for darkness; Who put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter! 21 Woe to those who are wise in their own eyes, And prudent in their own sight! 22 Woe to men mighty at drinking wine, Woe to men valiant for mixing intoxicating drink, 23 Who justify the wicked for a bribe, And take away justice from the righteous man! 24 Therefore, as the fire devours the stubble, And the flame consumes the chaff, So their root will be as rottenness, And their blossom will ascend like dust; Because they have rejected the law of the Lord of hosts, And despised the word of the Holy One of Israel. 25 Therefore the anger of the Lord is aroused against His people; He has stretched out His hand against them And stricken them, And the hills trembled. Their carcasses were as refuse in the midst of the streets. For all this His anger is not turned away, But His hand is stretched out still.

PROVERBS 5:15-6:4

15 Drink water from your own cistern, And running water from your own well. 16 Should your fountains be dispersed abroad, Streams of water in the streets? 17 Let them be only your own, And not for strangers with you. 18 Let your fountain be blessed, And rejoice with the wife of your youth. 19 As a loving deer and a graceful doe, Let her breasts satisfy you at all times; And always be enraptured with her love. 20 For why should you, my son, be enraptured by an immoral woman, And be embraced in the arms of a seductress? 21 For the ways of man are before the eyes of the Lord, And He ponders all his paths. 22 His own iniquities entrap the wicked man, And he is caught in the cords of his sin. 23 He shall die for lack of instruction, And in the greatness of his folly he shall go astray.

Commentary from the Church’s Fathers

Basil the Great AD 379: “Drink water out of your own cistern,” that is, examine your own resources, do not go to the springs belonging to others, but from your own streams gather for yourself the consolations of life. Do you have metal plates, clothing, beasts of burden, utensils of every kind? Sell them; permit all things to go except your [soul’s] liberty. Homilies on the Psalms (Psalm ).

John Cassian AD 435: “Drink the waters from your own wells, fresh water from your own source.” … As the prophet Isaiah declares, “You will be like a wellwatered garden, like a flowing spring whose waters will never fail. And places emptied for ages will be built up in you. You will lift up the foundations laid by generation after generation. You will be called the builder of fences, the one who turns the pathways toward peace.” … And so it will happen that not only the whole thrust and thought of your heart but even all the wanderings and the straying of your thoughts will turn into a holy and unending meditation on the law of God.

Augustine of Hippo AD 430:“Let the fountain of your water be your own and let no stranger share with you.” For all who do not love God are strangers, are antichrists. And although they enter the basilicas, they cannot be numbered among the sons of God. That fountain of life does not belong to them. Even an evil person can have baptism; even an evil person can have prophecy. We find that king Saul had prophecy; he was persecuting the holy David and was filled with the Spirit of prophecy and began to prophesy. Even an evil person can receive the sacrament of the body and blood of the Lord, for about such it has been said, “He who eats and drinks unworthily eats and drinks judgment to himself.” Even an evil person can have the name of Christ, that is, even an evil person can be called Christian; and about these it has been said, “They profaned the name of their God.” Therefore, even an evil man can have all these mysteries. But he cannot have love and be evil. This, then, is the peculiar gift; it is the unique fountain. For drinking of this the Spirit of God encourages you; for drinking of himself the Spirit of God encourages you.

1 My son, if you become surety for your friend, If you have shaken hands in pledge for a stranger, 2 You are snared by the words of your mouth; You are taken by the words of your mouth. 3 So do this, my son, and deliver yourself; For you have come into the hand of your friend: Go and humble yourself; Plead with your friend. 4 Give no sleep to your eyes, Nor slumber to your eyelids.

Gregory The Dialogis tAD 604: Whoever is responsible for others for an example of living is admonished to be watchful not only over himself but also to arouse his friend. Indeed, it is not sufficient for him to keep watch by a good life, if he does not remove from the torpor of sin the person over whom he is set, for it is well said: “Give not sleep to your eyes, neither let your eyelids slumber.” To give sleep to the eyes is to cease from care and thus to neglect altogether the charge of subjects. The eyelids slumber when our thoughts, weighed down by sloth, connive at what we know should be reproved. To be in deep sleep is neither to know, nor to correct, the actions of those committed to us. To slumber but not to sleep is to be well aware of what should be reprehended but not to amend it with proper reproof, owing to mental sloth. Yet by slumbering, the eye is induced to sleep profoundly, because commonly the superior who does not eradicate the evil which he observes, comes to that state which his negligence deserves, namely, not even to recognize the sins of his subjects. Therefore, those who [care for others’ souls] must be warned to be earnestly on the watch, to have vigilant eyes within and round about, and to strive to become living creatures of heaven. .

#orthodoxy #orthodoxchristianity #easternorthodoxchurch #originofchristianity #spirituality #holyscriptures #bible #oldtestament #wisdom

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