“Putting characters in messed up situations” isn’t enough. I need to put characters in situations with obstacles that are designed to herd them towards one horrible outcome…and watch them shine as they navigate a way around the obstacles to an outcome that’s not as horrible as it could’ve been.

Out on Allen Street, it’s 7 in the Morning

Set in the same-ish street-siblings universe as First Contact by @cryptids-and-muses and @a-sketchy-character @streetsiblings (they’re still awesome). Now, the pieces start falling into place or smth lmao :))

Drizzle | Deluge | AO3

Chapter 3: Squall

Did they get rid of her?

He dreads to think of it, but there’s nothing else he seems to be able to pick out from what information he gathers. Three years after he died, Cass (who hated killing, would never do it even for the worst of the worst) had nearly murdered the Joker. She almost finished the job until Batman saved the madman and subdued her. After that,

Nothing.

Not a single report on Batgirl. Nor a photo of Cassandra Todd. Only two traces he could find. One a significantly sullen Wonder Woman (he and Cass had liked her, and she, them). The other an interview of Bruce, repeating that she’d gone to ‘travel the world’.

Jason knows a lie when he hears one.

“It’s – It’s like she just disappeared,” He’s gripping his head, rocking back and forth while Rose smooths out his hair. “He cut her out of the family and then what?”

He remembers a promise, a vow Bruce had made with him. It had meant the world to Jason.

Bruce had broken that vow. Torn it apart and stomped all over it.

Rose watches him as he breaks down with no judgement in her gaze, just holds him close as his world crumbles around him again.

--

There’s a child in Nandra Parbat, and Jason has to train him.

“This is my son, Damian,” Talia had said to him, showing him some new kid as if he hadn’t just killed three assassins in the space of a minute. He would have said as much if she didn’t immediately order him to be the kid’s new teacher.

Looking at him now, all Jason can see is a small girl with a crooked smile mouthing his name. He blinks, and he’s met with a scowl and sapphire eyes (eyes just like Br-).

“Mother has requested you to be my instructor,” The kid repeats and lord, his voice is nasal. Jason chooses to stare at the kid, who fidgets. If he looks close enough, he could swear Damian’s scowl looks almost precisely like-.

“Is he mute, Mother? I do not see how an invalid could assist me,” He can tell by the way Rose’s head shoots up and glares at Damian whose side she would choose if this escalates. A flare of anger rises in Jason’s chest; his eyes start to flash a sharp emerald. Still, he pushes it down and diverts it to strengthening his stare, dominating the room.

He can’t read people the same way Cass can, but Jason could swear that the kid’s composure cracks at his uncertainty.

“Wanna repeat that for me?” Jason’s voice is low and even. He can tell the kid recognises the threat in his tone. To his credit, Damian hesitates before he honest to god tts, like every single other haughty, uptight rich boy.

“Regardless, habibi, you will treat your new instructors with respect,” Talia speaks, gesturing to him and Rose. “The quality of your instructors was incredibly subpar, and you have them to blame for killing the previous masters beforehand.”

“I do not think that a lowly thug and his harlot-,” Jason’s arm shoots out in an instant, clasping his hand over Damian’s mouth and clenching. Indignant fury flares in the boy’s eyes as Damian tries to slap Jason away. It does nothing, unsurprisingly.

“So long as you are under my tutelage, you will never speak that way to any woman. That is no way to speak to anyone, regardless of what they do for a living,” Somehow, the kid actually listens, the flinty look in his eye lessening somewhat. “I bet your own mother had to pull a fuck ton of strings just to make sure this meeting even happened in the first place.”

Jason glances up to Talia, expecting a reprimand. What surprises him is how genuine the approval she emits is. It hits him that he has literally confirmed to training Damian. He coughs.

“You should know,” Talia pipes up. “His full name is Damian Wayne-Al Ghul.”

Jason stares at the ceiling and curses the rain as it tap-dances with the universe, mocking him.

“All right, then, I’ll go to hell.”

--

Cassandra shakes herself from the nerves and rings the doorbell. The last time she had been here, she had kissed Alfred on the cheek and let him drive her all the way to the airport. That was only two months ago. Two months away from Gotham, away from Batgirl, away from-.

Bruce. He’s standing in the foyer, his gaze cold, but his body… his body seems unsure. She doesn’t know what to make of it. She half expects him to turn her away, but he moves to the side. He opens his mouth.

“Cassandra!” Steph darts from behind Bruce’s body, all flailing limbs and mismatched socks. “You’re here!”

“Yes.”

The girl grins, periwinkle eyes dazzling (They’re from the same cloth, just not the proper stitching) as she drags Cassandra away.

“So… how’s life in Hong Kong?”

“Peachy,” Cass answers honestly.

“Think of any names for your new identity?” Steph gesticulates to nothing, but her body language is focused on questions. So, she doesn’t give the girl any. They walk a little more until Steph decides to fill in the silence again.

“Tim’s dad found out about the vigilante business,” Cass nods as Steph talks. “Wants him to quit being Robin and Bruce doesn’t seem to know what to do about it.”

“His problem.”

“Well, duh. It’s just that….” Steph rubs her arm shyly, the same way she always does when she’s afraid of what she will say next. “When I was growing up, with my villain dad and addict Mom, I always imagined that Batman and Robin would save me. I’m here now, and….”

“You want to be Robin.” Cassandra deadpans, even as Steph whirls to gape at her. Really, it’s not like she wasn’t obvious. “Why not go for it?”

Silence for a moment. “Because I’m afraid.”

Cassandra looks at the blonde sharply. Stephanie Brown? Intimidated-by-Batman-and-joined-vigilantism-anyway Stephanie Brown was afraid? She doesn’t know what to think. That is until the dots connect in her head.

“You’re afraid that you won’t be able to help as much as you want to,” Steph scuffs the carpet glumly.

“With Mr. Anal-retentiveness-to-the-9’s? Yeah, that’d probably happen,” Steph sound so defeated and desperate that Cass curses because apparently, fate chose now to be when Steph is truly like Jason.

“Then don’t wear it,” Steph’s scuffing gets a little stronger. “I, for one, think you’d be a really good Batgirl.”

Steph makes an incredible impression as a fish and stares at Cass, barely wheezing as she gawks. “But Bruce -.”

“Bruce doesn’t have autonomy over Batgirl,” Cass smiles sweetly, echoing Barbara. “It’s your uniform now, and no one can take that from you but yourself.”

Her friend squeals loudly and squeezes Cass, gushing her gratitude over and over. Cass hugs her back, pretending it’s Jay she’s holding in her arms, giving the assurance of family she failed to keep.

--

He’s only trained with Damian for a few months, yet he’s seen more than he really should from the boy. His younger brother (the kid’s only a child, it doesn’t matter what Jason’s previous misgivings are) has been raised in the League of Assassins since birth. He can already use a sword with deadly efficiency at eleven years old. His attitude's as ruthless and condescending as every other assassin in the compound.

However, what is an exploitable weakness for Damian is the fact he’s only just started puberty. Most easily demonstrated when Rose makes a suggestive pose before tackling the boy and pinning him in place. Jason whistles because he’s fond of her, an asshole like that. Rose flips the bird at Jason and sticks out her tongue, now lounging casually on Damian’s squirming body.

It’s cute, the scene, but Jason knows how wrong it is. As long as Damian is with the League of Assassins, he won’t live normally. To find his own love, his own family. Even as the child wrestles with Rose and yells at him to help, it won’t ever be enough.

He’s not projecting.

He’s not.

He’s going to concoct a plan.

--

Ravi, Damian’s caretaker, has that air about him that Jason has only ever seen come from Alfred. So, he guesses trusting Ravi with this is more than okay. The man may be blind, but with him, they manage to smuggle Damian through the channels of the League, avoiding everyone who could threaten their goal.

“If I may ask, Mister Todd,” Ravi says as they reach the last legs. Jason nods. “Why are you doing this? To what gain is rescuing this child for you?”

“I don’t do this because I want to gain something,” Jason replies immediately. “No child deserves to grow up in this place. He deserves to have as good a childhood as he can get.”

Ravi stares patiently, hearing what’s unsaid.

“Sound reasoning,” Talia’s voice echoes around them. Everyone tenses. The woman steps out from behind the pillar ahead of them, alone. “And where, may a mother ask, are you taking my son?”

The woman’s voice lacks her usual veneer, sounding so genuinely earnest that he can’t help but blurt out: “Gotham.”

“Gotham,” Talia repeats, her forehead pinched. “With him?” With Batman? Jason bristles. “Might I remind you; he left your death unavenged and replaced you in mere months.”

“Fuck that,” Jason snarls. Ever since he came out of the Pit, madness clings to the edges of his mind whenever he thinks of how Bruce replaced him. This time, it only flickers. “What I want doesn’t matter when Damian needs his father figure. I’m – I’m not stopping him from having that.”

“So, you no longer wish to kill him,” Talia states. He sighs.

“I guess not,” Jason frowns, considering her presence. “Want to take him to Bruce?”

If Talia is surprised, she doesn’t show it, only beckoning for Damian to follow her. As the kid moves, Jason realises this might be the last time he’ll see Damian on the same side of the fence. He grabs the kid’s shoulder, who oddly doesn’t resist.

“Look, Damian,” Jason starts as his younger brother stares up at him. “Doing right is right, and wrong is wrong. A body ain’t got no business doing wrong when he ain’t ignorant and knows better.

“Living with your father, it’s rules like that he follows like gospel. He’ll love you; I know he will, but with him it’s always on the condition that you adhere to his principles. Can you promise something for me?”

Damian nods, soaking every word in.

“I need you to keep an open mind with what he says, but I don’t want you to follow them like gospel the way he does. You’re more than his soldier, you’re my brother, you’re his son.”

The kid nods again, shifting on his feet.

“And – And look after yourself, okay? And -,” The words that come out of his mouth feel like hot coals, but he has to say them. “And if somehow Cass is there, can you look after her too? For me?”

“Of course,” Damian answers softly before throwing his arms around Jason’s waist. “I will find your ukht, ahki, and make sure she is well cared for.”

Jason smiles. It's a broken, weary-looking thing.

“And Todd?” Jason raises his eyebrows. “You should confess to Wilson about your ridiculous affection. It is sickening to watch you two dancing around one another every lesson.”

Jason can’t help it; he laughs and lets his little brother go, his tears like raindrops.

--

Cass leaves the fresh hydrangeas on the headstone. It stares back at her, its date (four years) seeming to mock her from beyond the grave. Literally, Jay says in her head, which has her biting back the laugh that builds in her throat.

Bruce’s son had come in a few days ago, obviously an assassin child, yet he’s still… subdued, somehow. She knows the boy is there, at her brother’s grave, and that he follows her all the way to the manor. Even then, Cassandra lets it go. He probably took all his cues from Bruce anyway.

It’s when she’s sitting at the new memorial for Jason, a small statue of an apple with a plaque underneath, that Damian approaches her.

“Cain.”

“It’s Todd.”

Something crosses the boy’s face. She can’t tell what it is.

“Todd,” Damian says, his eyebrows pinching like a mini Bruce. “What is this?”

“It’s Jason’s memorial,” Cassandra traces the words on the plaque, a quote, one whose meaning she had struggled with a lifetime ago. She gestures to the book in her hands. “I read to it, every time I’m here.”

Damian looks like he’s about to say something about that, but he withholds it. Instead, he sits down with her, his head upturned, not unlike a bird.

“What was he like?” The boy asks, the words seeming to grit out his teeth.

“He was amazing, and we loved him so much,” Dick speaks up, out of nowhere, cutting Cass off before she can even begin. “I had a few issues with him, but I promise that I’ll be as good a brother to you as he was to us.”

Cassandra snorts, and Dick’s smile falls off his face.

“Cassandra, come on, I was just-.”

“You weren’t even a good brother to me or – or him.” She says quietly, because why is he even speaking now? “Why are you trying now? Why not before?”

“Like I said, I had a lot of issues with -.”

“I don’t care, Dickface.” Does it hurt to say Jason’s old nickname for the boy? Yes. Does she draw satisfaction at how much he flinches? Also, yes.

Barbara chooses then to speak up.

“I don’t think that’s fair for you to say, Cass.”

She freezes. The fact that even Damian, who hardly knows her, does the same with the others means they know how huge an error they’ve made.

“Don’t call me that,” Cassandra snaps, voice desolate and lethal, thoughts squalling and refusing to calm down even as she buries her head in the book in her hands.

Barbara sighs and calls Dick away to discuss the mysterious hacker that’s been pulling information from them. Damian, seeming to recognise her desire to be alone, follows him. Good. Cassandra’s mind falls in and out of a lull as her eyes try to refocus. So, she caresses the edge of the apple reverently. In its reflection, tears run down her cheeks. She can’t feel them.

--

“The information breaches just keep searching for Batgirl,” Barbara says, snapping Cassandra from her stupor. She pulls up a list; every entry confirms Barbara’s statements. Every entry, that is, except for one that catches her eye. The text flashes brightly, making her head spin, and she can’t look away because printed in the bright neon text is-.

There’s a memory, one she’s locked in the far recesses of her mind, where things like the Joker and David and all her other demons live. She remembers Faizul asking who her mother is.

David smirks, a savage thing he does whenever he’s about to order her to do something (murder, as it turned out, then) and says:

Sandra Wu-San | Lady Shiva

The words blare in her mind, bouncing round and round and blocking out all sounds in the cave. It certainly explains a lot; only Shiva can read the body like a novel. Plus, Cassandra isn’t sure that assassin skills are genetic but having two master assassins as biological parents should factor somewhere. It also opens a new avenue of thought. Why? Why did she give her up and never look back? Why did she leave her with her monster of a father? Cassandra craves needs answers, and she needs them now.

Staring up at the name printed on the screen, Jason once asked himself the same questions.

While the others discuss what to do, Cassandra has already listed Shiva’s last known locations and activities. They don’t notice she’s going to leave until she revs the engine of her bike. She sees them open their mouths, but over the sound of the motor, their voices fail to reach her.

All except, somehow, for Alfred and if there is anyone in this family Cass will listen to; it’s the one Jay loved the most.

“If you do pursue her, Miss Cassandra,” The butler has never been unkind to her, yet she can’t help but feel like he’s trying to keep her in place. “I am not sure if you will find what you are looking for.”

She leaves anyway, soaring underneath the tresses of Gotham as they settle around her, the mist obscuring everything but her path forward.

--

“Damian probably landed in Gotham last week,” Rose says casually. Too casually, she realises. Jace side-eyes her and snorts in response. Damn him and his ability to pick apart what she’s asking. Four years constantly in one another’s presence would do that to people with his life experience. Yet, as much as Jason can read her, she can’t say she can do the same for him.

Something about him seems fragile, like plaster covering a beautiful and distracting collage. Rose wants to dig past that plaster, through the collage and see the mind that is Jason Todd.

She has seen him at his highest and lowest points and always makes sure to stay by his side, as she does now. He’s her best friend; he might not know it, but he’s kept her sane (reassurances her father will not find her come to mind) just as much as she’s done for him.

“What do you think of the new Batgirl?” This time, she means to be conversational. When they stumbled across the profile of Cass’ successor, Jace had shaken his head and laid out half-heartedly into a punching bag.

“I don’t hate her, if that’s what you’re thinking,” That response was… not unexpected. But, when she raises her hickory eyes, Jason has his head raised to the sky. “I looked into her, and – and she’s like us.”

Oh.

“Girl’s from the Narrows. Didn’t live on the streets, but from her background, her home life definitely wasn’t that great growing up either.”

His hand is trembling, so Rose grabs it and tries to keep him steady with all the power in her.

“She’s going to do Batgirl proud,” Jason says shakily. “I think you’d agree.”

They stand there, leaning on each other, tranquillity settling around them as Jace lets his tears flow. It occurs to Rose that she never let his hand go. She doesn’t plan to. The feeling makes her feel warm inside, and as much as she wants to go further, she also doesn’t want to push her best friend away.

In the distance, the outline of a jet approaches the runway they’re on. It is time.

“You ready?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I said yes.”

“Fair enough.”

“Hey,” Rose looks up at him, waiting for him to continue. “If anything goes wrong, I want you to stay out of sight of the others and get away from Gotham.”

Rose growls. “No way, there is no fucking way I’d leave you alone with them.” She steps closer, jabbing her finger on his chest. “I didn’t train with you for the past four years for it all to be thrown away just because Batman is an asshole. My dad’s just as bad, remember?

“You’re stuck with me no matter what Jace. Deal with it.”

He gives her a wry smirk that has her heart fluttering as much as her returning grin is sharp. Even as the plane touches down, she realises that he hasn't let her hand go, and neither has she.

In the next week, Red Hood and Ravager will carve their way through the deeper bowels of Gotham’s stomach, a bag of heads linking their iron fists.

For now, Rose breathes in the moist air as a drizzle begins.

--

Mad Dog, Cassandra muses, is a morbid reminder of what she might have become if she stayed with David. He doesn’t have her abilities, but he has more physical strength in spades; his movements are so strange, so unpredictable, that it’s not like it matters.

A deft swipe narrowly misses her throat, and Cassandra cuffs the man in the jaw with her knee, knocking him back.

She had definitely found Shiva. Tracked her all the way to some subset of the League of Assassins. The woman had only gazed coolly at her and set Mad Dog on her.

True to his name, the assassin growls and leaps at her, fury behind each of his strikes. Cassandra dodges one of these, the fist cratering the cement wall, and gets socked in the chest for her trouble. The force of the impact sends her flying metres away.

Getting up from the blow is a chore, and she can feel the agony her body is in, feels the blood run down her mouth as she rises. Her fist is shaking; her stance is uneven. Mad Dog notices, and he grins like David, drawing a jagged sword from his sheath and charges.

Cassandra darts past the assassin. She knows she can win this. Even though his movements are swift and deadly, she manages to outpace him. His sword strikes aim to draw blood as he swipes at her, but she’s still managed to weave her way around them, causing sparks to fly into the air. When he tries to hit her, she still uses his momentum against him and knocks him down.

Yet, Cassandra can feel herself getting slower now; her arms are still shaking. She dodges another strike, but it’s a feint, and Mad Dog grabs her by the hair and slams her onto the ground. Hazily, she watches his wicked grin widen as the assassin raises his arms and prepares his blade.

As Mad Dog is about to drive it into Cass’ chest, she thinks (This is it. It’s all over. It is time.) of a boy in an alleyway, an apple in his hand and a smile on his lips.

She closes her eyes and listens to the sprinkling outside.

--

“Do you think we were unfair to them?” Dick seems to ask to open air, but Bruce knows when his sons want a genuine response. “Like, that we didn’t give them enough credit for what they could do. And because of that, they’ve never had anyone but each other?”

Dick slumps. It looks so wrong on him that Bruce wraps his arms around him, especially careful (As a real father would. An insidious voice in his brain sneers). “Do you think, that if maybe we treated them so much better...” His boy is crying now, usually joyous lapis eyes cold and red-rimmed. “That they’d still be here?”

Bruce only grunts because not one of his answers is what Dick wants to hear.

On a slab of stone, the petals on the hydrangeas wilt, droplets dappling their edges.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Sasuke’s mars degree exploration

Now that I’m having another look at his chart he could have a grand cross. Building on this assumption, His pluto is also likely to be farther into aquarius than I had initially thought (though it’s probably before 24 degrees).  Anyways since I already did this for his moon and mercury I decided to just make this into a series and do some of his other planets as well. this post will be about his mars.

This one was a bit harder since non of them really worked as well as I would have liked them to but out of all of them 12-13 seems better than the rest.

12-13

It shows one of a powerful and independent nature, relying on his own counsel and capable of standing alone. A degree of taciturnity and reserve will add to the general inscrutability of the mind of this person, and dispose him to command the respect and regard of others. His position will be elevated, his success in life will be assured by his own innate strength, and his fortunes will remain untouched by the hand of change. It is a degree of’ STADILITY.

Whether the native is high-born or a self-made man coming of an obscure family, fate certainly has earmarked him to occupy an eminent, independent position and to hold sway over others, owing to his inborn inexhaustible force. To obey him is a matter of course, nearly of necessity. An untiring, hard worker, he is fully confident in himself, and his firmness of purpose borders on stubbornness. Laconic, or even silent, he can scan and pierce everything around himself at a glance without betraying any of his feelings. Close but long-sighted, strong but on his defensive, cunning yet intelligent, he has fortune on his side and all the good or evil qualities needed to assert oneself and achieve success, his main asset being an iron will, unshakeable and undaunted; his main defect, a selfish, despotic, scheming ambition. When other aspects point to a liking for the career of arms, this degree will bestow the gift of strategy. Should the stars point to agriculture instead, the native would be a great organizer and manager of farms.

Denotes one who is ever on selfish ends; he makes a good strategist.

Business: degree of attraction and repulsion; electricians; independent and self-reliant; stability; magnetic healing; dignity; artistic sensibilities; inclined to poetry; may be either mystical or unfeeling;

Denotes one whose work is destined to live and influence men long after he has left the earth, one of an intensely psychic nature, sensitive, and mediumistic. He will have many earthly struggles and will find many sharp rocks in the way of his progress. He suffers more from his absolute lack of sympathy with earth matters as they are at present. His wanderings in the summer lands, however, bring him infinite peace and joy in the midst of pain. It is a symbol of Reveries.

Defensiveness is very marked in this degree. However, for the most part it is well controlled. If he loses his balance defensiveness will be the result. However, it is not likely that this highly competent being will be put in this position. He, for some reason, seems to attract many people difficult to deal with. He seems to be adequate to these challenges and perhaps even thrives on having to cope with difficulties of this nature. He has a measure of compassion and understanding but his righteous indignation is potent and lasting when there has not been sufficient cause for him to relent. He has ample resources to defend himself. Although when he is sufficiently occupied in dealing with deceitful and malicious people and situations he is subject to mental distortions. These experiences may tend to color his general outlook on life. It is very difficult to remain cheerful and optimistic when most of the energy and skill that you have is taken up with such dealings. There is another not much emphasized quality here having to do with the power inherent in polarity of positive and negative charges. He seems to have some quality which enhances his ability to work with electricity and also some ability to do healing by use of the hands.

This area of Taurus, Scorpio sometimes called degrees of attraction and repulsion, often found in charts of electricians. Independent and self-reliant.

15-16 (it’s probably not this but I’ll still include it)

It is the index of a kind and benevolent nature; a generous and humane disposition; ever eager to befriend and comfort those who may be in distress of body or mind. The grandeur and spiritual loftiness of this soul will attract many friends, and the work of charity and benevolence will increase continually, gathering volume as it goes, till it reaches the ocean of human life, and enfolds all mankind. It is a degree of HUMANENESS.

Whatever the moral height of the native, foreign is the country where he is called to act, his outward appearance is nimble and ‘attractive, his wedding princely. Should other components allow, he would belong either to a secret sect or to the militant Church.

Denotes a person possessed with ardent desires; an enthusiast to the cause he espouses; a true friend and an open enemy.

May be an art collector or a person who works hard at some branch of art with little remuneration; business; associated with explosions (of nuclear plants) and bombings; the center of regeneration; the Eagle point; carefulness or (under affliction) carelessness; not a powerful degree; hardly typical of Scorpio

Denotes one who is mixed up in life’s battles and fights for every advantage. Gifted with endurance and a penetrative mind, he wins his way through obstacles only to meet more obstacles later on. But he knows, for all this, that the Power sustaining him is faithful, and he prays for peace in the midst of war. It is a symbol of Contrition.

This degree represents the most undeveloped of the Scorpio qualities. There is the dead weight philosophy of fatalism coupled with a masochistic drive to suffer. He may throw himself blindly into some kind of work but for some reason seems not to reap any reasonable benefit from his efforts. He is most likely to miss coming to grips with life in any way to produce an awareness of either the good or the bad of the action going on around him. He somehow remains detached from all meaningful contact. Of course, this is never the only degree to be stimulated in a chart. The course may be charted more clearly elsewhere and perhaps the real nature of this degree has not yet been seen in its true light. It will, however, add to the load rather than lighten it.

Not a powerful degree, and like 17-18, the natives are hardly typical of Scorpio. May be an art collector or a person who works hard at some branch of art, with little remuneration.

17-18

It is the index of a watchful, brave, but suspicious and jealous nature. Such an one will brave many dangers for the sake of mastery over the passions of others, and will be active in the attainment of the arts of conquest. Nevertheless it is probable that eventually the life will be endangered thereby, and, beyond the loss of power where it is most to be desired, the danger of a poisoned love, or a yet more sinister folly, will threaten to crush and obliterate this person. It is a degree of JEALOUSY.

A strict sense of justice, a liking for aimless leisure, unlucky love affairs thwarted by jealousy and mistrust (whether the native or the other partner is jealous, the whole of the horoscope must tell), an absolute lack of autonomy, a life weighed down by an excess of sloth. The native seems to lay little store by his own word, as he thinks little of entering an engagement and even less of subsequently breaking his pledge. Courage to act openly is conspicuous by its absence, and there is just enough courage to bear the consequences of one’s flippant fickleness or follies and to accept any sacrifice. Love for art, especially music, is deep-rooted. But one who has no character is unlikely to succeed unsupported in such a field, and there is no trace of any moral force here.

A just person, but prone to become too severe.

A musical degree; often a tall person (if afflicted; a dwarf); often works in connection with electricity or painting (artistic or other);

Denotes one for whom pleasure hides danger. His passions are high and not easy to control, and his appetites tend to follow his desires. There is a love of grace in art, movement, and sound which impels him to excitement and sensation. He attempts to influence and control, but is liable to be deceived himself in the end. Let him be warned. It is a symbol of Inflaming.

Mercury’s S Node is on this degree. It shows moral cowardice. Strangely, it does not seem to show the usual courage and wisdom of the sign. Perhaps Mercury’s S Node here rips away the mental logic of violence but without incorporating a solution by an awareness of other ways to solve problems leading to violence. There is a suggestion of an ability to work with color and vibration. Often there is sex appeal of a very surface quality. is associated with colitis, cancer, and appendicitis, w also indicates much frustration from buried resentments. Much of his action seems to indicate an attempt to escape. With Mercury’s S Node here the avenues of escape greatly narrowed.

Often work in connection with electricity or painting.

Top-4 Badass Female Rulers

Strong women in power more than once sparkled like bright stars on the canvas of history. Let's take a look at some of them that have left their mark on the history of Russia. 1. Princess Olga Our first officially known female ruler and the first Orthodox ruler. She’s a princess who ruled Kievan Rus from 945 to 960 as regent under her young son Svyatoslav, after the death of her husband, Prince Igor.  She was known as a proud, wise and brave woman. She signed several lucrative contracts with neighboring lands, laid the foundation for stone urban planning, streamlined tax collection and paid attention to the improvement of the lands under her control. There is a legend about how Olga outwitted the Byzantine king. He, marveling at her intelligence and beauty, wanted to marry Olga, but the princess rejected his claims, noting that it was not proper for Christians to marry pagans. It was then that the king and the patriarch baptized her. When the king again began to harass the princess, she pointed out that she was now his goddaughter, so he couldn’t marry her anyway.

But her cruel revenge for the death of her beloved husband is best known. In 945, Prince Igor died at the hands of the Slavic tribe of the Drevlyans after repeatedly collecting tribute from them. After the murder of Igor, the Drevlyans sent 20 "best husbands" to Olga, deciding to woo her to their prince Mal. Olga pretended to agree to the Drevlyans' proposal, and, allegedly in order to honor the ambassadors, ordered her subjects to solemnly carry them on boats to her palace. Meanwhile, a pit had already been dug in the courtyard, into which, by order of Olga, the ambassadors were thrown. In 946, Olga went out with an army on a campaign against the Drevlyans. According to Russian chronicles, after an unsuccessful siege during the summer, Olga burned the city of the Drevlyans, Iskorosten, with the help of birds, to whose feet she ordered to tie lighted tows with sulfur. Some of Iskorosten's defenders were killed, the rest obeyed. After the reprisal against the Drevlyans, Olga began to rule Russia until Svyatoslav came of age, but even after that she remained the de facto ruler, since her son spent most of his time on military campaigns and didn’t pay attention to managing the state.

2.  Marfa Boretskaya, also known as Martha the Mayoress Formally, Martha was never a ruler, but she had great influence as the widow of the Novgorod mayor Isaac Boretsky, and she was one of the leaders of the Novgorod opposition to Ivan III. In the Novgorod folk legends, Martha appears in the form of a strong and domineering ruler who firmly held her position no matter what. In the 15th century, autocracy spread across Russia, but the Novgorod principality remained a stronghold of democracy. Martha and her son, the Novgorod dignified mayor Dmitry, in 1471 advocated the withdrawal of Novgorod from dependence on Moscow. Martha was the informal leader of the boyar opposition to Moscow; she was supported by two more noble Novgorod widows. Martha, who possessed significant funds, negotiated with the Grand Duke of Lithuania and King of Poland Casimir IV on the entry of Novgorod into the Grand Duchy of Lithuania on the basis of autonomy while preserving the political rights of Novgorod.

Upon learning of the negotiations on the annexation of Novgorod to the Grand Duchy of Lithuania, Grand Duke Ivan III declared war on the Novgorod Republic and defeated the army of Novgorod in the Battle of Shelonsk (1471). Martha’s son was executed as a political criminal. However, Novgorod's right to self-government in its internal affairs was retained. Martha, despite the death of her son and the actions of Ivan III, continued negotiations with Casimir, who promised her support. In 1478, during a new military campaign, Ivan III finally deprived the Novgorod lands of the privileges of self-government, extending the power of autocracy to them. The veche bell, which used to call the townspeople to meetings, as a symbol of Novgorod democracy, was taken to Moscow. Martha's lands were confiscated, she and her grandson Vasily were first brought to Moscow, and then sent to Nizhny Novgorod, where she was tonsured a nun under the name of Mary in the Conception (since 1814 - Holy Cross) monastery, where she died in 1503. 3. Princess Sophia Alekseevna Romanova Another strong woman with a tragic fate. Voltaire said about her: “She had a lot of intelligence, she wrote poetry, was a skilled writer and orator, she combined a pleasant appearance with lots of  talents; they were overshadowed only by her ambition".  She ruled as regent of Russia from 1682 to 1689, during the minority of her brother Ivan V and half-brother Peter I.  A daughter of tsar Alexei Mikhailovich Romanov and Maria Miloslavskaya, she lost her father during a period of violent feuds that broke out between relatives of her deceased mother and stepmother. According to the laws of that time, only a man could inherit the throne. Sophia had no rights to it, although she was an older sister. After the Streltsy revolt, in May 1682, the warring factions reached a compromise and chose two tsars, two half-brothers - Ivan V and Peter I. Sophia headed the government under both minor tsars.

Sophia achieved that her name was included in the official royal title "Great Sovereign and Grand Princess and Grand Duchess Sophia Alekseevna". A few years later, her image was minted on coins, and from 1686 she already called herself an autocrat and the next year she issued this title by a special decree. The policy of the reign of Princess Sophia in many ways contributed to the renewal of public life. Industry and trade began to develop noticeably. The country began to produce velvet and satin. The Slavic-Greek-Latin Academy was opened. International contacts are being established. Sophia began to reorganize the army according to the European model. Even the noble supporter of Peter I, Prince Kurakin, admitted: Sophia ruled “with all diligence and justice, so there was never such a wise government in the Russian state. And in the whole state during her reign great wealth flourished, commerce, and crafts, and science also multiplied... and the freedom of the people triumphed". But time passed, Prince Ivan died and Prince Peter grew up. Like Sophia, he actively advocated reforms for the good of the state, but Sophia flatly refused to cede the throne to her half-brother.

Sophia lost power while trying to eliminate Peter, who had already reached adulthood. In 1689, relations between Sophia and the boyar-noble group that supported Peter I escalated to the extreme. As a result, the party of Peter I won the final victory, and the royal biography of Sophia ended. All supporters of the princess lost their real power, her name was excluded from the royal title. Sophia herself was sent without tonsure to the Novodevichy nunnery in Moscow, where she copied church books and wrote a lot. During the Streltsy Uprising of 1698, Sophia repeated her attempt to gain power. In her letters to the streltsy, she asked to support her and oppose Peter I. The uprising was brutally suppressed. Sophia was tonsured as a nun and imprisoned in the nunnery forever.

The tragic story of his half-sister prompted Peter I to issue a decree on succession to the throne in 1722. The decree canceled the ancient custom of transferring the royal throne to direct descendants in the male line and provided for the appointment of an heir to the throne at the behest of the monarch. 4. Catherine II or Catherine The Great The 18th century in the Russian Empire was the heyday of the Russian "kingdom of women" - and the most beautiful flower in this garden was Empress Catherine the Great. The country's longest-ruling female leader (1762 – 1796). She came to power following a coup d'état that overthrew her husband, Peter III. Under her reign, Russia was revitalised; it grew larger and stronger, and was recognised as one of the great powers of Europe.

She wasn’t Russian in blood, but she became one in spirit. Sophia Frederica Augusta of Anhalt-Zerbst converted to Orthodoxy and received the name Catherine, studied Russian language and Russian culture.  The Empress formulated the tasks facing the Russian monarch as follows: - to educate the nation to be governed; - to introduce good order in the state, to support society and make it comply with the laws; - to establish a good and accurate police force in the state; - contribute to the flourishing of the state and make it abundant; - to make the state formidable in itself and inspiring respect for its neighbors. Under Catherine, special attention was paid to the development of women's education, in 1764 the Smolny Institute for Noble Maidens and the Educational Society for Noble Maidens were opened. The Academy of Sciences has become one of the leading scientific bases in Europe. In the provinces there were orders of public charity. In Moscow and St. Petersburg there are orphanages for homeless children, where they received education and upbringing. The Widows Treasury was created to help widows. If we talk about the disadvantages of her rule, then they include favoritism, corruption and connivance with the nobility to the detriment of ordinary people and especially serfs.The ideas expressed by Diderot and Voltaire, of which she was an adherent in words, didn’t correspond to her internal politics. They defended the idea that every person is born free, and advocated the equality of all people and the elimination of medieval forms of exploitation and despotic forms of government. Contrary to these ideas, under Catherine there was a further deterioration in the situation of serfs, their exploitation intensified, inequality grew due to the granting of even greater privileges to the nobility. In general, historians characterize her policy as "pro-noble" and believe that despite the empress's frequent statements about her "vigilant concern for the welfare of all subjects", the concept of the common good in the era of Catherine was the same fiction as in general in Russia in the 18th century.

Truth, justice, or whatever

Is there such a thing as a self-respecting philosopher? Aristophanes, in The Clouds, made the philosopher into an object of derision: impractical, impoverished, devoid of common sense and emotional intelligence, and so obsessed with metaphysical esoterica as to be incapable even of self-care.

Against such formulations, how does the philosophical nerd stand up for himself? His prognosis seems to improve when we recall that his natural enemy is not the jock but the poet — not himself known for practicality. In Plato’s Republic, Socrates famously describes the “ancient quarrel between poetry and philosophy,” started of course by the poets, when they made fun of philosophers.

For those who can’t decide which side to take, there is the third way practiced by Nietzsche: to enter the battle on the side of the poets but as a philosopher. This is the spirit of Simon Critchley’s Tragedy, the Greeks, and Us. The book is not merely an account of ancient Greek tragic drama (and its relevance for us) but also an attempt to turn Plato’s famous critique of the poets back on itself: Philosophy must be corrected by “tragic consciousness.”

No one who has set foot in a philosophy classroom will be surprised by Critchley’s recital of what he calls “philosophy’s tragedy”: It overestimates the power of rational reflection to obtain knowledge of the world and ourselves. It establishes metaphysical and moral absolutes. And it overestimates our agency — our ability to act freely on the basis of reasoning about what is right and good. These anti-philosophical tropes have been in fashion since the beginning of philosophy and have reached their apotheosis in the fusion of critical theory and post-structuralism that now dominates the humanities and social sciences. In fact, they are increasingly influential in public discourse: Critchley himself is the moderator of the Stone, the New York Times's philosophy forum.

Will an analysis of tragedy add something further to such well-worn complaints? Critchley is particularly insistent on the idea that philosophy is devoted to a “non contradictory … psychic and political existence” that has no place for the feeling of grief. This describes the position of Plato, whose Republic attacks tragic poetry for encouraging audiences to identify with the spiritual conflict and sorrow of the poems’ protagonists. Such identifications, Plato warns, allow us to take pleasure in painful psychical states, which means that pain then overwhelms our rational capacities and no longer serves as the proper corrective to bad behavior. Instead, we are encouraged to indulge in our sorrow, mimic the psychological disorder of protagonists, and write off our own conflicts as part of a hopelessly irrational human condition.

One might attempt to defend tragedy by challenging Plato’s rather simplistic rendition of identification, in which the audience simply incorporates represented mental states whole cloth. We get the seeds of a more robust account in Aristotle’s Poetics. Particularly important here is the concept of catharsis, which suggests that tragedy can actually purge us of the emotional states it elicits instead of leaving us with their permanent detrimental effects.

Critchley does not like this sort of account, nor does he like various attempts to deepen it: Catharsis, in his view, is not purgation, nor is it purification, emotional recalibration, psychotherapy, or any sort of moral education that leads to greater “psychical integration” or “authenticity.” He has no argument against such understandings except to say that they come dangerously close to having something favorable to say about the possibility of human autonomy and self-knowledge. His preferred view, tragic consciousness (or “tragedy’s philosophy”), is concerned with the ways in which we are irredeemably compromised by fate, understood as any force (social, psychological, or divine) that exceeds our capacity for deliberation. Our agency and self-knowledge are never more than partial.

In Critchley’s view, a protagonist’s tragic flaw symbolizes human fallibility and finitude. The tragic hero is essentially conflicted, “at odds with himself, doubled over and divided.” So is the audience, and so is “the city of which the tragic hero is both the expression and symptom.” Tragedy forces us to recognize both our limited agency and the world’s incomprehensibility and moral ambiguity. “Tragedy’s philosophy” turns out to be “a bracing, skeptical realism” that stares down a world “entirely without the capacity for redemption.”

There’s much more to this account, including Critchley’s praise of Plato’s other well-known antagonists, sophistry and rhetoric. The last section of the book is devoted to Aristotle’s Poetics and rejects its focus on coherence and organic unity in favor of Euripides’s “tragedies of disintegration, disunity, and incoherence.”

Unfortunately, Critchley’s distaste for coherence is clear in the way his book is structured and written. It consists of 61 brief chapters of disjointed rambling that at times verge on mania, as if Holden Caulfield lost his mind after attending a graduate postmodernism seminar. It combines ham-fisted attempts at being accessible and relevant with all the pretentious tics of contemporary continental philosophy. Pop culture references abound, and an alarming number of sentences end with “or whatever” — as in “truth, justice, or whatever.” But if you need any reassurances about the author’s sophistication, you’ll be treated to many a “horizon,” “doxa,” “otherness,” and “lacuna.”

This is all to say that the book is full of the counterproductive effects that follow from a philosophical bad conscience — from Critchley’s attempt to disavow a simplistic conception of philosophy in order to ally himself with a simplistic conception of the poetic. In doing so, the book sacrifices both philosophical depth and literary sensibility.

What substance the book has it borrows from a handful of well-known secondary sources. It reports these sources faithfully but makes no attempt to analyze, synthesize, or otherwise critically engage with them. Meanwhile, it represents philosophy in general as a form of dogma — a straw man devoid of the nuance to which “tragic consciousness” is supposed to attune us. Contra Critchley, philosophy has always sought to grapple with its own fallibility. Socrates, after all, claimed to know nothing, and his willingness to die for it was tragic.

If you can’t be friends with philosophy, you ought to at least make friends with psychology. Whereas Critchley identifies “affect regulation” (or our ability to manage our emotions) with reason’s repression of emotion, depth psychologists think of it as the capacity to have emotions without being overwhelmed by them: One contains them. This in turn requires a capacity to represent feelings, to put them in thoughts and words, instead of disavowing them only to enact them tragically. And this capacity is thought to be a product of growing up, a process in which loss and mourning are essential. We give up the ministrations of our early caretakers only to internalize the ability to take care of ourselves.

The insight of the depth psychologists is that integration and disintegration, much less reason and emotion, do not form the binary opposition that Critchley thinks they do. The experience of loss may involve an integration of what is lost and forms the basis of the identification at work in an audience’s experience of the tragic. This sort of account is essential to deepening our understanding not just of catharsis but also of the aesthetic. If we can understand the relationship between external losses and internal gains, we are in a much better position to explain the pleasures of tragic consciousness and defend them against anti-poetic mania.

Tragedy, the Greeks, and Us, by Simon Critchley. Vintage, 336 pp., $16.95.

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Bi-Monthly Reading Round-Up: May/June

PLAYLIST

“How Do You Do” by Mouth and MacNeal (Once Ghosted, Twice Shy)

“Up the Wolves” by the Mountain Goats (Don’t You Dare Read This, Mrs. Dunphrey)

“The Daughters” by Little Big Town (Lady Rogue)

“9 to 5″ by Dolly Parton (Lady Notorious)

“Let the Little Girl Dance” by Billy Bland (What a Wallflower Wants)

“Poison Arrow” by ABC (Give Me Your Hand)

“Marie-Jeanne” by Joe Dassin (Never Mind)

“Mississippi” by the Dixie Chicks (An Unconditional Freedom)

“Semi-Charmed Life” by Third Eye Blind (Bad News)

“Honky Cat” by Elton John (Simple Jess)

“A Weekend in the Country” from A Little Night Music (Some Hope)

“Picture Book” by the Kinks (Mother’s Milk)

“A Place in the Sun” by Stevie Wonder (At Last)

“She’s in Love with the Boy” by Trisha Yearwood (A Dance with Danger)

“Little Hollywood Girl” by the Everly Brothers (Seduction: Sex, Lies, and Stardom in Howard Hughes's Hollywood)

BEST OF THE BI-MONTH

An Unconditional Freedom by Alyssa Cole (2019): Daniel Cumberland, a free black man from New England, had his faith in justice and certainty in the world shattered when he was abducted and sold into slavery. Now rescued, he does what he can as a spy for the pro-Union Loyal League, but he has a lot of rage and trauma that nobody knows what to do with, least of all himself. Then a new spy joins the organization: Janeta Sanchez, a mixed-race Cuban-Floridian lady pulled in too many directions by her white Confederate family and now in desperate straits. Once again, Alyssa Cole has produced a book that’s not only a compelling romance but a fascinating historical novel. Daniel and Janeta are both complex, involving characters with a great dynamic, plus Cole provides a great perspective on less-discussed aspects of the Civil War. 

WORST OF THE BI-MONTH

Once Ghosted, Twice Shy by Alyssa Cole (2019): Likotsi Adele, personal assistant to the prince of Thesolo, came to New York City a year ago for work and had what was supposed to be a casual affair with Fabiola, a gorgeous fledgling fashion designer. Just when her feelings were getting involved, though, Fabiola cut things off with no explanation. Now back in NYC on vacation, Likotsi runs into Fabiola, who proposes that they go on a date for old time’s sake. Although it’s technically the worst of the month, this novella is by no means bad; on the contrary, it’s very cute and sweet, with a pretty sexy love scene near the end. It just suffers from common romance novella pitfalls, mainly a dearth of conflict and some pacing problems.

REST OF THE BI-MONTH

Never Mind (1992), Bad News (1992), Some Hope (1994), Mother’s Milk (2005), and At Last (2011) by Edward St. Aubyn: Across five novellas, Patrick Melrose, son of an aristocratic non-practicing doctor and a charity-minded heiress, struggles with the legacy of his father’s sadistic abuse and his mother’s elaborately cultivated helplessness to intervene. The series follows him from early childhood (Never Mind) to drug-addled early adulthood (Bad News, Some Hope) to slightly more functional middle age (Mother’s Milk, At Last). I’ve never read such enjoyable fiction about the boredom and exhaustion of dealing with trauma and addiction, but St. Aubyn manages it with sharp characterization, whistling-in-the-dark humor, and a great sense of setting. I didn’t like all the novellas equally--Bad News has too many scenes about doing large amounts of heroin for my personal taste, and Some Hope sometimes loses track of its many characters--but, taken together, they’re magnificent.

Seduction: Sex, Lies, and Stardom in Howard Hughes’s Hollywood by Karina Longworth (2018): Using the life and career of billionaire/producer/aviator/womanizer Howard Hughes, Longworth (the podcast host of You Must Remember This) looks at Hollywood from the silent era to the waning days of the studio system. I love You Must Remember This, and this book exhibits all the strengths of the podcasts: the compelling style, the evenhanded consideration of evidence from multiple sources, and the use of film analysis to examine what was happening in the culture at the time. Longworth’s portrait of Hughes is also refreshingly non-sensational; he comes across as a juvenile reactionary with a little vision, too much money, and some pitiable mental health problems, rather than a genius or a boogeyman. 

Simple Jess by Pamela Morsi (1996): Althea Winsloe, an Ozark widow in the early twentieth century, is determined to remain unmarried and look after her three-year-old son by herself, despite the disapproval of her close-knit community. Still needing help on her farm, she hires Jesse Best, regarded as “simple” because of a cognitive disability stemming from a childhood brain injury. As they work together, Althea realizes that Jesse has depths that few people bother to see. I was a little concerned when I began this romance; the hero has serious, life-altering issues with mental processing, which I thought might create a troubling power dynamic between him and the heroine. Instead, Morsi contributes something really valuable by showing how society ignores the autonomy and complexity of people with disabilities. She also does a great job of showing how a close-knit community can be both claustrophobic and supportive. Finally, I enjoyed the journey of a gay side character (the song’s for him!).

Lady Notorious by Theresa Romain (2019): When George, Lord Northbrook, discovers that his father is part of a tontine whose members have started dying at an alarmingly fast rate, he enlists the help of Cassandra Benton, an unofficial Bow Street Runner, to investigate the possible murders while pretending to be his scandalous cousin. Already friends, they grow attracted to each other during this charade, but they come from different worlds and each have a complicated family thing going on. This is a thoroughly likable romance with a fun plot; I especially enjoyed how George’s efforts to care for his emotionally distant parents mirrored Cassandra’s struggles to let go of her codependent relationship with her twin brother.

Don’t You Dare Read This, Mrs. Dunphrey by Margaret Peterson Haddix (1996): Fifteen-year-old Tish Bonner doesn’t have much time for school; with an absent father, a troubled mother, and an eight-year-old brother she feels responsible for, she’s too busy trying to hold things together at home. When her father makes an unwelcome return, though, she finds an outlet in the journal assigned by a nice young English teacher who promises not to read entries marked DO NOT READ. I first read this YA novel in middle school, and it struck me as particularly unvarnished, both then and as an adult. Teens in horrible situations are common in the genre, but Tish’s matter-of-fact presentation the day-to-day of dealing with sexual harassment at work and total parental abandonment at home really brings out the utter bleakness. I love Tish, whose ultimate acceptance of her inability to handle everything alone is as brave as her desperate efforts to keep everything together.

Give Me Your Hand by Megan Abbott (2018): Kit Owens, a talented chemist from humble beginnings, is shocked when former classmate Diane Fleming comes to work in her lab. Although Diane was the one who inspired her to reach beyond community college, she also burdened Kit with a horrible secret...and now they’re in competition to work on a prestigious new grant. I love Megan Abbott as a writer; she has a very sensory-based way of describing things that makes everything palpable. While I didn’t love this book as much as The Fever, it has a delightfully twisted plot and female characters who are “bad” in a realistic (or, at least, a humanely portrayed) way. I did probably like Diane more than I was supposed to; like Lady Audley before her, she should maybe go to jail but she’s still awesome.

A Dance with Danger by Jeannie Lin (2015): In Tang Dynasty China, Jin-mei, daughter of a magistrate, finds herself in a compromising position with Yang, her father’s old associate and sworn enemy of a local warlord. Their mutual attraction makes the ensuing wedding a more pleasant fate than either expected, but Yang disappears mysteriously before the marriage can be consummated. Heartbroken and very suspicious, Jin-mei refuses to give him up for dead. This is a fun adventure-romance with a wonderfully spooky atmosphere, although the ending is a little rushed.

Lady Rogue by Theresa Romain (2018): After her sub-par art-dealer husband apparently committed suicide, Lady Isabel Morrow grew close to and had a fling with Officer Callum Jenks, a Bow Street Runner. Now she’s discovered that her husband sold his customers forged works, and she needs to (awkwardly) enlist Callum’s help in replacing them with the real ones. This is a solid Regency romance, mostly thanks to the fun burglary plot. Isabel and Callum’s relationship, while perfectly pleasant, is rather static; they obviously like and respect each other, but just need a little time to reconcile themselves to the not-onerous-to-them social costs of a cross-class marriage. There’s also a real bummer of a development involving a minor character at the end. I’m not averse to bummers, but it felt out of place here.

What a Wallflower Wants by Maya Rodale (2014): Stranded at a strange inn after a failed elopement attempt, secretly traumatized spinster Penelope Payton finds a friend in the striking Lord Castleton...but is he who he says he is? Absolutely not, but he’s pretty cool regardless. This is a sweet, heartfelt Regency romance with endearing leads and great messages, but it’s pretty sloppily written, and that detracted from my enjoyment somewhat.

Straying the Beaten Path Ch. 01

Rating: Teen+

Chapter Warnings: Mild, infrequent language

Fandom: Hetalia Axis Powers

Summary: For almost fifteen hundred years, Romano Vargas has tried time and time again to prove to the world, and himself, that his existence was not a fluke. And, time and time again, it became increasingly clear that perhaps that is exactly all he is: a product of luck. So, when he gets a call from Germany that the Allies are after Feli, he decides to-once and for all-seize his fate.

He would never admit this aloud, not even if you held him at gunpoint and demanded he do so. But among the many things he missed dearly about living with Spain, the one Romano Vargas longed for the most would be the quiet of the Spanish countryside. Now more than ever, not for the first time, with the drum of machine gun rounds and the moan of fighter planes overhead filling his ears—as well as his trauma-laced nightmares—he wished he could return to the days of his childhood and continue to live in total, uninterrupted silence. Things were simpler then: wake up to the sun warming his chubby face, eat chocolate con churros for breakfast, work in the tomato fields, and so on. (And, when Spain taught him about siestas, a few of those were thrown into the mix, as well.) He learned to value the easy-going lifestyle of the Spanish and doing things at one's own pace.

Thus, the ringing of his phone on this, or any, morning was entirely unwelcome.

Romano groaned, clearly annoyed by the unwanted sound invading an otherwise peaceful slumber. For a moment, confusion reigned as the temptation to slip back into sleep gently coaxed him along. His bleary vision faded in and out of darkness, yet the incessant ringing danced at the edge of his subconscious, only just keeping him away from tantalizing sleep. In a feeble attempt to ignore such noisy intrusion-and so early in the morning! -he pulled the covers over his head. It didn't take long, however, for him to realize this was one war he would not win (and he knew quite a bit about those sorts of losses). Ever reluctantly, Romano Vargas rolled out of bed and began the dreaded quest for silence, dutifully uttering curses along the way. Oh, how sleep loved to tease him, and oh how the caller would pay dearly for interrupting their ritual time alone.

The source of the sound—a clearly aging rotary phone whose darkened hues of gold still reflected every bit of the shine and brilliance of the man who gifted it to him—sat seemingly innocent atop his deep mahogany desk. Strewn about it were various war-laden documents, stressfully scribbled notes, and of course: his beloved photo of a family from long ago. A family that would never again be. He gave pause, regarding the tattered still of memory as he did many a time before, before shaking himself. Clearly, someone needed his attention; these days no one bothered to call unless someone wanted something from him, anyway.

For a moment, Romano considered the other body he shared the meager bedroom with: Feliciano. A glance backward, and he fondly noted his younger brother's sleeping form curled up and burrowed in an impressive mountain of covers. The sound of soft snoring and steady breathing made its way into his ears; all was still calm. He debated taking the call here, as sudden conversation posed a risk to waking the resting man. Although, he knew with absolute certainty that the harsh ringing would eventually wake even Feliciano Vargas, a god among even the heaviest of sleepers. On a whim, Romano's fingers wrapped around the device's familiar neck, and with the choice made he allowed his own croaky voice to join the morning's sounds. "Pronto," he muttered, warily eyeing any sign of stirring from his brother. "What do you want so early in the goddamn morning?"

"That's certainly no way to greet your commanding officer, Herr Vargas," came the sharp reply, coated with an unmistakable, gruff German accent. "Especially after trying my patience and making me wait so long. You would do well to remember holding your tongue, lest you find yourself losing it—do I make myself clear?"

Despite contrary belief, Romano was no fool. He knew full well what Ludwig and his superiors were capable of should he mouth off a step too far from usual. Such came the horrors of war and being forced to align with such monstrosity. Unfortunately for his German associate, who he knew for a fact was chasing after Feliciano, Romano also was no coward. "My apologies, commandante," he allowed, sarcasm lazily dripping from his tongue, though with notably less malice than before. "To what, then, do I owe the pleasure of this phone at such a delightful time of day?" It wasn't lost on the Southern Italian just how important this conversation was. Communication between national bodies during times of war was exceedingly rare, especially unencrypted. There simply was no need; anything of importance that needed to be said could be passed along via their respective leaders.

Unless, of course, it was an emergency. So, if Ludwig was calling him now…

"Forget it; it doesn't matter. Time is of the essence."

"Well then, with all due respect, just spit it out already—"

"British forces have begun invading Sicily, you fool!" There was a beat of stunned silence—then two, then three—and the snapped response all but hung densely in the air, threatening to suffocate them both. Before a word of apology could even begin to form on Romano's tongue, however, Ludwig continued. "Italy informed me some time ago that his Southern half would be staying with him for a few weeks—are you still there?"

Despite the dire situation at hand, Romano couldn't help but bristle at being referred to as a southern half, effectively demonstrating the lack of autonomy he seemed to have over his own person. I'm a personification, he thought bitterly, a pawn in a game. The least you could do it acknowledge the one moving the piece, potato bastard. "Yes," he murmured nonetheless, barely able to register the question with all the deafening thoughts racing through his mind. "Yes, I'm still in Florence, with Feliciano. What do you want me to do, commandante?"

"Protect Feliciano with your life. Flee Italy as soon as possible."

"Scusa?"

"Do not argue with me, Vargas," came the sharp reply. "There is no time for it."

Any ounce of subordinate fear Romano had abandoned him in favour of protective instinct. "Make time, then! I can't just tell my brother we're leaving without a good explanation, testa di cazzo!"

"Du hältst jetzt die Klappe! You are a macroregion: a subdivision defined only by traditional politics, globalization, and leading a legacy only comprised of tasteless Americanized film caricatures. Whether or not you are taken by the Allies holds little bearing, save wartime formality, as you hold virtually no worth in terms of political bargaining."

"But Feli does."

"Exactly. Mussolini will be forced to bend at Allied will, as he would need to quickly regain Italy by any means possible—including surrender."

Romano sighed, casting an accusatory glare toward the heavens. For all our country's legacy of dutiful worship, he thought, you really enjoy shitting in my dinner, eh? His earlier fatigue returned to his bones tenfold, this time joined by a faint migraine and an ache marching down his spine. "Message received, commandante. I mean nothing; Italy means everything."

"Indeed. I'm glad you finally seem to understand the severity of the situation." Upon only receiving a half-hearted hum in affirmative, Ludwig continued. "Even if it costs you your life, you must not allow Italy to fall into enemy hands. He is far too valuable to our cause, to his country…" To the heart of Germany himself, although both men knew better than to voice it. "Once Southern Italy has fallen, it will only be a matter of time before they begin heading North. Fortunately, you will have a four-day head start to find somewhere safe for him until the Allied forces are driven out."

If they can be driven out, with the way this hopeless war is going. "Capisco, commandante. We'll leave tonight at dusk. Was there anything else…?"

A pause. "Would it be possible—I only wish to speak privately with Feliciano. It may be some time before I can talk to him again. If this is to be the end of our communication, I want it to be on good terms."

It took everything Romano had not to scoff at that. Even in the depths of cruelty and madness, it seemed only his dear young brother could surface any microscopic amount of humanity Ludwig had left. And, of course, his gut instinct was to end the call right then and there. But he knew how it would break Feliciano if something were to happen and he couldn't properly say goodbye. With Nonnuccio and Holy Rome gone—well, the younger man wouldn't be able to handle the heartbreak a third time. "Let me go wake him," he ceded, feeling every bit like some faceless courier sent between Romeo and Julian. Then again, what else was new? Setting the phone to the side, without bothering to wait for a response from the German, Romano stilled, trying to relish the few seconds of quiet he had left before the weeks of uncertainty ahead.

"Lovi?"

Startled, Romano whirled around; it seemed despite his best efforts, his little brother finally awoke. "Damn it, Veneziano, don't you know not to scare me like that? We're at fucking war, for Christ's sake."

Feliciano, in his infinite sainthood and for all the hostility thrown toward him, only smiled. "Well, good morning to you to! I'm glad to see you up so early with so much energy, fratellone!"

Ignoring the playful ribbing, Romano handed his younger brother the telephone's neck. "Make it quick. We've got somewhere to be soon, so come find me whenever you lovebirds are done." He didn't wait around for a response, hastily moving to dress himself and begin packing. On his way out of the small bedroom, he could hear Feliciano's soft murmuring, no doubt using what little time the duo had left together to tell the German everything and anything. They both knew that this war was coming to an end—a bad one. The Allies made very clear that they were not interested anymore in negotiations or mercy of any kind, especially now that American was eagerly joining in. For all the two of them knew, this could be the last time they ever spoke to each other.

As he closed the door, there was a twisted part of Romano that rejoiced at the thought of his Northern half finally getting to experience a taste of his entire lost childhood. You can't have everything, Vene, he thought. The journey ahead would prove to be tense, indeed.

Previous Chapter  (=ヮ=)೨

Next Chapter  (╬..>////<..)ノ

I’m seeing the movie tomorrow night, and I’ve been spoiled on about 25% at this point, so there’s a ton I don’t know and am looking forward to seeing. That said, the spoilers I do know got me like

And I need to talk about it before I see the movie and my brain is mush from whatever else crazy happens. So, here be Loki spoilers. Also Loki spoilers. And did I mention Loki spoilers?

EDIT MY READ MORE CUT WORKS ON THE COMPUTER BUT IS NOT SHOWING UP ON MOBILE?? I’M SORRY. 

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So obviously I’ve seen the Loki spoilers. I went from peeking out from behind my fingers to full on reading the description of exactly how he dies and on the one hand, I am glad to be prepared emotionally before seeing that in the theater but on the other hand, I wish I didn’t know and more than anything, I wish Marvel hadn’t gone in that direction because it’s so f-ing predictable.

At this point I feel like he should have just stayed dead in The Dark World because, really, has anything he’s done since then been to his benefit – or the fans’, for that matter? In TDW, we got to see Loki acting selflessly, saving Jane and Thor’s lives, “redeeming” himself, as it were, and dying in a heroic blaze of self-sacrificial glory. Yeah. We saw all of that already. Now, since he was brought back, he:

* Pretended to be Odin, wherein Thor:Ragnarok implied he just sat on ass the entire time reveling in his own narcissistic diva-ness,

* Was blamed for Odin’s death, by Thor,

* Was blamed for releasing Hela, by Thor,

* Was thrown through a wormhole AGAIN and ended up on a trash planet where it’s implied that he has to sleep his way to the top, rather than using his brain, intelligence, and cunning to manipulate his way into the GM’s inner circle, which is supposed to be, like, his major skill set,

* Is made to “betray” Thor in the flimsiest way possible, just so Thor can outsmart him and leave him electrocuting and immobile,

* Still returns to Thor’s side to save him and Asgard,

* Only to be put in charge of triggering Ragnarok, after which he

* is called “not so bad” by Thor and doesn’t even get the alluded to thank-you hug, and then he

* gets five minutes of peaceful bro time before Thanos attacks,

* Only for him to be horrifically killed to perpetuate Thor’s revenge journey (I guess that’s the motivation?).

There is nothing in either Ragnarok or IW that doesn’t just shit all over the complex character Tom Hiddleston has so lovingly portrayed. And I’m not one to speculate on the actors’ private lives and emotions, I don’t care that much, but I have noticed that on this press tour, Tom has seemed kind of subdued in comparison to his previous interviews and press events. And it makes sense now because he has to be so fucking done with the way his character has been treated. And also, why is he having to promote this film all over the world, at every press event, when he’s barely in it for ten minutes? WTF kind of logic is that?

But I digress.

So back to Loki. What a waste. I think that’s what upsets me most, is that it’s such a waste of a brilliant character and a loss of so much potential. We could have seen Loki and Thor team up. We could have seen Loki manipulating Thanos. We could have seen the Avengers realizing and acknowledging that Loki was tortured/sent by Thanos. We could have seen such a brilliant, powerful performance. (Don’t get me wrong, I have no doubt Tom did the best he could with what he was given, but the point is, he was given so little.)

But what do we have instead? Ragnarok, for all its Loki flaws, might as well be completely irrelevant now for the fact that the entire plot of saving Asgard didn’t matter a single bit, since they were all slaughtered ten minutes later anyway. Thor has lost everything. Literally everything. At least before, he had Loki.

And Loki. What a travesty of a tragic life. Cast out, raised to be inferior, manipulated, lied to, and betrayed to the point of literally being driven to suicide, only to end up being tortured and then sent on a fool’s errand, and then locked up – by his family - for the rest of his life for crimes that amount to literally “a mere handful [of lives] compared to Odin.” Meeting tragic end after tragic end, appreciated only when he’s deemed useful for some purpose and belittled and ignored otherwise.

Loki is not an innocent character, but he didn’t deserve for his life and death to be so unnecessarily fucking tragic.  

What did the Russos accomplish with this? They didn’t do anything remotely original with his character. They didn’t “surprise” or “shock” the fans, or anyone who watched the trailer for that matter. No. I believe that they didn’t know how to handle him, they didn’t want to overshadow their own villain (even though Loki’s not even a villain anymore, but whatever), so instead of bothering with him, they just killed him off.

Congratulations, Marvel, you’ve astounded us, truly. I can’t even comprehend the sheer imaginative scope of your writing skills. This is truly a plot that needed to be so shrouded in secrecy that even the actors didn’t know all the details. Like. I can’t hear myself think over how brilliant you are.

It occurred to me as I was thinking about this, driving to work today, that my personal headcanon might as well be that Loki did it on purpose. Because he so recklessly attacks Thanos and is killed for it. Loki knows Thanos wouldn’t be taken down like that. Loki knows exactly what Thanos is and what he’s capable of, and he was just fucking done. He saw the writing on the wall and nope’d out to be with Frigga in peace rather than get involved with the never-ending clusterfuck of tragedy that was about to befall him. I mean, we know he’s been actively suicidal before. Tom Hiddleston has said he’s not in control of his own mind.

Isn’t that sad, though? That the idea of Loki committing suicide-by-Thanos is actually the more comforting idea (to me, anyway) because at least it gives him a bit of autonomy over his own fate? I don’t know at this point. I’m just. I’m so disappointed. I wanted more. Loki deserved more. Tom Hiddleston deserved more. The fans deserved more.

I’m still seeing the movie. I already bought my tickets. I still have MCU characters I care about. But I’m not here for any of this maybe he faked it, (that’s a goddamn trope at this point), maybe things will be revealed in the next movie, maybe it’ll get fixed but probably not but buy tickets to Avengers 4 anyway on the snowball’s chance in hell that we do right by your faves. I will instead involve myself in what is now AU fic (although Sanctuary is on temporary hold because I don’t have the heart right now, I just don’t) and bask in the comfort of what could have been.

And let me just end this by giving a shoutout to the brilliant fan-fic writers out there whose work shows that you love, understand, and respect Loki far more than Marvel ever did.

In conclusion, I recognize that the Russos have made a decision regarding Loki, but given that it’s a stupid ass decision, I’ve elected to ignore it.

Voq, Ash Tyler, and Growing up Star Trek

We learned a lot more about the curious case of Lieutenant Ash Tyler/Voq in the Star Trek: Discovery episode, “Vaulting Ambition.” It was finally confirmed in the previous week that the character we know as Ash Tyler is harboring some Klingon memories, but the precise mechanism behind how that happened was still a mystery, until Saru finally brought up the thing we were all wondering about:

Which prompted L’Rell to spill the beans.

“The one you call Tyler was captured in battle at the Binary Stars. We harvested his DNA, reconstructed his consciousness, and rebuilt his memory. We modified Voq into a shell that appears human. We grafted his psyche into Tyler’s, and in so doing, Voq has given his body and soul for our ideology.”

—L’Rell

It’s not all that shocking. Months of fan speculation aside, it’s not like this is a new trope for this franchise.

Remember this guy? 

What L’Rell revealed last night opens up an opportunity for Star Trek: Discovery to venture into classic Trek territory in a very un-Trek way. How the hell are we supposed to figure out what to think about Ash Tyler’s situation? 

The Trek formula of old would have given us a tidy episode in a box where the captain was confronted with some dilemma and spent the majority of the fifty-two minutes of air time chewing on it in such a way that the audience wasn’t really required to ponder the ramifications because we had a Picard or a Janeway to serve as the wise parental figure and do the messy business of thinking for us.

Yet Discovery lacks that central guiding ethical compass: its main character isn’t a captain, she’s a convict. That arguably makes Michael Burnham the most dynamic lead Star Trek has ever put forward, but because she’s too busy finding her place on a ship in the midst of a war with the Klingons and crawling over heaps of inner turmoil, that doesn’t leave her a lot of free time to tell us how to approach the wider problems presented in each episode. She tries to speak up as the voice of reason (miss you, Ripper!), but thus far, her objections are often drowned out by a plot that’s constantly blazing forward at Warp 10. It makes for good storytelling and character development, but it leaves the analysis of complex issues to the audience.

Think about it—every incarnation of Star Trek up until now had a way of introducing us to problems that were so obviously an allusion to the issues of their respective decades, whether it was Kirk meeting a society of people who desperately needed birth control or Archer ending up in a Suliban detainee camp courtesy of President George Bush… er, whoever the Tandaran leader was during the 2150s.

Captain Picard was the ultimate master of holding viewers’ hands all the way through the first four acts of an episode, carefully spoon feeding us both sides of an issue before finally allowing us to absorb the full weight of an enormous moral, ethical, or philosophical question in the final act with an impassioned speech or contemplative captain’s log entry. We were allowed to be mentally lazy. 

Is Data a person? Who’s to say? Let’s literally hold a trial to weigh the evidence!

The issues surrounding Ash Tyler are so enormously complex and raise questions about the nature of consciousness, self, immortality, and bodily autonomy, as well as the role of crime and punishment in society. It seems pretty ambiguous whether or not the real Ash Tyler is still alive in a Klingon prison somewhere, but regardless, maybe we should start by exploring whether we can really call the person lying in Discovery’s sickbay Ash Tyler. 

If someone were to duplicate your consciousness and place it into another living being, how would you define that individual? Say hypothetically that you are still alive, so is the other being with your consciousness now also you, an extension of you, or a completely independent being that simply carries your memories? If the original version of you is destroyed, did you really die, if a carbon copy of your mind exists somewhere else? If such a procedure is possible, doesn’t that imply we could theoretically live forever through a series of host bodies?

I feel like this is the premise of one-third of all Black Mirror episodes.

Hopefully, next week’s episode will iron out some of the details behind how the procedure was performed and whether or not L’Rell successfully removed Voq’s consciousness from Tyler’s physical form, but that just raises more questions. 

L’Rell indicated that the albino Klingon we knew as Voq in the first three episodes gave up his physical form to look like Ash Tyler, so the body was originally Voq’s.

Alien talent for crafting human flesh bags into suits varies by franchise. 

So if L’Rell manages to remove Voq’s consciousness from the body he and Tyler share, is that the equivalent of killing Voq? Conversely, if she snuffs out any trace of Tyler, has she killed Tyler? Last night’s episode made it apparent that if someone didn’t do something soon, the guy in sickbay screaming Klingon curses one minute and weeping human tears the next was going to die, but is it ethical to take one life to save another, and how do we decide?

I think the natural instinct is to say that obviously Voq needs to go in favor of Tyler. It’s easy to justify too: Voq knew what he was risking, the Klingons and Federation are in the midst of a war, and it doesn’t really seem like Tyler had much say in the medical experimentation performed on him. Not to mention, it kind of seemed like it was Voq shining through when Hugh Culber was killed. The Voq side of this person is clearly violent, dangerous, and a self-proclaimed enemy of the Federation.

Now consider how you feel about the death penalty. If you ardently support it, I question why you watch a show featuring people from an idealistic utopia where the death penalty was abolished, but hey, I’m sure the issue of what to do about Voq must seem pretty cut and dry. If you oppose the death penalty for any reason, now is probably a good time to ask yourself exactly why that is and apply it to this very bizarre situation.

Before you start hurling digital rotten produce at me for daring to suggest that Voq be given rights over Tyler, I’m not advocating for that, I’m merely asking you to consider it, because while the DNA is Tyler’s, the body is Voq’s. The heart of so many modern issues rests on a similar platform, this idea that we have the right to decide the fate of our own bodies, no matter what else we’ve done. 

It’s why we don’t harvest organs from criminals or force them to submit to dangerous medical experimentation, even though some *cough*Nazis*cough* might argue in favor of crude social arithmetic that there’s some net “good” to be had by testing unproven HIV vaccines or pioneering brain surgery on our convict population. To be fair, Voq decided to become Ash Tyler, and in doing so, it seems so unfair that I should even be considering his rights when it certainly seems like Tyler’s rights were so brutally and traumatically stripped away from him.

But Star Trek has also never shied away from unfair predicaments. Remember that time Trip Tucker was in a coma and Phlox collected his DNA and injected it into a Lyssarian Desert larvae to grow a Tucker clone, which they later named Sim, just so they could harvest Sim’s neural tissue for a transplant? OG Tucker was unconscious and didn’t consent to the procedure, and while Tucker 2.0 also didn’t ask to get made, which one deserved to live?

Yeah Sim, he owed you so big. 

No matter what happens, the whole business with Voq and Tyler is a bloody damn mess and there’s no chance for real justice for anyone involved. By stuffing Ash Tyler’s consciousness into Voq’s body and then mutilating Voq to look like Ash Tyler, L’Rell created an individual who is arguably somehow both Voq and Tyler and also neither Voq and Tyler at the same time.

Star Trek built an entire species based around this premise in the form of the Trills. For seven seasons of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, the symbiont Dax put us through our paces as we teased apart Jadzia from Dax and all of her previous hosts. There are too many episodes featuring Jadzia conflicting with the memories of her predecessors to count, but it was always interesting, watching Jadzia stand trial for something Curzon allegedly did, and it was heartbreaking watching her husband Worf interact with Ezri, Dax’s next host, after Jadzia’s untimely death. However much fans wished Ezri would love Worf as much as Jadzia had, Ezri wasn’t Jadzia and she deserved the freedom to make her own decisions.

So, I have to come back to the question, is Ash Tyler even really Ash Tyler? Can a copy be as good as the original? In many cases, sure. If someone torched the Declaration of Independence, its meaning isn’t lost forever; we have countless copies in textbooks and Internet archives. Ideas and facts are obviously more important than the paper that they’re printed on, but aren’t people greater than just the sum of their thoughts and experiences?

Star Trek: The Next Generation asked that question once when a transporter accident spawned a clone of William Riker, only he wasn’t technically a clone, because he shared all of Riker’s memories leading up to the accident. A clone implies an individual whose genome was copied from another individual, but the person created in that transporter glitch was an exact copy.

You know Riker II is looking at Riker I and thinking, “I grew a beard because I didn’t have a razor. Don’t tell me you grew that shit on purpose?”

Are they really exactly the same though? Once their paths began to diverge with differing life experiences (one got stranded on a station while the other went on to have a successful career in Starfleet), they really became two separate individuals, more like twins than the exact same person. So, I would argue that whether or not the original Tyler is really alive out there, the Tyler we know isn’t really Ash Tyler. 

But whoever he is and however he was created, he has rights too. He’s the only innocent person in this whole shitty scenario, and even if Voq’s consciousness is removed, no doubt the experience will irrevocably alter Tyler.

But what if L’Rell can’t separate them? I think of all the options, a plot twist that finds a way for both Tyler and Voq to coexist in the same body is easily the most complicated and daring path forward. Tuvok and Neelix had polar opposite personalities, but at least when they got spliced together, they generally lived by the same moral code. All the incarnations of Dax were also wildly different, but they jived well (so long as you forget that whole uncomfortable Joran incident).

Voq and Tyler are essentially Jekyll and Hyde. Voq killed Hugh Culber and attempted to kill Michael Burnham, so should he (they) be punished for those crimes? American Horror Story: Freak Show tried to address a similar situation when one conjoined twin murdered her mother in a moment of rage. It forces us to ask which is worse, “Deliberately punishing an innocent person or allowing a guilty one to go free?”

I have no idea what will happen in future episodes, but the idea of Voq and Tyler having to learn to live together might actually provide this show with something it’s been largely lacking thus far: a character who has to learn what it means to be human and who can provide an outsider’s commentary and insight on our odd little species, much like Spock, Data, The Doctor, Seven of Nine, and T’Pol did. Given Michael Burnham’s upbringing and life sentence for mutiny, it seemed like she was well-poised to fit this role, but while she spent the latter part of her formative years on Vulcan and is a lot less emotional than most of her crewmates, she’s fairly clued in to the human condition. 

Not so great at beer pong, but still a competent human. 

Ultimately, I can’t wait to see how Ash Tyler’s situation gets resolved, but I can now safely say Discovery might be my favorite series in the franchise. Some people hate it because it’s a lot of explosions and fighting and thus far, it hasn’t really felt like Star Trek with its power-hungry captain, Klingons with heavy prosthetics, and exceptional CGI. 

No, it ain’t your momma’s Star Trek, but maybe that’s a good thing. I grew up watching The Next Generation and later watched Deep Space Nine, Voyager, and Enterprise, and it was nice having Picard, Sisko, Janeway, and Archer gently guide me to the answers with calm, well-reasoned thinking. In a lot of ways, they taught me how to think about morally complex matters, and now that I’m older, I’m able to think for myself while I watch Discovery, and that is precisely why I love it so much. 

Discovery is Star Trek all grown up.  

Five ships I’m still not over

Beleg Cúthalion/Túrin Turambar

Universe: Middle-earth, first age

Ship name: Nothing that’s widely used in the fandom, I don’t think. But I like to think of them as ‘Black Sword (referring to Turin’s cursed weapon) and Strongbow (direct translation of Cúthalion)’

To me, there's no character more tragic than Turin son of Hurin, and no pairing more tragic than him and Beleg. And no clearer love, too. I don't know if J. R. R. Tolkien intended for them to go that far, but their emotional connection is so deep and powerful that whether you ship them or not it's undisputedly one of the most beautiful relationships in Tolkien's lore. Alas! It's not powerful enough to undo the curse placed on Turin and his clan, which ends both his and Beleg's life all too soon and all too tragically. So, yes, I count Beleg as one of the elves who die for love.

Favourite quote: 'I would lead my own men, and make war in my own way,' Turin answered. 'But in this at least my heart is changed: I repent every stroke save those dealt against the Enemy of Men and Elves. And above all else I would have you beside me. Stay with me!' 'If I stayed beside you, love would lead me not wisdom,' said Beleg.

Uh, I love this so much because it shows the difference in their temperament and maturity. Beleg's an elf who has lived through and fought in so many wars. He's an (elf)man of duty, honour and intellect, and Turin is still a young man whose pride and stubbornness can seriously get in the way of a grown-up conversation. And Beleg is so not having any of that in this scene. He’d do anything for Turin, including ditching his command to find him, but he can pull some tough-love moves, too, when Turin’s unreasonable.

Uzumaki Naruto/Uchiha Sasuke

Universe: Naruto

Ship name: sns, narusasu, sasunaru

I think Naruto and Sasuke canonically love each other, I really do, but I don’t think they are together romantically at any point in the series. And that’s by design, really. Sasuke -- the last of the Uchiha, the tragic figure of the Naruto series (still not as tragic as Turin, but let’s not do this morbid comparison) -- has too many issues to work through, and Naruto isn’t in the position to really help him through them. So as soul-deep as their bond is, they couldn’t have been together and survive each other. Although, I really want that to happen. That’s what fanfictions are for, I guess.

Favourite quote: ‘If you attack Konoha, I will have to fight you... So save up your hatred and take it all on me, I'm the only one who can take it. It's the only thing I can do. I will shoulder your hatred and die with you.’

Honestly, Naruto might just as well propose to Sasuke with that because he’s essentially saying ‘give me your worst, I’m not leaving and never will’. I know friends could be like that, too, but normally not to this degree and not with this kind of commitment. I’m not surprised at all when Sasuke has to ask Naruto why the hell he is doing all this for him. It just goes beyond reason, really.

S'chn T'gai Spock /James T. Kirk

Universe: Star Trek

Ship name: K/S, Spirk

The Daddy of all ships! Pun intended! Spock and Kirk's friendship really walks that fine line of are they/aren’t they. I personally think they aren’t (another controversial statement coming from a shipper), but they’re so cute together you just can’t help think: what if they are? They have this deep trust and affection for one another anyway; why not push it a notch further? ‘This simple feeling,’ as Spock calls it, might as well be love.

Favourite quote:

Kirk: How's our ship? Spock: Out of danger. Kirk: Good... Spock: You saved the crew. Kirk: You used what he wanted against him. That's a nice move. Spock: It is what you would have done. Kirk: And this... this is what you would have done. It was only logical. I'm scared, Spock. Help me not be. How do you choose not to feel? Spock: I do not know. [tears fall] Right now, I am failing. Kirk: I want you to know why I couldn't let you die... why I went back for you... Spock: Because you are my friend. [Kirk places his hand against the glass and gives the Vulcan Salute as he dies]

It’s actually really hard for me to pick a quote for these two because I think every ‘Jim’ from Spock does the job except nobody else would understand it but me. (Second to that is, ‘Captian, not in front of the Klingons.’) While I love them teasing each other a lot, I think Kirk’s death scene from Star Trek Into Darkness has all the right punches to it. Spock has been unable to accept the feeling of friendship towards Kirk (actually just feelings in general) until the moment he watches Kirk dies behind the glass door. And all just comes out like BOOM! Not to mention how close Spock comes to killing Khan for revenge before Uhura tells him that Kirk can be saved but they need Khan alive. Honestly, that’s the only reason Khan’s head doesn’t go plop in Spock’s hands.

Morgoth/Sauron

Universe: Middle-earth, first age

Ship name: it just came to my attention that the fandom is calling this ship Angbang (a wordplay on the name of their home/fortress Angband). Nicely done, you naughty people. Also Melkor/Mairon if you’re going by their proper first-age names.

I think a lot of people seeing this ship would go ‘what?!’ Like, how is that even possible when Tolkien didn’t write a single scene with the two of them in it. I’d say in this case the absence is more powerful. Tolkien wrote the Silmarillion and the Unfinished Tales as lore, so they necessarily come from the perspective of the tellers; i.e., humans and elves. That doesn’t mean Tolkien didn’t drop hints about the complex characters that the dark lords of Middle-earth are. He even has Elrond says that people don’t start out evil, not even Sauron. So the question becomes, what the heck happened? And the heck that starts it all out is pretty much in the first few chapters of the Silmarillion where Morgoth is clearly a powerful and inventive figure but in many ways an outcast and shunned by everyone including the very power that made him. (*cough* daddy issue *cough*) And then we are made aware of the fact Sauron, who is also powerful and creative, isn’t on Morgoth’s side from the get go but decides to join him later. The power-hungry dark lords we are later told about aren’t that at all, so it raises the question of their true characters and motives. If anything, I think the length in which Sauron would go for Morgoth thousands of years after his master is defeated and shut away says something about their bond with each other. And if I know one thing, it can’t be fear or respect. If I have to make a guess, I think it is akin to love.

Favourite quote: There isn’t anything I can quote from the source material since there hasn’t been a dialogue or anything they say to an audience that could be trusted as genuinely representing who they are. One thing I do scream about is the scene in the Return of the King movie when the black gate opened and behind there isn’t just the tower with the eye of Sauron but Mount Doom next to it in the same frame. I was like ‘I know Morgoth’s not here but isn’t that him in spirit.’ Yes, I’m a proper trash for these two.

Also, there’s this awesome comic series (unfortunately discontinued) by Suz. It’s legitimately hotter than the fire of Aule’s forge, honestly.

Beren/Lúthien

Universe: Middle-earth, first age

Ship name: I’m not aware of any ship name for these two but ‘Beren and Luthien’ is catchy enough as it is.

How else to finish this list but to dedicate the last entry to the greatest love story of Middle-earth, and, yes, I'm saying that with a straight face because, holy hell, this couple defies expectations left, right, and centre. Luthien, our elven princess, is an active participant in her own fate. She falls in love with a human who, in an act of valour, accepts her father's stupid, impossible task to steal the most treasured jewel from Morgoth the Dark Lord himself. Luthien basically runs away from home, finds her man captured and tortured, and tears the goddamn fortress down in a showdown with the-dark-lord-to-be Sauron himself (which makes you question the competency of everyone else in Middle-earth). They then proceed to steal the jewel together. They don't quite succeed in bringing it back and Beren loses his hand in the process, but hey, they could say it's in his hand, somewhere, and now could they please marry because otherwise I have a feeling that Luthien is going to elope with her boyfriend and her mom and dad won't be seeing her again ever.

And this is really just scratching the surface of Luthien’s feisty personality quite unbefitting of most princesses until the recent overhaul of attitude by Disney. And all this came from a man who was born in the Victorian era when women's autonomy wasn't given or respected. But I think Luthien's depth of character comes from the fact that she has a real-life counterpart, and so she feels more like a real woman. And the love between Beren and Luthien feels compelling because its the love the professor himself had for his wife and life-long partner, Edith. You can check out their gravestone. I'm so not making this up.

Favourite quote: The song of Lúthien before Mandos was the song most fair that ever in words was woven, and the song most sorrowful that ever the world shall ever hear. Unchanged, imperishable, it is sung still in Valinor beyond the hearing of the world, and the listening the Valar grieved. For Lúthien wove two themes of words, of the sorrow of the Eldar and the grief of Men, of the Two Kindreds that were made by Ilúvatar to dwell in Arda, the Kingdom of Earth amid the innumerable stars. And as she knelt before him her tears fell upon his feet like rain upon stones; and Mandos was moved to pity, who never before was so moved, nor has been since.

It’s not a scene between them, but this is how far Luthien’s love and badassery goes. She loses Beren in a battle to protect her father’s kingdom, and she dies grieving him. In the afterlife, she gets to meet the god of death Mandos and sings him a song of their love and her grief. Apparently, she’s so good with words and music that Mandos is like, ‘I can’t handle the feels. You can have your husband back and have a mortal life with him.’ And Luthien takes the deal, of course.

What... am... I?

The beast towered over me, perched on its clawed toes, its twisted and ugly flesh covered in layers of sharp, smooth black carapace. It looked oily. Monstrous. It had horns on its head and beady, glowing eyes that bore into mine and seemed so familiar. As familiar as a mirror.

I'd seen this creature before. Dream after dream, it had visited me, frightening me at first. But it never hurt me--never so much as raised a claw in intimidation. When I stopped running, it collapsed at my feet, and that visage I'd found so ugly and cruel suddenly looked pleading and innocent. But then it was gone, every time.

This was the first time it had communicated with me. It spoke more in visions than words, just abstract concepts and feelings it pressed into my mind--not aggressively; more like it was begging me to understand. But unlike the other visions my affliction caused, these didn't hurt.

It crouched before me and took me by the shoulders, its claws threatening to pierce my suit. Its face was inches from my own, and I almost forgot this was a dream, it seemed so real. I could feel the heat of its breath and smell the salt of its tears as it studied me. I shuddered, but pushed the fear down.

Despite my apprehension, I reached up and touched one of its mandibles. It was sharp and smooth, but not at all oily as I'd thought. Cool to the touch. Probably not as organic as it looked--it was one of the Orokin's experiments, after all. Some technocyte abomination, as much metal as flesh, as robotic as it was organic.

My fingers left trails of light where they caressed its face, and its lids fluttered, hands on my shoulders loosening. There was fear in its pleading eyes, now. Once more a mirror of my own.

Did it find me as familiar as I found it? It should, if it feared my power as much as I feared its own. I may have been just a child, gaunt and small and sickly, but that power coursing through me and corrupting me left me every bit as ugly as this poor, pitiful beast.

We were both monsters.

As if it heard me--perhaps it did--its hands loosened further, claws smoothing the dents they'd left in my suit. It studied my hand as I pulled it back and let the glow dissipate, then turned its attention to its own to study them as well. Could it see that we were the same? Its head tilted in confusion, a picture of perfect innocence.

I couldn't let that seduce me. Released, I took a step back, and its head snapped up. Betrayal. It fell to its knees, silently pleading, but I shook my head and took another step away until a piece of broken glass cracked under my heel.

The real world just outside our shared dreamscape came crashing back into focus: the lab where it was created, bearing evidence of the beast's rampage. Memories played back like a broken record, and this time the visions hurt--but it wasn't my pain. It was the beast's, as it broke from its constraints, savoring, with a roar, a freedom it knew would never last. In its anguish, it broke the machinery around it, it clawed the fine gold filigree on the walls as if it could tear its way out of its prison, it beat its fists against the reinforced glass separating it from us sleeping children until webs of cracks formed. Now the shattered glass showed our reflections, distorted and wrong, obscuring my kin from view. Isolating us.

And in the center of the wreckage, this poor pitiful beast sat, collapsed, tired and sore. Like every dream before this one, it drew me in like a moth to a flame, even as Margulis' impassioned words echoed in my thoughts.

Though they were trying to break it--again and again, torturing it and manipulating it into submission so it couldn't resist my power, a power they didn't yet understand--it wasn't the one resisting. It never was. It threw itself at me, almost instinctively, willing and wanting to give up its autonomy, its fledgling sense of self, if only it meant an escape. No pride, no ego--just a desperate, scared animal.

I was the one resisting.

Margulis raged against the Orokin for perverting her discoveries. She refused to share her knowledge with them, and impressed upon us, her surrogate children, the importance of not helping them to discover it for themselves. I'd never seen her so angry. I knew her as so calm and kind--she reminded me of my mother.

(I closed my eyes against the visions of what became of Mother, taking an unconscious step closer to the beast once more.)

I respected her, so of course I would abide by her wishes, I thought. They could put this beast before us like a steak before a pack of hungry wolves as much as they liked--we wouldn't give in. Margulis said we were better than this, that it didn't have to be this way.

I took another step closer, the glow of my energy encasing us so the real world fell away once more. And then it was just us--just us monsters. Margulis wasn't here. She didn't see this. She didn't know what I knew, hadn't seen the things we'd done. And in the privacy of our dream, the darkness of sleep, I pondered--and I doubted.

We would fight. That was for certain. Clad in armor on bodies not our own, we would wage a war we didn't believe in. One way or another, it would happen--I'd seen it, every time I'd touched the golden halls of the Orokin. Those fine ivories would stain so red.

At first, after the accident, these powers had seemed a gift. This useless, stupid outcast finally had a place in the world, a role only I could fill, a talent in a dire situation that earned me respect over derision for the first time in my short life. In my naivete I'd tried to hold out hope--tried to believe we didn't have to descend into madness just because madness was all around us. But then our fledgling alliances fractured, some succumbing to despair, others seeking to satiate a newfound bloodlust. What did all my grandstanding, all my hope and compassion mean when our broken ranks finally let the corrupted into our only remaining refuge? When we had no recourse left but to fight?

Nothing. In the end, I had as much blood on my hands as those whose choices I'd condemned.

What a pretty thought, that Margulis could be a second chance. That she, somehow, wouldn't fall to the same fate. What a pretty fantasy.

We were monsters. Weapons. Like this beast before me--this poor, pitiful thing, just as much an unwilling pawn in this chaos as we were. And I should know, more than anyone, that there was no weapon, no monster, powerful enough to fight fate.

The beast's pleading had given way to resignation. It sat, slumped, expecting our time to come to an end and thrust it back into the cruelty of the real world, where it would grit its many rows of sharp teeth and try to endure its torture until we could meet again. Why draw out our suffering?

I gripped it by the sides of its head, its mandibles digging into my hands as they tried to open in surprise. My forehead pressed against its own, I looked into its eyes--my eyes--and we breathed out as one.

I'm sorry, Mother. Margulis. Please, forgive me. But this is what I am.

7th July >> Pope Francis sends message to G20 Summit in Hamburg. (Photo: German Chancellor Angela Merkel stands as she waits for participants to arrive for the G20 leaders summit in Hamburg, Germany July 7, 2017 - REUTERS) (Vatican Radio) Pope Francis has sent a Message to the participants in the G20 meeting taking place in Germany July 7-8. The Message is addressed to the Chancellor of Germany, Angela Merkel, and details what the Holy Father recognizes as four principles of action for the building of fraternal, just and peaceful societies: time is greater than space; unity prevails over conflict; realities are more important than ideas; and the whole is greater than the part. Please find the full text of Pope Francis’ Message, in its official English translation, below… ********************************* To Her Excellency Mrs Angela Merkel Chancellor of the Federal Republic of Germany Following our recent meeting in the Vatican, and in response to your thoughtful request, I would like to offer some considerations that, together with all the Pastors of the Catholic Church, I consider important in view of the forthcoming meeting of the G20, which will gather Heads of State and of Government of the Group of major world economies and the highest authorities of the European Union. In doing so, I follow a tradition begun by Pope Benedict XVI in April 2009 on the occasion of the London G20. My Predecessor likewise wrote to Your Excellency in 2006, when Germany held the presidency of the European Union and the G8. In the first place, I wish to express to you, and to the leaders assembled in Hamburg, my appreciation for the efforts being made to ensure the governability and stability of the world economy, especially with regard to financial markets, trade, fiscal problems and, more generally, a more inclusive and sustainable global economic growth (cf. G20 Leaders Communiqué, Hangzhou Summit, 5 September 2016). As is evident from the Summit’s programme, such efforts are inseparable from the need to address ongoing conflicts and the worldwide problem of migrations. In my Apostolic Exhortation Evangelii Gaudium, the programmatic document of my Pontificate addressed to the Catholic faithful, I proposed four principles of action for the building of fraternal, just and peaceful societies: time is greater than space; unity prevails over conflict; realities are more important than ideas; and the whole is greater than the part. These lines of action are evidently part of the age-old wisdom of all humanity; I believe that they can also serve as an aid to reflection for the Hamburg meeting and for the assessment of its outcome. Time is greater than space. The gravity, complexity and interconnection of world problems is such that there can be no immediate and completely satisfying solutions. Sadly, the migration crisis, which is inseparable from the issue of poverty and exacerbated by armed conflicts, is proof of this. It is possible, though, to set in motion processes that can offer solutions that are progressive and not traumatic, and which can lead in relatively short order to free circulation and to a settlement of persons that would be to the advantage of all. Nonetheless, this tension between space and time, between limit and fullness, requires an exactly contrary movement in the minds of government leaders and the powerful. An effective solution, necessarily spread over time, will be possible only if the final objective of the process is clearly present in its planning. In the minds and hearts of government leaders, and at every phase of the enactment of political measures, there is a need to give absolute priority to the poor, refugees, the suffering, evacuees and the excluded, without distinction of nation, race, religion or culture, and to reject armed conflicts. At this point, I cannot fail to address to the Heads of State and of Government of the G20, and to the entire world community, a heartfelt appeal for the tragic situation in South Sudan, the Lake Chad basin, the Horn of Africa and Yemen, where thirty million people are lacking the food and water needed to survive. A commitment to meet these situations with urgency and to provide immediately support to those peoples will be a sign of the seriousness and sincerity of the mid-term commitment to reforming the world economy and a guarantee of its sound development. Unity prevails over conflict. The history of humanity, in our own day too, presents us with a vast panorama of current and potential conflicts. War, however, is never a solution. As the hundredth anniversary of Pope Benedict XV’s Letter to the Leaders of the Warring Peoples draws near, I feel bound to ask that the world put an end to all these “useless slaughters”. The goal of the G20 and of other similar annual meetings is to resolve economic differences peacefully and to agree on common financial and trade rules to allow for the integral development of all, in order to implement the 2030 Agenda and the Sustainable Development Goals (cf. Communiqué of the G20 Hangzhou Summit). Yet that will not be possible unless all parties commit themselves to substantially reducing levels of conflict, halting the present arms race and renouncing direct or indirect involvement in conflicts, as well as agreeing to discuss sincerely and transparently all their differences. There is a tragic contradiction and inconsistency in the apparent unity expressed in common forums on economic or social issues, and the acceptance, active or passive, of armed conflicts. Realities are more important than ideas. The fateful ideologies of the first half of the twentieth century have been replaced by new ideologies of absolute market autonomy and financial speculation (cf. Evangelii Gaudium, 56). In their tragic wake, these bring exclusion, waste and even death. The significant political and economic achievements of the past century, on the other hand, were always marked by a sound and prudent pragmatism, guided by the primacy of the human being and the attempt to integrate and coordinate diverse and at times opposed realities, on the basis of respect for each and every citizen. I pray to God that the Hamburg Summit may be illumined by the example of those European and world leaders who consistently gave pride of place to dialogue and the quest of common solutions: Schuman, De Gasperi, Adenauer, Monnet and so many others. The whole is greater than the part. Problems need to be resolved concretely and with due attention to their specificity, but such solutions, to be lasting, cannot neglect a broader vision. They must likewise consider eventual repercussions on all countries and their citizens, while respecting the views and opinions of the latter. Here I would repeat the warning that Benedict XVI addressed to the G20 London Summit in 2009. While it is reasonable that G20 Summits should be limited to the small number of countries that represent 90% of the production of wealth and services worldwide, this very situation must prompt the participants to a profound reflection. Those states and individuals whose voice is weakest on the world political scene are precisely the ones who suffer most from the harmful effects of economic crises for which they bear little or no responsibility. This great majority, which in economic terms counts for only 10% of the whole, is the portion of humanity that has the greatest potential to contribute to the progress of everyone. Consequently, there is need to make constant reference to the United Nations, its programmes and associated agencies, and regional organizations, to respect and honour international treaties, and to continue promoting a multilateral approach, so that solutions can be truly universal and lasting, for the benefit of all (cf. Benedict XVI, Letter to the Honourable Gordon Brown, 30 March 2009). I offer these considerations as a contribution to the work of the G20, with trust in the spirit of responsible solidarity that guides all those taking part. I ask God’s blessings upon the Hamburg meeting and on every effort of the international community to shape a new era of development that is innovative, interconnected, sustainable, environmentally respectful and inclusive of all peoples and all individuals (cf. Communiqué of the G20 Hangzhou Summit). I take this occasion to assure Your Excellency of my high consideration and esteem. From the Vatican, 29 June 2017

Peeling Back the True Horror of The Little Stranger

There's a sinister secret nested snugly at the center of Lenny Abrahamson's "The Little Stranger." In trailers, this adaptation of Sarah Waters' novel seems a spooky haunted house tale set in the austere decadence of early Windsor-era England. For most of its runtime, the film appears a gothic romance in which the mild-mannered Doctor Faraday (Domhnall Gleeson) must combat the unknown evil inhabiting the illustrious Hundreds Hall so he might marry its gruff but lovable heiress, Caroline Ayres (Ruth Wilson). But the haunting final image of "The Little Stranger" reveals something more cerebral and starkly feminist is at play within this unconventional horror story.

"The Little Stranger" reveals the Ayres tragedy through the eyes of Faraday, a "common village boy" who grew up in the shadow of Hundreds Hall and became a respected doctor with a gentleman's manners. Through a reserved voiceover, he introduces audiences to the once affluent family whose fortunes have fallen—as their once pristine home has—into ruin. Still, Faraday is enchanted by the old house and by Caroline, a "terribly brainy girl" on the verge of spinsterhood, having squandered her promise and youth looking after her mother (Charlotte Rampling) and war-wounded brother Roderick (Will Poulter). Stoic and stalwart, Faraday provides a shoulder to cry on, a voice of reason, and even his hand in marriage. But he is not to be trusted by the Ayres or us. For Faraday is not the romantic hero he paints himself as, but an unreliable narrator and the source of the spiteful spirit that torments the Ayres to death because of a ferocious form of toxic masculinity.

The final shot of the film reveals that the poltergeist of Hundreds Halls was a manifestation of Faraday's decades-long desire to possess the grand home. His passion for the place grew into an intense sense of male entitlement, believing deeply he was owed the thing as a reward for wanting it so desperately. And so a territorial and violent force was sparked. Over drinks, a colleague explains that extreme negative emotions can cause a subconscious break that could birth a poltergeist. For Faraday, this fateful moment occurred 30 years before, when he first snuck into the exquisite foyer of Hundreds Hall and broke a plaster acorn from its elaborate décor. In flashback, a foreboding rumbling precedes the horrid crack of plaster. Recalling it to Caroline, he rationalizes, "I wasn't trying to vandalize. I was overcome." Faraday compares himself to a lovesick man stealing a lock of hair from the woman he fancies. Caught up in his own desires, he ignores the violation and theft entailed in each act, reframing it as romantic and himself as the helpless victim of passion. As absurd as it seems, Faraday basically victim blames the house for his violation of it, suggesting Hundreds Hall was dressed too provocatively to be left unmolested.

Faraday believes his passion for the house excuses this crime. But there will be more. And they will become more violent. The first victim of his poltergeist is young Suki Ayres, punished for witnessing his embarrassment at being slapped by his mother for his vandalism. Mrs. Ayres notes that was the very day her beloved first-born became mysteriously ill, before withering away to death. While Faraday went off to grow up and become a doctor, his poltergeist has lurked in the house, quietly resenting its residents. Upon his return to the village, the paranormal activity at the Hundreds Hall becomes more aggressive, a coincidence Caroline remarks on without understanding its significance. It was a poltergeist outburst that led to Betty calling for a doctor, which brought Faraday to the Ayres door. Every paranormal event after that can be seen as violent retaliations whenever Faraday feels rejected.

The first comes during a cocktail party, where a little girl is abruptly mauled by Caroline's dog. The timing suggests this is no accident. Though the girl has been pestering the pet relentlessly, its off-screen attack occurs the moment after Faraday realizes the event is a matchmaking setup meant to pair Caroline with an arrogant, new-money ad-man. The hurt to his pride is taken out on the pretty blond girl, just as it was with Suki. The gruesome and inexplicable assault benefits Faraday three-fold. It scares off the would-be suitor, gives the doctor a chance to impress by swooping in to mend the wounded child, and offers an excuse to euthanize Caroline's beloved pet, eliminating one more rival for her affections. Whether Faraday realizes it or not, he is working in tandem with his poltergeist to achieve Hundreds Hall. When the polite and socially acceptable methods fail, his subconscious lashes out in violence. And their next obstacle and target will be Rod.

Through voiceover, Faraday expresses a thinly veiled disdain for the limping man of the house, sneering, "I couldn't help but think the house deserved better." Implied is that Faraday is the better the house deserves. After all, Faraday is a dapper and dashing gentleman, while Rod a marred, drunken recluse with no hopes of finding a wife. Using his position as a trusted friend of the family and respected doctor, Faraday pushes to have Rod committed, arguing his plans to sell off part of the estate are deranged. When this fails, his poltergeist sets Rod's bedroom ablaze, nearly killing him and making him seem an unhinged danger to himself and others. So, Mrs. Ayres and Caroline take Faraday's recommendation and have their lone male heir exiled. The very next scene shows Faraday, smiling like the cat who caught the canary, as he cuts the Christmas roast. Blithely taking over the role of man of the house, he rejoices in voiceover, "It made me feel—just for a moment—a part of the life of the house."

With Rod out of the way, Faraday ramps up his efforts to woo and wed Caroline, taking her to a dance, where his POV shot of watching her dance feels ominous, like a predator zeroing in on his prey. "What the house needs is a dose of happiness," he crows in his marriage proposal. But after Mrs. Ayres makes it clear that Faraday would only get this house over her dead body, his poltergeist terrorizes her with chilling sounds and vicious cuts, driving her to suicide. And once Caroline rejects him too, her death is imminent.

After she breaks off their engagement, Faraday laments, "Hundreds Hall was lost to me … as was Caroline." At this moment, our unreliable narrator's true priorities are laid bare. This was never a love story about boy meets girl, but boy meets house. Caroline was a tool to him. That the object of Faraday's desires is a house and not actually Caroline emphasizes the dehumanizing nature of male entitlement, as entitled men do not regard the women they crave as people who have autonomy and the right to reject them, but as a thing they can grab. Their desire outweighs the feelings of its object. But once Faraday realizes that his manipulations and social niceties have failed to win him the prize of the girl—and by extension the house—his cool veneer cracks, unleashing into a flurry of fists and shouting in his car while his poltergeist pushes Caroline to her fatal fall off the balcony.

Through his plaintive voiceover, Faraday would have us believe that he is a romantic hero who fought for love and lost. He and his poltergeist never come face-to-face in the film, so perhaps he truly believes it. But "The Little Stranger" sees through his subterfuge. For even if Faraday is completely ignorant of how his true intentions influence the poltergeist, he knowingly uses his position of power as a doctor, a friend, and a gentleman to manipulate the Ayres to reach for his goal, no matter the cost. Yet there are moments where it seems he has some hint.

Looking back on his first day at Hundreds Hall, Faraday says, "I could not help but imagine I belonged. A proper little gentleman. Of course, I was no such thing." On the surface, it appears he's speaking about how his clothes made this commoner seem suitably posh. But on reflection, this line also speaks to his façade of gentility in adulthood. Outwardly, Faraday is calm, patient, and magnanimous toward the Ayres family. Hidden is his dangerous dark side that would rather see them dead than reject him, that would rather see Hundreds Hall abandoned than without him. Worse still, Faraday gets away with all his crimes, because who would believe such a nice, respectable man could be capable of such evil?

"The Little Stranger" is a horror story not about evil spirits or haunted houses, but about the too real terror born from toxic masculinity, which blinds men to their trespasses and threatens women with objectification and violence. The film sounds a warning, begging some to look past the nice guy veneers, and others to search the darkest corners of their desires. For we are not always the heroes we imagine ourselves to be.  

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TRANSCRIPT for DEEP CUT #1

Courtesy of Steph DiBona!

[music]

MIKE MOSCHETTO: If you’re listening to this you probably play in a band or at least did at one point. Probably not an unfair generalization to make. So, where do you practice? If you’re lucky you rehearse in your basement or your garage, some room in your home, or possibly your parents’ home. I had that luxury for many years, but now I live in a one-bedroom apartment that I share in one of the most expensive cities in North America so even if I didn’t have neighbors on either side of and underneath me, say I could make all the noise I wanted without a landlord, superintendent, or cops knocking on my door, I realistically couldn’t fit two amps and a drum set in this shoebox if my life depended on it. So what I and others like me do depend on instead is commercial rehearsal facilities. These are often converted storage lockers or rehabilitated industrial buildings. But, they can also be their own little cultural hub, places of expression for not only snotty punk bands but also performance artists, craftspeople, all types of outsiders that maybe can’t get heads through the door at your bog-standard rock club or even your DIY venue at the same neighborhood but whose creative output is no less important.

And such is the reputation of the EMF building, just across the river from me here in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Or at least it was a complex filled with local and touring artists and storied recording studios until it was purchased and shut down recently. The circumstances of its closure may seem unique on the surface but to me, deep down this is just another shining example of the way that economic realities like the luxury condofication of urban centers and predatory real estate speculation can make their way into our lives as creative types. Every once in a while the invisible hand of the free market will reach out and sucker punch you.

So joining me to talk about all of this is Ben Simon, a former EMF tenant himself and a board member of the Cambridge Artist Coalition, an activist group trying, perhaps in vain at this point, to save their space. It’s a story that I think needs to be head, one that contains many valuable lessons for you, the paying patron of a program like this one, from respecting the autonomy of other performers, to just the transient nature of institutions with artistic missions and simply valuing what you have while you have it.

Anyway, here’s the conversation I had with Ben, stick around to the end if you’re so moved to find out how you can help his cause. Enjoy!

[music: “I can’t afford to live in the town where I was born / but hey at least they’re developing this place for somebody”]

MIKE: You were obviously a tenant. How long were you there?

BEN SIMON: I’ve never calculated the exact number of years -

MIKE: That long.

BEN: - but something like five, six -

MIKE: Five or six years.

BEN: - years, something like that yeah.

MIKE: Would you say that there was a sense of community there prior to the eviction? Because like I have a space in Charlestown, I tried to get a space in EMF when I first moved to the city, and it was, like I was waitlisted. But you know, when I’m walking around my practice rooms no-one says “what’s up” in the hallway really, I haven’t met any friends or collaborators. So was that there prior to this or was it the impending eviction that galvanized people around the space?

BEN: I think it depends on who you ask. There were certainly people who had more of a sort of like knit community, probably somewhat insulated within the whole building. It wasn’t as though everyone knew everyone and said hi in the hall but...

MIKE: Well, there was obviously some turnover, right?

BEN: That as well, yeah, but WEMF Radio kind of had a crew of people around it, they eventually got pushed out before we were all evicted. Um, but yeah.

MIKE: It was, you know, New Alliance was kind of a fixture there too.

BEN: Right, right. There’s definitely been like communities within the EMF community that perhaps didn’t like include the entire building, but I wasn’t like really viewing it as a community space, more just like something I needed for my band. But yeah my experience was like this was a catalyst to becoming part of a community and pushing back. A bit of my own personal history, I grew up in a rent-controlled building in Porter Square in Cambridge and after rent control was abolished, you know, it was just a matter of time before our building was sold to a developer, and that indeed happened in the late ‘90s, and we were all evicted. We settled in the Midwest.

MIKE: Whoa.

BEN: And I came back as an adult and I’m just sort of more or less waiting to be priced out or have the same thing happen to me again. So this happening and seeing people starting to organize and fight back really meant a lot to me and it allowed me to feel like I was doing something to fight something that’s already, I’ve already dealt with.

MIKE: So, does the Cambridge Artists Coalition, does that rise out of this or was that preexisting?

BEN: It was not preexisting, um, yeah. The...

MIKE: So that’s like part of the organizing effort.

BEN: Right, yeah. The group was formed to sort of organize the tenants and see what we could do to preserve it as an art space and we decided to give ourselves the name Cambridge Artist Coalition.

MIKE: How many members is that, and compared to how many tenants were there at the time of the eviction notice going up?

BEN: Um, there were over 200 people, um, artists musicians in the building. As far as our group membership it’s difficult to say precisely, the first few meetings we had were, you know, around I don’t know 30 to 50 people, but you know as time went on it’s sort of been a core group of people that have like stayed committed. We have a Board that I’m on which is right now six people. We encourage more people to get involved and join the group, you don’t have to necessarily come to meetings to be part of the group.

MIKE: Sure. So this building is purchased in 2016 by this guy, John DiGiovanni, who is operating as some kind of, you know, property management developing company but he’s also president of Harvard Square Business Association. We’ll get to that later.

BEN: Yes.

MIKE: When these eviction notices go up, are there any grounds cited or is it just like “this is what I’m doing, see ya.”

BEN: When I first heard we were getting evicted I wasn’t given any reason. It seemed like the person who had received that notice hadn’t been given any reason but I’m also told that some people initially got safety as being the concern. That, you know, the building wasn’t up to code, et cetera, and we were all, you know, in danger so we had to leave the building. However, you know, people that formed the group went to the fire department and asked if the building was up to code and they said it had always passed inspection, there was nothing wrong with it.

MIKE: When this news starts going around do people start to jump ship immediately? Like, because the story here is obviously the steely resolve of the people who stuck around and fighting to the bitter end, including possibly at the time of this recording, people who are still occupying the space. Is that still happening?

BEN: That is still happening, yeah.

MIKE: Fuck yes. That is so awesome.

BEN: Yeah, it’s very cool.

MIKE: So do a lot of people just try to jump the gun...

BEN: I got the impression that there were some bands that yeah, moved pretty soon after they knew that we were going to have to leave. Yeah probably some of them thought that they would beat the rush.

MIKE: I mean it’s a tough thing to tie your fate to if you just need to keep being a band and keep rehearsing.

BEN: Yeah, for sure. We had our initial eviction date and then we got a one-month extension after going to City Hall and seemed to have the city, you know, concerned about our plight and wanted to do something. And they were able to negotiate with the landlord to give us an extra month, but I think that last month we were probably something like around, for most of the month around half capacity and then even less towards the end of the month.

MIKE: Dwindling, yeah. And somebody posted something about going into Public Records and finding John DiGiovanni’s donations to various members of Cambridge City Council.

BEN: Yes.

MIKE: Does this kind of explain maybe the city’s resistance to really pushing, like putting pressure on to buy it from him?

BEN: Um...

MIKE: Because that was a tactic, that was kind of the initial tactic of...

BEN: Yeah, I mean obviously you can draw conclusions from seeing the list of donations, um, and who received what. We’re not sure, we are concerned for sure that like the city’s initial interest and then eventual backing away might have had something to do with John DiGiovanni’s influence, financial and otherwise.

MIKE: President of Harvard’s Business Association.

BEN: He’s a very powerful man. And it seems very suspicious to us that, you know, the building had passed code and then suddenly was retroactively determined to be a death trap as soon as he wants everyone out.

MIKE: And is that the language used, “death trap” too?

BEN: I don’t know if he ever exactly used that phrase, but he said it’s unsafe for anyone to be in it in its current condition, which makes us very confused why he had us in there and was collecting rent.

MIKE: And the city also justified their resistance by saying like, “oh this would be a huge investment on our part,” right?

BEN: Right, they were saying, I guess their thing was like, “it’s up to code, but if were to buy it, it has to be even better than up to code” or it has to be really, really top notch. But we were concerned that it might have been you know a diplomatic way for them to backpedal out of coming to our rescue. Yeah, more or less.

MIKE: So, tell me about the genesis of the idea of protesting the Make Music event. So I should maybe, the background is that Harvard Square Business Association puts on a festival, kind of just like an outdoor music and arts festival every year called Make Music, or Fete de la Musique.

BEN: Yeah [laughs]

MIKE: Very pretentious.

BEN: Yeah. Well it was started in France, it’s actually an international event. Harvard Square Business Association just manages the local one.

MIKE: Oh, maybe I’ll be a little more charitable. So where does the idea come from to protest this Make Music event in Harvard Square?

BEN: So the structure of the thing independent of the Harvard Square Business Association’s running of it is that I guess musicians are not compensated. Maybe in other cities they are, but in Cambridge they never have been. And we just thought it was especially egregious and you know insulting for John DiGiovanni to evict all these musicians in what was, as far as I know, like the only affordable practice space in Cambridge. Claimed to be a patron of the arts, claimed to be concerned about community and art and then a couple weeks later ask those same people to play for free so that his businesses, the businesses in his Business Association can make a bunch of money from the people coming in.

MIKE: “Patron of the arts” in that capacity certainly seems to mean like art that you can kind of line your pockets with a little bit. And so leading up to this protest DiGiovanni agrees to a meeting. Were you at this meeting?

BEN: So there were two meetings, one was with the mayor, Mike Connolly who is also the State Rep. Mike Connolly who has been really a great ally. And then a couple people that were running businesses from, in EMF, recording studios and had kind of different concerns, had spent a lot more money or invested a lot more money in their spaces than the musician tenants. And yeah, apparently that meeting got a little heated at points. Um, so I wasn’t in the first meeting at City Hall so I can’t, um, one thing I can describe about the first meeting is that we initially came with somebody who’s been giving us free legal counsel. And at the beginning of the meeting as soon as he identified himself as a lawyer, John DiGiovanni said, “This meeting is not going to continue if he’s still here.” So he had to leave before we could proceed. But during that meeting John Glancy who is more or less the guy who got this whole thing started, the CAC group, asked John DiGiovanni if he’d be willing to meet again, the next day, with some people from the Board of CAC and he agreed.

MIKE: Okay.

BEN: Sort of surprisingly. But um yeah. So we had a meeting at Charlie’s Kitchen in Harvard Square. And he offered us beers, I think only one of us accepted that beer, oh, and then another guy got a like a Sprite or something. But yeah that was a, it was a strange meeting.

MIKE: Basically though, the Charlie’s Kitchen meeting sounds like a bit of an olive branch.

BEN: Yeah, yeah perhaps. It, it was not an accident that he refused to meet us until after we were already evicted. You know, like, we really have...

MIKE: The silence was deafening.

BEN: Yes. He completely refused to meet with us, and now, and then after we were evicted he’s finally willing to come to the table when we really have very little to gain, that he would be willing to give us. I think he was probably hoping to see what he could do to convince us maybe, or persuade us not to have the protest. He actually said during the meeting at Charlie’s Kitchen, “Oh no I believe in democracy, you guys should do whatever you want. But you know, this is totally misguided and you’re conflating all these things and you don’t really understand the way the world works. And, you know, if you really want to know the truth, this protest is gonna make me even less likely for me to want to play ball with you guys, to do what you’re asking for.”

MIKE: Well, I mean what are you supposed to do, your hands are kind of tied.

BEN: I mean, in a perfect world it wouldn’t rely on, you know, private developers to keep our communities intact.

MIKE: At any point has he made his intention with the building clear or is it just kind of a foregone conclusion that it’s gonna be a luxury condo?

BEN: He at least is making it seem as though he has no definite plans right now for the building. He said he’s intending to lease it to somebody who has a plan for it, but that you know he’s hoping to any economically viable project that should come his way.

MIKE: So ransom basically.

BEN: Yeah, I mean...

MIKE: From reading from this Cambridge Day article about it, Mark Levy the author here says “DiGiovanni made clear he has investors and has ‘to do something financially viable.’” Is any kind of optimism that is gleaned, any kind of olive leaf that is extending by having this meeting, is that just totally invalidated by this ideal like well, the bottom line is the thing?

BEN: It’s tricky ‘cause he at least professed to be willing to have it continue to be something like EMF provided that you know that x, y, and z were such that it was good for him. Yeah, we said would you be willing if we could find a non-profit to be involved perhaps, or we would get money to get the building up to code so it could continue to have the function it’s had as a rehearsal space. Um yeah, he’s like “yeah as long as the numbers work.” But yeah I think it allows him, I mean he can obviously just say that you know it doesn’t have to, it can be completely insincere, but he had a lot of blame to put on pretty much every party concerned in the matter except for himself. He said, you know, the tenants are at fault here, the city is at fault, the previous landlord is at fault, the previous manager of the Sound Museum who operated in EMF before he bought it, all these parties are at fault, but he is entirely not at fault.

MIKE: But he had to buy the place, so.

BEN: Yeah, I mean, he didn’t say this precisely but it’s probably true, that if he didn’t buy it someone was gonna buy it, and that someone was going to want to do something more profitable than what it was currently being used as, with it.

MIKE: Yeah that’s one way to look at it.

BEN: Well, that’s true. The thing that I really want and I think yeah the group generally wants to kind of promote is the idea that it shouldn’t just be a handful of wealthy developers that completely control the shape of our cities and like get to make the call about what kind of buildings, what kind of businesses go into our cities.

MIKE: Yeah, why should they get to decide, like why, when the ultimate incentive is just to go for what enriches them personally.

BEN: Right.

MIKE: And I have a, you know it’s very cool to me that you have Mike Connolly on your side, a Representative, and I have a quote from him here, from the protest where he says, “What good is Central Square’s Cultural District designation if the 99% of us who want to enjoy it can’t afford to live or play in that community.”

So did a lot of the folks that attended either of the two meetings, were they put off in any way from participating in the protest?

BEN: The second one certainly not, the first one I can’t say. The people that own the studios who were there, they didn’t go to the protest, so it’s possible that the way the meeting went had that effect to them, but.

MIKE: It’s been a couple of days since that action, and DiGiovanni was conspicuously absent. Has anyone heard from him since then, has he put out any...

BEN: Not that I know of, no. After the main protest and rally was done, we marched past Trinity, the Trinity Building on Church Street and posted a list of demands on his door, and chanted a pretty humorous chant, I think, outside his door, and marched on to Cambridge Common.

MIKE: Were those demands composed by the Board, or by the members of CAC?

BEN: Yeah, I don’t know that we ever really officially agreed on them in any sort of official way but they were ones we were talking about and they were bouncing around for a while. Kind of things that, the core things that we’ve been fighting for the whole time you know that he’d sell the building to the city or some non-profit that can maintain it as a formal art space, or lease it possibly. I think the term we used was sell. That he preserve it as an art space in some manner and also I think on there was that he refund us a year’s worth of rent, all of the tenants, for having, collecting rent in what he termed “an unsafe building”.

MIKE: Yeah, that seems...

BEN: And, and I think lastly was if he does not do these things that he should step down from the Harvard Square Business Association because he’s not committed to its tenets, or its core values.

MIKE: And you had a big turnout it seems like, on your side?

BEN: Yeah, yeah it was a good turnout, somewhere between 150-250 people came out, and uh, yeah I mean I think it was the biggest stage area of the event. Previous years, you know, I think there were twice as many stages and twice as many bands but a lot of bands dropped out in solidarity with us.

MIKE: Excellent.

BEN: And that sort of, like the core stage area in front of, in Brattle Square, in front of Crema Café and stuff like that, all the bands of that stage area dropped out and the person running the stage offered it to us.

MIKE: Wow, that’s amazing.

BEN: So, yeah, we, from my perspective we had the biggest, best-attended event going on in that festival.

MIKE: And what I appreciated about, from what I read about it, was that there wasn’t any really vocal discouraging anyone to play, it was just like you know “I don’t wanna deprive you of your autonomy to gig,” it’s about the music ultimate at the end of the day, if you wanna sing protest songs, if you wanna turn the mic over to an EMF member, something like that.

BEN: Right, we definitely very deliberately tried to not be divisive, and make it seem like you know we were against any musicians who chose to play. There were some people on Facebook who like described musicians who refused to drop out as scabs, and a lot of people disingenuously tried to say, “oh that this is what this movement’s about” but no, we never endorsed that and we were, we tried to be very upfront about the fact that we were totally fine with anyone choosing not to be part of our protest, not to, you know, to just continue to play as they would. I mean it’s a very, yeah, it’s a tough world, the world that music occupies and I totally understand you know, not wanting to pass up the opportunity to have a gig.

MIKE: Absolutely. Now that that has happened, what’s next? Like, what do you do moving forward to continue the push? Is there another big action plan, how can people help?

BEN: We definitely want to have another big action, while momentum is still strong. We also have potentially a court date coming up for some of the people who are still occupying their space in EMF so we do have a GoFundMe. Anything you give to that we’d be using towards potentially legal fees, lawyer fees for that court date and planning future actions to elevate this and similar issues. Personally what I would really like to go forward or do going forward would be sort of to broaden our anti-displacement and anti-gentrification tactics or strategy, and I don’t want to be fighting about just like we shouldn’t have artists being displaced, we shouldn’t have anyone being displaced out of their communities and that’s the kind of really bold, progressive legislation that needs to be getting passed and is criminal, I think, that state and city governments aren’t on this. We have to be a huge pain in the ass to both private developers who are, you know sort of de facto city managers but also yeah definitely our city and state representatives who are sort of sitting on their hands and letting this, you know the evisceration of our communities nationwide go on.

MIKE: So have you personally found a new practice space? Of all the people who have stayed behind to occupy the space or who got out early, like how cataclysmic has the displacement been? Are people kind of floundering without a place to express themselves or..?

BEN: I think it’s really cataclysmic. A lot of the bands I talk to, you know, the last few days as I was moving out my stuff said not only did they not have a space, they didn’t know when they would get a space, they were gonna go on hiatus with their bands for a few months. Some people were talking about moving out of Boston. Like, this is a devastating blow to the city of Cambridge, greater Boston, we’re losing a ton of artists because we’re not recognizing that we need to give them the infrastructure they need to do what they do.

MIKE: Have the folks who’ve managed the spaces at EMF set their sights on kind of relocating or trying to take over another unused space that would maybe fill that gap?

BEN: When we first started getting organized and went to city hall to bring this to their attention, Quinton Zondervan, one of the Cambridge City councilors who hasn't taken money from John DiGiovanni and has been also you know in addition to State Rep. Mike Connolly, really awesome and helpful, he wrote a thing that’s called a policy order and some of the items on it were you know, negotiating for more time for us, which happened, but also one of them was looking in to find another space that could do the same thing that EMF did. Even that still hasn’t happened but it could happen, I hope it does.

MIKE: Sure, yeah. I mean in Cambridge, eh, I don’t know.

BEN: Yeah, I mean there are actually a fair number of just disused buildings that are kind of sitting around and empty lots here and there. But when you know the mayor and the Cambridge City Council were discussing potential future sites and they brought up this handful of buildings that are sort of lying vacant right now, something that kept coming up was that people are gonna be angry if this doesn’t become affordable housing when we have an affordable housing crisis.

MIKE: I mean people are gonna be angry if EMF doesn’t become affordable housing on the same token, so...

BEN: Right, right. And there, I don’t know, it’s been very frustrating to me because I think a number of people in city government have sort of made us seem out to be like we’re these little privilege musician folks that you know, and obviously a lot of us are not at all privileged but, um, but that we’re vying for a bigger piece of the pie but there are other people that we’re just ignoring and sort of more or less pitting us against other marginalized groups and saying that we’re being selfish and egotistical or whatnot. But, I mean it’s somewhat understandable...

MIKE: I mean yeah, you’re right, there’s an affordable housing crisis right now.

BEN: Sure, sure sure.

MIKE: But to me, it keeps coming back to the fact that it is designated as a cultural district, like, so other than bands that can you know, basically play at any two-drink minimum bar or like bring heads through the door at one of the places on Mass Ave., right like what about the people who don’t necessarily, what about people who are still artists whose work is valid and vital right?

BEN: Definitely. I guess the thing that I would want to throw back at city and state government is like, if you all would actually do your jobs and actually represent the masses, there wouldn’t need to be different groups pitted against each other, struggling for bits of these handouts because we would have policies enacted that would prevent displacement from happening at all. And that parallel organizations like our own need to emerge in order to put pressure on our representatives and hold them accountable. And, you know, or even run their own candidates for city councils and stuff like that. I mean the Richmond Progressive Alliance, the RPA, on the West Coast has been a great example to similar progressive groups all over the country and I think is a, yeah a great model to look to. But yeah, going forward we’re definitely hoping to endorse people for city council, who knows maybe even run some people from our own group.

MIKE: Yeah, a coalition of kind of concerned parties.

BEN: Yeah.

[music: “every new business that opens up is an overpriced bar or bougie restaurant / our venues are closing but we got a Whole Foods, everything a tech startup could want”]

MIKE: That’s Ben singing under the name Toby Tantrum. To contribute toward the EMF occupiers’ legal fees visit gofundme.com/saveEMF. You can get in touch with me at [email protected] or on Twitter @sellinoutAD. Thanks for supporting the show! I’m Mike Moschetto, you’re listening to Sellin’ Out. See you next time!

[music: “you’re not as smart as you claim to be / but hey no hard feelings when it comes around, for Christmas I’ll buy you a dictionary”]

If You Want Social Mobility, Choose Your Parents Well!

A few years ago, I was researching the value of bachelor’s degrees and discovered a research study from the Department of Education called Baccalaureate and Beyond (Cataldi, Siegel, Shepherd and Cooney 2014).

It is a longitudinal survey – one that follows a group of individuals over a long period. In this case, researchers looked at subjects four years after earning a bachelor’s degree. The thing I found interesting was that about 30% of the subjects did not have a single full time job.

 This caught my attention because the education industry insists that the more education one has the better job prospects become and the more money made. That promise implies that college graduates would have “good” jobs – traditional 40 hour per week positions with some degree of job security.

 This study certainly did not support that claim.

 Of the thirty percent who did not have a single full time job, about half, or 15%, were working one or more part time jobs and the other half were unemployed. The other half had dropped out of the labor force, either returning to school or becoming a housewife/husband.

 I found this so stunning that I called up the lead investigator of the study and asked him, rather bluntly, “If a bachelor degree is not a good predictor of socioeconomic success, what is?”

 He didn’t skip a beat.

 “Zip Code”

 The best indicator of future social status is the social status you happened to have been born into, even more than education. socio-economic status is inherited, it seems.

 In his still very relevant and interesting 2003 book, Somebodies and Nobodies, physicist and college president, Robert Fuller argues that social hierarchies are natural and needed but takes special aim at the unfairness inherent in them.

 In one passage he shares the divergent life courses taken by him and his childhood friend, Gerald, whose family owned a chicken farm. Both boys were interested in math and they enjoyed a friendly competition for twelve years that sharpened their math skills.  

 “At a high school reunion a few years ago, I asked Gerald whether he regretted not developing his talent for math...With an unmistakable wistfulness, he explained that it had always been assumed he’d work the farm. None of his teachers took his mathematical talent seriously. No one ever encouraged him to aim higher. He never even considered anything beyond high school. I’m sure he could have become a college math professor…” (Fuller 2003, p. 36).

Both men started at the same place with the same interests and talents, one becomes a physicist and college president, while the other spends his life driving an egg truck. The only difference between the two was the social status of their families.

 If your parents were wealthy and went to elite universities you will likely follow that path. On the other hand, if your parents went to land grant colleges and end up in the working class that is probably your fate as well.

 That just rubs me the wrong way. So I started researching academic studies in order to bring some sense and clarity to the issue of the value of education.

 Here is Alison Wolf, (2009), a leading UK professor writing in Change: The Magazine of Higher Learning:

 “In Britain, returns to degrees have already dipped badly for specific groups, especially those majoring in the liberal arts or attending low-status schools... You earn more…if you go to a highly selective institution, particularly if you go on to advanced academic or professional education and even more if is a world-renowned university (Harvard, Oxford).” (Wolf, 2009, p. 14).

 There is no doubt that the choice of major has a lot to do with earnings, but notice that Wolf has added something new – the status of schools.

 So, if the status of schools influences future earnings, what happens when aspiring students compete for entry into highly respected schools?

 Just this month the Federal Reserve of Minneapolis released a study asking this very question. Hendricks, Herrington, and Schoellman, (July 2018), performed a meta-study of 42 previous research papers and data sets going all the way back the early 20th century.

 A meta-study does not involve any original research. The investigators combine all the data from previous studies and subject it to statistical analyses. The goal is to aggregate data from a range of previous studies to look for long-term trends or consistent results.

 Here is what these investigators say about how intense competition for high quality education affects US colleges and universities:

 “The key intuition is that although the rising demand for college accepts all types of students equally, it sets off a chain reaction …”

 “…The result is a transition from an equilibrium where all students had access to colleges of roughly the same quality to an equilibrium where high-ability students had access to better colleges but low-ability students had access to worse colleges…” (Hendricks, Herrington, and Schoellman, July 2018, p. 36)

 In other words, the competition between colleges for good students has created a hierarchy of school quality. People aspiring to college try to get into the best schools, but the schools are “sorting” students by ability. Elite schools accept people with the best student skills, while people with lesser student skills go to less respected schools.

 The path one takes to a bachelor’s degree signals social status to employers and graduate programs. A path starting with community college and transfer to a land grant college signals something much different from four years at an elite university or notable local institution.

 This starts making sense.

 If you know anything about social psychology or sociology you are aware of one very basic truth about human beings – we always arrange ourselves in a social hierarchy. It is such an automatic and inherent ability that we barely take notice. Our social circle usually consists of people very much like us – and that means people with similar socio-economic status.

 So, what is it about our family of origin that anchors us so permanently into its socioeconomic status?

 Annette Lareau tells us all about it in her eye-opening book, Unequal Childhoods (2003). Lareau is a sociologist at the University of Pennsylvania who took on a monumental study of how parents transmit social values related to class their children. She and her graduate student assistants observed interactions of poor, working class and middle class families over a period of years and came to some sobering conclusions.

 Lareau identified two general differences in the way parents socialized their children, “concert cultivation” and “natural growth”.

 Middle class families and “concerted cultivation”.

 According to the observations Lareau and her team made, middle class families tend to see their role as nurturing their children. They have the resources to dominate and control their children’s lives with all sorts of structured experiences intended to enrich their lives. These parents are highly involved in managing their children’s after school time, with organized sports, music and dance lessons and other highly structured activities.

 They interact with their children much like adults, explaining why things are best done in certain ways, reminding the kids about chores and homework, and negotiating conflicts with reason, logic and compromise rather than using their authority to end them.

 According to Lareau, these middle class children tend to develop a sense of entitlement, but also learn sophisticated methods of interacting with adults who are in positions of authority, such as teachers and doctors.

 Middle class children, even in the fourth grade, frequently succeed in requesting special attention and privileges from teachers and other adults in positions of authority. They learn this from seeing their parents reminding teachers to respect their children’s learning style, or encouraging their children to ask doctors or dentists specific questions. Lareau contends this grows out the sense of entitlement middle class children develop.

 They learn middle class “rules of the game”.

 Poor and working class families and “natural growth”.

 Lacking the resources of middle class families, poor and working class parents see themselves as authorities keeping their children on the proper path to adulthood. They are less concerned with feelings, opinions and thoughts, and more concerned with compliance and respect.

 Their parents are working overtime, or on a second job or using time consuming public transportation and do not have the time or resources to closely shepherd their children. For these families the focus is on simply staying on top of things such as jobs and transportation instead of teaching the “rules of the game” like middle class.

 Poor and working class children have far more unstructured time. They spend far more time playing with other children, interacting with extended family like aunts and cousins, and considerable time in cooperative activity with siblings and other children.

 School structure is very rigid compared to structure found at home. Poor and working class children very quickly developed a sense of constraint in schools. They readily accept directives by adult authorities such as teachers, but resent the loss of autonomy and self-direction they enjoy at home.

 The result is “neck down compliance” – going through the motions of compliance, but not integrating into the education system. For these kids there is no value in school and the point of learning is lost to them.

 According to Lareau, poor and working class parents teach their children powerlessness in the face of schools because they don’t know how to assert themselves to authorities any more than their children do.

 Putting it all together

 So what does all this mean?

 First, we find that bachelor’s degrees don’t return the level of value promised by the education industry, at least not for everyone. A researcher reveals a variable – zip code – that seems to influence the outcome of education.

 Next, Robert Fuller, physicist and college president, shares a story illustrating how powerful the socio-economic status of the family of origin can be in determining the course of ones life.  

 After that, an observation from a UK academic about how much more valuable a degree from an elite university is than a degree from lesser-valued schools.

 Next, the meta-study from scholars at Minneapolis Federal Reserve supporting the observation that universities have a hierarchy of value. Further, they conclude that schools and students “sort” themselves into hierarchies with poor students attending poor schools at the bottom and excellent students attending excellent schools at the top.

 Finally, Annette Lareau identifies the mechanism parents use to transmit assumptions of how the world works into values that determine socio-economic status.

 If any of this is an accurate explanation of how socio-economic status passes from one generation to the next, it brings in to question how much influence we have over the course of our lives. See what Robert Sapolosky thinks here, and share a comment.

    Here are the sources cited in this article:

 Cataldi, E. F., Siegel, P., Shepherd, B., & Cooney, J. (2014). Baccalaureate and Beyond: A First Look at the Employment Experiences and Lives of College Graduates, 4 Years On (B&B: 08/12).

 Fuller, R. W. (2003). Somebodies and nobodies: Overcoming the abuse of rank. Gabriola Island, Canada: New Society Publishers.

 Hendricks, L., Herrington, C., & Schoellman, T. (July 2018). College Access and Attendance Patterns. Minneapolis, MN: Federal Reserve Bank of Minneapolis.

 Lareau, A. (2003). Unequal childhoods: Class, race, and family life. Berkeley: University of California Press.

 Wolf, A. (2009). Misunderstanding Education: Why Increasing College Enrollments Can't and Won't Fix the Economy. Change: The Magazine of Higher Learning, 41(4), 10-17.

   Thanks for reading! You can find more like this at www.OnwardThroughTheFog.com

Is Hell Really So Bad?

Today I was accused of practicing white feminism. This is not an uncommon insinuation, since I am white female and I am actually listening to Hoobastank as I write this. But today’s complaint struck a cord, mostly due to the conversation that spurred it. It was calmly explained to me that the only reason I’ve never been forced to sell my soul to the Devil is because of the privileges afford to me as a caucasian, cis-gender woman whose parents never got a divorce and who still buy me socks on holidays.

Following the lengthy period of introspection and self-flagellation required after any accusation of non inclusive feminist practices, I was left with one lingering question: Why haven’t I ever made a deal with the devil?

Honestly, I’ve considered it several times, imagining how fucking made my life would be if I traded my soul for the ability to play the fiddle better than any man, living or dead. But why haven’t I? What possible consequence could be holding me back?

Hell, probably.

Wrought in sulfuric volcanoes and thrice-penised minotaurs, our perceptions of Hellfire are clearly the only thing standing between humanity and the liberation of finally sleeping in on Sunday mornings. Considering Christianity’s teachings are 2,000 years old, wisdom dictates this is the point to put my head down and continue with the soul retaining status quo.

But, really, is Hell all it’s cracked up to be? I’m just drawn to the ease of handing my soul to some goat monster then enjoying a lifetime of fiddling glory. Is it not possible that this talk of inferno is a bit hyperbolic? Alt-scripture, if you will.

Please constantly bear in mind the risk I’m taking in writing this. My aunt might start calling me a slut to her friends if she finds out I haven’t been stuffing my clap trap with eucharist every week.

The Bible remains our only accredited source on an “accurate” description of Hell, unless you also believe the account of my middle school friend Megan. Oh really, Megan? You saw Hell in a vision? There were seas of mangled bodies? Your grandma was there? That must have been soooooo traumatizing. Excluding Megan’s input, how reliable is a description that only has one book as evidence? On a scale of one to ten, how chewed would your ass be in English 201 if you handed in a paper that cited only one source? A paper that is, by the way, titled, “This is what MOST DEFINITELY happens when we ALL die.” I mean, where is the Bible’s bibliography?

Is it ludicrous to consider that the Bible, a book that commands it’s readers to never question it’s teachings, might be a piece of propaganda used during a pissing contest between two dualistic deities? Employ your own past experiences for a moment and consider how likely it is that there can be some totally real place where everything is just happy fantastic fucky happy Dante’s Paridiso all the time, and the only other option is eternal darkness and misery with no chance of parole. Is it not more likely that both destinations have their ups and downs like literally every other thing that’s ever existed? Maybe heaven’s pretty cool most of the time, with central AC and rent control, but your roommate is a church lady who wears long skirts and scoots away from black people on the bus. Meanwhile in Hell, you can smoke inside of restaurants and hardcore porn is regularly employed in Facebook ads.

Our previously established notions of Satanisn (sacrificing virgins, pierced labias, etc.) are quickly dispelled by even the most cursory of google searches. I only had to read half of the listicle that came up as the first search item for “WHAT DO SATANISTS BELIEVE!?!” to realize their vibe is way less ritualistic murder and more drinking a bunch while respecting your own personal autonomy. Honestly, Satanism should sue Christianity for libel. Has anyone thought of that yet? Can I make money on that?

If you at any point have wondered whether or not I’m personally qualified to question the fabric of organized religion, let me give you a bit of my background to put you at ease. I once had my friend baptize me in the church of Satan in his above ground pool in retaliation for my mother telling me I will never be able to remove Jesus from my heart. In summary, I have a wide and storied religious education and you can irrevocably trust everything I’ve ever said.

It’s this insight that grants me the authority to make wide, sweeping conclusions concerning the basis of Abrahamic religions. For example, God and Satan are probably just feuding former lovers, or Frat brothers, or perhaps both. We’re unfortunately just stuck in the middle of their shit slinging.

Moving forward, don’t be distracted by the pathos fueled theatrics of modern religion, trying to manipulate you against your own best interest when it comes to your eternal fate. In the end, it really boils down to one simple question: How much would it bother you to live in a room underneath a perpetual gay orgy that will never, ever get any quieter? If your answer was the same as mine, hmu on Craigslist. I’m starting a fiddle band.

Sincerely, a drunk atheist trying to cover my bases.