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usergreenpixel · 3 years

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JACOBIN FICTION CONVENTION MEETING 1: La Seine no Hoshi (1975)

1. Introduction

Well, dear reader, here it is. My first ever official review. And, as promised, this is one of the pieces of Frev media that you have likely never heard of before.

So, without further ado, sit down, relax, grab drinks and snacks and allow me to tell you about an anime called “La Seine no Hoshi” (The Star of the Seine).

“La Seine no Hoshi” is a children’s anime series made by Studio Sunrise. It consists of 39 episodes and was originally broadcast in Japan from April 4th to December 26th of 1975.

Unlike its more famous contemporary, a manga called “Rose of Versailles” that had begun being released in 1972 and is considered a classic to this day, “La Seine no Hoshi” has stayed relatively obscure both in the world of anime and among other Frev pop culture.

Personally, the only reason why I found out about its existence was the fact that I actively seek out everything Frev-related and I just happened to stumble upon the title on an anime forum several years ago.

So far, the anime has been dubbed into Italian, French, German and Korean but there is no English or even Spanish dub so, unfortunately, people who do not speak fluent Japanese or any other aforementioned language are out of luck ( if anyone decides to make a fandub of the series, call me). That being said, the series is readily available in dubs and the original version on YouTube, which is where I ended up watching it. The French dub calls the anime “La Tulipe Noire” (The Black Tulip), which could be an homage to the movie with the same name that takes place in the same time period.

Unfortunately, while I do speak Japanese well enough to maintain a basic conversation and interact with people in casual daily situations, I’m far from fluent in the language so the version I watched was the French dub, seeing as I am majoring in French.

So, with all of this info in mind, let’s find out what the story is about and proceed to the actual review.

2. The Summary

(Note: Names of the characters in the French dub and the original version differ so I will use names from the former since that’s what I watched)

The story of “La Seine no Hoshi” revolves around a 15-year old girl called Mathilde Pasquier - a daughter of two Parisian florists who helps her parents run their flower shop and has a generally happy life.

But things begin to change when Comte de Vaudreuil, an elderly Parisian noble to whom Mathilde delivers flowers in the second episode, takes her under his wing and starts teaching her fencing for an unknown reason and generally seems to know more about her than he lets on.

Little does Mathilde know, those fencing lessons will end up coming in handy sooner than she expected. When her parents are killed by corrupt nobles, the girl teams up with Comte de Vaudreuil’s son, François, to fight against corruption as heroes of the people, all while the revolution keeps drawing near day by day and tensions in the city are at an all time high.

This is the gist of the story, dear readers, so with that out of the way, here’s the actual review:

3. The Story

Honestly, I kind of like the plot. It has a certain charm to it, like an old swashbuckling novel, of which I’ve read a lot as a kid.

The narrative of a “hero of the common folk” has been a staple in literature for centuries so some might consider the premise to be unoriginal, but I personally like this narrative more than “champion of the rich” (Looking at you, Scarlet Pimpernel) because, historically, it really was a difficult time for commoners and when times are hard people tend to need such heroes the most.

People need hope, so it’s no surprise that Mathilde and François (who already moonlights as a folk hero, The Black Tulip) become living legends thanks to their escapades.

Interestingly enough, the series also subverts a common trope of a hero seeking revenge for the death of his family. Mathilde is deeply affected by the death of her parents but she doesn’t actively seek revenge. Instead, this tragedy makes the fight and the upcoming revolution a personal matter to her and motivates her to fight corruption because she is not the only person who ended up on its receiving end.

The pacing is generally pretty good but I do wish there were less filler episodes and more of the overarching story that’s dedicated to the secret that Comte de Vaudreuil and Mathilde’s parents seem to be hiding from her and maybe it would be better if the secret in question was revealed to the audience a bit later than episode 7 or so.

However, revealing the twist early on is still an interesting narrative choice because then the main question is not what the secret itself is but rather when and how Mathilde will find out and how she will react, not to mention how it will affect the story.

That being said, even the filler episodes do drive home the point that a hero like Mathilde is needed, that nobles are generally corrupt and that something needs to change. Plus, those episodes were still enjoyable and entertaining enough for me to keep watching, which is good because usually I don’t like filler episodes much and it’s pretty easy to make them too boring.

Unfortunately, the show is affected by the common trope of the characters not growing up but I don’t usually mind that much. It also has the cliché of heroes being unrecognizable in costumes and masks, but that’s a bit of a staple in the superhero stories even today so it’s not that bothersome.

4. The Characters

It was admittedly pretty rare for a children’s show to have characters who were fleshed out enough to seem realistic and flawed, but I think this series gives its characters more development than most shows for kids did at the time.

I especially like Mathilde as a character. Sure, at first glance she seems like a typical Nice Pretty Ordinary Girl ™️ but that was a part of the appeal for me.

I am a strong believer in that a character does not need to be a blank slate or a troubled jerk to be interesting and Mathilde is neither of the above. She is essentially an ordinary girl with her own life, family, friends, personality and dreams and, unfortunately, all of that is taken away from her when her parents are killed.

Her initial reluctance to participate in the revolution is also pretty realistic as she is still trying to live her own life in peace and she made a promise to her parents to stay safe so there’s that too.

I really like the fact that the show did not give her magic powers and that she was not immediately good at fencing. François does remark that her fencing is not bad for a beginner but in those same episodes she is clearly shown making mistakes and it takes her time to upgrade from essentially François’s assistant in the heroic shenanigans to a teammate he can rely on and sees as an equal. Heck, later there’s a moment when Mathilde saves François, which is a nice tidbit of her development.

Mathilde also doesn’t have any romantic subplots, which is really rare for a female lead.

She has a childhood friend, Florent, but the two are not close romantically and they even begin to drift apart somewhat once Florent becomes invested in the revolution. François de Vaudreuil does not qualify for a love interest either - his father does take Mathilde in and adopts her after her parents are killed so François is more of an older brother than anything else.

Now, I’m not saying that romance is necessarily a bad thing but I do think that not having them is refreshing than shoehorning a romance into a story that’s not even about it. Plus most kids don’t care that much for romance to begin with so I’d say that the show only benefits from the creative decision of not setting Mathilde up with anyone.

Another interesting narrative choice I’d like to point out is the nearly complete absence of historical characters, like the revolutionaries. They do not make an appearance at all, save for Saint-Just’s cameo in one of the last episodes and, fortunately, he doesn’t get demonized. Instead, the revolutionary ideas are represented by Florent, who even joins the Jacobin Club during the story and is the one who tries to get Mathilde to become a revolutionary. Other real people, like young Napoleon and Mozart, do appear but they are also cameo characters, which does not count.

Marie-Antoinette and Louis XVI are exceptions to the rule.

(Spoiler alert!)

Marie-Antoinette is portrayed as kind of spoiled and out of touch. Her spending habits get touched on too but she is not a malicious person at heart. She is simply flawed. She becomes especially important to the story later on when Mathilde finds out the secret that has been hidden from her for her entire life.

As it turns out, Marie- Antoinette, the same queen Mathilde hated so much, is the girl’s older half-sister and Mathilde is an illegitimate daughter of the Austrian king and an opera singer, given to a childless couple of florists to be raised in secret so that her identity can be protected.

The way Marie-Antoinette and Mathilde are related and their further interactions end up providing an interesting inner conflict for Mathilde as now she needs to reconcile this relationship with her sister and her hatred for the corruption filling Versailles.

The characters are not actively glorified or demonized for the most part and each side has a fair share of sympathetic characters but the anime doesn’t shy away from showing the dark sides of the revolution either, unlike some other shows that tackle history (*cough* Liberty’s Kids comes to mind *cough*).

All in all, pretty interesting characters and the way they develop is quite realistic too, even if they could’ve been more fleshed out in my opinion.

5. The Voice Acting

Pretty solid. No real complaints here. I’d say that the dub actors did a good job.

6. The Setting

I really like the pastel and simple color scheme of Paris and its contrast with the brighter palette of Versailles. It really drives home the contrast between these two worlds.

The character designs are pretty realistic, simple and pleasant to watch. No eyesores like neon colors and overly cutesy anime girls with giant tiddies here and that’s a big plus in my book.

7. The Conclusion

Like I said, the show is not available in English and those who are able to watch it might find it a bit cliché but, while it’s definitely not perfect. I actually quite like it for its interesting concept, fairly realistic characters and a complex view of the French Revolution. I can definitely recommend this show, if only to see what it’s all about.

Some people might find this show too childish and idealistic, but I’m not one of them.

I’m almost 21 but I still enjoy cartoons and I’m fairly idealistic because cynicism and nihilism do not equal maturity and, if not for the “silly” idealism, Frev itself wouldn’t happen so I think shows like that are necessary too, even if it’s just for escapism.

If you’re interested and want to check it out, more power to you.

Anyway, thank you for attending the first ever official meeting of the Jacobin Fiction Convention. Second meeting is coming soon so stay tuned for updates.

Have a good day, Citizens! I love you!

- Citizen Green Pixel

#review #french revolution #anime #history #television #frev media #Jacobin Fiction Convention #marie antoinette #French Revolution anime #la seine ni hoshi #la tulipe noire dessin animé #la tulipe noire

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linkspooky · 5 years

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Eren is a Crying Child

Ymir in this chapter serves as a parallel for not only both Historia and Mikasa, but also Eren as well. The reason Eren personally reaches out to Ymir so deeply is not because Eren is Ymir’s savior, but because Eren is Ymir. When Ymir stops hiding her eyes and expression and reveals her true face, it’s important to see her for what she is: a crying child.

Which is what the framing of this chapter establishes, that Eren is not a great liberator. He’s not a badass. He’s someone deeply traumatized. His want to destroy the world isn’t about idelogy, he’s lashing out. Eren’s not being strong to become the hero who saves the world, he’s using the idea of his strength to deny his grief and any vulnerable emotion he can show because he thinks that he is not allowed to be weak. Eren tells Ymir that she is a human because those are the words that he most wants to hear. I’ll explain more under the cut.

1. The Cycle of Grief

Eren is fundamentally, down to his core, a child unable to cry or feel his own emotions. Because he believes he has no right to feel those emotions. That he has to push those emotions aside and be strong and fight back against the world at all times or he’ll lose everything. In growing up into someone strong, and forcing himself to always fight back against the world, he has lost a fundamental part of himself that Ymir represents, the child who just wants to cry. Eren is Ymir he is at the same time, crying and making an angry face because he feels so much towards a world that’s continually taken, and taken, and taken from him.

There’s a clear difference between the external goal which Eren does acknowledge, and the internal goal which Eren does not acknowledge. What Eren says he wants is liberation for the world around him, but what Eren seeks inside is his own liberation from the burdens that he’s put on himself.

Eren’s own internal conflict is a parallel for the conflict of the world at large, continually caught in the cycle of war and abuse that seems unending. Eren is also, constantly dealing with grief and loss that he is unable to resolve in any healthy manner of get closer on. Which is why his primary fear is the loss of his friends in the first place, because he cannot handle those feelings at all.

What Eren wants is peace, security, people who love him for who he is weak or strong, the things he had when Carla was still alive. But, he believes he can find those things in fighting. He wants the ability to see an end to the fighting, but Eren is so unable to comprehend something past that he thinks his own salvation is something as extreme as just destroying every single person who could ever fight against him to end the fighting permanently. Because Eren can’t properly see an end to fighting, without more fighting. So even if Eren is right that you do have to fight back, he’s also wrong because fighting back is the only thing Eren knows how to do.

Remember this is also literature, where parallels like that can be made. Eren’s fight against the world is simulatenously a fight against himself. Two classical conflcits, man vs society, man vs self.

Eren “being a badass” is most often him getting angry, and yelling to deny any kind of feelings of grief of remorse he might have, because in a way his mindset is too fragile to process any of those emotions. Yes, he does feel them, he’s obviously upset when his actions lead him to doing things he does not want to do like imprisoning his friends, and killing innocents in war but rather than handle those emotions he pushes them deep down and represses them. Eren is so “strong”, and yet he cannot handle any kind of show of weakness.

In terms of human psychology, Eren represents the grief cycle if he were permanently stuck in stage two, anger. Eren unable to even feel, feelings of loss denies them and gets angry and never once moves past that stage. It’s important to remember where Eren’s character is inspired from.

He’s not an action hero, he’s Shinji Ikari. It’s the same concept, a child is used by a world of adults because he has a special power that enables him to fight back, and he desperately searches for agency despite being stuck in a conflict that he was born into, and a system that continually exploits him as a tool for fighting rather than treating him as a human being.

He has a father who ultimately chooses to keep him distant and not tell him anything in the end (Grisha / Gendo), a mother who is the symbol to him of all the love in the world that he is unable to meaningfully receive ( Carla / Jaeger). The fundamental similiarity between Shinji and Eren even though one is passive (Shinji) and the other is active trying to steal away any meaningful agency and power away he can from the world (Eren) is at their core they are the same, both of them are fundamentally unable to handle this grief in a healthy way and thus they are incapable of meaningfully growing into fully rounded people. Shinji is permanently stuck in stage 3 depression and detachment, and Eren is stuck in stage 2 Anger, and yes Eren’s shows of strength, his anger at the world, his burning resentment and desperate fights for freedom may look cooler but they are fundamentally the same.

There’s no quote from End of Evangelion that better serves as a summary of what Eren says to Ymir in this chapter than this quote too, except, he is missing the second part.

Which is why Eren is ultimately wrong, and has to be wrong. In fighting the ugliness of the world he’s completely forgotten about the beauty. On one hand what Eren says to Ymir is good and right. She deserves to be angry about the world. She deserves to resent the people who have mistreated her. Her emotions, even the negative ones are all valid. She’s still a person after all this time, and her emotions are her own, even if they’re ugly, even if they’re vengeful, even if they’re destructive.

But at the same time Eren has a chance to show a little girl what’s beautiful about the world that’s completely mistreated her, and he tells her to destroy it instead.

Because Eren himself does not know any step in that cycle beyond anger. He does not know any response beyond getting angry at how the world has treated him. He lashes out, but he never has any meaningful closure, or any relief. Eren’s missing out on an oppurtunity to comfort a little girl because he’s lost all sense of comfort for himself.

That’s why Connie interprets what was Eren’s grief stricken face at Sasha’s death at laughter, because for Eren he’s pushed his emotions so far down now he can’t even cry properly when somebody he deeply cared about has died. This is not Eren being strong, it’s him coping terribly. The reason we’re kept out of Eren’s head, why we can’t see his own point of view is because Eren himself is restricting his point of view from the audience. He lies to his friends. He lies to himself. He goes that far, just to deny that what he feels inside isn’t just anger, but also sadness at the world, a want for comfort, etc. etc.

Eren’s feelings for wanting to lash out are completely valid. There’s basically no way to process that insane amount of grief without lashing out. My point is, Eren conceives of no step beyond lashing out, except to such an extreme that if he destroys everything he will somehow make the feelings go away.

He’s not being strong, he’s continually teetering on the brink of suicide because he’s completely forgotten about all of the beautiful things in life and what makes it worth living due to his decision to focus only on the fighting. In the same chapter we see Eren talk about the beauty of always moving forward, we also see the ugly side to it.

The same ideology that Eren must always keep moving forward, is also what drives Reiner to the brink of suicide. Reiner’s not a strong soldier like he pretends to be who fights to the end, he’s a deeply suicidal person who is desperately looking for some reason to live, to keep going.

But what continually pulls Reiner back isn’t the fighting itself, which is what Eren seems to think it is, that his solution lies somewhere in the conflict that he continually throws himself into. It’s the children. The eldian children that surround Reiner and Reiner feels responsible for, the one he wants to save from this conflict, the future that he himself does not have. Which is why Eren killing children is so thematically important, because Eren himself does not see that future.

Eren and Reiner are foils. While Reiner is clearly projecting here and telling Eren that the best thing for them is just to die already, to go to sleep, that that’s the only peace they can achieve in their life. If Reiner feels that way then it’s likely Eren is equally as suicidal as Reiner is. It’s just Eren has an objective that he has to complete, and that’s what is keeping him alive, and keeping him strong.

Also, the point once again Eren has never once beaten Reiner in the series. He lost to him several times over, and the reason why is because Reiner and Eren are the same. They both fight back against the world by denying that they are people and instead trying to conform themselves to some idea, Eren tries to become the ideal of freedom, and Reiner tries to become the ideal soldier. Eren cannot defeat Reiner because he is not any better than Reiner. Hence why, the one to defeat Reiner here is not Eren’s show of determination and strength, but rather his connection to Zeke.

The beauty of connection in a world that Eren only wants to destroy now. Which is exactly the point what Eren seeks is a release. He views the destruction of everything as a release for him, the peace he thinks he can never achieve in life through any other means. It’s the same suicidal mentality that Reiner has, it’s just a double suicide with the world. Eren would rather die a villain hated by the whole world, then try to live as a person with feelings.

Which is why Eren cannot save anyone in a meaningful way right now. He’s given the chance to empathize with Reiner, he’s given the chance to empathize with Zeke, he understands those ideas in his head and that other people have different point of views but ultimately he rejects it in favor of falling back on conflict, because conflict is all he knows. He’s afraid that if he mourns for even a second he’ll break down like Reiner and start begging for death. He sees that as his only two options, either die and be destroyed by the world, or keep moving forward and destroy the world.

2. Eren and Historia - Lashing Out

Lashing out is a part of the cycle of grief. You have to feel your emotions in some way, even if it’s selfish, even if it’s ugly, those emotions are always going to come out no matter how much you repress them. You are ultimately a person with your own emotions even if you deny that. However, if you just lash out with no meaningful resolution, then it’s easy to believe you’ve somehow cleared those emotions out and then just go back to letting them pile up again.

The parallel to Historia is right there. Life is not something that can be lived entirely for the sake of others. Historia is a character who repressed herself entirely, and tried to live completely as a good girl. She was so obsessed with being seen by others, she denied any selfish feelings that she might have. She denied herself as a person and tried to live up to an ideal instead.

Historia imitated the only person who showed her any kind of love, because she thought that was what others wanted from her. Nobody loved HIstoria Reiss the girl, nobody saw her as a person.

Eren udnerstands her because his method of coping is exactly the same. They both deny who they are as people, because so much of their identity is made up of the people around them, they love so deeply that they canont stand to lose them. Historia, and Eren both lost everybody so suddenly in their lives that they’ve never learned to process those feelings of loss.

Historia says it outright, when Ymir the one person who treats her as a person disappeared then Historia completely lost her identity and her sense of what she wants in the world, because she was depending on Ymir for those things and could not find it in herself.

Historia does not have a strong enough sense of self identity to know what she wants. She is like Eren, always putting on masks, always denying herself, and very conscious of the way she appears to others. Which is why Eren does the same thing, but Historia never quite catches onto that. The Eren whose always shouting about wanting to kill all the titans, he’s a fake. That was as fake as Historia’s good girl persona, but Historia herself does not quite understand that.

Eren full of insecurity and doubt, because he knows he’s still that kid who could not do a single thing in front of the titan that killed his mother, he knows he’s still that crying child and he can’t change who he is no matter how hard he tries. Reiner is the person who sees that. Historia fails to make that connection even when Eren sees that connection himself.

Which is why he also tells Historia the thing that he also wants to hear. That it’s alright for him to be normal. Yes, Eren does accept that he’s a normal person in this arc, but he also BACKSLIDES which is a thing in character arcs.

Historia herself is a character who goes through extreme bouts of selflessness followed by extreme bouts of selfishness. That’s what repression does, the more that she puts away her own selfish feelings and tries to live thinking only of others, the more she gets taken advantage of and used, the more those feelings of hurt and resentment pile up. It’s impossible for them not to.

Which is why what she says in this scene is both good and bad. Historia has to lash out because those feelings have to go somwhere, the problem is that after this scene Historia never makes any meaningful change on those feelings.

What Historia wants isn’t ultimately to be a good girl, or god, or even to be the enemy of the world because all three of those are roles to play not being a person. But they are fundamentally stuck in a system that denies who they are as people, and to cope with it Eren and Historia both deny themselves, and it’s a bad habit they fall back on.

Eren cannot save Historia, because Eren himself does not know the step beyond lashing out. He succesfully encouraged her to lash out, but in the most recent arc we see Eren and Historia despite all they have learned falling back on their old patterns. Historia lets herself be used by others as the queen and becomes entirely passive, Eren puts back on his facade that he’s confident and repeats what he said when he was younger to keep him move forward, but instead of destroy all the titans it’s not destroy all of mankind except for us.

Lashing out is soemthing necessary, but it doesn’t solve the problem ultimately. Historia, and Eren are two people who will ultimately backslide into where they find their identity, Historia finds it in living of service to others, and Eren finds it in conflict and war.

3. Eren and Mikasa - The world is Ugly and Beautiful

Once again returning to Mikasa’s lesson, the central theme of the series. That life is relentlessly cruel, but also it is something worth living. That is why there are always two sides of the coin, ugliness and beauty, why everything is far more complicated than simple black and white.

In this scene, Eren encourages Mikasa to fight and that’s important because otherwise they would have died, but lashing out is not the only thing that exists in this scene. Which is why both Eren and MIkasa are having problems remembering it in the future.

Mikasa focuses far too much on the scene afterwards because Eren wrapped the scarf around her. She wants to remember the beauty of the memory, the love she was shown, and not the violence. Because paralleling Historia, if Historia lives for other people, then Mikasa lives for one person which is Eren. Because she ignores her own individual will to live which was always there and is wrapped around the idea that living is living for Eren.

Which is why Mikasa is confronted with Eren’s violence, because it’s something she ignores. She wants to focus on the beautiful parts of Eren without looking at the ugly, and that causes her to idealize him and not see him as his own fully person. Which is Isayama’s point, it’s not one or the other, it’s both you have to understand.

Whereas, Eren himself does the opposite of MIkasa even though it’s a moment they shared together. He forgets the moment that he wrapped the scarf around Mikasa, the moment of resolution and connection afterwards because he thinks what saved her is the violence. He has also forgotten that she needed both, both the violent liberation and the lashing out to affirm her own feelings, but also the connection to another person and the comfort afterwards. Which is why we see Eren give such a meaningful glance at the part of the scene he’s forgotten.

The point being that Mikasa herself is unattaching herself from Eren, and coming along to a much more nuanced version of her feelings towards him due to their confrontation.

So we see the parallel to this scene. Eren liberates a little girl from slavers the same way he did with Mikasa so long ago in the past, and it’s a direct parallel because we are also reminded of this scene again one chapter ago.

However, unlike back then Eren offers her no comfort or connection. He encourages her to lash out with nothing else. He’s seen a girl miserable her whole life and instead of trying to comfort her in any way, he tells her to strike back against the world because that’s all Eren understands anymore.

Once again we see the parallel in how Eren and Zeke treat , but it’s important to remember that Eren is just as bad as Zeke. What they want amounts to the same thing, the complete destruction of a group of people. It’s also important to remember that Zeke and Eren are both themselves, completely unable to see themselves as people.

Zeke was raised as a child soldier, and he was only given birth to in the first place because he was meant to be used in another person’s plan to liberate the Eldians. No matter how he sees himself, either as the one who kills all of the Eldians, or doing what his father wanted him to do and liberate them, he is ultimately never seen as a person. Zeke cannot see Ymir as a person, because Zeke himself is fundamentally unable to see himself as a person. He’s never been treated as one, and in this moment he’s desperate because the father he wanted to acknowledge him finally said he was his own person only to task him with stopping Eren. Eren is just as bad as Zeke. Eren lost his mother, and his home, sense of security for three years and Eren’s way to deal with that was to do what Grisha did to Zeke, to himself. He denied he was a person in any way in order to deny the feelings of grief that came with the idea that he could lose everything at any moment, as suddenly and violently as he did with Carla. Eren too, is just like Ymir someone who feels like he’s never been free once in his life and therefore his only act of freedom comes in his decision to lash out against everything.

Eren sees himself in Ymir, someone fundamentally unable to be a person because of the sense of responsibility they have towards the world. That is why what he tells Ymir is something he utlimately wants to hear, that she is a person, that she does not belong to anyone.

But, Eren is the same as Zeke. That prevents him from truly sympathizing or saying anything affirming of life towards Ymir. Remember, Ymir is someone who was used and abused as a child. Eren thinks it’s perfectly okay to kill children and use them in that way if you get the end result you want, or at least he’s justified that to himself. He’s telling one girl the way the world treated her was wrong, when he himself has broken children in order to get what he wants.

Eren offers her the right to choose, but it’s very clearly a don’t do what my brother wants you to do, do what I want you to do instead. He says she’s free to choose, but he clearly wants to use her power to lash out against the world

He doesn’t ask her what she wants, he just gives her an alternative. Which is why a beautiful scene of Eren empathizing with a little girl and telling her she does not have to serve others, she has her own emotions, and she’s allowed to be angry at the world for how it ultiamtely mistreated her is also ugly.

Because Eren’s idea of liberation ultimately is just chains under a different name. He’s stuck in a cycle of lashing out in grief that he cannot escape from, nor can he help others get out of. He’s chained to his own emotions of anger, and hatred, because he ultimately is unwilling to let go of them and admit that he’s just like Ymir. That he’s that crying child too.

Eren can keep fighting, but he can’t overcome, and he can’t find any comfort in the world anymore, only more violence. Which is why Eren ultimately can’t save that little girl, only use her in the same way others have used her, use her power to destroy the people he wants to destroy. He an’t show her what is beautiful about the world the same way that he did to Mikasa once. He cannot reach out a hand to her.

Nobody wants me, they can all just die. Then what is your hand for, Eren?

#snk 122 #aot meta #meta #eren jaeger #ymir fritz #historia reiss #Mikasa Ackerman

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bastillewolf · 4 years

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The Grand Tranquility Hotel (VI)

Pairing: Alex Turner/Reader

Summary: An eccentric hotel owner and an inquisitive writer find solace in each other when they both seemed to be at the edge of rock bottom.

Notes: I have the week off of work! Expect some updates in the next few days!

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list.

Chapter VI - The World’s First Ever Monster Truck Front Flip

She’d managed to rid all the tension from her shoulders after a steaming hot shower with a lovely lavender-scented shampoo and was now strewn out across her bed with the book she’d been reading from the library. She didn’t have much planned for the day, simply wanting to refrain from causing any more distress between the others and herself. But when someone came knocking at her door, she didn’t feel like she had a choice but to open it. She was met with the eyes of intrigue himself.

“Will you accompany me for the day?” Alex merely asked. “Where will we be going?” she questioned in turn.

“You wanted to know all about my hotel. So, I’ll show you what I can, writer. Meet me in the service room behind the lobby when you’re dressed.” Looking down at her figure clad only in a soft white robe, her cheeks reddened in embarrassment. She saw the corner of his lips quirk up, before he sauntered back down the hallway towards the elevator. Cheeky bastard.

Having decided on wearing a long skirt with a pristine white blouse to maintain some form of professionality, she grabbed her notebook and pen and made her way towards their one-sided agreed upon meeting point. When Nick was greeted by her ‘good morning’ and with the sight of Alex holding the door to the back room open for her, he gave them a look of complete bewilderment, which Alex simply deemed to ignore. She shrugged and held her notebook a bit closer to her chest before stepping through the doorway.

The room wasn’t very large. In fact, most of the space was occupied by a large desk, filing cabinets and most prominently; television screens. They showed different camera angles to hallways and other communal areas, such as the library and dining hall. It was clearly live, because she could see Matt taking Mardy out for a walk in the gardens and Nick behind the counter, who still hadn’t taken his eyes off of the door they’d gone through. Alex took a seat at the table that held all the electronics and cables and motioned for her to do the same.

Hesitantly lowering herself on the chair next to him, he seemed to be waiting patiently until she’d opened her notebook on a blank page and her pen had revealed its ink when she scribbled down the date on the top right corner. She looked up at him and saw a look in his eyes she could only describe to be the hesitancy of a man who was desperately trying to place his trust in a stranger for the first time in years. She felt it was her turn to take the initiative. “When did the hotel first open its doors?” she decided to start with.

The simple question seemed to bring him back to focus, as he cleared his throat. “About twelve years ago, I’d say it was.” “That’s quit a while. I’m guessing you were rather young to be opening a hotel,” she noted, silently scribbling her pen across the paper in the meantime. She didn’t dare look away from him. He nodded and grumbled a chuckle. “Young, and very inexperienced. Even though I’d had everything planned out from the start, it turned out to be a lot different in practice than what I’d expected it in my head to be.”

“In what way?” He thought about it for a moment. “I guess I had to learn that I couldn’t do everything beforehand and that I had to make more direct decisions on the spot. Although, I was very lucky to have Miles and Matthew at my sides. They were with me every step of the way.”

She smiled softly. “Matt told me about your school years with him and Miles.” “He did? Yeah, we go way back. Bit ridiculous to think I made him promise to come work for me if I ever opened a hotel. Poor lad never stood a chance choosing a different career path. Miles, however, he’d always expected to become my business partner.”

“So, it hadn’t really been Miles’ initial ambition to become mayor?” Alex shook his head, “No. He’d always had a knack for politics and as you well know he’s socially very capable. But if it hadn’t been for his position today, I think this hotel would’ve remained a pipe dream.”

She hummed, letting her eyes wander over the wide array of television screens. “This is your office?” she wondered. “Of sorts,” he replied, “Though Nick often finishes his paperwork in here. It’s where everything is filed.”

“Doesn’t the noise ever bother you?” The slight static hum appeared to be constant and she felt like it derived the room of its peace. “It would most certainly drive me insane.”

“Ah, the exotic sound of data storage. Nothing like it, first thing in the morning,” he quipped with satire. “No, I think I’ve gotten used to it over the years. I don’t really hear it anymore.”

“Have you always had cameras around the hotel?”

“No. We didn’t think it was necessary for a long time, but certain events proved otherwise.”

“Events you’d rather not talk about right now.”

“You’re really getting the hang of this, writer.”

He took her to see the library next, and their walk was silent until they were once again behind closed doors. “I didn’t mean to be secretive, but I did borrow a book from here,” she admitted, shuffling to one of the plush seats near the fireplace. “I know,” he replied, making her look at him in surprise. “I’ve read every single one of these books. They’re all classics, because I’d never let a bad piece of literature enter this room without my permission. You just happened to take one of my favourites, which I can only commend you for.”

She knew the plot of the book from memory and couldn’t help but let a mischievous smirk spread across her face. “You like cheesy romance novels?” she teased. “Laugh at me all you want, writer,” he replied, “But it was you who specifically chose that book to borrow out of all of the ones in here, which means I’m not the only one guilty of fancying a good love story.” “Alright,” she admitted, “What other genres do you prefer when you’re not swooning over Mister Darcy?”

He snickered at her banter. “I take interest in science fiction.” “Intriguing. I suppose great minds do have a wild imagination.” “Was that a compliment I heard?” he inquired. “Don’t get cheeky now, mister Turner. We’re both still testing boundaries here.”

He told her all about the becoming of his grand book collection; of how he’d initiated his fondness of reading through his mother’s literature shelves until he’d gone through them all and started sticking his nose in bookshops and libraries. “When the hotel gained more popularity, some regular guests seemed to pick up on my hobby and I’ve only ever received books as thankful parting gifts from that point on. I’m rather relieved, because I was getting sick of flowers and champagne bottles from people with horrid taste.”

“You really do sound like a ritzy hotel owner now.” “I’d rather be ritzy than be in the rubble.” She raised her brows at him with a silent inquiry at his remark. “Don’t say it,” he muttered.

It was when they winded down a staircase she hadn’t seen before did she unravel her notebook again. During the beginning of their conversation she’d only written down the facts and dates, until she’d decided her memory would suffice for the rest of their conversation. Up until he’d taken her to the lower level of the hotel, which managed to fascinate her to a great extent. “What is this place?”

She knew what it was on first glance but wanted him to elaborate on it. “It used to be a bathhouse,” he told her, “but the previous owners were never able to maintain it. It’s a long-term project of mine to restore it.”

It looked very worn indeed, but the vines that protruded the walls and the moss overgrowing the smooth pillars reminded her distinctly of the Romantic art in the paintings she’d seen across the halls of the hotel. There was a large pool in the middle, and though the green substance that most likely used to be clear water obtained a lot of algae’s, it was alleviated by the gorgeous flowers floating atop their lily pads.

The grimy pastel-coloured tiles in blues and pinks were illuminated by the soft light appearing through the ceiling window in the back of the room, which had a few cracks here and there. She walked around one of the separating walls and found an array of bathtubs lined up to the side, decorated with rusty showerheads and crooked room dividers.

“It’s gorgeous. I’m glad you haven’t decided to tear it all down,” she breathed in awe. He hummed, “I have thought about it. But I’m legally not allowed to since it’s been deemed a piece of ‘cultural heritage’ by the mayor himself.” She snickered, “So, Miles didn’t want it to be torn down.” “Let’s just say it was a mutual understanding.”

She gave him a look and took a step around the next corner, but then no longer felt the ground beneath her foot. She could start to feel gravity pull her down until a hand wrapped around her arm and pulled her back, causing her ankle to scrape against what she now recognized to be a large crater she was meant to have fallen in. Alex pulled her flush against his chest and she let out a deep breath of relief, her heart a pounding mess against her ribcage. “I understand your curiosity is getting the better of you now that I’m answering most of your questions, but it wouldn’t hurt you to be a bit more careful.” His breath tickled her ear and his husky voice was like a musical echo throughout the room. “Thank you, mister Turner. I think I’ll be alright now.”

He slowly let her arm slide out of his hand. “Were you hurt?” “Just scraped my ankle. I’ll be fine.” He shook his head. “Let’s get it sorted. Can’t have you limping around my hotel. It would ruin my reputation.” “To who? All of the other guests?” “I will push you back into that pit if I have to, writer.”

She was still able to walk well enough, but they decided against taking the stairs this time and took the service elevator instead, which lead them straight to the kitchens. He’d rummaged through a few cupboards before finding the first aid kit. She sat upon the counter and lifted her skirt a tad to inspect the damage.

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid we’re going to have to cut it off, miss.” She smacked his arm and he let out a bark of laughter. It was deep and vibrant, and it gave her more joy to hear it for the first time than she’d expected.

Yet, as he cleaned the wound and wrapped her ankle with a soft bandage, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of grief towards the evident wall he hid his emotions behind. It added to the long train of thoughts she was already dealing with right now, and she couldn’t say she was particularly pleased with it.

A silence washed over them as he finished his work and it gave her the opportunity to really look at him. Not just his appearance, but taking in everything he was.

“What will you do if you can’t save this hotel?”

He took long enough to form an answer that she’d almost thought he’d gotten upset with her again. Instead, he replied in a quiet voice that deeply saddened her to the core.

“I really don’t know.”

#Arctic Monkeys #Alex Turner #Alex Turner x Reader #Nick O'Malley #Jamie Cook #Matt Helders #Miles Kane #TLSP #The Last Shadow Puppets #TBHC #Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino #Wpsiatwin #Humbug #AM #Suck It And See #505 #Fanfiction #Romance #Reader Insert

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arrogvnces · 4 years

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“it’s been a minute since your face looked like a palette,” luna observes, walking alongside him through the busy corridors of their university. he reaches out to touch his cheekbone, still coated in a light shade of blue at the edges, only noticeable if you stare at him too long. luckily, few dare. he shrugs. she scoffs. “what, are you telling me you finally stopped your intricate morning rituals?”

“you’re very chipper today,” he retorts, not bothering to entertain her question. they both know he’ll lie and say yes, and she’ll believe him until he needs to be patched up again. he doesn’t have anything against luna’s maternal instinct, but she’s never understood or approved of what he does, and no amount of explaining it will change that. for the sake of their friendship, he moves on. “is it because english lit class means the return of your favorite teacher?”

she reddens at the ears, glaring at him as they make their way down. “for the last time, i do not have a crush on mr. kwon. just because i think he’s kind and a good teacher doesn’t mean i like him.”

“right, and the fact that he’s ripped and wears glasses like a nerdy clark kent is absolutely not the reason why you’re always squirming around in your seat when he’s teaching,” he teases, as the blush spreads across her cheeks. as if on cue, they arrive at the open door of their classroom, peaking inside as elijah kwon sits on his desk and chipperly chats with the swarm of girls and boys dying for an inch of his attention. sinclair watches as his friend’s shoulders fall, frowning as she makes a beeline for their seat in the back row.

“good morning, ms. seo,” their professor greets across the room, stopping luna dead in her tracks. slowly, she turns around, grinning like a child at the candy store, nodding a silent good morning. he hopes their teacher is blind, unable to see the glitter in her eyes or the lovely red on her cheeks. there is no doubt to sinclair that wherever she wants to go, only pain can be found. he clears his throat, interrupting her moment.

“so, no good morning mr. park?” sinclair asks, dragging the attention back to him. “fuck my morning? is that what you’re saying, professor?” the man stares at him for three seconds in complete silence, before breaking into an annoyingly friendly grin. it looks almost genuine, his eyes becoming half-moons of amusement.

“mr. park, you once said to me not to wish you a good anything because no one had the power to dictate whether your day would be good or not except for you,” elijah says, recalling a moment that leaves his fanclub bewildered. “i believe your exact words were: ‘you drive a citroen, worry about your day first.’”

he hears a giggle somewhere in the room, his dark eyes catching a blonde-haired girl poorly muffling her laughter into her hands, eyes shining as they make contact with his. he raises an eyebrow, only recognizing mina kang by her resolution to somehow always be in his circle, no matter where he goes. he blames himself, and a serious alcoholic meltdown, for her teenage obssession. he’s been waiting for the better part of the last year for someone better than him to come along, and hopefully end this uncomfortable situation between the two, but she clearly remembers a very different night, and he refuses to get into it. without meaning to, his eyes slid towards the girl sitting next to her, his brows dipping into a scowl. henri. now that, he’s definitely not getting into.

he turns back, heading towards his seat by luna, the hard chair creaking under his weight. from his seat, at the top of the stairs, he can see clearly as the rest of the class fills up.

“not only am i going to kill you for speaking to him,” luna whispers into his ear, as mr. kwon stands up from his desk. “but if you fall asleep, i’ll bring your spirit back to life then exorcise the shit out of you.”

“you have such a lovely mouth, i wonder why he won’t fuck it,” he retorts, earning her sharp heel into the tip of his shoe. he winces, as their professor begins his animated speech about the classics of english literature. and sinclair tries, truly, to stay awake and take notes. but ten minutes in, his eyes begin to close. slowly... and then all at once.

he’s awoken from his short nap by a slap on the back of his neck. he rubs at it, raising his head to find a scowling luna collecting a few pens, notebook tucked between her arm. “be nice to your partner, sin,” she says, standing up. “i’m not dealing with any more crying girls, this year.” he watches in confusion as she heads down a few rows, greeting another student before sitting down.

“wait, what partner?”

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bbclesmis · 5 years

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The inside story of the BBC adaptation of Les Misérables... by the man who sexed up War and Peace

On a summer’s morning in a park outside Brussels, one of European literature’s most wretched characters is having a laugh. In Victor Hugo’s gargantuan 1862 novel Les Misérables, the naive young Parisian seamstress Fantine is dealt a rotten hand: she loses her wealthy boyfriend, her daughter, her job, her hair, her two front teeth and her life – all within the book’s first act.

If you are one of the 130 million people to have encountered Fantine in the world-conquering stage musical (or 2012’s big-screen incarnation of it, in which Anne Hathaway enacted the character’s misery through an Oscar-winning outpouring of tears), you will know her as a figure of abject tragedy.

Yet here she is in the Belgian sunshine, as played for the cameras by Lily Collins – the 29-year-old daughter of musician Phil – bonnet off, flirting on the lawn with her lover, Félix (Johnny Flynn), while her giggling girlfriends lark about on a swing, like a Fragonard painting come to life.

In her pale empire-line dress, hair plaited with flowers, she looks almost bridal: untroubled and in love. Later this month, you’ll have a chance to meet this unfamiliar Fantine for yourself, in the first episode of the BBC’s lavish new six-part series. With a screenplay by Andrew Davies, it attempts to show us an aspect of Hugo’s classic we’ve never seen dramatised before; one that is, well, less miserable.

Until last year, the director – 50-year-old Tom Shankland, best known for the lost-child drama The Missing – was ‘one of those few people in the universe who didn’t know much about the musical or the film’, he says. But after receiving Davies’ screenplay, he plunged into the novel and found a story bristling with ‘so much life and drama and violence and tragedy that the label “costume drama” just can’t contain it’.

Setting out to make a version that would ‘bring a level of 21st-century psychology to the realm of 19th-century melodrama, keeping one foot in then and one foot in now’, his spiritual guide would be David Lean, who, in cinematic masterpieces such as Lawrence of Arabia, proved ‘so brilliant at judging when to be intimate and when to be epic. I think that was always going to be the game with Les Misérables: how not to lose our heroes against this vast historical canvas.’

It’s day 79 of the 89-day shoot and sitting in front of a monitor – headphones clamped to his ears, an approving smile on his face – Davies is the first to admit to being no fan of the musical. ‘I hated it,’ he tells me, ‘couldn’t bear it.’ Yet when he first read Hugo’s book six years ago, he was struck by a sophistication that, he felt, no adaptation had come close to capturing.

In the sprawling saga, set in a nation discombobulated by Napolean’s defeat at Waterloo, Davies says he found ‘such a lot of resonances with our time now. There are the haves and have-nots, the extreme strata of society in terms of riches and poverty. I thought how good it would be to show that on television.’

At the moment we join the narrative, in 1815, he says, ‘France thought it’d had a revolution, now it’s got a monarchy again and it’s back to the bad times. So while people like Fantine can have fun for a bit, they are always in danger of dropping through the cracks. There is no safety net, no welfare state. If you take one wrong step, you’re f—ed, basically.’

To anyone else, the prospect of reducing Hugo’s 1,500-page leviathan to six hours of primetime drama would have been daunting. But to Davies – who, at 82, is British television’s undisputed doyen of the literary adaptation, as the brains behind such memorable series as 1995’s Pride and Prejudice, 2005’s Bleak House and, in 2016, War & Peace – it was an itch that just had to be scratched. ‘I felt it had never been done properly before,’ he says. ‘But then I always think that. “Hmmm, you need my version of it.”’

His first step towards reclaiming the story from the musical (‘a very partial version of the book, more concert than drama’) was to introduce the viewer to Fantine not when she is plummeting into the abyss, but, as Hugo does, before she has the slightest inkling of her fate. ‘As for Fantine, she was pure joy,’ writes the author early on. ‘Her magnificent teeth had clearly been given her by God with one purpose only, and that was to laugh.’

During a break in filming, Collins, towelling dressing gown now slung over her dress, tells me she spent her childhood summers in Switzerland (‘where I would dream in French’) and begged the filmmakers for an audition the moment she heard the project was in the pipeline – with Davies’ emphasis on this happy phase of Fantine’s story part of the appeal. Not only did it free her from the spectre of Hathaway’s portrayal, it also deepened her sympathy for the character. ‘Because you get to see just how in love she was with Félix; it heightens the heartbreak.’

The result contributes to a telling of Les Misérables that the bullish Davies suggests may rank as ‘the most psychologically satisfying version there has been so far of the book’. Having set out to improve upon the musical, he now finds himself wondering if, in places, he’s also surpassed the novel. ‘We tell Fantine’s story more fully than I think Hugo did,’ he says. ‘We’ve explored the Javert and Jean Valjean relationship more deeply, too.’

If Fantine is the book’s emotional heart, then the intense cat-and-mouse struggle between Jean Valjean – the convict who serves 19 years’ hard labour for stealing a loaf of bread before rehabilitating himself as the mayor of Montreuil – and Inspector Javert, his jailer-turned-stalker, is its moral centre. While the lawman is a monstrously rigid incarnation of the unbending principles of justice, Valjean, who works his way back from brutal to beatific, represents the possibility of grace.

As Javert, David Oyelowo, the British actor who made his name in BBC drama Spooks and forged a Hollywood career with such acclaimed performances as Martin Luther King in Selma (2014), was the first cast member to sign up for the new Les Misérables, on which he also served as executive producer.

‘Partly why I really wanted to play Javert is that, having read Andrew Davies’ script and then the book, he remained enigmatic to me,’ Oyelowo says, speaking over the phone from his Los Angeles home about a character often dismissed as more archetype than man.

‘I didn’t see him as a simplistic villain, but as a very complicated human being. I felt there was a lot of work for me to do in order to explain some of what one might call his malevolence, his drive, his ambition and especially his attention towards Jean Valjean. I found something primal in his fastidious, continuous, inexorable need to get hold of this man.’

Back on set in Belgium, I spot that man – or at least the actor who plays him, Dominic West – loitering in his breeches outside Vilvoorde prison. With its brick-vaulted ceiling and cracked paintwork, the abandoned 18th-century building south of Brussels is an atmospheric kind of place. Shankland says it has a ‘melancholic aura’; a production assistant says it smells of ‘dead rat’.

Inside, in a recreation of the book’s Montreuil bead factory, Collins’ Fantine is sitting with her fellow grisettes (among them Lily Newmark and Erin Doherty) at long wooden tables strewn with black beads, waiting for make-up designer Jacqueline Fowler to give them the once-over. This seems to involve her making sure they haven’t washed behind their ears. ‘I like to see sweat,’ she explains afterwards. ‘And neck hair. None of the girls have make-up on today; it’s a very natural, realistic look.’

Later, the costume designer Marianne Agertoft says that she, too, favoured a pared-down style, so historical pedants had better beware. ‘We’ve kept bonnets off the women quite a lot of the time, even at moments when they would have worn them then,’ she tells me. ‘Why? Because they can very much get in the way.’

Outside, West (also an executive producer), who slotted in Jean Valjean between shooting seasons four and five of American melodrama The Affair, admits he found Tom Hooper’s 2012 film of Les Misérables so ‘bloody awful’ that he walked out of the cinema before it had finished. So when he was first approached for the new series, he hesitated. ‘I thought, “It’s a musical, it’s been done, we’ve just seen the film and why do it again?”’ he explains, while Fowler (previously seen applying her make-up brush to the abs of Poldark’s Aidan Turner for his notorious topless scything scene) attends to his stick-on sideburns. ‘Then I read the book and it just knocked my socks off. Best thing I’ve ever read.’

West is similarly enthused by his character, whom he describes as ‘the greatest superhero in literature, a strongman who spends the whole time rescuing children and saving entire communities’. He treasures Valjean as an anomaly in television drama: a public servant celebrated as a figure of high moral standing. Isn’t it also pretty rare, I suggest, for West, a 49-year-old Old Etonian who sealed his reputation playing a morally dubious Baltimore cop in The Wire, to be the good guy? ‘It is,’ he says. ‘I’ve played a lot of villains and I don’t want to do it any more. [Portraying] Iago and Fred West in one year was annihilating. To live with Valjean, as I have for six months, is invigorating: it opens your soul.’

Oyelowo acknowledges that there will be those surprised to see him cast in ‘the kind of role which, to be perfectly frank, even 10 years ago probably would not have been afforded me’.

Born in Oxford in 1976 to black Nigerian immigrants, he says, ‘Something I have found problematic with period drama over the years, in terms of what we have done in Great Britain, is to deny just how long people of colour have been part of the fabric of British life – and European life as well, as it pertains to Les Mis.’

To those viewers who struggle to reconcile him with Hugo’s ‘slimy spook’, Oyelowo would say, ‘I am sure a lot of French people think it’s not right to transpose Les Mis on to British culture, which is what we’ve done by having the characters speak English and talk in London or posh English accents. But if you are going to make something that doesn’t stink of mothballs, you’d better be speaking to the world that we live in. And I think the show that we have cultivated absolutely does that.’

For all that the series strives for contemporary relevance, it also remains an epic feat of historical reconstruction that required a roving six-month shoot across Belgium and northern France, a principal cast of more than 100 (which also includes Olivia Colman and Adeel Akhtar as the dastardly innkeeping Thénardiers, and Sir Derek Jacobi as the irreproachable Bishop of Digne), a tapestry maker, a horse handler and 3,000 extras.

For producer Chris Carey, the high point of the process – its literal pièce de résistance – was the episode at the barricades, inspired by the 1832 French uprising which, in Hugo’s words, ‘turned the centre of Paris into a sort of colossal, impenetrable citadel’. To shoot those scenes, says Carey (whose last production was the thriller Apple Tree Yard), ‘We used a real street in a real French town, Sedan in northern France, which looks how Paris looked pre-Haussmann. And we blew it up over the course of two or three weeks. You can imagine the complications of keeping the town happy and on side when you are running through the streets at 5am with bayonets and cannon firing.’ I can also imagine such an operation burning through the kind of budget of which most BBC dramas could only dream. ‘You can’t do that stuff on a shoestring,’ concedes executive producer Faith Penhale, ‘but I won’t tell you a figure.’

West gives a less guarded assessment. ‘In terms of American budgets, this is nothing. This whole series is probably costing less than an American pilot would cost,’ he says. ‘We do these things very cheaply, which is not a good thing… For what we have to do, it’s peanuts.’

Does he in turn receive a significantly smaller fee for a drama like this than for something like The Affair? ‘I couldn’t possibly tell you,’ he says. Perhaps because they’ve blown a sizeable chunk of the budget on the services of a certain Mr West? ‘No, they have not,’ he yelps, before offering an answer to my previous question: ‘Yes, I do, very much less.’

If money is in relatively short supply in Les Misérables, then so too is sex. One of the most curious aspects of Hugo’s book is that, although it was written by a man known for his erotic appetites (it is said that on the day of his funeral, on 31 May 1885, the brothels of Paris pulled down their shutters as a sign of respect to a valued client), sex scarcely gets a look in. ‘It’s odd,’ says Davies. ‘We had this sudden realisation when talking about it that both Javert and Jean Valjean appear to be virgins.’ You might have assumed that Davies, who has long since had a reputation for sexing up the classics, would set that right – he is, after all, the man who injected incest into War and Peace and whose Pride and Prejudice planted the image of Colin Firth’s Darcy in a figure-hugging wet shirt in the nation’s consciousness – but no.

‘I don’t have to have sex all the time in things,’ he laughs. ‘I’m an old gentleman now.’ And indeed, although Fantine is taken to bed by Félix more than once in the first episode, their scenes together are characterised by a coyness that borders on prudery. In fact, the only real nudity to speak of in the drama’s first hour – which opens with jaw-dropping aerial views of the battlefield of Waterloo, a grim patchwork of uniformed corpses and dead horses – is a disarming shot of Valjean’s bare bottom. ‘Yeah, when I leave prison I get stripped off and thrown my old rags, so we thought it was a good excuse to get my ass out – somebody did, anyway,’ West tells me with a wolfish grin. ‘Let’s hope they can CGI it all right.’

Talking of ideal forms, before I leave the set I ask Davies if at any point in the process he felt the story of Les Misérables had already found its perfect expression in Hugo’s pages, and that the act of wrestling it on to the screen was always doomed to feel like a succession of compromises? ‘No,’ he says, with unwavering confidence. ‘It’s just finding its perfect medium now. If TV had been around at the time Victor Hugo wrote, I believe he would have made it as a six-part television show.’

Les Misérables starts on 30 December, at 9pm, on BBC One

Benjamin Secher, The Telegraph, 08.12.2018

#les mis bbc #bbc les mis #Interviews #Lily Collins #fantine #david oyelowo #javert #dominic west #Jean Valjean #Andrew Davies

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winnipegpatty · 5 years

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to all the boys i’ve loved before [pt ii.] | s.m.

a/n: tumblr hates me, and deleted pt. ii. so here i am reposting. apparently this is just a thing that’s gonna happen with all my writing. cool. anyway, enjoy if you haven’t already read. reblog, like it, come talk to me about it. pls. i need validation.

part i. part iii.

I should probably consider going to a therapist. I must be insane. I had to be. This is only a thing a crazy person would do. Not only had I considered Shawn’s proposal over the last twenty four hours, I entertained the thought. A lot. If Gen was sure to be jealous of their relationship, maybe Josh would be too. And not that I wanted to date Josh or anything, it would be kind of nice to see him jealous over someone else liking me. And well, maybe fake dating Shawn wouldn’t be so bad. He was cute after all, and popular. He might teach me a thing or two about dating, of which I knew exactly...zero things. So really it didn’t seem so bad. It couldn’t really hurt, could it?

But considering Shawn’s idea and actually accepting it were two different games.

In my own land where I control the outcome of each of my decisions, can know exactly what everyone thinks or does around me, well this idea sounds amazing. But in the real world. The world where Gen hated me, and I had exactly one friend, and my eleven year old sister had a better social life than me. Well, that was different.

Yet somehow, sanity had gone out the window, and I found myself somewhere I never thought I would ever go. The school music hall. The place where Shawn practiced for theatre and choir ensemble pretty much every day. And yes, I realize that choir kids, aren’t usually that cool, right? It’s usually the jocks, right? Well this school was different. Or well, maybe Shawn was just different. He had a way about him. A commanding presence that made everyone look twice when he walked down the hall. So yes, he was the most popular senior in the school, despite only being a choir kid.

But what was I doing in the music hall exactly? Well that was a good question. I’ll be sure to let you know the answer when I figure out.

“Hey Mendes,” I heard myself shout over a particularly loud guitar riff he was showing off to his friends.

His fingers slipped to a stop. “What?” He asked as he looked towards me where I was walking up the stage steps.

I came face to face with Shawn Mendes yet again (this was quite possibly the most I’d ever seen of him in such a short period of time). “I’m in.” I said my voice surprisingly steady despite my pounding heart rate. Was I really getting into this with Shawn Fucking Mendes?

A slow smile crept onto Shawn’s face as he gently placed his hand on my cheek and kissed me. Yes, he kissed me. It was my second kiss with Shawn Mendes in less than twenty four hours.

What the fuck was this life?

When he finally pulled away, I took a small step back. I’m sure I looked shocked because honestly, you’re lying to yourself if you think you wouldn’t.

“Well, uh, I’m gonna go to Spanish now.”

I slowly backed away, fleeing the scene of the crime.

And that, my friends, was the beginning of a beautiful fake relationship.

____

“Okay, first things first, we need rules.”

Shawn rolled his eyes from his place as the picnic table.

“You really know how to suck the fun out of a situation don’t you?”

“This is serious Shawn, we need to know where we stand on certain issues.”

Shawn tugged on the string of the pink hoodie he was currently wearing. “Okay, like what issues?”

“Well, for example. I don’t want to kiss you again.”

Shawn balked, thinking I couldn’t be serious. I was. “Who is going to believe that we are a couple if I can’t even kiss my girlfriend?”

I rolled my eyes, “Relationships are more than physical intimacy, Mendes.”

“Okay, but you kissed me first! And now you’re going to say you don’t want to kiss at all?”

He had a point, but that didn’t mean the request was any less valid. I wasn’t caving. “It’s not negotiable.” I set him with a stern looking, hoping it was clear that I meant business.

“Fine, but something else needs to happen then. People won’t buy it if I’m not allowed to touch you.” Shawn shrugged as if that were a no brainer.

“I see your point. How about this? You can...stick your hand in my back pocket?”

“My hand in your back pocket, what the hell is that, Y/N?”

“Sixteen Candles?”

Shawn rolled his neck to look at me, completely unimpressed with a blank face.

“It’s the opening image?” Nothing. This boy was giving me nothing. “It’s a couples thing!”

“Maybe in the 70s.”

“Sixteen Candles was the 80s!”

Shawn’s utter lack of knowledge of classical rom com literature was horrific. “Okay well first off, sixteen candles is going on the list because it’s a classic. I refuse to date someone so uncultured. Second, we can’t tell anyone about this relationship.”

“Duh, first rule of fight club,” Shawn rolled his eyes.

“What?”

“Are you serious?” Shawn leaned in to look closely at me, “You’ve never seen fight club?”

I shook my head before he responded, “Oh my god okay, write it down. Double feature. The Candles movie and then fight club.”

“Okay, fight club, sixteen candles, no snitching. Anything else?” See Shawn thought this idea was stupid, making rules and all, but clearly this was the important bedrock on which the entire fake relationship would sit upon. A solid foundation was important.

“I could,” Shawn’s face suddenly appeared calm, contemplative, “I could, um, write you songs, maybe? Like little lyrics?”

Songs? Lyrics? Shawn would write songs for his girlfriend? I’m not even sure I knew he wrote his own songs. Could this be more surreal? “You’d do that?” I asked softly, not wanting to get any thoughts in my head.

“Yeah, I mean, Gen was always begging me to do it. And I never did. So if I did that for you, it’d drive her crazy.”

Right. Gen, of course. “How romantic,” I cooed, dripping with sarcasm.

“Also, you have to come to all my concerts and performances and the parties.”

“Then you’ll have to pick up my sister and I and drive us to school everyday.” So that I don’t die.

“Okay, but you’re coming with me on the annual ski trip.”

The Ski Trip. That was the infamous overnight event where more couples were rumored to lose their virginity than Senior Week and Prom, combined. Any couple that meant anything in high school would be there together. I have never been. Obviously.

“Shawn, that’s like three months away. You really expect us to last that long?”

“Let’s just call it a contingency.” Shawn smirked, “Look no one in their right mind, would let their boyfriend go on that trip alone. It’d be social suicide. So, if we are still doing this by then, you have to go with me. No ifs ands or buts.”

I’m absolutely certain, that by the time the ski trip comes around in three months, Shawn Mendes will just be a page in the book of my own history book. And that is the only reason I say, “Okay. Deal.”

___

“Come on, Sof, we’re gonna be late. Hurry up.”

It was October already. I’m not sure how it happened, but it had. And today was the day Shawn and I were going to put the contract into motion. Fake relationship-ing commences today.

“I’m so tired of taking the bus,” Sof complained as she ran down the stairs, “Can’t you just drive us again? This time without hitting people?”

“Actually.” The two of you slipped out the door, just as you heard Shawn honk the horn of his Jeep.

“Hey, y’all ready?” Shawn stuck his head out the window.

The shock on Sofia’s face was priceless. I stepped into the passenger side seat and Sofia stumbled into the back seat.

“Hey, little Y/N” Shawn turned towards Sofia, “What is that?” He motioned to her cup.

“This is horchata,” She said as if he were utterly helpless. Which to her defense, he basically is. “And my name is Sofia, my friends call me Sof. But you can call me Sofia.”

“Okay..” Shawn said turning to me, “She’s feisty.”

“So, how exactly do you know my sister again?” Sof asked.

Shawn laughed, “Well, I guess, I’m her boyfriend.” He sent a smile to me, and I rolled my eyes. “Can I have some of that?” He gestured again to the horchata.

“Sure,” Sofia responded, handing her cup over to Shawn. Shawn took a drink of the horchata and smiled.

“Oh, wow that is so good. What do I have to do, to get you to bring me one of these tomorrow?”

“You’re driving us again?”

Shawn nodded, “Yeah of course. It’s the boyfriend duty, I’ve been told.” Shawn winked at me, and I shrunk further into my seat.

“Okay!” Sof bounced, “You can call me Sof.”

Shawn leaned into my shoulder and whispered to me, “Progress.”

And this is what it was like to be dating Shawn Mendes apparently.

#shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes #shawn mendes x reader #imagine #fic #fanfic #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes writing #my writing #mine #writing

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johnabradley · 5 years

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Exclusive: Carole Middleton's first interview: 'Life is really normal - most of the time'

‘Two things you need to know. Carole’s very, very nervous, and she doesn’t do sofas,’ the Telegraph’s team on the shoot warned me the night before I went down to Bucklebury in west Berkshire to interview her. ‘When we asked her to perch on one,’ they continued, ‘Carole’s response was, “Who sits around on a sofa?”’

Sure enough, a couple of days after the shoot, when Carole, clutching a soya latte (she’s recently gone vegan/flexitarian) and slightly late, sweeps into the boardroom at the HQ of Party Pieces, the business she set up in 1988, she doesn’t sit down but immediately takes me on a tour of her empire. Just like that. I don’t quite know what I expected – not trumpets, but perhaps some sense of ceremony – but then I don’t think she knew what to expect either. She’s never done an interview before.

The tour goes on so long that at one stage I wonder whether she’s planning to do the entire interview on the hoof as part of a cunning ruse to get it all over and done with before I’ve had time to press record. It does, however, give me time to adjust my retinas to the life-size Carole, inevitably smaller, but also more youthful, than the version the world has become accustomed to. This, lest we forget, is the future British king’s grandmother – arguably the second most famous granny on the globe.

In one sense, empire, as Carole Middleton would be the first to point out, is far too pompous a word for the collection of brick sheds and barns that Party Pieces has, over the years, colonised on a country estate in Berkshire, a 15-minute drive from the Middleton family home. There are a couple of large warehouses with radios blaring pop music and shelves of pre-filled party bags, fancy-dress costumes, table runners, Let’s Be Mermaids garlands, rose-gold team bride plates and much, much more. ‘And this is just a small part of it,’ says Carole.

There are around 7,000 products in total on the Party Pieces website. She’s seen the cactus, llama and fern trends come and, in some cases, go. But there will always be dinosaurs and princesses. The largest part of the business – at least half – remains children’s party accoutrements, but now there are also accessories for baby showers, 30th and 50th birthdays.

The subtext of all this is that Party Pieces is a serious business that was successfully operating a long time before what Carole later refers to as Catherine’s ‘impact’. It’s a private company and they won’t release figures, but during their busiest periods, they dispatch around 4,000 orders a week.

The beamed open-plan office is where most of her 30-strong admin team (none of whom seems given to hat-doffing in her presence) sit. As does Carole. ‘It’s better to be with everyone so you can see what’s going on,’ she notes. ‘They say it’s a bit like a hurricane arriving when I come in.’

The many Americans who order from Party Pieces would be charmed to know that chickens ran through central HQ until the Middletons moved in. But the décor is more Ryman than Soho Farmhouse. The beige carpets are worn, with several threadbare patches, and there are MDF desks and swivel chairs. The walls in the small boardroom are banana yellow.

Carole herself, however, is a vision in a khaki Ralph Lauren blazer and black T-shirt, black skinny M&S trousers (her legs are phenomenal) tucked into Russell & Bromley riding boots, and minimal jewellery – small drop earrings, a couple of gold rings and a thin gold chain with which she constantly toys. It is classic Middleton style, although Carole tells me she far prefers dresses (‘not ones that are tight round the middle though, my shape’s changing’). Maybe it’s the hair. She gets it done locally and it’s shorter and glossier than in recent pictures. The fact that it seems slightly darker emphasises how alike she and her daughter Catherine, the future Queen of England, look. Perhaps it’s the golden tan or the light-touch make-up – the kind where you can’t see the edges. But whereas Catherine and her sister Pippa look much the same on camera as off, Carole, all flashing, watchful hazel eyes and fluttery, girlish nerves is, at 63, far more striking, delicately boned and simultaneously softer-looking in real life than in pictures.

But the voice is what everyone wants to know about. Is it stewardessy (in her early 20s she worked for British Airways)? Elocutioned? Lynda Snell? None of the above. The best description is probably modern posh – not affected, not mockney. If we’re on a scale of BBC presenters, I’d say Mishal Husain. In terms of warmth… maybe Martha Kearney.

Although she hardly ever looks me in the eye, she is very cosy once she gets going: smart and interested. On the shoot, she asked everyone about themselves and dispensed breastfeeding tips to the make-up artist. I don’t think the solicitude towards others is forced, though it does take her a while to warm up (not in terms of temperature, she’s obviously got terrific circulation as there’s a bracing chill in that boardroom). But she does seem like a lot of fun.

You can see why the Middletons remain such a close family (Catherine texted her on the shoot to wish her luck) and why they all, spouses in tow, gravitate towards Granny Middleton. ‘I do love a good party,’ she says later. ‘I’m definitely a night owl and a real chatterbox. My children look at me sometimes…’

Obviously we’re not here to discuss the children, and certainly not their spouses (Pippa is married to James Matthews, a former racing-car driver, hedge-fund manager and heir to the Scottish feudal title Laird of Glen Affric; James, after an on-off relationship with TV presenter Donna Air, is currently single; their oldest daughter, we know about). Carole and her husband Michael have been commendably discreet during the 13 or so years since Catherine began dating the Duke of Cambridge. As Carole says, ‘Over the years, it’s proved wise not to say anything.’

But Party Pieces, her one-stop-solves-all business, has been going for more than 30 years, ‘and I just thought I should celebrate a little’. And it is a good story, part Catherine Cookson, part careers manual for would-be entrepreneurs, as well as being a business that, says Carole, has been flagrantly copied. Her own role model she says, was Laura Tenison, founder of kidswear brand JoJo Maman Bébé, whom she went to watch at a few conferences in the early days of her own company.

Carole Goldsmith, as she was, seems to have had a strong work ethic from the start. Her father Ron was a painter and decorator. Her mother Dorothy, aka The Duchess (because she always looked so impeccable), was a character. ‘Everyone adored my mother,’ she says when I relate how the taxi driver who picked me up from a local train station and drove me to the Party Pieces HQ, told me she’d been a close friend of The Duchess.

Ron and Dorothy moved to Berkshire from west London 10 years after Carole and Michael. Carole’s own closeness to her children and grandchildren is an echo of the relationship she had with her own family, which was ‘small but tight’. Her younger brother, ‘Uncle Gary’ of Maison de Bang Bang fame (at the time of Catherine and William’s wedding, the press had a joyful time detailing Gary Goldsmith’s party reputation), is also an entrepreneur.

Carole spent her first six months in a council flat in Ealing. She initially left school at 16, got a job with the Prudential in Holborn and hated it. ‘It was one of those massive offices with rows and rows of desks.’ So far, so early 1970s. But Carole knew she could achieve more and asked Ron if she could return to school to do her A levels. She got four: art, economics, English literature and geography, which she wanted to teach. ‘But my parents couldn’t afford to put me through college, so I thought I’d see if I could get a bit of money together and fund myself.’

While she’s recounting this, she suddenly remembers she got a job – she can’t remember the year – on the John Lewis A level trainee scheme. This has always been considered the gold standard in retail and was extremely hard to get on to. Carole is bemused by her own memory lapse: ‘Gosh… how did I forget? I can’t even remember when it was. I’ll have to check with Mike.’

This is a woman who clearly spends even less time navel-gazing than she does lounging on sofas. Too busy cooking. She adores cooking. ‘I probably have more cookery books than anything.’ At the moment her favourites are Mary Berry (‘she does use a lot of cream, though’) and Amelia Freer. The combination of the nation’s favourite baker and the fashionable nutritional therapist, who helped singer Sam Smith lose 3½st, seems very Carole.

The John Lewis gig was a dream, particularly her stint in china and glass at Peter Jones, which is where she realised how interested she was in finding out what kind of merchandise sold. But then they told her she had to do a spell on the shop floor as a sales assistant. ‘I thought, blow that. I’m not doing that for six months – it was really boring.’ So she got a secretarial job (she can still do Pitman shorthand) at BEA (before it merged with BOAC to become British Airways in 1974), but didn’t think much of secretarial work, either, so brushed up her French and got a job as ground staff.

‘It’s not like it is now,’ she explains, coming over momentarily a touch Mrs Bennet. ‘You had to be able to speak another language. It was almost like being at university.’ I think from all this we can conclude that Carole Goldsmith was pretty clear she wasn’t going to be fobbed off with also-ran situations.

The newly formed BA had trained too many pilots, so it was redeploying them on the ground and Carole found herself working alongside them as well as other senior staff.

Enter Michael Middleton, six years her senior, ‘rather shy’ but very handsome… A year after they married, she had Catherine; 18 months after that Pippa and then the Middletons moved to Jordan for three years, where Michael worked as a aero manager for an international air station (he was never a pilot). Jordan life sounds comfortable. There was a lot of socialising at the British Embassy, some help at home and the girls were in nursery school. But, says Carole, ‘I wasn’t convinced I wanted to be an expat mum and Mike’s job there was coming to an end.’

By the time they returned to the UK in 1987, Catherine was four and a half, Pippa 18 months younger and Carole, now 32, was pregnant with their third child, James. ‘I thought, “Oooh, bills to pay.” But I also had this strong feeling that I hadn’t achieved anything. I got married at 25, had Catherine at 26…’

Party Pieces launched the same year her son was born, in 1987, with a simple idea about a one-stop place where you could get everything you need for a children’s party. Carole visited the Birmingham Spring Fair, where she sourced some suppliers of paper plates and cups, stuck up a self-designed flyer at Catherine’s local playgroup in Bucklebury, and began stuffing bags from her kitchen table.

Business was steady if unspectacular – this was pre-internet, so responses weren’t always immediate. But then she had the brainwave of advertising with The Red House, a children’s book club she’d subscribed to once her brood began to read: 10,000 flyers to begin with and then 100,000. That’s when Party Pieces really took off.

She moved from her kitchen to a small business unit in nearby Hungerford – Mike built the packing benches. ‘That’s when Michael gave up his job at BA and came in. My mother thought that was big, because at that stage he probably wouldn’t have got employment again, but we could see this was a business that could scale up.’

When I ask about struggles or disasters she more or less shrugs off the notion. ‘We were pretty much the only ones doing this sort of thing when we started. It was really clear almost from the start that this was going to work. I got help from other mums – paperwork and that kind of thing… I think it’s easier to start a business when you’re young. You’re less aware of the pitfalls and maybe you have less of a lifestyle to lose.’

Listening to Carole talk about those early years, what comes across is her resourcefulness and stoicism. She feels they were lucky. ‘Running a business is really very simple: you buy things and sell them for a profit.’ Mike’s decision to quit his job was, she says, their wild card. She is very clear that the business was her idea. ‘And it was a good idea or it wouldn’t have taken off.’ Were there no sleepless nights over the financing? ‘We never took really huge risks. We had to fund our own growth,’ she replies. She doesn’t get stressed, she says, although she was clearly anxious about this interview. Maybe that British Airways training ingrained the necessity of appearing serene while paddling furiously below the surface.

When I ask about juggling a fledgling business with three small children, particularly when working mothers were not as common as they are now, she responds instantly. ‘It was my business, so I could work around the holidays.’ She makes it sound straightforward. She understands the tussle, though, but in the end, she’s a boss. ‘In this office, I see the challenge of working mothers – but if I need them here…’

There was spillage into their home life, ‘Mike and I often talked about work in the evenings or on holiday, but we enjoyed it. I never really felt I was a working mother although I was – and the children didn’t either. They grew up with it.’

The girls were at school till 6pm. That’s a long day: someone who observed them from a distance says Catherine and Pippa were always hard workers at school and encouraged by Carole to hone accomplishments that would serve beyond academia, such as skiing. ‘James would get picked up – very occasionally by someone else – and come back to the office and be here with me,’ continues Carole. ‘I was often finished by 6pm and I didn’t have a long train journey. I think it’s really good to work. It was part of the children’s lives – it still is – and they’d come and help. They did a lot of modelling. Catherine was on the cover of one of the catalogues, blowing out candles. Later on, she did some styling and set up the First Birthday side of the business. Pippa did the blog. I still value their ideas and opinions.’

There was never any doubt in the Middletons’ minds that they would base their family and business in Bucklebury. ‘Do you live in London?’ Carole asks me, looking sympathetic when I nod. Later, when she drives me to the train station, scooping a pile of papers and a plastic cup from the passenger seat of her Range Rover, to save me phoning for possibly non-existent taxis, she shows me the spot she and Michael first fell in love with.

She loves this tiny pocket of remoteness – the fact it’s only an hour from London, that she can take their four spaniels and one golden retriever (James, who lives with them when he’s not in London, shares two of the dogs) for a long walk straight from their house, and the solid, picturesque red-brick architecture. ‘We really fell on our feet moving to this area,’ she says. Their first home was ‘a very sweet semi-detached cottage. We stayed there until Catherine was 13, so the children spent a lot of their youth there.’

There were two more moves – Oak Acre, a detached house where Prince William famously landed his Chinook helicopter in 2008, and the more secluded, seven-bedroomed, Grade II- listed Bucklebury Manor. She’s good at nesting, she says. ‘If you choose your house wisely, you don’t have to do too much. We almost just replicated what we did before. Farrow & Ball Cord and Hay [both shades of beige] – you can’t go wrong.’

In photos, Bucklebury Manor is what estate agents would call impressive, a description that must set Carole all ajangle. She’s on a mission to appear as unaffected and normal as possible. Later, when we’re discussing her love of Christmas trees and how she likes to have as many as possible in the house, including one in the grandchildren’s rooms, ‘so that they can decorate it themselves’, there is one of many long pauses, while she ponders the consequences of a seemingly innocuous exchange. ‘That makes me sound as though I live in a mansion, doesn’t it?’ Erm, you’re the future king’s grandmother, I think. Would a mansion be out of the question?

Maybe she’s right to be cautious. Over the years it has been she, rather than Michael, who has caught the full beam of the Middleton-focused attention, much of which fixes on the idea of her as a pushy arriviste. She stopped reading the stories about herself online over a year ago. I’m surprised it took her so long. ‘Well, I thought it was better to know what people thought. But it doesn’t make any difference. I’m not really sure how I’m perceived now,’ she says. ‘But the thing is… it is really normal – most of the time.’

When I ask her where she most likes to shop, there’s another pained pause. ‘How’s this going to make me sound?’ I half- expect her to confide that her secret vice is Harrods’ personal- shopping department, but only if she can get it closed to the public. But no. Peter Jones is her happy place. ‘The staff are lovely and they all know me.’ She also loves Burford Garden Company in the Cotswolds, where she and Pippa will happily spend the best part of a day.

More Middle England you cannot get. She even loves Michael McIntyre. She could be protesting too far when she later opines that Jigsaw is a bit pricey. She loves Samantha Sung’s shirt dresses and Goat, but likes to shop in the sale. She finds the music in Selfridges a bit overwhelming and she only very occasionally patronises Catherine Walker, but I suspect this is how the Middletons really are.

Carole is known to drive a hard bargain when she negotiates – she’s not a businesswoman for nothing. She seems genuinely concerned that if I take the train back to London from a different station, I’ll have to buy another ticket (all of £22). There are things they spend money on – property, children’s education, holidays – and things they consider to be a waste of money. Fashion is definitely a bit suspect. ‘Do you think it’s important?’ she asks me. When I say it’s a huge UK success story, that first impressions are clearly important and that style, rather than fashion, is worth cultivating, she nods. ‘Now you put it like that, I see what you mean.’

In some ways, there’s a touching naivety about Carole. I don’t think any of the family, with the possible exception of James (and this is based solely on pictures; I’ve never met him) give one iota about being cool. She’d rather be doing other things than clothes shopping. Party Pieces remains a full-time job for her.

‘I don’t see myself stopping [work]. If I did I’d have to have so many projects on. I’d have to redecorate the house. I’d love to travel, but then I’d miss the grandchildren. No,’ she ponders, as if just deciding this, retirement is not on the cards. ‘I’ve got a billion ideas I still want to do.’

#carole middleton #michael middleton #the middletons #kate middleton #duchess of cambridge #prince william #duke of cambridge #pippa middleton #james matthews #james middleton #prince george #princess charlotte #prince louis #arthur matthews

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neoduskcomics · 7 years

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Beauty and the Beast (2017) Review

I realize that I’m pretty late to the party with this, but I recently watched the live action adaptation of Beauty and the Beast and decided to write down some of my thoughts on it. I’ll mainly be focusing on what some of the changes were that the new version made and how I thought that they actually improve upon the original in some ways. So if you’re looking for someone to uphold the original film in the highest regard and shit on the newest, bastardized version of it—you won’t find that here, and please don’t keep reading unless you actually want to engage another point of view.

Also, no spoiler warning because, I mean, I just assume you’ve already seen the original Beauty and the Beast and it has basically the same plot as the new one. And if you haven’t seen the original Beauty and the Beast, this is the part where you stop reading this and go watch it.

Alright, then. On with the review.

I want to preface all of this with the fact that I do actually think that Beauty and the Beast is one of Disney’s finest animated works of all time, and this review is not meant in any way to say that it’s too flawed to enjoy or that it doesn’t deserve any of the obscene amount of praise that it gets—because it’s not and it does.

That being said, the beginning of the new movie already fixes an issue I had with the original, and it’s a small issue, but it sets a trend that I find persisting through the rest of the film. At the film’s opening, we’re treated to some exposition about the Beast pre-curse and we can clearly see that he’s an adult. I know this is a pretty common thing to harp on by now, and it’s really a nitpick, but before, we knew that Beast was about 20 and Lumiere says they’ve been cursed for ten years. An orphaned elementary-school-age kid turning away a strange old woman from his doorstep is not exactly a sin I’d say deserves lifelong punishment.

However, a grown man being a complete ass and ridiculing said woman in addition to casting her out into the cold night has a bit more heft to it. I also like the change of the lyric “ten years, we’ve been rusting” to “too long we’ve been rusting” in Be Our Guest. Keeping it vague keeps your mind off of how long they’ve actually been cursed (Like, is the Beast forty now? These are questions you don’t want the audience thinking).

The movie goes on and we get the token “I want song” from Belle. Here’s the next part of the film that I thought improved and expanded upon the original. Before, Belle was characterized as a strange, peculiar, and misfit girl, but all we really had to go on was the song. She read a lot, which they imply was odd, and she yearned for a something “more than this provincial life”. That’s about it. Belle’s motivations in the story basically have to be carried by that for the rest of the movie.

In the new version of the film, we actually get a bit more. We can see that Belle is not just someone who likes to read, but someone who greatly prizes literacy and intellectualism. She helps her father tinker with his music box, creates a prototypical washing machine, and tries to teach a little girl how to read. And we see what exactly the village’s attitude toward all this is—they don’t like it. They even openly shame and punish her for it. This is something I thought the original movie was missing. Belle never really quite felt to me like much of an outcast. The song kind of just tells you that the village thinks she’s weird and you have to take their word for it. Here, we actually see them sort of ostracize her, and we actually see how lonely and difficult life is for her.

Now, I could see people saying that in the original film, all that is still there, it’s just subtler and more implied than shown. While I could see that argument, and maybe it is a valid one, I think that there’s something to be said for taking it a bit further and actually showing us the loneliness and the discrimination in action. This has nothing to do with some progressive, feminist agenda on my part. I think that further emphasizing those parts of her character—her intellectualism, her kindness, and her battle with adversity—gives the audience more opportunity to empathize with the character and also experience greater catharsis when Belle is vindicated and finds happiness.

This also draws attention to another issue I had with the original movie, which, probably another common criticism, Belle spends the beginning of the movie yearning for a life of adventure and magic—something more than the domestic village life she’s been forced into. But then, at the end of the movie, all that happens is she exchanges her domestic village life for a domestic…castle life?

And, yes, this is true of the new movie as well, BUT the film mends this problem a bit by shifting the focus to another, perhaps more underlying desire of Belle’s, which is, quite simply, companionship. In the new movie, we can clearly see that the only person in the whole village who shares her values is her father. And he’s not just her comical, cooky inventor of a dad—we actually get a pretty strong sense of a believable bond between them, as she helps him fix up his machine. When she trades her life for his at the Beast’s castle, she’s giving up basically the only person in the village with whom she has anything substantial in common. The movie emphasizes not simply a desire for something more than a domestic village life, but a yearning for a place far away where she doesn’t have to face the daily hardships of loneliness and discrimination.

And then, of course, the answer to her troubles is who else but the Beast. Except that in this version of the movie, she doesn’t simply recognize that there is a gentler and more humane nature to the Beast that belies his outward appearance. He also shares with her an interest in and love for classical literature, and they actually bond over it, albeit briefly.

This is something that ties more into driving home just how out-of-place Belle was in her home village, but having the “bookstore” she frequents be a single shelf of some dusty novels really reinforced just how at odds she was with the rest of the community. And then it makes her entering of the library at Beast’s castle all the more impactful. You can see and feel how she never even dreamed she’d see so many books in her lifetime. It’s like in The Force Awakens when Rey sees trees for the first time in her life. You believe her reaction because you know what her life has been like up to this point.

So the romance Belle establishes with the Beast is not only about learning to look past outward appearances, but it’s more importantly, for the character, about finding companionship after a life of solitude. Belle has finally met someone who shares her values and develops a meaningful relationship with him. Making this the emphasis of her character arc as opposed to yearning a life beyond the humdrum village makes, to me, for a much more sensible approach to the story. Belle and the Beast found a relationship not on appearances and fanciful ideals (such as a prince charming to whisk you away) but on the things that are important to the both of them.

Again, you could argue that this was all in the original movie and that it was simply subtler there, but I would again counter with the argument that showing us all this gives more opportunity to empathize with Belle (and the Beast) and experience catharsis when their love blossoms and triumphs. And it wasn’t done by completely overhauling the narrative, either. They simply made small additions and minor tweaks to more fully bring out what was already there, like putting in a dash of a complementary ingredient into an already good-tasting dish.

Okay, so, is that it? Do I think that the new movie is just objectively better than the old one?

Ehhhh, not quite.

First of all, and I guess this has to be said, the new movie is live action (even if half the characters are CGI props). There’s a lot of emotion and splendor from the original film that’s simply just lost a bit in the fact that it’s now being portrayed with real people and real sets. The musical numbers are probably the best example of this. While I think they’re good and pretty loyal to the original versions, they’re just not really quite as fun. Before, you had all these cartoony and visually distinct villagers with fluid, graceful, and funny animations that just brimmed with character.

Watching it in live action, by comparison, kind of just makes it feel a little duller and stiffer, even if they are certainly trying their damnedest to make it visually engaging and not exactly failing at it, either. “Be Our Guest” is probably the closest the film comes to replicating the visual splendor of the original, but then I’d probably have to note that 99% of that portion of the new movie was computer animated.

Following up on this, there’s Gaston, and while I think they certainly did their best to capture the essence of the character and actually did a pretty good job of it, he’s just not quite the same. Again, the old Gaston was an animated character. He was quite literally a caricature of the type of man he was meant to represent. The way he was performed and animated created an incredibly distinct icon of animation that can’t possibly be captured in a live action performance. But, again, they do a pretty damn good job, all things considered. I actually even like a couple of changes they made to him.

For example, the running gag that he was a war hero and misses the glory days of bloodshed and violence actually fleshes out his character a bit—plus it was funny. I also like that when Maurice comes into the tavern raving about the Beast, he doesn’t just turn him away without a second thought. He actually takes up the opportunity to get in good with Belle’s dad. Although this portrait of Gaston is a bit more underhanded and scheming, and you could argue that it takes away a bit from the fact that he’s supposed to be a total moron through and through

I also like that they flesh out Lefou a bit more and actually give him a redemptive character arc. I always felt just a little bit sorry for Lefou since he was clearly a hanger-on who didn’t have much going for him and only really was guilty of being loyal to Gaston. They sort of took that full-tilt in this version, making him a pretty nice and likable character.

But, there are also some additions the film made that I didn’t find to be particularly significant and were maybe even outright unneeded. The movie added a few new original songs and, while I don’t think they were bad and a couple of them were even pretty engaging, they weren’t terribly memorable.

I also thought that the addition of backstories for Belle’s mom and the Beast’s dad felt really shoehorned in and unnecessary. I was expecting them to go more into detail especially with the Beast’s backstory, but they never really did. This was disappointing not only because it seemed like a forced plot point, but also because it would’ve helped rectify another issues I had with the original movie—namely, why were the servants also cursed? They seemingly did nothing wrong. In the new movie, they seem to say that their guilt is in not doing more to raise the Beast to not be like his father, but we never really go in-depth with that, so it still felt sort of lacking to me as a reason

Also, and this is still an issue from the original, why was it suddenly safe for Belle to leave the castle grounds when she runs after her dad at the end? What happened to the wolves? Did they just run away forever? Are they too traumatized now to make a second attempt at eating her? What gives? The first film didn’t explain it and neither does this one.

But, with all that said, I don’t really have any other issues with the movie as an adaptation of the original. I think this is actually a really serviceable version of the story. While I thought that the live action Cinderella was just okay and that The Jungle Book was so different from the original work (not that you can blame them) that it’s really difficult to compare the two in the first place, this one really feels like a decent reimagining of the original animated movie. While it doesn’t deviate too much from the original or besmirch what was already good about it, it also doesn’t lack meaningful contributions and alterations. And the original message is still there in full force—the Beast is not the monster; prejudice is the real monster. If you haven’t seen the live action movie yet and you enjoyed the original, I’d say this is actually worth seeing at least once.

Unless you thought the original movie was perfect and this version of the film was literally the corporate-driven destruction of your childhood, in which case, you really should’ve stopped reading the first time I told you.

Also, I like that Belle wanted the Beast to grow a beard at the end. That was cute and fitting.

#beauty and the beast #review

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amoretheiwa · 7 years

Text

The Dark Knight and the Boy Scout

Here is the entire Prologue under the cut; link to this and AO3 can also be found at amoretheiwa.tumblr.com/dkandbs

Read on AO3

Prologue 1: Crime Alley

As the family of three exited the theatre, Breanna Wayne found her fear slowly melting away in the cool night air. She lead the way in front of her parents as they walked onto Park Row. It was lit for the most part, with a small stretch of inky dark shadows crawling towards the streetlamp at the end, where the road met up again with the small lane.

“Did you enjoy the picture after all, dear?” Her father called out to her. They had left shortly after the intermission, the young Wayne child frightened by the play.

Breanna turned around and grinned. Her dress was a miniature version of her mother’s, all dark blue and sparkling, with a light coat on top. One could imagine the glitter on the skirt and bodice swirled to look like stars and streams in the night sky, but someone who had not left Gotham in some time would not recognize the night sky without the smog and orange glow it seemed to permanently possess.

“It’s not so scary now! Now I want to be just like Zorro,” the young girl said as she waved the crumpled program like a sword. “But a girl Zorro!” Her own sound effects and murmured narration told the tale of a brave swordswoman, fighting off villains left and right, all while wearing a dark mask. She jabbed, taking one step forward, and whirled, throwing her arms out in an elegant parry.

Martha laughed and leaned closer to her husband. Both had brown eyes, but where Thomas had dark brown hair Martha had golden brown. Neither of them was entirely sure where Breanna got the blue eyes and black hair from.

“I think that Breanna may want to exchange her horse lessons for fencing classes.”

Thomas Wayne laughed, watching his daughter jump a few feet in front of them. His heart panged at the thought of Breanna growing up.

“I think so. Maybe when she older, say…30?”

“Dad!” Breanna protested, glancing back with a pout on her lips that lasted for only a moment.

“Dad! What if I did both? Both horse riding lessons and fencing!”

He laughed again as Martha chuckled, shaking his head. Martha glanced at him and pressed his arm. They shared a look before he sighed.

“That’s an awful lot of time not spent on school work or play. We’ll talk about it when we get home,” he trailed off slowly, his eyes locked on something above Breanna’s head.

She whirled around, fear stabbing her heart in a way it hadn’t reached, even sitting in that dark theatre. A figure in shadows stepped forward and the sound that echoed in her small mind was unmistakable as that of a gun cocking.

“Nice night out, ain’t it?” The man asked. There was something slimy and terror-inducing in his voice, Breanna thought. She clenched the program in both hands against her chest

“It is a nice night,” Thomas said sternly but not unkind. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we’re just passing through.”

“Oh of course, no worries. I just require some sort of…payment,” the man leered. His face was mostly obscured by the hat he wore. Breanna found a part of her brain, removed from this unfolding horror, wondering why he was wearing a hat at night.

“How about them pearls?” He said, gesturing with the gun.

“Give me the necklace and nobody gets hurt, lady.”

Martha’s hands immediately went towards her neck, not to unclasp the pearls but to hover over them. Breanna’s eyes darted to her parents, stumbling back a few steps and running into the rough, brick wall.

“There’s no need for that,” Thomas said. He took a half-step forward, raising his hands.

“I can give you money instead and—”

“No!” The man with the gun shouted, his own hand beginning to shake.

Suddenly there was a loud bang and Breanna’s mother was screaming. Breanna turned around, taking a step back, and watched as her father fell to the ground.

Martha moved forward, to either catch her husband or protect her daughter Breanna would never know, and then all too soon Mrs. Wayne was falling as well. Breanna could only watch, petrified, as her mother’s pearls all seemed to roll as far away as possible. The running footsteps of the man—murderer—were muffled, distant. Breanna could not move, not when there was a kind young woman holding her, not when the police showed up and the rain started, not when the young officer James Gordon gave her his coat.

She didn’t move until she heard a familiar voice call her name.

“Alfred!” She cried out, turning and running to the butler. She crashed into him, sobbing for the first time that night, and not letting go even when he stood up with her in his arms. His face was gaunt and pale, and his eyes were stuck on the covered bodies even while his hands grabbed the child to his legs.

“If you have all the information you need from Miss Wayne, I believe I’ll be taking her back to the Manor.”

“Oh, oh of course Mr. Pennyworth. Here’s my number, I’m…I’m so sorry. I wish there was something we could have done.”

“You have nothing to apologize for Officer…?”

“Gordon. James Gordon. Let me know if I can do anything, please, me or my wife.”

“Me as well, Alfred.”

“Thank you both, Officer Gordon, Ms. Thompkins. It will…be a trying time.”

The drive back to the manner was all wrong to the British man. Normally one or both of the adult Wayne’s would sit in back with their daughter, laughter and quiet talking filling the car more than any music ever could. Alfred had her sit in the front seat this time, so as to keep an eye on her and remind himself that there was still a Wayne whom he was to take care of, and kept the radio turned off. There was no music, no talking, no sound but her crying. By now it had quieted to a shaking weep.

The butler glanced as his young charge, his heart tightening at the same time as his throat. He blinked away tears almost the entire drive, focusing on breathing and the road. There were a few moments where he almost could not stop himself from pulling to the side, but the soldier in him pushed onward, out of that wretched city.

He slowed the car on the gravel driveway, directly in front of the Manor’s front doors. He turned the keys in the ignition, the engine turning off, but couldn’t bring himself to pull the keys out fully or even get out of the car. Breanna’s renewed crying, louder now, pushed him out of his stupor. He breathed out a heavy breath of air and as he walked around the car looked up at the sky. He dragged open the car door and leaned down, gently coaxing the young girl into his arms. He walked into the Manor in a trance, the doors slamming shut in a crash behind them.

Prologue 2: Global Academy

At age 10 Breanna Wayne did not leave Alfred Pennyworth alone until he enrolled her in a private martial arts course. Two years had come and gone since her parent’s murder, with the police investigation deciding in the end that is was pure bad luck and not some malicious plot to end the kind and benevolent affect the Wayne family had on Gotham. Both Breanna and Alfred has spent the majority of those two years grieving.

She pushed herself to mastering all forms and styles of hand-to-hand combat known (at first the excuse was self0defense but after her first five months it quickly lost its effectiveness of a lie), also insisting on extra classes to supplement her until-then regular education. The butler did not bat an eye at her requests, even when the child simply soaked up all the information he could give her during her school hours. Breanna was focused, far more so than a child of ten and an orphan should have any right being. But, he had reasoned with himself, at least this drive to become something better and to be prepared for some dark inevitability was healthier than the potential decay into something less than human.

Homeschooling the orphan had been the best decision they could have made, as it allowed the young Wayne heir to adapt as slowly or quickly as she wanted to her new parentless life. According to her parent’s will, Alfred was her sole guardian and holder of her inheritance until she was 25. Some members of the Wayne Industries board had tried to contest that, but their greed was seen through and a grieving city quickly acted without mercy.

There were always bad days, of course, and certain anniversaries were worse than others. Birthdays, holidays, and other such formerly-family events earned a day spent mourning and going through photo albums followed by a week-long vacation to a place of her choosing. It was a bargain the two of them had struck—Alfred’s only requirements were that they went somewhere new every trip. Breanna did not protest. Soon she had finagled trips to every continent and insisted on learning everything she could about the places they visited, from history to culture to modern politics. She rarely interacted with others her age who were also in the same demographic.

From that young age, there were clearly two Breanna Wayne’s that Alfred knew. One was the girl who smiled and still liked flowers and pearls despite her trials in life. The girl who just wanted to help make the world a better place, but didn’t mind having others do the actual work for her when it came to being in public. The other Breanna Wayne was one who rarely smiled but enjoyed classic literature intended for someone far older than her. She preferred practicality and the guarantee of doing something yourself than anything else, and was as far from trusting as any child had a right to be. Alfred worried, but did not stop her.

By the time she was 15, Breanna had graduated from high school and was proficient in all forms of hand-to-hand combat that were possible to be learned without traveling through time. She had started puberty on a down day, a down week really. Alfred was calm throughout it all but could not replace the mother figure the young woman needed. And so entered Leslie Thompkins once again. The kind doctor was one of the many who had been close to the Wayne’s on a personal level, and so tried to spend as much time as she could with the butler and his charge. She was young and idealistic, but much of her naivete was lost the same night Breanna lost her world. So she taught Breanna basic medicine and first aid, and had her help in her free clinic, interacting with the people of Gotham not from behind a podium or flashing cameras but surrounded by wounds of all kinds and real world problems.

Online college courses at multiple universities, another four years, another few dozen countries, and three almost (four degrees later) Breanna Wayne was finally willing to fully re-enter the social scene that her family’s wealth demanded of her. Alfred had helped her keep her life fairly private, only surfacing for key anniversaries and charity events, such as those held for the Martha Wayne foundation. She did not fancy the “young and rich” life many others close to her age and who possessed similar fortunes seemed to enjoy, and was considered to be overly somber and serious by her peers.

And then she disappeared for two years, and not even Alfred knew where she was. He presented a calm façade and only Leslie aware of the truth (what little he did know; she was alive, and well, training in some far-off land). When she came back she was still two different people in the same body. One was the face she showed the public, enjoying some of the aspects of wealthy life that she had previously ignored. Hundreds of dates in just a few months but without embarrassing drunk moments or trips to either party’s residence had the press scratching their heads. But Alfred clearly saw it—as a woman in the spotlight, she could not afford to be selfish and indulged in everything she fancied, whether it was truly something she enjoyed or not, or else the reputation she was now trying to build would be weakened. In the privacy of Wayne Manor, she complained of the unfairness of society’s double standard concerning genders, and what her male companions could get away with that she could not.

The other persona was just as serious before, but no longer spent free time studying old authors and ways of the world. Rather, this Breanna Wayne now studied forensics and criminal psychology alongside the global economy and attended Wayne Enterprise meetings, learning everything about all of her employees from every janitor to each member of the Board of Directors. Alfred ignored the time she spent in the caverns under the Manor until he was one day invited to help her install a computer system of sorts.

It took some time, but soon Breanna had re-established herself as the working CEO of Wayne Industries, proving that her “fun times” with the other social elite did not interfere with her ability to be the upright business and philanthropist figure Gotham and the rest of the world desperately needed and wanted from her. By the time of her 21st birthday Breanna was in the news nearly as much as her parents had been prior to their death, for both good and suspicious things.

Lucius Fox, head of Wayne Tech’s Research and Development department, and Alfred Pennyworth, still the Wayne family butler, became even better friends as the young woman truly split her time between solely work, home, and play. However, a fourth category was about to be born and neither man knew just how involved they were going to end up until she finally convinced them both to be accomplices. Alfred was not surprised when the completed “Cave” beneath the Manor soon became one of the places he would most often find his still-young charge. Lucius was a frequent visitor, and soon became familiar with the Cave as well.

Prologue pt. 3: The Interview A

The public was, in general, not privy to her extensive education, as they merely knew her to be successful and skilled at her job as CEO, and as such few reporters and journalists bothered to learn about more than her social life and current charity project, and anything that had either her name or that of her business in the news. Because of that it was a bit of a shock to the young woman when her not-quite-annual interview with the Daily Planet—an exclusive interview they got at least once yearly because she had made the mistake of purchasing the media source—on the eve of her parent’s death’s anniversary was not with one of the many gossip article writers but the famed Lois Lane.

Her articles tended to be of a more serious nature, with a good portion being about the alien superhero who roamed her skies and protected Metropolis. The other majority of her writing was about sensitive or important topics that no one else seemed to have the guts to write about. She had won the Pulitzer for a reason, and was considered one of the best investigative journalists of their time, with no one except maybe Clark Kent or Iris West coming close. Lois Lane’s name was just as well-known as Breanna’s in some circles.

She was picked up from the Gotham Airport by a driver hired by Miss Wayne, and greeted at the door by Alfred Pennyworth, the Wayne family’s butler. Once she was inside he lead the reporter through the foyer, down a hallway, and into a study.

Large windows framed by huge curtains let sunlight filter into and brighten the room. Walls made of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, an empty fireplace, and extremely comfortable looking furniture created an overall cozy environment. Above the mantle was a portrait of Thomas and Martha Wayne, smiling lovingly with a gentle downward-look. Breanna had been sitting in the seat behind the large mahogany desk, typing away at a computer, but when her guests entered she stood, a soft smile gracing her face. She walked forward and shook Lois’ hand as Alfred backed out, murmuring something about afternoon tea, softly closing the door.

Even in small heels Lois was inches shorter than Breanna Wayne, who wore dark teal flats with a gold emblem on the toes. Her shoulder-length wavy black hair moved with her head as she turned towards a small sitting area.

“Hello, Ms. Lane. I hope your trip here was uneventful,” her voice was silvery; not in the suspicious way that most politicians or businessmen (like Lex Luthor) spoke, with an underlying hint towards malice or betrayal, but in the true definition of the word: clear, pleasant, and soft.

Her bright blue eyes were framed in simple black eyeliner done stylishly, a neutral color gloss was the only other tint on her face, and simple pearl stud earrings were the only jewelry other than a simple light brown leather watch that the heiress wore. A simple black turtleneck made of some sort of expensive fabric looked good, not old-fashioned, on her. Matching black jeans with the hems rolled once all made her outfit simple with an understated sense of fashion.

“Oh, it was,” Lane said with a grin.

“No Superman sighting?” Breanna joked, stepping back and gesturing towards the seats in front of the fireplace.

“No, thank heavens,” Lane took a seat first. “Seeing Superman almost always means being near some sort of danger.”

“I’m glad then that you didn’t see him,” Breanna took her own seat.

“Me too, believe me. I think I’ve seen enough of the Man of Steel to last me a life time.”

Breanna smiled, face tilting just barely.

“Oh? From the way your city idolizes him, and how some of your colleagues write, one would think he’s a pleasure to be around.”

“He’s a hero, simple as that. Not exactly of this world, if you catch my drift. It’s hard to be friends with someone who’s both an alien and such a huge figure. But it is nice to catch up without bullets or falling,” Lois said with a laugh.

Breanna grinned in agreement.

“Do you mind if I record everything from here on out?” Lois asked, bringing out an old-fashioned recorder and holding it out. Her demeanor had barely shifted, the reporter surfacing.

Breanna’s eyes widened minimally but she nodded.

“Go right ahead.”

Lois turned it on and set it down on the coffee table between them.

“How has the weather been in Gotham recently, Miss Wayne?” Lois asked, leaning back as she balanced a notepad and pen on her crossed legs. She was wearing her usual matching purple pencil skirt and blazer over a white blouse, her black hair down and over her shoulders. “Breanna, please. And it’s been…the normal, for Gotham at least.”

Lois smiled, and glanced down at her lap.

“Alright then, Breanna, call me Lois. How have you been? Recently all Cat’s written about you is some contradictory information about a Jaden and a Mose. That can’t have been easy, juggling twins.”

Breanna laughed, a chiming sound.

Prologue pt. 3: The Interview B

“I don’t exactly know what she was writing about myself. You see, I happened to go on a date with Jaden, but in the process met his twin brother Mose. We then went out on a date a few weeks later, but neither went anywhere farther than the respective restaurants. It was the scandal of the week as I had apparently convinced Cat—and the world—that I was seriously dating Lex Luthor.”

“Were you dating Luthor, seriously or otherwise?”

Breanna shook her head with a smile.

“No, not at all. Lex and I were meeting multiple times a week to set up a new joint project between our companies but our visions did not align. You can’t blame Cat though, she was extremely thorough in her investigation of my life: there’s just not that much to find that you don’t already see.”

“Cat definitely gets what she wants most of the time,” Lois said. “Could you possibly tell us more about this failed project?”

Breanna stared past Ms. Lane, her lips moving in a circle before opening in response.

“There’s not much that I can actually say about the project itself seeing as how Lex is planning to go through with it on his own now, as much as he is able without Wayne Industries unique assistance.”

Lois nodded, scribbling something down on her notepad. She leaned forward slightly, her blue eyes narrowed.

“Do you think you could instead tell us—me—what about your visions didn’t align?”

Breanna stilled for a second before letting loose a deep breath. Lois had to hide a grin—not many broke past the shell Breanna Wayne portrayed towards almost all media personnel, but things seemed to be pointing to a rare genuine interview with the young woman.

“Since my parents passed, I’ve tried to do all I can to help others as they would have wanted. The Wayne fortune is not meant to be solely saved for my pleasure and future posterity. It is a blessing and one that I must share. People sometimes confuse helping others with throwing money at them, but the Wayne Industries employees and I have found that when you educate someone and provide the tools they need, then you are better providing help than if you just gave them a $1000 a month.”

“That sounds like a PR statement, not an answer,” Lois prodded. Breanna smiled without showing her teeth.

“Let’s just say that I think there is a necessary need for distance when helping someone while still remaining relatively close, and Lex is more of the opinion that total control will garner a faster and longer lasting result.”

Lois nodded, and wrote a few things down before speaking again.

“You mentioned your parents and what they would have wanted. Is that as in what they would have wanted from you as their sole heir, or wanted from the rest of the world?”

Breanna pursed her lips as she stared at Lois who held her hand over her notepad, poised to start writing again.

“They were kind people. I like to think that I knew them better than most despite how young I was when they were murdered, or at least had a unique perspective that no one except maybe Alfred shared. In that respect I think it’s what they would have wanted from both me and the rest of Gotham and our country and the world.”

The other woman nodded understandingly.

“As tomorrow will mark the 13th anniversary of their passing, what do you think they would think of you now? And of Wayne Industries, and Gotham?” She asked.

Breanna looked at her, surprise coloring her expression for a moment. As she sucked on her bottom lip, the 21-year-old orphan shifted in her seat so that the opposite leg was now underneath the other.

“I think they would be proud of what I’ve done with both myself and the company. I did not allow their passing to control the rest of my life, nor did I turn towards any sort of unsavory pastime to “cope”,” here she used air quotes. “Wayne Industries is doing better than ever, and is involved in more charity and goodwill than most other companies can boast. Gotham, however, is a different answer entirely.”

Breanna opened her mouth to respond, her eyebrows coming down in a briefly angry expression. She was stopped from responding as someone knocked on the study door.

“Come in,” she called out, instead of whatever she had been about to say.

Alfred pushed the door openly gently with a black wooden tray in his hands.

“Forgiven the intrusion, Miss, but I brought some refreshments. Ms. Lane.”

After setting it down the butler disappeared quietly once again. Breanna smiled at the reports and waved a hand over the tray.

“Please, take whatever you want.”

Lois was a little surprised to find a bowl of fresh strawberries and blueberries next to a small spoon, one of her personal favorites. There was a second plate, and this one was full of what looked like fluffy diamonds of pastry with a dark filling—baklava.

“Alfred sure does his research,” Lois said as she picked up the spoon clearly meant for her.

Breanna grinned, picking up her treat.

“He prides himself on being the best butler possible. I don’t know what I would have done without him all these years.”

They both chewed for a few seconds, savoring a few bites before Lois put her bowl back down. She swallowed rather obviously.

“What were you going to say about Gotham, Breanna?”

The heiress daintily finished chewing, and swallowed.

“It’s probably a good thing Alfred interrupted,” she said quietly, looking out the window at nothing. The mood shifted at that moment.

“I’ve seen the harshest, cruelest that Gotham has to offer, and at a young age too. And now? In so many ways Gotham had just gotten worse, and in very few ways aspects has it improved. Wayne Industries has provided jobs but crime is still steadily rising. My parent’s killer was never found, never brought to justice…” here she seemed to truly leave the room.

“I will never have any sense of closure concerning their deaths, and that combined with the sheer unnecessariness of their deaths will always haunt me,” she murmured.

Lois’ eyebrows lowered minimally.

“I’m sorry!” Breanna turned around and faced the journalist, her eyes wide and a hand over her mouth. “That was so un-tactful of me to say, such a downer. Please don’t publish that portion, I’m afraid I wasn’t paying attention to what I was saying.”

“Alright, Breanna. I’ll do that for you,” Lois said. The mood was darkly somber and over the course of the next few questions it seemed that Breanna Wayne’s walls were back up.

A little under an hour later, and Lois had enough for more than just one article. Breanna came with Alfred to show her out and once she was gone the heiress collapsed on the couch in the living room. Her butler sat down in the seat across from the coffee table and shook his head.

“You should have done more to focus the interview Mrs. Wayne’s foundation, in my opinion.”

Breanna groaned and turned over, facing the cushions and throwing a leg over the back of the couch. She mumbled something into the cushions.

“Miss Wayne,” Alfred said in his scolding voice, “please refrain from treating the furniture as such. The Manor is your home, not a playground.”

Breanna twisted in such a way that all of her body except for her shoulders, neck, head, and hands were off the couch and in the air. Alfred sighed and stood, glancing at her charge.

“Your scheduled meeting with Mr. Fox is in an hour. If you truly want to convince him to be on board with your future night-time endeavors, then you may want to have all of your material compiled, if it isn’t already.”

Breanna straightened up into a handstand and blew out a burst of air.

“My stuff is together, I’m just not sure if I am.”

She fell back onto the couch, the handstand not a perfected move in her arsenal quite yet.

“Miss Wayne!”

Prologue pt. 4: Birth of a Bat A

Alfred stood on one side of the fairly large island in the relatively large kitchen. He was stirring something in a bowl, but Breanna neither knew what it was or even truly realized what he was doing. She was speaking to herself, and speaking quickly. He added the ingredients as they were needed, and didn’t even bother to pretend to respond as he knew she wasn’t really listening.

“I want to do this, I’ve wanted to do this for months, years now! I can’t just turn back now that it’s a reality. I’ve owned my fears and fought hard to get to this point. Especially after all the work it took to convince you and Lucius and Leslie to even agree to help me, let alone think it will be a good idea.”

She swiped a grape from a bowl on the counter and chewed it and another quickly before continuing.

“But it’ll be so dangerous, and who knows if I’ll be making a difference or doing any good? Look at Metropolis! Superman shows up, an alien, and then supervillains start popping up and he’s no longer able to help every single little person because there are times when he’s too focused on taking down the big bad guy. He barely keeps his people safe and he has powers! I’m just a human, and no amount of training or armor or even allies will help me if some perp with a gun gets in a lucky shot.”

She grabbed another grape, Alfred glancing up at her. She had paced the same few feet of the kitchen enough times he was contemplating on asking her to move so as to ever out the wear of the floor. He smiled to himself and shook his head—the British man doubted she would register that he had spoken.

“But who else will protect the people of Gotham? Who else will help the few good cops like Gordon who are still fighting the good fight? I have a suit, a codename, an entire volume of contingencies ready for almost possible every situation, all the training I could hope for, a butler, a doctor, and someone who knows how to fix my tools better than I do. No one else could or would do this for Gotham.”

Yet another grape was stolen, and Alfred found himself sighing. It wasn’t often but sometimes Breanna would eat an entire container of grapes mindlessly if not stopped. She wasn’t even halfway through this cluster of the fruit yet but he figured he should stop her while she was ahead.

“Miss Wayne, if the past decade of doubts and questions you’ve had and posed have not been enough to dissuade you, and the worries others have brought up, and the extensive training and borderline torture you’ve experienced for this moment has not truly stopped you then I believe that you have nothing to worry about.”

Breanna stared at him, chewing on yet another grape.

“True.”

He pursed his lips and went back to his business, pouring what he had been stirring into a baking pan, smoothing the top with the spatula he had used to stir with.

“I’ll be down in the cave then, finalizing things for tonight. The Bat of Gotham’s first appearance!”

And she was gone. Alfred paused for a moment before taking a grape for himself. He made a face and promptly spit it out into the trashcan. Green grapes may be Breanna’s favorite but they were most certainly not his.

The car was loud, and originally that was not something Breanna was happy about. But then Lucius showed her that it could be made silent, and had all sorts of other fancy tricks such as autopilot. Having barely just parked, she jumped out of it, billowing her cloak behind her in a move that had, admittedly, been practiced a hundred times to perfection. She landed on the ground in a crouch and stood. The design of her cloak allowed the fabric to fall forward in a protective manner without any movement from the wearer.

She lifted her arm and shot off a grappling hook, rising into the air rapidly. She landed on the roof of the nearest building and began moving. A bored British voice crackled in her ear.

“It appears that there is robbery about to occur just a block north of your position. A small convenience store, family owned.”

“On my way,” she said. The voice synthesizer worked even over the comms, and Alfred had yet to get used to the voice that was both not his mistress’ and was.

“These are just your average thieves off the street, no malicious planning from what I can tell Miss.”

There was no confirming sound, but then again she didn’t need one. A figure in shadows across the street, the Bat was crouched on the edge of the roof. One of the three men—boys really—had a gun pulled on the man behind the cashier, the man whose family owned the store.

She shot the grappling hook again, this time gliding downwards through the already open doors. When Breanna stood up to her full height, the cape coming in front, and stared down the thugs.

“What the hell are you?” The one holding the gun finally got out, staring at her.

“Nothing good for you,” she murmured. The voice synthesizer she wore not only deepened her voice and added a few elements she did not naturally possess, but also made it sound like she was practically growling with every word she spoke.

One of the two not holding the gun looked at his companions before running out of the store. The other one stepped back, raising his hands.

“Man, you crazy. What are you supposed to be? Some sort of monster?”

She tilted her head and looked at the gun less would-be thief, narrowing her eyes. She took a step forward and the gun was turned on her. The cashier turned and ran, going through a back door. The hand holding the gun began to shake.

Without moving her cape, she grabbed a smoke pellet and dropped it on the ground just before pressing a button that released an EMP, causing even the emergency lights to flicker before going out.

The one who was not holding a gun promptly screamed and tried to run out, stumbling and tripping and almost face planting. The one holding the gun dropped it and raised his hands above his head. A siren finally reached their ears, and flashing red and blue lights illuminated the shop now empty but for the almost-thief. He looked around in confusion, desperately trying to figure out where the masked, costumed freak had gone.

The police officer who ended up viewing the footage recovered from the store in order to validate the perp’s story (and to identify the other two attempted thieves) had the unfortunate chance to discover that Gotham now had its own monster. The question that soon was spread throughout the police station was what was it, and was it going to do good or do bad.

Prologue pt. 4: Birth of a Bat B

Later that month, when the night had reached a point that most other cities would have been long asleep, the Bat found herself almost too tired to continue what had become her routine. She knew she should turn in, but decided that one last stop wouldn’t hurt. After all, every moment counted in Gotham.

When she finally made it back to the Cave and dragged herself out of the car and promptly fell to the ground, she regretted that. A lucky stab in the dark that had caught one of the three weaknesses of the suit left her left leg throbbing and dripping blood. Fortunately, Alfred was prepared and had already set up all the first aid she could need.

Later that night found an exhausted Breanna Wayne laying on top of the covers of her bed, scrolling on her “night work” tablet, reading some police reports on certain patterns in one Gotham neighborhood.

Without knocking Alfred walked in, a small tray with a single steaming mug resting on it. He put the tray on the empty bedside table, glancing at her and her hands.

“Here is your favorite, Miss Wayne, some fresh hot chocolate without the cinnamon.” She smiled up at him and took a sip right then and there. Halfway through the mug and she realized that Alfred had yet to leave.

“What, what are you—” a yawn interrupted her, the mug beginning to slip from her fingers. Alfred took it and the tablet from her, and Breanna realized right before her eyes fell shut that her butler must have drugged her.

Breanna was more than a little frustrated. She had been active in Gotham for three months now and—yes, she had saved quite a few lives and stopped over a hundred robberies and beatings—nothing had truly seemed to work. And those who were talking about her were constantly fighting to assign a gender to her. Why did it matter if the Bat was a man or woman? Alfred and Lucius never failed to point out the benefits of letting people assume she was a man, and begrudgingly Breanna agreed.

All the police had were increasing reports and blurry pictures of a figure dressed as a bat and criminals who were spreading rumors of some freak prowling Gotham; in Breanna’s mind she was having no real impact. Not like Superman in Metropolis, the only other costumed hero working for the same things she was. Though, Breanna amended her thought, I have heard rumors of an arrow-shooting man in Starling City and a flying woman with a sword most heard of overseas or in DC.

Crouched on one of the many gargoyles that littered Gotham’s architecture for no true reason other than misplaced aesthetic, the Bat watched the street below. One of two contacts she had already established had tipped her off to a fairly big heist planned to happen right around midnight. And so she watched, and she waited, and when she saw that everything was seconds away from happening she swooped in.

The jewelry store that was about to be robbed was full of about 20 people, all wearing masks and black, and the shattering glass sprayed over them. Some were frightened and trigger happy and bullets sprayed towards her. Breanna pulled her cloak tighter around and covered her face, grateful for Lucius’ insistence on an unnaturally strong fabric. When the room had stilled, she stood up to her full height, also thanking her foresight for having lifts and slight heels in her boots, making her well over 6 feet tall.

“Yo, I told you this was a bad idea,” someone whispered.

“It’s that Bat thing! The one Jerry was telling us about!” someone else said.

Breanna took half of a step forward and bullets were spraying again, the few who weren’t holding guns moving behind their companions.

“Kill it!” the leader screamed, moving forward minimally. Breanna bent down a little, lifting her cape again, this time to hide her movements as she loosened some smoke pellets and a flashbang grenade. With a dramatic swing of her arm she threw the grenade into the middle of the thieves, and with eyes closed dropped the smoke pellets. The chaos and confusion that ensued allowed her to quickly either decapitate or injure beyond moving all 20. She slipped out, sprinting to the closest corner, and fired a grappling hook.

From the roof across the street that she had formerly been perched on she listened to the police radio, hearing now-familiar voices discuss the scene before them. The conversation had not gone anywhere past “that bat thing again?” when Breanna heard a scream. She raced across the rooftop and looked down where she watched as three large figures seemed to be cornering a short woman whose purse was held tightly against her chest.

The Bat sighed and dropped down, gliding on her cape. She stared at the scene unfolding in front of her from the shadows. She had not been noticed yet and so with one fluid motion she threw one of her bat-shaped ninja stars. It cut into the brick wall next to the cornered woman, not near hurting her but just missing the smallest thug’s ear. The woman screamed, covering her face with her purse, as the three turned around.

“I ain’t done nothing wrong yet!” One of them shouted, holding his hands up in the sky. Breanna glared at him and moved low to the ground as she threw a bola at the two on either side. She came up and punched the man in the center squarely in the jaw, and he went flying into the wall. He slumped to the ground, out cold, and by then the police had somehow noticed or been alerted to the events happening in the alley.

Turned around, about to fire a grappling hook up into the night and fly off, Breanna was stopped by two arms quickly coming around her back.

“Thank you,” the woman whispered, and quickly let go.

The Bat didn’t turn around before leaving.

Later that same night, sitting in her cave, she watched the woman’s testimony on the live feed from the police station. With her fingers steepled in front of her face, her chin leaning against her hands, Breanna’s face showed no emotion.

“I swear! It was a woman, maybe not human but definitely a woman. When I thanked her I felt it,” the woman she had saved insisted.

The sounds of Alfred entering the cave with a tray of something prompted her to turn it off. A huge bat symbol took up the center of the main screen, and she nudged the chair so that she was facing her butler.

“A successful night, I presume?”

“It was, Alfred.”

She swiped one of the sandwiches off the tray before he finished setting it down, nibbling in thought. Superman was unique. He was an alien, an entity who could fly, had super-strength, and a plethora of other powers. He inspired people and made them feel safe, even outside of Metropolis. Breanna could admit—she had been jealous at the age of 19 when he first made his public debut. Her crusade was against the darker kinds of criminals, one’s who a flying Boy Scout wouldn’t be enough to stop, and she didn’t have anything he had.

The alien did a good job of keeping his identity a secret, and even her extensive research had not revealed who he was when not wearing the suit. Breanna shrugged mentally; one way or another she would figure it out, and hopefully before something happened.

“I believe I’ll be turning in soon, Alfred.”

“Alright, Miss. Should I turn down the covers for you? Shine the car perhaps?”

Breanna grinned up at him, still working her way through the sandwich.

“No, I think I’m good.”

“Very well then, I shall see you in the morning. Good night.”

“Good night,” she murmured to his turned back.

#superbat #dkandbs #amoretheiwa #amoretheiwa writes #clark kent #alfred pennyworth #breanna wayne #genderbending #genderbent batman #lucius fox #lois lane #prologue

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vinayv224 · 6 years

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And the rest of the week’s best writing on books and related subjects.

Welcome to Vox’s weekly book link roundup, a curated selection of the internet’s best writing on books and related subjects. Here’s the best the web has to offer for the week of September 2, 2018.

In the ’70s, 53-year-old J.D. Salinger invited the teenage Joyce Maynard to come live with him. Maynard’s eventual memoir of their relationship, At Home in the World, was roundly trashed, and Maynard herself was held up as an example of a shameless woman trying to shame a brilliant man. At Jezebel, Frida Garza reevaluates Maynard’s legacy:

At Home is a disarming and up-close recollection of how Salinger, then 53, poised himself as an intellectual ally and confidante to an 18-year-old girl who felt excluded from her peers. (According to Maynard, her essay only furthered her alienation from her classmates, who began to see her as a hack.) She recounts how she cut almost everyone out of her life to be with him; how he won her trust and wooed her parents. When Salinger invited Maynard to spend the weekend with him in Cornish, New Hampshire, a former English teacher from Exeter Academy agreed to drive her. On the way, “he says nothing to indicate that there might be something worrisome about this visit I’m making,” Maynard wrote 40 years later in At Home.

I will always stan for Elizabeth Gaskell, the Victorian novelist who was friends with Dickens and Charlotte Brontë but has long been treated as a staid and matronly also-ran in the Victorian canon. (Look, is the prose in North and South brilliant? No. Is that book nevertheless immensely satisfying, and does its critique of classical liberalism still have merit? Hard yes.) So I am very here for Hannah Rosefield’s examination of her novels at the New Yorker:

I suspect that the comparative lack of generosity with which time, fashion, and progress have treated Gaskell has at least as much to do with her stuffy image as with her work, which has its own admirable qualities. She was more versatile than many of her casual readers realize: alongside her better-known realist novels, she wrote ghost stories, historical fiction, and the first biography of Charlotte Brontë. “Cranford,” a collection of stories set in the titular village, and the novella “My Lady Ludlow” both imagine a world almost entirely inhabited by women. Unlike Eliot and the Brontë sisters, who often set their novels in the past, Gaskell was, in her early works, at least, fiercely and explicitly concerned with the present and its problems.

Also at the New Yorker, Brian Phillips remembers the magic of half-forgotten children’s author Joan Aiken:

Aiken wrote more than a hundred novels over the course of her long career, and many of them manage something like this transformation. An absurd premise (we live on a bus; the Glorious Revolution never happened; a queen claims that her lake has been stolen) is treated with deadpan seriousness, allowing its latent magical possibilities to emerge in an atmosphere that’s half ironic, half enchanted — or, rather, in an atmosphere that’s entirely ironic and entirely enchanted, at the same time.

For the New York Times Magazine’s Letter of Recommendation, Elisa Gabbert recommends the shelf of recent returns at your local library:

When I pick the books up, a part of me expects them to be warm, like a just-vacated seat. They often still contain the life detritus of the last person to open them: makeshift bookmarks, boarding passes or receipts; oil stains or flecks of melted chocolate or even blood; an eyelash. Sometimes the books make me itchy, and I know the last borrower owns a dog. Sometimes there are clusters of related books that must have been checked out by the same patron. It’s like getting to look at someone’s night stand, but whose? The shelf is everyone’s night stand, an average of night stands.

At LitHub, Shaun Bythell delves into the details of opening his Scottish bookshop:

When I first saw The Book Shop in Wigtown I was 18 years old, back in my home town and about to leave for university. I clearly remember walking past it with a friend and commenting that I was quite certain that it would be closed within the year. Twelve years later, while visiting my parents at Christmastime, I called in to see if they had a copy of Three Fevers in stock, by Leo Walmsley, and while I was talking to the owner, admitted to him that I was struggling to find a job I enjoyed. He suggested that I buy his shop since he was keen to retire. When I told him that I didn’t have any money, he replied, “You don’t need money — what do you think banks are for?”

Also at LitHub, Evan Fallenberg sings the praises of the epistolary novel:

Even more important and more attractive is the manipulation involved in letter-writing, the filtering of events for another reader or readers that naturally takes place. Our interest as readers is piqued when there is some discrepancy between what we know to be true and the letter-writer’s presentation of these facts. Expressed otherwise, it is the dichotomy between how a person perceives herself, what she aims to project to the world, and what the rest of us see: the style of her writing, what she chooses to tell or leave out, the tone. A good writer manages to let that character’s personality present its true self to the reader even when the letter-writer herself wishes to hide parts of her being from the world.

In a compelling counterargument to the standard “fiction is about empathy” line, Kanta Dihal makes the case at Aeon that our stories actually prove that we are very bad at putting ourselves in other people’s shoes:

I am a literature scholar. Over thousands of years of literary history, authors have tried and failed to convey an understanding of Others (with a capital ‘O’). Writing fiction is an exercise that stretches an author’s imagination to its limits. And fiction shows us, again and again, that our capacity to imagine other minds is extremely limited.

It took feminism and postcolonialism to point out that writers were systematically misrepresenting characters who weren’t like them. Male authors, it seems, still struggle to present convincing female characters a lot of the time. The same problem surfaces again when writers try to introduce a figure with a different ethnicity to their own, and fail spectacularly.

At Vice’s Garage Magazine, Her Body and Other Parties author Carmen Maria Machado riffs on the four favorite models of Yves Saint Laurent:

This is Daniela’s theory: She is immortal and has cycled through many existences. She does not tell anyone, for fear that they will disbelieve her, test her, or hang her for witchcraft. When she was a teenager, a palmist took up her hand at a fair and after a moment of scrutinizing slapped it away as though it was on fire. Daniela tried to get her to explain, but the woman refused, and after that Daniela began to have dreams: She was the handmaid of a queen of an ancient nation; she carried lilies for her mistress’ late husband after his heart stopped in Bangkok; she modeled for a minor Flemish painter.

Meanwhile, here’s a rundown of the week in books at Vox:

I didn’t read Harry Potter when I was growing up. And I wasn’t alone.

Gary Shteyngart on his new book, which explores the self-delusion of Wall Street bankers

How The Little Stranger uses its ghost story to mask a study in toxic masculinity

A history of happiness explains why capitalism makes us feel empty inside

As always, you can keep up with Vox’s book coverage by visiting vox.com/books. Happy reading!

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hrichardson4pca · 7 years

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FMP Final Evaluation

For my final major project, my theme was Literature and my specialism; fashion design. I chose to do Literature as my theme for this project because it was something that I could that I could refer to personally as literature is one of the main influences in my life, being a vivid reader myself. Although fashion design may not be the path that I will be going down, I chose it because at this moment I am stuck between choosing either fashion design or costume design. I wanted this project to help me finalise my decision and figure out what I really want to specialise in for the future.

My work communicates my theme by how I have tried to keep it related to anything about literature. Though, I do think that I could’ve communicated it better if I had gone in more depth with my research and my development. But as my project progressed, I did somewhat developed by narrowing the theme down to a book character which then allowed me to further communicate my theme as now I didn’t have such a broad theme.

In my project proposal, I had stated that I wanted to explore literature and escapism, and how it can act as therapy for some people. I do believe that I went away from that. I hadn’t done much development or research onto the therapy nor on the escapism. Looking back now, those parts would have been a good starting point for an art piece. I still kept on the lines of literature but evolved that theme into a single book character which ended up being Sherlock Holmes. I chose that particular character because he is a very classic character whom everyone can identify and that his stories are part of the main building blocks of literature. If I had stuck to my original attentions, I think that the developments on book therapy and escapism would have been my weak areas. As for my areas of strengths, I think that it would have only been the development of literature.

At the start of my project, I was inspired by Fiona Dempster, an artist who had sewn on book pages, cutting off nearly all of the text to single out one specific phrase. Although throughout the majority of the project, Fiona hadn’t inspired as such when it came to development and designs, she did inspire me when I made another garment last minute which was a skirt made out of book pages. It was her idea of using books pages is what mainly inspired me and as she used her pages for art, I used mine for fashion. As my project progressed, I had inspiration from designer, Parabal Gurung and Japanese brand, Jane Marple who had both been inspired by a book character. Parabal Gurung was inspired by Miss Haisham from Great Expectations whereas Jane Marple was inspired by Miss Marple from Agatha Christie’s Miss Marple. I later used these designers to influence my decision on focusing my project on a book character.

I know that looking into alternative ideas is one of the things that I do struggle with because once I get my mind onto a particular idea, I just want to get straight to it. I think that compared to other projects, I have done a good range of alternative ideas but I don’t think that it is a wide enough range. With my problem solving, I have shown this through my samples and my toile but otherwise I have not documented them well enough in my sketchbook. I did come across a couple of problems during the construction of my ‘Sherlock’ garment. The first problem was that I realised that I was having two different models wearing my garments. The jacket wasn’t too much of a problem but it was the skirt that worried me. But I quickly came to the conclusion that I would make the skirt in the measurement of whomever was the biggest and then adjust it for when the smaller model wore it. Luckily, it worked out well. The second problem was about the zip that I had purchased for my skirt. I had mistakenly purchased a zip that was intended for a jacket so there was no way that I could sew it at the bottom. But I resolved this by putting it as a statement piece. I figured that this would then be useful for the fashion show; if the model needed to do a quick change after wearing my garments, then the skirt can just be simply unzipped.

During this project, I have used a time plan to create deadlines for myself. However, in the time plan I had mainly done weekly plans so on a few days, I would have to create mini time plans on what I wanted to achieve by the end of the day. My planning has been effective for the majority of the project although, I have had some slip ups when things have taken longer than I had expected. As this project is longer than the previous projects, I did find myself misjudging how much time I really had. But this will be something that I will keep in mind for year two. Time management is always something that I tell myself to work on because, although it is okay most of the time, I do tend to mess it up on certain occasion. So I know that I still need to work on it. I had also budgeted my project which came out at £50.34. I had thought that it would have been higher but I am pleased that I didn’t spend as much as I thought that I did. It is the sort of price range that I would prefer to stay at during my projects but knowing that it went this high, I am comfortable with that fact of spending more money if I need to.

In this project, I have looked into techniques such as pleating, applique, smocking (which I dyed with coffee and tea), weaving and embroidery to see what I can apply to my garment to further communicate my concept. I have even stepped out of my comfort zone and used photoshop to create a digital moodboard. I don’t think that my experimentation was as deep as it could have been, but as I have said before, trying out alternative ideas is my weak point. I can see now that there was more things that I could have done to deepen my development, so I will be taking that into account for the second year. As for my garment showing my developments; I think that it does show that I have tried something different and have made a turn in my project concerning my concept, but I don’t think that it shows much other development than that. With my practical skills, I believe that my strength is when I am actually sewing a garment together because it is very much a step by step process. My areas of improvement when it comes to practical skill is definitely doing different experimentations.

When you see the Sherlock moodboard that I had created in photoshop, that’s when I believe when my work really communicates my concept because you can tell that it is a lot more focused and that there is a sense of direction. Whereas before, it does look very much all over the place which is clearly something that no one wants.

I have shown my English skills in my analysis and in the evaluations that I have done for my moodboards and for my film. I have also done an art review on my blog after visiting an exhibition at Tavistock Place campus. It would have been better if I had written an article about something that relates to my concept. I showed my maths skills when I had to adapt my patterns and when I did my budgeting for my whole project.

From the character project, I have used Drive, Grit and Responsibility to achieve my intentions for my final major project; I made sure that I stayed motivated in order to get as much work done as possible; I have given myself deadlines to meet and I have understood that it is my responsibility to complete this project and pass it in order to move on to year two. I think that with these skills, I will be able to create better work for future projects which will then make me look stronger in front of interviewers for when I am either applying for university or for a job.

Overall, I am proud with what I have done in this project but I know that I can do better development wise. This project has helped to decide what path I want to go down and based on this project and previous projects, I have decided that I will specialise in costume design. I decided this because I feel like with costume design, you can sort of create your own character which is something that really appeals to me and also I feel that you can be freer with it. In my work, my strengths are research and a little bit of development because it is something I don’t struggle with. With experimentations, I can do the basics but I have trouble expanding on them. I do need to improve on my development and a bit on my analysis as I do find myself not putting in enough on certain things. I know that I can improve on this in the future by asking for help (which is another thing that I need to improve on) and for ideas on how I can develop my work better.

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theworstbob · 7 years

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yellin’ at songs, 3.11.2017

after a rather rough week on the hot 100, bob! doesn’t know what he’s fighting for or why he has to scream

27) "Tunnel Vision," by Kodak Black

There’s this song, if you’ll permit me a second to discuss something I like, by Frank Turner called “Recovery,” and it has one of my all-time favorite lyrics: “Broken people can get better if they really want to/At least, that’s what I have to tell myself if I am hoping to survive.” To tie this to Kodak Black, we must first go on another tangent: Casey Affleck took home an Oscar for his performance in Manchester by the Sea. Casey Affleck settled two sexual harassment lawsuits out of court. These two facts co-exist, and while I'm in the camp that thinks maybe we should not be giving our highest honors to horrible people, I am also in the camp that suggests that flawed people should still be allowed to find themselves and make great art. I supported Michael Vick in his comeback to the NFL; should I not do the same for Casey Affleck? Vick went to jail, Affleck settled with the victims. When do we forgive someone for their crimes? That isn’t a question with an answer. What I need to see, though, is some act of contrition, of a debt being paid to society on the part of the offender. There needs to be a sign, just a subtle little glimmer, that broken people can get better, if they really want to. I don’t get that here. I don’t even get a sense this dude’s aware he’s broken. When the second line of the first verse of your song is, "I can get any girl I want, any girl I want" -- hell, when the line "I need me a lil' baby who gon' listen" is repeated in the chorus -- I am disinclined to believe there is any contrition on the artist's end, and I, as a human being and not a court of law, am under no obligation to afford anyone the benefit of the doubt. I’m not listening to this dude again.

41) "How Would You Feel (Paean)," Ed Sheeran

The best thing I can say for this song is, a lot of people learned a new word because of its title! It's nice that our boy is committed to expanding vocabularies! But yeah, this is an Ed Sheeran Ballad, it sure is. Again, like Bruno Mars last week, cheesy Ed Sheeran is always a threat to appear at any given time, but unlike Bruno Mars, Ed Sheeran has yet to add a new dimension to his schmaltz. There is a valiant attempt at a Falsetto Moment, and I appreciate the gumption it took to go for it, but this is the sort of thing I was afraid of when I decided to undertake this silly project, the whole "Ed Sheeran is going to release the same ballad as he ever has" of it all. We’ve got at least two more down the pipeline, too, most likely. :/

44) "Love," by Lana del Rey

...Man, this is a rough week, innit? Might could be I'm just thrown off by the lack of breezy stoner jams on the occasion of the 3.11 chart. This one, though, this is... I'm trying to find the right word here, but the only one coming to mind is "boring," and there's not a lot of critical value in that word. But! I mean! There are thousands of songs about being young and in love, and none of them make that feeling sound as lifeless. I think I'm missing something. I never fucked with Lana del Rey because, before I started this chart, I didn't have to, and I never felt like I was missing much. Right now tho? I wish I’d been a little more into her. ‘Cuz like I’m kinda aware I think that Lana del Rey has some sort of persona thing going, and if that’s correct, understanding what that is is likely key to understanding what is supposed to work about this song. Right now I just kinda hear a version of Yeah Yeah Yeah’s “Maps” where everything is worse.

46) "Draco," by Future 49) "Mask Off," by Future 54) "Rent Money," by Future 91) "Super Trapper," by Future 99) "Zoom," by Future

Hey! I actually listened to the AAA release which litters the Hot 100 this week! That's a timesave, right there! Future is actually the most I've ever liked Future. With a lot of his other stuff, it kinda feels like he's going through the motions, bleakness here, despair there, trap beat, we did it, but here, I dunno, maybe it's the fact there hasn't been anything new from Future in a year, but there's a different energy on this album, I found myself enjoying it all the way through. I've actually been putting off HNDRXX simply because I want a little more time with Future, so I guess I lied in the last meandering sentence, I do know, it really is the fact there hasn't been a new Future release in a year. Still, I endorse Future. As far as these songs, I agree with the nation’s enjoyment of them. My favorite ("POA") is missing, which, enh, but "Draco" and "Rent Money" are clear highlights, and the other three are pleasant, and keep close these kind words for Future as we steel ourselves for three more Future albums before the solstice.

52) "Heavy," by Linkin Park ft./Kiiara

fucking christ I take no issues with the song on its own, the song's actually really good. I see this is a Julia Michaels joint! She is dope at this songwriting thing. I take issue with the fact that it's being delivered by Linkin Park. I just, I think that, it's hard t -- I keep imagining some 14-year-old, they're in their older brother's car, they're driving to a Shake Shack because that's what you do on a summer night, and this song comes on the radio, and it intrigues the 14-year-old. "Who is this?" they ask their brother. "Look at the fucking ticker, ya putz, this bit is clearly set in 2017. Use Shazam," the brother says, so the 14-year-old looks, and they see the name scroll across: Linkin Park. Intrigued, they go home and research Linkin Park, and they see Linkin Park has been around for over twenty years! "Incredible!" the 14-year-old says, elated to have discovered a band with such a deep back catalogue, and they're going to start with the first single: "One Step Closer." Do you understand what I'm getting at, here? Do you understand the dystopian future I am laying out before you? Our nation's #teens are in danger of discovering nu-metal. Say what you will about Ko[backwards R]n, but they have never stopped making the same shitty music they were making in 2001, and thus they are STAYING in 2001 where they BELONG, only to be visited by people already in their fanbase. The youngest living Ko[backwards R]n fan is 29, and that’s how we need it to stay. Linkin Park should be a whisper on the lips of those who have always believed. They shouldn't be chilling on Top 40 radio with Future and Selena Gomez. They should not be dueting with starlets, they should be inquiring as to Amy Lee’s availability. This is reckless endangerment of a nation’s youth. An actual living #teen may enjoy this song, and two months later they’ll have just discovered Staind and be watching the "It's Been a While" video while leaving the comment, "I was born in the wrong era," because they just heard the Hybrid Theory remix album and crAWLING WAS THEIR FAVORITE FIRST BETSY DEVOS NOW THIS HOW COULD WE LET DOWN OUR NATION'S YOUTH LIKE THIS FUCKING GODDAMNIT

56) "Something Just Like This," by The Chainsmokers ft./Coldplay

There is a tiny, faint drum fill I'm not 100% sure I didn't imagine at the 1:50 mark of this song. There was something of value in this song, which, given what this song is, I will gladly take. "I've been reading books of old/The legends and the myths" Classic literature! I'm glad Coldplay's taking time out of their busy schedule to broaden their horizons. "Achilles and his gold/Hercules and his gifts" Ah, and they're sitting down with some Greek mythology, too! How learned of Coldplay! The word "gold" doesn't appear on the Wikipedia page for Achilles, so I'm not sure what Coldplay is reading, but I'm glad they're reading it! "Spiderman's co Ah, yes, of course. Those classic tomes, the Spiderman comics! Nearly lost to time, they were, when the most recent reboot only made $750m at the box office! HOO BOY it says a lot about the week that was that this was probably only my fourth-least-favorite song. Always knew there'd be weeks like this.

Should I even do a Top 20 this week? There's only one new song. ...I'ma do a Top 20. It's routine. It's what we have, together. 20) "My Old Man," by Zac Brown Band (2.25) 19) "Castle on the Hill," by Ed Sheeran (1.28) 18) "Call Casting," by Migos (2.18) 17) "Running Back," by Wale ft./Lil Wayne (2.11) 16) "I'm Better," by Missy Elliott ft./Lamb (2.18) 15) "Way Down We Go," by Kaleo (1.14) 14) "Everyday," Ariana Grande ft./Future (3.4) 13) "Light," by Big Sean ft./Jeremih (2.25) 12) "Draco," by Future (3.11) 11) "Guys My Age," by Hey Violet (2.11) 10) "Good Drank," by 2 Chainz ft./Gucci Mane & Quavo (2.11) 9) "Yeah Boy," Kelsea Ballerini (3.4) 8) "It Ain't Me," Kygo x Selena Gomez (3.4) 7) "Now & Later," by Sage the Gemini (2.25) 6) "Shape of You," by Ed Sheeran (1.28) 5) "That's What I Like," by Bruno Mars (3.4) 4) "Despacito," by Luis Fonsi ft./Daddy Yankee (2.4) 3) "Issues," by Julia Michaels (2.11) 2) "iSpy," by KYLE ft./Lil Yachty (1.14) 1) "Run Up," by Major Lazer ft./PARTYNEXTDOOR & Nicki Minaj (2.18) swear to ra if my favorite song of my year with this project is a major lazer song that didn’t even spend multiple weeks on the chart i’ma throw a stool through my window. should i rerank? i feel i should rerank. “iSpy” is dope and “Issues” is dope and people have heard those songs. i -- ah fuck this wretched week.

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t-baba · 7 years

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Kerry Ellis Shares Her Passion for Book Cover Design

[special]This post was previously published on the 99designs blog [/special]

It’s not every day we tell you to judge a book by its cover, but in the case of Kerry Ellis (aka Llywellyn) we encourage you to.

Kerry has been a prolific book cover designer on 99designs for more than six years. While she may be modest, her portfolio is vast with inspired covers ranging in style from Saul Bass to Celtic classicism.

We recently chatted with Kerry to learn more about what makes her tick creatively, where she finds inspiration for each cover and who she’s reading right now.

Name: Kerry Ellis 99designs handle: Llywellyn Location: United States Specialty: Book covers

Tell us a little about yourself.

My childhood was spent moving around the States until high school, which gave me a nomadic travel bug at a young age. That led to a study-abroad program in Ireland during my university days, which connected me to a professor who unknowingly set me on my path to become an editor by hiring me for the Writing Center when we got back to campus. I’ve spent more than a decade in various publishing fields as an editor, and I love it.

You’ve been a member of 99designs for a long time (six years!). Can you talk a little about your experience?

Gosh, has it really been that long? I started like most folks with a passing knowledge of Illustrator: thinking I could easily make some extra money by creating logos. I mean, how hard could a logo be, right?

I was horrible at it. Probably better than some, but my first contests on 99designs showed me how much learning I had to do. So there was a long hiatus where I wasn’t very active at all.

After more hands-on experience with layout design at NASA, I returned to the 99designs platform and discovered the book cover category. As an avid reader and full-time editor, I was smitten with this category. That’s when I really found my niche and started to make good progress on the platform.

What do you enjoy most about freelancing?

The freedom to choose what I’d like to work on. Since I have a full-time day job, I have incredible freedom in selecting what I’d like to work on during my evenings and weekends. Since it’s work on top of a day of working, it has to be work I’m really going to love doing. Freelancing allows me to do that.

You’re clearly a bibliophile. What do you love most about designing book covers?

The stories! There’s such an endless supply of stories, and I love discovering new worlds and characters through them, then trying to bring them to life.

What do you think is the greatest challenge when a designing book cover?

Condensing what took the author several hundred pages to tell into a single image. This is even more challenging when you don’t have the entire manuscript to read. Given only a short brief, you have to rely on the author to identify what’s truly most important about their work.

Often, they’ve spent so long in the company of their own words, they can lose sight of some of the subtle themes and imagery a designer with fresh eyes might pick up on and run with. Doing all that writing justice is so challenging and incredibly rewarding when you get it right.

Your style changes for each cover you work on. How do you decide on each specific “look”?

Does it? Funny, because I feel like I’m always doing the same thing: minimalism and grids!

Sometimes the author has a specific style in mind, which will set me down one path of image mining. Other times, a particular word or phrase will create a picture in my mind, and I set about looking for stock photos or old paintings that fit that image but also spark a gut reaction when viewed. Whatever I find that creates that spark ends up driving the style for that cover.

Of course, I do this all with the genre in mind. Each genre has its own look and feel, but I don’t always like to play by those rules (which is probably why I do so poorly in some genres). For example, if a book is a hard-hitting thriller/mystery, I’m not likely to use a frilly script font on the cover.

However, I also don’t want to use the cliché dark-blue-tones-with-big-serif-font style if I can avoid it (I can’t always avoid it, but I’ll start in left field until the author kicks me out of it!).

Has there been an author you loved working with? Or a certain project you’re especially proud of?

Quite a few! But I’ll keep it to a couple of big personal milestones.

The first was a contest for a trilogy. The books were mystery with Celtic mythology as a theme throughout. If you couldn’t tell from my incredibly Welsh username, a quick look at my bookshelves would tell you just how obsessed I am with mythology and all things Celtic. So that contest was personally thrilling for me.

Even if I lost, I had to try because the subject matter was so near and dear to my heart. It ended up being the first big cover prize I won! I was absolutely elated and kept stalking the books’ publication because I honestly wanted to read them. (The first book is finally out!)

The next was the contest that gave me enough courage to ask for Platinum promotion: The Gondola Maker. That was an intimidating contest—tons of great talent and entries. I personally love reading historical fiction, which is what first drew me to it, but I had also recently been to Venice and had tons of photos from there (what I feel is my best photographic work to date).

I noticed that none of the entries actually had a gondola maker represented. Now, a lot of times going for the obvious thing is also the dumbest thing for book covers, but I still wanted to give the author something different than pages of gondolas and no makers.

That composite ended up being the largest I’ve cobbled together to date (that’s won): the hands and wood file from one photo, the apron from another, the rolled sleeves from yet another, and the gondola itself from one of my own photos. Then the wax seal, the winged lion, the prow fork—all of which I turned to public domain images for because the required stock purchases were starting to add up.

It turned out better than I could have imagined. The author loved it. And she sent me a few copies, all of which I gave to friends and family except one—my own keepsake. That’s the cover that made me think I was actually good at this and should keep going.

Where do you typically draw your inspiration from?

Art and photography, which are a big part of my background. I love modern art museums and the old masters with their classic portraiture. Art history was one of those university classes that I never, ever missed, and started me on a path of visiting art museums in every city I visit across the globe.

About 8 years ago I started delving into photography and immediately fell in love with the likes of Alfred Stieglitz and George Hurrell (probably didn’t hurt that I’m a classic movie buff). Old tintypes and cyanotypes give me butterflies.

And vintage posters. Alphonse Mucha was the first to draw me into that world, and I simply adore it.

Those are my go-tos when I’m in a rut and need reminding how much great art is out there waiting to be rediscovered and repurposed and introduced to a whole new audience.

What are you reading right now? Do you have an all-time favorite book?

I’m in the middle of several books at the moment: The Long Mars, Station Eleven, The Brothers Karamazov, Remembrance of Things Past (which I swear I will someday finish…). I also just bought 6 Thomas Hardy books because I somehow missed reading him entirely during all my years studying literature.

All-time favorite book is tougher. I have many, and each for different reasons. The Lord of the Rings trilogy, because it was my introduction to fantasy fiction courtesy of my father (he gave me his leather-bound copy of The Hobbit, and after I finished it, he surprised me by buying the trilogy for me that week).

Grania, by Morgan Llywelyn, because she blended my loves of Celtic mythology and historical fiction into a powerful woman who I would never had known existed otherwise. So enamored was I that I wrote to Morgan Llywelyn when I went to study abroad in Ireland to ask if I could meet her. To my surprise, she replied and agreed. Unfortunately, her schedule didn’t end up allowing it, but I called her from Dublin right after seeing the real Tara Brooch and had the most wonderful conversation with her.

And The Color of Magic by Terry Pratchett. Because it introduced me to his writing and the Discworld. A journey I’m so sad has ended but I’m forever grateful to have experienced and read.

See more of Kerry Ellis’s work in her portfolio here.

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