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heartnell · 1 year

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Just had a thought! Gendering death in The Terror, especially regarding Goodsir - his whole character arc lands him in a tent dosing himself with medicines that he turns into poison by combination/amount/method. He is a naturalist. He administers (is supposed to administer) health to the crew. In Victorian society this is, domestically, a feminine pursuit. It requires observation, an outwardly passive activity that seemed appropriate for young women - it displayed a mundane interest in the natural world, which had all the connotations of health that it does today.

Of course Goodsir did not enter the story as a hobbyist; his work (no matter how culturally feminine) being public and professional made it a masculine, and therefore acceptable, career. But by the time Goodsir resorts to poison, it is easy to argue that the Franklin Expedition is no longer part of the public or cultural consciousness anymore - they are only themselves, separated by distance and time from British society. The dredges they hold onto are the fears of an Empire that survives on the conquest and subjugation of anything and everything that does not benefit it. By the end of the show, Goodsir's career in naturalism is no longer a career. It is residual knowledge, ghosts from his academic past. It has, in the eyes of Victorian society, lost its innate respectability; for when he is doing something for himself, how does the Empire profit? This whole expedition was supposed to be for glory and God and the queen, and it has failed. In all things it failed.

So, thus, when Goodsir turns to poison, his actions carry layers of gendered cultural implications.

A) poison is well established, in the western literary canon, as a feminine tool. In Greek mythology, tens of women use poison to kill husbands/enemies of husbands/abusers. This alone does not necessarily imply a Gender Time for Goodsir, but it does lay the foundation, especially when considered in tandem with the loss of his career/its "demotion" to dead knowledge - frivolous, impractical, and marked by a distinctive lack of action. The whole show, the whole expedition, is moved by change. By action. By force. This is the perceived masculine effect of naval voyages; especially on discovery expeditions, it implies a domination, an invasion of an unknown (i.e. feminine (mystic, virginal, etc)) place. Goodsir, unlike his peers, and then his captors, does not take action in any of those senses. He either saves or he observes. Those are his functions.

B) Goodsir takes on the role of the land met by expedition - his death is a death that fates invasion, penetration (stabbing, in this case, and rending - qualities of Christ's wounds? Something to consider...). As established earlier, his position as the receptor of exploration, this time an exploration of (potential) survival, places him firmly in the feminine sphere of Victorian thought; faced with a future with the mutineers, a future that he was sure would lead to no rescue, no respite, he resigned himself to his fate without becoming passive to it - or, rather, his passivity allowed him a final act of rebellion against the situation in which he found himself. Again we return to the idea of a lack of action. He became a mirror of his own career - an opposite - he was the cadaver, and hickey was the anatomist. He was the body disturbed, the body altered, the body examined, eaten, and stripped. He became nothing but his physical existence. He was reduced, mind and soul, to flesh.

C) Poison-as-madness; Goodsir's death was not his end - indeed it is his death that causes the greatest disruption in the mutineers' camp. Although it is not completely clear what he intended to do by poisoning the mutineers (though he surely knew; again, observation - he had only knowledge, and could not act on that knowledge publicly. It became an act of subterfuge to use that knowledge, for which he was once employed) it clearly had an affect on their behavior - like those women in Greek tragedies, his death lived on to affect the minds and health of the men he left behind. He had to let his non-action, his ultimate motionlessness, speak with greater strength than his life. He had to make his absence a worse fate than his existence. When a patriarchal society, especially a Naval society, values action; definition, decisiveness, clarity in belief and posture and result (only failure or success), it becomes the masculine default. Goodsir's final act of vengeful contrition, an act against hubris, against betrayal, is an act that removes him from the masculine. It is not he that causes madness, that leaves Hickey lodged in Tuunbaq's throat. It is what flows through him, what uses him as a conduit to conduct its own decisive, merciless nature.

Basically Goodsir has gender is gender dies in the depths of gender and the Victorians did violence by gender and to gender

#the terror #the terror amc #harry ds goodsir #harry goodsir #capital L long post #franklin expedition #historical naturalists can be very important to me!!!!

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peglarpapers · 11 months

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hms terror edition here

#the terror #the terror amc #i’m sorry i couldn’t fit everyone’s blorbos in these polls. lotta dudes on those ships i had to crack out the muster lists #SORRY the links are broken i didnt realise tumblr doesnt let you edit polls

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an-act-of-hubris · 1 year

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THE GOODSIR CHRONICLES

FOR MOD EREBUS: Celebrating the birthday of our beloved Harry DS Goodsir 11-3-1819.

The Goodsir Chronicles: A Universe In Which Jane, Harry and Robert Encounter the Mythological and Supernatural

From Mod Terror: Story 2 Part 1: “The Selich Girl and the Pearls of the Maighdean Mhara Queen”

My dear sister Jane loved fairy stories, legends and ghost tales. She had a wonderful sense of the otherworldly which she loved to share with Robert and I from the time we were wee. Of course, she was told repeatedly by my father to refrain from doing so. Being raised in a household of science and Christian faith, we all held both ideals very dear. But Jane had a bit of an obstinate streak to match her sense of the fantastical and she would still secretly tell us these yarns any time we were out of earshot of the others. Her accounts excited something within the three of us which must have opened our minds and hearts to the possibility that these fabled beings could exist in our current natural world. That’s the only way I can explain the transcendental experiences we three encountered throughout our lives.

November was always one of my favorite times of year, not just because my birthday fell early in this month and I couldn’t wait to see what wonderful gifts my family would surprise me with but also because November is when the Grey Seal pups were born and could be seen on the rocks around the Firth of Forth where I lived. Unlike the Harbour Seals who’s pups are born in the summer months and can swim from the time they are born, the fluffy white Grey Seal pups were stuck on land for at least a month. Normally every year in November, my older brothers would take me out to find the pups and John would teach me how to identify the different seal species and I would practice drawing them and we would have such a lovely time.

It was just after my eleventh birthday. Both my older brothers were preoccupied with their studies and were frustrated with my impatient pestering to go to the firth with me. John apologized and passed me a very well worn copy of “Invertebrate Fauna of the Firth of Forth” and told me to go out and search the tide pools and identify and draw anything interesting. So, with a new sketch book and Cumberland graphite pencil my mother had gifted me, I set out with my younger brother Robert and sister Jane to walk the coastal trail between our home town of Anstruther and the neighboring town of Crail. My hope was to find and sketch the seal pups along with the creatures of the tide pools but I would never have imagined that I would find much more than that.

It was a lovely fall day with a mild breeze and lots of golden sunlight twinkling off the gentle waves. Ahead of me, Jane was merrily telling an enraptured Rob a story about a sailor and a maid of the sea while I sauntered along with my hands in my pockets, keeping a wary eye out for my desired marine mammals. We saw peregrines hunting along the shore line as well as some harbour porpoises playing in the firth. In the tide pools, we spied sea anemones, sponges and a bright red sea slug. A delightful hermit crab skittered about the rocks and ended up in Robert’s pail to be brought home later and added to the menagerie we kept in our rooms.

We were nearing The Coves when we heard a ruckus of high pitched yelps and barks. There on the rocks was a seal unlike any I had ever seen before which was helplessly caught up in a large fishing net. Every twist and turn the flippered mammal attempted to make to free itself only ensnared it further.

“Oh Harry, we have to help the poor creature,” pleaded my sister knowing full well I would never leave another living being to its fate if it could be helped.

“Everyone be calm and move slowly,” I replied. My sister began to hum a lullaby soothingly as I searched around for a stick with which to keep the seal at bay if it should decide to be aggressive towards us. “Bob, you stand back and give warning if it looks like the beast will lunge for us,” I instructed. I handed him my drawing implements and John’s book and he stood a keen eyed sentinel.

The seal, fearful of us and tired of its struggle, stopped thrashing for the moment to eye us warily.

“It’s alright,” I said softly, “were not going to hurt you, we want to help.” I locked eyes with the creature and was surprised at the shockingly ice blue irises. The seal lay very still almost daring not to breathe but watched me carefully. With a small knife from my pocket, I started to cut away at the net. I found that one of the flippers was caught painfully in part of the netting but I made quick work of it and in a short time the seal was free.

“There now, you’ve been saved,” laughed Jane, “ Harry is your hero!” She gave me a winning smile full of admiration.

The seal looked from Jane to me and continued to lay there as if it was unable to decide what to do. It was then that I noticed the beautiful silver-white coat with a mottling of black about the ventral side and over the bridge of the nose. I motioned for Robert to bring me my sketch book and hurriedly set about drawing the facial features and spot pattern before it decided to head for the sea. This was definitely no Halichoerus grypus nor was it a Phocina vitulina. I almost trembled with excitement at showing John my important new discovery.

After a short time, the seal let out a bark of thanks, then turned and ambled its way back over the rocks to dive into the waves. It disappeared for a while but then I spied its small head bobbing up and down in the frigid waters as it gave me a last scrutinizing look. I waved and it took its leave. And that was that for my valiant moment with the seal, or so I thought.

We continued on to the Caiplie Caves, or The Coves as we locals called them. It was a great place to play at pirates and mermaids which we did quite happily for some time. Robert pretended to be the ruthless pirate captain while Jane was a captured maid of the sea and I was all the characters Bob wanted to command including the luckless sailor who had to walk the plank and the feckless first mate who obediently had to dig a hundred holes with his stick to find the hidden treasure.

I was standing atop the hill behind the caves pretending to be on look-out for the dreaded British Navy and getting ready to switch roles and become the fearless Captain Marryat who would vanquish the privateers and save the mermaid when I spotted a pale figure coming towards us. It appeared to be a girl around Jane’s age with long silver-white hair. She seemed to be limping and except for something she held to her chest, she was in a complete state of undress, much to my astonishment. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks as I modestly looked away, then clambered down the hill to alert my siblings.

We decided to send Jane out to meet the unclothed stranger and after a time Jane returned to the cave with the girl wearing Jane’s over-coat and tenaciously clutching what looked like a pelt to her bodice. Her eyes were the lightest blue I had ever seen.

“Harry, Robert this is Moira,” Jane began, “she is a selich. In fact it was she you rescued from the net earlier today.” Jane’s eyes sparkled brilliantly as she told us this news.

My eyes wandered from the pelt to the girl’s left wrist and I saw a rope burn where the net had entrapped her flipper. Once, Jane had told us a story about a selich which had been tricked out of her fur and made to marry a fisherman but who escaped back to the sea when she found her coat. My hand went instinctively to my pocket to rub the lammer bead I kept there which had been given me by the Ghillie Dhu in the forest some years ago as protection against the fae.

“Don’t be afraid, I’m not going to hurt you,” said Moira in a small, quiet voice. “You rescued me once today and I can see through your eyes to your soul that you are good. I’m in terrible danger and I need your help.” Moira gave me that same icy gaze from earlier and I shivered.

“What kind of trouble,” I whispered, “how can we help?”

“I’ve stolen a magical talisman from the Queen of the Maighdean Mhara to save my people and she will stop at nothing to get it back.” Moira drew one of her closed fists out from her pelt and when she opened her pale hand we could see a delicate string of glowing pink-white pearls.

I looked at my siblings...Robert had a look of wide-eyed surprise but Jane had a look of pure bliss...in one afternoon she had learned that both selkies and mermaids were real!

To be continued..............

#Goodsir AU #goodsirweek #Harry Goodsir #The Terror AMC #Happy Birthday HDSG #Mod Terror

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ussporcupine · 4 years

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terror reads their own fanfic

Silna- bemused, touched that so many researched culturally correct language and customs Blanky- loves it, curious as to how you figured out he was Jewish JFJ- LOVES it, reads every word, shakes head and laughs, saves favorites Irving- horrified Little- horrified at the idea, secretly reads, horrified anew Jopson- finds the idea of it hilarious, only reads titles Hartnell- impressed that he bags an officer so frequently MacDonald- tilts head, looks thoughtful, smiles enigmatically, stares into mid-distance Crozier- happy to be recognized as superior sailor; dismayed at descriptions of his junk Fairholme- why is there only one about me? Bridgens- reads every word thoughtfully, leaves detailed comments Peglar- highlights select passages to re-enact later Gore- sighs and shakes head Le Vesconte- reads best bits aloud to JFJ Goodsir- kudos for everyone but fills comments with grammatical corrections Sir John- apoplectic

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jurian-is-cinnamon-roll · 4 years

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#tochka is rewatching the terror #and she thinks she's being funny #again #the terror #the terror amc #amc the terror #cornelius hickey #billy gibson #william gibson #henry ds goodsir #harry goodsir #the terror memes

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goodsirism · 3 years

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can I interest you in some terror modern!secondary school!I am not okay with this inspired!au fanned fiction about The Power of Friendship and What Lies Beneath The British Upper Class??? about henry ‘harry’ ds goodsir on rollerskates??? about being gnc in a small town?? if so, two chapters r up already <3

#the terror amc #harry goodsir #I don’t like myself

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henrylevesconte · 5 years

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🦀🦀 Happy Birthday to one crab loving good boi, Dr. Harry DS Goodsir 🦀🦀🎂🥂🍾

#we poppin bottles for one sweet boi #harry goodsir #the franklin expedition

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calciumdeficientt · 5 months

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real texts exchanged by me and my dear friend @ma1zeb1te at 2am

#the terror #the terror amc #harry ds goodsir #harry goodsir #cornelius hickey #ridiculous #sillyposting

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shloodles · 1 year

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I requested a copy of May We Be Spared to Meet on Earth from my library because its huge and expensive and they accepted it! so I've been working my way through it the past few weeks. many things about this book and these letters make me uncontrollably emotional but nothing nearly so much as harry goodsir's letters. what's really getting to me right now is harry's relationship with his aunt ann taylor on his mother's side. she knit him things, and in one of his letters where he's requesting clothing items from his family for the expedition (I believe it's to his sister) he mentions requesting to have his aunt knit the wooly things for him, since he knows the quality of her work to be better than anything he's seen in the shops in london.

I know genaology is a lot more complicated than this especially when it comes to scottish clans but I'm thinking about how I had a great grandmother who was a Taylor (my little brother was named Taylor for her). back in 2019 I was in a short summer program to study scottish literature in Edinburgh. It was the first time I had ever been out of the country for so long. when I had finished my program, I stayed a while longer and my family came up to visit me. we went to one of those tartan plaid shops (one of the nicer more legit ones but still largely for usamerican tourists like us lol) and they actually had a taylor tartan, despite it being such a small clan!! (they were so small they later merged with the camerons.) my brother and I bought matching taylor scarves...and just the other week, not at ALL knowing what I would learn that day, I was wearing mine while reading the letter where I learned about harry's aunt :')

all this to say, with each letter I read I slowly fall a little bit more in love with this darling, brilliant man, who I may in some way be a descendant of?? I think about scotland almost every day since that trip, but especially now as I learn more about harry's life. like when I was in edinburgh I had the extraordinary opportunity to visit the royal surgeons hall museum, which I LOVED. but at the time, I didn't even know Harry existed, let alone that he had been the curator there right before he left for the expedition!! If I ever get to go back I want to visit his hometown of anstruther and cry

#his mother's side were taylors so his mom and his aunt and i think he had an uncle on her side too?#also...the colors of the taylor tartan are SO beautiful?? soft sage green run through with gentle lavender. like...#anyway having big feelings and just planning a whole goodsir-centric trip to cope #there's also a bar in greenhithe along the thames called the sir john franklin that i wanna hit up lol #i also feel the need to make the disclaimer that #any connection on a deep level really does not need to have anything to do with ancestry and i'm aware of all the bullshit #this just happens to be meaningful to me personally because of my experiences briefly living in scotland and learning its history #and being a lit major and finding patterns and experiencing the beauty of connecting with the past in something as simple as a scarf #man i just care about this dead guy 😭#personal #harry ds goodsir #may we spared to meet on earth

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