#that is a good set of things to be a scholar for. and he’s curating collections at the same time as being my teacher | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

warmtoastedbread · 7 months

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Cyno x reader

Fluff, slight angst? Reference to Sumeru archon Quest.

A/N: Ahhh Cyno my beloved main, my first five star, I adore this stupid little nerd <33 I'm cooking up more stories so I'll link a master list at some point. Not sure if I'll do a pt 2

Like and follow for more. I'll gladly answer asks in my inbox, I need more Genshin friends ( •́⁠ ⁠ ⁠‿⁠ ⁠,⁠•̀ )

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By all accounts Cyno was an intense man.

He worked diligently at his job, day in and day out. He upheld justice and punished scholars who committed any of the six sins. It was widely known that he would go through extreme lengths to inflict fair judgement on the offending perpetrators. Even to those who'd done nothing wrong, felt immense pressure in his presence.

Genius Invocation was no mere hobby to Cyno. He consumed each new magazine or article about Genius Invocation in his spare time. Whether it was tid bits about the cards, creators or what was considered meta Cyno read it. He'd enter tournaments for the game, tournaments with the prize being a TCG card he knew about it.

He had taken you seriously from the very start. You had come to the table a few minutes late, not that Cyno minded he got there immensely early since he had some other matches to play. It gave him time to set up. He had chosen his personally curated hyperbloom team with a very fancy card back.

You sat down a little nervous as the General Mahtra gave you an indifferent look. You quickly set up your thome, taking out your cards and dice.

Cyno had won his other two matches with ease his winning streak remaining unbroken. He knew he would win from the moment you pulled out your deck.

It was a troll deck. A Dendro, an anemo and a Cryo player card with the rest of the deck being the default deck. You had forgotten to switch to your proper deck and it would take too long to go back home and fetch your proper deck. You sighed feeling guilty, as though the General Mahtra in front of you would codemn you for some reason.

His gaze was intense as he waited for you to set up both of you remained in silence.

You did well during the match much to Cyno's surprise. Two of your character cards were fallen while Cyno's cards still had hp. Only your Sucrose remained.

You played a food card at 0 cost gaining an extra health point. You doubted it would do much but it was worth a shot. Cyno was confident in his cards and simply waited for your turn to end. Even though this match was meant to be friendly, Cyno's intensity caused you to reciprocate his seriousness.

You sacrificed some cards to convert your dice and then made a normal attack using your Sucrose card. That normal attack swirled the Cryo and knocked the last two hp points off two of Cyno's cards.

You were bound to loose from the beginning, and you did, but Cyno enjoyed the competition as he had in his previous matches. You sigh, the adrenaline in your body starting to come down from it's high now that the match was over. His stare was something you wanted to avoid.

"Is that your usual deck?" He finally asks as the two of your shake hands and pack up your things.

He was immensely curious about your skill at the game because you had gotten so far with such a poor deck.

"Ah, no it's a deck I use to help get my friends used to the game. I just forgot to switch it back, sorry." You reply feeling awkward, the sweat on your hands still accumulating even after you wiped it away.

"This was a very good game though, your deck was really strong." You compliment trying not to get on his bad side.

Cyno wordlessly nodded as a thank you. He knew his deck was strong, he had worked for months getting the right cards and balancing it. Cyno wanted to play against you again, next time with a proper deck in hand so he can have a better game.

Cyno couldn't shut up about you every time Genius Invocation came up. Poor Tighnari had to hear over and over how good a player you were, how each choice you made was strategic and an accumulation of jokes related.

He invited you again to play the next time he was free, which was a few weeks later. The air was still immensely awkward when you arrived at Lambads tavern. You apologised for being late again but this time your excuse was that you made sure to bring the right deck this time.

He didn't mind. One match kept escalating and then Cyno made sure to invite you to play Genius Invocation each week. Even though you were still nervous the conversation flowed easier. You eventually learned that Cyno was significantly less scary than people made him out to be. He was still scarily intense.

Eventually you met his friends, they were nice but you felt out of place. They were fun even though you struggled to add to conversation.

Cyno was intense when he eventually asked you out. It was a romantic dinner by candle light, orchestrated by Collei after Tighnari told the stubborn General Mahtra he was in love.

He was nervous, intensely so, but the manner in which you caught his attention left him at peace. It felt calm, like a morning sunrise in the desert where nothing made a sound.

Soon that intensity showed through in his love for you. The years you two had dated was easy, unbelievably easy because he adored you more than anything. Even in the nights where he'd gotten home late from a mission you were there, snuggled up in bed waiting for him to return safely.

Your relationship had gotten particularly rocky when he resigned as General Mahamatra. He kissed you sweetly that night, told you he'd be gone for a few days on a mission and he left. Like usual.

It hurt more than anything because he left you in the dark. He hugged you goodbye, as he would when he left for any other reason but he left a letter on his desk at home. A letter addressed to you when you eventually got worried for him.

The sages were corrupted and he couldn't risk you getting involved it was just too dangerous. Cyno's absence was noticeable. Dinners that were once filled with idle chatter and bad jokes were quiet. The empty house you had once shared was suffocatingly lonely.

You had cried some nights, worried sick and hoping your lover was okay. You continued on, pushed through. That letter he left you was something you read frequently, scanning over the neat handwriting over and over.

You missed him dearly and only hoped he'd return home safely, like he did after every mission.

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My dearest,

I hope you're taking good care of yourself in my absence. I know you're worried for me but this mission is a task only I can inflict judgement on. Something immoral is happening and I left because investigating in Sumeru City will put you at risk.

Please don't misunderstand my intentions love, I will miss you dearly. You are at the center of my world and everything I do, I do with you in mind.

I regret that this situation has come to this but I can not let such abuse continue on. I will answer your every concern once I return, I promise.

If anything does happen please go to Tighnari in Ghandarva ville. He'll be able to help you with anything in the mean time.

With all my love, forever yours,

Cyno

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#genshin impact #cyno #cyno x reader #genshin fic #general mahamatra

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maigo-san · 1 year

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for rntn ask game!! ❤️🥵💣💤

🥺🥺hello, zero!! hope you have a great day and thank you for the asks!! Omg, these are some really good questions!!

❤️ - what are your favorite kind of RenTan stories? (Canon, Rengoku lives, modern… etc)

definitely, Rengoku Lives stories since it's just the default. It's so fun to fiddle with it. Maybe it's because of the time period or the fact that it's directly from gtg's ideas, it just hits harder. But I've been really liking stories where one or both of them are mystical beings, whether it's the konpon au, dragon tan, fox scholar kyou~ I can't choose, they're all so gooood

🥵 - what are your thoughts about their rank difference? Did you want Tanjiro to study under Kyojuro?

I think their rank difference is interesting because they're both unconventional. Tanjirou doesn't really care about his rank, he uses his breathing technique almost pragmatically, while Kyoujurou has always been destined to be a hashira. Yet, after that, we don't know what he wanted. It was never explained even in vol 0 or the fanbook, and it might be intentional since gtg also had been using the supporting characters pragmatically, but I also love how it adds to the angst factor.

Imagine living your life not really looking forward to the other side of The Death of Muzan when your whole family, your entire life has been designed and curated to defeat Muzan. He's Sisyphus, if Sisyphus is happy.

So what I like about a Rengoku Lives spin is Tanjirou being by his side, not necessarily being the sole reason for him to live by becoming his tsuguko (since getting a tsuguko is the second closest thing we get to his life goa) just like how Tan becomes his living proof in the canon (symbolized by the passing tsuba) but by being his soulmate.

I've written both where Tanjirou becomes his ideal tsuguko (becomes a tsuguko until the end of the story and even learns a bit of flame breathing because he has a talent for adapting different breathings) but I've also written when he stops becoming one (tho this hasn't been uploaded yet I think) because they find their power imbalance a hindrance to their relationship.

In the end, these are just labels to them and I feel in any scenario, if Tanjirou gets to see Kyoujurou the next day, he'll use every excuse to see him. (this made me remember I have an unfinished fic where Kyou teaches Tan how to sumo wrestle post-mugen train)

💣 - share your most controversial RenTan take. Set your thoughts ablaze!!

BHAHAHA WHYYYYY

Kyoujurou has a fat ass!

jk.

I honestly don't know~ maybe one of the reasons I'm die-hard for rntn out of all of my ships is because I tolerate most headcanon lmfao even the darkest or dead dovey... idk. I wrote and made some questionable stuff myself so usually, if there's an au or trope I can't get behind, it's just how the author/artist executes it and if I have the energy, I'll try it with my own version. I get to make something I like and rntn gets more content

Like for example, I think Kyoujurou is not as experienced as Tanjirou just because he's older. There's barely anything he accomplished romantically or sexually around those five years gap. He's as young and awkward as Tan. But I can see why people would think that. He's adored by so many people. But so was Tanjirou and I feel, if Tanjirou becomes a charcoal burner for a bit longer, it could be the other way around since Kyoujurou is a bit intimidating.

Hey, maybe he learned everything just from three volumes of shunga and erotic novels!

💤 - what are your feelings about Enmu? Was he an effective villain in the story? Do you like him in AUs?

he's so funny, I don't think I can hate him. He's probably the funniest character gtg has ever made aside from zenino so yes he's very effective!! Overall, Mugen Train is very well made and every character serves their purpose very well. I admittedly have never read a fic with him as a relevant supporting character and I barely used him in my fics but if I ever want to write something comedic, I would love to add him.

Thank you for the ask, it's been really fun and made my morning.

ask game

#rntnvillage #rentan #tanren #zig replied

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biglisbonnews · 1 year

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A Mysterious Cézanne Portrait Was Hiding Under the Layers of a Still Life Last spring, the Cincinnati Art Museum held a special exhibition showcasing works by five young French artists, who, in the 1860s, used the still life genre to experiment with new painting techniques. One of those artists was famed Post-Impressionist Paul Cézanne, and the exhibition included Still Life With Bread and Eggs, one of his earliest masterpieces and part of the museum’s permanent collection. While the gallery was being rearranged, Serena Urry, the chief conservator, decided it would be a good idea to bring it down to the conservation lab for some cleaning. It wasn’t an unusual thing to do, but what she found was anything but routine. Urry was unhappy with the way the varnish looked and wanted to remove some of it. She began the work with a thorough examination, where she noticed some cracks in really dark parts of the background. “I noticed that there was some white showing in the two areas of cracks,” she says. This often represents some type of layering problem. Because paints can dry (and contract) at different rates, it's possible that layers of the oil paint were on different timelines. Urry hypothesized that a white layer may have been laid down before the dark one, hence the cracks. So she called in the technician to X-ray the painting. Still Life is big, so it had to be X-rayed in quadrants, with the images then stitched together on a computer. After composing the full X-ray, Surry printed out the final image. For no particular reason at all, she happened to get a look at it turned 90 degrees. Something special happened.Rather than the X-ray signature of the white layer of paint she expected to see, Urry saw a ghostly face—a hidden painting, which the museum now believes could be a self-portrait of the artist, most likely from his 20s. The X-ray, oriented on its side, has the original Still Life composition occupying two quadrants on the right. But the left side—the black backdrop of the final composition—reveals a face with deep set eyes and a distinct nose and mouth. The shape of the body is there, too, and upon close inspection, the white cuff of the subject’s right sleeve. It is probable that the alleged self-portrait was something Cézanne was working on at the onset of his career, in the early 1860s. He then may have put the canvas aside for a few years before re-using it for his earliest still life masterpiece, in 1865. Still Life With Bread and Eggs was already an incredibly important piece for the museum, as it is one of a handful of works that Cézanne had signed and dated. According to Peter Jonathan Bell, Curator of European Paintings, Sculpture, and Drawings, the discovery of the hidden portrait offers a glimpse into Cézanne’s studio at the beginning of his career. Born in Aix-en-Provence, France, in 1839, Cézanne fled to Paris in 1861 to pursue his artistic dreams, against the wishes of his banker father. “What has gotten people in the art history world excited is that the portrait gives us the moment Cézanne is trying to break into the salon and start his career,” Bell says. “I interpreted it as a self-portrait based on the way he's posed,” says Urry. “He's got his body sideways and that generally is a self-portrait position.” While some scholars share that opinion, according to Bell, others with experience with Cézanne’s works have different suggestions. “Cézanne did a very famous series of portraits of his uncle where you could see some physiognomic similarities there, too,” he says. “People are all over the map right now.” Further detective work is needed, which begins by conducting more imaging and analysis. “Conservation science has really grown leaps and bounds in the past decade,” says Urry. The 19th and 20th centuries saw increased collaboration between the arts and science, but many American art collections had long relied on outside restorers to care for their paintings. That changed in the 1940s, when institutions began implementing a more systematic approach to care and preservation, and a more scientific approach to the treatment of artwork. Since the early 1990s, the number of conservation scientists and scientific research laboratories in the United States has increased. Today, conservation departments and centers have been integrated as part of museums across the United States. Not only has this global trend allowed museums to facilitate collaboration between art historians, conservators, and scientists, but it has led to a number of surprising discoveries, from a hidden landscape painting under Pablo Picasso’s 1902 masterpiece The Crouching Woman to abandoned sketches under Leonardo da Vinci’s 1483–86 altarpiece The Virgin of the Rocks. One of the next steps to further analyze the newly discovered portrait would be an X-ray fluorescence scan to map where elements in pigments, such as iron, cadmium, and silicon, reside. This, Urry says, “would give us a sense of what the color was or what the mixture of colors were.”Urry, however, is the sole paintings conservator at the museum; access to resources and analytical techniques is a challenge. “Still Life With Bread and Eggs has been around since 1865 and it isn’t going anywhere,” she says. “We’re going to do our best to get as much information as we can about the portrait and disseminate it to the art history world.” Urry and Bell are optimistic that with continued advancement, someone will one day be able to image the entire painting without disturbing the still life. For now, Still Life With Bread and Eggs is back in public view, just as it has always been, but with a new neighbor: a high-resolution image of the X-ray. https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/cezanne-hidden-portrait

#Line Sidonie Talla Mafotsing #Atlas Obscura

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blackswaneuroparedux · 3 years

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Michelangelo’s The Risen Christ: Discovering the sacred in the profane.

The true work of art is but a shadow of the divine perfection.

- Michelangelo Buonarroti

While a visit to Rome’s grand squares like Piazza Navona is at the top of everyone’s list, there is much more to the Eternal City. The Piazza della Minerva, is one of Rome’s more peculiar squares and is a must-see for lovers of Bernini’s work.

As one of the smaller squares in Rome, Piazza della Minerva holds some interesting sites. Built during Roman times, the square derives its name from the Goddess, Minerva, the Roman Goddess of wisdom and strategic warfare. During the 13th Century, the decision was made to build a Christian Church on top of what was once a square dedicated to a pagan Goddess – and so the church of Santa Maria Sopra Minerva was born, a beautiful example of Gothic architecture and Rome’s only Gothic church.

In fact this is the only Gothic church in Rome. It resembles the famous Church of Santa Maria Novella in Florence. There are three aisles inside the church. The soaring arches and the ceiling in blue are outstanding. The deep blue colours dominate the structure while the golden touches promote the intricate design. There are paintings of gold stars and saints. The stained glass windows are beautiful too.

In the centre of the Piazza is an elephant with an Egyptian obelisk on its back, one of Bernini’s last sculptures erected by Bernini for Pope Alexander VII and possibly one of the most unusual sculptures in Rome. There are several theories which aim to decipher Bernini’s inspiration for the sculpture, some of which point to Bernini’s study of the first elephant to visit Rome, while others point to a more satirical combination of a pagan stone with a baroque elephant in front of a Christian church.

Tourists flock to see the elephant but more often than not they miss out visiting an almost forgotten marble masterpeiece by Michelangelo himself inside the church. This controversial statue has resided in the Santa Maria sopra Minerva Church in Rome for almost five hundred years. Indeed The Risen Christ by Michelangelo is one of the artist's least admired works. While modern observers frequently have found fault with the statue, it satisfied its patrons enormously and was widely admired by contemporaries. Not least, the sculpture has suffered from the manner in which it is presently displayed and from biased photographic reproduction that emphasises unfavorable and inappropriate views of Christ.

Around 2017 I was fortunate on a visit back to London to see once again Michelangelo’s marble masterpiece, The Risen Christ, which was being displayed in all its naked glory at an exhibition at the National Gallery.

This was another version of this great sculpture that no one has got round to covering up. It has just come to Britain. Michelangelo’s first version has been lent to the National Gallery, in London, for its exhibition Michelangelo and Sebastiano del Piombo in 2017. It came from San Vincenzo Monastery in Bassano Romano, where it languished in obscurity until it was recognised as Michelangelo’s lost work in 1997.

I found it profoundly moving then as I had seen the other partially clothed one on several visits to the church in Rome. It has always perplexed me why this beautiful work of art has been either shunned to the side with hidden shame or embarrassment when it holds up such profound sacred truth for both art lover or a Christian believer (or both as I am).

Michelangelo made a contract in June 1514 AD that he would make a sculpture of a standing, naked figure of Christ holding a cross, and that the sculpture would be completed within four years of the contract. Michelangelo had a problem because the marble he started carving was defective and had a black streak in the area of the face. His patrons, Bernardo Cencio, Mario Scapucci, and Metello Vari de' Pocari, were wondering what happened when they hadn't heard for a while from Michelangelo. Michelangelo had stopped work on The Risen Christ due to the blemish in the marble, and he was working on another project, the San Lorenzo facade. Michelangelo felt grief because this project of The Risen Christ was delayed. Michelangelo ordered a new marble block from Pisa which was to arrive on the first boat. When The Risen Christ was finally finished in March 1521 AD Michelangelo was only 46 years old.

It was transported to Rome and this 80.75 inches tall marble statue was installed at the left pillar of the choir in the church Santa Maria sopra Minerva, by Pietro Urbano, Michelangelo's assistant (Hughes, 1999). It turns out that Urbano did a finish to the feet, hands, nostrils, and beard of Christ, that many friends of Michelangelo described as disastrous). Furthermore, later-on in history, nail-holes were pierced in Christ's hands, and Christ's genitalia were hidden behind a bronze loincloth.

Because people have changed this sculpture over time; many are disappointed with this work of art because it is presently different than the original work that Michelangelo made. The Risen Christ had no title during Michelangelo's lifetime. This sculpture was given the name it has now, because Christ is standing like the traditional resurrected saviour, as seen in other similar works of art.

It was in discussion with an art historian friend of mine currently teaching I was surprised through her to discover the sculpture’s uncomfortably controversial history. There is no doubt Michelangelo’s marvellous marble creation has raised robust debates about where beauty as an aesthetic sits between the sacred and the profane. And nothing exemplifies that better than the phallus on Michelangelo’s The Risen Christ.

For the majority of its time there, however, the phallus has been carefully draped with a bronze loincloth - incongruous at best, and prudish at worst, but either way a less than subtle display of the historic Church’s discomfort with the full physicality of Christ.

Indeed, it is worth noting that this attitude prevails, at least in some sense, into the twentieth-century: the version of the statue in Rome remains covered to this day, and much of the critical attention the sculpture has received after Michelangelo’s death has been grating. Romain Rolland, an early biographer, described it as ‘the coldest and dullest thing he ever did’, whilst Linda Murray bluntly dubbed the work ‘Michelangelo’s chief and perhaps only total failure’. But Michelangelo himself saw no such mistake. The censored statue seen in Santa Maria sopra Minerva is what we might call his second draft.

It’s interesting to note that when artist was originally commissioned to sculpt a risen Christ in 1514, he had all but completed it before realising that a vein of black marble ran across Jesus’ face, marring the image of classical perfection which he so wished to emulate. It had nothing to do with the phallus. Furious, Michelangelo abandoned this Christ - the one I saw at the National Gallery - and began again. Even given a fresh chance, he chose to retain Christ’s complete nudity.

Why was this of such importance to Michelangelo? Why did he so strongly wish to craft the literal manhood of Christ, as never depicted before? Part of the answer may lie in his historical context: the Renaissance in Italy was driven in the part by the remains of Roman antiquity discovered there; study of the classics became commonplace, and scholars tended to consider the Graeco-Roman world as a cultural ideal, with ancient art in particular being emblematic of a lost Golden Age. Famously, classical sculpture was almost always nude.

In his interview with The Telegraph in 2015, Ian Jenkins, curator of the British Museum exhibition “Defining Beauty: The Body in Ancient Greek Art”, attempted to explain this tradition. ‘The Greeks … didn’t walk down the High Street in Athens naked … But to the Greeks [nudity] was the mark of a hero. It was not about representing the literal world, but a world which was mythologised.’

We see evidence for this trend in Greek literature as well as sculpture: Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey, considered by some to be the earliest known works of Western literature, were likely written between the 8th and 7th centuries BC, but their setting is in Mycenaean Greece in the 12th century. The Greeks believed that this earlier Bronze Age was an epoch of heroism, wherein gods walked the earth alongside mortals and the human experience was generally more sublime. In setting the texts at this earlier stage in Greece’s history, Homer echoes the belief held within his contemporary society that mankind had been better before (what we might now call nostalgia, or, more colloquially, “The Good Old Days syndrome”). There is a real feeling of delight present in the distance Homer creates between his actual, flawed society, and the idealised past.

Indeed, it calls to mind a line I once read in an introduction to L.P. Hartley’s The Go-Between, by Douglas Brookes-Davies: ‘Memory idealises the past’. Though modernist texts such as The Go-Between problematise this, in antiquity it was not only commonplace but celebrated to look back to a more perfect existence and relive it through art. The very fact that Michelangelo abandoned his sculpture after years of work on account of a barely noticeable flaw in the marble is evidence that he, too, was striving towards the classical ideal of perfection. ‘Unfortunately,’ Hazel Stanier has commented, ‘this has resulted in unintentionally making Christ appear like a pagan god.’

This opens up another question – why does such a rift exist between the way ancient cultures envisaged their divinity and our own conceptions of a Christian God? Why are we not allowed to anthropomorphise the deus of the Bible in the same way that the Roman gods were?

Christ, of course, makes this somewhat confusing, given that he is described in the Bible as ‘the Word made flesh’, a physical and very human incarnation of the spiritual being that we call God. Theology tells us that he is fully human and fully divine, and yet the Church have excluded him from many aspects of life that a majority of us see as typifying a human being. Christ has no apparent sexual desires or romantic relationships, and though not exempt from suffering, he does not play any part in sin (which, as the saying goes, is ‘only human’). I think that the enormous controversy caused by films such as The Last Temptation of Christ (1988), which explore the possibility of Jesus having a sex life, is reflective of the possibility that - though in theory the Christian messiah is fully human - we feel significant discomfort at the notion that he may have explored particular aspects of the human experience.

Purists and the prude and liberals rush to opposite sides of the debate. If purists run one way to completely deny Christ had any sexual desires or even inclinations as all humans are want to do, liberals commit the sin of rushing to the other extreme end and presuppose that Jesus did act on sexual impulses simply because it was inevitable of his human nature.

I think the truth lies somewhere between but what that truth might actually be is simply speculation on my part. It doesn’t detract for me the life and saving mission of redemption that Jesus was on - to suffer and die for our sins as well as the Godhead reconciling itself to sacrificing the Son for Man’s sins and just punishment.

Of course, it is well-known that the classical gods had no qualms about sexual activity. It is difficult to make retrospective judgements about citizens’ opinions on this but, as it was the norm, we might assume that they felt it was rather a non-issue. I can empathise with some critics who reason that the Christian God is not entitled to sexual expression is because of the traditional Christian idea that sex is inherently sinful – that original sin is passed on seminally and so by having sex we continue to spread darkness and provoke further transgression. It is from this early idea that theological issues such as the need for Mary to have been immaculately conceived (she was not created out of a sexual union, much like her son) have stemmed. But here - the immaculate conception - the critics are profoundly wrong in their theological understanding of why God had to enter the world as Immanuel in this miraculous way.

Some Christian critics - and I would agree with them - assert that the vision of a naked Christ might make a powerful theological point in a world where sex still carries these connotations. They rightly point out that clothing - and I might extend this to mean the covering-up of the sexual parts of our body - was only adopted by humankind after the Fall, the nudity of Christ is making a statement about his unfallen nature as the second Adam. In other words, Christ has no shame, because he is sinless and has no need for shame. Perhaps what Michelangelo intended was actually to disentangle nudity from its sexual, sinful associations, instead presenting us with a pre-lapsarian image of purity taking the form of the classical Bronze Age hero.

There is another, less theological explanation for the sculptor’s obvious use of the classical form. It reminds us of a time when gods walked the earth alongside us, when they were fully human – us, only immortal. Maybe he wanted to emphasise that fully human aspect of Christ’s being. Questionable as much of their behaviour was, the classical gods were certainly easy to identify with. For Michelangelo, this may have been his own way of embodying John 1:14 in marble: ‘The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us’.

It is here critics may have gotten hold of the wrong end of the stick with The Risen Christ when they point out the odd proportions of the figure: that it has a weighty torso, or the broad hips atop a pair of tapered and rather spindly legs, or even a side or rear view of the figure that show Christ’s buttocks.

For a start, this ungainly rear view was not supposed to be seen. The statue was meant to go in a wall niche, so that the back of the statue was hidden. Michelangelo of course knew this, and shaped the statue so that it would appear well proportioned from the front. If we view the sculpture from the front left, perhaps its best side, then Christ is no longer a thickset figure. Rather, his body merges with the cross in a graceful and harmonious composition.

The turn of Christ’s body and his averted face suggest something like the shunning of physical contact that is central to another post-Resurrection subject, the Noli me tangere (“Touch Me Not”). The turned head is a poignant way of making Christ seem inaccessible even as the reality of his living flesh is manifest.

We are encouraged to look at not Christ’s face, but the instruments of his Passion. Our attention is directed to the cross by the effortless cross-body gesture of the left arm and the entwining movement of the right leg. With his powerful but graceful hands, Christ cradles the cross, and the separated index fingers direct us first to the cross and then heavenward. Christ presents us with the symbols of his Passion – the tangible recollection of his earthly suffering. Behind Christ and barely visible between his legs we see the cloth in which Christ was wrapped when he was in the tomb. He has just shed the earthly shroud; it is in the midst of slipping to earth. In this suspended instant, Christ is completely and properly nude.

We must imagine how the figure must have appeared in its original setting, within the darkened confines of an elevated niche. Christ steps forth, as though from the tomb and the shadow of death. Foremost are the symbols of the Passion, which Christ will leave behind when he ascends to heaven.

Why was Michelangelo compelled to portray Christ completely naked in a way that was bound to trouble some Christians? It was not out of a desire to blaspheme. On the contrary, this genius – poet, architect and painter as well as the greatest sculptor who has ever lived – was not only a faithful Christian but someone who thought deeply about theology. You can bet he had good religious reasons to depict Christ in full nudity.

But it would be complacent to think there was no tension in showing Christ nude. The fact that The Risen Christ in Santa Maria still has its covering proves how real those tensions are. The fundamental reason Michelangelo could get away with it was that he was Michelangelo. By the time he created this statue, he had the Sistine Chapel ceiling (with all its male nudes) under his belt and was the most famous artist in the world.

For centuries, the faithful have kissed the advanced foot of Christ, for like Mary Magdalene and doubting Thomas, they wish for some sort of physical contact with the Risen Christ. To carve a life-size marble statue of a naked Christ certainly was audacious, but it is also theologically appropriate. Michelangelo’s contemporaries recognised, more easily than modern viewers, that the Risen Christ was a moving and profoundly beautiful sculpture that was true to the sacred story.

#the risen christ #michelangelo #marble #church #christian #beauty #aesthetics #statue #religious #renaissance #history #rome #bernini #art #arts #culture #society #religion #sculpture

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dustedmagazine · 3 years

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Listening Post: The Harry Smith B-Sides

Nearly 70 years ago, Harry Smith, through Folkways Records, produced his landmark Anthology of American Folk Music. For the six-record release, Smith curated over 80 tracks from his personal collection of 78s. The process itself, with all of Smith's idiosyncrasies, drew some attention itself, but the music and the sense of a lost history recovered gave the compilation its power. The Anthology's monumental impact on both musicians and scholars continues to this day, and essential part of folk music, Americana and ethnomusicology.

Smith took his recordings from the A-sides of his vinyl collection, and rounding up the accompanying B-sides became its own sort of avocation for collectors. If the music presented in the original series was this good, this weird, this curious, it would obviously be entertaining and informative to hear all the flip sides, too. Producing such a set makes a clear fit for Dust-to-Digital, and the label (working with collectors John Cohen and Eli Smith) has done just that with The Harry Smith B-Sides. The set comes in a wonderful package with extensive essays and Smith-influenced blurbs on each track, a perfect companion piece for folk fans.

Of course, it wouldn't be a Smith set without some conversation focusing outside the recordings themselves. The label made the decision to drop three songs with racist lyrics, a choice made in the context of 2020's chaos, but with an awareness of balancing various historical and cultural concerns. As we took up our Dusted conversation about the collection, we had plenty of music to listen to, but we also had a number of extracurricular concerns of our own, which only feels appropriate. What is this set? How do we listen or curate? What are the commercial or academic needs here? None of those questions would matter, though, if the music wasn't just so intriguing, and that's what drew us in. Our conversation below includes contributions from Bill Meyer, Jonathan Shaw, Justin Cober-Lake, Andrew Forell, and Marc Medwin.

Intro by Justin Cober-Lake

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Jonathan Shaw: I confess that I've just gotten around to listening to some of this — first 20 songs yesterday.

You always know, in an abstract way, that folk music like this is full of murder, sex, and suffering. But it's bracing to hear it in the flesh. Some of the songs are really funny, too. Enjoying it a lot.

Bill Meyer: This set really hits the listener with all that stuff, doesn’t it? Three songs in and “John Hardy” confronts you with a gun-toting murderer who gets arrested while drunk in a barroom. Since it was released in 1931, which was over a decade into Prohibition, I find myself wondering, did West Virginia even have bars at the time? I suppose a lot of the drinking was done on private property. The song actually relates events that occurred in 1893-1894, nearly four decades prior to the recording.

One thing I love about this material is the way it projects you back in time and confronts you with what has changed, and what has not. It also gets you thinking about the advance of time. Smith had such a large collection of 78s partly because he was a compulsive collector, but also because the record labels decided to sell off 78s to clear warehouse space for the new LP format. The records included on the anthology were originally released between 1927 and 1932, and they were only about 20 years old when Smith compiled the Anthology of American Folk Music for Folkways Records, (the original idea was hatched by Smith and Folkways’ Moses Asch in 1947, and the three double LPs were released in 1952).

Skip down a couple more songs, and Buell Kazee “The Wagoner’s Lad” has class differences/prejudices, friction between adolescent hormones and economic realities, and hard truths about the way young women’s fortunes were dictated by others. Harry Smith must have really liked this record, which is back by “The Butcher Boy,” because he included both sides, back to back. While other artists were included in the Anthology more than once, the only other record to have both sides included is the Alabama Sacred Harp Singers’ “Rocky Road” / “Present Joys.” In both cases, The B-Sides simply reverses the songs’ order from the original Anthology of American Folk Music.

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Jonathan Shaw: "The Butcher's Boy" knocked me out with its gritty gruesomeness. The convenient reading on all the intensity is that the lives of the people who composed the traditional songs — many lost to time — must have also been full of violence and suffering. The experience of working class folk (and peasants, and subsistence farmers, and so on) was certainly full of toil. But it's also the case that an appetite for violence and darkness has always existed, and culture finds ways of satisfying it. 19th century folk didn't have horror cinema, but there was a reason that all those Gothic novels and penny dreadfuls sold like crazy.

Bill Meyer: Whether it’s “The Butcher Boy” or Grand Theft Auto, people like to expose themselves to an acceptable level of titillating violence. Songs like this were proven entertainment, and some of the performers on this box were show biz professionals who understood that material like this pulled and held a crowd.

Andrew Forell: Then add the Old Testament fire and brimstone to the mix and the nexus of damnation and salvation. If life was brutal, often short and ended by violence whether murder, suicide, work accidents, childbirth or disease the fatalism and stoicism of many of the songs is still tempered with both gimlet eyed persistence and grim humor.

That Sister Mary Nelson is not messing about.

Bill Meyer: Should we talk about the New York Times article, including the issues raised by that article about the decision to remove three songs, the attitudes and mores about gender and relationships expressed in the songs (if we removed the songs about men killing women, it would be a shorter record, wouldn’t it? And why did they kill those women? Could it be because they had sex, and the women got pregnant, and abortion was not legal/accessible, and these guys didn’t want to “mess up their lives” like the jocks, frat boys, and other sexually violent individuals of today who similarly ask for a pass on the consequences of being sexually violent?), the musical content and performance styles (ex: I notice that Buell Kazee’s banjo playing is a backdrop that conveys motion and is harmonically congruent with his singing, but aside from that congruence it is not connected to the vocal melody.), what it communicates about things that have changed (ex: what happened to some of those accents? I feel like this music is a window onto a regional America whose differences have been flattened out.) or not.

And, of course how it relates in structure and intent and content to the original Anthology of American Folk Music, such as what happens to Smith’s organizational strategies [ballads, social music, songs] when you flip all the component records over? How does it change things to go from 6 12” records [and later 6 compact discs] to 4 compact discs? And who is this thing for, and what do we think about that? One thing that I have not yet seen acknowledged in the discussion of removing songs is that Harry Smith, apart from being badly in need of money, really wanted to say some things to mid-20th century America. The Anthology drew upon the records of the 20s and 30s to talk to America of the 50s - what does Dust to Digital have to say in American in 2020? I think that has a lot to do with the decision to NOT REPRODUCE AND DISTRIBUTE (which I think is a bit different from censor, although it is certainly another form of exclusion) certain racist songs.

Marc Medwin: Loads to discuss here, and I'm even a bit intimidated to enter into a discussion like this, but here goes. For now, I'll point out, tangentially, that Archeophone, another independent historical label, released a two-disc set of minstrel show reconstructions earlier this year. I think it's very well done, not least because of Tim Brooks' thoroughly researched liner notes, in which, here oversimplified, he compares the minstrel show to Saturday Night Live. I had to think about it for a while, but I take his point. I'm still trying to get my head around which approach is better: Do we sidestep the issue on disc but leave in the commentary, as the Ledbetters did, or do we confront history head-on, as do Archeophone's Richard Martin and Meagan Hennessy?

Andrew Forell: Having just read the NYT article, I’m also in two minds about this. I can see both sides and agree that racist material is especially problematic in the current climate but thus it was ever so. I will think on this further but if Smith was using material from the 1920s & 1930s to comment on the US of the 1950s, depending on his motives & perspective which I need to read up on some more, is there something to be said about the U.S. in 2020? Is this part of the Ledbetter’s project here? As Bill said there’s also a pile of explicit and alluded to sexual violence in this collection. Are there differences between this issue in folk music from 1920 and pop(ular) music since 1950? I’m just thinking aloud so please humor me ... I’ll consider it more and see if I can put this all more clearly.

Bill Meyer: I think there’s room for both. Each approach has merits, and each has problems. At The Minstrel Show represents that phenomenon but presenting entire shows and providing supporting information about them. If you want to know what the shows were about, a set like this is where to go, and there’s historical benefit in that. It is aimed for a historically focused niche audience, and it serves a very precise historical purpose. When you’re performing a primarily historical function, you want to clearly represent the history and will be judged according to how you do this. But it also makes the work of people who like old, racist songs and who prefer the CD format easy.

Dust To Digital aspires to make nice things that can be sold in quantity. In The NY Times article, Lance Ledbetter discussed not wanting to put something out that casual listeners might hear. When you put that much effort into the packaging and presentation, you are putting out something that at a certain level aims to please. Ambushing casual listeners with epithets that begin with the words C and N is displeasing. And while by presenting a collection of songs recorded between 1927-32 the B-Sides presents historical material, it’s actually a really odd sort of historical document. It is relating not just to the history of American music, but the history of records. One uncharitable way to describe it would be “80-odd performances that Harry Smith passed over.” Or, by going ahead and answering the question, “what if you flipped over all the records that made up the Anthology of American Folk Music?”, you could say that it’s a record geek’s mix tape made good. It’s worth noting that while Smith owned all those records, he didn’t include any songs with racist epithets in the Anthology. Clearly, he made a choice not to include them. Dust to Digital started this endeavor from a position of respect for what the Anthology represented; what would the label be doing if it propagated a collection of songs that went against Smith’s proscriptions?

Both the original Anthology and the B-Sides operate within a cultural milieu. When Smith accepted his life-time Grammy in 1991, he expressed joy at seeing America changed by music. He wanted the USA to recognize some things about itself that were being aggressively whitewashed in the early 1950s. So what does Dust to Digital say to nation now? And what is it listening to when it decides what it wants to say? One concern that has been looked at more closely at the impact of speech on people’s feelings. I grew up in a time when it was deemed important to be exposed to Mark Twain’s writing; now it’s fairly asked, where do you get off requiring people to read something that is upsetting?

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Andrew Forell: I take the point but equally, upsetting things exist and perhaps confronting them head on and dealing with the discomfort is a worthwhile exercise?

Bill Meyer: I think there is definitely a point to confronting upsetting things and dealing with them head on. And I also think there is something to be said for people deciding when and how they will be so confronted, and having some input into what is deemed an appropriate tool for doing the confronting. The Ledbetters have prioritized the intentional step to refrain from reissuing songs with racist content, which will mark this box as a product of 2020.

Justin Cober-Lake: This part of the conversation fits in, maybe, with one of the thoughts I've been having about the set, and one that I discovered comes up in the liner notes to the set. This box collects the B-sides from the records that made up Smith's original anthology. The liner essay posits that this fact gives the new set a more uncontrolled sweep — that rather than just seeing the music that the industry in the 1920s and 1930s thought could be marketable, we get a wider range of what people felt like playing. I don't know if that's true or not. What I was thinking about listening through was more like: what makes these tracks "B-sides"? When I listen to this music — and I make this division tentatively — I listen about half to enjoy and about half to learn about or be immersed in a somewhat alien world. I'm interested in studying mass culture and how it intersects with American history. So, a set like this raises questions for me about what we actually learn (if anything) about going to the flipside of records.

To me, removing tracks feels odd because it takes away from the scholarship side of the work. It presents a deliberately sanitized version of the music of the times (assuming we have a representative sample to start with), and it does so explicitly to allow the casual listener the comfort of enjoyable listening. To me, it removes a bit of the time travel element, although I wouldn't notice the absence of songs I previously didn't know existed. It makes a statement that this set is to listen to be enjoyed more than to be a work of completion. I'm fine with that idea. If someone wants to listen to old folk music without worrying about skipping tracks (even with all the general or gender-based violence present), that's fine. It's funny to me, though, to have a concrete goal collecting all of Smith's B-sides, and then deliberately not doing so.

All of which sort of tangentially addresses two topics: 1) to include or not the offensive material; and 2) more interesting to me, what exactly *is* this set? A jukebox? A research accomplishment? A study of history or good background music?

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Jonathan Shaw: I'm always in favor of more speech rather than less, especially if the speech is ugly or dangerous. But I have the decided privilege of not finding the triggering words disturbing or troubling to myself, personally. Practically, I want to hear people say what they say, so I can get a handle on who they are. Historically, I want to situate the speech, and hearing as much of it as possible helps with that task. The more effectively I can situate it, the more incisively I can consider slippery stuff, like intent and ideological function.

Having been involved up close in some of the discussions about Twain's Huck Finn, I can report that much of the discussion I heard was not nuanced, but reactive. The presence of the n-word (ugh, I hate that evasion) in a "white mouth" was enough. Discussion done, with the assumption of moral clarity firmly in place. I can't get with that.

It's also striking that the set features some pretty hair-raising violence performed on women's bodies, and some strong language about the necessity of accepting Christ as your personal savior or off to hell you go. Someone is going to take offense to that stuff, too--but apparently the feelings of those likely-to-be-offended folks (or, one hopes, the social politics at stake in the determination of offense) don't pose a problem for the box set's curators.

I'm listening for the history, for sure--and for the considerable pleasures provided by the music. Both are rich, complicated. I guess I'd like to have all the complication in front of me, so I can make up my own mind about how to respond.

Justin Cober-Lake: That's pretty much where I come down, too, especially given the other potentially offensive material included.

Bill Meyer: What is this? It is the answer to a big what-if question that has been posed by some record nerds over the years. What was on the other side of all those 78 rpm records that Harry Smith compiled on the original Anthology of American Folk Music? This set answers that question, with three songs out of 84 removed from the playing sequence but discussed in the accompanying book. Even calling them B-sides is a bit of a stretch since I can think of at least two records where Smith included both sides of the record. While I have not check to confirm this, he might have selected the B-sides for inclusion on the original Anthology, so technically some of the songs included might be A-sides. But B-sides has a nice ring to it, right?

This collection would not exist without Smith’s original work, and its existence is a testament to the enduring influence of that work upon the people who put the set together (as the notes describe, Dust to Digital is just the label that put it out in its current, boxed set form; 78 collectors have circulated versions of this collection of songs for years). It’s a sequel to the Anthology of American Folk Music, with annotation done in self-conscious tribute to Smith’s pseudo-journalistic descriptive style. It is an extension of Smith’s non-academic pursuit of knowledge and things (he didn’t just collect records), and an homage to his idiosyncratic approach to compiling information. It is not a scholarly document; it is an elegantly executed equation.

Justin Cober-Lake: Oh, I get that, and I think you summarize it very nicely. I guess my question might be more accurately put as something like: What does one do with it? And I imagine your answer would still be similar, but, acknowledging its origins and clear purpose, how do we receive it? I'm not a collector in that sense. I like the music, and I'm interested in the history. This one has particular resonance because of Smith and the back story (and I will say the physical product is wonderful). But would Dust-to-Digital or the Ledbetters or the other people connected with the project expect of me? I think there are two answers. One is to revel in the completion of the set, to know what's on the other side of those 78s, and that makes less sense with three tracks removed. The second one is to put it on and enjoy the music. They talk about it playing as the background in a store. That one makes less sense given the violence here; store music is either much more anodyne or deliberately edgy if in an edgy place (I mean, as edgy as an independent record store).

So, for me, I can't quite finish the collection. I can't quite — and wouldn't want to — use it as background music. I want to start unpacking it. How does this music fit into either/both folk music history or music industry history? If I want to experience the sounds of the late 1920s and early 1930s, what does this set offer that a similar one (if there is a similar one) wouldn't, aside from the knowing satisfaction of connecting it to Smith?

None of which, to be clear, means the music isn't intrinsically enjoyable, in which case I wouldn't personally feel like raising these questions. And, to be fair, I'm happy to continue think of this from a meta-angle or to pause that at any point and talk about the music itself.

Bill Meyer: Yeah, this might play in the background at a store, or someone’s house. People put all sorts of non-background sound on and talk over it because they like those sounds in the first place. But I think it does exist to be delved into and listened to intentionally, not accidentally. You don’t accidentally buy a $70 boxed set (although you might randomly get one for Christmas).

But to turn our attention from what isn’t on the collection to what is, I’ve thought a bit about what does and doesn’t change when you flip Harry Smith’s selections over. Smith was an occult kind of guy, and I think he saw the original Anthology as a multi-level, coded communication. The pacing certain changes when you switch from six LPs with about seven songs each to four CDs with 20-odd songs each. An LP side is a moment; a filled-up CD is a commitment.

The differences in content aren’t always dramatic. The flip sides of the songs on Volume One: Ballads tend to also be story songs, and they tend towards similar themes — love, murder, and tragedy. But you don’t have to get far to hit a song where it’s evident why Smith didn’t include it. The first is the excised fifth track by Bill & Belle Reed. But Smith’s tolerance for schmaltz screened out stuff like Chubby Parker’s hopelessly sentimental “Down on the Farm.”

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The transition from disc one to disc two isn’t disorienting, since we’re still in ballad territory. And by luck of the draw, disc two has a dynamite starter by street-corner singers William & Versey Smith. “Everyody Help the Boys Come Home” implores listeners to shell out in support of the war effort, which means that its news was already nearly a decade late when it was recorded in 1927. But they sell it so relentlessly that it’s not hard to imagine it being such a crowd-stopper and hat-filler that they would have wanted to keep it in their repertoire.

But the end of disc two is truly jarring. The 20th track, “Moonshiner’s Dance Part Two” by Frank Cloutier and the Victoria Cafe Orchestra, is a waltz that sounds so woozily soused that you can imagine advocates for both temperance and tippling using to as an exhibit in support of its cause. Then come two stern sides of Biblical instruction by the Rev. J. M. Gates. While Smith’s sequencing suggested that he saw secular celebration and Christian praise as two sides of the same coin, which is why he had an LP of each in Volume Two: Social Music, he didn’t put them on the same side of a record.

Random chance works its magic again at the jump from Social Music to Volume Three: Songs, which now takes place in the middle of disc three. The final piece of sacred music, by Rev. D. C. Rice and his Sanctified Congregation, contains a warning in its title, “He’s Got His Eyes On You.” The narrator in Clarence Ashley’s “Dark Holler Blues,” whose unwillingness to countenance the possibility that the object of his desire could ever end up with another man, sounds like he is cruising to become the subject of a murder ballad in the very near term; maybe the fear of God could stay his hand?

The most radical change, for me, comes near the end of disc two.

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Justin Cober-Lake: That end of disc two is just bizarre, for exactly the reasons you describe. The transition into disc three, though, makes sense. "Present Joys" and "Rocky Road" seem to respond to the brimstone preaching with joyful music. I don't usually think of Sacred Harp singing as this energetic and it opens up the spiritual run with a better tone than Rev. Gates. The run that opens disc three works well and even if "He's Got His Eyes on You" is meant as a warning, it sounds like a party (and part of the appeal to some and probably the lack of appeal to others is the, shall we say, amateur vocals on this track).

I kind of laugh that Smith has a whole category that's just "Songs," but I also don't know what else to do without endless subgrouping. The move from banjo-based blues (some of it from the mid-Atlantic but feeling to me like a predecessor of later Mississippi Hill Country stuff) to awkward accordion accompaniment makes for a fun listen, but not exactly a smooth one.

Jonathan Shaw: I don't know enough about the regional and historical intricacies of the music and the collections to make much productive critical sense of the transitions. But given my own proclivities, the sharper the contrasts, the more I like them. It would be glib, ridiculously so, to indicate that those sharp contrasts represent something like the inherent weirdness of everyday life. But still, the quotidian is always stranger than we like to think. And more violent.

I appreciate Justin's point about the tone of the Rev. Gates songs; ideologically I have little interest in the discourse of the "born again." (I think Toronto's Fucked Up have a pretty good line on that...) But man, what performances, by the Rev and his congregation. I especially like the moments at which language falls away, and there's just the voices, moaning and wailing in overlapping waves. Something gets registered there that exceeds spiritual cant. I sort of love the way the second disc bottoms out there, in that strange intensity. Not sure what sort of coded message that might communicate, but it sure feels a kind of way. Yikes.

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Then there's the shift to the Alabama Sacred Harp Singers, and again, it's the opening 45 seconds that knock me out, similarly outside of language, just vocalizing something. Almost Pentacostal in their ululations. I can't get next to the themes, but the sounds are just remarkable, and moving. All of that sets me up for Sister Mary Nelson, and her fellow singers. She's got an undeniable voice, full of blood and thunder, a hard-won glory. It's the range of religious ecstasy, over a run of a half-dozen songs.

Marc Medwin: I can't stop listening to that Mary Nelson track, blood and thunder for sure, but I'm going to tangent for just a moment. A royal telephone? Technology and its attendant book as archetypal symbols? The past beyond recall and the need for redemption grounded in something in flux, approaching the present? The only other example coming to mind at the moment, and it's a real stretch, is the "man in the moon" coming "down in a bah-loon!" I guess those polarities we've been discussing are deeply embedded, even in humorous ways!

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Justin Cober-Lake: I kind of wonder about that, too, Marc. I think there's a superficial reading in which technology is shunted aside in favor of religion, but I don't think that's it. I think she's using a relatively new and exciting technology to make an old point. The whole thing sounds ancient to us, but in context, it's almost like a contemporary sermon illustration, using the then-modern world to help explain a theological point. It only sort of works (the idea of being in the book doesn't really map between phone book and the book of life), but it makes for a very specific sort of time capsule.

Jonathan Shaw: Really interesting, Marc and Justin. I wonder how the Mary Nelson track was collected. It sounds relatively more polished, in terms of quality of sound, than the Rev. Gates songs, which sound like they were recorded in a church or worship space of some sort. To what extent was the technology of recording present to these singers? I wonder how its presence framed or otherwise changed the performances.

Bill Meyer: Symbols and archetypes run deep because that’s what they do. But I also listen to this and I think I’m hearing loose associations related to having to come up with sermons and songs on an ongoing basis. I imagine Sister Nelson sitting at the table, thinking “what’s my metaphor for prayer this week,” and then the lightbulb goes off. “Prayer’s like a telephone to God! This thing’s going to write itself!”

I’ve never really listened to Toronto's Fucked Up, what do they say about being born again?

Marc Medwin: Even more off-topic, but there's the related question of restoration. Did the same person/people do the restoration work on all these tracks as on the original anthology? Restoration can change the sound quite a lot, but at least we know these recordings are electrical. It would be a fascinating side trip to dig into the participants' relationships and reactions to technology, not to mention technological reference in these tracks, but it's beyond the scope of what we're doing!

Jonathan Shaw: Marc, it would be a lot to track down, but I'm also provoked by the issue. Some of us romanticize folk as being somehow inherently pre-modern, and hence also "pure" or uncorrupted by the logic of modernity's markets — for commodities and for culture. But for me, some of the most interesting folk music (and keep in mind that I essentially know squat about the tradition) insists on its modern contexts. Woody Guthrie's many songs about conflict with industrial processes of production come to mind. So, for sure, all the ways that technology figures in the collection interest me.

Bill, in Fucked Up's song "Son the Father," they sing, "It's hard enough being born in the first place / Who would ever want to be born again? / It's taken this long just to get to this place / So what's the point in ever being born again?"

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Bill Meyer: Regarding restoration, I think the original Anthology was transferred at least twice; first, when the album was compiled, and then again when it was re-released on CD in 1997. Charlie Pilzer did the restoration for the CD edition. Michael Graves did the restorations for the B-sides. The difference between restoration technology and practice in 1997 and 2020 is profound, and one thing that is notable about the B-sides is how little surface noise you hear most of the time.

You make a good point regarding that coded message, Jonathan. The song apportionment of the B-sides prior to the decision to excise racists songs was 21, 22, 20 and 21 songs. This suggests that it could just as easily been 21, 20, 22, and 21, so why not put Rev. Gates on disc 3 with the other spirituals? Maybe the producers wanted to send a message to those partying Cajuns and moonshiners that preceded him on disc 2.

My association to this lyric is to remember a line from Peter Gabriel’s song, “Humdrum:” “Out of woman comes a man, spends the rest of his life trying to get back again.”

#dusted magazine #listeningpost #harry smith #folkways #dust to digital #lance ledbetter #folk #blues #country #b-sides

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luminashdawnwing · 3 years

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Day 1: Afterlife

Some time after the fall of Denathrius, and before the binding of Korthia...

Grigori drummed his spindly fingers on the wood of the tabletop, claw-like nails clacking against the surface. Luminash was certain it had been lacquered once, but long exposure to the searing Light of the Ember Ward had left it singed and pitted. The magister himself took a sip of tea.

“Where do you believe, Luminash, that you will spend your eternity? You have seen the Covenants’ realms,” the Venthyr ventured, “And yet you have chosen to stay with us here.” A dry laugh, reminding Luminash much of his own, “No one in their right mind would choose this place without, ah, rehabilitation.” Another sip of tea. Luminash set the cup down on its plate, a tiny, elaborately ornamented thing that spoke to him of the high society gatherings of home. Insufferable, those were.

“There are scholars among the Kyrian, are there not? Their...” He trailed off, searching in his memory for what he had heard them called, “Collectors. Those who manage the flow of anima, who curate the histories of all the mortal lives to which Bastion bears witness.” A smile spread across the magister’s face, “That might be agreeable.”

Grigori snorted in response, half laughter, and half in surprise, so it seemed, “The Kyrian? They do not learn from their pasts, only bury them away. In those archives you speak of.” He shook his head, lifting his own teacup to his lips, the steam floating from the cup inky and black with the Mad Duke’s magic, “At least among the House of Rituals you might make something more of yourself.”

It was Luminash’s turn to snort, this one purely in derision, “While I can appreciate their ambition, their power betters no one but themselves. Of course, they could be rallied to the Shadowlands’ defense, but tell me in complete honesty, Grigori: have recent events done anything to recommend them to me?” The Venthyr only laughed, “A fair point, my mortal friend.”

“Besides, I have never hoarded knowledge for only my own use,” Luminash continued. He spoke with certainty, but there must have been some wavering in his voice that spoke of doubt. The Venthyr pounced.

“You are certain of that, Luminash? I used to say the same. There are many lies, many half-truths we tell ourselves, you know.” Grigori’s voice was calm, reassuring, his smile veiling the sadness that had crept into his eyes.

“I...” The magister took a long sip of his tea. He wished it were, in that moment, something stronger, “I wish to be certain. I cannot deny that my ambition has sometimes outpaced my good intentions.”

“And yet, your intentions are good, are they not?”

“I like to think they are,” the magister replied, eyeing the Venthyr coolly, “Why probe me this way, Grigori? Are you afraid I will end up like you?”

Taken aback at the coldness in Luminash’s voice, Grigori’s amber eyes widened in shock. He looked away, gaze drifting over the Ember Ward, his teacup hovering just at his lips, though he did not drink.

“Grigori, I am...” Luminash cleared his throat, “That was unworthy of me. Of you, of all you have done here.”

The Venthyr shook his head, looking back to his mortal companion, “No, no, you are right, Luminash. I believe in what Revendreth does, in our purpose. It is noble, and it is necessary, but if this were to be your eternity?” A sip of tea at last, “I wish to see the Dawnwing legacy free of my hubris, and that of my father’s. So yes. I am afraid. But...”

Grigori drummed his spindly fingers on the wood of the tabletop, claw-like nails clacking against the surface, a smirk spreading across his face, “From what I have seen? I probably ought not to be.”

( @daily-writing-challenge )

#dwc2021 #day12021 #luminashdawnwing

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ruewrites · 3 years

Text

Thrones are Built on Lies Chapter 4: Little White Lies

AO3

Ship: ???, Diavolo/Lucifer

Word Count: 3083

Warnings: None

A/N: Hey guys! I hopy you’re continuing to enjoy the story so far! I love hearing your feedback especially when it comes to theories you might have about the story.

The magic of Arcadia runs deep in her roots. Legends tell of deep underground caverns filled with guardians and traps which prove perilous to anyone who dare venture into the deep. It is also said the royal family has their own connections as well. The gods had entrusted the first Kings and Queens to the magic in order to both protect it and the land which it sleeps beneath. Magic then became a part of the family bloodline. It is unknown whether or not it skips generations and no one is exactly sure as to how it shows itself within different family members. Some believe that this (magic) is also the reason that the Arcadian kingdom became an empire, as it allowed Kings and Queens to emerge victorious from battle time and time again.

Regardless of whether these tales are fact or fiction, it is undeniable that Arcadia holds power in one form or another. Many sources point to magic, yet none have substantial proof due to the fact that if it does indeed exist the royal family would certainly be rather protective of it. This may also be why they are peculiar about who they let into the family.

Furthermore-

That had been the last of Solomon's summary before he had collapsed onto his parchment. The wax from his candle slowly dripped downwards towards the tin holder below. He functioned incredibly well as a king, but not so much as a human person.

Low knocks on his door roused him, grumbling from his slumber. He stood from his chair, allowing his vertebrae to crack as he did so, and trudged over to the door.

"Good Morning," Simeon's all too cheerful voice rang out, "You have ink smudged on your face."

"Aren't you a little cheery this morning Simeon?" Solomon asked, attempting to wipe the ink off of his face.

"You've never been a morning person have you? Perhaps it's a good thing the princess ran into me so she wouldn't have to see you like this," Simeon lifted a tray stacked with eggs, pancakes, and a variety of meats and cheeses, "She wanted to bring you breakfast since you weren't at the table. Apparently there's something she wants to speak with you about."

"Something?" Solomon repeated, ignoring the jabs aimed at him and eyeing the food in front of him.

"She wouldn't elaborate, but she did seem nervous. Incredibly so."

"Really now?"

"The entire tray was shaking in her hands."

So her mood hadn't improved from last night. If anything, it seemed to be worse now. Taking the tray from Simeon, Solomon moved to sit on his bed. Yet another problem added to his list.

No. He shouldn't think of her as a problem.

That wasn't the way to approach this, grumpy or not.

"I should probably seek her out then," he sighed, starting to work on his breakfast, "If she really is that anxious it'll be easy for her to lose her nerve. The sooner we speak, the less time she has to dwell on it."

Simeon stared at him for a moment. Solomon tried to ignore the look on his face. It was one he'd become familiar with. He only ever saw it when Simeon felt the need to be brutally honest with him.

"Are you sure you should go through with this marriage?"

There it was.

He set down his fork and sighed.

"This family seems, what's the word, unfit for someone like you. They're disjointed and rather chaotic. I'm sure the death of their father doesn't help things, but," Simeon sighed, "I just don't want you stuck in something like this."

Solomon mulled over Simeon's words in his head. Dinner with the family certainly had been quite the event. If Simeon was saying something then he must have also witnessed something. Surely, marrying into the royal family would prove to be more of a commitment than he originally thought. But he couldn't give up on his ambition. Not when he was here.

"Simeon, we're in Arcadia. Opportunities like this don't just hand themselves out! To give this up would be ludicrous!" Solomon said. Though he still saw the doubt swimming in Simeon's eyes, so he continued, "Besides, if her family is always like this, marrying me will bring her a sense of normalcy."

"Solomon-"

"Am I wrong Simeon?"

Simeon didn't say a word.

Solomon ate the rest of his breakfast in silence, said silence stretched into the time it took him to walk to his clothes, "Where is Luke?"

"With Lord Diavolo's butler. Barbatos made quite the impression on him yesterday."

"Really?"

"Really."

And Luke had been so set on not trusting any Arcadian. Though, to his credit, Barbatos wasn't Arcadian so to speak. So the child had found a loophole. Sweets and cakes were the way to a child's trust it seemed.

"Who knows Simeon, you may lose your apprentice to a butler."

"Oh I highly doubt that."

Solomon decided on something a bit more relaxed today. Perhaps if he wasn't wearing his kingly attire Lilith would be more incline to open up around him. He needed her to feel comfortable around him. How were they to make this work otherwise? Solomon refused to live a miserable life.

He stepped out from behind the curtain in a loose shirt that left part of his chest exposed and black slacks. "Well?" he asked, turning in a circle around himself, "What do you think? Is it enough to make a princess swoon?"

"I do believe so. Maybe even enough for you to start your own little family tonight."

Solomon flinched, "I wouldn't go that far."

"And why not?"

Oh why not? For starters he wouldn't be able to devote time to his research. Solomon was a busy man, he had things he needed to do before he was too old to meet his goals. A child he wasn't prepared for yet would put more than a damper in his plans. Not to mention, stress he wasn't prepared for. Then there had also been Lilith's reaction to the very mention of fertility.

No.

A child right now wouldn't be the right thing.

Not for him.

"You are aware her brother already seems to despise me right? He already doesn't want me in her room, I don't think I'd live to see another day if I added to his family tonight," he said. It was a partial truth. Not his main concern, but a partial truth nonetheless.

Simeon only chuckled in response.

After his trusted friend left to find his apprentice, Solomon went after his fiance.

He had to wonder if she was hiding from him. He figured he wouldn't run into her right away, but he at least figured that it wouldn't take very long to find her.

Surely he expected to see someone, anyone, to ask where she might be but every hall was oddly empty.

Just like the streets of Arcadia.

The first person he ran into was none other than Azazel. Well, it was better than running into the crown prince himself. At least Solomon could assume that Azazel didn't despise him.

He appeared to be inspecting each of the thrones, moving them ever so slightly in one direction or another. His fingers caressed the throne in the center, following its every curve and bend. Focus consumed his eyes. Perhaps he was inspecting them for the upcoming coronation? Under his free arm, there was a book. It was thick, leather bound, and from what he could see it also looked worn.

Solomon had to wonder if Azazel looked up by chance or if he sensed his presence.

"Solomon, good morning! I was hoping to run into you. You slept well I hope?"

"I did. I'm enjoying a bed to myself while I still can. Thank you Azazel."

He'd have to share one for the rest of his life in a short time. Cool sheets would turn warm and Solomon would lose the comforting familiarity of solitude. He could always have his own room he supposed, but he wasn't sure how his fiance would feel.

"I do understand what you mean. Speaking of my niece, I do want to apologize for last night."

Solomon tensed. This was already a conversation he didn't want to have.

"I assure you that she's usually polite. We had to work hard to break some of her more stubborn habits, but it appears there was a slip up last night," he frowned and clutched the book tighter, "I had a talk with her this morning, and I can assure you that it will not be happening again. "

"I didn't think she did anything wrong," Solomon's words came out quick and sharp, "In fact, I quite enjoy how she reacted. I would have liked to see her take it farther. After all, she was dragged into the whole thing. It wasn't like she orchestrated it herself."

Azazel seemed stunned, but he didn't say any more. Instead, he studied Solomon. His fingers drummed against the book in his possession and a low hum left him.

Solomon had said what he said.

He wasn't going to regret it.

"I see. That certainly isn't something I would have expected you to say," he said, "I would have expected a man with your reputation to be a bit more strict in nature."

Certainly he wasn't implying what Solomon thought he was implying. Strict with Lilith? She was an adult, not a child.

"She can make her own decisions," Solomon's voice became lower, darker, "I'm not her guardian."

"Whatever she does reflects your reputation as well," Azazel countered in a similar tone, "Keep that in mind when making your decisions."

Solomon hated the way something within him twinged.

He did want to control how he was remembered.

He wanted to be praised across the ages.

Azazel's smile returned to his face. "But of course that's something you can do to help curate your own legacy. And speaking of legacies," he held the book out to Solomon, "I've been informed that you took a trip to my nephew's library. I think you and I have similar interests from what I've heard, and I thought you would take interest in this book."

Solomon didn't make a move to take it.

"It's focused on magic, specifically Arcadian magic, and more in depth than anything else you'll find here. I'm sure such a talented scholar as yourself would thoroughly enjoy it."

It was tempting.

How could he resist?

Any lead he could get when it came to Arcadia's secrets was one he needed.

"I was hoping we could chat together at some point over tea? It would be a shame for you to be left out of family secrets when you're about to become family" Azazel slipped his arm to Solomon's back and gazed down at the book in his hands, "I'm sure we'll have plenty to discuss."

When had been the last time Solomon spoke with another scholar? Someone who was on his level of intellect? When had he found the time to do such a thing?

Never.

The truth was that Solomon couldn't remember the last time he'd had a back and forth conversation. Usually people would listen to him as he rambled on about his studies and interests, but they couldn't contribute to the conversation. It was frustrating and often left Solomon feeling as if he was lacking something. Yes he had knowledge, but he wanted to share it and build on it.

Solomon gripped the cover in his hands.

"I've been meaning to speak with Lilith, but I certainly can start on this book. I'll be able to read enough to discuss with you soon."

His fingers were itching to start digging into the pages.

Would it be as enticing as Azazel was promising him?

"Good! Good. Let me know whenever you wish to speak and I shall be waiting for you," Azazel patted his back, and started to leave, "Now I must leave you. I have to speak to Lucifer about the matters of the day. He always has tea with his husband at this hour."

"Wait, do you know where Lilith is?"

"What for? I already said I spoke to her about last night."

"That's not- I was under the impression she wished to speak with me."

Azazel paused for a moment, "Well, I do believe she is busy at the moment."

"With wh-"

"With tasks she must attend to. She also needs to review a few of her lessons, as is evident from last night."

Solomon thought he'd already made it clear how he felt about last night.

"Now how is that-"

"Listen to me," Azazel snipped, turning his head to look at Solomon, "That innocent looking doe-eyed fiance of yours will bleed you dry and ruin your reputation if you don't watch yourself. Take it from a man who witnessed other reputations ruined. These descendants of my brother will ruin you. They are nowhere near fit to rule alongside the crown prince."

He turned away from him, "I am their uncle. I think I would know when discipline is the correct form of action."

He had some point Solomon supposed. He had just met the Morningstar family. He knew nothing of them. Yet he couldn't help but want to prove Azazel wrong.

Yes he was a fellow scholar and Solomon would appreciate his company when fit, but that didn't mean he had to agree with him in all of his methods. And Lilith seemed to be one of those things that they'd have to disagree on.

Lilith couldn't be that bad. How could she be that bad?

No one seemed to be able to tell him when her lessons would be done or when he could speak with her. Not a soul. He thought that he might be able to catch her that day, but he was wrong.

Not that day.

Nor the day after that.

He kept missing her.

It was driving him insane.

Maybe he should have gone to breakfast the day she'd said something to Simeon.

He tried to pour himself into his studies, tried to finish his other books so he could get to the one Azazel had entrusted to him. Yet even when he did finish his other books, he couldn't bring himself to open it, not yet.

This one would require all of his focus, and he couldn't focus when he knew that Lilith had some sort of thing to ask of him.

Something that seemed to have her incredibly nervous.

It was evening, Solomon sat at his desk, pouring over his notes next to dripping candle wax when a knock came from. His door.

Simeon stood slightly behind Lilith who was twiddling her fingers and desperately trying to avoid his gaze.

"They don't know I'm here," her voice was soft, as if she was afraid of speaking any louder lest she summon one of her brothers (or all of them), "I asked your friend if he could take me here… I hope you don't mind."

Solomon shook his head. He wasn't exactly dressed for the occasion, but he opened his door a bit more, "Not at all, I've been looking for you actually. Would you like to come in?"

No sooner had he motioned for her to come in than her eyes widened in horror and her hands quickly shot up. Nervous laughter spilling from her lips, "Oh no. I was um, actually hoping we could go outside the palace. Somewhere a bit more private…"

Solomon looked at Simeon who shrugged his shoulders. With a snap of his fingers Solomon extinguished the candle and stepped outside of his room.

"Lead the way."

Leaving Simeon behind, the two made their way outside and away from the town that surrounded the entrance. Solomon supposed he should have been a bit more wary when they left the gates and the wall that surrounded them, but he wasn't.

He couldn't help but notice how Lilith kept him at an arm's length away. Could she be worried about his intentions? Maybe he had done something to offend her during her bath, or maybe he shouldn't have followed her in at all. In hindsight that was rude of him. Perhaps there was some way he could reassure her and have her feel safe around him.

Finally, she came to a stop at a small clearing and sat down, still avoiding his gaze.

It was a warm night, and fireflies danced around the two of them bursting into light every now and again.

Solomon sat a little ways down from her, and looked up at the sky.

"I don't know how to start," she said after a moment.

"Take your time, there's no need to rush," he said, "Besides, I'm not usually on the best of sleep schedules anyways."

"Stop that."

Solomon furrowed his brow. What? What had he done? He hadn't moved from his position. He hadn't reached out for her.

What had he done to upset her?

"If you don't mind me asking, what is it that I did?"

Lilith made a small noise of frustration while wiggling and gripping at her sleeves, "Being so nice to me. And charming and funny and attractive- You're making this harder."

Solomon was stunned, "I? I'm? Excuse me?"

Was she planning on calling off their union? No. No no no. Not when he'd come so far. Not when what he desperately wanted was right in his grasp. He couldn't let her go. He had to find some way to fix it.

Standing up, Lilith started to walk towards the other end of the clearing. She was tense and her body was shaking. Honestly, Solomon thought she looked like a scared rabbit.

A scared rabbit who'd been caught nonetheless.

"You're making this so hard for me."

He almost missed her words.

The snuffles came before the hyperventilating, and that's when Solomon came to her. Had he really been that horrible to petrify her in such a way?

He could figure that out as he went. For now, he needed to calm her down and figure out how to keep their union together. She was his ticket to Arcadia, to new knowledge. He wasn't going to lose her.

"Lilith, I-" he reached out to put a hand on her shoulder.

She smacked it away and quickly turned on her heels to look him dead in the eye. A new sense of fire in her eyes.

“I’m not Lilith.”

#ruewrites #TaBoL #obey me #obey me solomon #obey me asmodeus #obey me lucifer #obey me diavolo #obey me simeon #solodeus #asmosolo #soloasmo #asmodeus x solomon #dialuci #diavolo x lucifer #arranged marriage!au #royalty!au #slow burn

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equalseleventhirds · 4 years

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i am thinking about, right, like a fairy tale land, where things operate on fairy tale rules. you know the ones. everyone in this fairy tale land knows them too, and Expects Things.

and there’s a young man--youngest of seven brothers, actually, who were themselves the offspring of a seventh son. we all know what that means. he knows what that means. his parents, when a seventh son was born in their humble farmhouse, sure did know what that meant (and perhaps, shortly after he was born, neighbors and townsfolk and gentry and wizards and perhaps-royalty-in-disguise visited, and gave them gifts, until their farmhouse was not so humble, because it’s always good to get on the good side of someone you know is going far).

so the boy was special, and everyone knew he was special. and his brothers were not wicked, of course, but they knew he was different, knew he would be great. knew what that meant for them.

the oldest knew that the prosperity of their farm was because of his youngest brother, and he was grateful, but, well, just a bit resentful. his youngest brother would be great, would be the greatest among them, but what did that leave for the oldest? waiting until his brother completed whatever task he had, then living on his good will? no, that would not do, for he was independent and proud--he had been, until quite recently, an Oldest Brother. when there were only three our four or five or six brothers, that meant quite a bit, responsibility and experience and so on. he was not yet ready to let that go.

so! he decided, the youngest would be greatest, but that did not mean the oldest could not still be great! and off he went, seeking his fortune, knowing he could not aim too high or he would fail, but perhaps something smaller. perhaps just, apprenticing at a well-to-do smithy in town, and learning a new trade, and learning it well, and eventually marrying his teacher’s daughter, who was just as able a smith as he, and partnering with her, and taking over the smithy, and expanding the business.

the oldest brother was not too ambitious, and so, as fairy tales allow, he was successful enough.

well! the second oldest, of course, could not simply stay at home after that. there are rules to these things, after all--the seventh will be greatest, but the oldest cannot be the next greatest. there is a pattern to be kept. so although the second oldest son rather enjoyed the work on their no-longer-quite-so-humble farm--although he enjoyed rising at dawn each day to milk the cows, although he enjoyed working the fields in the sunshine--he knew he had to go and be just a little greater than his older brother. if not, things might just come around and ruin someone’s life, and he didn’t want it to be him, and he didn’t want it to be his older brother.

so! he decided, if he loved the farm so much, perhaps he could be a great farmer? so he went around to other farms, signing on as a farmhand for a while, making contacts, learning other methods besides what his family had always used. and one day he went to a very large farm, owned by a wealthy landowner, who owned several such farms. and he met the landowner’s son, who was impressed by his knowledge and his skill and his strong, sturdy arms, and soon enough they were wed as well, and the second son found his place of small greatness.

the second son was not ambitious at all, but carefully curated his aspirations to be just slightly more than his brother’s, and so, as fairy tales allow, he was successful as well.

and so it continued--the third son found his place as a scholar and taught at university with his spouse; the fourth son joined a trade caravan and soon enough wed the caravan leader; the fifth son became a mayor with his wise wife beside him; the sixth son found himself surprisingly adept at magic, and wed a noble sorcerer, advisor to a king. each was just a bit greater than the last, but careful never to try to be too great, of course.

at last the seventh son was the only one who had not yet found his fortune, and, being now an adult, set out to seek it.

‘oh, my son,’ said his mother, preparing him for his journey, ‘all six of your brothers have been so successful, each one more than the last. surely you, seventh son of a seventh son, will achieve the greatest destiny of all of them. why, i would not be terribly surprised if you were to save a princess, or a prince, and gain their hand in marriage and half a kingdom.’ (these things are, as we know, quite standard destinies for the seventh son of a seventh son.)

‘yes, mother’, said the young man, who was not in fact entirely certain he wanted to save and marry any sort of royalty. not that he would leave a prince or princess in distress to their terrible fate, of course, for he was a kind-hearted young man, but he was not sure about this ‘marrying someone because you saved them’ business. and ruling over half a kingdom sounded like an awful lot of responsibility; he couldn’t even tell their hen what to do when she was in a cross mood, which was often.

still, he knew the rules of the world just as well as any. if his brothers had all done so well in their lives, he would find even more success, whether he wanted to or not.

so! he packed his bags, and kissed his mother on the cheek, and went, uncertain, to seek his fortune.

he had not been traveling for very long (although, of course, long enough to meet several creatures in need, who he helped and who promised to help him in his time of need, as is the way of these things) when he found a palace, where weeping and wailing filled the air.

he made his way to the palace courtyard, where a crowd of nobles and royalty stood, crying and commiserating. upon asking a servant (for even a seventh son of a seventh son, unproved as he was, could not directly ask the king and queen), he was told that the princess of the land had been stolen away by bandits, and none of the knights or lords or heroes sent after her had been able to save her, but had returned in disgrace, too ashamed to even tell of their attempts. the king and queen had even offered half their kingdom and the princess’ hand in marriage to anyone who would bring her safely home, but none had succeeded.

well! the young man knew destiny when it shook his hand, even if he rather wished he’d had more time to explore the world before meeting Expectations. still, he was not about to leave a princess and her kingdom suffering. so he politely asked where the bandits might be found and, shouldering his pack, set off once more to meet his destiny.

the bandit camp was outside the city, past the forest, in the hills on the edge of a desert. the young man met several obstacles on his way, but with his own wit, and kindness, and strength, and the help of some of the creatures he had saved, he made it there safely. right outside the cave the bandits camped in, a young woman with flame-red hair sat in a rickety chair, sharpening a wicked-looking sword.

‘who are you?’ she called out sharply.

‘i’m here to rescue the princess,’ he told her, polite as ever. ‘it would be best for you to surrender her, for i am the seventh son of a seventh son, and you know how these things always go. people like me are quite good at saving princesses, i’m afraid.’

the young woman scoffed and tossed her head, her hair shining in the setting sun. ‘i rather think not! for you would not be rescuing a princess, but kidnapping her, and removing her to a cruel and unjust fate. i am that princess; i ran away to join these bandits, for i can better serve my people here than in that palace of wealth, glutted on the work of the poor.’

the young man thought about this, and remembered the hollow faces and hungry stares of the peasants he had passed in this kingdom, so different from the people near his own no-longer-humble farm at home. still, he was clever, and thought it best to check. ‘and how do i know you are the princess, as you say?’

‘simple! my face is upon half the coins you see in this land--coins i have here, which we recently stole from a wicked, wealthy nobleman.’

and indeed, after some examination, and a few more questions, the young man conceded she was indeed the princess, and here by her own choice, in fact, he was quite relieved at this, and said so.

‘i am quite relieved,’ he told her earnestly, ‘since this means you do not need rescuing, and so i will not have to marry you. no offense meant to you, but we have only just met.’

at this, the bandit princess laughed, loud and sudden. ‘none taken! and i will not beat you as i did the last few heroes to come here.’

‘and i’m very grateful for it!’

‘but it’s getting very late,’ she continued, ‘and as you are peaceful towards us, i suppose you might stay the night. it is nearly supper time.’

now, the young man knew how these things tend to work, and knew there was a chance of the princess falling in love with him now. but he was also very tired, and very hungry, and knew better than to turn down a kindness, and so he accepted.

luckily, it quickly became clear that the bandit princess was much more concerned with her second-in-command--a peasant woman turned bandit, with lovely dark eyes that followed her princess’s every move in turn--than with the seventh son. reassured, he went to help the bandits’ cook, as he had been a help in the kitchen at home when he was young.

the cook was round and strong and amiable, and soon enough the young man had shared the story of his journey, and all the interesting things that had happened so far: the people he’d met, the sights he’d seen, the mysterious creatures he had helped and been helped by in return.

‘and then i heard about the princess, and i came here,’ he concluded, ‘using up several of my favors on the way. i will have to collect more, i suppose, to be used when i find a royal heir who does need rescuing, although i hope that is a long way off.’

‘why do you hope that?’ the cook asked, handing him a basket of flat bread. ‘do you not enjoy helping people?’

‘oh i do!’ the young man said. ‘i truly do! and these adventures are so interesting, too! which is why i hope i don’t rescue any princes or princesses for a while, for then my journey will have to end, as i will have a royal spouse to wed and half a kingdom to rule.’

‘can’t you just save them and leave without marrying them?’

‘oh, no! i have to marry them and rule half the kingdom. that is my glorious destiny, as the seventh son of a seventh son.’

‘for someone with such a glorious destiny, you don’t seem too excited by it.’

the young man sighed, despondent. ‘no, i suppose not. but what can i do? each of my six brothers has had such great success, and married such a wonderful spouse, that surely my destiny must be even greater success, and a great spouse, whatever else i may want. that is the way the world works, you know.’

the cook turned sharp, clever eyes on him, lifting a spoonful of stew for him to taste. ‘is it? how interesting. and the world has always worked this way?’

‘oh yes! i’m afraid so.’

‘and no one has been great enough to change it?’

‘oh no, i’m afraid not.’

‘well! then it rather sounds like the world has been rather trapped in this way for too long. i wonder if someone with a glorious destiny might rescue it, and change things a bit.’

#hmmmm sometimes u drink A Lot Of Gin #and write urself a little fairy tale about an aromantic hero #and romantic expectations #and The Way The World Works #...........ending is kinda vague and open ended #i'm drunk and actually i was trying to work out a basis for a character #and instead wrote his whole backstory #oh well #hm. anyway.#algie writes things

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ghhfhhgfhhhhhh · 3 years

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enkisstories · 3 years

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Cahill Legacy

Progress of my storyless legacy using the rules of @greenfooddog ‘s Play the Game Legacy:

Clark Cahill (nee Roswell) Theme: Botanist Color: Green, Black

The founder. Things were easy and streamlined with him. They had no house, and I placed only the objects they needed, all close together to make the best use of short distances and the emotional auras. Eventually Clark’s daughter grew up to teen and things became more ordinary. Clark got taken by the aliens as an elder. He has offspring at Batuu.

Aspirations (7): Chief of Mischief, Fabulously Wealthy, Nerd Brain, Soul Mate, Freelance Botanist, The Curator, Outdoor Enthusiast Skills (6): Gardening, Handyness, Logic, Mischief, Rocket Science, Herbalism Careers (1): Scientist

Kendra Cahill Theme: Socializing & Artist Color: Yellows, Browns

Ah, Kendra had all the good things for the grind-oriented player: No sleep, no hunger, eventually no needs at all, but three husbands plus a few more sweethearts on the side. Kendra was my overachiever. She was also the only legacy sim with more than a single child, because I do not want my family tree to explode broad instead of deep. Kendra also got to quaff one potion of youth.

Aspirations (11): Painter Extraordinaire, Best-selling author, Succesful Lineage, Big happy family, Renaissance Sim, Serial Romantic, Friend of the World, Leader of the Pack, Master Actor, Wordl-famous celebrity, Super parent Skills (11): Charisma, Comedy, Guitar, Painting, Photography, Writing, Dancing, Singing, Acting, Media Production, Parenting Careers (2+1): Style Influencer, Actor, Drama club (afterschool)

Martin Cahill Theme: Cuisine & Wellness Color: Red, Black

Marin... existed. Sadly he was overshadowed by Kendra, who continued grinding skills and aspirations through her elderhood, and Bill, who started doing so the moment he grew up to child. Martin also temporarily died. And his wife unleashed the spores apocalypse over their hometown. But he was a nice guy.

Martin would have fit the paranormal pack, but sadly that released only after he was already gone.

Aspirations (3): Body Builder, Master Chef, Grilled Cheese Skills (6): Cooking, Fitness, Gourmet Cooking, Canning, Baking, Wellness Careers (1+3): Culinary, Barista PT, Fast Food PT, Lifeguard PT

Bill Cahill Theme: Ocean, Travel Color: Blue, Grey

A loner for most of his life, focused on skill and aspiration grind like a good legacy heir. He did manage to marry and make an heir eventually. In his elderhood Bill went stir crazy and invited dust devils into the house, what led to his divorce and eventual settling down in an expensive apartment in San Myshuno (what was an aspiration goal). His ex-husband and son are left with an okay house, the deed to grandpa’s larger house and 5,000 simoleons in cash. Bill had a youth potion halfway through elderhood, but turned out he wouldn’t have needed this boost. I also sent him to Batuu, since it fit his theme, but decided to not have him pursue the accompanying aspirations.

Aspirations (9): Mansion Baron, Angling Ace, City Native, Friend of the Animals, Beach Life, Archaeology Scholar, Jungle Explorer, Komorebi Tourist, Fabulously Filthy (english name?) Skills (9): Fishing, Programming, Videogames, Selvadoradian, Toki Sulani, Animal training, Veterinarian, Archaeology, Selvadoradian culture Careers (0+3): Odd jobs maxed, Diver PT, Fisherman PF

Percy Cahill Theme: Life of the Party, All things alcohol Color: Purple, Yellow

That theme is set in stone, I won’t change plans for him. But when little Percy managed to manifest this triple-sadness moodlet concert, I decided to give him Gloomy for his first trait. He should be... fun at parties?!

Planned:

Aspirations (4-6): Joke Star, Academic, Party Animal, Master Mixer, probably also Master Maker and/or Eco Innovator Skills (7): Komorebigo, Mixology, Juice Fizzing, Nectar Making, DJ, Research, Fabrication Careers (1+): Needs Comedian (5) and Mixologist (7), if Eco also City Planner (10), but needs to master at least one, in any case must join the college soccer team

Needs to marry a sim from Mt. Komorebi so that their kid doesn’t have Simlish as mother tongue and can learn it as a foreign language

#play the game legacy #cahill legacy #sims 4 #sims4 #ts4 #the sims 4

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wesleyhill · 3 years

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The Voice from the Whirlwind

A homily on Job 38:1-11, preached at Trinity Cathedral, Pittsburgh, on the Fourth Sunday after Pentecost 2021

Our Old Testament reading today is taken from the book of Job. Many scholars consider Job to be a literary masterpiece and its poetry the most beautiful in the entire Hebrew Bible. In light of that, I’m going to read our text again from the King James Version, which does better than most any other version at capturing the grandeur of the language.

Then the LORD answered Job out of the whirlwind, and said, 2 Who is this that darkeneth counsel by words without knowledge? 3 Gird up now thy loins like a man; for I will demand of thee, and answer thou me. 4 Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth? declare, if thou hast understanding. 5 Who hath laid the measures thereof, if thou knowest? or who hath stretched the line upon it? 6 Whereupon are the foundations thereof fastened? or who laid the corner stone thereof; 7 When the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy? 8 Or who shut up the sea with doors, when it brake forth, as if it had issued out of the womb? 9 When I made the cloud the garment thereof, and thick darkness a swaddlingband for it, 10 And brake up for it my decreed place, and set bars and doors, 11 And said, Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further: and here shall thy proud waves be stayed?

This portion of Job comes from the very end of the book. In the thirty-seven long chapters that precede it, we have heard the story and the voice of Job, as well as the rebukes of some friends of his that have come to visit him.

Let’s recall that story so that we have the context for the portion we just heard. Job is a kind of Everyman character, a timeless figure. He does not seem to be descended from Abraham; he is not an Israelite. He is from Uz, some faraway city, and he is described as “the greatest of all the people of the east” (1:3). We might picture a wealthy sheikh with a palace and a retinue. His city and his lifestyle are meant to transport us into a sort of fairy tale setting (and remember — as C. S. Lewis and the Inklings remind us — that doesn’t mean the story is any less true! To be swept up in a good fairy tale is to be forced to grapple with something true about us).

One day, according to the story, an accusing, adversarial angelic figure makes a proposal to God in his heavenly court. He claims that Job only worships God and lives a virtuous life because it’s easy for him to do so. “But stretch out your hand now,” the adversary tells God, “and touch all that he has, and he will curse you to your face.” And God gives the adversary permission to take away Job’s family (his ten children are all killed), his wealth, and his health. And Job’s response is to continue, through it all, to worship God: “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return there; the LORD gave, and the LORD has taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD” (1:21).

At this point in the story, three friends of Job travel from far away to see this greatest of all men reduced to sitting in an ash heap scraping his inflamed skin with a shard of pottery. For seven days they simply sit in silence with Job (as Jews to this day practice sitting shiva with the bereaved), “for they saw that his suffering was very great” (2:13).

But then, for the next thirty-five chapters of the book, Job howls out his innocence in poem after poem, speech after poetic speech, and his three friends remonstrate with him. They rebuke him for his arrogantly supposing that he can call God to account, and he retorts, “Miserable comforters are you all” (16:2). Back and forth it goes. So many words. So many “vain,” “windy words,” as the poet calls them at one point (16:3, KJV; NRSV).

And then, out of a storm that overwhelms all the words, the LORD finally speaks. Job had earlier wished that the day of his birth had been shrouded in darkness, but God turns that wish around and asks Job why he has shrouded everything with ignorant speech: “Who is this that darkeneth counsel by words without knowledge?” Then the LORD declares that He intends to question Job: “Gird up now thy loins like a man; for I will demand of thee, and answer thou me.”

And then comes some of the most memorable imagery in the entire book. I encourage you to open your Bible at home and read the passage again later, slowly, and pay attention to the striking imagery and metaphors. The LORD asks of Job:

You who are so full of opinions and recriminations, where were you when I was hoisting the rafters of the universe? Where were you when I was taking a plumbline to the Milky Way? Were you there, Job, when the roar of exploding galaxies sounded like a thundering choir of praise? Were you there when the ocean’s water broke, and I wrapped the sea with clouds like a mother wraps an infant in a warm blanket? If you know so much, Job, tell me, were you there? Because I was!

The LORD goes on like this for four whole chapters, giving Job a tour of all the wonders and terrors of creation.

And it’s at this point many readers have felt that the book of Job is at its least convincing. Here is Job, in psychological and bodily agony, crying out from the depths, “Why me?” And God’s answer is… to talk about oceans and stars and ostriches and crocodiles, as if merely asserting His power as the Creator were enough to put an end to honest, gut-wrenching questions, as if God were saying, “Shut up and just look at how much bigger and stronger than you I am.”

That’s a common interpretation that people have of our reading for today, but I don’t think it does justice to the text. Because God isn’t silencing Job so much as He is inviting Job to see in a new way. The LORD is not simply cataloguing His creatures for Job, as if He were curating a nature exhibit. Job has been trying to relate to the LORD as if He were a contractor; the LORD is trying to tell Job that, from the very beginning of creation, He is a covenant-maker. The LORD is reminding Job that back behind and underneath Job’s calculus of guilt and innocence; deeper than tit-for-tat human schemes that would supposedly sort out all the rational, moral reasons for why things happen in the world the way they do; beyond all this, at the heart of everything there is an unending, un-endable generosity, a light that can never be extinguished, an unfathomable source of life and goodness and wisdom. This isn’t merely some impersonal source of inspiration or fortitude that will get you safely through grief and out the other side; this ceaseless gift comes from the presence of the LORD Himself, the God who addresses Job, who speaks with Job, who seeks Job out precisely in his pain and loneliness. Beyond all deserving or undeserving, the LORD comes to Job. The LORD reveals Himself. Job is not given a platitude; he encounters a Person. The LORD is there — in majesty and mercy. And ultimately, in repentance and trust and hope, Job says to God, “I had heard You with my ear, but now my eye perceives You. Therefore, I recant and relent, being but dust and ashes” (42:5-6, NJPS). Job has not had his questions answered, but he has met the One who made him — the One who will open a future for him beyond all deserving or comprehending, the One who asks not for comprehension but for humility and trust.

Some of you may have seen Terrence Malick’s film The Tree of Life from ten years ago. It was nominated for multiple Oscars and struck a chord with many Christian viewers in particular. It opens with a blank screen and the words from our reading, the words that the LORD speaks to Job: “Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth… When the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy?” The movie follows the story of a family with young children in Waco, Texas in the 1950s. I don’t want to spoil it for you (if you haven’t seen it, I encourage you to), but I will say that tragedy of the most awful kind strikes this family, and throughout the film, the characters return to that haunting question God asks of Job, “Where were you?” — except, in the film, it is the people who say it to God, rather than God who says it to them. Where were you?

Astonishingly, the movie tries to visually depict God’s speech to Job by taking a full 18 minutes — roughly an eighth of the entire film — to show the unfolding of creation, from the big bang to the emergence of dinosaurs. It sounds bizarre, but it’s extraordinary to see. One minute you’re watching one ordinary family in Waco in the 1950s navigate ordinary human sorrow, anger, remorse, and longing, and the next minute you’re watching nebulae and planetary rings and cell divisions. At the same time that you’re seeing one particular family’s life play out in all of its quotidian drama, you’re seeing the dazzling, awe-evoking origin of all life.

Where were you? the characters ask God.

The answer to that question that the LORD gives to Job is, in essence, “I am here, and I was here before you, and I will be here ahead of you. I am here, speaking to you, addressing you, seeing you, knowing you, redeeming you. I, the Maker of heaven and earth, am the same God who draws near.”

One scene in the movie takes place at a funeral, in a church. The text for the sermon is the same one we have heard this morning. And you can hear the priest say (and by the way, in real life, the priest in the film is an Episcopal priest who helped write the words he would perform!), “Is there some fraud in the scheme of the universe? Is there nothing which is deathless? Nothing which does not pass away?”

And at that point the camera slowly pans away from the character sitting in the pew listening, who has endured and will endure so much grief in the course of the story — the camera pans up to a stained glass window where we see the LORD of Israel who spoke to Job — the LORD as a human being, the man Jesus, bound with ropes, crowned with thorns, looking out from the glass with eyes of grief and unceasing love, ready to give His life for the world He had made.

It is He whom Job meets. It is He who is alive and here with us today, who speaks to us, who feeds us with His own Body and Blood.

Amen.

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visualin · 4 years

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Film at MIT

Before I came to MIT, I strongly considered going to film school. I enjoyed acting and screenwriting, and most importantly I had an interest in cinematography and photography.

I’ve found that event at a technical institution like MIT, there’s a lot of hidden opportunities.

Clubs and Activities

Extracurricular-wise, the landscape isn’t exactly sparse.

LSC: The MIT Lecture Series Committee

LSC hosts advance screenings, 35mm motion picture projections, concerts, the annual Science Fiction Marathon, and public film programs for the greater MIT community. Tickets are usually $5, although there are free movie nights. Committee members help organize lectures, set up the 6-channel DTS digital and Dolby Digital sound system, and other electronics in 26–100, as well as work on publicity and exec roles.

MIT Animation Group

MITAG primarily organizes animation lectures, IAP/Spark/semesterly workshops on 3D and 2D animation, and hosts the annual AniMIThon (an animation competition open to high school and college students in the Northeast region).

MIT Student Cable

The Student Cable Club primarily works on filming scripted and live shows. The club used to run MITV Channel 36 on the MIT cable television system, but now primarily works on creating ads for student groups, filming on-campus performances, and other tasks. They have (likely) the largest collection of cameras and film equipment on campus.

Tea with Teachers

Tea With Teachers curates a regular YouTube series where students interview prominent professors about their lives. The show features anecdotes, wise quotes from faculty members, and good tea.

I go to meet Nick from the UA committee working on TwT, and he taught me about DaVinci Resolve and the editing process for the YouTube series. I was unable to fulfill the time commitment for the role, but learning more about the project was interesting nonetheless.

E33 Productions | Home

E33 doesn’t exactly do film, but if you’re interested in lighting, they provide paid services for shows and special events. They also offer tape and gels, rentals for equipment, sound systems (although most requests go to MIT A/V Services), headset/comm services, masonite, and other theater production requests.

Technique

Technique is also not strictly a film club, but they are the primary photography club on campus, running the campus yearbook and group photos for student groups and living groups. They offer paid photography services, and many on-campus amateur photographers have been born from the club.

The Tech

There seems to be a trend of not-quite-film clubs on campus, but I needed to rep The Tech’s Arts and Photography Departments. They primarily review movies/live performances and take photos of different events happening around Cambridge. If you’re lucky, you might get a press pass to a high-attendance event or conference.

Classes

There’s also the option of cross-enrolling at Wellesley, Harvard, or MassArt. I have a few friends who have taken a variety of fine arts and animation classes at MassArt, and there’s definitely a lot of rich classes to take in film theory and film studies at Harvard.

In addition, I was amused to find that unlike the extreme numbering system of MIT or elaborate names of Harvard, MassArt classes go by a simpler scheme: Film I, Film II, Film II and so on in the style of a typical arts curriculum where you build on skills in previous classes.

There’s definitely a different vibe with MassArt classes — they focus more on drawing and fine arts (if that’s your style) and application of skills in an industry standard. Harvard classes are definitely more theory than studio, in comparison.

If you’re looking to build a portfolio or to hang around other artsy people, the commute to Boston might be more worth it than you think. (This is especially true because MIT’s Drawing for Designers class is incredibly over-enrolled and we don’t exactly offer too many fine arts-type classes or studio-type classes for students interested in building a portfolio/reel of work).

In terms of classes, there’s a few must-take film classes.

21M.011: The Film Experience

This counts as a CI-H, and rightfully so — the class features a number of written assignments, nightly film screenings, and lectures analyzing the aspects of cinema and film styles across the ages. It’s definitely one of the best intro film classes and one of the best HASS classes offered.

21L.706: Advanced Topics in Film

The topics covered in this class vary. This semester, it’s Contemporary Horror, and the lecturer (Prof. Eugenie Brinkema) is similarly legendary. I haven’t yet taken the course, but I’ve heard really great things about the professor and mind-blowing debates during Lit Tea.

CMS.335: Short Attention Span Documentary

This class focuses on producing 1–5 minute digital video documentaries for platforms such as YouTube. It also includes screenings and discussions of the technical aspects of documentary film (not to mention actually workshop-ing and shooting a series of short videos!)

CMS.333: Production of Education Videos

I have a friend taking this class right now, and it sounds really interesting. Basically, you’re tasked with choosing a topic and doing a semester-long dive into creating a short series that explains specific topics within the area (similar to Crash Course!) It reminds me of my high school I-SEARCH assignment (I did mine on ASMR…good memories…)

4.354: Intro to Video and Related Media

In this class, you analyze time, space, perspective, and sound within film, working on performance, social critique, and manipulating raw experiences into aesthetic form (equal parts studio and theory, although it seems to be more practical and hands-on). I’ve had a really positive experience with Course 4 classes, and I’m definitely looking to take this class in the near future.

4.352 — Advanced Video and Related Media

This class focuses on pre-production planning, digital editing techniques, chroma-keying, post-production, audio, visual effects, and contemporary video artwork for image and sound manipulation. It’s one of the courses offered through SA+P ACT (School of Architecture and Planning, Arts Culture and Technology).

Some other cool classes I won’t delve into, but may be interesting:

21W.752 — Making Documentary: Audio, Video, and More

CMS.313 — Silent Film

4.341 — Intro. to Photography & Related Media

4.344 — Adv. Photography & Related Media

4.356 — Cinematic Migrations

CMS.339 — Virtual Reality and Immersive Media Production

6.163 — Strobe Project Laboratory

21M.842 — Live Cinema Performance

21M.863 — Interactive Design and Projection for Live Performance

Research Roles

There’s also a few opportunities for research roles related to film, most notably through the MIT Media Lab’s Open Documentary Lab. There’s quite a few Fellows working at the Media Lab with a variety of industry experience (one of my current professors premiered at Sundance, Cannes, Tribeca, and several other prestigious film festivals in the past year alone. Even masters students have had extensive film experience and can be incredible resources to pick the brains of or work beside).

There’s also a huge focus on VR/AR experiences right now, with an entire lab space dedicated to 360 video, mixed reality, virtual reality games, etc.

In addition, MIT’s Game Lab is also working on animations/game design if you’re particularly interested in the animation side of filmmaking.

Majors/Minors

Although MIT doesn’t offer an official film major/minor, there’s a few programs that are remarkably similar to a film studies minor and have a nice handful of classes that explore film in depth.

Course 4: Art, Culture and Technology

While ACT is only offered as a minor (alongside Art History and Design, among others), it does open the doors to an incredible range of media classes focused on photography, video, and sound, exploring cinema, public art, and the intersections of art and culture in public spaces. Since it is offered through the School of Architecture and Planning, there is more of a focus on the physical side of aesthetics.

Course 21L: Literature

Offered through the SHASS departments, Literature (aka Lit@MIT) is a close-knit major that focuses heavily on analysis and interpretation. There is definitely a good degree of writing/essays and critiques, but it’s more theoretical than studio-styled. Many of the academic-focused film classes are offered through 21L. (It’s also offered as both a major and minor, and they have 6-credit sample classes every term!)

Comparative Media Studies

Nick, who I mentioned before, works in film through the CMS department. This department also encompasses the MIT Writing major, and ranges in discipline from photography and games to comics and film. It’s located within the Media Lab and has close ties with the Open Documentary Lab. A lot of visiting scholars and artists usually visit CMS, and (in my biased opinion) they have some of the best events and talks on campus.

I’ve been dancing around majors/minors for some time now. I know that I definitely enjoy being a 6–2 (Electrical Engineering and Computer Science), but I’ve enjoyed my classes in 8 (Physics) and 18 (Mathematics), and I’m also a big fan of those departments. On the other hand, Course 2 (Mechanical Engineering) sounds incredibly interesting, as do CMS, Course 4 (Architecture and Design), and Course 11 (Urban Planning).

This semester, I’m taking CMS.339 (Virtual Reality for Immersive Media) and listening in on 4.s22 (Domesticity for New Humans). I was also able to shop 4.s48 (Design for Robotic Assembly) and it seems like an absolutely fantastic class integrating technology and robotics with architecture and design.

I’m looking forward to exploring more film opportunities throughout my time at MIT. I’ll hopefully do a write-up about the Reality, Virtually Hackathon and some of the cool VR projects being done in conjunction with film. In the meantime, I hope this is helpful!

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Reposted from Medium

#film school #massachusetts institute of technoloogy #college #film major #mit #boston #comparative media studies #school #classes #filmmaking #film studies #wellesley #harvard #harvard university

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bondsmagii · 4 years

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Hi! So I just finished reading The Secret History after putting it off for ages (I put it down for nearly a year, but your blog helped me follow through). I was wondering if you could talk about why you like it? And just generally what your take is on it? (Particularly re. Julian??? Like he is such a significant figure that looms over everything yet he is actually in it less than random secondary characters and it blows my mind coz I haven't seen that done effectively before in other books)

[rubs hands together] I hope you’re prepared for something very disorganised but my god I have a lot of thoughts.

what I like about it is simple enough. I love the way it’s written, I love all the descriptions and the settings, I love all the characters even if they’re all absolutely insufferable, I think the moral questions the plot forces you to ask yourself are pretty intense. like deadass by the time they killed Bunny I was happy to see his ass go, but then Richard’s realisations at the funeral, where it really sunk in that they had actually honest to god killed a man? fucking harrowing tbh. I also loved how extra the book was, and how it didn’t take itself too seriously in a lot of places (it reads quite pretentiously, but under the veneer of classical studies and champagne in fine china teapots there’s like... snorting cocaine in a Burger King parking lot, and smoking weed at a wake -- not to mention its narrator is a character within the story who literally admits right away that his fatal flaw is that he romanticises absolutely everything). it’s just raw college student chaos, but like. taken to the extreme, and absolutely horrific. it really is an impossibly fun read, and the aesthetics are on point. I see a lot of people talk about how it apparently encourages people to think murder and drugs and alcoholism are cool or whatever, but I think that’s just Tumblr being Tumblr -- i.e., people clutching their pearls every time somebody likes a character or story that isn’t pure and 100% good. all the people I know who have been influenced by The Secret History’s totally extra aesthetic have just started dressing cooler and throwing themselves into deeper and more varied studies, which is only a good thing. I know it’s made me a lot more productive and really helped me just commit to being a little over the top here, a little dramatique there... and all with absolutely no drug abuse or murder!

my general take on the novel differs from most people’s. I’ve seen near everyone say (usually while ridiculing those who like the aesthetics of the book) that The Secret History is a satire... I disagree. I don’t think it’s satirising anything. I think it’s just a straightforward “here’s what would happen if...”, and the fact that it’s set at a rich, prestigious college isn’t because Tartt is trying to show how awful rich people are but rather because Tartt herself attended such a place, and the college is directly based on Bennington College right down to the layout and the surrounding grounds and the social atmosphere at the time. I mean, it’s literally the same place with the serial numbers filed off. she based all the characters on people she knew, and then I imagine she just went nuts with the plot. same as most authors, really -- I know many who say they think of a what if question and then just run with it. of course people are going to disagree and say it’s a deconstruction of how rich people get away with everything, blah blah blah, but really the fact that so many of the characters are rich is necessary to the setting. if I was going to write a story set in 1980s Cambridge University, most of my characters would be rich as well -- they’d have to be, or they wouldn’t even be there to begin with. then it’s just convenient to the plot, because they have money to make things happen, and you can’t murder people and throw a bacchanal if you have to do backshift at Burger King, you know? even if it was meant to read as a satire and Tartt herself was like “bro I literally wrote it as a satire” I’d have to say she didn’t do a very good job, because the only satire I saw was perhaps regarding the social climate and atmosphere at Bennington while she was there, and not a deconstruction of class and wealth. it’s just... a good story. with interesting, flawed characters. it doesn’t have to be any deeper than that, and to be honest I don’t read it as such.

as for Julian... oh man. Julian. this is another place where I differ from 90% of the opinions I see. a not-insignificant amount of people seem to think that Julian is this evil mastermind who’s pulling the strings and leading the group towards their doom, and then they seem undecided when it comes to Henry. some people think he’s just another person caught up in Julian’s manipulation; others seem to think he’s Julian’s man on the ground, working with him in order to ensure his dastardly plan comes to fruition. I, however, am of the opinion that Julian is an idealistic dumbass, who allowed himself to be caught up in the romantic, idealised version of things and did not realise half of what was going on. I think he’s a man in love with the image of himself -- self-centred, slightly narcissistic, and very charming as he is, he’s in love with being the centre of the show. The Secret History’s alternative title was something along the lines of The Master of Illusions (I believe that’s still its title in the French translation), which of course refers to Dionysus but could also refer to one of the characters. many people think Henry, but to me it’s quite clear it’s Julian. when is he ever not putting on a show? everything he does, from his elite classes to his strange stories about his past to his lavish dinners... it’s all a show that he’s the master of. he’s curating the image he gives to other people and he loves doing it. everything he does is carefully selected to fit into his idealised version of himself and his life, including surrounding himself with brilliant students who share the same passion as him -- and who lack any real parental figures for various reasons. is it appropriate behaviour? absolutely not. but is it malicious? I don’t think so. at times Julian can seem almost childishly naive -- he’s stuck in this pretend game and he’s quite happy to be there... so long as he’s in control. the second he’s no longer in control, he bolts. he was on board with the idea of the bacchanal because I sincerely think he didn’t believe it would actually work; he probably thought there would be some kind of strange experience, but I don’t think he thought it would summon a god/induce psychosis (whichever you believe happened during that scene). he encouraged Henry a) because he didn’t think there was a risk and b) because how cool that his students are trying to throw a bacchanal! that’s the exact kind of thing he loves! that commitment, that throwing oneself into one’s studies, that academic fervour -- he loves it. and he saw this as just part of that. then someone ends up dead and then another person ends up dead and Julian has to face real life consequences, and he’s scared. he never planned for this because he never saw it coming. and above all he’s a coward, and a vain one at that. all of these qualities that he so loved teaching about in his classes -- stoicism, responsibility, honour -- fall by the wayside, and he runs. and that’s why Henry kills himself -- because he has been let down by his mentor, and he feels like someone should uphold those values so lovingly, apparently sincerely taught to them over the last few years. without this interpretation of Julian, I wonder how anyone made sense of Henry’s death.

in some respects, I think people are trying to look a little too deeply into this book. perhaps its subject matter -- being all about dedicated, talented scholars -- makes people think they’re reading a highly intellectual book, but while it’s wonderfully written and absolutely captivating, it’s not difficult to interpret. at least in my opinion it seems straightforward -- it’s just a story about a lot of things going wrong because of a lot of decisions; it’s about how things can so quickly get out of control no matter how much a person tries to control themselves. a man has no influence over the world around him, and things are rarely what they seem.

#this got long sorry #the secret history #sainte foy #asks

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bluepenguinstories · 4 years

Text

Remoras Full Chapter VIII: Sunny Days, Sweeping Up the Clouds Away

What a great adventure I’ve had so far. I just had to get my little Ray of Sunshine a souvenir. For the time being, I would have to contend with showing the ferryman all the pictures I had of Ray on my phone.

“Look at him! Isn’t he adorable?”

“Lady, you already showed me that one.”

“Oh. Then let me show you another one!”

Silly me, I must have forgotten all the pictures I’ve shown the ferryman. We’ve been going down the canals of Italy for quite some time now, so it was easy to lose track of time.

I held the phone out to him.

“Here’s one where he’s picking his nose! He didn’t notice I took this one!”

“Look,” he turned around, his arms firm on the gondola. “You paid me to take you across the canals. Nothing more.”

Sheesh. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the panini.

“So you don’t wanna see pictures of my husband?”

“Correct.”

Got it. Loud and clear. So he didn’t want to see the most handsome man in the entire world. I understood. He was jealous. Jealous of our love. Jealous because he probably wanted Ray all to himself. For that, I couldn’t blame him. I would have been jealous as well.

But there were other pictures I could show him. That would comfort him, I was sure. Like the pictures Ray sent me of Tigershark, the mysterious kid who had apparently lost her parents in a blizzard and was now living as an “independent agent” (his words, not mine) in Ray’s diner. Neither of us were really the type to raise kids, and from the sound of things, Tigershark was quite mature for her age, so all the better. She was a cute little thing, all around. Had some orange hair, which was redder in places, to make it look like her hair had stripes.

Then there was Demetria, the scholar. From what I heard, she was a student and stumbled upon the diner. She then found something she loved about the restaurant and became a wait staff as a result. Since, she had been honing her customer service skills. She was also a little cute, with her wavy green hair and serious, studious face. It was clear from the pictures that she was quite a serious and well put together person. In a way, that had its own charm.

“Hey, wanna see pictures of –”

“Lady, I swear to God, if you don’t stop, I will throw you overboard!”

Fine. I crossed my arms, but if I could beat the power of love into him, I would have.

Once we made landing on the docks, I gave him a little extra money for the trouble, then stretched my legs. What a good thing I did, as well. While I stretched, a bullet flew right past me. Just a little closer, and I would have suffered a serious injury to my side!

It didn’t matter who they were or what they wanted, only that I was their target. Near me was a crate, which in spite of such a rickety dock, I figured it was my best bet. I took cover behind it, then peeked out. Mercenaries in rooftops wearing plain clothed baggy pants and T-shirts. Probably hired by some arms dealer, or a museum curator. The latter seemed more likely.

Bullets continued to ricochet off of the crate.

“Ah, being shot at. How nostalgic. This reminds me of my honeymoon,” I remarked. It was a bit of a shame that no one was around to hear me. There was quite a story behind our honeymoon, but that would have to wait for another time. When I could tell it in full.

Ah, I’m going to need to remember this moment. Ray loves to hear about my adventures.

Thinking back wasn’t going to get me anywhere. In the present, I was still in a bit of a tight spot. I got out my phone and texted Ray:

Me: Sorry babe, something came up last minute. I’ll be home a little later than expected.

Also in my pocket was a plastic baggie. I put my phone inside and zipped it up. Then, while ducked, I dived off of the docks and into the waters of the canal. I swam over to underneath the docks, then came up for air. Soon, footsteps were upon the docks and I could hear them yelling.

“She has to be around here somewhere!”

Crap. They’ll surely see me.

Next to me was a boat, docked upside down. I dived back down and swam over to it, then came up, under the protection of the boat.

My pursuers gave up their search for me not long after. Just to be on the safe side, I continued swimming down.

What was the purpose of that ferryman if I’m just going to end up going back?

My detour led me to a nearby beach, where I emerged, drenched. Clothes stuck to my skin. For want of a towel, I shook my head and let the water fly out of my hair. Getting anything out of my pockets was a near-impossible feat. At least I had no problems getting back to my hotel room.

Once there, I emptied my pockets onto the bed and threw my clothes out the window. Not to worry, I had a spare set in my suitcase.

I pulled my phone out of the plastic baggie and checked my messages. Sometime during the skirmish, Ray replied:

Ray: Your presence is a gift floating through the wind. I never ask when the gift will arrive, but I am excited every time I see it.

Me: OMG. I will be home later tonight, I SWEAR!

Ray: Haha. All right. There’ll be dinner waiting for you.

That was all the motivation I needed. Let’s see...a couple thousand miles or so up north? Something like that? Eh. The details didn’t matter. I hurried down the stairs and checked out.

“How was your stay?” The concierge asked.

“It was fine enough, but not nearly as fine as my husband. Wanna see pictures of him?”

“I’m good.”

“Oh, all right, but here,” I held out my phone. “Here’s a pic of the two of us sharing a slice of cheesecake together!”

“That’s nice,” the concierge didn’t sound very interested.

“Well, I’ll be off! Not to get all sentimental, but it’s been almost a year since I’ve seen him, so I ought to get back up there!”

I rushed out the door and made my way to the airport. Of course, I just had to take a detour through a marketplace first. After all, I was dead set on finding some neat little gifts to take home.

One of the shops was selling plushies.

“Hmm...Tigershark might like that, right? Or maybe she’s getting to be that age where she thinks she’s too old for stuffed animals? How old is she? Nine, I think?” I looked around. “I’m never really good at gifts. I don’t even know what she likes. Maybe a tiger plush toy? Or a shark?”

I walked around and saw a tiger stripe print handbag. It wasn’t much, and I didn’t even know if she’d like it, but I picked it up anyway. It was something.

Then, as I walked out, I noticed a shop selling cookbooks. I almost got it for Ray, but then realized it might have seemed condescending, since he was already a bit of a know-it-all when it came to things like that. But, at a nearby stall, I spotted someone selling earrings.

I leaned over and pointed down. “Hey, you got some neat stuff.”

“Thanks,” the merchant replied. “See anything that fits your fancy?”

I shook my head. “Nope! But I think those small star shaped ones would look great on my husband!”

As I got out the money to buy them, I got stopped.

“Hey, it’s Sunny Reyes!”

I turned my head. Looks like I had been spotted.

“Can you hold on a sec?” I held my finger up to the merchant, then stood up to face the mercenary.

“Hi! How’s it going?”

Then, another showed up right beside. Great. Two against one. Just my luck.

“Sunny Reyes? I thought her name was Sunny Sunshine,” the other mercenary asked.

“Actually,” I corrected. “It depends on the day. Since today is a special day, I’ll let you guess which one it is.”

Then, before we could really gear up for a fight, I felt the poke of a machine gun against my back.

“Aw, come on guys! You wouldn’t open fire in the middle of a crowd, would you?”

“You kept us from getting the treasure! We’ll take the risk!” One of the ones in front of me barked.

Which treasure? I’ve kinda been all over the place.

I reached behind me and grabbed on to the gun that could have fired right into my back. Then, I threw it overhead along with the person who had held so tight onto it, and tossed them right into the other two, knocking all three onto the ground. I couldn’t tell if there were any more behind me, but I was also willing to take a few risks. While they were on the ground, I leaned over, hands on my hips, and smiled.

“Hey, wanna see a picture of my daughter? She’s just the sweetest thing in the whole wide world,” I got out my phone, but then I thought better of it. “Actually, I’ll tell you about her. She’s got such wonderful dark hair and such a bright smile. She loves to draw and she loves to cook and I haven’t seen her in years, but I love her to pieces.”

They all growled and were about to get up, but then I slammed my foot into their pile.

“Here, keep the change,” I threw money the merchant’s way and snatched the earrings. If only those folks had given me more time, I would have probably gotten a little bag to keep them in. Oh well, none of that mattered. At least I had something to bring home.

Home sweet home.

To think I was about to step through those doors after so long. There was no helping it. I couldn’t contain my excitement any longer. I burst through the doors and held out my arms.

“Hello! I’m back!”

My eyes darted around the restaurant until I saw Ray at one of the booths. He perked up, went over to me, and held out his hands as he took a bow.

“Welcome back, madame!”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

“What’s this ‘madame’ business?”

“It’s the food I made you for dinner,” he explained. “Tartiflette with croque madame on the side.”

“My favorite!”

“Is it really?” He looked surprised. “Did you have it while you were away? I don’t recall making it for you before.”

“No, silly! Everything you make is my favorite.”

Across from where Ray had sat, I noticed someone’s head poked out.

“There’s a new customer!” She gasped. At last, I got to see her: Tigershark. She ran up to me. “I helped make the dinner! I shredded the cheese and helped carry the pan!”

“Aw, aren’t you cute?” I pat Tigershark’s head. She reached her hands up and growled.

“You’re a customer! Use eti...eddy…”

“Etiquette,” Ray corrected. “And this is my wife, Sunny.”

She gasped. “You’re who the food’s for!”

I beamed, unable to hide my smile. But then I turned to Ray. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

“Sure thing, hun.”

We walked away and into the kitchen. Tigershark tried to follow along, but Ray motioned for her to stay put for the time being. Once I was certain we had our privacy, I began.

“I thought we agreed it was for the best not to raise any kids,” I folded my arms as I spoke.

“Indeed we did. Not to worry, just as I said, she’s pretty independent. Plus, I got Remora to take care of her. She just likes to visit. If anything, I’m more like her uncle.”

“Wait,” there was a key word in what he told me. “Remora is here? Or, you guys are in contact, at least?”

“Dammit,” he stamped his foot, but smiled as he said it. “I wanted to keep it a surprise.”

What a pleasant surprise it was, too.

“Well, in any case, it sounds like you’ve been teaching her many things.”

“Guilty. Remora’s not really...the mom type.”

I let out a laugh. “Right, that’s more you. You always were the maternal one.”

He looked away and scratched his chin. “Well, what can I say?”

“You can say ‘bon appétit’ since you made a french dish.”

“Or...I could say ‘you are the greatest woman alive’.”

I nudged him. “Come on! Let’s go eat!”

We walked back to the booth and sat.

“We’re going to eat, right? Right?” Tigershark asked, antsy.

“Mhm,” Ray and I both answered. It was refreshing, us as a duo. I didn’t want to leave any time soon.

My main source of curiosity was still the legend herself, the one who called herself ‘Remora’. We met once, when she refused to meet up with us again. Then, I left. If only the call of adventure wasn’t so strong, there had been so much I never got to experience. But in a way, it was exciting, being able to meet all the newcomers at once. Oh! That reminded me! I pulled the earrings out from my pocket.

“For you, my ray of light.”

“How sweet of you,” he placed it up to his ears. “If only those pesky lobes hadn’t gone and filled themselves in. Been years since I wore any piercings. No matter, I’m always down for a little bit of pain.”

“And, for you,”I reached behind me and pulled out the little handbag.

“Ooh! I can fit so many cookies in here!”

“When Ray told me about you, I thought he said ‘tiger stripe’ so I thought that would work.” No I didn’t. I was just trying to save face.

“That’s funny! Zebras have stripes! My name isn’t even Tigershark, I just forgot what it is! So Tigershark can be my name too!”

In that case, wouldn’t that mean it’s your name?

“I didn’t know what you liked, so I hope that’s okay.” Again, saving face.

“It’s okay! I like penguins!”

Note to self: get her a penguin plush toy.

After we ate, I made my way to the back, where sure enough, Remora was, in the chair that Ray used to sit in all the time.

“Oh wow! It really is you!” I exclaimed. She was slumped and looked bored and listless, but once I said something, she looked up.

“Oh, hi.”

“You probably don’t remember me, we only met once, and –”

“You’re Sunny. I know.”

“Yes! You remember!”

“You get mentioned fairly often. It would be hard not to know who you are.”

“Ooh wonder what they say about me,” I snapped my fingers.

“Just things like ‘wanna see what my wife just sent me?’ and ‘Sunny is so pretty’.”

“Aw, I didn’t know you thought of me that way.”

“Yes. You are pretty. But I’m not the one who said those things and also I am not married to you.”

“Would you want to be?”

“Stop that.”

“Aw, all right. So anyway, what’s new?”

“Basically, I’m in charge now.”

“Of the restaurant?”

She glared at me.

“Of this little side-hustle you guys got going on. The whole requests thing. I get to decide who does what and when.”

“Ooh. Now that you’re in charge, wanna send me out to do a mission?”

“Any in particular you have in mind?”

I thought it over. “Hm...it doesn’t matter. Oh!” My hand shot up. “Give it to me hard and rough!”

“Don’t phrase it like that.”

It took me a good second to figure out why she scolded me like that, but once I did, I was elated.

“Hey Ray!” I called over. He came into the back. “Our good friend Remora knows innuendo!”

“Aw, how cute,” Ray chimed in.

“Stop that, both of you. I’m not a baby.”

I sat down in the empty swivel chair across from her. From the moment I heard she was there, I just had to test that rumored strength of hers.

“Wanna have a drinking contest?” I grinned.

“No.”

“Aw, why not? Afraid you’ll lose?”

“No. I just don’t think it’s a good idea. I like strong liquor, yes, but I don’t like to gorge myself.”

“Sounds to me like you’re chickening out.”

“I just don’t want to be held liable if you get alcohol poisoning.”

Ray stepped in. “I concur. Between the both of you, I fear our whole reserve will run out. We need to save some for the customers.”

“Oh!” I perked up. “Speaking of customers, isn’t there someone who works here now?”

“You mean Demetria?”

“Yeah! Where’s she been? I haven’t seen her around since I got here and I was really looking forward to seeing her, too!”

“She went off to take care of one of the requests,” Ray explained.

“Oh! That’s cool! What are her special skills?”

“Well...she’s smart.”

“Mm-hmm,” I nodded. “That is a good trait.”

“But only when it comes to marine life. Otherwise she doesn’t know much,” Ray clarified.

“Is she strong? Good with any kind of weapons? Resourceful? Resilient? Is she charming?”

To each, both Ray and Remora shook their heads.

Everything around me slowed down. It was like a truck had hit me.

“So you’re telling me...she’s normal?” My jaw was about ready to drop. I got up and began to pace. “If it were either of you, I’d understand, but really?”

“You’re not going to ask what kind of request it was?”

“Sure. I’ll bite,” I huffed.

“It was to cleanse a haunted house.”

“Yeah,” I crossed my arms. “That doesn’t make it any better. Even if it may have turned out to be hokey, that’s still dangerous!”

“I told her as much, too.”

“Why, then? Why would she go and do something like that?”

Remora shrugged her shoulders, then spoke up. “I don’t know. She said something about wanting to prove herself.”

“Prove herself? What was there to prove?”

“I told her the same thing,” Ray seemed to be trying to reassure me, but it was cold comfort. I decided to walk upstairs. Ray followed behind.

“Where are you going?” He asked.

“Upstairs. Care to join me?” As if I would give him a choice. I’d drag him upstairs by the pinkie. I wanted that man all to myself. But not for anything so sultry. That wasn’t the right night.

In fact, when I got upstairs, I sat at the edge of the bed and shook my head. I knew I had been gone for almost a year, but it seemed like the entire dynamic had changed so fast. Of course, when I last left the diner, it was just Ray and I. We had tried to invite Remora to little success.

Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t that I didn’t like the dynamic change. I was actually excited for it, too, up until the moment I heard that one of the newcomers was nowhere to be found.

Ray sat beside me and lifted my chin.

“You’re worried about her, aren’t you?”

I nodded. But that wasn’t quite right.

“More than that. These requests, it was a thing for you and I, because we could handle such things. Remora, too, she’s exceptional. But the kid? Demetria? It feels like we’re putting people in needless danger.”

“I agree, but I figured it would be fine as long as those two stayed at the diner.”

“Elodie stayed at the diner, too,” I pointed out. “It’s not exactly the safest place to live.”

As soon as I had said that, I winced. Neither of us wanted to think of that, I was sure.

“The funny thing is, I tried to stop her. I forbade her from going and told her I wouldn’t be paying for her plane ticket. But, she managed to go out there. Pulled a fast one on me, too, by managing to trick Cybele into giving her a ride. Can’t say I blame her, though, seeing as she wants to impress her crush.”

“Wait. What?”

“Oh, right,” he leaned back and laughed, hand over his head. “When I said ‘she found something she loved about the restaurant’ I was being a little vague, wasn’t I? Our little scholar friend’s heart flutters for our frosty friend.”

I stood up. That changed everything. I couldn’t believe it.

“That’s all the more reason!” I ran back downstairs.

“How long has it been since she left?” I asked both Ray and Remora.

“A little over a week, I think,” Ray answered. “Now that you mention it, didn’t she say she’d be back within a week?”

Remora shrugged. “Yeah, she did. Oh well. Things happen.”

“That’s all you have to say? You, more than anyone, should be worried about her! What if something terrible happened to her?”

“She’s an adult and can make her own decisions. She knew the risks.”

“But what about love? Love is the most important thing in the world, and it can make you feel like you can punch a meteor! Without love, you would only see a shooting star as a shooting star! But it’s the power of love that makes it so much more! It makes you see a comet and wish that that comet was headed toward you –”

“Pretty sure that would kill you.”

“Ahem! Yes! Love is a thing that can kill you and that is why...you should be worried about her!”

She blinked. “I don’t get it.”

“That is also why she should not have gone out there!”

“Wait. You don’t think she died, did you?” She leaned forward. By the sound of things, it was a sign of genuine concern. At least I hoped so, anyway.

“I don’t know, but I should go and find out.”

Remora sighed. “I’ll go. May as well seeing as I didn’t do anything to stop her.”

“You’ve done quite enough,” I scolded.

“What? I’ve just been sitting here the whole time.”

I wouldn’t hear another word. I made my way to the front. Ray followed behind.

“Leaving so soon?” He asked.

“I’ll be back soon. I just need to check it out.”

He nodded. Even if he may have thought that I shouldn’t worry so much, I still had that pain in my gut, telling me to hurry.

At the airport, I found Cybele taking a nap in the break room with a fantasy novel on her lap.

“Cybele, honey,” I whispered, then tapped on her shoulder. She jolted up.

“Oh shit, sorry,” then she blinked. “Sunny?! Is that you?! I didn’t think I’d see you here. You usually go out and about on your own. Though I don’t know how you do it…”

“Never mind that right now. Do you remember a girl with wavy, green hair, kind of short?”

“Oh yeah. She said she had family in New Hampshire and then as soon as we got there, it turned out she tricked me.”

“Can you take me there?”

“What? You too? What’s so special about that place, anyway?”

“It’s about her. She’s in danger. Just trust me.”

I say that, but I’m not even sure if she is or not.

“Okay. If it’s for you, we’ll go.”

We flew off at once. As we drew closer, I noticed smoke from out the window. Upon landing, I got out and felt the ashen air and began coughing. I covered my mouth before looking back at Cybele.

“Can you wait for me in the plane? I’ll be right back.”

She squinted her eyes. “Yeah, but sheesh. You be safe too, okay?”

I followed the cloud of smoke to its source: a woodsy, forested area. At that point, it was too overpowering to get any further. There were efforts to put out the flames, fire departments on the scene, but it looked like it continued to rage on. I ran back and in a nearby town, took to a rooftop. Once I was high enough, I pulled out binoculars and checked out the woods once more. As soon as I was able to get a closer look at the source, I dropped the binoculars. All my fears had come true.

I have to get back to the others. This is horrible.

Along the way, I managed to talk to someone who lived in the area. The more details I heard, the worse it got. By the time I got back to the plane, I choked up. Cybele saw me as I entered, I tried to greet her like normal, but between my smoke-filled lungs and the revelation, little came out.

“Sunny?” She asked.

“She…” It was no use.

“Sunny? Tell me what happened.”

I sat down in one of the seats and shook my head. That time, I was able to answer properly. “The building she went to investigate is burned down. The surrounding woods caught fire. I asked one of the locals about it. They said it started burning last week. Someone in the fire department said a body was found, burnt to a crisp. I can’t…”

I wanted to get closer, to see for myself. To find some proof that she could still be okay, that she was still out there. But I couldn’t manage to. The flames were too strong and I had nothing to protect myself against them.

“My God,” Cybele gasped. “I’m sorry. I feel like it’s my fault all this happened. If I had stopped to think about her story, I wouldn’t have agreed to help her, and she’d still be around.”

“No. You did nothing wrong. Let’s go back.”

When I made it back to the diner the very next morning, I didn’t make any big greetings. I couldn’t bring myself to do that.

Tigershark was the first to greet me.

“You’re back!” Her energy was so vibrant, so pure. I hated that I was about to crush her spirits.

“I have some bad news,” I announced, rather than a greeting. I sounded so dull and lifeless. It almost seemed to mirror Remora’s regular tone.

“What?”

“Your friend, Demetria, she won’t be coming back.”

“Why not? Did she go back to her other home?”

Oh dear…

“No. She’s dead.”

Her face changed from that of excitement to anger.

“You can’t just say things like that!” She yelled, her hands up in the air.

“I’m sorry. It’s true.”

“You don’t know that!”

“I know it’s not what you wanted to hear, but –” She interrupted me.

“You don’t get it!” She ran off to the back.

I tried to follow her and as soon as I opened the door, Ray got up and wrapped one arm around my back and comforted me.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

“It’s Demetria. There was a fire. I don’t think she could have made it out.”

He went silent. The whole room did. Remora, in her usual spot, looked down at the desk and flipped through stacks of papers. That wouldn’t do. I went up to the desk and slammed my hands down.

“I know you heard me!” I shouted. My face was burning red, on the verge of tears. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

She looked up. “What about it? It’s unfortunate. I know you’re upset, but these things happen.”

“That’s it?”

“I get it. When someone dies, it’s normal to be upset. But that doesn’t mean I am. If either of you know anything about me, this shouldn’t come as a surprise.”

I released my hands and stood back up, taking a deep breath as I did so.

“You’re right. I’m not mad at you. Or anyone. I just wish things were different.” I paced around the room, and then came to a conclusion. “I think taking on all these requests got out of hand. It might be best if we stopped.”

“In that case, there’s no more reason for me to be here,” Remora pointed out.

Ray turned to me. “Under any other circumstance, I would urge you not to be so hasty. But I understand.”

It seemed like such a quick decision to make, but it was so hard to imagine it happening. My husband and I spent years doing that second job and earned most of our money that way. It was a source of joy for us. But I just couldn’t imagine it being fun anymore.

“I also think we should hold a memorial service for her. I’ll carve her name into a stone. It can serve as a grave.”

Tigershark ran out from one of the rooms. “You guys are being dumb!”

“Sweetie,” I tried to calm her. I wasn’t good at this.

“No! She promised! Just wait a few more days!”

“I don’t want to believe it, but –”

She ran off again. I felt like it was hopeless.

I went out and found a large stone on the ground. After a while of looking around, I found a smaller rock with a jagged edge that I could use to carve her name in. I got to work, each letter at a time. I didn’t know when she was born, so I left it at her name. Just as I finished up and stood back up, I looked behind me to see the others. Even Tigershark was there, although begrudgingly. She still looked like she didn’t want to face me.

“I discussed it with the others, and we agree that a memorial is the least we can do,” Ray explained.

Remora didn’t say anything. Neither agreed, nor disagreed. I didn’t know whether she felt obligated to show up, or just wanted to. Whichever it was, I was glad she was there. From what little I had heard of Demetria, I thought that she would have wanted Remora to be there.

“I guess I should start,” I began. “Though it’s hard to know what to say. I never really knew her. I think that’s the point…” I coughed, then began: “Demetria, I wish I got to meet you. I have no doubt we would have gotten along.”

I took a few steps back and let Ray walk up to the stone. He wasn’t smiling, rather, he pushed his glasses up and looked down.

“You were a delight to have around. Although you weren’t the best at everything you did, I really appreciated how you gave everything your all.”

He walked away after that.

“Tigershark, do you have anything to say?”

She didn’t look at me. Or any of us. But she ran up to the stone and kicked it. The stone didn’t budge.

“You promised! You said you would come back!”

Ray picked her up and set her aside. She continued to yell, “it’s not fair!”

I turned to Remora, who looked straight ahead. Not down, not up. It was as if none of us were there. “Do you want to say anything?” I asked her. She shrugged her shoulders and took a couple steps forward.

“I feel like I should mourn her, but I’ve never been able to feel anything when someone died. It’s never meant anything to me.”

“Any words you could say about her?” I pressed.

She shook her head. “She was...interesting.”

After a moment of silence, we all looked at each other. It felt like we were all on the same page; unable to figure out what to do going forward. We were about ready to go back, or go our separate ways, when we heard someone’s voice call out.

“Fuck y’all!”

We turned around and saw someone approach, badly bruised and limping. One step at a time, she drew closer.

“I don’t believe it…” I stood, wide-eyed.

Tigershark ran up to her and gave her a big hug.

“You came back!”

“Ow, ow, ow. What gives?” She groaned, looking like she was about to fall over. “I said I would, wouldn’t I?”

“I know! But nobody else listened!” Tigershark whined.

Again, I couldn’t believe what I saw. It didn’t add up. Still, I couldn’t deny that she was there. I walked forward. She didn’t know me, and I never got to meet her, but even still.

“There was a fire, I thought for sure…”

“Yeah,” she looked up, scowled, and pointed at herself. “Because I set the fire!”

Even if what she said was true, if I wasn’t just seeing some kind of illusion, there were still so many unanswered questions. But for the moment, I allowed myself to believe she was there.

It looked too real to be anything but, anyway. She looked like even if she was alive, she was on the verge of collapsing, and in really bad shape.

“You’re alive,” I murmured.

Everyone else looked just as confused as I was. Remora, however, walked up to her.

“Good job,” she said, then walked away. Demetria stood wide-eyed, then looked at the rest of us.

“That’s right. I’m really back, aren’t I?” She smiled as she said that, even if her smile looked weak.

Maybe the kid was right and I should have waited longer. As if I really should have believed that promise. But even though it had come true, I still couldn’t help but think: Promises don’t mean much in the face of reality.

For once, though, I was glad to be proven wrong.

#remoras full #stories #drama #adventure #writing #death #demetria #remora #arctic #sunny

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tcm · 5 years

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Interview with Mark A. Vieira, author of Forbidden Hollywood: The Pre-Code Era (1930-1934)

Mark A. Vieira is an acclaimed film historian, writer and photographer. His most recent book, Forbidden Hollywood: The Pre-Code Era (1930-1934): When Sin Ruled the Movies is now available from TCM and Running Press.

Raquel Stecher: Twenty years ago you wrote Sin in Soft Focus: Pre-Code Hollywood for Harry N. Abrams. Why did you decide to revisit the pre-Code era with your new TCM-Running Press book Forbidden Hollywood?

Mark A. Vieira: That’s a good question, Raquel. There were three reasons. First, Sin in Soft Focus had gone out of print, and copies were fetching high prices on eBay and AbeBooks. Second, the book was being used in classes at the USC School of Cinematic Arts. Third, Jeff Mantor of Larry Edmunds Cinema Book Shop told me that his customers were asking if I could do a follow-up to the 1999 book, which had gotten a good New York Times review and gone into a second printing. So I wrote a book proposal, citing all the discoveries I’d made since the first book. This is what happens when you write a book; information keeps coming for years after you publish it, and you want to share that new information. Sin in Soft Focus: Pre-Code Hollywood told the story of the Code from an industry standpoint. Forbidden Hollywood has that, but it also has the audience’s point of view. After all, a grassroots movement forced Hollywood to reconstitute the Code.

Raquel Stecher: Forbidden Hollywood includes reproduced images from the pre-Code era and early film history. How did you curate these images and what were your criteria for including a particular photograph?

Mark A. Vieira: The text suggests what image should be placed on a page or on succeeding pages. Readers wonder what Jason Joy looked like or what was so scandalous about CALL HER SAVAGE (’32), so I have to show them. But I can’t put just any picture on the page, especially to illustrate a well-known film. My readers own film books and look at Hollywood photos on the Internet. I have to find a photo that they haven’t seen. It has to be in mint condition because Running Press’s reproduction quality is so good. The image has to be arresting, a photo that is worthy in its own right, powerfully composed and beautifully lit—not just a “representative” photo from a pre-Code film. It also has to work with the other photos on that page or on the next page, in terms of composition, tone and theme. That’s what people liked about Sin in Soft Focus. It had sections that were like rooms in a museum or gallery, where each grouping worked on several levels. In Forbidden Hollywood, I’m going for a different effect. The photo choices and groupings give a feeling of movement, a dynamic affect. In this one, the pictures jump off the page.

Raquel Stecher: Why did you decide on a coffee table art book style format?

Mark A. Vieira: Movies are made of images. Sexy images dominated pre-Code. To tell the story properly, you have to show those images. Movie stills in the pre-Code era were shot with 8x10 view cameras. The quality of those big negatives is ideal for a fine-art volume. And film fans know the artistry of the Hollywood photographers of that era: Fred Archer, Milton Brown, William Walling, Bert Longworth, Clarence Bull, Ernest Bachrach and George Hurrell. They’re all represented—and credited—in Forbidden Hollywood.

Raquel Stecher: What was the research process like for Forbidden Hollywood?

Mark A. Vieira: I started at the University of Southern California, where I studied film 40 years ago. I sat down with Ned Comstock, the Senior Library Assistant, and mapped out a plan. USC has scripts from MGM, Universal and the Fox Film Corporation. The Academy Library has files from the Production Code Administration. I viewed DVDs and 16mm prints from my collection. I reviewed books on the Code by Thomas Doherty and other scholars. I jumped into the trade magazines of the period using the Media History Digital Library online. I created a file folder for each film of the era. It’s like detective work. It’s tedious—until it gets exciting.

Raquel Stecher: How does pre-Code differ from other film genres?

Mark A. Vieira: Well, pre-Code is not a genre like Westerns or musicals. It’s a rediscovered element of film history. It was named in retrospect, like film noir, but unlike film noir, pre-Code has lines of demarcation—March 1930 through June 1934—the four-year period before the Production Code was strengthened and enforced. When Mae West made I’M NO ANGEL (’33), she had no idea she was making a pre-Code movie. The pre-Code tag came later, when scholars realized that these films shared a time, a place and an attitude. There was a Code from 1930 on, but the studios negotiated with it, bypassed it or just plain ignored it, making movies that were irreverent and sexy. Modern viewers say, “I’ve never seen that in an old Hollywood movie!” This spree came to an end in 1934, when a Catholic-led boycott forced Hollywood to reconstitute the Code. It was administered for 20 years by Joseph Breen, so pre-Code is really pre-Breen.

Raquel Stecher: What are a few pre-Code films that you believe defined the era?

Mark A. Vieira: That question has popped up repeatedly since I wrote Sin in Soft Focus, so I decided which films had led to the reconstituted Code, and I gave them their own chapters. To qualify for that status, a film had to meet these standards: (1) They were adapted from proscribed books or plays; (2) They were widely seen; (3) They were attacked in the press; (4) They were heavily cut by the state or local boards; (5) They were banned in states, territories or entire countries; and (6) They were condemned in the Catholic Press and by the Legion of Decency. To name the most controversial: THE COCK-EYED WORLD (’29) (off-color dialogue); THE DIVORCEE (’30) (the first film to challenge the Code); FRANKENSTEIN (’31) (horror); SCARFACE (’32) (gang violence); RED-HEADED WOMAN (’32) (an unrepentant homewrecker); and CALL HER SAVAGE (’32) (the pre-Code film that manages to violate every prohibition of the Code). My big discovery was THE SIGN OF THE CROSS (’32). This Cecil B. DeMille epic showed the excesses of ancient Rome in such lurid detail that it offended Catholic filmgoers, thus setting off the so-called “Catholic Crusade.”

Raquel Stecher: It’s fascinating to read correspondence, interviews and reviews that react to the perceived immorality of these movies. How does including these conversations give your readers context about the pre-Code era?

Mark A. Vieira: Like some film noir scholars, I could tell you how I feel about the film, what it means, the significance of its themes. So what? Those are opinions. My readers deserve facts. Those can only come from documents of the period: letters, memos, contracts, news articles. These are the voices of the era, the voices of history. A 100-year-old person might misremember what happened. A document doesn’t misremember. It tells the tale. My task is to present a balanced selection of these documents so as not to stack the deck in favor of one side or the other.

Raquel Stecher: In your book you discuss the attempts made to censor movies from state and federal government regulation to the creation of the MPPDA to the involvement of key figures like Joseph Breen and Will H. Hays. What is the biggest misconception about the Production Code?

Mark A. Vieira: There are a number of misconceptions. I label them and counter them: (1) “Silent films are not “pre-Code films.” (2) Not every pre-Code film was a low-budget shocker but made with integrity and artistry; most were big-budget star vehicles. (3) The pre-Code censorship agency was the SRC (Studio Relations Committee), part of the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors Association (MPPDA)—not the MPPA, which did not exist until the 1960s! (4) The Code did not mandate separate beds for married couples. (5) Joseph Breen was not a lifelong anti-Semite, second only to Hitler. He ended his long career with the respect and affection of his Jewish colleagues.

Raquel Stecher: How did the silent movie era and the Great Depression have an impact on the pre-Code era?

Mark A. Vieira: The silent era allowed the studios the freedom to show nudity and to write sexy intertitles, but the local censors cut those elements from release prints, costing the studios a lot of money, which in part led to the 1930 Code. The Great Depression emptied the theaters (or closed them), so producers used sexy films to lure filmgoers back to the theaters.

Raquel Stecher: TCM viewers love pre-Codes. What do you think it is about movies from several decades ago that still speak to contemporary audiences?

Mark A. Vieira: You’re right. Because we can see these films so readily, we forget that eight decades have passed since they premiered. We don’t listen to music of such a distant time, so how can we enjoy the art of a period in which community standards were so different from what they are now? After all, this was the tail end of the Victorian era, and the term “sex” was not used in polite society. How did it get into films like MIDNIGHT MARY (’33) and SEARCH FOR BEAUTY (’34)? There were protests against such films, and there were also millions of people enjoying them. What they enjoyed is what TCM viewers enjoy—frankness, honesty, risqué humor, beautiful bodies and adult-themed stories.

Raquel Stecher: What do you hope readers take away from your book?

Mark A. Vieira: One thing struck me as I wove the letters of just plain citizens into the tapestry of this story. Americans of the 1930s wrote articulate, heartfelt letters. One can only assume that these people were well educated and that they did a lot of reading—and letter writing. I want my readers to read the entire text of Forbidden Hollywood. I worked to make it accurate, suspenseful and funny. There are episodes in it that are hilarious. These people were witty! So I hope you’ll enjoy the pictures, but more so that you’ll dive into the story and let it carry you along. Here’s a quote about SO THIS IS AFRICA (‘33) from a theater owner: “I played it to adults only (over 15 years old). Kids who have been 12 for the last 10 years aged rapidly on their way to our box office.”

#pre-Code #TCM #Forbidden Hollywood #pre-code films #interview #jean harlow #mae west #ginger rogers #Depression era #1930s #Raquel Stecher

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