#. · ✦ ❪ … ❫ whatever we call beautiful we quiver before it › aesthetic.

[autumneverleigh]

i feel sorry for everyone who knows me because the secret history has turned me into an insufferable bitch

[korcariis]

𝕿ag archive . 

.  · ✦ ❪ … ❫ fate has already staked its claim on us  ›  arc / origins. 

.  · ✦ ❪ … ❫ neither a monster nor a martyr  ›  arc / witch hunt. 

.  · ✦ ❪ … ❫ these violent delights have violent ends  ›  arc / the last court.

.  · ✦ ❪ … ❫ none shall be untouched by the fires above  ›  arc /  inquisition.

.  · ✦ ❪ … ❫ found between the folds of history over and over again  ›  writing.

.  · ✦ ❪ … ❫ rumors of god run through your dark blood  ›  character study.

.  · ✦ ❪ … ❫ innocent. ruthless. bloodstained  ›  introspection.

.  · ✦ ❪ … ❫ at the heart of all beauty lies something inhuman  ›  reflection.

.  · ✦ ❪ … ❫ a lowly combination of the divine / the bestial  ›  wardrobe.

.  · ✦ ❪ … ❫ whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it  ›  aesthetic.

.  · ✦ ❪ … ❫ to out-monster the monster or to be quietly devoured?  ›   self-promo.

.  · ✦ ❪ … ❫ our wishes bend the statues of the gods  ›  promo.

.  · ✦ ❪ … ❫ one creature’s need and another’s response ›  answered.

.  · ✦ ❪ … ❫ let's pick the truth that we believe in like a bad religion  ›  prompts.

.  · ✦ ❪ … ❫ hunger: a feeling and an ache. want of want  ›  desires.

.  · ✦ ❪ … ❫ feeling the love for my witchy wife in this chili’s tonight  › ooc.

.  · ✦ ❪ … ❫ thinking about the immortality of the crab › queue.

.  · ✦ ❪ … ❫ what are you doing in my swamp??!!  ›  crack.

[utterlyconfusedacademia]

It angers me that people know The Secret History for its aesthetic but barely talk about the amazing writing. Most of the famous quotes are in Latin or related to it but people miss out on other quotes that are simply breathtaking. Never in my life have I felt as seen as when I started The Secret History for the first time and read “I liked the idea of living in a city — any city, especially a strange one — liked the thought of traffic and crowds, of working in a bookstore, waiting tables in a coffee shop, who knew what kind of solitary life I might slip into? Meals alone, walking the dogs in the evenings; and nobody knowing who I was.” Never. And yes, “Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it” is a nice quote, but this, it makes you feel seen. It is literature at its finest.

[unknown-darlings]

‘it is a very greek idea, and a very profound one. beauty is terror. whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it. and what could be more terrifying and beautiful, to souls like the greeks or our own, than to lose control completely?’

- donna tartt in the secret history

throughout the book there are darker/more uncertain undertones hidden beneath a mirage

an example of this being the blissful day they spend on the lake, all written as though in a haze, only to end when camilla steps on the hidden glass, cutting her foot i can’t help but see the parallels between this and the idea that everything they do is controlled by the hidden dangers, both physical and mental, surrounding them

there is also a great separation between the idealised aestheticism of the story and the reality which is presented

whereas often an aesthetic of greek statues, ivy, and red wine in ornate glasses is what comes to be associated with the novel, the reality is champagne in teapots and hypothermia in mandolin factories

and whilst this is an aesthetic in and of itself, the contrast of the two appearances the book portrays says much about its lesson

a key example of this is the simple act of bunny choosing to start carrying around a book of plato, as opposed to trashier novels and magazines, just before julian visits. this act indicates the movement from the reality to the ideal, and so indicating this point

one way to illustrate this is through looking at the difference between poisonous berries and poisonous flowers, or hands covered in soil versus hands covered in blood after an act of murder

the berries and blood here representing the idealised version of the book many, including myself, have of the book as they both clearly indicate danger as well as fitting into a clear aesthetic

however the soil and flowers represent the reality the book portrays, the greater uncertainty and willingness to assume innocence despite the clear indications to the contrary

and so, through idealisation and the formation of a harmonious and elegant image in our minds, the uncertainties so evident when taking a step back manage to escape immediate notice, thus creating the illusion of harmlessness which so fools richard himself along with us

[sarinatales]

The Secret History - Donna Tartt

“Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it."

Written in 1992, this book has all the Bennington College (Vermont) vibes, and of course is one of the most quotes books when we talk about the dark academia aesthetic, but it is also much more than this.

I believe is a great book because it reminds me of gothic terror, the one of the greek tragedy like Edipo where you can feel the visceral horror derived from ambiguity in identity and relationships.

The plot is more about the who than the why, we already know in the first chapter the main event, and that was so interesting and challenging.

We always have the protagonist, Richard, pov and he is a true liar. You can't trust any of the characters even though you will end up falling in love with each of them. All the important facts happen off-screen, we will never know what really happened and that is why the title The Secret History is perfect (more than the italian versione "God of Illusions"), but till the end I hoped to find the truth.

At some point everything becomes the exact opposite, revealing the ambiguity of human nature: the terror, by which we are all secretly attracted, becomes horror and then we try to escape. The obscurity of this story is what makes it so memorable, and is a story about beauty, love and terror, the perfect triad.

[victishq]

congratulations to the following applicants, who are now members of victishq ! please send in your account within 24 hours. we can't wait to write with you !

jasy as narcissa malfoy ( lucy boynton )

⧼  lucy boynton,  24,  she/her.  ⧽  — did  you  hear  whether  or  not  NARCISSA MALFOY  made  it  out  of  the  battle  at  diagon  alley ?  i  sure  hope  so.  they'd  be  an  incredible  asset  to  the  order  with  their  insightful and intelligent  nature,  even  with  their  perfectionistic and self-critical  side.  rumor  has  it  that  they're  already UNAFFILIATED  in  the  war.  they're  currently  employed  as  a  socialite and philanthropist,  but  i'd  be  surprised  if  any  of  us  are  able  to  stay  afloat  in  our  daily  lives  much  longer.  let  me  know  if  you  see  them,  will  you ?   [  jasy,  27,  she/her,  mst. ] AESTHETICS :   “Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it.” black coffee and old books. libraries full of books. old sheet music resting on a piano. classical music. rainy afternoons. lazy mornings tangled together in the sheets. breakfast in bed. pressing flowers. pink satin pointe shoes hanging from a barre. delicate, beautiful flowers that can kill you. the perfect little doll.

[headinthebox]

Beauty, terrible beauty!

[witchpyre]

𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐎𝐋𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈   /   𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙿𝙾𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚂 *  do  not  reblog

[girlrottn]

tag drop 001.

╰      ⚰︎.      ›      SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES.   ╱   interactions.

╰      ⚰︎.      ›      THESE VIOLENT DELIGHTS HAVE VIOLENT ENDS.   ╱   aesthetics.

╰      ⚰︎.      ›      IF SHE CANNOT BEND HEAVEN‚ SHE WILL RAISE HELL.   ╱   introspection.

╰      ⚰︎.      ›      BEAUTY IS TERROR. WHATEVER WE CALL BEAUTIFUL‚ WE QUIVER BEFORE IT.   ╱   self.

╰      ⚰︎.      ›      DREADFUL THINGS DONE BY GIRLS.   ╱   headcanons & meta.

╰      ⚰︎.      ›      GIVE ME BITTER GLORY.   ╱   memes.

╰      ⚰︎.      ›      GIVE ME BITTER GLORY   ╱   asks.

[madame-verte]

"Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it. And what could be more terrifying and beautiful, to souls like the Greeks or our own, than to lose control completely? To throw off the chains of being for an instant, to shatter the accident of our mortal selves?“                                      

— The Secret History, Donna Tart                            

[autumneverleigh]

"I prefer to think of it as a redistribution of matter" changed me forever

[firstslashed]

tag dump iii

[lefttigerobservation]

on another note i finished the secret history today (16th dec— this is actually been a draft for ages asdjfhd). screaming. it was very, very well-written. this'll be a long-form work in progress but i wanted to share my favourite parts of the book. feel free to gloss over this <3

(pg 38— absolutely made me laugh)

He pointed to me as if he were the host of a panel discussion on a talk show. "And you, what's-your-name, Robert? What sort of pens did they teach you to use in California?"

"Ball points," I said.

Bunny nodded deeply. "An honest man, gentlemen. Simple tastes. Lays his cards on the table. I like that."

(pg 40— richard's first glimpse of julian's discussions, which are glorified monologues and Brilliant. i adore the sentiment because it's so relatable, in a weird way)

"(...) It is a terrible thing to learn as a child that one is a being separate from all the world, that no one and no thing hurts along with one's burned tongues and skinned knees, that one's aches and pains are all one's own. Even more terrible, as we grow older, to learn that no person, no matter how beloved, can truly understand us. Our own selves make us most unhappy, and that's why we're so anxious to lose them, don't you think?"

(pg 45— henry being a weird-ass man from the get-go; Richard being awestruck but overall meh)

"(...) Are we, in this room, really very different from the Greeks or the Romans? Obsessed with duty, piety, loyalty, sacrifice? All those things which are to modern tastes so chilling?"

I looked around the table at the six faces. To modern tastes they were somewhat chilling. I imagine any other teacher would've been on the phone to Psychological Counselling in about five minutes had heard what Henry said about arming the Greek glass and marching into Hampden town.

(pg 47— beauty is terror. WHAT A LINE)

"Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it."

also pg 47 is this:

"If we are strong enough in our souls we can rip away the veil and look that naked, terrible beauty right in the face: let God consume us, devour us, unstring our bones. Then spit us out reborn."

(pg 50— donna tartt's descriptive writing strikes again!)

"He was, if possible, even a bigger windbag than Dr Roland. Together, they were like one of those superhero alliances in the comic books, invincible, an unconquerable confederation of boredom and confusion."

(pg 59— bunny being, at first, a lovable idiot. i thoroughly despise him but he is written Impeccably)

"(...) why don't you buy yourself some Berlitz records and brush up on your French. Find a little can-can girl or something. Voolay-voo coushay avec moi and all that."

(pg 61— i don't want to go into it, obviously, but this is where i begin to thoroughly despise bunny for his really shitty homophobia and anti-semitism that made me, for a split second, wonder whether this was being canonically condoned. man, this must read like a satire at times! /hj)

(pg 64— charles and camilla slowly becoming more suspicious with bunny's "but I wouldn't want to marry him, would I?" line)

(pg 72— the ravens' mild foreshadowing, which i quickly googled albeit belatedly)

"Three of them for three of us. That's an augury, I bet."

"An omen."

"Of what?" I said.

"Don't know," said Charles. "Henry's the ornithomantist. The bird-diviner."

(pg 75— henry's 'aesthetic objection' to standardised tests lmao)

(pg 82— richard being genuinely depressed by reading the great gatsby because they seemed to be too similar)

(pg 96— the first impression of closeness between henry and richard)

"You're not very happy where you come from, are you?" he said.

I was startled at this Holmes-like deduction. He smiled at my evident discomfiture.

"Don't worry. You hide it very cleverly," he said, going back to his book. Then he looked up again. "The others really don't understand that sort of thing, you know."

He said that without malice, without empathy, without even much in the way of interest. I was not even sure what he meant, but for the first time, I had a glimmer of something I had not previously understood: why the others were all so fond of him. (...)

I doubt if Milton himself could have impressed me more.

(pg 98— henry's surprise about the moon landing)

Once, over dinner, Henry was quite startled to learn from me that men had walked on the moon. "No," he said, putting down his fork.

"It's true," chorused the rest, who had somehow managed to pick this up along the way.

"I don't believe it."

"I saw it," said Bunny. "It was on television."

"How did they get there? When did this happen?").

(pg 101— marion and bunny being completely predictably chaotic)

It would be Marion, her little mouth tight, looking like a small, angry doll.

"Is Bunny there?" she would say, stretching up on tiptoe and craning to look past me into the room.

"He's not here."

"Are you sure?"

"He's not here, Marion."

"Bunny!" she would call ominously.

No answer.

"Bunny!"

And then, to my acute embarrassment, Bunny would emerge sheepishly in the doorway. "Hello, sweetie."

(pg 107— richard's life at francis's country house)

Everything, somehow, fit together; some sly and benevolent Providence was revealing itself by degrees and I felt myself trembling on the brink of a fabulous discovery, as though any morning it was all going to come together - my future, my past, the whole of my life - and I was going to sit up in bed like a thunderbolt and say oh! oh! oh!

(pg 109— the description of "launching merrily down the path of sin again.")

(pg 119— richard's sudden desire to just live at the country house forever; his lack of plans)

(pg 137— richard, liminal. ghost imagery.... so prevalent omw.)

It seemed my whole life was composed of these disjointed fractions of time, hanging around in one public place and then another, as if I were waiting for trains that never came. And, like one of those ghosts who are said to linger around depots late at night, asking passers-by for the timetable of the Midnight Express that derailed twenty years before, I wandered from light to light until that dreaded hour when all the doors closed and, stepping from the world of and warmth people and conversation overheard, I felt the old familiar cold twist through my bones again and then it was all forgotten, the warmth, the lights; I had never been warm in my life, ever.

(pg 139— dr roland and richard's incredibly chaotic relationship, even if they barely speak)

I was at Dr Roland's office every morning like clockwork. He, an alleged psychologist, noticed not one of the Ten Warning Signs of Nervous Collapse or whatever it was he was educated to see, and qualified to teach.

(pg 141— richard's hallucinations and me being very very worried)

(pg 146, 149— literally just henry being kind to richard in hospital and at his home)

(pg 176— hello i am very mad at bunny's anti-semitism)

(pg 196— i am forever terrified by henry's description of the ritual, thank you donna tartt /hj)

(pg 204— i don't even know, i was so perturbed by this at this point. it begun to sit awfully with me but.)

"(...) Scarcely an hour before, we'd all been really, truly out of our minds. And it may be a superhuman effort to lose oneself so completely, but that's nothing compared to the effort of getting oneself back again."

(pg 227— bunny's habit of leaving crumbs in notebooks.)

(pg 229— i am deeply worried about the fact that richard would rather have died than ask his rich friends for money. crying)

(pg 235— the entire page, solely for how richard feels so close to the greek class because they see the world so beautifully)

(pg 262— the culminating realisation that bunny was a shitty person and continued to mock and nip at them)

(pg 263— this one line.)

Love doesn't conquer everything. And whoever thinks it does is a fool.

(pg 264— bunny's misogyny. more blue angry noises)

(pg 266— suspicious camilla and charles........)

(pg 326— richard after bunny's death, reflecting)

Not that everything 'went black', nothing of the sort; only that the event itself is cloudy because of some primitive, numbing effect that obscured it at the time; the same effect, I suppose, that enables panicked mothers to swim icy rivers, or rush into burning houses, for a child; the effect that occasionally allows a deeply bereaved person to make it through a funeral without a single tear. Some things are too terrible to grasp at once. Other things — naked, sputtering, indelible in their horror — are too terrible to really ever grasp at all. It is only later, in solitude, in memory, that the realisation have departed; when one looks around and finds oneself — quite to one's surprise — in an entirely different world.

(pg 329— henry's insistence that the snow is 'just going to kill all the flowers')

(pg 335— richard, high, being so touched by someone offering him More shit)

(pg 347— richard hungover and terribly shaken)

It was almost dark. There was a horrible, erratic humping in my chest, as if a large bird were trapped inside my ribcage and beating itself to death. Gasping, I lay back on my bed. (...)

(pg 347 & 348— absolutely laughing over how richard is just so confused about him crying)

(pg 349— everyone being embarrassed about the movies they fake saw)

(pg 355— charles being near tears and.)

"But how," said Charles, who was close to tears, "how could you possibly justify cold-blooded murder?"

Henry lit a cigarette. "I prefer to think of it," he had said, "as redistribution of matter."

(pg 367— this absolutely funny line about uta/ursula)

Besides being a house chairperson and a vigorous member of the student council, she was also the president of a leftist group off campus, and was always trying to mobilise the youth of Hampden in the face of crushing indifference.

(pg 380— henry being so bored by the 'nonsense' following bunny's death)

"(...) Honestly. Two hours. I don't know if I could've made myself go through with this if I'd known what nonsense we were letting ourselves in for."

(pg 389— francis and henry content)

"Someone would have to dig pretty deep to find that."

"Someone would only have to make two or three well-placed phone calls."

Just then the telephone rang.

"Oh, God," Francis wailed.

"Don't answer it," said Henry.

But Francis picked it up anyway, as I knew he would.

(pg 393— MORE francis and henry content)

He was running the water and I was on my way out when the phone rang.

It was Henry. "Oh," he said. "I'm sorry. I thought I dialed Francis."

"You did. Hold on a second." I put down the phone and called for him.

He came in in his trousers and undershirt, his face half-lathered, a razor in his hand. "Who is it?"

"Henry."

"Tell him I'm in the bath."

"He's in the bath," I said.

"He is not in the bath," said Henry. "He is standing in the room with you. I can hear him."

(pg 400— julian out here doing it for the aesthetics. the ball has not yet dropped)

The business had upset him, that I knew, but I also knew that there was something about the operatic sweep of the search which could not fail to appeal to him and that he was pleased, however obscurely, with the aesthetics of the thing.

Henry saw it, too. "Like something from Tolstoy, isn't it?" he remarked.

Julian looked over his shoulder, and I was startled to see that there was real delight on his face.

"Yes," he said. "Isn't it, though?"

(pg 414— richard's burnt coffee but henry......)

They hadn't been twenty feet from where I said, were even drinking the same muddy coffee from the same pot I'd made in the teachers' lounge. "That's odd," said Henry. "The first thing I thought of when I tasted that coffee was you."

"What do you mean?"

"It tasted strange. Burnt. Like your coffee."

(pg 419— bunny's kleptomania vice)

(pg 424— more suspicious charles and camilla)

(pg 437— the reporters genuinely being afraid of henry)

(pg 441— camilla crying and sciola and davenport being like: this is all your fault.)

(pg 445— the increasingly chaotic hysteria of the aftermath of bunny's death and everyone's weird ideas of faux mourning and real mourning)

(pg 446— richard comparing hampden's grieving to small children acting)

(pg 448— bunny being an impression to so many people, and having "touched people's lives" as he fulfilled a specific role and this is such a Striking scene to me because bunny sucked but richard was willing to be so distraught even amid all that irked him)

(pg 450— the description of tracy and richard's fondness for detached people after bunny's death)

(pg 458— mr corcoran's outbursts of grief and then Sudden recoveries left me Reeling but they rocked storytelling-wise)

(pg 473— henry and mr corcoran's plane story chaos)

He rambled on with this fraudulent recollection while Henry, pale and ill, endured his prods and backslaps as a well-trained dog will tolerate the pummeling of a rough child.

(pg 475— cloke and richard teaming up to steal henry meds)

(pg 481— just..... henry freaky but aesthetically so)

For a moment his face, pale and watchful as a ghost's, would be caught in the headlights and then, very gradually, it would slide back into the dark.

(pg 484— richard having been high in primary school: aka the equivalent of john mulaney's "now we don't have time to unpack all of that")

(pg 486— "one time uncle bunny called me a bastard" and the very high boys having to talk to mrs corcoran)

(pg 489— oh my WORD the fkn funeral scene where francis is waving at the wasp, camilla is taking off her shoe then charles KILLS it, so loudly)

(pg 495— Bun, I thought, oh, Bun, I'm sorry. *weeps*)

(pg 509— henry gardening)

(pg 514— the frantic hypochondria of francis slowly starting to suggest.... you guessed it! anxiety!!)

(pg 520— the broken mirror had me SHAKE)

(pg 541— the puzzle pieces clicking into place for charles and camilla. the internalised biphobia of charles and poor, poor francis. i wish he and richard could have ended up together but then i don't think any of them would have felt any good at all after)

(pg 558— the kosher strawberry drink that richard offers charles who, just minutes prior, was asleep in a SNAIL)

(pg 559— the fact that charles saw bunny fkn Sitting on the edge of the bed. right there.)

(pg 566— this line julian says after they talk about bunny's death)

"It does not do to be frightened of things about which you know nothing," he said. "You are like children. Afraid of the dark."

(pg 569— them all being worried that something Happened to camilla when she left with henry.....)

(pg 577— richard piecing things together and wondering; did henry make him do all of this? 'the alarm bell, richard')

(pg 582— the way tartt describes henry and camilla specifically as pluto and persephone,,,,, goodness me)

(pg 583— you know exactly the line. also richard's surprise at saying it so Obviously)

"Nothing," he said. "Except that my life, for the most part, has been very stale and colourless. Dead, I mean. The world has always been an empty place to me. I was incapable of enjoying even the simplest things. I felt dead in everything I did." He brushed the dirt from his hands. "But then it changed," he said. "The night I killed that man."

(pg 590— the fact that they suddenly realise the letter julian received WAS bunny's)

(pg 602— henry trying and failing to explain to a Subtly horrified julian. a wrecking scene)

(pg 603— "It is always hard for me to talk about Julian without romanticising him." what a book. what an author.)

(pg 605— this line about beauty and art and how convoluted, i just... here)

"There is nothing wrong with the love of Beauty. But Beauty— unless she is wed to something more meaningful— is always superficial. It is not that your Julian chooses solely to concentrate on certain, exalted things, it is that he chooses to ignore others equally as important."

(pg 611— CHARLES being the shocking intrusion to reveal julian really is gone)

(pg 614— henry's accusing julian of being cowardly, of only wanting to keep his name out of it, and that he loved him more than his own father. broke my heart in a super super weird way)

(pg 616— henry not liking charles' use of the word 'fuck' is such a.... feeling..... and continuing onto page 617 where richard has in-depth made it akin to his own parents and realised: no one is in control here. no one is flying this plane.)

(pg 622— charles' insistent worry of henry wanting to kill him)

(pg 623— charles' cat being a 'mummified, hissing bundle' made me laugh, grateful for it amid all of this weight)

(pg 633— richard realising no one is looking at him while he's shot Gets me)

(pg 635— camilla being kissed between the eyes. and henry. henry henry henry.)

(pg 641— richard being able to get out of his exams with his 'excellent excuse' and his 'ride to the underworld lit by shell and burger king')

(pg 645— sophie dearbold being 'frightened' by richard's early morning looks,,,,, i do wonder.)

(pg 649— priscilla. that's it.)

(pg 653— this line and also the notion they're all wondering if henry faked his death even though he couldn't possibly have)

"Well, you know what Julian would say," said Francis. "There are such things as ghosts. People everywhere have always known that. And we believe in them every bit as much as Homer did. Only now, we call them by different names. Memory. The unconscious."

"Do you mind if we change the subject?" Camilla said, quite suddenly. "Please?"

(pg 654 & pg 655— richard wanting to move and marry camilla. but her still being very in love with henry)

(pg 657— the 'closing montage' of the epilogue; the revelation that marion and brady decided to nickname their daughter bunny.... got me)

(pg 660— henry. henry henry henry)

"Are you happy here?" I said at last.

He considered this for a moment. "Not particularly," he said. "But you're not very happy where you are, either."

St Basil's, in Moscow. Chartres. Salisbury and Amiens. He glanced at his watch.

He turned from me and walked away. I watched his back receding down the long, gleaming hall.

final note: this book ruined me. if you have the stomach for some of the heavier themes in this book, i highly suggest giving it a read. yes, donna tartt is impeccable, yes, her writing has improved, but it is nonetheless spectacular. bye bye now :]

(edit: i'm glad to see so many people are relating to my unhinged concern and love for this novel alfhahskf)

(edit as of 14/01/22: FINALLY BOUGHT MY OWN COPY. now to maths to figure out which page is which.)

[anevolutionarynecessity]

Overanalysis Hours: Beauty Is Terror

“It's a very Greek idea, and a very profound one. Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it. 

And what could be more terrifying and beautiful, to souls like the Greeks or our own, than to lose control completely? To throw off the chains of being for an instant, to shatter the accident of our mortal selves? Euripides speaks of the Maenads: head thrown I back, throat to the stars, "more like deer than human being." To be absolutely free! 

One is quite capable, of course, of working out these destructive passions in more vulgar and less efficient ways. But how glorious to release them in a single burst! To sing, to scream, to dance barefoot in the woods in the dead of night, with no more awareness of mortality than an animal! These are powerful mysteries. The bellowing of bulls. Springs of honey bubbling from the ground. 

If we are strong enough in our souls we can rip away the veil and look that naked, terrible beauty right in the face; let God consume us, devour us, unstring our bones. Then spit us out reborn.”

Donna Tartt, The Secret History

Since Season 1, Villanelle has reveled in her own beauty.

She’s keenly aware of her own attractiveness, the magnetism of her personality, and makes no secret that she can get who (and what) she wants-pretty much whenever she wants. 

This outlook can initially be interpreted as deeply arrogant, perhaps off putting or even hollow. Especially given the fact that we are introduced to Villanelle early on; we don’t know much about her at this point except that she has a very high opinion of herself. As the Seasons unravel, however, we learn that there’s far more to Villanelle’s enchanting character than meets the eye.

Killing Eve brilliantly uses mirrors throughout the Seasons as a narrative device. The first time is in S1E1, when Villanelle seats herself in front of her vanity mirror and remarks that she is beautiful. 

Mirrors not only serve as reflections of Eve’s and Villanelle’s current selves, but also tie into another stream of thought in classical philosophy: that the Self is something that is continuously escaped from, remolded, hidden, revealed, rejected, or ultimately accepted. 

Various ancient Greek myths, from the most obvious one of Echo and Narcissus to Eurydice and Orpheus, explore how sense of Self has a crucial impact on the world outside the person as well. 

Season 3 of Killing Eve brings Eve and Villanelle to this point where the Oksana/Villanelle dichotomy is resolved with her choosing not to feed the Villanelle-self with more murder; whereas Eve wholly accepts her killing Eve-self and in turn embraces Oksana.

To get to this point, both Eve and Villanelle have confronted the idea that Beauty Is Terror.

When Villanelle observes her own beauty, she seems impressed by it. There isn’t a hint of any terror. Not until she meets Eve.

Their encounter is in front of a pair of mirrors, of course. Not only has this been confirmed as love at first sight, but it also serves to establish that Eve and Villanelle are literally each other’s mirrors.

So what’s so terrifying about Villanelle’s beauty and Eve’s beauty?

The ancient Greek conceptualization of the body was entwined with the idea of beauty. Simply put, beauty was not only highly aesthetically pleasing; it wasn’t just the epitome of male or female athletic form; it wasn’t only an object of desire or a vehicle for pleasure; the fundamental idea of beauty also had to encapsulate the soul.

“Defining beauty serves to demonstrate the huge range of Greek representation of the body, from the ideal to the grotesque, the chaste to the erotic, and the formulaic to the idiosyncratic. Ultimately, what this exhibition shows us is that Greeks, as rational and lofty as they sometimes appear, are also eerily familiar. If we give these works of art a second look we will see not only our desires reflected back, but also ourselves.” (x)

Along these lines, in classical thought the human torso was thought to be the house of the soul and the guts were where feelings like pity, sympathy, compassion lived.

Thanks to Killing Eve’s use of mirrors, the fact that Eve and Villanelle are soulmates is reflected in their bruised, stabbed, shot, and bloodied bodies. Eve and Villanelle attack each other’s souls and completely evoke, twist, arouse, and disturb profoundly human feelings of pity, sympathy, and compassion (eventually love, too).

Understanding the ancient Greek idea of beauty allows us to understand why it’s so terrifying for Eve and Villanelle to find each other beautiful: they have the capacity to hurt, recognize, expose, reshape, reject, and ultimately, accept each other.

After all, this is the central premise of Killing Eve as a cat-and-mouse pursuit between these two leading women. And we’ve been observing this thrilling chase all along, mostly through mirrors:

The fact that the Season 3 finale is bloodless between Eve and Villanelle serves to reinforce the idea that they’re no longer terrified of each other. They’ve reached the point where they only see the beauty, because they’ve already experienced the most terrifying aspects of themselves.

In true ancient Greek fashion, Eve and Villanelle have transcended from the ideal to the grotesque, the chaste to the erotic, and the formulaic to the idiosyncratic. They see not only their own desires reflected back, but also their true selves.

[obae-me]

It’s Cold Outside- Secret Santa Gift

Happy Holidays everyone! This is my gift for the Obey Me Secret Santa Event! My gift is for @panickedpansexualprincess​ I really hope you like it! 

                          ___________________________________

When it was time for the tide of seasons to change, you were a bit worried. This world and it’s mysteries were still new, and you had assumed that even the weather would contain some demonic danger. However, you found yourself pleased as you watched snowflakes drift down from the sky to coat the ground in a pleasing crisp white. As silly as it was, you’d thought maybe the frost would be black or some other dismal color. It was comforting, the familiarity of it all, and it eased some of your home-sickness. Although, you had discovered that the chill was much more intense than anything you had felt before. Anything within human standards, anyway. You’d tried sticking your hand out to catch a twirling snowflake the first time they’d begun to fall. As soon as it touched the bare skin of your palm, you shuddered, your whole arm nearly going numb. The demons you resided with quickly rushed to accommodate your fragile human body as soon as they realized you wouldn’t be able to handle the otherworldly winter. Thicker layers, little heaters, even magical charms and potions to shield you from frigid breezes. 

Of course, there had been some close calls. The time you’d forgotten to wear gloves and accidentally got stuck to a frozen door handle. The time Lucifer had been so exhausted he’d locked the front doors without remembering you had gone off to Purgatory Hall for a short visit, rushing outside as soon as he got your message with a look of fear that he’d find you frozen. It hadn’t all been bad, however. Everyone in the household was far too eager to hold your hands to make sure your fingers were warm. There would always be a hot beverage nearby when you needed one. On more than one occasion, you’d been graced with several of the demon’s coats and sweaters. 

Although, the memory you recall the most was when a quite an important piece of equipment met a swift and unfortunate end. 

You’d woken up from your deep sleep as loud voices clamored in the halls. You sat up, your exposed skin feeling the sudden stinging chill. Already you felt like shaking. Grabbing one of the blankets from your bed, you pulled it tight around your shoulders as you shuffled outside your room. 

“I-It’s freezing!” Asmo cried, rubbing his shoulders and mourning his beauty sleep. He always seemed to struggle with the winter. On one hand, he didn’t consider covering every inch of his body with fabric to be within ‘his aesthetic’. On the other hand, he absolutely despised being cold. Even right now, dragging his dramatically long dress robe behind him, he had half a mind to put on every article of clothing that he owned. 

“I bet Levi turned it down again, he likes it colder!” Mammon growled. 

Levi gasped at being accused, tucking his hands under his Ruri-Chan throw blanket he had wrapped around himself. “N-n-n-not this cold!” 

“I bet it’s Mammon’s fault,” Belphie whined, wearing several layers under a baggy hoodie. 

“Eh? Why?!” 

Belphie simply shrugged. 

Out in his own little world, Beel didn’t add to the bickering, instead, he closed his eyes and hummed to himself. “Mmm, soup or some hot stew would be perfect right now…” 

You made it over to them, already shaking as the hellish cold seeped through your bones. The arguing came to a quick halt when they noticed the state you were in. Asmo screeched in a pitch high enough to make your ears ring. “MC is going to freeze!” He rushed over pulling you into his arms. “Which one of you-you hellions did this?!” He never got an answer, but even Asmo himself never expected to get one. “There there, I’ll help keep you warm.” His skin was rather cold but the inner warmth from his body was slowly seeping into yours. He took your hands and placed them on his chest, rubbing the cold from your fingers. The skin of his nose and cheeks turned slightly pink. “It’s best that we get your blood pumping, huh?” 

But before you could start to truly heat up, he was quickly yanked backwards by the fabric of his robe, essentially dis-robing him till he was simply in his pjs. “What do you think you’re doing gettin’ all handsy with MC, huh?! If anyone is going to be keeping them warm, it’s me!” Mammon snapped at anyone attempting to approach, cuddling up to you, grabbing the sides of the blanket and pulling it around the two of you as he pressed his body against yours. He was much warmer compared to Asmo. You nestled into him, shivering less. Belphie bumped into the two of you, trying to wedge his way between your bodies. “Oi!” 

The disruption let cool air seep in past your blankets, your teeth beginning to chatter as Mammon and Belphie started to push each other and fight for who got to keep you warm. Asmo didn’t get physical, but he attempted to sneak back to you while the others were distracted. Of course, they noticed, tugging him into the fight. You didn’t care. The only thing on your mind was searching for relief. Beel was still simply standing there, daydreaming about all the different types of warm foods. “...Seventh Circle Chili...Decadent Devil’s Hot Chocolate…” He was the only one who would be able to warm you up without resorting to whatever jealous contest they always put themselves under whenever you were involved. You planted your face in his body, surprised with how hot he was despite the frost already climbing its way up the windows from the inside. He jolted out of his thoughts. “MC? Are you cold?” You nodded and he frowned, pulling you tightly as his larger frame covered yours as much as he was able. 

“It’s as I suspected,” A deep voice sighed as two other people approached the group. Lucifer strode up, his normal coat on top of his robe that he had underneath. His arms were folded, and overall he seemed relatively unaffected like his brothers, but you could see the very ends of his fingers tremble trying to keep themselves warm by digging into the fabric of his sleeve. “The heater has been frozen.” 

“I t-told you I thought the winter would be colder this year,” Satan hissed, his terse tone falling short between his shuddering breaths. 

“And what exactly did you want me to do about it?” Lucifer glared at him, trying his best not to twitch, to endure the cold by his sheer will. Normally, they would’ve kept their little back and forth going. Sometimes they went on for hours, and yet this time, the chill was even enough to snuff out the flames of contention before it really started. “At any rate...what’s done is done. It’ll be about a day before it’s fixed.” 

“A whole day?!” Asmo gritted his teeth. “Luciferrrr,” he squirmed, trying to give him puppy eyes. “Can’t you get someone out to fix it now?” 

Lucifer groaned and lowered his head. “I did, Asmo. They’re on their way now but with the rising snow and the state the heater was in, it’ll take a while before it’s--” He finally shook once, a brief and subtle quiver. “Before it’s warm again.” 

A jolt of worry struck through you. A full day? Could you manage to make it an entire day with it being this cold? You were nearly fully clothed, wrapped in a thick comforter, and holding onto Beel so tightly you were a little afraid you’d be stuck to him, and yet despite all this, you were still absolutely freezing. Beel could sense this, doing what he could as he began to rub your back and shoulders, hoping some friction would warm you up a bit. “Lucifer,” he called out, directing the eldest’s head in your direction. Through your peripherals, you watched Lucifer’s eyes go wide as he quickly remembered that humans could easily die from the cold. “What do we do about MC?” 

“Let’s start with something warm to eat.” He came over  putting his hand atop your head. With him touching you, you could feel him vibrating. “Actually, I think we could all use something hot, couldn’t we? Who wants to--” 

“Me!” A choir of voices rang out all at once. 

Lucifer scowled. “I wasn’t even finished yet.” 

“You were going to send one of us to the kitchen, right?” Asmo beamed. “To be right next to the fiery oven? I’ll go!” 

It dawned on a few demons that Asmo was right. The heater might’ve been broken, but ovens, stoves, fireplaces, they all were still functional. Nearly all of them bolted down the hallway, pushing and shoving each other out of the way as they tried to get there first. Only Lucifer, Beel, and you remained. Again, Lucifer sighed, and you wondered if he was also trying to heat himself up with heavy breaths. “Fighting over fire, is that what they’ve been resorted to? Neanderthals, the bunch of them.” Despite his exasperated words, even the demon of pride had a difficult time lingering in this shadowed path. He grabbed some of the blanket’s slack, tightening it around your shoulders to keep the warm bubble you’d created inside. “Beel, can you please go make sure your brothers don't burn the house down?” 

Beel hesitated, pulling you even closer to him, an incredible feat. You could feel him take up handfuls of the blanket as he gave you a protective squeeze. “But…” 

“I’ll bring MC up to my room. It’s the only bedroom with a fireplace.” With that fact, Beel nodded, pulling warily apart from you. The air you’d been protected from rushed towards your body with a bite strong enough that you felt it in your soul. You gasped so loudly you couldn't breathe afterwards. Quickly you were tucked against another body, albeit one far from as warm as Beel’s. “Out of all the years of previous centuries for this to happen, it chose the year you stayed with us,” Lucifer whispered, growing immensely more worried when you could feel how cold you had become. “Let’s go, it’ll be faster if I carried you.” 

It was still a new experience for you, being so easily lifted off the ground. But he raised you up, making sure to wrap the tail end of the blanket around your feet as he tilted your head so it could rest against the crook of his neck. You held yourself together, trying to not shake as much as you could, although the strain almost forced you to tremble harder. Thankfully, with his speed, he was at his room in no time. 

Soon, you were settled on an armchair in front of the fireplace, the warmth from the devilish flames engulfing you in it’s sinful indulgence. The skin across your body burnt, adjusting to the new temperature as the painful numbness started to slip away. Lucifer squatted down, meeting you at eye-level. As his chilled hand tried to caress your face, you felt it send uncomfortable jolts down your spine. All it took was a single flinch for Lucifer to look at his own hand and think, for once, ‘it’s not good enough.’ He took his own coat off of his shoulders and placed it around you, scooting the chair just a bit closer to the fire. And then, in a strike of brilliance, he pulled you out of your spot for just a moment, sliding into where you had been, and then gently tugged to seat you into his lap. With a little breath, the light surrounding the room appeared to get darker. An ebony feather rubbed against your cheek, and then you realized what had happened. Lucifer’s wings tucked around the back of you, pressing you closer to him. One of his hands entangled the hair at the back of your head, guiding your face against his neck once more. 

Rubbing your back, he pressed his cheek against the side of your head. “Any warmer?” The gentle intimacy and deepness of his vocals brought the smallest twinge of heat to your cheeks. You took a shuddering sigh before nodding, burying your body closer to his. You slowly unfolded the blanket around you, taking the ends and tucking it around Lucifer’s sides. As you did so, you felt the base of his wings. One of your fingers accidently rubbed against it. The touch sent sparks down Lucifer’s nerves, his wings involuntarily twitching. It wasn’t long till you could feel the heat of his body grow. You tried to let your fingers recede, but his hand touched your elbow, his thumb rubbing over the curved bone. You took this as a message that...it was okay. Reaching forward, you let your hand slide over the small of his back between the bases, then slowly you brushed your palm over the feathers. Lucifer shook, trembling a bit, and then he sighed contently, slouching forward, his chin resting on your shoulder. His steady heartbeat could be felt against your own chest. 

The two of you stayed like that for a while, the heat from your entwined bodies comforting you both. At one point, you’d nearly dozed off, lulled to a light sleep with the rhythmic circles being massaged into your body and the reassuring scent of his faded cologne. But of course, it didn’t last forever. Lucifer’s bedroom door flew wide open, a clamor of demons stumbling through the doorway. The mixed smell of sweet and savory wafted through the air, and you sleepily raised your head to peer over Lucifer’s shoulder. The eldest let out a little groan only audible enough for you to hear as his siblings disrupted the peace. 

“See, I knew something was up!” Mammon shouted. He hurriedly came over, careful not to spill a bowl of something steamy in his hands. 

“Great detective work,” Satan scoffed. 

Levi dragged in a rolling server tray, the clinking of silverware bringing you further to attention. Beel, ignoring the food, padded over to you, his brows furled in deep worry. He touched your face, grinning at the warmth flooding back to your skin. He turned his attention down to the table in the middle of Lucifer’s room. “How about we bring this closer to the fire?” 

Begrudgingly, Lucifer straightened, letting you stand to your feet as the first-born pushed the chair aside. Beel helped drag the table over till the dancing flames reflected off the glass-top. One by one, the brothers helped set this little impromptu meal of theirs. Mugs were filled with hot chocolate with little bobbing marshmallows, and bowls containing steamy soup broth were settled down. You sat down at the floor, cupping your fingers around your mug to let your hands warm up. The brothers fought for a little, but eventually Levi and Mammon got to sit at your sides, moving so close to you your arms easily touched the two of them. It only took a few spoonfuls of food to warm you from the inside out. 

“Feeling better?” Satan asked from across the table.  

You nodded, eagerly continuing while for the next hour or so, the brothers went back and forth talking about cold nights like these. Nights where the harsh sounds outside were muffled against the snow. Nights where the simplest things tended to be the coziest. Nights where hanging out with each other wasn’t so terrible. 

The heater might’ve been out, but you hardly remembered being so warm, especially with Lucifer’s heartwarming stare, Mammon holding you in his arms from behind, Levi wrapping your hands against his own, Asmo’s feet tapping against yours, Satan’s occasional palm against your cheek, Beel’s loving smile, and Belphie crawling under the table to rest his head in your lap. You tilted your head back against Mammon’s shoulder, sighing, giving Levi’s hand a squeeze, and then letting the fuzziness of your mind take you. 

[thefangirlphenomenon]

A Secret History (one paragraph summary at the end if you don't want to read the whole thing)

“Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it. And what could be more terrifying and beautiful, to souls like Greeks or our own, than to lose control completely? To throw off the chains of being for an instant, to shatter the accident of our mortal selves?”

- Donna Tartt, A Secret History page 44

I bought a dog-eared copy of this book at a second-hand bookshop and was immediately hooked when I turned the page and read the line “a morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs.” I think all of us can identify with this idea, we long for everything to look as if it comes straight from one of those aesthetic collages we see on Pinterest. We try to make our study materials look like they’ve come straight out of a studygram, we try to make our homes look like the ones we see in catalogues (that never look as if anyone lives in them at all) and even now I’m trying to make my writing sound real, relatable, and as poetic as possible.

Richard Papen, the main character is about as average as people come (except for his love of Greek). I love that about him. He’s not a sixteen-year-old protégé hell-bent on saving the world. He’s a normal college kid who drinks, does drugs and is squeamish about dissecting frogs and the myriad of other things that they do in pre-med biology classes (I don’t know what they do there, I’m studying journalism and haven’t set foot in a biology classroom since I was 18). He’s not a perfect student and he has trouble making friends and is ultimately very easy to relate to.

He is however pretentious and disingenuous about who he really is and his upbringing and again I loved that – because honestly who isn’t a little bit pretentious sometimes? Who wouldn’t love to be able to reinvent themselves completely in a place where nobody knows the old you? The main characters come across as likeable (except for Bunny) and I enjoyed reading about their escapades. Some of the book did however feel quite repetitive to me (but I do understand that the intention of that is to make them seem more like normal university kids. Either that or my English teacher has just succeeded in making sure I over analyse every text I ever read).

This book falls into the dark academia category and is very similar to M.L Rio’s novel If We were Villains (although I do prefer M.L Rio’s novel). If you’re looking for a young adult book that has very little romance in it and lots of suspense, I would highly recommend this book. I loved the writing style (although I didn’t like the way Donna Tartt wrote The Little Friend) but felt like the book was a little bit too long and that there were parts that could’ve been left out.

Overall, the book was a great read and while it took me a while to get through because of the boring parts I’d still give it an 7/10.

Summary of my review: This book has pretentious artsy fartsy characters, murder, mystery, suspense, and great poetic quotes in it. It has some boring parts that could’ve been left out.

7/10