Thinking about Ianthe's arm:
"He says it’s hideous and he’ll gild it for me—” (“Tacky,” you said.)"
Gold isn't something you can manipulate with necromantic ability. But here's Augustine casually offering to gild the bones of an entire skeleton arm, which sounds like it would be quite laborious manually.
But of course, what is the Mithraeum filled with?
Things like this:
"a skeletal arm wrapped in gold foil, amethysts studded like so many eyes between the knucklebones"
and this:
"gilded and bejewelled skeletons of Third and Seventh heroes dressed in gold and green robes of necromantic office, with amethysts and topazes and emeralds for eyes"
You have to assume that the Lyctors in general, or Augustine in particular, have been DIYing the bejeweled House hero relics for the last myriad, so adding some gold to an arm that's attached to someone isn't all that much of a stretch.
This is also riffing on an actual thing in Catholicism, so if you're trying to imagine the Mithraeum, I promise you that you are not visualising something as weird and tacky as reality...
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Accepting help: Tulin and the Champions
For all the problems I have with totk, one thing I love about it is the development of the sages, particularly Tulin.
His arc is about learning how to accept help from others, which is so interesting when compared to Revali, who was very isolated and had to be self reliant. Revali seemingly had no family or anyone else in his life to fall back on, and as a result he had to become the best possible version of himself as a warrior to make up for that. In BotW we see Revali go to EXTREME lengths to be the best warrior he can be.
A comparison could even be made between Revali and the rest of the Champions. What they all have in common is that they all died alone in their divine beasts. No one came to rescue them. Zelda and Link had each other, and that’s ultimately how they both managed to survive the calamity. The champions had only themselves to rely on in their final moments, and in the end it wasn’t enough.
But back to Tulin, his arc (and to a lesser extent the other Sages arcs are about this as well) is about accepting help from others. Tulin has his parents, Link and the other Sages to fall back on. Tulin wanted to prove that he was strong enough on his own, but eventually realised that his strength came from those around him. Tulin receives the Great Eagle Bow when he shows that he can be strong AND accept help when he needs it.
Even the new Sage’s powers are all designed in a way that reinforces this. The Champion’s abilities were all gifts that they honed to use by themselves, they used their powers to fight alongside their allies, but still their powers were never really meant to be used though a second party. In a way, their gifts are weakened when they are given to Link. For example Mipha’s Grace can only be used on Link in BotW, but when she was alive she could heal anyone.
By contrast, the Sage’s abilities are supposed to be used with the aid of another, they are amplified by Link. Tulin’s gust is more or less useless to Tulin himself, but with another person it had a lot of utility. Yunobo requires someone to aim him to get the most out of his charge. Riju is still learning how to control her lightning and needs someone else to direct it. While Sidon could probably use the water shield on himself, Sidon wants to protect others, so his power manifests as a physical shield to protect his friend.
This idea of the champions being isolated and not being able to receive much help from others makes a lot of sense. They were the last line of defence for Hyrule, they were the Plan B incase Zelda did not awaken her powers. When they became Champions, all of them were well respected warriors amongst their people, a lot of responsibility fell on them to be the protectors of not only their people, but all of Hyrule. For them to show weakness would mean Hyrule losing faith in their beloved champions.
The new Sages have a support system that the Champions did not have, they are allowed to have faults and not be perfect, because they have other people to support them and I think that’s beautiful.
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My best friend and I had a call recently---she’s back with her family for a bit helping out with some hometown stuff. As part of the stuff, she’s been going through a (deceased) relative’s scrapbook, compiled in the American Midwest circa 1870-1900 and featuring mostly cut-out figures from the ads of the day.
She talked about how painstaking this relative’s work was. (Apparently the relative was careful to cut out every finger, every cowlick; this was by no means carelessly or hastily assembled.) But she also she talked about how---the baby on the baking soda ad is ugly, it is so ugly, why anyone would clip this heinously ugly illustrated baby and paste it into a scrapbook? Why would you save the (terribly told, boring) ghost story that came with your box of soap?
(Why include these things in the first place? we asked each other. ”There’s a kind of anti-capitalism to it,” she mused.)
And we discussed that for a bit---how most of the images, stories, artists, and ads were local, not national; they’re pulled from [Midwestern state] companies’ advertisements in [Midwestern state] papers, magazines, and products. As a consequence, you’re not looking at Leyendecker or Norman Rockwell illustrations, but Johann Spatz-Smith from down the road, who took a drawing class at college.
(College is the state college, and he came home on weekends and in the summer to help with the farm or earn some money at the plant.)
But it also inspired a really interesting conversation about how---we have access to so much more art, better and more professional art, than any time in history. As my bff said, all you have to do to find a great, technically proficient and lovely representational image of a baby, is to google the right keywords. But for a girl living in rural [Midwestern state] of the late 1800s, it was the baking soda ad, or literal actual babies. There was no in-between, no heading out to the nearby art museum to study oil paintings of mother and child, no studying photographs and film---such new technologies hadn’t diffused to local newspapers and circulars yet, and were far beyond the average person’s means. But cheap, semi-amateur artists? Those were definitely around, scattered between towns and nearby smallish cities.
It was a good conversation, and made me think about a couple things---the weird entitlement that “professional” and expensive art instills in viewers, how it artificially depresses the appetite for messy unprofessional art, including your own; the way that this makes your tastes narrower, less interesting, less open.
By that I mean---maybe the baby isn’t ugly! Maybe you’ve just seen too many photorealistic babies. Maybe you haven’t really stopped to contemplate that your drawing of a baby (however crude, ugly, or limited) is the best drawing of a baby you can make, and the act of drawing that lumpen, ugly baby is more sacred and profoundly human than even looking at a Mary Cassatt painting.
And even if that isn’t the case....there was this girl in [American Midwestern state] for whom it was very, very important that she capture every finger, curl, and bit of shading for that ugly soap ad baby. And some one hundred years later, her great-something-or-other took pains to preserve her work---because how terribly human it is, to seek out all the art we can find that resonates with us, preserve it, adore it.
It might be the most human impulse we have.
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