#also i am haunted by Naples

[princeloww]

Sorry, two minutes, back on Casanova (2005) --

The scene where Casanova, in Paris, watches an execution with other noble people is such a powerful scene to me. The building disgust and disturbance on his face as he watches what happens, and as he watches the delight of the people around him. The scene really expertly portrays that disturbance. I feel disturbed watching it, and I can't even see any of the execution. The subtle tension, turned not-so-subtle not-so-slowly, is so poignant and impactful. The disturbed look on Casanova's face as he sees his own son's delight.

The slow motion of him sending Giac Junior away, shielding him from the sight. And then we are shown the grins and joy of the people around him once more. He is isolated in this feeling. He is the only one disturbed, and that fact is disturbing enough on its own.

It almost feels like the natural predecessor to the Naples scene. The disgust on Casanova's face as he watches his son and his daughter feel each other up, egged on by everyone around them. He is the only one who is disturbed. Even Bellino, someone he once knew so intimately, has been so altered by this high society that she isn't phased.

This is the baby step to that. Giacomo Junior was born into this life, while his father wasn't. Giacomo Junior is disconnected from his father -- he is part of a different society. He hasn't faked his way there. He's just following along, and growing up around these people. He is the product of both neglect and a fucked-up, corrupted society that takes pleasure over morals.

He is what people view his father as. He is what his father will always be remembered as. A playboy, with no moral compass, and a greed for pleasure. Casanova, in Naples, is disgusted by the sight of what he has become, in the eyes of history.

Casanova doesn't really belong among these people. He has faked his way in. He is deeply disturbed. They are not.

I will take no questions or criticism to this take as i have never had a constructive thought in my life (/j)

[sepublic]

TOH’s Goncharov Reference?

All right, so you know that rabbit hole I mentioned earlier about Katya TOH and Katya Goncharov having similarities, to the point that the former may very well be a reference to the latter from Goncharov? Screw it, let me put forth what I’ve noticed;

Firstly, there’s the obvious shared name; But there’s also Katya TOH’s choice of palisman, a rhinoceros beetle, which resembles a bejeweled one that Katya Goncharov has in her jewelry collection. It’s an admittedly obscure blink-and-you’ll-miss-it set piece, but also kind of a specific coincidence, since Katya Goncharov doesn’t have anything else fashioned after the likeness of an animal, much less one as uncommon in jewelry as a rhinoceros beetle (which I, personally, feel is underlooked in regards to symbolism).

During the iconic market stall scene, Katya and Sofia discuss the apple and pomegranate, with the former seen as representative to Katya, and vice-versa. The two swap fruits between their hands, which we all agree is them offering both their soul and enticing seduction to the other; So not only are the two represented by produce, but the scene ends with the apple and pomegranate placed in the same basket... Could this have inspired Katya TOH’s hobby of writing food falling in love with each other? And how she was arrested for this, which could mirror Katya Goncharov’s sapphic love being criminalized?

(If so, then Katya TOH helping Luz make it to her girlfriend Amity, held captive by Abomatons and Covenscouts, is almost tragic; Like the original Katya Goncharov couldn’t make it to Sofia past the rival gang, but she can ensure that another pair of star-crossed WLW get the happiness they yearn for.)

Then we have Katya from both stories being a criminal working underground, with Katya TOH even escaping the authorities and finding refuge at a beach, similar to how Katya Goncharov enters the beach through a pipe in the lead up to the climactic boat scene; Both entering the sewers to do so via manhole! Plus, a lot of Katya (Goncharov)’s character is about cyclical tragedy; The more things change, the more they frustratingly stay the same.

We learn from Goncharov himself that Katya escaped to Naples partially to avoid the ramifications of her past life coming back to haunt her; Especially her brief time in prison, which reminds me a lot of Katya TOH being introduced to us in the Conformatorium. Massimo’s threat of having her past life exposed also plays a role in Katya’s mission to assassinate Andrey, with Katya having to once more flee to another city at the end of the film (just as she fled to Naples at the start); Reminiscent of how Katya TOH laments “Not again!” when she’s returned to the Conformatorium. Both characters have experience with prison and dread returning to it, although only Katya TOH has to revisit that.

Not to mention, this innocuous little bit between Derwin and Katya, which seems to mirror the scene in which Katya carries an injured Sofia away from the shootout;

(Does this make Katya/Derwin canon? Am I gonna have to analyze similarities between Derwin and Sofia...?)

Keep in mind, we didn’t learn Katya’s name until S2, which does make me wonder if she was always intended to be a reference to the character from Goncharov, or if it just sorta happened as the crew wrote Eda’s Requiem and they realized the stuff that had already been set in place in the first episode; But some of that stuff, particularly the food fanfiction, does seem a bit too perfect of a match to have not been planned from the start. 

Especially since Katya is conspicuously absent from any background shots, unlike her fellow prisoners Tinella Nosa and the Plant Witch who eats his Eyeballs; And they couldn’t have written Katya’s role in S2 in response to fan popularity, since S1 was written prior to audience reception. Which makes it seem as if they singled Katya out to be absent totally independent of the fandom’s treatment of her, ergo she was always meant to be a rebel; Ergo, Fanfic Witch was always meant to be a Goncharov reference. 

We’ve already had Flora D’esplora, who’s a blatant Dora the Explorer reference and despite being a joke character, fulfills multiple purposes to the story in her debut. A brief, recurring side-character being a reference a Scorsese film might not be THAT out of the question, but I can see how it’s a stretch... At the very least, it makes me motivated to HC a lot of Katya TOH’s backstory as having parallels to Katya Goncharov; And both characters having a gun from the start would certainly make their stories a lot shorter. I hope this doesn’t foreshadow anything grim for Katya in S3. Also, I now want to see fanart of Katya TOH in Katya Goncharov’s attire... And vice-versa???

[terradisirene]

Recently I saw an essay about how Hima’s portrayal of the Italy brothers was racist and xenophobic, in addition to being poor and one dimensional, and I couldn’t agree less.

Link to google docs version

Also although I prefer Romano I honestly think North Italy  is a interesting and well developed character  although that is easy to miss for some. Both of them are developed and shown wonderfully in canon and I continue to be eager to see more. In this essay I will show why I believe their portrayals are well done and how they are accurate to the situation in Italy as well as to it’s history and culture (That being said if you prefer a different interpretation that’s fine, there can be many different narratives)

North Italy does seem at first glance to be more talented, kind, and politically inclined. However this is not the entire story. Likewise Romano seems more rude and undesirable, but this is not everything in canon regarding him. In one strip Romano is noted to have a good deal of potential by Prussia and Germany, showing that he can be hard working and talented if he makes the effort. In the strip where Romano goes to America he also is quite confident in his cooking talents which America is actually impressed by. In another strip America even calls his cooking the best, and Romano himself is in later decades proud of his cooking, showing that yes he is good at things, and yes he is talented.

The problem is is that Romano does not have to motivation often to use his talents and work ethic. There are many reasons for this that Himaruya both states and alludes to. Firstly Himaruya states that being owned by various powers had a negative effect on Romano and that mismanagement by his rulers lead him to seem lazy since their mismanaged ruling rubbed off on him. Basically political control, corruption , and mismanagement stymied south Italy’s growth, which is true depending on the era and time period and  true regarding modern day. Also in one strip after Romano makes an effort to work hard, but all his efforts come to nothing and he eventually grows resigned. I believe this is a reflection of the fact that there is an attitude among some south Italians of resignation towards politicians and things improving for themselves,  such as shown in the song La Citta di Pulcinella (translation). Himaruya also touches on this when he notes the harmful affect the Mafia has on south Italy in his notes and even laments that fact.

Basically Romano has the potential  to be just as good as north Italy but is unable to be because of historical circumstances and due to the harmful effect of corruption. Romano’s rudeness and lack of evident kindness and cynical worldview is also a result of this as he has been at the mercy of the mafia both in real life and in canon. Hima notes his cynicism is due to the harmful effects of the mafia and how they have hurt him . Romano in my opinion has reason to be rude, he has reason to be unkind, he has reason to be cynical, the mafia continues to be a serious  issue and was even worse in the past, and thus his world view has been affected by how he has suffered at their hands. He also has to deal with the fact that he feels he is compared to north Italy, and openly  feels and says he is not good enough or talented enough compared to him. This is based in reality. The north is often seen as better than the south and indeed it is more wealthy, does have better infrastructure, x does have more industry and renown and Romano is clearly sour because of this. Himaruya showing someone reacting negatively towards adverse circumstances i think is not a negative stereotype but just showing the harmful effects of the situation of the south. Romano is not totally unkind either. Despite their conflicts he does care about his brother, he  often  shows  a lot  concern  for  Spain  and worries about him, he is kind to women generally , and has some nations he is friendly with like Japan  Netherlands and Belgium . So in sum hima does not show Romano as unkind, but as a complex being who can be both kind and unkind like many people.

The south is seen as a land of little opportunity, dirty, unclean and full of crime by the north that is true, however sadly that perception has some  perception in reality. For example many southerners leave the south to find work up north and stay there. This even happens to one of the protagonists of Elena Ferrante’s Neapolitan novels and it is seen as escaping Naples to make a better life for herself while the other protagonist  stays stuck in Naples, stunted by the lack of opportunity and male oppression that she struggles against all her life. Naples also  sadly has a serious trash  problem as does Rome, there is even a facebook page titled “Rome is disgusting” in Italian showing the trash  problems of Rome. The mafia also   dumps  toxic  waste  around Naples, leading to high rates of sickness and cancer in the population compared to other parts of Italy due to the fact that the toxic waste seeps into the ground water and the plants grown around the area.

Romano feels interior to North Italy and seems so at first glance because that is a reflection of the sad situation of the divide between north and south. However again note I said ‘at first glance’, because while many write off the south at first glance there is a richness and beautify behind that with its rich culture and the beauty of it’s people, as there is with Romano, which I note with his hidden and subtle  kindness in canon .

Romano’s Arabic blood and darker appearance is due the fact that Arabs from north Africa invaded Sicily, ruled there for about two hundred years, and left a lasting cultural legacy behind there. It makes sense he has Arabic blood, as well as the fact that some, though not all, southern Italians do have a darker complexation (some also have red hair, blonde hair, hazel eyes, or blue eyes, due to Norman influence too). However that doesn’t mean they are poc (in Italy persone di colore is used instead) and even though Romano does have some Arabic blood frankly he would not be seen as non white in Italy. I don’t really think it’s right to bring up a poc argument in regards to him given that. In addition to that Italy also has a problem regarding xenophobia and  racism in regards to African immigrants and Romani and many suffer and are marginalized there, something Romano would not experience in that regard. Romano is also noted to have a “Darker” nature, but this is again because of the mafia. He is affected and blighted by them, it’s not a reference to his coloring but to his cynicism and how they have drained him and his people of the prosperity they could have had otherwise. He is also noted to be “dirtier” not in the sense of being messy or unclean but in how his image looks, and the expressions he makes, this is a reference to the south’s rougher and more intense nature. It’s often said that the more  south you go, the more intense and more of the nature of Italy you get and indeed the south of Italy is often said to be a love it or hate it place.

There is also additional canon reasons for Romano’s bitterness and darker personality like how he feels Rome favored north Italy  (There may be historical reasons for this but I am limiting this essay to what is stated openly or alluded to more obviously in canon) and how he seems to feel haunted by his legacy. And as for other nations favoring North Italy over him, some do not like Spain and Belgium, and the the fact that some seem to is also sadly reflective of reality as many people only pay attention to or visit the north of Italy, neglecting or avoiding the south and only looking at the cities of Venice, Florence and Milan and not Palermo, Naples, or Caligari.

While the two brothers did not meet in Rome’s lifetime there is no indication this lasted until the Italian wars during the 1500′s portrayed in the canon strips . In fact during Spain’s rule of south Italy shortly after Romano is shown mentioning he is going to travel to visit his brother so they clearly had met by this point. Due to the nature of canon himaruya jumps across time periods often and so we do not always see everything that occurs within or before a certain time period. Sometimes he returns  later, and sometimes he does not, though he could in the future. As for North Italy’s reactions to his struggles people have different reactions to hard situations, and that is not wrong, not everyone will struggle in the same way. It’s not something that indicates a lack of character but just a personality facet. Not everything has to contribute to development and that doesn’t mean a uninteresting or uncomplex character. Some people are simply affected differently by traumatic events. That being said I find it interesting he seems to hold a deep fear of angering others as well as some fear of abandonment .

We will turn to North Italy again. Yes he is cute, but that is not all his character is. He is far more than that. He is kind , he is intelligent , he is noted to be good at business, he is also fashionable  and knows how to get what he   wants out of people, he also can  be a bit  vulgar sometimes. He also was good at warfare when he was a child, and if one looks into the time period of the strips it seems he lessens in his ability the longer he is under Austria’s domain. He is also good at art, he is good at cooking, and he is  even also not exactly the nicest person .

I have noticed that many people miss this but sometimes he is actually a little sneaky and mean . This is most evident with Romano actually. In one of their first appearances together when Romano asks Italy to complement him Italy outright refuses, backs away, and as a result makes Romano cry more than he had before and he flies off. In another comic Italy goes up to Romano, seems surprised he is working, and Romano is visibly hurt by this, he also seems to even doubt Romano’s ability to even do so, offering to do work for him which Romano is bothered by . Finally Italy has been shown to get outright angry at Romano at times, in one drawing he is yelling at Romano over the Venice independence referendum, saying Romano doesn’t want him around anyways . While North Italy does love his brother he clearly is not the nicest person to him at times which does little to motivate Romano to do much of anything, and sadly North Italy does not treat him as a equal really given how condescending he can sometimes be. He also is a little rude to Japan at times, like when they are in the bath, sort of hinting he thinks Japan has a small dick.  In addition to this he is pretty sneaky and sometimes even flirty in regards to Germany and is able to really get Germany to do whatever he wants, though this is more evident in World Stars  .

As for everyone liking him in the past he and Turkey were antagonistic, with Turkey stating he hated kids as a result of him (And Greece), and Austria was often angry and frustrated with   him. In modern times Belarus has shown aggression to him when he  tried to feel her chest and was visibly angry with good reason to be. The other girls didn’t allow him to do so either, but all had various reactions. From Monaco and Belgium not taking him seriously and gloating over their superior gambling and waffles respectively  to Wy giving him rather done look and telling him to buzz off, to Taiwan being upset and telling him off, Vietnam having none of it and glaring at him, to the most surprising of them all, Ukraine openly flirting with him and giving him a seductive gaze he is a little intimidated by . His relationships are clearly not predictable but are interesting and fun to see and clearly not everyone thinks he is cute or is willing to put up with him especially the girls ironically. Switzerland too shows little tolerance for Italy’s antics, but is willing to spend time him civilly as long as he behaves himself , Russia too has gotten impatient with him at times, and so has Japan. And as for France he’s a interesting case, since at times he can be brotherly towards Italy  but at the same time is also willing to tell him off, like when he actually hit him for asking for the Mona Lisa back. People like Italy, but not everyone does and even those who like him don’t like him all the time.

Frankly I think their characters make perfect sense. Romano’s anger and resentment is rooted in many things. In how people compare him and his brother, on his brother’s lackluster treatment of him, in the oppressions of the mafia, the years of being ruled over by other nations, and by poverty, neglect, and corrupt politics. North Italy for his part is frustrated by Romano and often doesn’t understand him and thinks his brother his weighing him down, though he fails to see how he is also contributing to his brother’s resignation and lack of self worth. He instead tries to work hard and do his best, while sucking up to others and making himself seem charming and pleasing to get what he wants and not make others angry at him. In fact he seems to have a deep and pressing fear of others being angry at him.

In sum I think canon does a good job with both of their characters. It shows them in a humorous nature in accordance with the genre of the strips while still leaving room for character complexity along with historical and cultural references and allusions, as well as reflecting both aspects of the historical and modern situation of north and south Italy depending on what time period the strip is set. Romano is shown to be rude, difficult, sometimes violent, and darker, however these are only traits that come as a result of the abandonment of Rome, the poverty and corruption of his land,  and the malign influence and harm of the mafia affecting him. In addition to this he is also sometimes kind, fun loving, emotional, sensitive,  a hard worker when he tries to be, is shown to be a talented cook, someone with a good deal of potential, and someone who has people who like him like Netherlands, Belgium, Spain, and Japan. On the other hand Italy is shown to yes, be kind and cute, but canon also shows him to be  flirty, sneaky, angry, resentful, intelligent, and even a little rude at times. Many people like him, but not all do, for example Belarus, or many do not like him all the time and show impatience with him like Wy, France, Romano, and Switzerland. The difficulties he has experienced have not affected him in the same way they have Romano but that’s to be expected, for the two did not go though the same things and it’s only normal for people to have different reactions to trauma, some handling it better than others. This does not denote a lack of character complexity or development but just a different kind of person and temperament. I think that this shows that both Italy and Romano are interesting and complex characters and that himaruya in my opinion has done his work and research in trying to develop them and do strips for them. He does not indulge in colorism or xenophobia but merely seeks to show the good and bad of both sides of Italy and the complex reality of the south today and in history which has it’s bad and good points.

As a side note in Valentino strip is unfinished and Germany and Italy never discuss their respective feelings or misunderstandings and Italy is less uncomfortable and more confused and worried that Germany is angry at him.

[lilypixels]

All of them 😄

ok wow you really went for it huh? ahdjkhsd I’ll answer all of them minus the three I just did I’ll put them under the read more thingy since this will be long :’D

zinc white; how are you really feeling today? no one-word answers please!

I woke up two hours ago and only took a shower thus far so I’m feeling good lol

cadmium yellow; when you think of the word “happy” what’s the first thing that comes to mind?

...idolish7 ajhjkfh i’m too obsessed with it h e l p

yellow ochre; name an artist/band whom you just discovered & can’t get enough of!

would it be bad if I said Idolish7/all the related groups (Trigger, Mezzo, Zool)?? cause technically a recentish discovery and I defiantly can’t get enough :’D my real answer is Reol

naples yellow; where do you feel most at home?

my room lol

raw sienna; with whom do you feel most at home?

my mom i guess??

golden ochre; describe the relationship you have with your closest friend.

one that some might not deem normal but works well for us lol (I mean, we’ve been friends for about 10 years now) we have a good understanding of each other and know we don’t have to talk/hang out all the time in order to know we still matter to each other, we both have our own lives and just knowing the other is there no matter what is enough. we’re the type to not talk for weeks and then send random memes and act like we’d been talking the whole time😂 it works really well for me too cause i’m not good at “socializing” on a constant basis and tend to just...not text people for ages on end, but I’ll still care for them and think about them just many see it as me cutting them out rip

golden deep; what’s your favorite season?

tbh the time between spring and summer but fall has been earning some points recently

cadmium orange; what do you like to do on your days off?

I often bake and game

orange lake; do you have anyone you can turn to when you’re sad?

I guess?? but i don’t like bothering people with my emotions often times so I just cuddle my cat haha

titans; do you prefer slow mornings or relaxing evenings?

hmm...the second i think

shakhnazaryan red; are you currently binge-watching anything?

i was binge-watching Tsukiuta but I’ve slowed down with s2 cause now I’m distracted with other things like genshin impact

red ochre; are you more right-brained (creative) or left-brained (analytical)?

i don’t even know/remember anymore, maybe left now???

burnt sienna; is there a painting that brings you peace when you look at it?

Van Gogh’s Starry Night cause I like stars and nightviews 

vermilion; what’s your favorite accent?

oooo interesting one, but I like all accents, I find them cute :3

cadmium red; do you have a “type” when it comes to a significant other?

I have a type with fictional characters and idol biases does that count? no?

scarlet; describe your current crush/es.

i have none 😗✌

ruby; what does your ideal first date look like?

bold of you to assume i would go on a date idk a movie so i don’t have to talk lol

carmine; what does your ideal second date look like?

bold of you to assume I would- ahfkj i really don’t know, go to the library and have tea???

madder lake red; would you ever kiss someone (or accept a kiss) on a first date?

that’s a big NO from me, someone be catching hands if they tried

rose; what’s something really positive going on in your life right now?

is it bad i thought of work? i have a fun time watching baby 😊

quinacridone rose; what’s something you’re really looking forward to?

baking/decorating Christmas cookies that I’m gonna share with family and friends!

violet rose; what does your dream house look like?

like a victorian house, gothic victorian is better, probably haunted, with an attic room hehe

violet; is there any place in particular you’d like to settle down?

anywhere but here lol

blue lake; what would you like to do/accomplish before you settle down?

finish schooling and get job :b

cobalt blue spectral; what is the most beautiful place you have ever been to?

uhhhhhh Clearwater Beach?

ultramarine; when was the last time you were in a good mood? do you know/remember what sparked it?

yesterday I guess cause i had good time shopping with my dad :3

blue; what’s the most recent dream you remember?

my dream last night rip part of it was genshin related cause I played like 3 hours before sleeping and the rest was my mind trying to figure out where the story of an otome I’m playing is gonna go i’m at end of this dudes route and he just erased mc’s memories of him so like enggg

bright blue; what does your dream family look like? any kids or pets? how many of each?

i wanna foster, adopt at least one kid and have one of my own, all the pets, maybe there’s some dude there idk kids and animals all i need aha

blue cobalt; do you like your name? would you give yourself a different name if you could?

i don’t like my name but at same time it’s kinda who i am and idk what else i would name myself i do have a Chinese name though (we picked them in class and what we went by) which is MingYi 明怡!

prussian azure; what’s your favorite scent?

coconut, vanilla, MINT

azure blue; what’s your favorite type of tea, if any?

peppermint tea, green tea, I did like Earl Grey but I can’t have black tea anymore :(

turquoise blue; if you could start a garden, what would you plant?

all the herbs and vegetables! also some of my favorite flowers like foxglove that hopefully don’t make my allergies worse

cerulean blue; if you were guaranteed to have a viewership, would you start a youtube vlog?

probably not

glauconite; describe your body without using any negative adjectives.

5′ 5″, tiny, long legs that hold all the muscles and weight in my body lol my torso is like a rectangle, i am very flat chested and do not mind that 

yellow green; picture yourself walking in a field. what do you see & hear in this scenario?

i can not picture cause i just imagine itchy grass and lots of sneezing😔

green light; are you in a comfortable place in life? if not, what do you think might make it better?

comfortable enough i guess, i try not to nitpick too much on what’s “lacking”

green; name three countries you want to visit; do you have any actual plans in place to visit any of them?

all the countries! I almost went to China for study abroad but then stuff happened TT

emerald green; do you speak any languages besides english? are there any additional languages you want to learn?

I can technically speak basic Chinese and French, but I’ve also already forgotten too much rip I really like learning languages and hope to get back into it soon!

oxide of chromium; what’s your favorite book?

legit any Rick Riordan book, my fav author

olive green; are you currently reading anything? how do you like it so far?

I’m in like the middle of Trials of Apollo book 2 and it is great

mars brown; what’s a movie that always puts a smile on your face/makes you laugh?

idk Megamind??

burnt umber; what’s something you plan to do before the day is over to take care of yourself?

technically already did it, was shower

umber; have you drank enough water today?

no

voronezhskaya black; what or who is your go-to outlet for when you need to vent?

rpg/fighting games where I can smash monsters to pieces

sepia; name five things that always make you happy.

music, babies, Alice, baking, others being happy~

indigo; what’s the best/sweetest compliment you have ever received?

idk i shy away from compliments most of time :’)

payne’s gray; describe your aesthetic?

“welcome to your doom uwu” ajshdjk idk it’s always changing

black; post a selfie because you are so beautiful!

no thanks💖 maybe later but its gonna be gone fast

[bubblywrites]

Running From A Name Chapter 12

“Okay, okay, I’m coming! Don’t beat my door down!” Alma yelled. She rushed to the front of her apartment. She swung the door open, prepared to scold the person who beat against her door like a madman. Upon seeing the visitor, Alma lost the urge to unleash her anger. Sophia stood in front of her with two bulky bags in her hands. The bags had red, blue, and yellow fabric poking out from them. Alma assumed the bulges at the bottom of the bag were heel tips. When she took the bags from Sophia’s hands, her arms went limp. “What the hell is in here? The whole clothing store?”

Giddiness spread across Sophia’s face. “That is only a few of the things I wanted you to try on today. But because we’re pressed for time, I decided against it.”

A bead of sweat rolled down Alma’s temple. After working at the department store for two years, the company made Sophia a manager. Because of her managerial status, Sophia received huge discounts on all the items in the store. However, this meant Alma had to succumb to being Sophia’s personal dress up doll.

Alma side-stepped, giving Sophia room to come inside the apartment. Sophia searched the living room. “Where are your siblings?”

Alma shut the door with her foot. “I sent them to Marco’s. It was better to send them there since I’m going to be at the party tonight.”

“Good choice.” Sophia said.

She headed to Alma’s bedroom. Alma entered the room after her. She set the bags on the floor with a huff. “I wanted to choose something already in my closet for the party. I asked you to come over for a second opinion. Not bring a bunch of clothes with you.”

Sophia scoffed. “I love your sense of style Al, but none of the clothes in your closet were going to work.”

Alma put a hand to her chest. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“They’re too comfortable. Now don’t get me wrong. You have a good mix of hoodies, cute dresses, leggings, and fancy clothes. But none of it is appropriate for a college party.”

“What do you consider appropriate for a college party?” Alma asked, making air quotes.

Sophia dug through her bags and pulled out a blue dress. She tossed it to Alma and commanded her to put on the dress.

Alma changed into the dress. She stepped in front of the mirror. Her mouth gaped. The dress hugged her body in a tight embrace. It had a deep cut down the middle, revealing her cleavage. The hem of the dress stopped at Alma’s upper thighs. Alma feared people would get a peek of her ass if she bent at the wrong angle.

“You look so sexy. The boys at this party are going to be all over you.” Sophia gushed.

Alma tugged at the dress. “I can’t wear this. It leaves nothing to the imagination. I might as well walk into the party naked.”

“If you don’t like that one, I have plenty more for you to try on.” Sophia said as she yanked more dresses from the bags.

Alma tried on most of the dresses Sophia brought. Each one was just as raunchy as the blue one.

“Sophie, did you not bring anything normal?” Alma asked, peeved.

“I wanted you to wear something out of your comfort zone. Plus, you have such a great body. You need to show it off.”

“Not as great as yours.” Alma mumbled to herself. Sophia oozed with confidence no matter what she wore. She had every right to. Everything looked good on Sophia. Even more so since she cut her hair to shoulder length. Her bouncy red curls framed her face, highlighting her most attractive facial features. In heels, she towered over most men. But they still flocked to her like she was a majestic goddess ready to answer their prayers.

“What about this one?” Sophia held up a long sleeved black dress. The sleeves and upper chest were see-through. “This one is a little more tame than the others.”

Alma grabbed the dress from Sophia’s hands. She pulled it over her head and down her body. The dress was tight-fitting but looser than the ones she had already tried on. The bottom of the dress reached the middle of her thighs. Alma stroked her sides. She posed multiple times, checking herself out in the mirror. “This is the one.” Alma said.

Sophia clapped her hands together. “It doesn’t show too much skin. It’s classy while still being sexy. That dress is perfect for you.”

“Thanks.” Alma responded. I wonder what Bruno would think of this dress? Would he say it was cute or sexy? I’d really want him to say sexy. Alma’s thoughts caused to blood rush to her cheeks.

“What’s got you blushing?” Sophia asked smugly.

Alma turned to hide her face and muttered, “Nothing. Just thinking about something.”

Alma couldn’t see it, but she felt the sly smirk on Sophia’s face.

Sophia breathed out an exaggerated sigh. “Although he wishes it were him, I know my dear younger brother is not the boy who occupies your thoughts.”

Alma occasionally played along with Sophia and Manzo in teasing Giuseppe about his little crush on her (By playing along, Alma just sat next to Giuseppe attempting to look cuter). However, as they grew older, Giuseppe’s feelings for her became stronger. Alma stopped joining in on the teasing and set clear boundaries with Giuseppe. She wanted to respect his feelings towards her. Even though she didn’t feel the same. Time alone with Giuseppe could get awkward, but they were still good friends regardless. Giuseppe would find a nice girl who would return his love as he studied in Milan. Well, that’s what Alma hoped for him.

“So let me guess. The guy you're interested in is Signore Buccellati isn’t it?” Sophia asked.

Alma’s expression gloomed. “Yeah, it is.”

Sophia blinked a few times. “I did not expect you to admit that so quickly. Usually, you would have argued with me about it.”

“You were going to force it out of me anyway. I figured there was no point in denying it. I am curious how you found out it was Bruno.”

Sophia leaned back on her elbows. “I see the way you two look at each other when I go to the restaurant.  Plus, you're the only one who calls him by his first name. And the only one he allows to call him by his first name. With that said, you don’t look too happy about your feelings for him.”

Alma sat next to Sophia. The bed groaned under her weight. “I don’t talk about my relationship with him for reasons. But, I feel like I should tell you this for context. When we were younger, Bruno and I promised to confide in each other. He’s been my closest friend ever since. You, Giuseppe, Manzo, and Angelo are all close to me. But with Bruno, it’s a little different. He understands me in a way nobody else can. Even with our promise, sometimes I feel like I’m not what he needs.”

Sophia placed her hand over Alma’s. “What makes you say that?”

Alma wanted to erase what she heard this morning-the conversation between Bruno and Miguel. She didn’t catch everything they said because she faded in and out of sleep. However, Miguel’s words she heard clearly. “If you started dating my sister, I don’t know if I would like you anymore.” His words struck something in Alma. A nagging realization she had been running from. She can’t get any closer to Bruno. The blood on his hands, his growing position in the mafia, and his teammates did not faze her. She would have avoided Bruno years ago if that were the case. She can’t get closer to Bruno because she can’t give all of herself to him. Guilt, pain, regret, and self-hatred were emotions that were tied together with memories from her past. Memories that Alma kept a tight lid on deep inside herself. No matter how close she got to someone, she could never allow those emotions and truths to be released onto them. Not Marco, her siblings, or Angelo. Not Sophia or Giuseppe. And not Bruno, the person she wanted to spend the most time with. The person she wanted to hold close. The person she swore to trust in.

Alma closed her eyes. In the darkness, the serpent that haunted her dreams stared at her with it’s demonic eyes. Her muscles tensed as it slithered around her body. Its words reverberated in her ears. “You’re a liar.”

So be it. For the safety of those around her, she would be a liar. This nightmare was hers and hers alone to bare.

“Alma, you okay?” Sophia asked. She squeezed Alma’s hand.

Alma opened her eyes. “I’m fine.”

“You never answered my question. Why do you feel like you're not what Signore Buccellati needs?”

Alma gave Sophia a fake smile as she told her a half-truth. “Because I can’t give him my undivided attention. I have a job, school, and my siblings to worry about. He needs someone who can be there for him more often than I can.”

“And he’s also dangerous. You know him better than I do so I can’t judge. If anyone can make a romantic relationship between the two of you work though, it would be you.”

Alma wished she could believe in Sophia’s words, but her lid needed to stay on.

Sophia got off the bed and stretched her arms. “I have to do your makeup.”

Alma patted her cheeks. “Transform me Sophie.”

“You look good. Ready to go?” Angelo asked enthusiastically.

Alma slammed the car door closed. “Yeah. But my appearance is all Sophie’s work.” Alma glanced over Angelo’s body. He wore a simple, blue button down shirt with a pair of black jeans and white sneakers. “You're dressed really casually. Didn’t feel like getting fancy tonight?”

“Absolutely not. I only dress fancy for dates and important events.”

Angelo drove to the university in thirty minutes. Alma could only see parts of the campus from where she and Angelo were. The campus was not anything special. The school consisted of white Renaissance buildings with black window frames. There was no greenery except for a few trees and bushes. If a foreigner came to Italy, they would think the school was part of the city. However, to Alma, the school was a castle. She was a princess ready to be drilled by her instructors to take on the art world.

The party was in one of the houses near the University of Naples’ campus. Upbeat music poured out of the house. At the entrance, people were holding red plastic cups. Some struggled to walk while others were hunched over vomiting. Before Alma stepped inside, a wave of heat hit her.

“Are all college parties this hot?” Alma asked, fanning herself.

“You’ll forget the heat is there by the time you start enjoying yourself. But to answer your question, yes.” Angelo responded.

Alma and Angelo moved through the crowd of people. Now that she was inside the house, the music boomed in her ears at a deafening volume. A group of boys waved at Angelo. He nodded at them then turned to Alma. “I’m gonna go hang out with my friends. You’re welcomed to come with me.”

The idea of hanging out with those boys was off putting. Angelo’s college friends weren’t like Giuseppe or Manzo. They gave off an uncomfortable vibe. Alma shook her head and said, “You can go along. I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Angelo gave her one last look before leaving to mingle with his friends and other students.

Alma had been at the party for well over fifteen minutes, but all she had done was tuck herself into a corner. She felt like a child amongst all these college students. The boys bodies were more built than the ones she knew in high school. The girls were only in their late teens and early twenties but looked like they had full on careers. Their revealing clothing made Alma appear as though she never finished developing. She blushed at the sight of couples sticking their tongues down each other’s throats as they fumbled up the stairs. The smell of alcohol made her nose tingle.

Someone tapped Alma’s shoulder. She whipped her head to them and met Angelo’s golden eyes.

“You look like a lost puppy. Come here.” Angelo grabbed her wrist, pulling Alma into the kitchen. He shoved one of the red plastic cups on the snack table into her hand.

Alma stared at the red liquid in the cup. “What’s in here?”

“A bunch of hard liquor. But its mixed with a bunch of juice and soda, so you can’t taste it.”

Alma drank alcohol before. Her and Angelo snuck into Marco’s personal stash multiple times during their nighttime adventures.

“That means this stuff is dangerous.” Alma said.

“You wouldn’t be lying. This stuff can get you drunk really quickly. But I suggest you drink some of it to loosen up a little. The people here aren’t much older than you are. So stop looking like they're gonna eat you or something. You’re not even that shy of a person.”

Alma sighed. “You’re right. I’ll go have some fun.” Alma drowned the entire cup. The liquid tasted like Angelo’s description-an amalgamation of different juice and soda brands. However, the burning sensation as the liquid went down Alma’s throat, reminded her that there was alcohol in the concoction. Alma rolled her shoulders as the liquor freed her from earlier anxiety.

Alma grabbed Angelo’s arm and dragged him into the living room. A fast paced song started playing. Alma moved her body to the beat of the music. Her dancing wasn’t the greatest, but it was good enough to get a couple of onlookers. Angelo danced better than she did. Each move Alma did, Angelo followed up with a cooler one. The other people at the party joined Angelo and Alma in their dancing. Her ears rang from the cheers and her own laughter.

During the dancing, a strange object caught Alma’s eye. In the corner of the room, a boy popped a fairy blue piece of candy in his mouth. Alma stopped moving. Everything around her stopped moving. Her stomach clenched. What is that doing here? How did it get here? Who’s...no.

Alma shuffled her way through the crowd. She reached the kitchen and drank another cup of the alcohol and juice mix. She drank another and another. She needed the alcohol to make her forget what she saw. She did not want to remember the horrors of that fairy blue thing.

The alcohol attacked her system. The intoxication mellowed her thoughts. A hand creeped onto her back. A husky male voice whispered in her ear, “Hey, you were the girl dancing just now? I think you’re really cute. Wanna go upstairs?”

The hand travelled to her waist. The man's touch made Alma’s body seize. He yanked Alma against his chest. Alma pushed against him in an attempt to free herself from his grasp. The man’s grip tightened in response. “Why are you struggling so much? I’ll be gentle. I promise.” His hands roamed her back. The path of his fingers were like burning venom under skin. The serpent’s eyes flashed in her mind. When she gazed up at the man, Dino’s face was there. Vile phantom touches from her memories became a reality. The room felt as though it was closing in on her. Alma’s breathing became ragged. She was on the verge of hyperventilating. She wanted to scream and hide. With one hard shove, she escaped the man’s hold on her.

Alma dashed out of the house. She ran. The university, the streets, and people were a blur, but she didn’t care. She continued to run. The fairy blue candy, Dino’s face, and the serpent were too much.

Alma’s heel broke, making her trip. Her face hit the pavement of the sidewalk, but she didn’t feel it. The alcohol created cracks in the lid storing all of Alma’s most hurtful emotions, memories, and truths. The pain from them overpowered any bruise or scratch from smacking the sidewalk head on. People walked past Alma probably assuming she was some drunk. Good. She didn’t deserve nor want their sympathy. She deserved to have the serpent crush the life out of her. Even so, she yearned for someone to comfort her. She wanted her father and mother. She wanted the warmth of their presence to remind her she was going to be okay. But they were gone. And so was their warmth. The only warmth she wanted now was Bruno’s.

But Bruno didn’t need to see her this way. Broken and drunk. However, Alma’s actions contradicted her thoughts. She reached for her phone and dialed Bruno’s number.

“Hey Alma. What’s up?”

Her words came out in choked sobs. “I need help. Please Bruno. Please help me.”

“Alma where are you?” He asked frantically.

Alma glanced at the street signs and told him the address. He came to her in a hurry. Bruno pressed an arm against Alma’s back and hooked his other one under her legs. He hoisted her up and placed her in his car. Alma’s mind fogged for the entire car ride. Bruno drove to her apartment. He carried her inside and sat Alma up on the couch, but her head fell in his lap. He stroked her hair. His voice was soft and full of care. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Alma’s body curled into a fetal position. She started shaking. “I was at the party. I was having fun. Everything was fine. But too much happened. The fairy blue, the guy forcing himself on me. I just needed someone.”

Bruno’s legs tensed under her cheek. “Some guy tried to force himself on you? Where is he?” Bruno seethed with rage.

Alma didn’t need Bruno angry. She wanted to see his smile. She needed  to feel his arms around her. Bruno didn’t need to know what lied in the darkest parts of her mind. His obliviousness to her true self was enough. Because if he knew her true self, she would never be able to have him in her life. Alma rose from Bruno’s lap. Her watery eyes bore into his compassionate blue ones. Alma leaned forward and pressed her lips against the corner of Bruno’s mouth. Bruno couldn’t have all of her. She couldn’t give him (Y/n). But she could give him the parts of herself she was proud of. She could give him Alma.

[worldcakecakecake]

The Red Mask

In 18th century Valencia, Spain, thrives the legend of the Red Mask, a character with stories of bravery and heroism that have enchanted Lovino Valenti since he was a young child. On a new business deal, his family moves from Naples and Lovino finds himself wishing for adventure and action away from his duties in this new Spanish city. He is given that chance when he joins a group of masked heroes that fall under the command of the famed Red Mask. He grows a close and fiery relationship with the masked man of his tales and dreams, and without knowing his identity, he lets himself be swayed by his seduction, trust and daringness, to passions surely forbidden when he doesn’t even know his actual name or who he really is.

So, yes, I know I said that The Red Mask will be in hiatus, but after thinking about it, I decided that instead I’m just going to post whatever amount is good for a chapter instead of filling a full draft page. Either way you guys were gonna be kept waiting, but I think this is the option that makes you guys wait less. I hope you enjoy!

                                                              Chapter 2

Lovino had awakened early, unusual for him, but in all honesty, he was excited to be in a new place, a new city, a new country and wanted to enjoy well from his first morning, adjusting and getting to know how the sun shone.

 Perhaps only two servants were working. He left his brother asleep in the bed and he hadn’t heard of nonno yet.  The house was in a delightful silence, his steps adding to this melodious morning, letting himself breathe it all in, trying to control himself from skipping to the breakfast room. He was proud to admit he was happy.

 “Buenos dias!” It had broken the moment he was met with the other, already taking sitting in the table and enjoying from a drink. Lovino froze at the entrance, nervous, fretting, forgetting his words or how to even react.

 “How do you feel?” Antonio smiled in utter calm.

 “What are you doing here?” Lovino found himself asking, his eyes suspicious, locking into the Spanish man as if it could give him some sort of truth.

 “Um…” Antonio gazed about, wondering truly what the problem could be. He looked over himself, to his drink, even patted his hair to make sure he presented himself as he intended. “…having breakfast,” he shrugged.

 Lovino rolled his eyes, then remembering he was to live there and thus it was obvious he would want to have breakfast with them. “Never mind,” he simply uttered, taking seating, blessing that there was already bread and fruits on the table, filling a small presented plate. Lovino continued with his food like he was the only one there, not sparring a word and Antonio would just sit there…staring, taking occasional sips from his drinks, as if waiting for some kind of show.

 “What?” Lovino easily tired of it.

 Antonio shrugged, “was kind of hoping you would give me your good morning as well.”

 “I don’t feel like it.”

 “It’s simple courtesy.”

 “I don’t feel like giving it to you right now,” he took a harsh bite of his bread, loud and messy as to keep it sole in the room.

 Antonio still kept his smile and continued his watch, switching from the other to the decorations on the walls, on the plates, on the table, letting that silence reign. “Maybe tomorrow you’ll give me a good morning,” he hoped.

 Lovino shrugged, “let’s see if I’m in the mood.” He was done, he could pretty much stand and leave by now, but he was used to always spending his mornings with his grandfather and brother, chatting and being granted his duties for the day. It didn’t seem like he should go clean anything, or go to the marketplace, or help his brother with something he couldn’t carry…but he had to be given something. He refused to give another word to this stranger or to stand without having spent the morning with his family, so he joined him on the non-impressive staring, on the same details, colors, admiring, one pretending the other wasn’t there. Graciously they heard other sounds, footsteps, some rushed, stumbling, surely a fall, the other prepared, sure and with clear direction. Lovino could easily tell who with a roll of his eyes.

 Feliciano was the first to reach, still in his night clothes, legs bare but as excited as if he was properly dressed for a party. “Good morning!” He shouted well for the entire house surely.

 “Good morning!” Antonio returned just in earnest, with a glance to Lovino surely hinting at how it should be done. Lovino scuffed and completely turned away.

 “It’s so nice to have someone new for breakfast. Is it all right? Do you like it? If anything I can go make you something!” Feliciano excited.

 “Feli, amore, calm down, no need, we now have cooks that can do just that,” and so Augusto introduced himself to the day, dressed poised and well to deal with business surely.

 “I would still like to make something from time to time,” the younger pouted.

 “And you will have that chance! But for now, let us relax and enjoy our fist morning here, properly.” He sat down and Feliciano followed along, starting instant conversation with all in the table. Antonio joined simply to have a chat, while Lovino remained mostly silent, glaring whenever Feliciano mentioned something too over the top.

 “-and now I am sure that this mansion is in fact, not haunted,” he declared with a deep smile, flowing his knife around as he spread butter on his bread.

 “I told you so,” Augusto commented with his own smile, enjoying his younger grandson’s childness.

 “Honestly, Nonno just mentioned the couple and you suddenly made up this tale and you actually believed it,” Lovino rolled his eyes.

 Feliciano shrugged, “you never know.”

 “I told you they died in Morocco.”

 “Maybe they were really attached to this place.”

 “It is a gorgeous house, I can see why someone would want their spirit to continue on here,” Antonio seemed to defend Feliciano’s absurdity.

 “Exactly!”

 “Well, last night gave you enough proof that not.”

 “I hope you actually go back to your own bed tonight.”

 “Don’t you like sharing the bed with me?” Feliciano pouted.

 “It’s not that I mind, I just think we should enjoy from our chance to have our own space and privacy.”

 “This is really your first time having a home like this?” Antonio wondered.

 Lovino wished that they didn’t inform so openly to a stranger.

 “My boys, yes.”

 “Nonno belonged to a noble family of merchants in Rome, but after he met our Nonna, he eloped and ran away!” Feliciano eyes always glowed this way whenever he told the tale.

 “I confess, yes. She was Greek and from very poor standings. My family heavily disagreed with the match as they didn’t think it would be fruitful for our business. But my love for her was stronger than whatever scorn my family held. So we ran away and settled in Naples where I started building my own trade. We also spent some years in Florence and Venice.”

 “And he had Mamma, then Mamma had us! And we were really happy…even though we never got to meet our Nonna,” Feliciano saddened, Lovino giving in but only slightly, while Augusto seemed like he had been heavily pierced.

 “If…I may ask…what happened?” Antonio wanted to dare.

 “Died in childbirth…” Augusto drank to try and swallow whatever despair, “I had to raise our daughter by myself.”

 “And…where is your daughter?”

 The air became tense, frowning instantly when it had been so joyous.

 “She was killed,” Lovino made the instant blow, wanting to get over it and let it pass before it lingered and made them think about it longer.

 “Oh…that’s…that’s…awful, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have intruded-”

 “If you are to live here, you were bound to find out at some point and I’m sure you will learn more.”

 Antonio still held deep questions but preferred to leave it for a time they could be more comfortable with his presence, perhaps considering him a friend by then. “She must have been a good soul. I am sure it is resting well in heaven with our lord.”

 “Lovino and I think she’s an angel up there,” Feliciano admitted such childish notion, making Lovino want to sink beneath the table. Antonio found it endearing, smiling at Lovino to show how sweet he thought it.

 “But now,” Augusto dropped his cutlery on his plate to signify he was done, “I want my boys to get to know their surroundings and discover everything this city has to offer,” he smiled to them, expectant and excited. “I was hoping you could perhaps offer them some sort of tour, if you do not mind that is, Antonio.”

 “I’ll be glad to!” He sounded truly delighted.

 Feliciano clapped, ready to jump that instant and head off.

 “Nonno, I really think I should help you with-”

 “Oh, Lovino, there is no need! I’m sure your time will come, but for now, enjoy yourself, learn about your new city and then you can properly focus on business… all right?” His grandfather cradled his head sweetly, a gesture that hadn’t changed since his childhood and he hoped shall forever remain, for it did well to calm, remind of love no matter the harsh circumstances…even his age and their partnership in business now.

 “…sì, Nonno.”

 “I leave you to enjoy the day,” he smiled in farewell and left them to their plans.

 Feliciano hurriedly went to change, while Lovino sighed, moving over to wait for Antonio and Feliciano by the main door. He preferred not to spend more silent alone time with the cleric.

  It was a weekday, yet the Italian boys found the city to be as plentiful as if a festival was occurring. It was hard to move themselves between when they walked down small gorgeous streets with sellers offering the most fantastic wares, but when they reached open squares, they could breathe and admire buildings formed with arm and unique craftsmanship. Antonio did well to tell countless of stories, explaining and bringing more knowing to the boys’ mind of the city. Feliciano was already enamored, while Lovino constantly craved for either something to eat or to head back home.

 “And he went alone…to Thailand?!” Feliciano was incredulous.

 “Not completely alone…he did bring Miss Luna Odalis Gutiérrez Martirio!”

 Lovino thought it would have been more exciting if Antonio had not dramatized and sung the name so well, but it had Feliciano clapping.

 “Oh! So, they did runaway together! I hope they’re happy over there!”

 “There’s a rumor that the last message that was sent to the Ibarras spoke of a coming child.”

 Feliciano got even more excited and Lovino rolled his eyes, in its change noticing a stand with gorgeous artistry of stone, in wondrous colors, some shinning with precious jewels. He didn’t care if he stood back alone as he gazed at a particular one, depicting a splendorous harbor. In his distraction, he was unaware of an approaching carriage, running widely and ignorant to the calls of guards. By the time Lovino heard and noticed, he was well on the way, cowered for a coming hit surely. He was pulled to an alluring scent, feeling a strong chest and a comfort he didn’t think he could feel in such crowded streets. In this sudden fear, he lounged and wrapped his arm well around this body, practically cuddling into it as he breathed heavily, watching the carriage continue its rampage throughout the city unaware of what it had almost done.

 “Are you all right?” And Lovino met enchanting green eyes, with a smile and a frame that exhilarated his heart in a way he rather it wasn’t in.

 “I-I..I’m fine!” And he pushed him away, rubbing his suit off as if it could remove the gesture.

 “We’ll be done in a short while, I just want you to see this amazing view, so I’ll need you to stay close.”

 “Fine…fine,” and Lovino followed, keeping his head on the ground now, on Antonio and Feliciano’s footsteps, hoping for no more distractions.

 The walk took a couple of more minutes, elevating high walls and roads until they stood at a good height, the city well-presented around them, close, gorgeous and with a wonderful warming sky to complement. Lovino awed as Feliciano, both coming to the edge, to the hold of the railing as if with it they could take the city into their hands.

 “Oh…it’s spectacular, Antonio!” Feliciano worded the compliments surely Lovino thought as well.

 “I’m very glad you like it,” he smiled, taking Lovino’s side in the leaning.

 “Have you lived here your whole life, Antonio?” It seemed like Feliciano was going to do most of the talking and questioning.

 “I only moved when I was sixteen, so…I’ve lived about fourteen years here.”

 “With you family?”

 “The church is my family.”

 Lovino finally raised with a questioning gaze, half open mouthed that Antonio was eager to hear words from.

 “Oh, that’s very nice! Antonio, you’ve told us many great things about the city and it was all wonderful, but, is there something I can ask about that I hope won’t be too much?”

 “Go ahead.”

 Lovino was terrified he would mention it.

 “I, and I know Lovino too, want to know if you’ve ever seen the Red Mask!” At the famed hero, he came close and whispered.

 “The Red Mask? …You know about him?” Antonio tried to contain large amount of surprise.

 “Of course, we do! We’ve been hearing all the news ever since they started with a sword fighting contest in Salamanca! The Spanish sailors and merchants that visited Nonno would sit me and Lovino down and tell us the stories. We still love those tales dearly!”

 “You do?” Antonio directed it with a smirk to Lovino.

 “Used to…”

 “Don’t lie, Lovi. Just last night you told me one of them.”

 Lovino cringed and tried to sustain himself from shutting Feliciano with a hurting grasp of his ear.

 Antonio chuckled, a heavenly ring to get Lovino smoothed. “No shame! I myself tell the stories to some of the kids in the church and I get as excited with them as if the first time I was seeing him.” Or as he wasn’t him.

 “So you have!” Feliciano raised and Lovino had to grip to contain his own.

 “Well, this is his city, everyone has taken a glimpse at all kinds of actions.”

 “Like which one?” They begged wanting a tale, and Antonio could see that Lovino held that same openness of his ear. Antonio smirked and began one of his most recent adventures.

 “-and thus the ladies were saved. The Red Mask prevented that cart from reaching and dealt with the culprits. I was waiting for the shipment actually and met with the Red Mask himself telling me what happened, along with one of his companions, Neblina, the Mist Mask.” And the two smiled, a story well told. Antonio felt successful.

 “Does he really wear the Red Mask? All in red? Is it true that his eyes are as green as they say?”

 “How about we wait?”

 “For what?” Lovino questioned, showing disappointment for not being able to hear.

 “For you yourselves to meet him.”

 Feliciano glowed and clapped at such a coming chance.

 “Will we…really?” The was the most excitement Antonio could get out of Lovino that moment.

 “Like I said, this is his city, and from what I’ve heard, he’s working on a big rescue right now.” He grew serious, leaning more so to the views, looking, finding the dark palace nestled well, one Feliciano and Lovino could spot with his intense stare.

 “Do you know what about?” Feliciano asked.

 Lovino left his gaze on that palace, imagining it had something to do with it. To prove him so, Antonio pointed at the very place.

 “Keron Montaje.”

 Feliciano instantly gasped and whimpered, moving aside, shaking and tears quickly reaching his eyes. Lovino came to him, embraced, soothed and hummed words of comfort. Antonio hated that he could only but watch, only an extension of his hand ready to help in what the brothers needed.

 “Are you all right?”

 “I-I’m fine, I…I’m fine.” Yet Feliciano’s eyes were still reddened, leaning into his brother’s neck, wanting remain in that shield for now, not at all an assurance to Antonio.

 “Sorry, we just…don’t like hearing that name,” Lovino spoke.

 “I’m very sorry I mentioned it, I didn’t know…”

 “It’s all right, we…don’t like talking about it.” He hoped those words were enough of a warning to not ask any questions.

 “You…you know the Montaje?”

 “Yes…in ways we would prefer not to.” Lovino held Feliciano tight, caressing on, continuing his hums. “…he’s here…isn’t he?”

 Antonio sighed, looking once again to the palace, still hauntingly there. “Yes…I’m afraid.” Antonio held himself well from going on, Feliciano still in his state, not at all liking the glowing person he had recently met reduced to this.

 “Let’s head back now. We need to relax.” The brothers nodded and Antonio followed behind them, his body covering whatever glimpse to the evil place.

  Feliciano’s dinner that night was short, heading straight to bed afterwards, well, Lovino’s.

 After that discovery, Lovino doubted whatever chance at getting Feliciano sleeping in his own room, but understood, and let it, caressing his hair, whispering words of love and mentioning as many times as he needed that he was there, as well as Nonno and even Antonio.

 Two weeks had passed since the event, since they moved and since they found out. Antonio did well to not question despite how highly he wanted to. He continued his work as their guest, offering help in the household, in Feliciano’s teachings, bible readings, even words of advice in the business.

 Three days and Lovino was back into papers, numbers, accords, being an apprentice to his grandfather and learning as much as he could of what would one day be his company. It was hard to concentrate when that single name repeated, raging, sometimes taking it out on papers with complains or numbers that drove him mad. There had to be something that could be done, he could get justice, revenge, finally act and save, but a look to the thrown letters, checks and bills on the ground reminded him that his mind shouldn’t go as wild, shouldn’t endanger, shouldn’t worsen.

 “Lovino…these stories are just that, stories to excite your mind and keep your hopeful. We all need this sort of escapade from our dull, but they should remain as that. Let them do their job to protect, they know well the consequences and have prepared themselves for them, but you should focus on being safe. I’m sure it’s what the great Red Mask would want,” he heard his mother’s past voice in his head, he could almost feel her caress on his shoulders, taking his hair, kissing it, with another tale, another distraction, not these tragedies…not these papers.

 He sighed, noticing the darkness the day had become, dropping everything and decreeing himself done. He was comfortable in his chair, leaning back, stretching, even giving himself space to breathe. He should probably get to bed then…Feliciano was probably waiting for him…or he could surprise and could have gone to his own room. He stood, decided on snatching some frosted cookies from the kitchen while everyone was surely asleep and he thought he had the house pretty much for himself. He took four, successful, no one to spot him, munching happily, sucking his fingers and aweing at the taste, but even that wasn’t enough to distract him from the guarded object.

 It was kept in one of the reading rooms, centered along with all the shelves filled with books of history, art, science, poetry and of course their adventure and fantasy stories. Lovino entered the room, hypnotized by the elegance of the sword that was kept well in place. It was beautiful, crafted by what Lovino used to think were merfolks, using the aquamarine of their seas and smoothened soft stones from their shores, with golds, greens and looking like it could glide well in his hands as he swung and thrusted.

 It belonged to his grandfather…from his days as a soldier back when he was Lovino’s own age. He had proved to be ferocious, powerful, earning a well named place in the ears of all Rome. Smiths had given him this as a gift for his time, shortly before he had retired and settled more on the business. He didn’t like talking about those days much, while all Lovino wanted was to hear about them, hard to not imagine himself be that very proud soldier, earning those medals and recognitions that he doubted he would stop talking about to all.

 His arms were raised, his hands neared to the glass, to the key Augusto for some reason always left there, easily turning, opening and it was there for the air of the night, for Lovino’s touch.

 It wasn’t the first time…the handle was familiar to him, the weight nothing, the length Lovino knew well to guide without hitting a single object. He took the stance he had heard and seen many times, taken for himself as well. He imagined an enemy, going at him with precision, fierce, every swung surely death for whoever was unlucky to be there that instant. It was amazing how quiet he could while doing all this, Antonio wondered by the door, loving how the moonlight shined on him, making it seem like he was an angelic entity of dreams.

 “Incredible…” he found himself uttering, a break, a noticing. Lovino gasped, for a moment dropping the sword, luckily, he caught it with just as much grace, only letting the point fall at the carpet, grimacing and hoping it wouldn’t do anything to leave a noticeable mark. And from that serene glow of beauty, came deadly glares, frozen yet, fearing that any other movement could expose him more.

 “What are you doing here?” Lovino said with just as much edge.

 Antonio only moved forward, ignorant to his question, instead gazing to his final stand and then the enchanting sword that fitted well not only on his hands, but also on his entre persona.

 “Straighten up!” Came a surprising militant voice, power enough to get Lovino to do as commanded, and to Antonio, it came out elegantly placed without a single breath lost.

 Perfect, he kept repeating to himself as he rounded, making sure that it repeated in every part of his body…and it well did.

 “Forward!”

 And Lovino did so, sword well extended, posture immaculate, ready vengeance in his eyes to fight.

 “Very well…” Antonio faced him again, with cocky ease that Lovino didn’t fail to notice. He was standing nonchalant, unafraid of the sword pointed well at him. Lovino had a rather hard temptation to continue the extend and win if a slight drop of blood. He hated that look on his face and wanted it gone with even show of violence if he had to.

 “Now…” and from a hidden scabbard Lovino had never noticed until now, he raised his own sword, thin, small, rusted, not at all like the one of jewels and purest silver he himself held. Antonio was confident, spinning and letting it fly in the air before it faced him just as dangerously.

 “…we fight,” he curtsied and welcomed.

 “Are you serious?” With that ugly thing? Yet he dared hit it against his silver, a powerful strike that got Lovino completely lost on his standing and yet Antonio continued, Lovino turning rather messy as he focused on defending, many times practically falling, his knee hitting the ground more times than he should, eyes side glancing to make sure the furniture was still intact.

 “Are you insane?” He shouted, in his try to halt finding his stance again, the hold of his sword with Antonio’s kept, doing well to not grant any more movements. Antonio was impressed at how Lovino could well force him in his place, while the other’s worried expression was more on the surroundings, looking over to the halls for any that could come.

 “Nonno can wake up!” He growled.

 “So what?”

 “He can’t-he can’t…” he couldn’t tell him either.

 “He can’t know your using his priced possessed military days sword?” Antonio dared smirk.

 “Oh god! Just stop!” And there he was with deadly slashes, Antonio now taking the defense, but how he loved this fury, this fire, knowing, powerful and- oh wait! That was almost his head gone.

 “You are amazing!”

 “Shut up!” He only reigned more, Antonio’s stances and back leans the sole thing keeping him from landing on the ground. It was becoming straining, he stood again, grinding down Lovino’s sword with his own, the spark and force getting him to level back up so their swords could properly clash in battle, high, downward.

 Yes, Lovino was skillful, admirable, promising for so much more…but like many he had weaknesses, clear ones that showed that he was indeed still learning. Antonio took advantage of it, using that breath, an instant new force on his strength, a powerful slash that had the sword flying from Lovino’s grasp. He himself felt to the ground to catch it, saving the room from the loud clang, heavily breathing, defeated, kneeling…yet with so much sun in his hazel eyes that Antonio though it a defeat unlike any he had seen.

 “May I suggest breathing exercises to help keep them more controlled in battle, as well as trying new handle hand positions to make it easier at whatever change and outcome.” His smile was as an unchanging, with no trace of battle or exhaustion, while Lovino was sweating and finding it hard to even stand again.

 Antonio offered a hand to help him up, and Lovino took it without complain, balancing well, yet needing rest, his hold on the sword trembling, but he would not switch to anything when he looked to Antonio, bearing obvious questions and…impression at how a mere cleric could best him in a sword fight. It was a wondered gaze that had Antonio fueling, smiling on and thinking himself surely an object of dreams for Lovino.

 “It’s getting pretty late,” he put his own sword back in its hidden scabbard, “how about we both head to bed. We can make another match some other time.” He turned with a wave, his usual skip and direction…while Lovino was still debating with himself if this had all happened.

< previous chapter

[dustedmagazine]

Listed: The Black Watch

The Black Watch plays jangly power pop with a psychedelic haze. Its sole continuous member, songwriter John Andrew Fredrick, has made 18 Black Watch albums so far, full of gem-like, oddball songs that evoke Teenage Fanclub and the Bevis Frond. Of the latest, Brilliant Failures, Jennifer Kelly wrote, “If you like smart lyrics tossed casually over the shoulder, exquisite melodies blurred and buried under guitar wail, ephemeral pop pleasures that latch on stubbornly and enduringly in your ear, you’ll probably like The Black Watch.”

The Beatles—Revolver

To start at the start, my love for The Beatles simply can’t be overestimated/understated. If their almighty double album evinces in a “writ large” way just how ambitious (and with what astonishing range) the Fabs could be, Revolver is also a record that simply has everything: rocking, bouncing-jolly songs; a stringsy storytelling session; peppy horns for pumped-up people; a drone to die for (those “Indian” whoops!); and my favorite song of all time (And Your Bird Can Sing). Gone is the mystery behind most bands that we so very cherished/lived for in the 60s as kids. How we’d simply kill for any tidbits of info on J, P, G, & R. It’s a rare day that I don’t listen to The Beatles. I was lunching with band mate (and lead guitarist) Andy Creighton (who fronts his own wonderful band, The World Record) and our mutual friend Ben Eshbach from The Sugarplastic and Ben said: “Whenever someone dismisses The Beatles in some highfalutin way, I always think it’s mere posturing.” Truer words, sir. Truer words.

My Bloody Valentine—Isn’t Anything

When I first relocated to Los Angeles from Santa Barbara I got a job as an assistant editor at a paper that, quixotically, was trying to compete with the LA Weekly. The Relativity label was really good about sending me cassettes (!!!!) of “alt” bands. So in ’88 came a tape that changed my life nearly as much as The Beatles had done when I was a kid. Loveless has its proper apologists for greatest-shoegaze-LP-of-all-time but Isn’t Anything affects me more on account of—I think—it’s about the mystery (there’s that word again) of sex. I could not believe the news when I was told that MBV were playing the Club Lingerie. I think there were eleven or twelve people there—not many more. Old chum Craig Costigan was at that show with me (as well as The Lucy Show’s Santa Barbara debut—which made me form my band), as was then-band mate J’Anna Jacoby and future band mate Steven Schayer. The Valentines were so mind-blowing I can’t even tell you. Having lived in LA so long now, I’m never ever starstruck, but I remember just gawking at this Irish-English outfit. We went backstage just to look at those four heroes. This LP makes me crazy with happiness—and I still have it on cassette (for playing in the jeep).

Shelley—“Stanzas Written in Dejection, Near Naples”

Shelley’s my second favorite poet (top spot would go to T.S. Eliot) but this gorgeous lyric poem haunts me as it haunted me first time I read it in class as an undergrad at UCSB. Whenever I taught it in my poetry classes, I’m sure I waxed rhapsodic over it—much to the eye-rolling dismay or in some few cases delight of the students. Despite his uber-generous nature, Shelley seemed perpetually to find ways to F up his life and to occasion chaos (especially with the turnstile, as it were, of pretty women in his life) whithersoever he roamed. And roam he certainly did. I’ve myself sat on the shores round the bay of Naples; and the majestic beauty you find there doubtless induces a kind of melancholic state of mind, a la what you find in this incredible poem.

Stanley Kubrick—Barry Lyndon

Hands down my favorite film—by my favorite director. Have you not seen it? Oh, you’re in for such a treat. What an eye-banquet it is. Legendary stuff. Saw it in the theater in Goleta when it came out. And when I came out of that theater, I made plans to see it again the next day. Cue one’s obsessive-compulsive nature when it comes to great art. I really am the sort of person who can watch or listen to something I love again and again and again.

Echo and The Bunnymen—A Promise

The Bunnymen, along with The Lucy Show, were my greatest inspirations when we were starting out as the black watch. And to write a song like this—one that’s essentially one chord—is a veritable ambition to this day. The “cool” station in Santa Barbara, KTYD, played “Never Stop” from time to time, and that’s how I came upon these wonderful scousers. You try wearing a houndstooth greatcoat like Mac’s in summertime SB! It takes a heap of gumption and goofiness. But those were the days. Poseur days of callow alternative youth!

T.S. Eliot—Complete Poems and Plays

Wanna write above-average lyrics? Read as much Old Possum as you can. Despair that you’ll ever write half as well. Despair some more. Repeat. Rinse yourself of the literary influences you’ll never wash off. Repeat ad infinitum. Enjoy the silence and the majesty. See how I’m floundering to say anything worth noting? Impossibly powerful. Cue Wittgenstein’s observation about how whereof we cannot speak thereof we must not. No words. Eliot took them all. We’re just his flailing heirs.

Nabokov—Pale Fire

Here we have my favorite novel by my favorite novelist. And short story writer. Obsessively, I write on the first page of books the season/place I’ve read them in: I’ve read this book seventeen times now—in London, LA, Santa Barbara, New Zealand, Canada, and France. I love novelists who play games/tricks on the reader. My own humble works of comic fiction, admittedly, aren’t a patch on this towering giant of a book. One can but try! And never reach these heights. One of the wittiest, funniest, most puzzling-till-you-get-it books you’ll ever. Don’t wait till the world ends to read N’s masterpiece. Lolita—sure. But this thing? I mean, come on.

Justin Hayward and John Lodge—Blue Jays LP

Producer Rob Campanella and I often, while we’re tracking, take breaks to listen to The Moody Blues whom we love, love, love. They aren’t cool now and they weren’t cool when this side project first came out, but goddam if it didn’t get me through the music-snobby super-preppy high school I went to. Everyone was listening to Foghat or—I dunno—Zeppelin. Bellbottomy stuff with gobs of facial hair. I got laughed at for liking The Beach Boys too. Harken to the Harrisonian lead here by Justin Hayward (a very very under-rated guitarist); and oh the swooping-soaring strings. Gorgeousnessity. That’s not a word—and it shouldn’t be—but it fits.

The Black Watch—Brilliant Failures

I include this as I am a massive fan of what I do. Unabashedly. What’s the point of making something you’re not super into? I throw this in in order to point up how near the end of recording an album I almost always write one more song that becomes a single of sorts. I loved reading Robert Smith saying, “When I want to hear a great song, I write one.” He was—natch—winding up the press people and the punters, but he was also stating a truism: an artist makes something for him or herself. This eponymous song was the last one we tracked for the self-same LP. Rob went: “How in the world could you even think of leaving this off the LP, John!” And I said: “Well, I just wrote it last night. I always write a big fat catchy song after we think we’re done making the album.”

The Novels of Jean Rhys

Pick one. Any one. She’s addicting! Me, I’m in love with a dead woman!

[ink-leaves]

Analysis- Z: A Novel of Zelda Fitzgerald: Writing About Abuse

*This post contains spoilers for the entire novel as well as description and discussion of spousal physical and emotional abuse*

I had known before reading Z: A Novel of Zelda Fitzgerald that Zelda and Scott’s personal life was, at times, strained. This is evident in probably his most famous work: The Great Gatsby. In which, readers can see many parallels between their lives and the lives of the characters in the story. However, I didn’t know that their relationship was so significantly flawed and unhealthy.

As I discussed in my review, I’ve tried to keep a reasonable mind when discussing this book, because at the end of the day it is a work of historical fiction. For that reason, I will be discussing this topic using the names of the characters for clarity. But the purpose of this post is to discuss only the elements of the writing that Therese Anne Fowler used to paint such a vivid picture of the black hole that is spousal abuse.

I noticed that Fowler was very careful not to stop at just one type of abuse, but to give a full spectrum view of what a terrible relationship looks like.

One of the most obvious signs of spousal abuse is, of course, physical violence. The first instance of physical violence in Zelda’s story is on page 118 when Zelda and Scott get into an argument after a disastrous dinner with Zelda’s parents. Here is the quote from the novel:

“He drank too much after dinner, and when my parents had gone to bed, we ended up in a truly ugly fight- and I ended up with a black eye.”

That is the whole description of the event. It isn’t expanded upon or thought over by the Zelda. It is simply pushed aside as if it Zelda receiving a black eye is something trivial, like a plate being accidentally broken. We don’t even find out by what means Zelda gets the black eye. The narrator is deliberately choosing to gloss over the event, acting like the behavior exhibited by Scott is nothing to be concerned over. I think it is also worth noting that this event occurs more towards the beginning of their relationship, where couples are often still in their “honeymoon” phase and rose-colored glasses are usually permanent fixtures. The next line then supports this, where Zelda says that she thinks she deserved it. Zelda even takes the time to calm her parents who are, of course, horrified when they see her in the morning.

The next example I have is on page 139, where Zelda and Scott are discussing their money troubles and Zelda wants him to return a very expensive coat he bought for her.

“I was confused. ‘Max and Harold lend you money?’

‘Against royalties, or future earning- it’s all money I’m going to get eventually, just, eventually doesn’t always arrive as quickly as I need it to.’

I went to the closet, pulled the coat from its hanger, and shoved it at him. ‘Send it back!’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ He plopped down on the sofa. ‘You look fantastic in this coat. In fact, I think you should take off everything you’re wearing and then put the coat on.’ His eyelids were dropping as he said this, and then they closed.

I watched him for a moment, thinking he’d fallen asleep. Then, without opening his eyes he said, ‘Don’t hate me. I’m sorry. It’s all for you.’”

In this scene, Fowler shows us a more subtle approach in spousal abuse; one that doesn’t occur with a single punch but rather a difficult relationship that occurs over a long period of time. Where instead of physical violence, the victim’s concerns are trivialized and then turned back upon them. Zelda has negative feelings towards Scott buying her such an expensive coat when he doesn’t possess the money to pay for it. But when she expresses this, he waves it off then makes a sexual suggestion to alter the subject at hand. He then twists the blame off of himself and onto her by saying that what he does, he does for her; that her simply being in his life is the source of his poor handling of money. During this exchange, Scott is also falling asleep from being drunk which, naturally, ends the conversation on its own. Eliminating any opportunity to actually discuss the uncomfortable problem at hand.

A similar situation happens when they are discussing baby names on page 143, just after Zelda has given birth. They had already agreed on naming the baby girl Patricia but Scott now wants to name the baby Frances, with the nickname Scottie.

“I knew, though, that Scott would replay this scene with everyone he encountered, and that they’d all see it his way. No one would disagree with the charismatic hometown hero. Even so, I would stubbornly continue to assert my preference for weeks, they way you do when you allow hope to prevail over knowledge, and in the end, I would grow tired of the battle, and Scott would win.”

This is a great example of how helpless and outnumbered Zelda feels in her relationship. And how an abuser can rip the figurative carpet out from under their victim and still act as though nothing has happened. Zelda continues to stand her ground on the issue, but the emotional toll it takes eventually become too much to bear, especially when she is put in such an isolating position. Eventually, it just becomes easier to go along with it. Scott has proven himself to be an expert at wearing down Zelda’s resolve, through the erosion of her entire support system and identity as an individual.

This is supported when Scott refuses to let Zelda pursue her career as a ballerina on page 284.

“I’m tired of this, Zelda. You’re not a ballerina you know; you’re my wife. You need to start devoting your time to your actual duties.”

This one hardly needs further explanation.

Another example is on page 275, while Zelda and Scott are staying at a mansion in Delaware. Zelda knows that Scott fancies a young woman that is staying at the mansion and that he is cheating on her with this young lady.

“Lois wears gingham and acts the innocent, as if the floorboards outside her bedroom don’t creak mere minutes after I wake in the night to an empty bed.”

Here Zelda is more direct with her descriptive than in prior portions of the novel but is still leaving the reader with a message that they need to decipher themselves. It is heavily implied that Scott is leaving their bedroom and joining Lois, but it isn’t directly spelled out, another instance of Zelda trying to tip-tow around a situation that is too painful to address head-on.

The same thing happens on an even larger scale just further down the page and is, in my opinion, one of the most impactful parts of the whole story.

“In winter, he’ll [Scott] attempt to give a speech at Princeton, but will appear at the podium drunk and mute; he’ll arrive home- where his sister-in-law Tootsie is visiting – still crying tears of mortification, then fight with his wife about her breaking the liquor cabinet’s lock, and bloody her nose in the process.”

This whole scenario being told in the third person significantly adds to that effect of separation and makes the scene more powerful. I think it was a conscious decision by Fowler to not use Scott’s name in the scenes further into their relationship in order to magnify this disconnection effect. It is in contrast to the beginning of the relationship where the speaker does include his name for these encounters. By saying “… and bloody her nose…” not “…and I ended up with a black eye.” it makes the scene feel like it is happening to someone else. When I was reading it I almost missed the fact that he hits her (now the second known occurrence) because it is said so matter-of-factly and without ceremony. I had to go back and re-read the passage to make sure I saw it right. Upon doing so, I realized that the whole passage is very haunting. It reads almost how I would image a fortuneteller reads a prediction: chronological, systematic, and disengaged.

The final scene that I think perfectly encapsulates the extent of the abuse endured by Zelda is on page 312. During this scene, Zelda has been offered a position in a ballet company in Naples. Scott forbids her from pursuing it.

“Scott pointed at himself. ‘I am in charge of this family, Zelda. If not for my blood, my sweat, my – my- my determination, you’d be nobody special, just another aging debutante wasting away the years somewhere in Alabama, getting fat off of biscuits and preserves. It’s my life that made yours worthwhile! And yet all I get is selfish ingratitude.’”

In this one statement, Scott manages to reveal with his own words what he truly thinks of Zelda, that without him, she is nothing. That he saved her from a worthless life. That she needs to be grateful to him for it. That even though he has taken complete control over her life Scott is the one that has actually sacrificed everything. She was nothing special when he met her and whatever he complimented her with then was a façade.

It is also worth discussing that Zelda is a very fit individual because of her dedication to ballet; not because Scott’s career is of any help to her physical fitness. It is not as if her marriage to Scott allowed her to dedicate more time to ballet, she could’ve continued to pursue it while living in Alabama. He chooses to take credit for her fitness and what makes her desirable. I also believe that at this point in his life, Scott is no longer physically fit. His years of drinking and lack of exercise have caught up to him and I don’t think it is a stretch that in this scene he is projecting his insecurity onto her.

It’s all such twisted things to say to someone you are supposed to love. It reveals so much to the reader in such a short period and is enough to convince even some of the more difficult to persuade readers that Scott is a deplorable husband.

As a reader, I had a physical response to this scene. It repulsed me so severely and simultaneously made me feel such sympathy for the character of Zelda. It is difficult for people that have not been in such a relationship to relate to the situation at hand. But scenes like this one allow people to get an idea of the agony of watching someone who was supposed to be an ally turn into your worst enemy and not being able to change anything about it.  Fowler’s writing forced me to pause and take a moment to comprehend the magnitude of what had just been said and could not be unsaid.

Final Thoughts | These are just a few examples that stood out to me in the novel. There are many more in the story that are just as important and impactful. Fowler did a great job of providing readers with such a vivid account of abuse in a marriage. If you haven’t read the novel I definitely suggest picking it up for an atmospheric and addicting story of Zelda’s life. Fowler’s account of these two characters shows readers what kind of entangled web spousal abuse can turn into and how it begins to seep into every facet of someone’s life until there is nothing left.

[chimcharstar]

ALL THE COLOURS

HERE WE GO BOYS

zinc white; how are you really feeling today? no one-word answers please!

I’m feeling tired because I’m supposed to be in bed. But happy because I did the work and I can get away with sleeping in and things are just chill right now. I have devised a way of sneaking waste food at work. If you put it in these little metal containers and hide them under the fridge, nobody notices them and throws them away. This eve I dined on garlic bread and prawns.

cadmium yellow; when you think of the word “happy” what’s the first thing that comes to mind?

Walking with coffee and tunes. I’m trying to appreciate things in my life I will feel nostalgic about later in the moment, so I don’t regret anything. This is one of those things. Although I might not have the tunes part for long because I fucking broke my headphones and they may or may not start playing my music out loud for all the world to hear. I hope people like disco!

lemon; what’s your comfort food?

Food from my old workplace. I have trouble finishing food usually but not this stuff. I will probably scream while eating it. You know this and you love me

hansa yellow; what’s your guilty pleasure song?

“I Will Survive”. People were singing it in the Office and I guess it’s so famous and ironic and cringey now or something. But then I remember that one fucker

yellow ochre; name an artist/band whom you just discovered & can’t get enough of!

Herbie Hancock. I don’t know if I’ll listen to every single thing from him but I was just listening to some funk as you do and his like solos? I was vibing. We were having brain to brain communication. It was an experience. It was so so good. It was good fucking music. Listen to this shit. Herbie Hancock - I Thought It Was You This stuff makes me want to wiggle on public transit. 

naples yellow; where do you feel most at home?

Bonsais and my quiet neat fucking room. Or not giving a fuck in other people’s mess.

raw sienna; with whom do you feel most at home?

YOU HO

golden ochre; describe the relationship you have with your closest friend.

We reblog asks and send each other all the asks. ADHD disaster energy finding balance. The worst posts I’ve ever seen followed by revenge. Two gay best friends who are best friends. No seriously I am so grateful for your unconditional love and your warmth

golden deep; what’s your favorite season?

Autumn. When the leaves were falling and the sun was shining all bittersweetly I was running around taking so many pictures because there’s like this golden time and then it’s gone.

cadmium orange; what do you like to do on your days off?

I like to buy too many plants and pretty rocks that are just vibing. I just like to wander around with coffee without a schedule. Listening to funk and disco. Seriously I’m the coolest person ever

orange lake; do you have anyone you can turn to when you’re sad?

U HO. And some online mutuals of course :) I feel like I don’t turn to people when it’s real sad hours though. I just give my ocs more PTSD.

titans; do you prefer slow mornings or relaxing evenings?

Relaxed evenings. Fuck mornings. All my mornings are slow buddy. 

shakhnazaryan red; are you currently binge-watching anything?

No, because I had to go and cancel my Netflix as all my favourite things got more episodes. 

red ochre; are you more right-brained (creative) or left-brained (analytical)?

Oh right brained bitch.

burnt sienna; is there a painting that brings you peace when you look at it?

No, paintings are stressful. It’s always like “Holy shit, that must have been so much work! I don’t enjoy painting myself! This person is better at painting than me!” I have much love in the heart for Van Gogh.

english red; what animal do you relate to most?

I know what you’re trying to do and it’s not going to work. I could say a cat, because I want to lie down in a patch of sun, knock things over, and complain loudly. I would say a dog because I think people are way better than they really are, am tenaciously loyal to them, and get excited about going for a walk.

vermilion; what’s your favorite accent?

Whatever this one hot guy at work has.

cadmium red; do you have a “type” when it comes to a significant other?

FOR FUCKS SAKE okay I’m going to google what my type is

You got: Mr./ Mrs Perfect

You like someone that truly has is all. You need someone who is well rounded in all aspects of life. When it comes to looks and personality, only perfection receives your affection.

Wow, what does that mean at all

scarlet; describe your current crush/es.

Ok, one of them gave me cheesecake, one of them offered me pizza, another one is the guy whose Facebook you stalked for me and we still couldn’t find his birthday but I laugh about one adorable photo still (the car one), and one of them I spent half an hour trying to find where I put the birth chart of and we’re actually really compatible. I’m sorry, if you want more information I’ll have to ramble about it in your messages.

ruby; what does your ideal first date look like?

OH I JUST WANT TO WALK DOWN A STREET HOLDING HANDS AND GO TO A RESTAURANT WEVE NEVER BEEN TO BEFORE AND TRY SOME FOOD AND LAUGH A LOT, AND THEN MAYBE GO ENJOY THE VIEW OF THE OCEAN AT NIGHT. IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK? IS IT?

carmine; what does your ideal second date look like?

I don’t know, fuck it let’s go to the aquarium!

madder lake red; would you ever kiss someone (or accept a kiss) on a first date?

I dunno man. I feel like I wouldn’t if it wasn’t socially acceptable but I’m also wild and crazy.

rose; what’s something really positive going on in your life right now?

I REALLY ACTUALLY LIKE MY WORKPLACE. And my living situation is pretty okay. It’s not great I guess but I’ve been coming a long way.

quinacridone rose; what’s something you’re really looking forward to?

Literally what are these colours. Okay, I’m looking forward to putting wires around crystals to make them into jewellery. Then, I want to give the jewellery to my friends. 

violet rose; what does your dream house look like?

An old as fuck, old fashioned as fuck haunted-looking mansion I can give some love.

violet; is there any place in particular you’d like to settle down?

I need the outdoors bro. I need those trees. I gotta live in the countryside again someday.

blue lake; what would you like to do/accomplish before you settle down?

Write some books! Run rampant in the city…

cobalt blue spectral; what is the most beautiful place you have ever been to?

I think it would have to be the hills where I grew up. It was bursting with biodiversity, there was a rustic sheep farm, everyone shut the fuck up, there would be frogs, the smell of the fresh air in any season, some days would just be heart-stoppingly beautiful and I ache for it sometimes. Birdsong? I heard some birdsong today and I wanted to cry. I remember our hedges would be deafening with the birds in it.

ultramarine; when was the last time you were in a good mood? do you know/remember what sparked it?

Today, it finding something I maybe could sit around and read and then finding it in me to actually get out of bed lol.

blue; what’s the most recent dream you remember?

The one I just had. A lot of it is blurry, which is frustrating because I got some strong almost-memories of it throughout the day, but it sticks out to me because I was bawling my eyes out a lot in the dream, and I also hurt myself the way I used to and I had to check that I hadn’t done it in my sleep. But I think it was a very expressive dream and those are my natural emotions.

bright blue; what does your dream family look like? any kids or pets? 

I like the idea of a husband and some dogs, cats and chickens. Kids maybe.

how many of each?

A lot of chickens, but not too many please.

blue cobalt; do you like your name? would you give yourself a different name if you could?

I do like my name, and I did give myself a different name. Even if I knew how annoying everyone would be about pop culture Gordons, and I did. I still would choose this name.

prussian azure; what’s your favorite scent?

I’m running out of things to say as my favourite scent. OK, Nomad from Old Spice. I don’t know why, I think it must suit me or something. Maybe it’s the citrus… stuff going on there.

azure blue; what’s your favorite type of tea, if any?

Red Rose, my mom made it for me as a kid and she drank it all the time while teaching me piano or reading books.

turquoise blue; if you could start a garden, what would you plant?

Flowers, to show off to everyone, and then I don’t know, maybe some fucking pumpkins and easy things like corn and peas.

cerulean blue; if you were guaranteed to have a viewership, would you start a youtube vlog?

I think I’d be happier to have one if I knew no one was watching my antics LMAO

glauconite; describe your body without using any negative adjectives.

Best of both worlds

yellow green; picture yourself walking in a field. what do you see & hear in this scenario?

I’m still thinking of where I grew up. I see the sun through the branches of very old maple trees, and hear the wind in the long grass.

green light; are you in a comfortable place in life? if not, what do you think might make it better?

Yes, but I could make it better by moving in with cleaner roommates and getting a cat. And maybe work at something I’m actually interested in, or go to school or something.

green; name three countries you want to visit; do you have any actual plans in place to visit any of them?

I don’t have plans, but I’d like to visit Mexico, France, or Japan.

emerald green; do you speak any languages besides english? are there any additional languages you want to learn?

Kinda French. I want to learn Spanish… now Portuguese because everyone at work speaks it… literally, any very popular language. I want to learn so many languages

oxide of chromium; what’s your favorite book?

BRO WHAT IS A BOOK

olive green; are you currently reading anything? how do you like it so far?

Yeah, I’m reading a personal account of a Satanic cult. I had to stop reading it because I wasn’t ready for the graphic details.

mars brown; what’s a movie that always puts a smile on your face/makes you laugh?

Megamind/Thor Ragnarok

burnt umber; what’s something you plan to do before the day is over to take care of yourself?

Wow I feel really called out right now. I was going to eat some chicken because I’m hungry. Because that’s what I should be doing at 3AM.

umber; have you drank enough water today?

Yes, but probably not. I’ve been trying really hard today though.

voronezhskaya black; what or who is your go-to outlet for when you need to vent?

Probably you again, welcome to the salt mines!

sepia; name five things that always make you happy.

Buying a plant, rolling around on my fuzzy blanket, videos of cats being idiots, little unexpected thoughtful gifts, people sharing food.

indigo; what’s the best/sweetest compliment you have ever received?

A Treasured Mutual once spontaneously said I was a really good person because I was chill and they felt free to be themselves, to be vague.

payne’s gray; describe your aesthetic?

Looking around my room, it would seem to be whatever those studying people organizing notes with the window open on a sunny day have. I don’t know if this is me, but my room looks… vaguely feminine and organized in that way.

black; post a selfie because you are so beautiful!

I’m in my PYJAMA CLOTHES. I only want to take a selfie with GOOD NATURAL LIGHTING and the DAYTIME DARK CIRCLES around my eyes not the NIGHTTIME DARK CIRCLES. Maybe I have one hanging around

[prixmiumcontent]

Doctor Who - “The Unquiet Dead” - S01E03

A Meta Post/Review

Revised 01 December 2019.

Summary

In Cardiff, an undertaker and his servant deal with the fact that their deceased clients keep coming back to life and even kill the living. The Doctor tries to show Rose the TARDIS’s backwards-in-time feature by taking her somewhere more tourist-friendly, but the TARDIS knows best and brings them into the center of the drama. The Doctor, Rose, and reluctant ally Charles Dickens try to help Gwyneth, the undertaker’s servant, make sense of the “sight” which she has possessed all her life and what it might have to do with the ghostly, gaseous creatures who have haunted the funeral parlor and the surrounding areas.

Content Below

Analysis

Arbitrary Ratings

Content Warnings for Parents and Kids (Depending on Your Age)

Analysis

The Thesis Statement

Having shown Rose (and the audience) aliens and monsters and the possible future, the third episode of Doctor Who takes Rose to the past. The first three episodes of New Who are very clearly formulaic to a point that they might be viewed as something of a three-part pilot for a new audience. It is very clearly outlined in order to show the audience something of the breadth that the show can and will offer. There are aspects of the first two episodes that I personally find just a little bit difficult to watch now. They have obvious budget constraints, strange costume and effect choices at times, and several early installment hiccups that would be ironed out even by the end of Series 1.

If and when I am introducing New Who to a friend/new viewer, I always ask them to be ready to bear with me through Episode 5 and discount how silly and terrible aspects of Episodes 4 and 5′s villains are, too. However, I think that this episode is really one of the first that has aged pretty well in spite of any of its early installment difficulties. Now on to the episode itself.

Christmas in Cardiff

The cold open of this episode is more charming to me now than it was when I first watched it. Perhaps it is simply having more context for what a difficult place the United Kingdom was during the 19th Century. It is a place that seems riddled with ghost stories and scary tales in great part because of how difficult living was in the region when the Industrial Revolution had utterly changed the world, entrenching its own ills and advancements without any hope of going back.

One of my favorite things to do when I don’t feel like looking at a screen is to listen to podcasts, and I often favor true crime and mythology. I can’t tell you how often the two intersect in Victorian Britain, so I feel that this setting is a really good choice for Doctor Who to establish its time traveling element backward in time.

The opening scene with Mr. Sneed, a funeral parlor owner, comforting one of his clients upon the death of his grandmother is also something that is uniquely personal to me. Before becoming a teacher, I worked at a cemetery for a while. Anyway, one of the things that stands out to me as possibly unique is how obvious they make it that the reanimated Mrs. Redpath snapped her grandson’s neck. For some reason, this seems much more realistically deadly than some of the deaths that have followed in the show even though the series has a consistently high body count.

While I tend to balk at the idea that Doctor Who in its current incarnation has ever been a children’s program primarily, I appreciate the fact that upon Gwyneth’s introduction the different social norms - the class difference between her and her employer and the way in which he patronizes her in a sexist way in particular - are made clear in a way that seems like it would be easily accessible to younger audience members without a sophisticated understanding of the history of any of those things. It is unsettling without being cartoonish and absurd beyond what it should be.

The special effects in this episode with the Gelth and reanimated corpses themselves may not in any way compare to what Doctor Who has been able to accomplish and expect since, but I think what those visuals lack the set and set pieces and audio make up for. I find the old woman’s scream layered in with the childish cry of the Gelth voice inside her absolutely unnerving.

Again I would muse that Doctor Who isn’t something that I really expect many small children to be interested in on their own except for moments at a time. However as a family program I think that it often has pretty sophisticated storytelling that holds up to deeper analysis. Later in the episode, a person who is viewing the story in a wholly moment-by-moment way may easily sympathize with the Gelth and wonder if the Doctor’s curious, guilt-ridden compassion for them is correct. However, if one simply pays attention to the opening scene before the Doctor and Rose ever arrive (with the TARDIS tugging them in the direction they should go, after all), one can see that there is nothing benevolent, lost, or curious about the entity reanimating Mrs. Redpath’s corpse.

While she goes through the motions that Mrs. Redpath had intended to take before her death - attending the Dickens performance - it would seem that this is either simply a faulty connection between the Gelth and its human vehicle or something of a test run with the Gelth interfacing with the human brain it now controls like a user interface. What is most haunting about this whole thing is that there isn’t any sense that this woman is getting to fulfill a wish in any meaningful way from beyond the grave. Rather, something has coopted her unfulfilled plans after having mercilessly murdered her grandson. There isn’t any symbiosis between anything that remains of Mrs. Redpath in her body after her soul has gone. This is something that a keen viewer (or simply one who has seen it far too many times like myself) might pick up on, but it shows that there are layers to the narrative that are accessible to any age or caliber of viewer with reason.

The Greater Good

As an aside, since I imagine if you’re reading this post you are familiar with or curious about the episode, I want to give a little layman’s refresher on what “bodysnatching” is, given that Mr. Sneed tells Gwyneth that his is what they are about to do. Stripped down, this episode is literally about the ethics and morality of bodysnatching in a modernized and scifi-ized context. I recently heard a refresher in a podcast (Lore if you’re wondering), so I’ll pass it on to you: Bodysnatching was a practice that took place during the early days of medical research and large-scale medical schools. The term “operating theater” is sometimes used into the present day, but if there is an observation room it tends to be sealed behind a window in order to keep the operating room sterile. However, in an age before sterilization was fully understood or practical to do, one way in which medical students would learn about surgery and, more often, the inner workings of the human body would be to watch a more experienced physician perform surgeries or dissections of corpses in a room that literally looked like an amphitheater with a small stage.

One has to remember that prior to imaging technology that we have today, the only way to understand what was going on inside the body was to literally see the inside of a body. Therefore, corpses were in high demand in the training of young medical students. However, laws concerning the remains of law-abiding, typically Christian citizens after death prevented teaching doctors from getting access to the number of corpses they needed. This is where bodysnatching came in.

Bodysnatchers were not necessarily conventional grave robbers. In fact, some would even return clothes and the material riches buried with the deceased to the coffin in order to avoid prosecution as best they could. Their profit was made primarily or entirely through the shady deals that hospitals and medical schools made with them out of desperation, as the only legally available bodies were those who were the unclaimed who had died in workhouses and the bodies of executed murderers. Eventually, some alterations to the law which allowed for the donation of bodies made the need for this practice disappear, but there was a time when medical doctors had to make the choice between what they viewed as the most productive and helpful of two evils.

I think that the clear connection between that and the plot of this episode is as plain as day upon informed viewing.

Except for you.

Before the Doctor and Rose become aware of what is happening outside the TARDIS, we witness a bonding moment between the two of them. Rose is still wearing the same clothes from when she ran away with the Doctor, and one gets the impression that they have been having some issues with the TARDIS since they got back inside after getting chips at the end of the last episode. They haven't gone anywhere else. The Doctor is trying to wrangle the TARDIS into cooperating with backwards time-travel, but for some reason, she is not cooperating as well as she did with going into the future. One might assume that perhaps it is because she knows where they need to go even if they don’t yet.

The Doctor intends to take Rose to Naples, Christmas Eve, 1860. At first, he believes that he has succeeded. The Doctor is clearly in impress-Rose-and-convince-her-to-stay mode, full tilt. She has forestalled any decision about going home, and so he is allowing himself to hope that she will stay.

We have not yet had any complex analysis of why he wants this, but we do know that Nine tried traveling on his own and came back for Rose in particular. While I am not an Old Who expert by any means, we all know that he has had a history of traveling with companions. Generally, the Doctor in New Who is reluctant to take on new companions, but he has a moment which proves him wrong about a particular person. In the case of Nine, though, we don't so much have a moment as a process with his wanting Rose to stay with him, longer and longer each time.

For her part, Rose shows that she has the time travel bug badly when she responds to the idea of visiting a Christmas that has passed long ago. She holds reverence for the fact that something comes and goes and is over forever for everyone except the Doctor. She wants to be a part of this life, no matter what it might cost her, in this moment. After this and her commentary about learning about the expansion of the sun on television in the previous episode, it is once again clear that for whatever she lacks in certification and credentials, Rose is a brilliant person with a thirst for knowledge. She wants to see living history. She wants to experience the world around her.

In Doctor Who Confidential, I recall RTD mentioning that the Doctor and Rose were written to be soulmates of a sort from the beginning, and I think that this more than anything is what he probably meant. It isn’t just about personality quirks, but it is about that itch that Rose has to run away from her ordinary, expected lifestyle to touch the pulse of history unfolding and mattering around her that makes her “like the Doctor” and a match for him in that regard.

Healthy Skepticism

When the Doctor and Rose go for a walk in Cardiff and hear the screams coming from Charles Dickens’s performance as the reanimated Mrs. Redpath makes herself known, the Doctor and Rose go about investigating the problem in distinct ways. The Doctor does have a concern for the safety of others, but he goes directly to the highest vantage point and tries to identify the source and to ask the person who appears to have the most authority. Meanwhile, Rose notices the old woman and the undertaker and his servant and goes after them. She is concerned about the welfare of someone she has picked out of the crowd as needing help. Both of these are important roles, but the fact that Rose does this when she is traveling with the Doctor points out again how he needs someone like her to live up to his calling and reputation.

I had never really considered how both of Rose’s first outings involve her getting trapped in a room in some way. I can’t decide if this is an homage to the old show, a cautionary tale, or simply meant to show that there is a learning curve for traveling with the Doctor. It seems a bit odd that it happens in two episodes in a row, but when Rose awakens in the funeral parlor with Mr. Redpath coming back to life as well, she goes back to her customary cautious skepticism. She tries to go for the most ordinary, rational conclusion first, but she much more quickly accepts that she is dealing with zombies than she did with the shop window dummies in the first episode.

I cannot attest to how well Charles Dickens is portrayed in this episode as I don’t know as much about him as some other historical events and figures. However, I must say that the depiction is sympathetic and interesting. I really enjoy his presence in the episode, and the Doctor’s fawning over him is a cute bit of characterization that shows the Doctor’s ability to compartmentalize even when he does care about the present danger.

It is also nice to have a historical figure so known for pointing out social ills and being a skeptic of spiritualist frauds in a story that points out something that seems like it points to something of that nature going on. I appreciate that the story acknowledges the more rational sides of what could be even when it is presenting something that is more fantastical.

The debates that take place in this episode between the Doctor and Dickens and the Doctor and Rose, on a meta-level, primarily have to do with establishing a balance between skepticism and belief and between standard morality and the willingness to push those boundaries. Each person in either argument can be seen to have a point, and one of the things I admire the most about Doctor Who is the way in which it allows people of all different backgrounds to carry some of their own presuppositions and worldviews with them while challenging others. While the series itself tends to err on the side of science and rationality and in not allowing faith or religious belief to be an “opiate” that allows people to ignore present dangers and concerns, it does not take on such a cynical point of view that the most cynical and skeptical person in the room is always right.

In this case, the Doctor seems very resistant to the idea of an afterlife as Gwyneth perceives it, even though he has no problem with the fact that the Gelth need corporeal bodies in spite of existing outside them. While he knows that there are multiple universes and dimensions, he is dismissive of the idea that Gwyneth’s parents sent these “angels” to look after her. And this gives way to the Doctor cynically using what he believes to be Gwyneth's (primitive?) beliefs to further an agena. While he can be a tolerant and open-minded person, in this case Nine isn't having any of that.

The Doctor uses Gwyneth’s beliefs to manipulate her. He conveniently ignores those aspects of the narrative she presents about the Gelth and her understanding of them that he knows are objectively false but which further his purpose of giving these “pitiable” creatures the opportunity to live.

To be fair, one of the reasons he is so insistent about doing this is because they inform the Doctor that they lost their corporeal forms during the Time War. He feels personally responsible for what they have lost. He sees a resource in the empty human bodies of the dead, and he comes to a compromise in his mind. He plans to allow them to go through with their plan of using the reanimated dead and then to take them to a place where such an advanced race might be able to build new and proper bodies for themselves. Therefore, he allows Gwyneth to believe that she is helping “angels” that her parents sent from the afterlife to comfort her.

The Gelth themselves also use emotional manipulation in order to convince the Doctor and Gwyneth that they are pitiable creatures. They utilize children’s voices and a visage that looks very much like the shape of a human child when they manifest into a gaseous form. This comes in spite of the fact that we have already seen that they will kill before they will verbally communicate with humans. They have ingratiated themselves with Gwyneth and have comforted her. They have learned about her life and needs because they need her in order to establish a physical link within the rift that has opened up between their part of the universe and Cardiff. In spite of the fact that longterm exposure to the spacetime rift has allowed Gwyneth to develop an apparently-supernatural insight into the minds of others around her, among other things, she has had no ability to discern the true, more violent intentions of the Gelth.

Rose takes a different angle, but she is equally as skeptical about Gwyneth’s qualifications to make her own decisions about this circumstance. Rather than allowing Gwyneth to “believe what she needs to” in order to get the job done, Rose wants to protect her from her naivete that is based on the cultural differences between a woman of Rose’s time and one of Gwyneth’s. While this point of view may be more immediately sympathetic to me, it is also making the point that not meeting a person where they are and acknowledging the insight they do have, in spite of any blindspots or ignorance, is also dangerous.

Last but not least, we have Dickens who is skeptical about the very existence of something other-worldly influencing the physical and real world he knows. This is in spite of a few references to the fact that he perhaps holds to some religious and/or metaphysical beliefs. He resists the rampant abuses of the spiritualism fad of the time while also allowing himself to be convinced through empirical evidence. Charles is the character in the story who gains the moth “faith” in something that he cannot understand or make sense of completely, and he comes out of it with a renewed sense of vigor in his person and life in spite of the fact that he is nearing its end.

Gaslighting (not really I'm just making a joke)

Now, back to the way the Doctor manipulated Gwyneth and its consequences. Because the Doctor missed every possible sign that the Gelth were up to no good in a much more deliberate, calculating way than the Nestene Consciousness was, the Gelth manage to begin pouring themselves through the portal Gwyneth has become for them. The Doctor and Rose have to lock themselves in a sort of cage? I don't know what that is for in a funeral parlor. Maybe it is a closet, but it has a weird, barred door. They are left alone, and if not for external help, the Doctor and Rose would have both been overtaken by the Gelth. Rose is again faced with the possibility of her imminent death, and again she says that she is glad she met the Doctor rather than allowing herself to dissolve into regret. She doesn't want to die, but she seems to be continually convincing herself that even dying like this is better than not having done it at all.

I lived and breathed Doctor/Rose from the first few weeks I was into Doctor Who. Ever since I felt like I had a footing in the canon, though, I have always found that fellow-shippers always seemed to view the Doctor and Rose's relationship through rose-colored glasses (pun intended or no). I think that one of the most interesting parts of it is how it experiences very heartfelt, sweet growth through frankly insane, impulsive actions. It isn't an especially normal love story by a long shot, and I don't really understand the compulsion to act like it is, but I digress.

Luckily, Dickens decides to come back after having run away in terror. He figures out that the creatures are made of gas and that they can essentially pull them out using the gas system in the funeral parlor. Planet, Doctor, and Rose saved again. Then, the Doctor is faced with figuring out how to clean up the mess he has made through listening to his survivor's guilt instead of common sense and assuming that he knew better about intergalactic politics than everyone else in the room - regardless of the context and stakes. He tries to insist that Gwyneth send the Gelth back, and when she does not immediately comply, he again calls upon her beliefs in a way that he clearly does not himself espouse. He tells her that if her parents could look down and see her that they would help her and want her to do it. He knows that she has realized that the Gelth have manipulated and lied to her, but he still goes about trying to manipulate her. Poor Gwyneth simply could not catch a break from anyone.

The Gelth pulled this trick on all of them when they simply remained silent to demands for promises of safety, to the Doctor’s plan for helping the “few” of them, and so on. This lack of good faith conversation is shown on “both sides” - when it is intended to shelter and protect someone and when it is deliberately malicious. In both cases, it still causes some harm.

When Dickens returns and the Doctor once again tries to manipulate Gwyneth in order to save her and to, by extension, save everyone, it is still clear that the Doctor isn’t the one who is in control. Rose tries to insist that she stay behind because she has come to care about Gwyneth, but the Doctor successfully pleads that both the humans go without him. He even uses the phrase “I won’t leave her while she’s still in danger,” which one might argue is yet another emotionally manipulative phrase, but I tend to think that it is a very raw, true statement about how the Doctor must view life and death in some of the circumstances he finds himself in.

More things in Heaven and Earth

The Doctor is shocked when he works out that Gwyneth has been physically dead the entire time she had been interfacing with the Gelth. They killed her, and yet she maintained control of her mind. While she was literally their bridge, she manages to hold them and push them out. I wonder how much of that ws intentional or a matter of narrative convenience. In any case, it shows that the Doctor is also wrong about the existence of a person’s intentionality and personhood “after death,” at least in this one particular case. When he rejoins Dickens and Rose outside and recounts this to them, Dickens is the one who reminds him to have an open mind even when the truth seems regressive or irrational, showing that he has learned his lesson. The Doctor needs to learn his own lessons too, sometimes.

While this isn’t a Christmas special as such, it also introduces the fact that there is a certain special, forgiving nature to the Christmas season even in this universe and regardless of why. I think that this episode is affirming regardless of where you fall on the spectrum of easy-faith or easy-skepticism. It shows that the best way to approach something is through honest searching. That is why Gwyneth is a tragic hero in this episode. No matter what anyone else around her was doing, she was approaching her attempts to understand from an authentic place. She listened without a lot of presuppositions, and that was her strength. In the end, it cost her her life but let her keep her soul.

Arbitrary Ratings

Story - ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

Characterization - ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆

Aesthetic - ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

Overall - ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆

Considerations for Watching with Parents or Kids (Depending on Your or Their Ages)

This episode is actually pretty family-friendly except that it includes a lot of death. Lots and lots of death and dealing with corpses. If you feel your parent or child can handle that, then you’re probably safe.

Support

If you enjoyed this post and are over 20 years of age, please consider donating to my ko-fi to help an under-employed teacher pay her bills and for small millennial pleasures like avocados. You can find a link above. Other ways to support and encourage my writing are to comment/reply/engage and to reblog!

[acehotel]

A Trip to the Sun Ra archives on the occasion of his 104th birthday, as recounted by Eric Isaacson of Mississippi Records

Eric Isaacson, owner of Portland’s singular Mississippi Records, and Libby Werbel, curator of Portland Museum of Modern Art, traveled to Chicago last month to check out the Sun Ra archives, housed at the University of Chicago’s Regenstein Library. Libby is currently curating a show at Portland Art Museum dedicated to Sun Ra, opening later this year. Here, Eric reports on their pilgrimage to Chicago for the week of what would have been Sun Ra’s 104th birthday, plus the genesis of his love for Saturn’s favorite son. 

Before I get into a narrative about me and Libby's trip to Chicago, please indulge me as I write a digressive personal anecdote about the kismet that first led me to Sun Ra.

In the early 1990s, I was traveling through the USA in a van seeing the country for the very first time. In Phoenix, Arizona, I stumbled into a really bad record store, filled with over priced Beatles, Eagles and Rolling Stones collectables. The man behind the counter obviously considered himself a great music scholar and psychedelic warrior of the 60s.  On the floor, beneath a record rack, I found a box filled with strange homemade looking records. The covers were all hand painted and had titles like The Other Side Of The Sun, Disco 3000, Cosmic Tones For Mental Therapy, My Brother the Wind and so on. I had never even heard of the artist they were all attributed to — Sun Ra. 

Intrigued by the covers, I asked the record store clerk how much they cost and he said, "Aw, those records all sound like a bunch of noise... and they don't even have real covers, just those hand painted junky lookin' ones. You can have them for $2 each."  Something about the vibe of the record store clerk was so awful and the records seemed to be emanating the exact opposite vibe — so they called to me. The clerk’s contempt for them really did help their cause in my eyes. I was broke, but I bought the whole box.

This began my life long love of Sun Ra.

I used to be the manager of a record store in Oakland called Saturn Records (named after Sun Ra's record label), and now I run a record store and label in Portland, Oregon called Mississippi Records. Our retail shop always has at least 50 different Sun Ra titles in stock. Obsessive? You betcha. Libby Werbel runs an art gallery out of the basement of the record store called "The Portland Museum Of Modern Art." When she first started scheming on what she wanted to show at her gallery, a Sun Ra related show was at the top of the list. Through her world class work at PMOMA, she was recently invited to be visiting artistic director at the actual Portland Art Museum, curating 18 months worth of programing in their contemporary art wing under the theme of "building our own monuments." Who deserves monuments more than Sun Ra, the hardest working man in show business?

This led us to Chicago. The Sun Ra archive is held within the marvelous brutalist architectural library at the University of Chicago, within 150 boxes of varying size. Alton Abrahams, who ran Sun Ra's label Saturn with him and managed the band, donated all the materials to the University’s special Jazz Archive for safe keeping. We requested to spend 3 days combing through the archive, selecting the ephemera and artifacts we’d borrow for a full-on Sun Ra retrospective show at the Portland Art Museum. It was a great joy. The University doesn’t allow public documentation of the treasures in their archive (Editor’s note: the images herein were all swiped from the web), but trust me, it’s a mindblower, especially all the amazing posters of Chicago shows — Sun Ra with Alice Coltrane, Albert Ayler, the MC5 and on and on.

Sun Ra claimed that in 1938, a bright light appeared around him, and, as he says, "My whole body changed into something else. I could see through myself. And I went up... I wasn't in human form... I landed on a planet that I identified as Saturn... they teleported me and I was down on a stage with them. They wanted to talk with me. They had one little antenna on each ear. A little antenna over each eye. They talked to me. They told me to stop attending college because there was going to be great trouble in schools... the world was going into complete chaos... I would speak through music, and the world would listen. That's what they told me."

By the time he arrived in Chicago in 1945, Sun Ra was deeply immersed in the study of music, and the city was the perfect incubator for his unique vision. Despite Sun Ra's personal attempts to obscure his own origins and journey — he loved to be cloaked in mystery and intrigue — the story of Sun Ra since his landing in Chicago has been covered widely and well. His was a nuanced vision, and the picture posthumously constructed by the cold light of archivists and historians would not have been to interesting to him.

Like the man said:

"If death is the absence of life/then death's death is life"

After the cut: some stray observations we had in Chicago during the downtime between our long dredges through the fantastic 150 boxes of Sun Ra's historic artifacts. 

+ We arrived in Chicago off a red eye flight, bleary eyed and near psychedelic from the lack of sleep. Our dear friend Gordon, who happens to work at the Stumptown Coffee situated in the lobby of the Ace Hotel, picked us up at 6 AM and quickly corrected our condition with some cold brew.

+ Truth be told, I am first and foremost a food tourist and the legends of Chicago's 78 neighborhoods of ethnic food offerings was beyond exciting. Gordon was kind enough to lay down a beautiful list of must visit restaurants, some of them within walking distance of Ace. Two blocks away was a tiny Japanese restaurant called Ramen Takeya, which we had to visit twice due to a near religious experience we had while eating a salmon chirashi bowl with crunchy onion bits. We also ate incredible Naples-style pizza, which they cut with scissors to whatever size your heart desires, so you can get away with trying six pies in one sitting. A trip to Chinatown landed us at a perfect no nonsense dim sum place, and then there was the Greek deli that served a spinach pie as big as two fists of fury.

+ We managed to do some non-food related things too — like take a great stroll to the Garden of the Phoenix, a small island park across from the Museum of Science and Industry, replete with its own charming Japanese garden on the water an a surprise sculpture by none other than Yoko Ono. 

+ We went and drank martinis at Al Capone’s old haunt called the Green Mill Cocktail lounge and at in the dark smoke crusted dive in what we were told was his favorite booth. 

+ On our last day we made our pilgrimage to the MCA to catch the Howardena Pindell retrospective which managed to move Libby to tears. Her dedication and political conviction was exactly what both of us needed to see. 

+ Since we had some more time to kill before our evening flight out, we made our way to the Center for Intuitive and Outsider Art and upon arrival felt like we hit pay dirt! This place was amazing! Libby waxed poetic about the long history of Chicago and the surrounding areas radical community of self-taught artists and we got to see some of our favorites displayed unassumingly in all their glory. They had everyone: Lee Godie, Eugene Von Bruenchenhein, Simon Sparrow, Mose Tolliver and Jimmy Lee Sudduth (to name a few) and a full-on recreation of Henry Darger’s apartment, which immediately creeped us both out. It was a perfect treat to the end of our trip, and solidified our belief that Chicago is a city filled to the brim with things to discover. We can’t wait to come back.

[bubblywrites]

Running From A Name Chapter 10

“That politician may have been the least of our problems.” Polpo said.

Bruno was taken aback. “What do you mean by that?”

Polpo fiddled with his wine glass. He swished the liquid around the cup but never drank any of it. “It wasn’t just the politician that was killed. I didn’t want to concern you with this, but now I guess you're involved. Several soldatos were murdered. Their territories were annexed by some mysterious group. I believe the ones who killed the politician are from the same group.”

“Couldn’t we just send more members into the overtaken territories to get them back? Part of the reason Passione rose to power so quickly was because of the use of stands. It shouldn’t be a problem to take these men out.”

Polpo cupped his chin. “Your right. It should be that easy. But the men I sent were killed. However, one did survive. In his report, he said, ‘Everyone with him was killed by bullets, knives, and something else unworldly.”

Bruno swallowed, then whispered, “A stand ability.”

“Exactly. I sent another person undercover to investigate the overtaken areas. He found this in one of the restaurants.” Polpo held up a small plastic bag with fairy blue jawbreakers in it.

Bruno perked an eyebrow. “I don’t understand. It’s just candy.”

“I thought the same thing too. But the man I sent found several people with this bag of candy. When he went to the nearest convenience stores, he couldn’t find these jawbreakers on any of the shelves. He was able to trace it back to an abandoned warehouse. Inside the warehouse, there were people high off their asses and surrounded by this stuff. He said they called it ‘Fairy Magic.’ So in other words-”

“The candy is a drug.” Bruno interrupted. His mouth went dry. His hands were clenched into fists and were trembling. Anger boiled deep inside of him, threatening to morph his stoic face into one of a raging bull.

Polpo glimpsed at Bruno’s hands then his face. He swirled the wine in his cup. “I understand your anger Buccellati. Our territory was stolen to expand some greedy mongrel’s drug trade. I do have a lead though.”

“You do?” Bruno asked.

“The man I sent to investigate saw a pimp there who has connections to us. We suspect he may have done more there than just get high. He could be moving the drugs into Passione’s turf. But we’ve had difficulty getting in contact with the pimp for a while. It’s only a struggle because he was shot by a cop and taken into custody.”

The idea of pimping women made Bruno gag. Ever since Alma told him about her mother, he’s worked hard to steer clear of pimps. Bruno wished he could be surprised about Passione’s connections with some of them. “Wasn’t that the case about the dirty cop?” Bruno asked.

Polpo nodded. “Yes, it was. I want you to try to find that cop. See if you can get any info from him about this mess.”

Polpo waved his hand, a signal that Bruno was dismissed.

Bruno stalked the scene of Abbachio’s crime for the majority of the day. The crime scene was a small abandoned house tucked inside of a former alleyway. The house had paint peeling off the walls, broken wooden boards, and empty liquor bottles strung across the floor.

The sky changed into dusk. Raindrops splashed onto Bruno’s shoulders. He opened his umbrella and prepared to leave. But Bruno’s head snapped at the sound of glass clattering. At the door of the house, stood a fit, tall man. He trudged out of the building’s darkness, allowing Bruno to get a better look at him. The man dressed in all black. The tail of his coat touched the bottom of his baggy pants. He wore a belt with a golden letter A strapped to his hips. His white hair was bone straight until it reached the base of his neck. The ends of his hair stiffened outward into mountain peaks. The man hung his head low. He held an empty wine bottle in his hand and swayed on his feet.

“You are Leone Abbacchio, right?” Bruno asked.

The man lifted his head. His eyes were layered with bags that were filled with pools of dark circles. After seeing his face, Bruno understood. Leone Abbacchio’s failure haunted not only himself but also the building. They were one entity.

“What do you want?” Abbacchio answered. His voice was gruff and hoarse.

“I need to ask you about the incident that happened here.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you. Now leave.”

Bruno stood his ground. “The man your partner shot was an important part of figuring something out for my organization. He’s in custody, so I need you to tell me everything you can about him.”

Anger flashed in Abbacchio’s eyes. He swung his arm against the wall, shattering the bottle in the process. “I said leave!” He roared.

Bruno sighed. “Abbacchio, I don’t know you that well. Matter of fact, I don’t know you at all. But one thing I can say is, how long will you let this demon from your past take over your life? I want to believe that the righteousness you once had, never died out. You can still be a man who can achieve great things.”

Bruno turned to walk away, but he stopped when Abbacchio called out to him. “What’s pushing you forward. Why do your eyes glow with conviction? Why do you talk with a sense of duty and responsibility?”

“Because I have things I want to achieve.” Bruno said without hesitation. “Fate has weaved a path for all of us. I want to stay true to the one it set for me.” Bruno closed his umbrella. He ignored the cold raindrops that drenched his suit. He wanted Abbacchio to see him fully. He wanted Abbacchio to see that he viewed him as an equal. “You’ve lost sight of your path, but I can get you back on it, Leone Abbacchio.”

Abbacchio’s mouth was slightly open. He stared at Bruno as if he were a lost child.

Bruno spoke. “There is a restaurant named Libeccio’s. When you feel ready to change, I’ll be there waiting.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Alma’s hands focused on wiping the tables, but her eyes were glued to the reserved seating area. Bruno hadn’t eaten in the restaurant for a whole week. When he finally started coming in again, he brought a strange, new companion with him. If Alma were to be honest, Bruno’s new friend had a mean mug that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand. Ever since he joined Bruno’s entourage, Alma’s been hesitant to serve the reserved table.

“I just wish that scary, white haired guy and Fugo weren’t there so I could talk to Bruno. His blue eyes are so dreamy. And I can listen to him talk all day with that deep voice of his. What I would give to just hear him say, ‘I love you Alma.’” Angelo whispered in Alma’s ear in an exaggerated feminine voice.

Alma elbowed him in the gut. Angelo lurched forward, holding his stomach.

“I was not thinking that you ass.” Alma said, annoyed.

Angelo straightened himself. “Sure you weren't. But there is something you might find more interesting that Buccellati.” Angelo held a white envelope sealed by a red and yellow coat of arms.

Alma snatched the envelope from Angelo’s hand. “This is from the University of Naples.”

“Sure is. I got it from the mailbox just now. I guess the school hasn’t updated your address in the records yet.”

Alma’s feet were nailed to the floor. Angelo had to grab her shoulders to walk her into the kitchen.

Marco peeked at them. “What’s wrong?”

“Alma got a letter from the University of Naples.” Angelo replied.

Marco dropped the pot in his hand to stand over Alma’s shoulder. Everyone in the kitchen stared at her in anticipation. Alma’s hands shook as she peeled off the seal. Her heart had beaten with enough power to burst free from her ribcage. She unfolded the letter and read the first sentence three times. Alma gripped the piece of paper so tight that she crumpled the edges. She jumped up and down, screeching, “I GOT IN!”

The kitchen exploded into cheers and hollers. Alma stopped jumping to read the letter aloud. Her mind moved faster than her mouth, making her words jumbled.

“Dear Alma Calamaro,

We are pleased to offer you admission into the University of Naples’ Art program. The admission staff was very impressed with your credentials and portfolio. On behalf of the admissions committee, we would like to offer you a full ride for all four years of your attendance at the University of Naples.”

The shouting in the kitchen doubled in volume. Marco and Angelo threw their arms around Alma, joining her in the jumping ritual.

Angelo released her to say, “I know the perfect way we can celebrate. We’re having an end of the year party on campus tomorrow. You have to come. It’s a great way to see the campus and chill with some of the students.”

Alma rocked her head side to side. “Parties aren’t really my thing, but I wanna go to this one. I really want to see my future campus.”

Angelo high fived her.

Marco held Alma’s face in his hands and smooched her forehead. “You smart girl. You got a whole full ride. I am so proud of you. I know your parents would be proud too.”

Alma clutched her parents’ wedding bands. “I’m happy to make you and them proud. Thank you zio.”

The kitchen staff came up to Alma to ruffle her hair, pat her on the back, and kiss her cheeks.

Alma’s face hurt from smiling for the entirety of her shift. Her usual fear of taking out the trash was overshadowed by her joy. So much so, she did not sense the person who snuck behind her clamp their hands onto her shoulders.

Alma jumped at the contact. She spun on her heels, but sighed in relief at the figure in front of her. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Bruno, I told you were a creep. And,’ She poked his chest. “I’m still mad about this tattoo.”

Bruno’s lips curled in amusement. He cupped a hand over his ear and said, “My bad. I didn’t catch all that. Your Sicilian dialect comes out when you're upset.”

Growing up, Alma’s parents forbade her from speaking Sicilian. They told her that if she spoke in Sicilian dialect, people from the mainland would never understand what she was saying. As a result, she only spoke in traditional Italian. But when she was with Doc, she only spoke in Sicilian.

Alma rolled her eyes at Bruno. “I said I’m still mad about the tattoo. And that you're a creep.”

Bruno laughed. “You're still not over it?”

“I was the one who suggested we get tattoos in the first place. But you know what you did? Went and got one without me. Traitor.”

“I’m sorry.” Bruno said, struggling to hold in another laugh.

“And he finally apologizes, but it’s not even a genuine one.”

Bruno leaned on the wall. “I heard all that screaming from the kitchen earlier. What happened?”

Alma bounced on the balls of her feet. “I got into the school. On a full ride to.”

“You serious?” Bruno asked, amazed.

Alma hummed, placing her hands on her hips. Bruno grasped her arms and pulled Alma into a hug. She flushed.

“I’m not surprised, but I’m still really proud of you Alma.”

Alma wrapped her arms around Bruno’s middle and smiled into his chest. “Thanks.” She gazed up at him. “Do you mind walking me home?”

“Yes, I do actually.”

“Bruno.” Alma said sternly.

“I’m joking. Yeah, I’ll walk you home.”

As they strolled to Alma’s apartment, Bruno asked, “You haven’t been serving my table recently. What’s the problem?”

“Your new friend is the problem. He has a face that scares children.”

Bruno snorted. “Abbacchio scares you? I agree, he’s not the most approachable person. But he’s not impossible to talk to.”

“If you say so.” Alma mumbled, unlocking her apartment door. She whipped her head to Bruno. “You wanna come in?”

He shrugged his shoulders and stepped through the door. Alma entered after him. She paused to blink at the mess in her living room. There were pillows and snack wrappers surrounding a giant fort made from black couch cushions, multi-colored blankets, and the dining room chairs.

Emilio crawled out of the fort. “You brought Buccellati with you? Yay. You two come inside. It’s scary story night.” He dipped back inside the tower of cushions.

Bruno cocked his head. “Scary story night?”

Alma scratched her cheek. “Yeah. It’s something we started doing on Friday nights a few months ago. We make a giant fort in the living room, and I tell them scary stories. I was so caught up with news from the university, that story night slipped my mind. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. I know you're busy.”

Bruno shook his head. “No it’s fine. I’ll stay.”

Alma failed to hide the growing grin on her lips. “Angelo keeps spare pajamas here, so you can wear those. You can find them by the washing machine.”

Alma dashed to her room to change into her pajamas: a pair of red, checkered cotton pants and a short-sleeved black crop top. She rummaged through her shelves. “Where did I put it? Oh, found it.” Alma grabbed the small sketchbook on her top shelf before leaving her room.

Her breath hitched upon seeing Bruno exit the bathroom. His undone braid added volume to his sleek bob. He wore Angelo’s silky black pajama bottoms along with a white tank top. His long arms were on display in their full glory. Alma wanted to run her fingers across the sharp and rigid muscles.

“Something the matter?” Bruno asked.

Alma’s face started burning. “Nope. Nothing’s wrong. Just glad Angelo’s clothes fit.”

Bruno crawled into the fort. Alma turned off all the lights in the house and followed in after him. Isabella shined the flashlight on Alma as she crossed her legs.

“You guys ready?” Alma asked.

Her siblings nodded their heads. Bruno leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. “Let’s see how scary this story is.”

Alma opened her sketchbook. She began reciting her story while flipping to the corresponding pages.

“There once was a young boy who lived in a poor, little village. Everyday, he and the villagers struggled to find something to eat. Only one house in the village had an abundance of food. And that was the Black Mansion. But everyone in the village avoided the Black Mansion. It sat on top of a hill surrounded by dark storm clouds that shot off booming thunder. Even when the sun was out, it always looked like night time at the Black Mansion.

One day, one of the boy’s friends dared him to go to the Black Mansion.

‘I don’t want to go. It’s scary.’ The boy whined.

‘But I heard that if you go and the people living there like you, they’ll give you food. You could bring some back to the village.’ His friend said.

In hopes of getting food, the boy climbed the hill to the Black Mansion. There were bats flying around every corner of the mansion. Black cats meowed like they were in pain. Terrified, the boy ran to the door and rang the bell.

The door opened slowly with a loud creak. Standing at the door, was a man as tall as a tree. He had a bald head, and his skin was paler than snow. And he wore all black. Behind the man, was a woman who the boy assumed was his wife. She too wore all black. She had giant black spirals for hair, and her skin was just as pale as her husband’s. Even their eyes were black. The boy gulped.

The couple smiled at the boy. They said at the same time, ‘Welcome to our home. Would you like something to eat?’

The boy’s lips quivered as he answered with a weak, ‘Y-yes.’

The couple waved for him to come into their home. The boy jumped at the thunderous clap of the door shutting behind him. As he walked through the dark halls, the eyes on the paintings followed him.

The couple led him to the kitchen. The wife served the boy a plate of glazed ham, fluffy mashed potatoes, and fresh peas.

The boy’s mouth watered. He slowly took a bite of the food. His eyes sparkled. He shoved more and more of the food into his mouth. The wife refilled his plate over and over.

When the boy finished eating, he couldn’t move. The husband leaned in close to his face. He showed the boy his sharp, pointy teeth and said, ‘Now it’s time for us to eat.’ The husband and wife gobbled the boy in one bite.“

Alma turned to the last page in her sketchbook. On the page, was a drawing of the husband and wife. They were baring their jagged teeth with pieces of hair and clothing between the gaps. “The couple spoke in unison, ‘We can’t wait for our next visitor.’”

Alma snuck her hand behind her back and knocked on the leg of one of the chairs. All the color drained from her siblings faces. They screamed and climbed over each to escape the fort.

Alma and Bruno cackled. Alma wiped the stray tears from her eyes. Bruno calmed himself and said, “You make such a happy home for them.”

Alma scooted closer to Bruno. Her hip touched his. Alma rested her head on his warm shoulder. “It's a happy home you will always be welcomed to, Bruno.”

Bruno’s shoulder tensed under her cheek. He moved to lay on the blankets, pulling Alma down with him. He snaked an arm around her waist. Alma’s heartbeat quickened and a deep blush formed on her face.

Bruno cupped Alma’s cheek with his free hand. He caressed her with his thumb. He stared into her eyes and whispered, “Thank you, Alma.”

[hagiographically]

good things about study abroad

because im tired of being so negative all the time

anyone who knows this blog knows me as someone who complains often. but to tell you the truth its kind of draining. i hate being happy because it feels risky, it feels like i have something to lose. if im always complaining its easy to be flippant and act like nothing bothers me because, well, i didnt expect it to be good in the first place. i got to the point where i would resent happiness in others as if its a limited resource. it still feels like one to me, even though i guess i know it isnt. but these thoughts wont go away by themselves, they only go away through actions. if i make myself happier (or as happy as i can be without miss serotonin perpetually ghosting me) maybe i would be less resentful of others and more appreciative of positiveness (apparently positivity isnt a word. hm. who knew) in all its forms. 

i complained a lot about study abroad till i was there, even up till i left. when i told my mom i missed florence she said, “youre always like this, you dont like things until you dont have them anymore and then you miss them” because i’m like that with stanford when i’m home and i’m like that with home when i’m at stanford. being happy where i am is the same risk i talked about before. and i’m a writer, anyway, i like when things end because i can think them over in full. being in the middle of something is too much flux, too many opportunities for jinxing. best to wait until it ends and reconvene those thoughts.

anyway, everyone knows about my complaining, because the issues ive always had continued to persist, just in a different language. but looking back, i am grateful i went to florence. it wasnt the perfect idyllic experience i was promised by my friends who went (i knew it wouldnt be, because im me, and perfection and outright happiness doesnt happen for me. i get in my own way) but that doesnt mean i didnt have a handful of good things that i picked up along the way. and i dont talk enough about that handful. so i wanted to record it here. study abroad wasnt perfect but it was mine, and even though i left physically and emotionally exhausted, and i cant and wouldnt do it again for a long time, im glad it happened.

i got really good at italian. and more than that, going into a country where you dont speak the language, and watching yourself grow into a speaker, is transcendent. it was so amazing seeing myself evolve. i would go out to restaurants just so i could talk to the waiters in italian and it was wonderful i got so many “brava”s when i told them i had only been a student for a couple of months and i just ? missed being quantifiably (also not a word, damn) good at something where outside people see me as good ! amazing

i had several late night talks with my housemate who was also a woc and we complained about white men and we talked about racism and she is just really cool and smart. she would really like when i’d do impressions of the people in the program

some of the people in the program were incredibly sweet and somehow didnt see me as flaming garbage (???) and i wouldnt have met them otherwise. i do hope we at least attempt to stay in touch next year.

i traveled A Fuckton. yeah sometimes i wish i stayed in florence more but i got to explore venice, rome, milan, bologna, every town in cinque terre, naples, capri, sorrento, verona, lake garda, caserta, paris, geneva, pisa, lucca, siena, and the vatican……not bad. and i did get to see most of the main haunts in florence (duomo, palazzo pitti, piazzale michelangelo, uffizi, other museums etc)

having a disorder sux but it definitely quelled my urges for italian food for a long time (silver lining?)

i bought some really cute clothes that flatter me a lot and that arent restricted to my current body type !~! and that i can wear this summer at the ford

my host parents were absolutely angelic. i love them so much even now. they treated us like daughters. actually, the living situation was good - i lived with two housemates in an apartment close to my host parents, whereas most people live With their host parents in the same apartment. for a socially awkward depressed disordered bastard like yours truly, thats not ideal. but i got on with my housemates well, they were both down to earth and pretty quiet so we all coexisted pretty normally. but i miss my host parents!! i was the most talkative of all of us and i would always talk to them and hear their opinions on art and travel and stuff

being a woman in italy surprisingly did not hinder me the way i thought it would. i felt safe nearly all the time and no one bothered me. weird male privilege?? idk but it was neato to come home at 1:30am in rome and be completely safe. i got independent as fuck and i do think i got more confident in myself (depression had eroded me to the point where i was already pretty confident because i lost all ability to give a fuck and my malnourished brain couldnt comprehend caring about things, but another silver lining i suppose)

florence is the most beautiful city and it got touristy at the end but i loved it!! seeing hordes of people at the church by my house (santa croce) because they love italy and traveling and art as much as i do. bellissima

[partenopae]

@aceshepard tagged me so let’s pretend i actually know who i am for a second lmao

1: Are you named after someone? nah 2: When was the last time you cried? sunday i think? i played life is strange lmao 3: Do you like your handwriting? it’s okay?? it looks good when i start writing but my wrists hurts very fast bc i hold pens weird so it turns into a Mess(tm) very fast 4: What is your favorite lunch meat? vegetarian squad 5: Do you have kids? well, being a healer main is kinda like being a single parent 6: If you were another person, would you be friends with you? pFFF 7: Do you use sarcasm? i am a sarcasm 8: Do you still have your tonsils? yes 9: Would you bungee jump? i already get anxious in assassins creed my dudes 10: What is your favorite kind of cereal? honey pops!! or nougat bits 11: Do you untie your shoes when you take them off? only if i have to, most of the time not 12: Do you think you’re a strong person? pFFF² 13: What is your favourite ice cream? Ever, ever? ughhh damn, i really like fior di latte but u can’t get it in germany, soooo maybe mint?? 14: What is the first thing you notice about people? i have no idea tbh 15: What is the least favorite physical thing you like about yourself? my back bc Acne(tm) 16: What color pants and shoes are you wearing now? dark blue 17: What are you listening to right now? woodkid - i love you 18: If you were a crayon, what color would you be? blue?? 19: Favorite smell? food is Good(tm), felce azzura is also sO good 20: Who was the last person you spoke to on the phone? a friend 21: Favorite sport to watch? there is nothing ....... more boring .... 22: Hair color? green/blue-ish with dark roots of Death(tm) 23: Eye color? brown 24: Do you wear contacts? no 25: Favorite food to eat? U CAN’T MAKE ME DECIDE I LOVE SO MUCH FOOD 26: Scary movies or comedy? comedy! i don’t care much for scary movies bc they’re either horrible or i’m Haunted by them for ever lmao 27: Last movie you watched? “hurricane bianca” with my sister!! 28: What color of shirt are you wearing? pastel pink 29: Summer or winter? ..... both sucks ..... give me autumn 30: Hugs or kisses? i have to say kisses bc there are a limited amount of people who try to kiss me and i hate hugging people i don’t want to hug lmao, u don’t have to pretend we’re the bestest of friends all of a sudden ..... just .... leave me alone 31: What book are you currently reading? his dark materials it’s a slow process but i’m doing it lmao 32: Who do you miss right now? nobody 33: What is on your mouse pad? my ..... mouse  34: What is the last TV program you watched? uh ...... vox maybe?? 35: What is the best sound? i don’t think i have a favourite 36: Rolling stones or The Beatles? i don’t really care 37: What is the furthest you have ever traveled? naples 38: Do you have a special talent? ..... i can sleep a lot 39: Where were you born? frankfurt

i’m tagging @flowerjelly, @pee-bees and @mvrianhawke, ofc only if u want to :>

[barddom]

The Tempest

I started my reading list with The Tempest because it’s the first one in my copy of The Complete Works. It’s also a little bit poignant because Tempest is one of those plays that People believe “means” something about Shakespeare (or, as he will be colloquially referred to on this blog, Billy Shakes). It was probably one of his last plays, and because it’s about an old man giving up his craft, People say that it is about Shakespeare giving up The Theatre.

I don’t know about all that. What I do know that Shakespeare had daughters, and that the way he wrote father-daughter relationships is very particular and interesting. However, using his plays to try and expose truths about the playwright can be really unproductive. I’ve tried it and it’s hard and usually wrong. That being said, the plot is pretty wild.

[what follows is a plot summary. for hasty, last minute thoughts, skip to the end.]

Act One

Surprise! It’s about a tempest! We open in Act 1 with a storm, and a ship caught in the fustercluck.

The Boatswain and Shipmaster are like, “Nooo!” and the passengers are like, “Please God, I don’t want to die at sea! I want to die on land!” (1.1.63-65)

These passengers are: Alonso, the King of Naples, his brother Sebastian, his son Ferdinand,  his counsellor Gonzalo, and Antonio, the Duke of Milan. Basically, the who’s who of Italy.

After this expository storm scene, we jump to a nearby island to meet our protagonists, Prospero (old, weird, presumably funky smelling), and his daughter, Miranda (young, nubile). Also, Miranda is the only female character in the play, which means we’re off to a really great start of continually failing the Bechdel test.

“Papa,” Miranda says, probably. “What is up with this freaky storm? Is that a shipwreck over there? Also, who am I?” (1.2)* (See notes at the bottom re: Miranda’s questions, memory, and this entire exchange.)

Here’s the deal: Miranda is fifteen, and has never met anyone other than Prospero, her father, or Caliban, the dude he keeps chained up in a cave for reasons that will become clear (but make that fact no less alarming).

Prospero, on today of all days, decides to be honest with Miranda about his past and her identity. This is a classic Billy Shakes move: exposing the noble lineage of a character to move the plot along. The sad tragic backstory is this: [cue violins]

Prospero used to be the Duke of Milan. Antonio is his evil, scheming, usurping brother. (Gasp!) Back when Miranda was a toddler, Prospero spent all his time reading magic books, and his brother was like, “I should be the duke!” King Alonso was in on it as well, and they shoved Prospero and Miranda on a boat and left them out at sea. Gonzalo gave them food, clothes, and water, but more importantly, the magic books! (Thanks, Gonzalo.) They eventually made it to The Island, where Prospero was like, “Chill,” and set up camp for the rest of time. (1.2.36-173) (It’s a long story.)

So the storm is Prospero’s revenge. He’s gonna really make life hard for the guys on the boat. (1.2.180). Miranda tries to ask another question, but her dad spells her to sleep instead, naturally.  

This is where we meet Tempest’s real MVP: the spirit Ariel. Unfortunately, we don’t get to see him in action just yet. Instead we hear his tragic backstory. [Violins again, please.]

Before Prospero came to the island, it was ruled over by an evil witch named Sycorax. (Notice how men who practise magic are good magicians and women who practise magic are evil witches? Yeah, that’s a thing.) Prospero killed Sycorax, freed Ariel from the tree he was captive in, and then immediately enslaved him again. (1.2.257-293)

Prospero has promised Ariel that he will free him, as long as he follows through with the plan to separate, torment, and punish the shipwreck victims. Ariel’s like, “Already on it, boss.” And he flies away. (1.2.300)

When Miranda wakes, they go visit Caliban, Sycorax’s son! Wild. He collects their firewood and complains about it, mostly.

Meanwhile, Ariel has found Prince Ferdinand and is luring him in with sweet music. Miranda, who has never seen a man who is not a) super old or b) horribly disfigured, immediately falls madly in love with him on sight. Too bad, so sad, Prospero locks him up.

Act Two

We open on Antonio and Sebastian, who – I’m not gonna lie – I have always gotten a weird evil lovers vibe from. Is that just me? Probably.

They put their heads together and decide to kill the king, who is super bummed out because he thinks his son is dead. So if he dies, then Sebastian would be the new King of Naples! And Antonio would be the Duke of Milan and they could have slumber parties! Flawless plan. But as they go to behead the sleeping men, Gonzalo wakes up.

“Hey guys, what are those swords for?” he asks.

“Uh… we heard a monster?” they say, you know, like liars.

They don’t know how right they are, as we cut to–

Caliban, who is chopping wood (naturally) and starts to soliloquize on how much he hates Prospero, which is pretty understandable. I mean, a guy comes and kills your mother, steals the land you grew up on and were destined to inherit, and then enslaves you? That’s a huge bummer.

Enter Trinculo, the court jester, who was also in the shipwreck. The scene that follows is slapstick AF, providing a much needed break in the action of Slavery this and Drowned Souls that. He and Caliban end up under the same cloak for shelter from the storm, and Trinculo says, “Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows!” (2.2.42.)

Too true, Trinculo. Too true.

Another survivor, the butler Stephano, rocks up, only he has a whole lot of wine with him. Get in, buddy. He thinks that Caliban and Trinculo look like a weird beast, and decides the best course of action is to feed it the rest of the wine. Caliban gets smashed, immediately. Then Trinculo pops out and says, “Stephano, buddy! It’s me!” Happy friends are reunited, and now have a drunk, pliable, and desperate Caliban believing that they are gods and that wine is divine nectar, and that they’ll be able to kill Prospero! Sounds logical.

Act Three

Because there’s not much to do on an island populated by three people, Ferdinand is the new Caliban and is in charge of woodcutting. He waxes poetic about how the work is hard, but his love for Miranda makes it all okay. (i.e. “This work is hard, but I am harder, eh-hey!”) (3.1.1-15)

It’s cool though because it’s totally mutual. Prospero isn’t too keen on it, and is spying on them from a distance like the creepy, overprotective father he most certainly is. He’s conflicted because Miranda has never been happier, but also his baby girl is growing up! [violins, again]

The important thing about this scene, I think, is the language about servitude. We’ve seen a whole lot of different kinds of servitude in the play so far - mostly, you know, involuntary. Miranda and Ferdinand exchange willing, voluntary vows, declaring their love for and service to each other. (See, kids? Love is a prison.)

Meanwhile, on another part of the island, Stephano and Trinculo are getting Caliban even drunker.

More importantly, Ariel comes in, invisible to them, and plays them some kickass tunes on his pipe. This is where one of the best known passages from the play comes from.

Caliban

Be not afeard. The isle is full of noises, Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not. Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments Will hum about mine ears; and sometime voices, That, if I then had wak’d after a long sleep, Will make me sleep again; and then, in dreaming The clouds methought would open and show riches Ready to drop upon me, that, when I wak’d, I cried to dream again.

(3.2.130-137)

I love this part because this is where we finally start seeing the island for what it is: a haunted fairytale world. Caliban, who’s lived there all his life, doesn’t know what the noises are, or even the spirits that make them. His connection to the island is so innate and deep that he doesn’t question this mystery, just accepts it. It’s *clenches fist* so beautiful.

Back with the merry group of Italian Nobles, shit is about to get real. They’re busy complaining about their feet being sore, or whatever, and then… “solemn and strange music; and PROSPERO on the top, invisible.”

Strange shapes enter the stage with a banquet. Sebastian is like, “Cool, I believe in unicorns and fairies now, this is absolutely nucking futs.” (3.3.22)

Before the nobles can eat, though, the greatest ever stage direction I’ve ever read in my life.

Enter ARIEL, like a harpy; claps his wings upon the table; and, with a quaint device, the banquet vanishes.

First of all: enter Ariel, like a harpy? Can you think of anything more beautiful and terrifying than seeing a giant bird-spirit with an enormous wingspan emerge from the air, slam its fists down in front of your face, and vanish everything there? This is why Ariel is my MVP. He’s just such a drama queen.

I’m also hugely fascinated by the “quaint device” situation, here. There’s a good chance my MA thesis will be on magic/witchcraft on stage. As Tempest is a late play, probably 1610-11, it was written and performed under King James, who was obsessed with witchcraft. Magic tricks weren’t just slight of hand, back in the day, they were fully, completely real. The audience, the actors, and the king all believed in the supernatural.

Anyway, Ariel makes this big speech about how he is a spirit of vengeance who is there to punish them for what they did to Prospero, before vanishing in thunder.

Act Four

“Sorry I, like, imprisoned you, or whatever,” Prospero says to Ferdinand. “But you can totally marry my daughter. As long as you don’t bone her until after the wedding. Or else I’ll do… something. Something magic and weird.” (4.1.1-23)

“Cool,” says Ferdinand.

Ariel, when Prospero asks, brings down the spirits/deities Iris, Ceres, and Juno to bless the union. Then some nymphs, then Reapers. Which reminds Prospero suddenly! Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo were on their way to kill him! Yikes.

With the help of Ariel’s trusty invisibility cloak, they manage to spy on them, and then set dog/hound spirits on them, and scare them away. Too easy.

Act Five

Finally, Ariel is going to be set free! After god knows how many years stuck in a tree stump, and thirteen years at Prospero’s beck and call, he’s going to be set free!

Only no.

What proceeds is a super sad scene where Ariel, telling Prospero how the Merry Italians are faring (spoiler: not well), feels a deep tug on his ol’ sympathy wire. Or, rather, “Mine would, sir, were I human.” (5.1.19)

Who is the monster and who is the man? Huh? HUH?

While Ariel goes off to fetch the shipwreck victims, Prospero makes an awesome speech about how cool and powerful his magic is, and how, alas, he is going to give it up. Because he cannot be a wizard and a Duke, can he? Also, it seems to me that his main power was, you know, enslaving people and spirits who can do his bidding. Not exactly kosher.

Ariel returns with the Italians and Prospero finally confronts them. Of course, they’re like, “Are you real? I’ve seen so much crazy crap today I wouldn’t be surprised if you were a figment of my imagination.”

But no, he has a pulse, and he has aged, and he is real!

He confronts everyone, left and right. Sebastian, Antonio, Alonso - nobody is safe! (Except for Gonzalo who he’s chill with.)

He even gives them a twist by saying, “I’ve lost my daughter…” and while they’re like, “NO!” he says, “PSYCHE! I meant because she married the prince! Booyah!”

Meanwhile, Ariel repairs the ship, fills it with supplies, and sends the captain to pick everyone up.

“FREE ME!!!!” he seems to be screaming, through clenched teeth.

Caliban, Trinculo, and Stephano all emerge, in stolen clothes, reeking of wine and, probably, their own piss. Everyone heads back to the ship, bound for Milan.

But first - “My Ariel, chick / That is thy charge. Then to the elements / Be free, and fare thou well!”

Finally. Finally.

Epilogue.

To be fair to those who think Prospero is kinda sorta Billy Shakes himself, Prospero’s epilogue sounds a lot like an old man giving up his trade, there on the stage. In fact, he begs to be set free from it.

Really, it was Prospero who was the slave all along. A slave to his circumstances, his trade, his life. Heavyhanded? Yes. An attitude that maybe diminishes the suffering endured by the actual slaves in the story? Probably. But in the end, it’s Prospero who needs to be freed from the shackles of the play, of magic, of fury, a quest for revenge, and his life on the island.

What makes Prospero’s epilogue sound like a speech being given by Shakespeare is that he asks the audience for permission to step down: “As you from crimes would pardon’d be, / Let your indulgence set me free.” (19-20)

Only can the audience set him free - not the other characters. The epilogue happens for us, not for the sake of the plot on stage. It is our job to pardon Prospero for his crimes. Our job to let Shakespeare put down his pen, I guess.

My real interest in Tempest is, as I said, in the stagecraft of it, and the implications of performing, or re-enacting the supernatural on stage. I’ll likely think about this more when it comes to things like Macbeth, Midsummer, or any play with supernatural elements, like Hamlet.

Other fascinating points:

colonialism/land ownership

colonialism and language - (Caliban: “You taught me language, and my profit on’t Is I know how to curse. The red plague rid you For learning me your language!”)

that Ariel was freed from the stump implies that he was captive in the land. I’m sure there’s some kind of eco-criticism about this, somewhere, but I don’t know if I care enough about eco-criticism to follow it up

Memory

Antonio has convinced himself that he did not wrongfully usurp his brother, for instance.

Miranda cannot remember… anything? (See Kevin Ohi (2015), ‘Forgetting the Tempest’, in Dead Letters Sent: Queer Literary Transmission (pp. 49-66). University of Minnesota Press.)

The way in which Prospero constantly qualifies the story (1.2), asking her if she’s listening, if she’s paying attention, etc. implies that she might not be listening, that she perhaps can’t pay attention, that she might not remember. Despite knowing that the shipwreck victims are alive and safe, Miranda let’s Ferdinand believe that his father is dead - or, perhaps, she does not remember that Alonso is alive.

Caliban’s memory of his mother, of his island, of his childhood - it leads us to the question of who is the custodian of knowledge, of memory, for a place?

Performances and rituals

magic, marriage, masques (oh, i like the sound of that.)

And yeah. What a plot summary. Catch me never writing one again.

Things to accompany The Tempest:

Margaret Atwood’s Hag-Seed

The Little Mermaid and/or Pocahontas

Julie Taymor’s The Tempest (2010) where Helen Mirren plays Prospera.

“The Island: Come and See/The Landlord’s Daughter/You’ll Not Feel the Drowning” by The Decemberists.

[kingdomshoes]

8 Best Restaurant Hanoi

While sitting here at another airport, my mind is singularly focused on the first bowl of pho that I will consume when I arrive in one of my favorite cities in the world, Hanoi. If I close my eyes and ignore the man who is snoring loudly next to me and the child who is loosening his lungs in the farthest corner of this barren airport, I can almost feel the streets, hear the hoot and feel the frenetic energy of the city.

An image that I remember easily: me, sitting on a plastic stool, my face dipped in a smoking bowl of pho while I took my first ceremonial inspiration. The bouquet of cardamom, cinnamon, ginger, garlic, green onion and story puffs up my tired travel soul with joy, comfort and a bit like a big hug from an old friend. After the passage of an additional flight, this image will be a reality.

I really like Hanoi: I like its cuisine, I love its vibrant animated streets, its hidden cafes, its cyclo drivers who imitate me to take a turn at every corner. I like plastic stools and French coffees. I like the smoke that escapes from the coffee shop. The remains of some animals are spread on a large cutting board so that customers know that it is fresh and therefore unmistakably delicious. I love women who wear high heels and tight cut suits, clinging to each other on a bowl of chicken paws, along with 333 plastic beers at the end of their long day's work; I love children who fight for candies in the shape of cubes covered with sesame, but have a taste of tofu; and I love old men with their stained red teeth who are content to chew tea nuts all day and all night, in silent contemplation as the city storms around them.

I even like things that I can not bring myself to try (which is not a lot).

So where do I eat in Hanoi? Good question.

I should start by saying that I am a nostalgic person with a loyalty problem, so some of these restaurants have been addicted to my favoritism. Of course, I continue to explore and prepare my list, I check with my sources as soon as my feet touch the ground (the influx of trendy and trendy places to explore is a constant, because the pace of this city - and the country actually, continues to change), but I always take the time (and a little space in my lap) to frequent my old haunts. I always find some comfort, probably understandable, to see an old friend behind the spine of a familiar menu.

Here are some places that, in my opinion, are essential if you want to explore the city. Be fearless brave travelers! Pick up your chopsticks, get rid of your fears and let your taste buds be the judge!

THE OLD SCHOOL INSTITUTION

Cha Ca La Vong

Located in a narrow street of the old quarter, this restaurant takes its name from its marvel: Cha Ca La Vong! With a sea-green interior and a ladder disguised as a staircase leading to the main floor, this is a place where English is rarely heard and where you will not have to worry about what you want; instead, you receive what they have, which has remained the same for decades.

A frying pan of fresh river fish will arrive at your table with a personal charcoal cooker. It is accompanied by a bowl of fresh rice noodles, peanuts and fresh herbs. When the fish starts to heat up and the scents of turmeric and dill begin to bloom around you, add the herbs to the pan (I personally like to add the peanuts at that time, because I like them hot) . Once you are convinced that the herbs are cooked to your taste, take the fresh rice noodles and place them in your bowl, pour a little fish, herbs and flavored oil on top, add a little fish sauce and hot peppers to scent a little more fresh herbs if that's your style and enjoy!

THE SOCIAL CLUB

After a satiated lunch at Cha Ca, I head to the old quarter for a cup of tea with lemongrass and ginger. I always walk to be able to digest a little and let the street scene get out of my head and immerse myself in the chaos that reigns every day in Hanoi. Located at 6 Ngõ Hội Vũ, Hàng Bông, Hoàn Kiếm, Hà Nội, the social club of Hanoi is an institution for expatriates and the famous Xer of Vietnam.

Spread over three floors, the third of which is an outdoor terrace, the Hanoi Social Club has a wonderfully rustic atmosphere, with old aged wooden furniture and rooms slightly decorated with Vietnamese artwork. It's a coffee that makes you feel a little lighter on entering, because it tends to inspire the feeling - at least at home - that in this space, you could very well compose a poem a little decent or, at all the least, read a book. decent poems and maybe even understand a few!

The menu is filled with fresh organic salads and Western-inspired light dishes, with just enough choice to satisfy your most difficult friend or family member. When I spend an afternoon here, I leave with a feeling a little more melancholy, a little more cultivated and a little closer to the best version of myself.

THE CONTEMPORARY & FAMILY FRIENDLY

No matter where I travel, there is always a day in a week when I need good pizzas. And I'm not talking about throwing melted cheese on dough and throwing it unconsciously into a fire! No, I'm talking about Pizza: a traditional Italian pizza that is usually found only in Italy. Fortunately, in my opinion, more and more people around the world are no longer content to present the poorer cousin to pizza, the international imitator, as I call it. Pizza 4p's in Hanoi would make Naples proud of an old man with white hair and curly mustache.

Located at 24 Lý Quốc Sư, Hàng Trống, Hoàn Kiếm, Hà Nội., Pizza 4p makes its own cheese from dairy cows grazing in the highlands around Dalat. Focusing on the freshest local ingredients, each pizza tastes like it has been prepared with love and with the most care and attention to ratios. My favorite (if you're looking for suggestions) is the Mayo Shrimp pizza at half and the four cheeses at the other. Then I take the spicy oil and pour it on my pizza (be careful, it's quite spicy). I am with a sip of Chianti and this, my friends, I promise you, is a satisfying evening!

LAKE VIEW

Located on the sixth floor and overlooking the Hoan Kiem Lake water oasis, you will be rewarded with breathtaking views of Hanoi to Cau Go. Located in the old quarter, its interior exudes an eclectic and colonial French atmosphere without trying too hard . Lunch and dinner offer flavors and varied dishes from all parts of the country, including Hanoi, Saigon and central Vietnam, with a contemporary twist. Drinks, snacks and main courses are served daily from 10:00. If you can, ask for an outdoor table with a lovely view of the turtle tower patio and sparkling Hanoi Lake.

ROMANTIC

When I'm in the mood for a bit of fusion and romance, I head for the green tangerine. This restaurant offers a French-inspired menu and one of the most beautiful hidden courtyards in the old town. I'm having a glass of red outside in the early evening when the daylight is just starting to fade. This ritual is followed by a fusion meal of pasta with soba noodle seafood and a mesclun salad, followed by a French-made crème brûlée treat. I leave feeling so "full French".

AUTHENTIC

Pho Thin

When I want pho, I also want what comes with pho. I want the shared tables and the loud crowd, the chopsticks on the tables and the bowls of hot peppers and limes and the fish sauce that came from an old family recipe handed down from generation to generation. I want to hear slurping, laughing and children, and I want my shoulders to be next to a local as we bend over and savor our bowls at once. I want to conspiratorially make eye contact with the old woman on the other side of the table while I carry the bowl to my mouth at the end of the noodles and drink the remaining broth. Located at 13 Lo Duc, Hai Ba Trung District, Hanoi 10000, Vietnam. Come here for the Pho and leave a person changed ... or at least satiated!

THE COLONIAL

Sometimes, the colonial atmosphere of the city is so strong that I am shot without choice towards the epicenter of it all - the Bamboo Bar Sofitel Metropole. For me, this bar summarizes the colonial elegance and gives me the impression that I am someone more important than me, a little more attractive, a little more worldly.

At the poolside, I usually order light tapas in the bar menu, which includes popcorn shrimp served with a spicy red pepper dip, crudités and a plate of French cheese enough to force me to follow my martini with a drink. I like this bar. I really like this bar.

THE WILD CARD - STYLE DE RUE

Quan An Ngon

My last insider tip will be a bit of a joker. Quan An Ngon is for me the best way to taste street food without being in the street. If you want to be in a place where you can try all kinds of delicious and wonderfully varied local dishes, then this is your place. Whenever I choose to go, I'm never disappointed.

I enter the great court-like atmosphere full of locals and curious little travelers and I slowly become aware of the scene to realize that now, after all these years of entering and leaving Vietnam, in a foreign country with a language that always seduces me and generates ingredients that, in my childhood, would look like a book by Dr. Seuss and at a pace that can seem both frenetic and elegant: it's like being at home. To get closer or to all my feelings, head to Phan Boi Chau Street 18, Hoan Kiem District.

THE TRADITIONAL

Grandma’s

This elegant restaurant offers a variety of delicious and authentic Vietnamese dishes, as well as an excellent selection of wines. Whether you opt for the delicious roast duck, a noodle dish, fish or seafood, Grandma's interpretations of Vietnamese classics are a memorable culinary experience in the capital.

Vietnamese concerts on Dan bau and Dan Nhi accompany your meal. Whether you are a large group or looking for an intimate dinner, enjoy the warmth of Vietnamese hospitality in this welcoming atmosphere.

http://operagarden.vn

http://www.grandmarestaurant.com/

http://operagarden.vn/Tripadvisor-Opera-Garden-Restaurant-best-restaurant-in-Hanoi

http://operagarden.vn/Best-western-restaurants-nearby

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http://operagarden.vn/dich-vu-to-chuc-gala-dinner-chuyen-nghiep-tai-nha-hang-sang-trong-ha-noi

http://operagarden.vn/nha-hang-cao-cap-tot-nhat-ha-noi

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