#bun reads nineteen seventy four

[merrilark]

          'You think I like being me? This body? Look at me! This isn't me.' He was on his knees, screwing up his star shirt. 'I'm not a puff. I'm a girl in here,' he screamed, leaping to his feet and tearing down one of the Karen Carpenter pin-ups, screwing it up in my face. 'She knows what it's like. He knows,' he said, turning and kicking the stereo, sending Ziggy scratching to a halt.

          Barry James Anderson fell to the floor by the record player and lay with his head buried, shaking. 'Barry knew.'

          I sat back down and then stood back up again. I went over to the crumpled boy in his silver star shirt and maroon trousers and picked him up, gently putting him down on the bed.

          'Barry knew,' he whimpered again.

Nineteen Seventy-Four by David Peace

[dragon-swords-prophecies]

Sacrifice Chapter 1

So I'm trying to edit chapter 1 of Sacrifice because I really don't like it and even I can tell how much my writing style has changed in three ish months but I can't figure out exactly whats wrong with it and since I've never shared anything on here ever thats this long and also I need want someone's opinion on this (Please & thank you very much), here's the first chapter of Sacrifice. I already know a bunch of stuff I'm cutting out the awkward romance part specifically i really should not even attempt to write stuff like that its just awkward but I can't figure out exactly what else is wrong with it so this is my solution instead. You sincerely truly don't have to read it if you don't want to I just thought this might be a good idea. And also its something to do if you're bored.

It's below the cut.

Taglist: @golden-eyed-writer

I grinned. Anne and Enna were arguing over the rules of Gin, while Anne, she was Enna’s twin, anyway, while Anne’s kids played tag with my nephew, Zane. Jen and Zebra collided in the middle of the room, and Zane didn’t stop in time, so they ended up in a pile of tangled limbs. My sister emerged from the other room and sighed, then burst into laughter, her wavy, silver tipped, black hair bouncing up and down. We were nearly identical, same silver blue eyes, silver tipped black hair, and dark skin. Our scales were different though. Ana’s smooth, tear drop shaped, silver scales covered her collarbone and wound down one arm; mine encircled my torso. Mine were easier to hide, but more people knew about them. I cast a lot of wind spells.

Ana only showed her scales to people she trusted, so walking in the room in a black tank top was a statement. Anne and Enna were identical, and their names mirrored each other. Blue black hair, Anne’s in twin buns and Enna’s in a half ponytail. Alabaster skin tinged with blue, and blue eyes. They had wings, but Enna was grounded. There was a knock on the door of Lei’s apartment. Lei, a blond Demonsblood, was standing closest to the door and pulled it open, sticking her head out. Two seconds later a boy dressed in the Barony’s colors entered.

“Uh, is there any person named,” He checked the sheet of paper clutched in his hands, “Anne Jones & Enna Helder-Kromlin here?” The twins stood up from the corner and scowled briefly, then Enna darted across the room, grabbed the paper, read it, and swore in Dragon.

“You can go now.” Said Faith, Lei’s redheaded younger cousin.

“Yes, ma’am.” He mumbled, then scampered away. “What is it? Dennis explode something again?” Asked Anne, striding over.

“There’s a gnome, blond, asking to see us. The note says she’s carrying the seal of the last baron.” Her twin answered in a shocked voice.

“Mae?”

“Maybe.” While they conversed, and Ana shrugged her jacket off after yanking it on when the door was opened, there was a second knock. Emily, a gnome alchemist and a friend of ours, answered this time, and her lavender eyes stared unseeing into the face of a second messenger. This one had a message for Ana. After reading it, my twin turned to me and grinned. Ana’s smile sometimes scared people. We both had pointed, sharp canine teeth, courtesy of our draconic ancestry. And that had the side effect of looking like you were about to murder someone when you smiled.

“Cerea’s alive. She’s here, with the gnome En mentioned. Joshua recognized the name.” A rush of emotions went through me. Two hundred and seventy four years ago mine and Ana’s home had been burned to the ground by Dizerdrat, an ancient red dragon. Cerea had been the name of a half elf with impressive innate primal magic, who had left when she was twenty, three months befor A'sshyse burned, leaving us the only survivors. The name was a bit ironic actually, A'sshyse sounded like Ashes if pronounced correctly, and that’s all it was now. Ashes and memories.

We didn’t bother to say anything, no one did. Two sets of twins walked out the door, leaving confusion, five friends, and three ten year olds behind. Enna twisted around before leaving, threatening, “If anyone touches those cards I will kill you.” Then she ran, and the second she and Anne were outside they broke out into a full out sprint, matching each other pace for pace. When we got to the main hall area, which had a bunch of alcoves off it that served as slightly more private spaces for meetings and the like, Anne and Enna had already tackle hugged a gnome with curly blond hair, and a black haired half elf stood nearby, awkwardly. Enna was whispering,

"Thirty five years Mae. Thirty five goddamn years. Where were you?"

“I was- Thirty five years?!”

“Yes.” Answered Anne. Mae rounded on the half elf, who put her hands up in a sign of surrender. Before the gnome could get a word out Cerea spoke.

“I didn’t know alright? I’m bad with time.”

“Still. You should have told me!”

“I know. I should have done a lot of things.” It was at that moment she looked in our direction, and saw us. Ana didn’t hesitate, rushing in to embrace a woman she hadn’t seen in nearly three hundred years. I hung back a bit. Not because of my sister, but because me and Cerea hadn’t exactly parted on… civil terms. Half a minute later Ana grabbed my arm, muttering Draconic into my ear.

“I don’t care what happened last time. You never got over it, I doubt she did.”

“Erm, okay-”

Cerea interrupted. “You survived?! What in the nine hells happened to A’sshyse?!”

“Dragonfire.” Ana answered. Then I blurted out, in Dragon, before I had to wait another three centuries to apologize.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I yelled at you. I was stupid, and, and an idiot-” Cerea intterupted in the same language.

“Yes, you were sometimes. But I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have said what I said. We were both wrong about the other.” She hugged me tightly, but quickly. As Cerea stepped away I noticed how much toll the last three hundred years had taken on her. She still had raven hair and coffee colored skin, but the freckles that once covered her face were gone. Her eyes still had the same twinkle, but the green was darker, closer to emerald than I’d ever seen them and older than they should be.

“So where were you?” Asked Enna, directing the question at Mae.

“I was petrified. I left right after you guys killed Shallodet, and then it’s a blur until waking up to find my very surprised teacher.”

Enna shuddered at the mention of the name. Shallodet was not a pleasant memory for her.

“Teacher?”

“Yeah. Anne & Enna, this is Cerea Roven. Cerea, these are my sisters. Anne and Enna Helder.”

“Helder-Kromlin. Claimed Mom’s name properly. But I’m not forgetting Helder. It’s hyphenated now. Drove the official crazy.” Corrected Enna. Anne followed with,

“Erm, it’s actually Anne Jones. I might have gotten married.”

“Sorry, what?!”

“I’ll explain later.”

“Hi?” Cerea grinned awkwardly, raising one hand in a half wave for a brief second. “Who’s the Gnome?” Asked Ana.

“I’m Mae Helder. Who are you?”

“Anastasia. Call me Ana. He’s Dash.”

“Hey. So you’re their sister?” I asked, changing the subject as quickly as possible.

“Uh huh. How’d you meet these two?”

“The War.” Answered Ana.

“War? What War?”

“Little sister, you’ve missed a lot. About a decade ago there was a War. Norfolk is gone.”

“Wow. Anything else I need to know?”

“Well, here’s the slight matter of there being a different Baron.”

“What?!”

“His name is Fredrick Falk.”

“Wait. Does that mean?”

“Yeah. He’s gone. Died about two years after you left.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I know how much he meant to you.”

“It’s okay.” The previous Baron had been the first person who had believed in Enna for a long time. When he died she had taken it hard. He had been the latest in a long line of parental figures; and each one had died.

Pike, her adopted mother, had died when she was 10. Her older brother, Zibra, had died when she was nineteen, and everyone thought it was her fault. Everyone except Anne. Her mentor, a half-dragon named Sasha, had died when she was twenty eight. When she was 40 she came back to the capital, only to find Anne missing. She thought it was her fault. Anne had nearly died. Then her Uncle, her mother’s twin, had turned out be her mother’s murder, confessed to killing Zibra and framing her, then he tried to kill both the twins, leaving Enna with thin scars that covered her arms, shoulders, back & torso.

“Anyway, why are you here?”

“Well,” Said Cerea nervously, fidgeting with the hem of her tunic. “Gray has heard some things, concerning things. They’re actually what led to me finding Mae.”

“What things?” I asked.

“The forges, the ones under the mountain, are waking up again.”

“I still don’t understand why he would put forges there, of all locations.” Muttered Anne.

“You need to tell someone.”

“That’s why we came here. Under the Code, you need two high ranking Druids to request a meeting with a ruler.”

“That’s surprisingly smart for a twenty five year old.” Said Enna, perhaps the third time in her life she had judged someone because of their apparent age. Cerea, unsurprisingly, burst out laughing.

“I’m two hundred and ninety ish. Can’t remember the exact number. Not 25.”

“Two hundred and ninety four.” I muttered quietly.

“Two hundred and ninety four, then. Either way, I’m not twenty five.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Twenty five is the oldest anyone’s ever thought I looked. I had a couple friends, a few years ago, they thought I was nineteen. Never got around to correcting them.”

“Uh-huh.” I muttered. Cerea had always looked young for her age, and it, plus her innate and extremely powerful primordial magic and wildshaping powers, had allowed her to get away with more things than the average kid would. Most of these exploits were related to stealing jelly tarts, which Ana stole from her and I then stole some of them from Ana. Yeah, fourteen year old me probably had better things to do than steal pastries from a 7 year old prankster, but it was either that or get possessed again, which is not an experience I’d recommend to anyone.

Yes, you read that correctly. Possessed. It’s a very long story that will probably come to light in time. Probably. Either way, we were interrupted by Joshua, the Baron’s 19 year old half-dragon grandson materializing from out of nowhere. His brown curls were more rumpled than usual, and his blue eyes shown with exhaustion. Joshua’s robes, the outfit commonly worn by wizards-in-training, were rumpled, like he had slept in them. He wasn’t strictly half dragon, closer to a quarter dragon. His dad’s dad had been a black dragon. His Mum, the Baron’s youngest daughter, had eloped with his dad and Joshua had only been raised in the court after his parents died in an Orc raid when he was seven. Before you ask, yes most of us had/have sob stories for backgrounds. Happy people who are mentaly stable don’t go out and hunt literal dragons.

Either way, the top half of his face, on a diagonal from right to left, was covered in smooth, black scales. They continued down his neck, and onto one arm. Joshua asked, “So you guys do know each other. I mean, I didn’t think there were a lot of black haired and crazy powerful half elven druids, but hey. There could’ve been more than one. Anyway, Grandpa’s ready to talk to you two. You know how to get there?”

“Yep.” Confirmed Mae, leading Cerea down the hallway. Joshua stayed, leaning against the stone wall.

“Hey.” Anne raised one hand half heartedly, in a sort of wave.

“Hi.”

“So I know how Ana & Dash know the mildly terrifying druid lady, but how do you two know the Gnome?”

“She’s our sister.”

“But neither of you are two Gnomes in a trench coat. So how?”

“I don’t even own a trenchcoat.” Muttered Enna.

“Exactly.”

“She’s our adopted sister, our foster mother fostered her too, though we didn’t know that then.”

“You had a foster mother?”

Anne sighed. “Yes. Pike Helder. Why do you think we speak Gnome?”

“I don’t know. Figured you just knew a lot of Gnomes.”

“I mean, we do, but that’s not the point.”

“Also, I think we would know if you guys were just Gnomes in trenchcoats.” I remarked.

“Yeah, I think you would.” Said Anne.

“You okay?” Ana asked Joshua, probably in response to his disheveled appearance.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m fine. Just stressed.” Ana scoffed, but didn’t say anything more. Enna turned to me. Her arms were crossed.

“Spill.”

“What?” I asked cluelessly. Anne added, “You and Cerea have history. What is it?,” she asked, her body language the same as her twin.

“Nothing, we just knew each other as kids.” “Uh huh.” “So that’s all?” “Yes,” I lied. Anne laughed.

“It’s almost like he thinks we don’t know that he’s lying.” “Yeah.” I looked anywhere except at the twins.

“It wasn’t anything!” I said, coming way closer to yelling than I should.

“You apologized to each other in Dragon when you saw each other.” I swore under my breath. I had forgotten Enna knew Dragon. I tended to forget she knew a lot of languages, Elven not among them in spite of her heritage.

“That was nothing.” I mumbled.

“It was not nothing. I saw Ana’s expression when she saw Cerea. She looked like her best friend had just come back to life.”

“She has.”

“Please. We all know you’re Ana’s best friend. If it’s not you, it’s Zane. Anyway, Ana looked like her best friend had just come back to life. But you, you looked like, I don’t even know how to describe it. You looked a lot like Anne when she got married to Jones. You looked like you were in love.”

“No-o. Not in love with her. Dated her once, sure, maybe we kissed a couple times, but I’m not in love with her,” I protested, turning redder than Faith’s hair, which was very, very red. “Dash, either I tell them or you do.” Threatened Ana, switching into rapid Demonic. Demonic was the one language we both knew that the twins didn’t speak.

“Can we not do this now?!” I replied, in the same language.

“What, you don’t want all our friends to know that you and Cerea were etinye aka?” She asked, using an Elven word.

“No, I would prefer not. And I really think that Cerea wouldn’t either.” “You’d be surprised. She’s changed a lot in 300 years.”

“And how would you know? You’ve seen her about as much as I have.”

She hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip and thinking. “I knew she was alive.”

--------End Chapter 1---------

If you've read this far THANK YOU VERY MUCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[sardonicnihilism]

A Biography of the Woman Who Never Was

Part 5

The Older Woman

Chapter 1

"Welcome back Shannon," Amanda said in that calm, gentle voice most therapist seemed to have. She smiled broadly as Shannon took her jacket off and sat down. Her thick, curly, white hair was pulled back in a tight bun. She had on thick, horn rimmed glasses that looked 40 years out of fashion. She wore a blue dress that was buried beneath multiple layers of scarves.

"Thanks," Shannon replied in a non-committal manner.

"So, before we begin with today's session, I want to review what you told me last session, if that's alright with you?" Amanda still had a small smile, but her face had become more emotionally neutral.

"That's fine."

Amanda looked down at her notes and began reading, "So, born November twenty-second, nineteen seventy-three to an alcoholic, single mother, father unknown. Went to live with your grandparents and aunt, who raised you and you call 'Mom', after being sexualy molested by your biological mothers boyfriend. You became morbidly obese, were constantly picked on and bullied at school; your only friend abused and gaslit you.

"Eventually you lost weight, went to college, met your husband, dropped out, got married, had two kids, your mother got sick and passed away about four years ago. You're currently employed as a warehouse worker. You've had a history of self harm as well as harming others, namely animals. You were experiencing feelings of suicide, but not currently. Is all that correct?" Amanda lifted her head and looked at Shannon.

"Pretty much. Really doesn't sound like much when you read it back to me though. It certainly doesn't sound like forty-four years worth of living." Shannon really was taken aback by just how small and empty her life sounded. It made her feel uneasy, like a shell of a person.

Amanda's smile broaden again. "Lives are always tricky things to sum up. You can whittle any life down to a single sentence, or expand it to a ten thousand page epic. It's all about how much detail you want to get into."

"I suppose."

"So, how has things gone in month since we last talked?"

"It's hard to say. Events wise, pretty bland basically. No major hiccups or disasters. I should be happy, I suppose; but I just feel lost and unmorred. I just feel like I'm drifting with no direction, no goals, just an empty vessel at the whims of the forces around me.

"I used to have goals. Dreams. I wanted to be a professional musician. Still do, I guess, but at my age, that's pretty much not going to happen. I also wanted to be a writer- novels and screenplays. Maybe even a director.

"In school I used to write stories all the time- short stories, novels, original ideas and what is now called fan fiction, plays. My eleventh grade English teacher really encouraged me. She allowed me to write and perform plays in her class. One every marking period."

"She sounds like a pretty good person."

"She was. She was Jewish and when I was losing my faith in Christianity, I explored becoming a Jew because of her."

Amanda took her chin in her right hand and shifted to her side. "So how was that? Losing your faith that is. Did that affect you a lot or no?"

Shannon took a deep breath while trying to organize her thoughts. "Um, yes and no. I mean, I sometimes have the fear of what if I'm wrong; buuuuuuuuuuuut, it was such a gradual loss that when I finally reached it, it was more like an oh well type moment. The biggest thing is just keeping my mouth shut. My family are all very religious. My hometown is super religious. So telling anyone your agnostic, well most of them don't even know what that means, but saying you're a nonbeliever, you might as well be screaming, 'God is dead, hail Satan'."

"I can see where that would be a problem."

"Yep, so I just stay in the closet."

Amanda's eyes narrowed. There was something in the way Shannon said that last sentence that caught her attention. "So, your husband, he was your first boyfriend then?"

"Yep. First boy I dated, first guy I had sex with."

"Uh-huh. So, did you ever date a girl?"

Shannon suddenly stiffened. Her eyes grew big and wide, they darted this way and that, seemingly looking for an escape route. Then she sighed, hunched over, and looked down at her hands.

"One. I dated her before I went to college. It was a bad break up. It took me about a year to get over her."

"I see. Were you two intimate at all?"

Shannon gave a quick sigh, but never looked up. "Yes. She was my first."

Amanda studied Shannon for a bit. "So, are you bisexual or just experimenting?"

Shannon didn't answer, she just kept looking down. It was then the final piece fit.

"Shannon, are you gay?"

Shannon nodded her head a bit and then looked up. "Yes. I'm a lesbian." She paused for a moment, then added, "It's not just my religious beliefs that I'm in the closet about."

"I see. Does anyone else know?"

"In my life currently? No. My mother figured it out. On her death bed, she confessed to that she was gay and that she knew I was too. Then she made me promise I wouldn't tell anyone because I had a moral obligation to Sam and the kids."

"She had no right to make you promise that."

"Maybe, but it's true. What am I supposed to do? Leave my husband and kids? -destroy my family? For what? A life I can never live?" Shannon's voice raised in anger as she defended her choice.

"That's not my call to make. I'm just here to ask questions and point possible roads out to you. I can say, that your entire life seems to be one big pendulum between short sighted selfishness and long-term self sacrifice. You have no balance.

"I can also tell you that based on my other queer clients, and my story, you'll be completely miserable until you either come out or you'll become completely self destructive."

Shannon cocked her head. "You're gay?"

"Trans. I transitioned about fifteen years ago. I lost my wife, my children, my house, job, everything. But, I saved myself. I'm not saying that you being in the closet is the root of your problems, but I can tell you, we won't be able to even deal with those until you deal with this first."

"What should I do?" Shannon sounded and felt defeated. Her question was both facetious and an actual plea. She had no idea what to do. She felt even more lost than ever and was desperate for someone, anyone, to tell her what to do.

"That's for you to decide. My job isn't to tell you what to do, but to help you develop the tools necessary to figure that out for yourself."

Shannon looked down briefly and then said, "Ok".

[merrilark]

BJ having a mini breakdown in his apartment about Barry's death and potentially being trans, a secret which he believes only Barry understood, is both heartbreaking and maybe my favorite scene in the entire book so far.

[merrilark]

I have to wonder why the film adaptations chose to make BJ speak almost primarily in third person. It makes sense, I suppose, psychologically, as a way to distance himself from himself and the things he's ashamed of doing or feeling, and it adds a lot of character interest, but it's still an odd choice.

Unless something changes beyond the first book, novel!BJ is pretty well-spoken and witty. He holds a misery and certain jarring childishness, but it isn't quite as obvious as his film counterpart.

[merrilark]

the amount of contempt with which eddie refers to his journalism rival jack whitehead is hilarious and reads like a fifth grader who’s angry at the “perfect” girl in her class

[merrilark]

There's something pleasing to me that David Bowie or warm colors (like maroon or orange) are mentioned almost every time BJ appears. I just like that those are his two aesthetics. Bowie and deep, warm colors.

I'm far from getting to the end of the quartet, but I swear if BJ getting his freedom at the end of the series is a film-only thing, I'm flying to Japan and banging on David Peace's door. I barely know novel!BJ but I already love him. He asked about Barry when Eddie, Barry's own friend and partner at the press, didn't even go to his funeral. >:/

I was wrong. He does go to the funeral. Good on you, Eddie. Thank you.

[merrilark]

Title: Nineteen Seventy-Four Author: David Peace Genre: Fiction / Mystery Page Count: 295 Trigger Warnings: Torture, abuse of humans and animals, rape, murder, mentions of incest, strong allusions to trafficking, explicit but mostly clinical descriptions of bodily trauma of murder victims, decade-accurate slurs and attitudes toward race and sexuality... Honestly, if any book deserved the “Dead Dove: Do Not Eat” label, Nineteen Seventy-Four takes the cake.

So. Wow. This book. Where on earth to start.

Nineteen Seventy-Four is a gritty, hard-hitting, ruthless neo noir set in 1974 Yorkshire where our lead, Edward Leslie Dunford, determined crime correspondent, finds himself tangled in a web of lies, violence, and corruption while investigating the brutal murder of a local schoolgirl. Told in first person, the book is written in Eddie’s stream of consciousness, making the style feel very fast-paced and oftentimes manic. This, along with Peace’s use of foreshadowing, symbolism, and ability to connect various moving pieces into one intriguing mystery, makes Nineteen Seventy-Four an exciting read. The style is prone to a lot of repetition, often reusing descriptors and phrases verbatim, and the dialogue realistic to the point it can feel somewhat leaden, which readers may find frustrating, but, personally, I think these things worked in the narrative’s favor.

I should probably start by saying that I hadn’t heard of this book until I watched the film adaptations. The entire Red Riding trilogy aired in 2009, sporting a impressive billing including three of my favorites: Andrew Garfield (Eddie), Robert Sheehan (BJ), and Peter Mullan (in 1980 and 1983, Reverend Laws). The films themselves are a bit of a confusing, somewhat disjointed trudge, but 1974 was the strongest and I was eager to read the source material, both to better understand the films and maybe learn more about Eddie, Barry, and BJ. Fortunately, the book does provide... but the characters are not 1:1 mirrors of each other. Eddie is the most grievous example. 

I’m bringing this up because I don’t believe that I would have kept reading the book had I not seen its film counterpart first. Thanks to the film and Andrew Garfield’s marvelous performance, I was attached to Eddie and interested in his story. Unfortunately, Eddie in the novel is maybe the most miserable main character I have ever had the displeasure of enduring. Pessimistic, misogynistic, homophobic, only slightly less racist than most of the other characters, selfish, hot-tempered, abusive, often cowardly in a way that is frustratingly spineless... The list goes on. 

I wanted to like Eddie in the novel. I really, really did. I knew what I was getting into, and frankly Eddie being homophobic (it’s the ‘70s), or misogynistic (it’s the ‘70s), or even kinda racist (it’s the ‘70s), doesn’t really bother me. Or, it wouldn’t have, if he wasn’t so angry all the time for no reason. Eddie can’t put aside his prejudices for one second to stop being disgusted over the idea of his obese female coworker having sex, or getting viciously angry just looking at the very not-straight, not-cis BJ, even when those characters are being nice or trying to help him. But he’s like this with just about every character he interacts with. Eddie Dunford has the personality of soured milk and the readers are unfortunately forced to listen to all his angry inner-monologue. This makes it nearly impossible to sympathize with him, and by the end, he’s a hateful, selfish monster whose reasoning isn’t even attempted to be explained. Is it the grief? The mountains of trauma? Or has Eddie always been a violent abuser? Who knows!

The other characters, mainly the women, also suffer from odd or just outright poor characterization choices, to the point that they’re hard to believe. Eddie’s romantic relationships come across as wooden, forced, and lack any sort of chemistry. Each woman involved feels more like a tool than a person and all basically have the same personality. I’m not sure if David Peace simply can’t write women, or if this is just a case of Eddie being an unreliable narrator. Both are possible, but I think it’s a lot to expect from the reader to care about any of these characters, Eddie included, when they don’t have interesting personalities or likeable qualities. (BJ, Barry Gannon, and even Jack Whitehead being the exceptions. I did rather like all of them.)

However—and this is a pretty big “however”—I think the point of Nineteen Seventy-Four isn’t to like anyone. It centers on the theme of corruption, violence, and how power and money can destroy people. And while its cruelty often veers toward misery porn, or outright absurdity, it does a good job at making readers question the trustworthiness of police, government, and news media, highlighting how people have (and perhaps always will) tend to do whatever is most advantageous for them, sometimes even at moral cost. I also can’t deny that Peace writes an intriguing mystery. It was extremely fun to watch all the pieces fall together to gradually paint a bigger, grimmer, intricate picture. I loved the symbolism, I loved trying to figure out who was involved with who, and who did what, and I loved not knowing what would happen next. The loose ends that Nineteen Seventy-Four has left behind (and I imagine will be answered in the other books) makes me excited to read on. So I think that this book is very successful in terms of mystery and if you’re craving something brutal and dark, Nineteen Seventy-Four may scratch that itch.

Altogether, I have to give this book three out of five stars. There are a lot of things it does better than its film adaption, and there was never a point where I felt bored, but I think making the main character so unlikeable from the start really damaged the story. If I don’t like a character enough to feel with them in any capacity, then the stakes are lowered. I’m not going to care what happens to them, and if I can’t care about them... what’s the point?

[merrilark]

Alright. Last liveblog before I make my final review post for Nineteen Seventy-Four...

I take absolutely everything I said about missing Eddie back. My man has gone completely off the rails in this final stretch. Holy crap. I hate him. His death (assuming he does die like in the film) will be a relief.

I didn't expect him to be an angel, but I didn't expect him to be a monster either.

Bold move on Peace's part to make his MC so despicable.

[merrilark]

Okay, I need to stop spamming but aaahh 😭 BJ teasing Eddie just like Barry used to tease him. I'm gonna c r y !! I love 1 orange-haired boy

[merrilark]

You know, I think I may have judged novel!Eddie too prematurely. It isn't that he's grouchy, misogynist, and missing a heart, it's that he's grouchy, misogynist, and riddled with toxic masculinity.

There may be a beating heart in this sad glass of soured milk yet!

[merrilark]

nineteen seventy-four calls the doctor "dr who"

immersion broken

literally unreadable

throwing my copy out the window rn

[merrilark]

Just when I thought Edward Dunford, North of England Crime Correspondent, couldn't get much worse... surprise pregnancy subplot in which he immediately tells his clearly distressed girlfriend she needs to abort it. Comfort? Tact? A little itty bitty bit of consideration? We don't know her!

Again, I am enjoying myself despite all my complaining, I swear lol, but it's all in spite of him. Eddie is such an insufferable main character. It's so so very hard to feel sorry for him when he's so bitter and mean to everyone around him. Watch me get to the whumpy torture-y bits and just not care.

I will say that this makes Andrew Garfield's performance even more impressive. He took an angry, miserable, brooding young reporter and turned him into a likable brooding young reporter who eventually becomes miserable. Which... tbh I feel would have worked a lot better than how it's going in the novel.

In the film, Eddie might not exactly be a bubbly optimist, but he's still got this naïvety about him that clearly says he's desperate to make it big as a good journalist. He has heart, and a quiet sensitivity, even though he can often be an ass. He goes from having spark and hope to being crushed under the weight of Yorkshire's conspiracies, of having his world turned upside down. But novel!Eddie? The man already seems miserable. Instead of watching the light die from someone, I feel like I'm reading about a sad man who just gets sadder until it destroys him. And he just isn't sympathetic enough to make me care. He doesn't deserve what's coming to him, but, like... he kind of does deserve a little bit of it, because this is the bed he's made for himself.

Anyway. Novel!Eddie still kinda sucks. Barry and BJ continue to be the best parts of this series despite having so few scenes.

[merrilark]

One passage in Nineteen Seventy-Four keeps coming back to me:

I awoke three times in the night from the same dream. Each time thinking, I'm safe now, I'm safe now. Go back to sleep. Each time the same dream: a woman on her terraced street, clutching a red cardigan tight around her, screaming ten years noise into my face. Each time a crow, or some such big black bird, came out of the sky a thousand shades of grey and clawed through her pretty blonde hair. Each time chasing her down the street, after her eyes. Each time frozen, waking cold, tears on the pillow. Each time, Clare Kemplay smiling down from the dark ceiling.

I now know that the woman in the red cardigan is definitely Paula Garland, the mother of past victim Jeanette Garland. It's interesting that Eddie dreams about her before even having met her, which makes me wonder if it's there just to be creepy, or if the supernatural will have more of a role in the books than the films. I have to wonder, too, what the symbolism is there, if any, along with the crow.

Red Riding tries to play off fairy tale motifs, mostly using animals as symbolism (ie - the Swan, the Pig, the Rat, the Wolf) and takes a lot of care to point out color. Her red cardigan, the red door, the white van, her white lips, a black bird, etc.

I don't have anything to say about these things yet, only that I really enjoy the above passage and I'm curious if the meaning behind possible symbols will become clear later.

[merrilark]

The more I see of Barry, the more I almost wish that he had been the main character instead of Eddie.

Eddie is charming enough (albeit maybe only because I instantly imagine Andrew Garfield; I’m not sure he’d be half as likable if I hadn’t seen the film first), but he’s always griping. His girlfriend tries to talk to him? Grouchy. His girlfriend tries to express how he's being unfair to her? Grouchy. Anything about his job? Grouchy. His best friend (?) and journalist buddy helps him out and teases him a little? Grouchy, grouchy, grouchy.

Eddie is only less grouchy when talking to witnesses or the deceased's family (thank goodness for that, at least) but he's so awkward and bumbling about it that I feel he could get far more useful information if he had a little more tact. And to his superiors? He's barely got a backbone. It's frustrating to watch.

Barry's POV would likely be a lot of conspiracy theorist's rambling and paranoia, but I'd almost have that than Eddie complaining about "Jack Fucking Whitehead" for the billionth time lol. Barry seems to have a decent sense of humor at least. But I understand that his death is important for the story, and for Eddie's growth. It's just too bad that Eddie has already started out miserable, and knowing what happens to him later, will likely only become more miserable.

All that said, I am enjoying Nineteen Seventy-Four despite my own complaining. The writing style takes some time to get used to, but it isn't bad, and the book provides a lot of clarity to its film counterpart. I don't think it's necessary to read the book before watching the film, but there are some things that just didn't translate onto the screen very well imo, or weren't given proper explanation.

[merrilark]

Telling myself I would take notes and try to solve the Red Riding mysteries while I read was a bad idea because I could have been finished with the first book by now but instead I'm too busy looking like this