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winterlament · 6 months

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Funeral March

Hello The Secret History fanbase… I offer you my first TSH fanfiction. this is more an exercise in character than anything, I want to be able to write them all accurately before doing much else of substance — and I really just wanted to write the Greek class being the weirdos that they are. go easy on me but I hope this is at the very least enjoyable.

not canon compliant, Bunny is alive and they’re all friends.

Word Count: 3k

Read on AO3 or below the cut! ☕️ ☆ 🕯️

Early morning. Tall blades of unkempt grass glimmered with the shine of dew drops; wildflowers sprouted in lush patches; and damp stepping stones littered the yard. The tang of wet, damp earth lingered heavy and humid; the air thick but clean. The snow had melted in the past week, and the Greek class was enjoying early spring at Francis’ country home. The sun had barely risen above the horizon to fill the yard with light when the smell of something sickly, putrid like an overripe fruit, became abundant.

“Oh, no!” Francis cried, stopping in his tracks and glancing towards the ground. He was in shirtsleeves, and his pants were rolled up to his knees. His pale feet were bare and wet with dew, disrupting the grass where he stood, and drops of water were rolling off him and catching on the hair on his legs. Charles stood next to him, peering down to see what had gotten Francis so upset.

“Look at that, Charles,” he said, pointing to a small clump of feathers and red. “Poor thing.”

Along with rain showers, vibrant greenery, and blooms of flowers, Vermont spring brought songbirds back from a winter away. Francis’ countryside property had found itself full of small birds, singing and chirping away at all hours (starting early, a bit before sunrise, tending to wake Bunny, who decided to wake everyone else in his tired annoyance). Dashes of blue jays and sparrows and warblers in the trees, daring near the ground only in search of food.

“Oh, what a shame! What are we to do?”

“Leave it,” Charles said dismissively. “Why should we have to do anything at all?”

“Charles, look at it.”

The blond crouched down in the grass, blades thick and full, to examine the mass of feathers and, upon closer inspection, gore.

A round, cream-colored bird lay with its wings spread in its full span. Its torn open chest painted the feathers on its small body close to the shade of a cardinal — red; visceral and bloody, vermillion, wine, raw meat. Sternum to ribcage cracked open like a pomegranate, seeds torn out, thrown back on the ground to let it sink into the earth. Its neck, Charles noticed, was turned at an unnatural angle, a bite mark deep in the flesh of its throat. Viscous, sticky liquid surrounded the small corpse, still and fresh. The smell was something awful, sickening but sweet, iron. It made Charles’ stomach clench the closer he got.

Reaching for a stick, Charles ignored Francis’ wailing (‘Oh, no, Charles, don’t,’ ‘I can’t look,’ ‘Oh, forget about it,’ something in French) and poked at the bird from a distance, turning it over and around. Getting a better look at it, the bird was a dove. A white mourning dove, a dove whose coos had likely woken Bunny up in the morning.

Francis’ house had not only been a springtime retreat for birds, but also for small but vicious predators – cats, raccoons, things with claws – one of which had seemingly gotten its paws and teeth sunk into the little dove nestled in a cushion of wet grass and stirred up dirt. Despite the still warm blood on its feathers, the unnatural tilt of its neck, and its exposed and empty abdomen, it looked peaceful, as all doves should be.

Francis’ eyebrows were scrunched together in a worried, pained sort of expression. “It was probably one of those damned cats you’ve been feeding. Look at this mess,” he said. “How horrible. Little thing only wanted some seeds–” tapping his foot – “I should’ve refilled the feeder yesterday. It must’ve been hungry. Oh, we’ve got to get rid of it. It’s dreadful.”

He pulled a pack of Marlboros from his breast pocket.

Unable to rip his eyes away from the mauled remains of the gentle creature, Charles stood in his grass-stained pants, propping himself up on one knee and pushing himself up. The stick, now bloody, was still clutched in his fist.

“The cat was hungry too.”

“What?” Francis asked, wiping his eye.

“The cat that got it,” Charles repeated. “It was hungry too.”

“Oh. Well, yes… but look at it. Brutalized. Careless. A horrible way to go.”

Charles paused, examining the bird again. The curve of its wings, body sprawled on the ground, looking as if it fell right from the sky and into the jowls of a predator with sharp, sharp teeth. Predestined. Inescapable. Fate.

In a way, it was beautiful. In its death, it had fallen into a patch of daisies, fresh and new, stained a color they would never naturally grow. Spring, the season of new life, of thriving, had brought death with it, too. For in the cycle of life and death, there is a profound sense of continuity, repeating and repeating and repeating. Die. Feed. Birth. And though brutal, ripped to shreds, the dove was peaceful – nothing could last forever; nothing that was mortal could ever escape the sharp teeth of death, be it a dove caught in the claws of a feral cat, or something more. In time, it would sink into earth, and feed the plants. Become a plant itself. Grow the seeds it was hungry for. Continuous. To live forever was to die, repeat the cycle. Become again.

However, as beautiful as it may have been, it was clearly distressing to Francis, who was now through with half a cigarette.

“It wasn’t malicious, Francis. Whatever it may have been,” Charles began, “it didn’t know any better. It was hungry. Everything needs to eat, that’s just how it goes. Besides –” he took Francis’ hand in his– “it’ll feed the flowers you like so much. Fertilizer?” He offered a smile.

“Right, sure, but… can we at least, God, I don’t know. Bury it? It’s horrible to look at, and it deserves a resting place, not so out in the open.” Francis said.

–

Across the yard, back at the house, Bunny sat in a porch chair, rosy-cheeked in the morning sun and coffee cup in hand, not paying the slightest attention to Francis and Charles in the grass. He had the radio set up on the table next to him, and he was listening to some awful war song (no one was quite sure if it was on a CD of his or if he had found a military radio station) that was far too loud for the hour. The large, French-style double doors were wide open, propped with books as door stops, and the sun sank into pools of light on the dark floorboards. In the house, Camilla and Henry walked back and forth across the foyer, visible every so often – carrying things, maybe books, Henry following Camilla’s lead.

Charles yelled something and waved his arms, trying to get anyone’s attention, unsuccessfully. He yelled again, this time Bunny’s name, holding up the bloodied stick and waving it around. The blood and the look on Francis’ face seemed to be alarming.

Bunny sprung up from his chair on the porch and ran through the yard — still in his robe and pajama bottoms — his mess of unruly blond hair not fully brushed and his not fully awake body tumbling over itself. He motioned for the others, and Camilla followed him, running towards the commotion with curlers in her hair; the gentle glow of the early morning sun made her face look soft but bare, and the gray of her eyes matched the sky so perfectly they nearly disappeared into the horizon. Shortly after, Richard appeared in shirtsleeves, struggling with pulling his shoes on, his eyes (and limbs) still heavy with sleep. And Henry followed behind them, fully dressed, like a disinterested father caring for his ill-behaved children, trying to control them before anyone had had any breakfast – they’re getting fussy, and he hadn’t had his coffee yet.

Bunny and Camilla came to a grinding halt, nearly crashing into each other upon Bunny’s sudden stop, Richard close behind them. Taking his time to reach the rest, Henry strolled through the grass, admiring the flowers. Charles and Francis pointed at the ground in unison.

They stood in a circle, heads together, mess of bird between their feet.

“Oh, that’s horrible.” Camilla was the first to speak. Her voice was layered with sleep, dark like tinted glass. “How on Earth could that have happened?”

It was, evidently, unnerving. Francis explained that he thought it was a cat, and Camilla cocked her head but was shushed by Charles before she could question him. Richard tried to hide his expression, one of disgust, but his nose scrunched and his eyebrows turned up. Bunny appeared similar, hiding it less; holding his nose closed with his fingers. Henry seemed indifferent, staring at the wounded bird with a lack of emotion.

“I want to bury it. I don’t like the way it looks,” Francis said.

“It’s just a bird,” Richard interjects. “What’s so wrong about it?”

“It’s eyes are open. It’s looking at me.”

“Sure is.” Bunny agreed. His voice was nasally, more than normal, nose plugged by pointer and middle. “Nasty sight. Damn awful smell, too. We should bury it, yes, yes. Hold it a proper funeral.”

“A funeral?” Camilla asked.

“Well, sure. Can’t just bury it all unceremoniously, can we? If we’re burying it, we might as well make a show of it. None of that Catholic bullshit. A real funeral! Like the Greeks! We’ll mourn, wear all black, pray to the gods. And Henry can dig the hole.”

–

Before Henry had much of a say about digging the grave, he stood in the garden, shovel in hand – expressionless, digging a dove-sized hole under a large willow tree next to the lake. He was wearing a black pin-stripe English suit, per Bunny’s request, and was narrowly avoiding getting dirt on his freshly polished Oxfords.

Bunny, Francis, Charles, and Richard had also found themselves in black suits – pieces of Charles’ suit oversized and borrowed from Bunny, as he doesn’t wear much black, nor did he plan on attending a funeral over the weekend. Francis wore his suit over a thin, starchy white shirt with turnback cuffs, his flame-colored hair slicked back and pince-nez glimmering in the (now afternoon) sun. Richard’s was ill-fitting, tight on the elbows, and had quite a few loose threads, adorned with a little golden lapel pin, shaped like the top of an Ionic-style column. They each held flowers in their hands, taken from the garden, that Camilla and Francis had tied together with strands of twine and ribbon. Charles still held the red-stained stick.

To Henry’s left stood Bunny, ordering him to dig the hole deeper and refusing to help. He had a black sheet thrown over his shoulder, a mockery of some sort of toga. Camilla stood to Henry’s right in a knee-length black dress with sheer black stockings underneath. She held the bird in her arms, wrapped in an old curtain Francis had found in the attic, laid in a small brown box, a makeshift coffin. Flowers lay around its body, and the smell of rot had been overtaken with the smell of a strong, floral perfume — stinging cherry blossom and bitter notes of bergamot. Bunny used his pocket square to wipe the sweat off of his, and then Henry’s, brow.

The smell of freshly turned dirt, woody and sweet. The air had warmed and cleared as the early morning turned to afternoon, the dew on the grass had evaporated, and the sun reflected off the lake in a blinding, star-like way. A dense, large willow shaded the funeral part; lush curtains of green cascading off of thin branches surrounded them and swayed with the breeze. The hushing sound of wind ruffling leaves was cut through by a funeral march – Chopin’s Piano Sonata No. 2, playing on the radio sitting on the tree roots. The glow of the sun hit the backs of Bunny, Henry, and Camilla, encasing the three of them in shadow haloed in gold, like a group of God’s finest angels, harbingers of death, or vengeful creatures sent by Hades up from the underworld. Henry mumbled something unintelligible to Camilla and held the shovel to his side. With that, Bunny began:

“Lady and gentlemen, we’re gathered here today in honor of this here dove. Tragically, our little friend was taken from us much too soon. Even though it woke me up this morning, no bird deserves a fate this bad, no, no. I’m sure it had a family, a bird-wife and chicks, you know, it’s spring and all. Real sad it ended up like this, all torn apart… Anyway, enough lamenting, right? This isn’t some pious, uptight mass, no, no Hail Mary’s. This is a celebration of this bird’s life! Sending it off.

“O Hermes, messenger of the gods, we ask you to guide the soul of our dearly departed dove safely across the river of Styx. Grant passage to the underworld of Hades, and let it find peace in the Elysian Fields, or wherever doves go,” Bunny said, talking with his hands and looking to the sky, like a preacher.

He rambled on, choosing his words carefully, about the underworld and the afterlife and how even sweet little birds had to meet their makers. When he finished, he wiped away a pretend tear, and Francis clapped, everyone else following his lead. Henry stifled a smile, covering his hand with his sleeve.

Thank yous were said to Bunny, and he bowed like he was a talk show host walking off stage – see you next time, folks! – and Camilla stepped forward in his place, box in hand, standing at the head of the grave plot and glancing down into the earth.

“Put him in, little lady.” Bunny motioned with his head towards her and put a hand on the small of her back.

She nodded, crouched, and lowered the box into the hole. The dove’s feathers ruffled in the breeze, its eyes still open and glossy as it and its box-casket were placed into the earth. Camilla placed it down gently, careful not to disturb it, as if she might’ve woken it up if she jostled it around. Henry offered his hand, and she took it in hers. He pulled her up, looking like he could’ve swept her up into a press lift as if they were dancing pas de deux. When she stood, her stockings and shoes were caked with damp dirt.

“Say goodbye, gentlemen. François, any final words?” Bunny asked.

Francis stepped to the head of the plot and threw his bouquet on top of the bird. “Au revoir, mon petit amie. Live forever, and let the flowers grow on top of this awful mess of dirt.”

Following his lead, Richard threw in his bundle of wildflowers, followed by Charles’, as well as the stick that had been stained with blood. Camilla unclasped her necklace – small, gold – and threw it in unceremoniously.

Henry, who had disappeared through the flower-tossing service, had returned, a bottle of wine in hand. He stood next to Camilla, his jaw clenched and his eyes glossy behind his glasses. With a pop, the cork, too, found itself in the shallow grave. The scent of grape, aged and spiced, poured into the earth, on top of the dove, and in the box. When the bottle neared being half empty, Francis ushered him to stop, and he did – taking quite a large swig of it himself – and handed it over.

The bottle was passed around between them as Henry shoveled the dirt back onto the grave. Bunny made reception small talk about “fond memories” of the dove while Camilla sat in the grass, tying pieces of twine around a bundle of sticks and flowers.

“Did we offer enough, do you think?” Charles asked, wrapping his arm around Francis’ shoulder.

“Sure,” said Francis, the bottle clenched in hand. “I’m just glad I can’t see it anymore.” He tilted the bottle up and finished it off.

“I’m sure Bunny’s speech was more than enough,” said Henry, calm and unbothered. “We gave it a thorough send-off. Returned it to the earth. The first dove to have a real funeral like this, I’d say. If the gods choose to care about a dove, this will be the one. Besides, I’m sure your flowers will look wonderful, Francis.” He threw another large pile of dirt into the grave, twirled the shovel in his fingers, and patted the earth down. “Factum est. Camilla, would you hand me that?”

He towered over her, encasing her in his shadow, and she handed over her stick-and-twine gravemarker. It was delicately made, but the details were clumsy: knots too big and in the wrong places, flowers lacking petals, an uneven bow in the front. Henry told her it was beautiful and stuck it into packed-down earth at the head of the burial site.

The six of them stood around the grave, now marked and permanent in Francis’ yard. The dirt was the color of freshly brewed tea, ornate and flowery, shaded by the dense overhang of weeping leaves and branches. In true fashion of spring, the sun had found itself behind a blanket of gray, surrounded by curls of hazy, dark shades, accompanied by the air marginally warming.

“You know,” Bunny began, slapping Francis on the back (startling him to a jump). “Every funeral I’ve ever been to, there’s been food after. A luncheon. And –” checking his watch – “It’s almost noon; that’s lunchtime. I’m starving, gentlemen.” Before any of them could answer, Bunny was already strolling towards the house – no, the driveway.

“I think it’s going to rain,” Richard cautioned, looking at the overcast gray of the clouds narrowly closing in.

“We better hurry up, then!” Bunny yelled as he took off towards the cars – Francis’, Henry’s. “Got to beat the weather, yes, yes!”

Glances were exchanged; the twins shrugged in unison, and took off after him. Gracefully, they moved their legs identically, and their feet kicked up dirt in unison. Charles yelled for Bunny to wait, and Camilla ran beside him, giggling. Francis took Richard by the hand, running along with him, and Henry followed behind the lot of them, patting his pockets to make sure he had his wallet.

#the secret history #tsh #francis abernathy #charles macaulay #camilla macaulay #bunny corcoran #edmund corcoran #richard papen #henry winter #donna tartt #they’re all friends!!!!#mine #please enjoy. i hope this does them some justice

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tsvwords · 5 months

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When I was seven or eight, my sisters and I discovered something in the copse just outside our house, in the abandoned places where we’d go to play with air rifles and with rockets, making noise for noise’s sake.

There were warblers and thrushes that cried in the high branches, in the darkness between the stray beams of light, and if you waited and watched for long enough, you began to hear that there was something else up there, something that cried like a bird, which heard the tiny dumb songs of the birds and responded in kind...but which was no bird at all.

We watched the Thing that dwelt in the branches that cried like a bird, and we listened to the sounds that followed the patterns of birdsong but came from the throat of no animal, and we fell in love. And like so many children in love, we began to explore how we could best torment the object of our affections.

Experimentation discovered that we could not harm the Thing that dwelt in the branches. We could fire off a round of air rifle shots in its direction and only cause an eruption of anger and startled wings, followed by silence for hours on end before the birds felt safe to settle back onto their perches.

But when we harmed its disciples - catching them with a lucky shot or noosing them in our traps, wringing their scrawny necks before tossing them in a small, untended pile amongst the nettles - that was when the song of the thing changed.

A lament, long and discordant, crying with distress. A wailing for the loss. We thought this was marvellous.

For that entire summer we did nothing but hunt, and wreck, dashing eggs against the trunks, laughing and scorning the thing in the branches that could only cry, angry and sorrowing, from its place in the darkness of the copse.

But, you know, this was love, of a kind, in the only language I was capable of speaking.

I didn’t kill the birds because I hated the Thing In The Branches, I killed them because its song of grief was more wonderful than anything I had heard upon the radio or in the mouths of the living, and I simply had no other way of reaching out to it.

If I could have sung like a bird, if I could have flown up to join it in the darkness, I’d have done that instead.

— Chapter 6: It Winds, It Worms, It Wends.

#the silt verses #quotes #tsv 6

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dansnaturepictures · 8 months

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Fishlake Meadows, Romsey: A special place

This nature reserve is equally as uplifting to visit in the spring and summer months when exotic Hobbies dash through the sky and colossal Stag Beetles roam the canal side path as it is in winter when Gadwall, Pintail, Pochard and Teal immerse me in a world of waterfowl.

A magnificent raptor is a star attraction to this reserve in spring and summer, Ospreys (particularly one) standing like grand statues and offering breathtaking moments of natural wonder when they fish. Many raptors adorn the skies here, Marsh Harrier in its prime habitat, ravishing Red Kite, Buzzard and Kestrel. Sparrowhawk also a key species in this oasis of wild in an urban area and a non-bird of prey evolutionary lookalike is a mesmerising sight and sound here on spring days, the Cuckoo. Its similarly in appearance to the predatory Sparrowhawk able to fool the adults of its host species into leaving their nest so it can insert its imposter egg. Other key waterbirds to see here include bight Egyptian Geese and Greylags, Great Crested Grebe, Common Gull, Snipe and dazzling Water Rail always a species to cherish seeing. Another of the main stars of this reserve is an elegant giant which is gripping the south of the country now, Great White Egret. Purple Heron and Glossy Ibis are two rarities I was lucky to see here. I was ecstatic to see a Kingfisher catch a fish along the canal when reaching the reserve as was I when I was so fortunate to see a splendid Cetti’s Warbler after being surrounded by their bright and cherry calls evocative of a reedbed paradise. Sedge and Garden Warbler other amazing warblers I’ve seen here. Other passerines it’s a treat to see here include Wren, Bullfinch, Blackcap, Treecreeper, captivating Nuthatch, vibrant Stonechat and Reed Bunting. A Roe Deer a delight to see.

It's an insect haven too with Hairy Dragonfly one of the first spring dragonflies to see and the gem of Banded Demoiselle another key species with Migrant Hawker enjoyed here too. Speckled Wood and Green-veined White fly the flag for beautiful butterflies and Brimstone moth and Grey Birch are among sensational moths I’ve seen here. Drinker moth caterpillar and vigorous ruby Cardinal beetle are other key insects I’ve seen here. Nursery web spider was another of nature’s fascinating little stars which has thrilled me here. Onto plants and there is an array of colour here throughout the seasons created by stunning species such as wood avens, comfrey, meadowsweet, cuckooflower, forget-me-not, hemp agrimony, bird vetch, yellow iris, water lily, hogweed, traveller’s joy and marsh marigold. A sight of intricate and alluring turkey tail fungi clinging to a stump beside the canal at one time lit up by the glorious winter sun was wonderful.

This brilliant nature reserve with its distinctive dead trees and thriving reedbed, wetland, canal and woodland habitat is a star of a reserve that has risen over the past few years and an exciting vision of how to use land for nature and let a landscape be transformed. A lesson of hope, a place I always come back from inspired.

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nicoise · 4 months

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Hello El <3

What about 4 for Kurt and 25 for Blaine?

thank you aurora <3

4. If you could put this character in any other media, be it a book, a movie, anything, what would you put them in?

idk if this is too convenient, but devil wears prada. kurt would thrive at pseudo-vogue. he would give andy sachs her makeover and gatekeep the master closet. and a huge part of devil wears prada was how everyone made prestigious personas for themselves and looked down on andy, who came from ohio. kurt would keep it real.

25. What was your first impression of this character? How about now?

honestly i didn't like blaine at first (in s2 when he was introduced). he was too dashing and white knight and therefore a little bland. but then the gap attack showed me that actually he's deeply weird. then s4 happened and puppet master happened and he became a highlight for me.

like at first blaine seemed to know exactly who he was, what he was doing, and what he wanted. but none of that is true. he made up an implausible interest in biology because he was afraid to audition for nyada. he started spiralling about being a bad person after the s4 breakup. he's hilariously wrong about people (tina's crush, assuming all the s6 warblers are gay, jeremiah). he's messy. he has the evocative look of someone who cries in secret and the unselfconscious bluster of the totally clueless. i adore him

character asks if anyone feels like it

#asks #aurora

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slettlune · 3 months

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more birding down by my local river!

the luckiest area was once again my favourite little secret clearing, only about fifteen steps off the gravel path:

in addition to a group of juvenile fieldfares (norwegian: gråtrost, "grey thrush") gulping down earthworms, i was so excited to finally spot a willow warbler (nor.: løvsanger, "leaf singer") dashing around in a tree just above me! in the past i've heard them on multiple occasions but as my field guide reassures me, they are notoriously difficult to spot. when i FINALLY managed to catch it in the sight of my binoculars i was shocked at how tiny it was! such a powerful voice for an itty bitty bird

thing is, fieldfares and willow warblers are suuuper common in norway (fieldfare is the most common thrush, willow warbler the most common songbird) but i didn't have them on my life list, and being close enough to them to do a confident i.d. was magical. birds are so cool

#i forgot my mosquito repellent tho. mistake #birdogling tag

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jacobbenisreal · 7 months

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rank the first three people you see (on your dash) and your reasonings.

*cracks knuckles* Okay, I'm gonna preface this by saying that most men are meh, but that's not their fault. They have to compete with Blainer, who is the epitome of male beauty. And women are all gorgeous to me, personally. Like, I find it's hard for a woman to be ugly. So, let's start

Giselle Clarke - She's easily a 10/10. She's really really pretty, like on par with Frannie Fabray, Salma Hayek, & Margo Robbie in terms of effortless beauty and grace. Personality? Check. Amazing hairstyles? Check. Nice outfits? Check. But you lose a point because your icon picture is boring. It looks like you're showing off the outfit, but your outfit is not giving us anything. I haven't interacted with her much, so this might change, but Final score: 9/10

Nick Something - He's, like, a 4/10 at first glance. But once you start paying attention you see that he has some nice curls, an okay smile, and, admittedly, nicer eyelashes than Blainer. He gets one(1) point added to his score. Also, have you seen his tree trunk legs?!? One point for those. Finally, he gets another two points because, without him, The Warblers would look like that meme of the men on Ryan Murphy's show that look identical. Except in The Warblers' case, it's with pale skin and brown hair. Final score: 8/10

Stacey Evans - Also, starts at a 10/10. Stacy is a beautiful goddess, a queen, an angel. She looks like the live-action Rapunzel, with her biggo eyes, blonde hair, and cute lil button nose. Sometimes, when I read her posts my mind gives her a Russian accent for some reason. I'm not sure if it's a bad thing, but I can't think of a reason it would be a good thing. So, she loses half a point. I recognize that this is on me, and not her, but this ranking is based on my perspective of her. That being said. She instantly became hotter to me the second she offered to buy me Taco Bell, so she gets two points. Final score: 11.5/10

#josephine st james 1;#black out plot drop;

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whimsicaldragonette · 1 year

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Blog Tour and ARC Review: By Any Other Name by Erin Cotter

Welcome to my stop on the By Any Other Name book tour with Colored Pages Blog Tours. (This blog tour is also posted on my wordpress book blog Whimsical Dragonette.)

Book info:

TITLE: By Any Other Name AUTHOR: Erin Cotter PUBLISHER: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers RELEASE DATE: October 10, 2023 GENRES: Young Adult, Historical Fiction, Fantasy PAGES: 464 REPRESENTATION: Queer MCs

Goodreads StorygraphBlackwellsAmazonBarnes & NobleBookshop USOther Retailers

Synopsis:

A down-on-his-luck actor and an English lord reluctantly team up to solve the murder of Christopher Marlowe in this Shakespearean-era young adult romp perfect for fans of F.T. Lukens and Mackenzi Lee.

London, 1593. Sixteen-year-old Will Hughes is busy working on Shakespeare’s stage, stuffing his corsets with straw and pretending to be someone else. Offstage, he's playing a part, too. The son of traitors, Will is desperate to keep his identity secret—or risk being killed in the bloody queen’s imperial schemes. All he wants is to lay low until he earns enough coin to return to his family.

But when his mentor, the famous playwright Christopher Marlowe, is murdered under mysterious circumstances, Will’s plans are hopelessly dashed. What’s worse, Marlowe was a spy for the queen, tasked with stalking a killer rumored to be part of an elusive order of assassins, and his secrets and untimely death have put Will under a harsh spotlight. And so, when Will unwittingly foils an attempt on the queen’s life, she names him her next spymaster.

Now, to avoid uncomfortable questions, prison, or an even more terrible fate, Will reluctantly starts his new career, which—yes—will secure him the resources to help his family…but at what cost? Adding insult to injury is the young Lord James Bloomsbury, Will’s new comrade in arms, whose entitled demeanor and unfairly handsome looks get under Will’s skin immediately.

Together, the two hunt the cunning assassin, defend the queen’s life, and pray to keep their own...all while an unexpected connection blossoms between them.

Author Bio:

Erin Cotter writes young adult fiction. Originally from Buffalo, New York, she currently calls Austin home. When not writing she spends time with her partner and pets, eating tacos, and searching for Golden-cheeked Warblers in the Texas Hill Country.

Author Links:

Goodreads WebsiteInstagram

My Rating: ★★★★

*My Review, Favorite Quotes, and Tour Schedule below the cut.

My Review:

I can’t give this five stars because I didn’t love it and I definitely wouldn’t read it again, but it absolutely deserves four for how very much I didn’t love the setting - purely a case of personal preference - and at the same time how much I loved the characters. It takes skill to pull such a visceral response of dislike from me and at the same time endear the characters to me so strongly.

The thing I like least about this book, and the thing that makes me admire the skill of the author the most, is the rawness of life in this medieval world. These characters live in filth. They are accustomed to it. Humanity here, from the aristocrats to the peasants, is only a step away from animals. Life is unpredictable, brutal, full of disease and filth and crassness and betrayal. And no one bats an eye.

It reminds me of Catherine Called Birdy (a book I still vividly remember viscerally hating when I had to read it for school all those years ago) in the way it portrays a world of casual brutality and scrabbling in the mud for a life. Honestly it’s probably at least in part a bit of germaphobia that makes me hate this world so.

Will and his friends go through so much over the course of the novel, and there are so many plot twists, that I was constantly surprised by events and by their tenacity and determination to survive. I never saw a single thing coming in the course of the assassination and murder investigation. I could see, after each piece had fallen into place, exactly how it fit, but not how it got there.

The characters and events were melodramatic and sometimes strained credulity, but it all fits with the underlying theme of plays and players. Shakespeare and Marlowe are even characters. Will begins as an actor playing girls on stage in Marlowe's plays, and he keeps all of those actor characteristics to his personality throughout the story.

Will is likable no matter his selfishness and many faults, and i found myself continually rooting for him and his star-crossed love. And I came away loathing the nobility, especially Elizabeth. Her court was rotten and she was the worst of them all.

The way the story played out was very satisfying and wrenched a lot of feelings from me. Not least of which was the conviction that I absolutely positively never want to visit this world.

Seriously though, James' sister Catherine deserved so much better. Her part of the story is the one thing that really disappointed me.

*Thanks to NetGalley, Colored Pages Blog Tours, and Simon and Schuster Books for Young Readers for providing an early copy for review.

Favorite Quotes:

Goddamn it. I’ve been trying not to let these two become my friends, but they became my friends anyway.

---

Whatever lack of experience Bloomsbury claims he has, his inspired performance as the most vexing person I’ve ever met is certainly coming from somewhere.

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To hell with Marlowe and Bloomsbury and all the other people who tug me into their dark intrigues and give me no lantern to light my way. I am tired of being left in the dark.

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“We don’t need your coin!” Maggie snarls. “’Tis coin. We always need coin,” Inigo amends in a small voice.

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Should I fail, the stakes are dire; impersonating a man of the noble class is a crime punishable by death. Though to be fair, most of the crimes in England are punishable by death.

---

’Tis a brave and dangerous thing to go about this world having dreams. A dream is even more fickle and fleeting than a life.

---

“So we’re not here to have fun?” I say, to be cetain I’m understanding Foxwell correctly. Because it very much appears as though we’re in the midst of fun.

---

’Tis Reamonn, the swashbuckling pirate lad. He prickles with knives like an adorable, bloodthirsty hedgehog.

Tour Schedule:

October 4th

@monikasbookblog - Review + Favorite Quotes

raavenreads - Review Post

October 5th

Yourlocalbookreader - Review + Reel

@monarchsandmyths - Review + Favorite Quotes

October 6th

_perpetualpages_ - Review Post

Whimsical Dragonette - Review + Favorite Quotes

October 7th

ofpagesandprint - Review + Reel

@moyashi_girl - Review Post

October 8th

@poatic.library - Review + Reel

@gingerly_reading - Review Post

October 9th

Readreviewcoffee - Review + Favorite Quotes

Spacey Ghost - Review Post

October 10th

@rubyraereads - Review Post

Bangalimeyreads - Review + Reel

#colored pages blog tours #by any other name #queer books #netgalley #arc review #shilo reads #queer mcs #lgbt+#YA historical #historical fiction #fantasy #YA fantasy #erin cotter #simon teen #coloredpagesbt #shakespeare #medieval fantasy #middle ages

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ramblingaboutglee · 2 years

Text

Season 6 - What Glee Should Be

Okay hear me out, I have a point I swear

Glee was cancelled going into S6. A half-length season, everyone knew it was over. There was no need to hold back, no need to compromise - and what we got was a highly divisive season that nevertheless feels like it was what the writers wanted to be doing for the last five years.

Note the focus on teacher-roles, Rachel instructing the New New New Directions, and Will and Sue’s rivalry taking the fore in later episodes. Note how none of the students get any more than one episode arcs, where even romantic subplots are constrained to single episodes unless it’s drama surrounding the teachers. It’s reminiscent of Season 1 of Glee, before the show was re-geared to be about the kids rather than Will and Emma.

But now the original kids are the teachers having the romantic subplot, creating an interesting middle-ground. But all in all, this feels so much more like the show that Glee was intended to be, now that there were no consequences for unpopularity or low ratings. It’s easy to imagine that, had the fandom not focused so much on the students, this might have been what Glee would have always looked like.

Does this mean it was good? That’s always going to be down to personal taste. But certainly, it is interesting to see the thought process shift.

Let’s look at them side by side

But seriously. There’s no escaping the fact that a lot of the heyday of Glee, and a lot of the things the fandom loves, weren’t part of the show’s original conception. There were always character arcs with the kids, a dash of acknowledging some real-world topics, but it was through the lens of, well, Will Schuester as the main character. Which is a sentence that feels so weird to type, but watching the pilot, watching the first season (especially 1A), it’s undeniable.

The show is about a teacher who learns from his kids, and through doing so has their life improved and helps figure out what they want in life and in their relationships. It’s about the idea of wasting your youth, and trying to recapture that and live your dreams even after feeling like you let them pass you by. That’s Glee season 1, before they had any idea of the huge fanbase they had, and what that fanbase wanted.

And Glee season 6? Rachel returns to McKinley, unsure of her place in life, and as she figures it out she chooses to become a teacher. She goes from hitting a low point, at the start of the season, to sorting out her priorities, finding romance again, and finding joy in helping others get the spotlight rather than being in it herself. And in much the same way, Blaine gets a comparable journey, going from a relationship that gets an alarming amount of vitriol, to finding himself with the Warblers, the school he went to originally, and having that help spark his development. Both of them have left behind successful performances to, well, teach Glee after something in their life crashed.

Rachel, Blaine and Will all get the same story.

Plus, of course, the throwback to building the Glee club one member at the time.

Parallel lines, who meet

You could complain about repetition. I’d argue that’s the point. Going to S1 again, it’s all about the parallels - right from the Pilot, Will and Terri and Emma are paralleled with Rachel and Quinn and Finn. There are a dozen tiny examples threaded throughout, like Quinn and Puck naming Beth and the immediate next scene being Shelby asking Rachel why her dads named her that - Glee likes to lay adult and teenage life side by side, and look at similarities and differences.

We’d be here a while if we listed everything. In S1, 3 and 4 especially, the show loves to compare and contrast - so having the original teens live the same arc as the teacher, well, it’s not unexpected. (shout out to Final Countdown having Kurt and Rachel watch Will and Sue have their sing-off and “...We cannot end up like them.”)

The echoes are the point. And when Glee goes out, it goes for parallels between Will and the kids, just like it did when it began.

Ain’t we got fun?

I feel like humour is going to be one of the most divisive things about S6. For me, it was a breath of fresh air - S5 had definitely gotten a little stale with some of the jokes. It referenced for the sake of referencing sometimes, and had grand set pieces that were played up like they were funny, and... weren’t, so it just ended up feeling a little weird.

S6, at least, is different. Love or hate Sue’s terrifying shipper-robot, it’s certainly not just a rehash of an old joke. Sue as an adversary is nothing new, but the dynamic she has in S6 as the over-the-top principal is different. There is imagination to a lot of the new quips, whether or not they work for you.

Then we have The Final Countdown, which harkens back to Run Joey Run and Baby Got Back as an unabashedly comedic musical number. The season gets a couple of those, and while the genre seems despised by the fandom, the writers seem to enjoy them, so given the chance, they added more.

It’s interesting. I’d probably say that one of the biggest issues Glee ran into was how it started to feel samey, and I wonder if that was a result of the same thought process that governed the show after S1 - trying to just do the things that the fandom reacted to. And when it’s too late to get the fandom back, they have the freedom to go for different things. There is genuine effort to do different rather than just do more - which inevitably runs the risk of alienating fans, but they were cancelled anyway so...

Lending a shoulder

So let’s talk about the social awareness side. How does S6 fare?

Honestly, surprisingly well. It’s still Glee, so not perfect, but there were beats that I noticed while watching that genuinely felt like an apology.

So let’s talk about Beiste. There is nuance here. Coach Beiste comes out as a trans man this season - I’ve seen this criticised, and I understand the criticism, that it undercuts Beiste’s arc in previous seasons. Originally, the depiction of a cis woman who was not conventionally attractive nor conventionally feminine still wanting acknowledgement and respect was, in its way, radical - then again, Beiste has had very little to do for a while. If the alternative was nothing, then I’m content with mere continuity wonkiness.

So let’s talk about the quality of this depiction. Glee’s previous foray into trans issues is Unique, and right from her name you get that uncomfortable vibe that they were just writing a drag queen, and there is that distinct undercurrent to some of her appearances. There was some good, but there was also a lot of... well, just imagine a ‘you tried’ star here.

Then comes Sheldon Beiste. I think this was the first time the word ‘transgender’ was actually said on the show. He’s explicit, upfront, takes a name that isn’t just ‘Badass’ or some such, and is otherwise presented and treated as just a guy, with other characters treating him without the transphobia Unique faced. Plus there is the off-handed scene where he mentions that he’s always been attracted to guys, and that’s probably not going to change - a mainstream show acknowledging that not all trans people are straight in 2015 feels bizarrely radical, especially after Unique.

Then there was Becky getting an episode that pretty much just existed to call out how she’d been consistently infantilised in previous seasons. Honestly that was one I had to google after the episode was done because there are a lot of things I don’t know about Down’s - the fact Glee of all shows got that reaction is kinda impressive.

Certainly, there are bits that are handled with the usual lack of tact, but there is a surprising amount to admire here. Which then, again, makes for a season one comparison and makes me wonder - in S1, the major dynamics that went for commentary were Kurt’s relationship with his dad, and Quinn’s arc dealing with conservative-family expectation and pressures, and a lot of that is well-handled compared to what a lot of people might expect from Glee going forwards.

There’s a lot of potential speculation there, but if nothing else, it indicates the season wasn’t low-effort.

Being the kids, as well as the sitter

Glee is about growing up, and it’s about what that means. We have a season where the teacher takes centre stage, like was originally planned, only it’s teachers that more people care about - Rachel, Kurt and Blaine probably have more fans than Will.

But what of the kids?

Given that they only have half a season, they’re impressive. It helps that they’re well cast - most only really get one or two big songs, but they’re able to nail them (if you haven’t, go listen to Roderick’s Take Me To Church, thank you), and all of them feel distinct from previous archetypes. There are also fresh dynamics here - Roderick and Spencer’s neat friendship, Jane fitting in with Dalton is brand new, Mason and Madison offer a sibling dynamic we surprisingly haven’t seen before given how rarely Glee has siblings (Kurt and Finn didn’t really act it, and Puck and Jake had few interactions).

Again, there’s genuine effort and freshness put into them, but it’s effort with the understanding that they aren’t leads. They don’t get multi-episode focuses on any love triangles or romance plots, they’re unmistakable secondary characters but it’s in that role that they thrive.

Is season 6 the best season of the show? No. And it’s one it’s easy to imagine being hated, because it is a departure from previous seasons. I could list flaws - there’s a lack of focus, a desire to bring back characters that can give a very scattershot approach, and some dynamics do feel definitely underexplored. There’s no arc to compare to, say, Quinn’s development in S1.

But for a half-length season that’s also wrapping up past characters, it does about as well as it reasonably could.

It really feels like this was the show that they meant to make, though. You can feel the extra effort that goes into it - plus the music that was selected sticks out. A Burt Bacharach episode, a Carole King/Alanis Morisette episode, these are definitely from the era and genres that the writers showed a preference for earlier on. We get another Queen song, we get Styx as the finale - bands that have both appeared before. This is a victory lap. There are certainly more modern songs included, but it’s reminiscent of, again, Season 1 thriving on the back of Journey and showtunes and Queen, before a younger audience made them insert more contemporary music. It feels as though the songs they’re including are the songs that the writers like, rather than leaning on chart-toppers - the Bacharach theme episode is one of the lowest watched episodes in the show’s run, which is kind of shocking given how easily artist-focus episodes could get a bump in viewership. For some reason though, fans of a songwriter whose heyday was in the 1950s/60s don’t cross over massively with Glee.

And yet they went for it. Why? Because they wanted to, they liked the songs (Bacharach tends to be basically showtune-adjacent, you’ll find a wealth of musical singers who’ll do his songs for albums and concerts), as we can tell by S1 using his ‘I Say A Little Prayer.’ This is what the show would have been if there was no care about what the audience wanted.

For me, the biggest flaw with Glee was the fact that they had no bloody idea what they wanted the show to be, or who the target audience even was. It goes from edgy teenage comedy, to teachable-moment kids’ show, to shockingly nuanced adult drama.

Hence the title of this ramble - this is what Glee feels like it was meant to be, regardless of personal taste. How much a show should listen to its audience is a heck of a complex question, way too much to go into this far into an already too-long ramble, but it’s still interesting to see. When they aren’t trying to balance intent and audience, you get a fascinating lens through which to look at the show.

There is effort here, which raises the question - if this is the show that they wanted to make, as it seems to be with how effective it is as a redo of the original season and original intent of the show and thereby the interests of the writers, what does that say of past seasons? Where are the compromises, where are the decisions made to feed into what the fandom wanted? And are the departures from this vision strengths or weaknesses?

I feel like everyone’s going to have a different answer to that question, and I do wonder if that’s why Glee fandom often seems so divided. Functionally, there are two shows going on here - it just depends which you were tuning in to see.

#Glee #Glee Meta #Glee Season 6 #Rachel Berry #Roderick Meeks #Spencer Porter #Jane Hayward #Madison McCarthy #Mason McCarthy #Kurt Hummel #Will Schuester

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