#jarred/anna

[a-crack-in-the-universe]

Anna and the Wenn

Anna looked out through the entrance of their small treehouse toward the ground far below, her heart twisting into painful knots within her chest.

Something was wrong, she could feel it. It was late afternoon and Jarred still had not returned. It was not like him to be so late. He had told her that he would be back by mid-afternoon, and knowing the dangers the forest held, he would not let himself be waylaid by anything. For, after all, dusk was the time the Wennbar and other dangerous monsters would be coming out.

What if he had been attacked, or worse? Anna squeezed her eyes shut, unable to bear the thought. If Jarred was still out at dusk, he would be in danger, injured or not. And then… 

Fate have mercy, she had to find him!

‘Mama? Is Papa in trouble?’

Anna turned to find her daughter standing next to her, eyes wide with fear. Jasmine. Anna’s heart clenched. She must have seen her fretting and pacing. She would have to reassure her somehow.

She knelt and hugged her daughter, stroking her dark hair and looking into her beautiful green eyes that were so much like her own. ‘Yes, my dearest. Your father may be in danger, but it will be all right. I am going to search for him. Stay in the house, and do not come out until we return. All right?’

After a moment’s pause, Jasmine nodded her head, sniffling slightly, though still looking afraid. ‘All right, Mama.’

Anna hugged her again tightly, drawing comfort from her daughter’s small warm body. ‘I love you. Be of good heart and wait for us to return.’      

Though it twisted her inside to do it, she let go of her daughter, and proceeded to prepare for her journey. She did not bother to change clothes, but she grabbed her foraging bag and her medicines—she would need those, in case Jarred was injured. 

All too soon she was ready to leave. She moved toward the entrance and began the long climb down to the forest floor.

-----

As the years had passed, Anna had grown proficient at noticing the signs that someone or something had passed through their area – a necessity, to help her protect her small family from dangers such as fearsome forest creatures or Grey Guards. She was not as adept at it as she would have liked, but she had enough skill at it to track Jarred.

Jarred had become just as good as she at stealthily moving through the grassy forest floor, perhaps even more so, but she knew him well enough to notice the signs he would typically leave behind at certain spots, signalling that he had been there. Her heart grew heavy with foreboding as she noted how at first Jarred had proceeded on foot, and then it looked like he had been dragged, based on the way the greenery had been disturbed.  

She followed those signs to a grassy clearing that the Wenn usually deposited their victims in for the Wennbar to find.              

She and Jarred had first come across the Wennbar—and the Wenn—some weeks after first arriving in First Wood. In the months before Jasmine’s birth, Jarred had begun scouting the area for any dangers they would need to be aware of and avoid while they were living there in the forest. As she had been big with child, Anna had been unable to join him, but after the birth she had insisted on it—both because she was painfully curious about the wonders Jarred had been telling her about, and because she knew that if she spent another moment in the treehouse she would surely go mad.

And so, with little Jasmine bound to her on a sling on her back, Anna had gone with Jarred scouting. It was on that trip that she had first seen the Wenn--pale misshapen creatures with glowing red eyes. On that trip, she and Jarred had watched from the treetops as the creatures ran past, carrying an animal who appeared to be as still as death. However, after the Wenn had deposited it onto the grass in the clearing, Anna could see that it was not dead, only paralysed. How, Anna did not know, but it chilled her to see the look of terror in the animal’s eyes as it realised it could not move. Had it known what its fate would be?

Anna and Jarred had not stayed to see what would happen to it. In later weeks, however, they found out what the Wenn did to its captives—that they were sacrificed alive to a monster called the Wennbar, which seemed to be the Wenn’s master. In the months and years to come, they came across more helpless victims who had been caught by the Wenn, and they quickly learned to see the warning signs of Wenn approaching and keep away from them.        

Some of the Wenn’s victims were Grey Guards. Eventually, Jarred had had the idea of stripping those Grey Guards of their clothes, so that he, Anna and Jasmine would be able to use the fabric to make clothes for themselves. The danger of it had worried Anna, but they desperately needed the fabric after their original clothes had become too worn out to wear, and so she had agreed to it.

Anna felt a twinge of guilt. On any other day, they could have gone together, but today she had to stay behind to tend to Jasmine, who had badly grazed her knees while playing in the treetops. So Jarred had gone alone. Anna had suggested they postpone the trip until tomorrow or the day after, but Jarred had shaken his head. It would be better if they could make it today, he had said. Who knew if they would get another chance like this anytime soon?

Anna had let him go. After spending over five years in the Forests of Silence, Jarred had become a capable fighter, and he knew to be careful of the Wenn. If he encountered trouble, he would be able to find his way out of it. Besides, it was not likely that he would run into any trouble, for there was not much activity on the forest floor today. She had not thought there was anything they would need to worry about.  

Now, though… Anna’s heart froze as she stood in the clearing of the Wennbar and took stock of the situation. Jarred lay on the grass before her, paralysed – bound by the Wenn. Some feet away, also paralysed, lay a Grey Guard.

She knelt and gripped Jarred’s calloused hand in her own, feeling terror rise within her. 

“Anna, I am sorry,’ Jarred said weakly. ‘I was careless. I--'

‘Hush,’ she said, trying—and failing—to suppress the tremble in her voice. Tears stung her eyes. If Jarred died, she did not know what she would do. ‘You must save your strength.’  

She glanced up at the sun. It was not so long until sundown, now. She would have to act quickly if she were to help Jarred. But how could she do that? What kind of potion could cure someone of paralysis?    

She squeezed her eyes shut, thinking. Then it came to her. It would be risky, and there was a chance it would not work. But it would be worth it, if it meant she would have a chance to save Jarred. 

She only allowed herself a moment’s fear; then she forced it out of her heart and opened her eyes. She kissed Jarred on the forehead and looked into his dear, familiar, exhausted eyes. ‘I love you. I must go now, but I will be back soon, with something that will help you.’

‘Anna—’

‘Trust me,’ she urged. ‘This will not be the end. I will make sure of it.’

‘I trust you,’ he assured her. ‘It is time I do not trust. It is close to sunset, when the Wennbar will come.’ And with it, his death. The unspoken words seemed to hover between them. Anna felt her heart squeeze painfully. Yes, it was close, so very close. Would she have enough time? She had to believe that she would. The thought of losing Jarred was like a knife to her heart; she could not let it happen.

She kissed him again and stood up. ‘Do not fear. I will be back in a little while, before sunset.’

Be brave, and wait for me to return, she thought. I will not let you die. I will not let Jasmine lose her father.

And with that, she darted away into the forest.            

-----

Later, once it was over, she would admit to Jarred that she had been terrified that her plan would not work, that she would run out of time, leaving Jarred to be sacrificed to the Wennbar. Then, however, she only felt a cold, steely determination come over her as she moved through the forest, foraging for the herbs required to concoct the medicine that would hopefully cure Jarred of his paralysis. She had no room for any other emotion.  

Once she gathered the herbs she needed, she made her way as fast as she could back to the treehouse, where she would be able to mix them into a form that Jarred could ingest. Jasmine gazed at her with questions in her eyes as she re-entered their small treetop home. 

‘Mama! Where’s Papa?’

Time was of the essence, but Anna forced herself to pause and reassure her daughter, even though every part of her was screaming at her to prepare the medicine now before it was too late.

‘Papa has been stung by the Wenn,’ was all she had time to say. ‘I must make some medicine before dusk to help him move again. Here,’ and she motioned to her daughter to join her at the workbench she used to formulate her herbal remedies. ‘Help me prepare it.’    

For all that she was only five years old, Jasmine understood the urgency of the situation, for she said no more and quietly helped her mother crush the herbs and prepare the medicine that would hopefully save Jarred’s life.

Once they were done, Anna gazed at their creation. It was a foul-smelling liquid that made Jasmine wrinkle her small, sensitive nose in disgust. It would have a foul taste as well, but as long as it worked, that would not matter. It had to work, she told herself. It had to. She could not think otherwise.

Without another word, she grabbed the tiny bottle and placed it in a pouch around her neck, hurrying out of the treehouse and back down to the forest floor. Jasmine anxiously watched her go.

-----

Time became a blur, after that. Anna could think of nothing else than racing to where she had left Jarred in the clearing before the Wennbar emerged from its cave to claim its sacrifice. It was almost dusk – Anna could see the sun positioned painfully low in the gradually darkening sky.

It felt like an age before she was in that clearing again. She knelt before Jarred, taking out and uncorking the bottle with the precious medicine in it.

‘Jarred, open your mouth!’ she hissed. ‘Quickly!’

There was no time to greet him or provide any warning. Dusk was almost upon them, and with it the Wennbar.

Thankfully, Jarred obeyed her without question. He knew as well as she did the urgency of his situation, and what would happen if they were both still in the clearing when the Wennbar came.

Anna lowered the bottle over his open mouth and carefully poured two drops of the foul-smelling medicine onto Jarred’s tongue. Two, she had calculated, would be enough for the medicine to do its work. Once the drops hit his tongue, she clamped one hand over Jarred’s mouth. It would all be for nothing if Jarred somehow spat out the medicine.      

She held her breath as Jarred grimaced at the terrible taste of the potion. Please let this work! An expression of intense agony crossed Jarred’s face. Anna’s heart squeezed to see it and hear his muffled pained cry. And then – his body began to jerk, limbs moving, as it tried to process the pain it was under.

Anna let out the breath she had been holding. Tears sprang into her eyes. It had worked! Her medicine had worked. But she could not relax quite yet – they both still had to escape the clearing before the Wennbar arrived.

Quickly she shook Jarred shoulder, tugged at his arm as hard as she could – anything to get his attention over the immense pain he must be feeling. ‘Jarred? Jarred! Please listen to me. You can move! We must escape from here before the Wennbar comes.’

He groaned. She kept repeating her words to him, until she feared he was in too much pain to understand her. Then her words finally seemed to registered within his mind, and he began to struggle to get to his feet. Anna helped him to his feet and together the two of them, with Anna half-supporting Jarred, stumbled out of the clearing.  

They did not stop until they had reached their home in the treetops. Anna had not dared to, the thought of the Wennbar’s angry, snapping teeth spurring her onward, and Jarred, still half-delirious with pain as he was, had not had the strength to do aught but follow her lead. She breathed a sigh of relief once she saw the familiar wooden structure of the treehouse and the small face of their daughter peering down at them, her green eyes filled with a mixture of fear and hope.

As soon as they were safe in their home, Jasmine rushed to her father’s side and hugged him tightly, burying her face in his leg. ‘Papa! Are you all right?’

Anna could see that Jarred was still weak, so it took him a few moments to respond to Jasmine’s tearful question. Finally he said, ‘Yes, sweetheart. I am.’ His eyes met Anna’s, and Anna’s heart warmed at the deep love, relief and gratitude in them. ‘Your mother saved me.’          

[dayonameth]

[alatariel-galadriel]

redraw of a screencap from the most recent X-97 opening! Love these two to death <3

[toohardontheknees]

Ред Скер

[oetscop]

this is kinda old and i almost didnt post it. i kinda gave up on making a full rainer ref like i did with daniel soooo take this ^}^

this is after 1997 and before 2000 when he went missing for good.

[katierosefun]

my cancelled-able trait from the queer community would be that i really apparently love messy endings. i love u happy endings and i also love u such sad, messy, ambiguous endings . . . i love u endings where u have this weird pit in the bottom of your stomach because you know that there's love here but u have no idea what to do with it and u just have to deal with the fact that someone is profoundly affecting your life and you're not gonna get closure from it anytime soon . . . i love u queer love stories where it's really just "u don't always get to see the sunshine and rainbows at the end of it . . . sometimes all that's left is just one big question mark and the quiet hope that they get their shit together" . . .

[reidiot]

anyway. men should thank us that we're only looking for equality and not revenge

[lindalofbroome]

honestly when i first saw this collage, my first thought was to draw doom and lindal in them, but then i realised.. we need more bby twins,, so i humbly offer these doodles

[wallflowver]

Facts…

[a-crack-in-the-universe]

The Shadowlands Outtake #1

Anna awoke at dawn, shivering and heartsick.

Dim light was beginning to fill the clearing where they had lain to rest, signalling a new day of marching, but she could not bring herself to move. She lay where she had fallen asleep the night before, her arms curled protectively around Jarred, feeling her entire body tremble with the memory of what had occurred the day before. Jarred. The Grey Guards. The whip cutting into Jarred's back, causing him to scream. The blood dripping onto the grass at Jarred's feet as they stopped to make camp for the night, a spot of crimson against the browns and yellows of the half-dead land. The taste of bile in her mouth as she vomited from the sheer horror of it all, feeling the tears run rivulets down her sodden cheeks.

She struggled to hold down the bile that she could feel surging up her throat. She suppressed a shudder. The memories resonated deeply inside her soul, horrible and haunting, filled with blood and darkness. She did not think she would ever be free of them, however much she tried to forget. It terrified her, to know that.

We survived, she told herself firmly. We may be bloody and battered, but we are alive. That was what she should focus on. However, she knew that if Jenara had not chosen to help them as she did, they would both have perished- Jarred from blood loss and herself at the throw of a Grey Guard's blister. They both owed their lives to Jenara, who now lay sleeping some feet away, her cheek pillowed on her arm, and to the woman who had helped her; Kaldi, Jenara had said. Jenara had agreed to stay with them, to Anna's relief and pleasure. She had grown fond of the girl, and not just because Jenara reminded her of her lost daughter. Anna had come to respect the Jalis girl and care for her, and was glad that she had decided to befriend her. It had made the march at least somewhat more bearable than if she had not.

The girl in question stirred, and opened her eyes to gaze at Anna. 'The Grey Guards are waking,' she said.

And she was right, Anna could tell- the sounds of grumbling and rustling of limbs could be heard just outside the clearing. Soon the Guards would call the march to order again, shouting their captives into submission, forcing them to move. It made her sick to think of the increase of pain it would give her already unbearably aching sprained ankle, but she knew nothing could be done about it. The march had to go on; the only other choice was death, and that Anna could not do, not with Jarred there with her.

She rolled over to face Jarred, searching him intently for any sign of infection. She had seen it occur before; her own father had died from a wound gone bad, having been unable to find a healer capable of helping him properly. It was partly why she had chosen to delve into the art of healing and medicinal herbs- she had had to be sure in herself that if she ever found herself in such a situation, she could be of some use, unlike most women in Del who knew nothing of the sort, being too caught up in their duties to their family business. She had never truly thought that she would have to put such skills to use in this way, but now the time had certainly come.

There was a slight sheen of sweat on Jarred's forehead that worried her. His skin was cool to touch, however, and she could see no obvious swelling to the wounds on his back when she crouched and peeled away the makeshift-bandages to look. His breath, when she felt it, was only slightly warmer than she thought it should be. It caused her anxiety, but she knew nothing could be done. She did not have any of the items and herbs she used for healing, and she could not search for any amid the dry, dying shrubbery. She could only hope, and pray that he was strong enough to avoid infection, and combat it if it did come to it.

Gently she shook his shoulder, and he opened bleary, bloodshot eyes. 'Yes, dear heart?' he muttered, clearly still half-asleep.

'You must wake up, Jarred,' she said quietly but with urgency. 'The march is to begin again soon.'

Immediately he sat up, swaying slightly, gritting his teeth from the pain Anna knew he had to be feeling. Automatically she reached out a hand to give him support, concern almost consuming her. If Jarred were to collapse during the march, or even before... Anna suppressed a shiver at the thought.

‘I must see to…’ she began, gesturing to his back. Even as she said the words sickness rose in her again.

Jarred waved her away, almost carelessly. 'I am alright, Anna, truly,' he insisted. His words slurred together slightly, igniting more fear in her heart. It did not sound-or bode-well for him. But what could she do even if it did? Without her tools and herbs of healing, all of the skills she knew were useless. Her heart ached at the thought.

She frowned at him. ‘You were flogged last night,’ she said. ‘Let me see to it somehow.’

‘And what could you do?’ he said. ‘There is nothing here that will help. The land is dead. It will only cause you pain, Anna.’  

She let him be, even as the pain in her heart swelled. All that day, he was alright, alert and walking without help. Though she could see it irritated him to have her hovering close to him as if he were breakable (he had only suffered a flogging, after all, he told her, exasperated), she could not stop herself. It comforted her to see no worsening in his condition; hope bloomed in her, a change from the dull weight of despair she had felt for the past days. He was strong enough. He had to be, she thought desperately. She did not know what she would do if something happened to him.

That night, as they both lay down to sleep, he was alright- there was no fever, no swelling, no pus. With hope aching in her chest, she fell asleep curled in Jarred's arms, taking comfort in his body resting beside hers, and his quiet, even breaths. Silently she gave thanks; it did seem like he was in no danger.

It happened so quickly. Quickly, and unexpectedly. One moment, she was asleep, safe in the arms of her husband, blissfully ignorant. The next, she was waking to low, pained rasps. In the half-asleep state she was in still, all she could think was that something was burning- something was hot, very close to her. But why? Fire, her mind thought hazily. Fire in First Wood. The tree-house was on fire. She had to go, run, find Jasmine... Put it out somehow...

In her distress, she felt herself move restlessly. Her hands knocked against something, a body, incredibly warm... Reality hit her, and she found herself waking with a painful jolt of awareness. She was not in First Wood anymore, was not watching her home burn down around her. It was Jarred she had knocked against. Jarred's which she had dimly thought felt surprisingly hot. Jarred, who did not even stir at her intrusion, as he should have. He lay against her, his skin like a burning flame, his body trembling, the breath gasping unevenly in his chest.

'Jarred?' she whispered.

No response.

'Jarred?' she repeated, louder this time. She shook him, gently at first, but more forcefully when he did not respond. Panic swelled in her. 'Jarred? Wake up! You must wake up!' She felt hysteria rise, felt her movements become more frantic. Her throat choked with horror. By fate, do not let this be happening, she prayed, almost dizzy with horror.

He was alright when we fell asleep!

'Jarred?' She shook his limp, too-hot body again and again, feeling her breath sob painfully, and her entire body tremble with despair.

'Jarred, wake up. Jarred? Jarred!'

Anna watched as Jarred tossed and turned, his body shaking violently. His eyes were wild, anguished, afraid. His breath was a rasp in his chest that was almost painful to hear. She clutched at his hand but he jerked away, unused to the coolness of her touch against the unnatural warmth of his skin.

Like ice touching fire.

Unbidden tears sprang into her eyes. It had been two days since the fever appeared—two long, agonising days in which there had been no change in his condition. She could not bear to think of what it might mean. Jarred was strong, she knew, in body and mind. In Del perhaps, or even the Forests of Silence, he may have had a large chance of recovery. In either place, she would be able to find herbs and water and other items to help bring the fever down. There would have been tinctures she could create, mixtures she could brew. But they were not in the forge, or in the Forests of Silence. They were in a forsaken part of Deltora's countryside, laying on dry, cracking earth. What chance was there now?

She bowed her head. Footsteps sounded behind her, and she looked up again. Jenara sank to the ground beside her, her eyes dark with concern. 'There is still no change?' she asked quietly.

'None,' and Anna felt her throat tighten at the word. She blinked rapidly to forestall the tears that were brimming in the corners of her eyes.

Jenara touched her arm and said, 'He is strong. I am sure he will be alright.' She said nothing more; indeed, there was nothing more she could say. Jenara did not know Jarred, so she did not feel the insurmountable terror that Anna did. There was nothing really that the girl could say that would possibly comfort her. Jarred may be strong, but the march was hard, and coupled with the harsh conditions and meagre rations of food, it had weakened him. There was no telling if he would survive or not; the fever was not as high as others Anna had seen over the years, but it was high enough that it could be possibly fatal. In more comfortable conditions, there would have been no chance of death, but here Anna was not sure. She could not aid him in any case; he would have to fight it out alone.

[chatonmarmont]

🎀 buy my designs! 🎀

Serenity Prayer Dad Hat by Chaton Marmont on Redbubble

[anchooviee]

i have a lottt more books i need to read but i didnt want to make too many options😭 thinking of reading one of these then moving on to the brothers karamazov, anna karenina, or no longer human (i've read the manga but never the actual book)

[ghost-of-you]

[linkspooky]

Hi....if you don't mind me asking, what are your top 10 favorite (fiction) books? And why? Sorry if you've answered this question before...

Hello, I don’t mind answering. Here’s my top ten books. Please don’t expect me to have good taste. A friendly reminder that I am a clown, and I have a clown’s taste in literature. 

#10 A Game of Thrones

Not the whole series, but the first book specifically is one of what I consider the best fantasy books of all time. I know this is an incredibly mainstream thing to say, but sometimes things that are popular, are popular for a reason. The Cersei sections of Feast of Crows are my favorite in the whole series, but as for the book in its entirety I believe the original book is almost a perfect example of a first book in a series which sets up greater characters and plot threads while at the same time writing a perfect three act tragedy in Ned Stark’s arc throughout the entire book. 

Genre fiction is my bread and butter, and I appreciate authors who are able to elevate Genre Fiction into serious art just by taking common characters and tropes of the genre seriously, and using those as tools to build upon the themes. Everyone knows the plotting and the world and politics and backstories are so impressively detailed that George RR Martin’s writing ability, and thoughtfulness towards his own work always shows in its dirty and gritty details. But ebyond that I’m reminded of a quote by Ursula K Le Guinn about genre fiction.

“For example: A writer sets out to write science fiction, but isn’t familiar with the genre, hasn’t read what’s been written. THis is a fairly common situation, because science fiction is knwon to sell weel, but as a subliterary genre, is not supposed to be worth study - what’s to learn? It doesn’t occur to the novice that a genre is a genre because it has a field and focus of it’s own; it’s own appropriate and particular tools, rules, and techniques for handling the material; its traditions; and its experienced, appreciative readers - that it is, in fact, a literature. Ignoring all of this, our novice is just about to reinvent the wheel...” 

What I love about Game of Thrones is that it is a fairy tale story, that knows it is a fairy tale and instead of looking down on fairy tales, it critically examines them while at the same time adding humanity to all of its characters. The grittier elements of the story come not from George RR Martin thinking fantasy stories are stupid, but because he wants to write a legitimate challenge in his story for characters to ovecome, and a world where things are harder than they seem in stories, and yet it’s still worth the struggle to live life outside a story. You know. You know those themes? It’s one of those. 

#9 The Idiot by Dotsoevsky

It’s hard to pick a favorite out of Dostoevsky’s five great novels, but i inthk his most tragic entry is the one that’s also the most tightly written and clear in its themes. 

Prince Myshkin is one of Dostoevsky’s purest heartest characters, a character Dostoevsky wrote he wanted to create with an “entirely postivie... with an absolutely beautiful nature”, and yet despite being so loving and unselfish towards others he’s a rare example of a character who’s good points are matched evenly with his flaws. A fundamentally good person who is as complex as some of Dotsoevsky’s bad boys, like Raskolnivkov. Myshkin is so selfless a person he’s almost an ideal, but the point of the novel itself is that ideals cannot exist in reality. 

According to Joseph Frank, the character of prince Myshkin approaches “ the extremest incarnation of the Christian ideal of love that humanity can reach in its present form, but he is torn apart by the conflict between the contradictory imperatives of his apocalyptic aspirations and his earthly limitations.” 

Prince Myshkin is someone who similiarly can only see the world in ideals, which is what makes his romance with Nastaasya Filippovna so troubled, because she is a troubled person who exists in an area of grey that Myshkin cannot see. Myshkin can truly and unselfishly love her, and yet he cannot comprehend er at the same time which makes their romance one where desipte all good intentions neither of them are ever on the same page. 

Anyway, the best love stories are ones where thy don’t end up together. It’s the story of how they met, they didn’t fall in love, and didn’t end up happy together, and yet the goodness Myshkin saw in Nastasya who is Dostoevsky’s most complicated, and most flawed woman, was there all the same. 

#8 Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte

Here’s the cliche answer for which work by a Bronte sister is your favorite. However, my hot take is one everyone in the world will disagree with  me over. Wuthering Heights is still a love story, even if it’s a story that is primarily about Katherine and Heathcliff’s selfish, destructive love. The Bronte Sisters weren’t out to debunk Regency Era romantic stories like the kind Jane Austen wrote. They aren’t anti-romantics. Wuthering Heights is still very much a story full of romanticism, it’s just like George RR Martin, looking at that genre with a more serious lens. 

In my essay I will go on to prove that Wuthering Heights is a romantic story.... It’s about big emotions and the consequneces about big emotions. Much is made about how destructive Katherine and Heathcliff’s love for one another is, and how selfish, but when reading it you have to pay attention to the circumstances surrounding it. Heathcliff is the victim of abuse and discrimmination, because he is poor, disadvantaged, and dark skinned. His childhood love is also with the only person who sort of treats him like a human being, and in that same light Katherine falls in love with the only person who knows her as she is in a complicated light rather than seeing her as a woman of manners and fine breeding. It’s only after everything goes wrong that the love itself becomes destructive towards both members. 

Wuthering Heights isn’t really saying that the brooding Byronic prtagonist is a bad person, but rather illustrating the cirucmstances that would create such a person. One interpretation I like about the story is that Heathcliff and Katherine are just as selfish in their actions towards each other, it’s just Heathcliff’s are more destructive because that’s the power he has as the head of the household. 

It’s a tragedy of two people coming together, and then coming apart by love, but to argue that love doesn’t exist is to like, say that the two leads of Romeo and Juliet weren’t in love, they were just horny teenagers. The story becomes leser if you ignore the romanticism of the story. If like, the descriptions of roaring green fields, and the weather reflecting the emotions of the characters, and the fainting spells and bouts of hiysteria are not enough to indicate it as a romantic work of fiction. Also, at the end of the story, the damage to two generations of the family that is done by abusive love, is slowly becoming undone by the union of two children who heavily parallel Katherine and Heathcliff  and represent what they could have been under different ircumstances. It’s just such a good story at depicting the extremes that people are capable of while its characters are still human. You could compare Heathcliff to Frankenstein’s monster, except he’s not a monster at all, he’s just a dude, ableit a heavily abused one who goes on to repeat his abuse in a heavily realstic way. 

#7 The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath

I put this on the list just to be pretentious. There’s a lo of similar books of this genre I’ve read and enjoyed, but this is for me pretty much the only book that’s ever depicted  a mental breakdown accruately. The whole first half of the book really is just about a normal person unfamiliar and uncomfortable with her brief stay in New York City, and when she gets home and falls apart that is when the book becomes brilliant. 

A lot of mental illness in fiction is like, heavy hallucination, crazy behavior. Sylvia Plath writes a character just slowly falling apart, not being able to keep up with her normal life in the way she did before. One of the most striking passages to me was when she mentions that all she seemed to do all day was do nothing, and yet she couldn’t sleep either, and she went day, after day, after day without sleeping. When the main character attempts to slit her wrists too, it’s not a big dramatic deal, but something the character mentions almost offhandedly, and she does it because she is so tired of not sleeping. 

It’s just a small and quiet portrayal of suffering that’s just as striking and poetic, because it draws humanity out of the mundanity of this character’s breakdown. She just stops being able to do what she could always do before, and she doesn’t know why, or what’s the cause of this slow decline, and she feels trapped in her head and observing as it’s happening to her. It’s a book I’ve reread several times, at the minimalist language it uses, that is equally effetive as striking and overdramatic prose. It just gets the suffering of the character across, in small ways, it’s so soaked with a quiet misery. 

#6 Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy 

This is my favorite love story, ever. I actually think war and peace is stronger in its themes, and has more liabkly characters in its cast, but Anna Karenina is the story of one woman’s misery and her desire for escape from her life. There is so much humanity to Anna in this story, that’s not given to other woman in the time period. While theplot of War and Peace is about the comparison of the smalll lives of the Russians in contrast to the Big Stakes of the war happening around them, Anna Karenina is written about one women’s  misery and her trying to find happiness in love and it is treated with all the same importance and grand consequences. 

The opening quote of the book has stayed with me forever. 

All happy families are alike, but every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way

Tolstoy writes about one small person living their life like it’s the most important thing in the world. That there are no great people like Napoleon, just people living their little lives. Anna’s desire for happiness is so strong she leaves her husband, and has an affair with him. Something a man would be allowed to do at the time, and is even easily forgiven for in the start of the book, but Anna is reviled for within her own society. 

It’s important to marriage Anna has a husband that for the time period she should have been satsifed with, he worked and paid for the house, he was a responsible man who didn’t cheat on her, he just didn’t love her. Yet not only is Anna not allowed to leave in the eyes of society, she should also be thankful for it. Anna then is swept away by a man who promises her the kind of love she’s searching for, and even if he does not love her, he is at least exciting. It sounds like every other romance story ever written which is why you really have to just read it, to understand the humanity that is on display in Anna’s character. 

#5 DRACULA 

Did somebody say female characters? One of my favorite things to watch on tumblr was to see Dracula become super popular as soon as someone came up with the idea of emailing people the story, letter by letter. Dracula isa story where the most interesting haracters are the human characters struggling against the monster, and that’s brought out by the epistolatory novel storytelling format. Jonathan’s diary, Mina and Lucy’s letters all go to such great lengths to flesh them out.

Mina and Lucy especially are too well developed female characters. The slow decline of Lucy’s health, and the great efforts everyone around her goes to save her, only to have her die at the end is one of the most harrowing things I’ve ever read in fictions. It’s more horrifying than most modern day horror, and this sequence of events happens when Dracula is mostly offscreen and only appears in what to Lucy are just drreams.

Stephen King once said, and I’m paraphrasing, that what makes horror fiction scary is when the audience is invested in the fate of the characters. Dracula is so lasting and impactful because the main cast is as developed as the monster themselves, even though they are ntohing more than pathetic and scrawny human beings. It’s the rare monster story where you actually want to see the good guys slaughter the monster. 

#4 Frankenstein

Frankenstein, or as I call it, can you tell this was written by a woman? 

Frankenstein is just about so many things. It references stories like Paradise Lost in its themes about the potential of good and evil of humanity. r. It’s about the human adventuring spirit and the desire to do something great, and also when that same desire to be something greater than human can make people forget their basic humanity. It’s about misogyny. It’s about masculine entitlement. 

It’s about childbirth It’s about motherhood. It’s about the cycle of abuse. Frankenstein and his  Monster are such perfect foils for one another, to the point where the Monster is almost a living Jungian shadow who like Peter Pan’s shadow has escaped from him and is running around on his own. The more that Frankenstein denies the monster and dehumanizes him, the more monstrous he becomes.

One of my favaorite passages in all of fiction and one I think about when writing characters to this day, is when the monster points out that he has done bad things and deserves to be punished, but what about the family who beat him and chased him away for looking ugly when he spent months on end gathering firewood and he only wanted to introduce himself. What of the man who shot him, when he tried to save his son driving for a river. Why aren’t they deserving of punishment? If he is guilty, then why are all the people who pushed him into this and were violent towards him without cause innocent? 

#3 Zaregoto Vol. 2: The Kubishime Romanticist. 

This is where I get rocks thrown at me for putting a light novel on here and above all of these classics. The story behind Zaregoto volume two is fascinating . While the first was months of work went into it’s creation, Nisioisin felt something was missing when he had finished it. For the sequel, he sat down, and wrote it in two days. 

Zaregoto is one of my favorite novels of all time, but it does require reading the first to show how it contrasts the second. Basically, what I always say is that if you read the first volume you don’t really understand why everyone is so offput by the main character, or why everyone is constantly hinting that he’s a terrible person. However, by the second novel you understand exactly the kind of person IIchan is. 

While the first volume of the series is a tribute to mystery stories that for the most part, centers around solving the mystery, the second the mystery solving is almost incidental to establishing just what kind of person the first person narrator is. It’s a very vivid image that Nisioiisin paints in detail, and it’s not exactly a flattering portrait.

II-chan is a terrible person. This is the novel about how II-chan is a terrible person. However, Iic-han is one of my favorite characters ever, and this novel is one of my favorite novels just because the prose is so, almost trippy, psychadelic? It’s very stremam of thought narration. It’s poetic. And that’s all in servic to show what the kind of person II-chan is. He’s an unreliable narrator, because he’s such a good storyteller he’s twisting details to make himself look like the victim of the story, and yet if you pay attention and read behind the lines he’s just not a victim nor a particularly good or innocent person. Unreliable narrators are some of the best tropes in fiction to show how not only can stories not be trusted, but people cannot be trusted as well, because they both have a tendency to tell lies.

# 2 +#1 No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai, and This Side of Paradise by F. Scott Fitzgerald 

These two are essentially tied for my favorite, because they are very similiar despite being written by authors from two different cultures. They are both semi-autobiographical novel length works that are essentially coming of age stories where the main character refuses to come of age or grow up in any specific way. They are love stories, where the main character doesn’t fall in love. They fact that they are semi-autobiographical novels which follow these characters from childhood to adulthood and paint not so flattering pictures of the main characters is part of what makes them raw and effective. 

I won’t speak about Osamu Dazai but if you know anything about F. SCott FItzgerald, well let’s just say there are a lot of scandals about his treatment of his wife, his writing. There’s a lot of honesty though in his works that makes me not want to completely dismiss his talent as an author. This Side of Paradise and Osamu Dazai are just so honest in their portrayal of the main characters warts and all, that they are still readable despite having what are selfish and unsyampthetic main characters. 

Osamu Dazai once wrote he tried to write novels for miserable people, and yep, that’s pretty much it. No Longer Human at times reads like a suicide note left by the author himself, and that’s even explciitly the framing of the novel, a journal that was left behind after everybody stopped hearing from the main character. They portray the struggles of the characters by giving them such rich internal worlds. 

This Side of Paradise is different in that it at least has a slightly more optimistic ending. Both stories feature characters who are born into relative wealth in privilege, trying to go to school, trying to fall in love, trying to find work and live in the world and failing at all of those things. At the end of hist journey though, Armory ends with this quote. 

“I know myself," he cried, "but that is all.

Armory at least from all of his struggles, gains an understanding of himself by the end of the story. Which is why I think, stories like this need to be told. EAs Dazai said, some stories need to be written for miserable people, because misery is just as much of the human experience as happiness is. There’s still something to be gained from these stories, because loss and failure is something you can learn from. Which is why F. Scott Fitzgerald writes some of the most beautiful prose for the time period, because those people were born, dreamed to be someone important, wanted to be loved, just like everyone else and their stories are just as beautiful despite ending in loss and failure. 

[marciliedonato]

69th song

heheh..... 😼 😼

69 is spit it out by softcult lol

thank u ! mwah 💋

send me a number 1-100 and I’ll tell you the song it corresponds with on my top 100 playlist

[doomsupportgroup]

Jarred and Anna, waking up to the end of the world as they knew it.