#jsamn liveblog

[setaripendragon]

JSaMN Readalong Liveblog - Chapter 1

Okay, so I've got the entire JSaMN audiobook on my laptop, and I'm going to be listening along for the readalong, and I wanted to try doing a bit of a liveblog and actually write down my thoughts as I'm listening. (And maybe flex some of my analytical skills in a more deliberate fashion than usual? We'll see.) I have read the book before, but that was a very long time ago, and I don't actually remember it very well. (I remember the show much better.) So I may end up making reference to things that come later in the story, though I'll try not to give spoilers.

"He hardly ever spoke of magic, and when he did, it was like a history lesson, and no one could bear to listen to him."

Okay, so, right off the bat, before we even get into chapter one, this just... already sets my brain sparking with curiosity. Almost immediately we get told that magic exists (presumably), but that one of our titular characters talks about it in such a way as to make it boring. That's just... so counter to expectations. Very tasty, and excellent way to start the book, to be honest.

And it's the very first thing we ever learn about Norrell, and it's such an evocative portrait in just a single sentence. There's so much to be drawn out of it; not just Norrell's character, but other people's perception of him.

Chapter 1 - The Library at Hurtfew (Autumn 1806 - January 1807)

The entire opening passage just... immediately sets us up with a system of magic that is treated, in world, in such a... boring, officious manner, and that's just such a fascinating choice. "Long dull papers", "practicioners must pound and wrack their brains to make the least learning go in", and so on. It lays out so clearly that these so-called magicians are... taking the magic out of magic?

(That's a thought I want to poke at more through the readalong. I'm feeling a theme here.)

Aaand then we get our first footnote! Which is a reference to an in-world book. I know that the style of the book, with it being set out as an in-universe history with relevant footnotes and references is, like, Iconic of the book, but I have to mention how much I love it. There's so much opportunity for worldbuilding like this.

It's also, I have to note, our first mention of our other titular character, and I'm vibrating at the choice to introduce both of them in such an off-hand way in the narrative. Without the footnote, Strange doesn't even get named, just called 'a great magician', and Norrell isn't even mentioned in the narrative at all. And the contrasts and parallels!

Strange gets called a great magician right off, whereas Norrell 'hardly ever speaks of magic'. Norrell makes magic sound like a history lesson, and yet Strange is the one who published a book called 'The History and Practice of English Magic'. On the other hand, Strange has published a whole-ass book, whereas Norrell makes magic sound so boring that people don't want to hear what he has to say about it.

Also the contrast between getting to hear what others think about Norrell, whereas with Strange we get to hear what he thinks about other magicians (namely, that they're stupid and quarrelsome).

And! And then there's the contrast of both of them against Segundus, who is, unless I missed something, our very first named character that's actually introduced within the narrative.

"Northern magicians ... had always been better respected than Southern ones." Ooh. I'd never noticed that before, but this is such a lovely little bit of foreshadowing of the whole Raven King backstory stuff.

And then, of course, Segundus asks The Question. And again we get another contrast. We're being told 'there is magic' and 'there is no more magic'; 'magic is a fascinating subject' and 'magic is dull, dry, and boring'; and also here is a learned magician asking this question in a very portentious manner. The narrator tells us three times what he's asking, as though it must be spelled out deliberately, only to be immediately followed up with "It was the most commonplace question in the world."

I honestly love Dr Foxcastle's response, too. It's such a beautiful example of someone twisting facts to suit their argument. (I'm sure there's a name for this sort of... false equivalence in an argument?) "you would not expect ... that astronomers should labour to rearrange the stars" is so poetic and now I really want a story in which that is a thing that happens.

And I know I've said this before, but it keeps coming up and it's such realistic worldbuilding with such an unrealistic aspect of the world that I can't quite get over it; the way that the York Society all but venerates the 'noble' magics of 'long ago' (back in the glory days), and romanticises the whole concept, and yet at the same time absolutely denigrates the reality of magic actually happening as not just a sham or a con, but something that belongs to lesser beings. "A gentleman could not do magic."

(Which also implies that other sorts of magic, done by said 'lessers' is actually still around and possible, for all that the gentlemen deny it being so and call practicioners of lower social classes charlatans. Another weird and interesting contradiction.)

An odd little thing caught my attention in the introduction of Mr Honeyfoot and his family; "...to eat a good dinner in company with Mrs Honeyfoot and her three pretty daughters..." I don't know if this is a convention of the time (I do love how the book plays with language and spelling to give the narrative the feel of something written in the 1800s), but 'her three pretty daughters' jumped out at me as a very peculiar way of phrasing it. Why not 'their'? It probably is just a stylistic choice because Mrs Honeyfoot was the only relevant party mentioned in that part of the sentence, but still.

I also love Mrs Honeyfoot's opinion of Segundus. 'Exactly what a gentleman should be, but ... he would never profit by it, as it was not the fashion to be modest and quiet and kind-hearted.' The contrast there - between the ideal of a gentleman as modest and quiet and kind-hearted that is, despite the elevation in social status of gentlemen, not in fashion - gives proof to the lie of the ideal. (Which feels like it ties in quite nicely with the way magic has been romanticised by men utterly incapable of doing it.)

"...some of whom had gone to the most retired parts of England and Scotland and Ireland, where magic was strongest" There's two things about this bit that grabbed me. The first is the lack of Wales named as an independant place. I don't know my history very well, tbh, but I attribute this to a in-universe attitude that 'Wales' is just a part of 'England', which does fit with the fact that Merlin, iirc, is called an English Magician, despite most probably being Welsh (unless that wasn't such a common part of the lore when the book was published?). The second is the tying of magic to nature, and more specifically the most wild and unpopulated parts of the land. There is such a strong connection drawn between magic and wildness in this book, and it's fascinating.

It ties into the Theme I mentioned at the start, I think, that all this so-called academic debate and 'elevating' magic to 'civilised society' takes something out of it, makes it lesser (to the point of failing entirely (or nearly so) once it's brought into that realm).

Oh, and Norrell's first introduction actually in the narrative is as 'The Other Magician'. Which has so many layers to it. Obviously there is the implication of 'there is the Society of York Magicians' and then 'that other one' (derogatory), and maybe I'm reaching to read more into it, but I can't help but compare it to Strange being 'a great magician' and then Norrell being 'the other magician'.

And then we get told that he lived in "a very retired part of the country". Mere minutes after being told that the Aureates would venture into such places to solve their (presumably magical) problems. Already tying Norrell to a superior magical place and drawing parallels between Segundus and Honeyfoot seeking him out and the year-and-a-day quests that Aureates would go on.

Norrel's letter to Honeyfoot and Segundus is so catty. Segundus notes the sarcasm, of course, but... 'I am at a loss to account for the sudden honour done to me' feels so much like regency speak for 'the fuck you playing at?' followed by his clear disdain for the 'wisdom' of the York Society. I love it.

"What, after all, is the worst that can happen?" Oh, Segundus, honey, no. Don't ever think that when it comes to magic!

Damn, but the descriptions in this book are top tier, chef's kiss, no notes. Just...

"...rain had made long ragged pools in the bare brown fields, wet roofs were like cold stone mirrors, and Mr Honeyfoot's post-chaise travelled through a world that seemed to contain a much higher proportion of chill grey sky and a much smaller one of solid comfortable earth than was usually the case."

I can feel that dream-like quality of the sky opening up around you and the world bending away from that one spot you happen to be standing on. On a more analytical note, I find it fascinating the rhythm that's created by the repeated use of adjective-adjective-noun; 'long ragged pools' and 'bare brown fields' and 'cold stone mirrors' and 'chill grey sky' and 'solid comfortable earth'. Gotta try and keep my ears open for any more instances of this.

The tale of the Manchester Society of Magicians trying to "apply the principles of reason and science to magic" which led them to the conclusion that "there was not now, nor ever had been, any magic in the world" and then the guy who tried to write it down was too depressed to start... Again with the theme of 'taking the magic out of magic'. You try to tame it and it's gone. And followed this time with the implication that this is a devastating thing to have happen.

'Prophecies are great nonsense!' Mr Honeyfoot says, mere moments before enthusiastically wondering if he and Segundus might be the two magicians mentioned in this prophecy. XD

And I'm sure this has been talked to death, but it's so interesting that Vinculus did think Segundus actually might be one of the two magicians, even if he did eventually conclude he wasn't. And then that leading Segundus to Ask The Question that does set off the events of the prophecy. Is that what Vinculus saw in him? That he had a part to play, just not the part?

Also, because we were talking about this in the discord chat at pretty much exactly the same time I was listening to this bit, and wondering What If Honeyfoot and Segundus were the magicians of prophecy:

(I would have put Honeyfoot first the way he was in the book, but we never find out his first name, so the pattern wouldn't fit -sulks-)

Oh, now here's a detail I had forgotten. Segundus says Vinculus made him write down his name, and "looked at it a good long while". There is a similarity between 'Jonathan Strange' and 'John Segundus', and of course the written word does have a certain significance with Vinculus given [Spoilers]. There's some nebulous web of connections here that I can't grasp well enough to put into words, but definitely has the feel of this book's general air of ominous whimsy when it comes to magic and how it works.

In the description of Hurtfew Abbey I'm noticing more adjective-adjective-noun descriptions, though not quite as evocative as the last bit of description. 'ghostly-looking wet trees' and 'fine classical-looking bridge', and I have to not 'handsome and square and solid-looking' even though it doesn't quite fit the pattern. But I'm fascinated by this repeated use of [adjective]-looking as a description here. I'm wondering if this is on purpose and if it's any sort of commentary on appearance over substance. The house is solid-looking not actually solid, the trees are ghostly-looking not actual ghost-trees, the bridge is classical-looking but not actually classical architecture. Or perhaps it's meant to give the whole place an illusory sort of feel, given [Spoilers].

Me being a rather name-obsessed sort of writer/reader, I find the name of Norrell's home - Hurtfew Abbey - absolutely fascinating. It gives these vibes of a place of solace and sanctuary; an Abbey being a place of religious seclusion and hurtfew calling to mind things like feverfew, which reduces fevers; this is a place that reduces pain. And yet, at the same time, we learn that the abbey itself is gone and the name comes from the River Hurt that flows through the place. Hurt flows through Norrell's home. That's some freaking symbolism right there.

Oh, Norrell here is so condescending about Segundus's book. Nitpicking at a self-admitted minor detail, calling it 'your little history', then smiling 'inwardly' to himself as he admits that Segundus couldn't possibly have known about said minor detail because Norrell has the only book it's mentioned in. And it's so... so weaselly, the way he couches it in compliments and 'you're lucky to be so ignorant' type statements.

He's so unpleasant, it's amazing. And even though we were primed for it by the not-an-introduction at the beginning of the book, it's wild to me that the introduction of one of the two titular characters is so, so very negative. He's petty, he's condescending, he's self-congratulatory, he's stand-offish, the best that could be said of him was that he's 'almost gracious' when letting them into the library. Only almost.

I love how disorienting magic is in this book. Again there's a connection to wildness and maybe a sort of 'otherness', that it's unpredictable even to the rules of reality. The description of Norrell leading them to the library being "as if Mr Norrell had discovered some fifth point of the compass" is so evocative, despite describing something entirely impossible.

The distinction made between Books About Magic and Books Of Magic is really interesting to me, given that the latter is implied to have some quality that the former lacks that makes them incredibly valuable. My first impression, given the phrasing, is that Books Of Magic describe how magic is done, whereas Books About Magic describe what magic can do or has done. But given my thoughts this readalong about the notion that trying to delineate or explain magic weakens it's effectiveness/presence/essence/etc, I'm wondering if Books Of Magic do have a sort of magic laid into their pages? Stolen, in a way, from the world by being Written Down. (And perhaps, made lesser for it?)

Coming back to Norrell's character, I've been told that contradiction is one way to create depth in a character, and this scene makes an excellent case for it. Because here he is, clearly a man utterly dedicated to magic, with a magical library magnitudes greater than even other very impressive collections, and yet, every time Segundus or Honeyfoot gushes about the incredible works or compliments one of the books, he's so very negative about it all, so bizarrely disillusioned with the wonders of magic. It immediately engenders the question why? And despite how generally negative Norrell's introduction has been, it does make him an utterly fascinating and engaging character.

"With his long hair as ragged as rain and as black as thunder, he would have looked quite at home upon a windswept moor, or lurking in some pitch-black alleyway, or perhaps in a novel by Mrs Radcliffe."

Admittedly, I was already in love with Childermass by the time I picked up the book thanks to the BBC mini-series, but oh my god do I love this description. Also the fact that just before this, we see him mocking his 'betters' and getting away with it with aplomb, it's yet another absolutely brilliant character introduction. Such a vivid picture painted so elegantly in so few words. (Can you tell who's my favourite character? XD)

I also really like the way that Childermass gets introduced almost as an aside earlier in the scene. (Another introduction that doesn't give any detail until later, like Norrel's and Strange's, although Childermass was at least present in the narrative for his introduction. Vinculus, too, got an intro like Strange and Norrell's, now I think about it.) 'There's a man, his name is Childermass, he works for Norrell, moving on! Here's a decadent and lush description of the library!' And it's only a good while later that we get this description of Childermass as a wild, disreputable, insolent sort with long dark hair.

Th footnote about Martin Pale and Cold Henry. I don't know what I'm thinking about this footnote except something along the lines of: !!!

It's so fucking funny, and yet, at the same time, there's some fascinating worldbuilding going on, what with us being told that "fairies were naturally wicked creatures who did not always know when they were going wrong" and also with yet another example of a magician being extremely pretentious and building a reputation on something of very little substance. (I say, while making grand extracts and interpretations of a text, I am aware of the irony.)

Oh, look another adjective-adjective-noun description. "Then, conscious of time passing and the *queer dark eye* of the man of business upon him..." (-lowers my shipper-goggles down off my forehead- 👀)

And 'a strong cruel-looking knife' which I didn't mark as particularly significant at first (this pattern seems to be something the author just does), but then I thought a little more about how it's another [adjective]-looking description and I wondered perhaps if there is some symbolism going on here with these descriptions. And the place being used to describe its inhabitants; Solid-looking (but actually fragile?), classical-looking (but not actually... antiquated? authentic? A Classic(TM)?), ghostly-looking (but actually... vibrant? vulnerable?). Cruel-looking (but actually kind?).

I'm probably reaching, honestly, but that's the point of this little exercise, so I'm gonna run with it and say that this makes me want to say that that book-binding table was Childermass's, not Norrell's. It fits him slightly better, I think (though kind is not a description that fits either of them particularly easily).

I know that there's other reasons to assume this - it's a form of manual labour which Norrell is unlikely to want or be skilled enough to do, for one - but I think it's interesting that the author took the time to direct our attention to it. Even and especially noting that even the character thought it was Odd, priming us even further to take note of it. And I think, given what I know from the rest of the story, it makes much more sense that it's foreshadowing Childermass's intimate familiarity with Norrell's books, rather than... What? That Norrell binds his own books? I suppose it would make sense with how propriatary he is, but we've already been told that well enough.

And for the end of the chapter, one more delicious parallel. Honeyfoot asks Norrel why magic is no longer done, and Norrell's response? 'It is a wrong question, sir', just like Dr Foxcastle said at the beginning. Except, this time, instead of 'magicians do not do magic', it's 'I myself am quite a tolerable practical magician'. Parallel and contrast! A callback to the beginning of the chapter! A cliff-hanger!Pulling the rug out from under us after spending the whole chapter building up how magic is gone, and then this!

Definitely makes me want to listen to the next chapter immediately XD

Since the readalong is covering the first five chapters in the first week, I was originally going to do one post about all five of them, but, uh, I underestimated exactly how much I'd have to say about the chapter. I might have less to say as time goes on (but I doubt it), so I might end up doubling up some chapters later on, but for now, I think I'm going to make a post a chapter and hope I don't fall behind the readalong, since just this one chapter took me a whole afternoon to get through. If you want to follow along with my liveblog, I'll be tagging each one with 'jsamn liveblog' as well as the 'jsamn 20 readalong' tag, but I won't be linking the liveblogs to each other because I'm already spending enough time on this, and I don't need the extra fuss ^^"

[bumpyfrog]

Norrell about to raise the dead and drawlight wants to be in the room where it happens

[kareenvorbarra]

@crocordile: Why doesn’t everyone ship Stephen and Emma??? They’re both dealing with the same abusive boyfriend

Me: YES EXACTLY I AGREE

Also me, muttering under my breath: I love you I love you I love you I love-

[woodsmokeandwords]

JSAMN EPISODE 1 LIVEBLOG with my sister @star-incandescent (who has never seen it). Recorded herein are her remarks, both entertaining and salacious

Segundus trying to fix the pipe

My sister: he could lie, he looks like a liar

Childermass starts his introduction

My sister: He’s definitely got a big dick

The York Society

My sister: y’know what those are? Tories.

That’s... five books??

At Honeyfoot

My sister: He has potato energy

Childermass opening the Hurtfew Abbey door

My sister: Oh he looks so done oh my god

Segundus standing outside the Minster in the cold

My sister: Ew

Me: How dare you? He is a sweetheart

Childermass blowing on the contract

My sister: I want him to blow on me like that

She keeps calling Norrell ‘Norman’

My sister: Does Childermass always look this clean cause he is glowing right now?

Me: Uuh he gets a bit bloody at one point? Bit of an Aragorn moment

My sister: Hhhhng

Jonathan falling off the window:

My sister: Clumsy cunt

Five seconds later: Oh he’s soft...

My sister Mocking Arabella’s name:

Me: Hey, she’s great

My sister: No look I’ll warm up, she’s fit

She thinks Jonathan should poison his father with arsenic...

My sister: why do I see myself in Jonathan?

She says as he lies draped across the bed, hungover

Norrell and Childermass in the carriage:

My sister: Thing is, hot man over here completely outshines Norman

My sister: I want him to read to me whilst I’m in a candlelit bath.

Same, sis

My sister: I didn’t know Childermass was in it so much, if I’d known he was in it so much I’d have watched it years ago

I think this will just be 80% Childermass thirst tbh

“I wish to go home and read a book”

My sister: that’s you

Norrell sniffs the book

My sister: oh same. Norman you are like 5% redeemable

Vinculus standing outside:

“The rain shall make a door for me and I shall walk through it” My sister: the drug dealers in the side streets of Camberwell

I kind of feel for Norman, all he wanted to do was go home and read a book

More Childermass thirst:

My sister: push ME up against a wall!

Drawlight is a cloutchaser according to her.

My sister: there’s no shame in washing laundry

Me: well if you’re a gentleman there is

My sister: But Childermass would definitely know how to wash laundry

Me: yeah that’s a man who washes his own socks.

My sister: Don’t touch his tarot! The disrespect! Stop!

“No, on the contrary it’s all of a piece with your usual way of doing things”

My sister: ooh sizzle

“He is your dearest friend in all the world”

“I have no friends”

My sister: that’s rough buddy

My sister: where’s her finger at tho

My sister: he’s flexing with the leaf suit!

And there we have it, I’ve been trying to get her to watch it for years and tonight I prevailed at last so this was fun

[seacollectsrivers]

"courage sir. charm." mr childermass my dude have u not known this man for like two decades? charm?!?

i'm rewatching jonathan strange and mr norrell for the craic and enzo cilenti with his deep yorkshire accent still sexy

[setaripendragon]

JSaMN Readalong Liveblog - Chapters 2-3

Honestly, I have no idea if I'll be able to keep up with this, the first one took an entire afternoon, and while I have a lot of free time, I'm not sure I have that much free time XD Either way, I'm going to try, and see how I get on, because this is rather fun, if time-consuming. I've never actually taken the time to write down my thoughts as I read a book before. My approach to fiction is generally that if I'm not so absorbed I forget the real world exists, I'll go read something else, which makes this sort of liveblogging a bit impossible. Alright, here we go.

Chapter 2 - The Old Starre Inn (January - Fabruary 1807)

Every time I read or hear 'the old starre inn', my mind puts it to the tune of The Magician in York. (Warning: song contains spoilers up to chapter 4 of the book, I think.)

Narrator: Chapter 2: The Old Starre Inn Me: All on a winter's day~

I find it very interesting, the fact that Norrell gives them no specifics as to the magic he's done. After all, he hangs so much pride on his status as a practical magician that you'd think he'd want to show off. But it doesn't feel at all out of character, as he sees these 'pretend' magicians as so far beneath him that why would he need to?

Which is in such contrast to Honeyfoot's impression of him as 'humble' that it's funny. But at the same time, I don't think Honeyfoot is entirely wrong in his impression of Norrell. 'Shy' perhaps gives the wrong impression, but I get very vivid vibes from Norrell of that loner kid on the playground who no one wants to play with because they're 'weird', except once they settle into their isolation and do something cool because they're just trying to have fun by themself, everyone's suddenly interested in them, and their response is 'fuck off, it's mine not yours'.

"For the nation's good. He is a gentleman, he knows his duty..." This is such an alien perspective to me. I know it's a very common attitude of the time, and something of a theme in the book, but there's a whole commentary here on community and how people's sense of belonging has changed over time that I don't have the brain-power to make right now.

"Magicians in England are a peculiarly ungrateful set of men." I love this sentence. 'Magicians in England' - you mean the rich white gentlemen calling themselves magicians? Ungrateful? Perish the thought! XD

The fact that York is 'one of the most magical cities in England' with the possible exception of Newcastle is such an interesting piece of worldbuilding, and I can't help but wonder if that's a modern (to the book) thing, that simply scholars of magic happened to gather and set off a positive feedback loop, or if there is some in-world... concentration of magic. Given the connection of nature and magic, and the Yorkshire moors being so very iconic, there might be something to that?

Also, loving another little taste of the Raven King mythos, with the mention of 'the King's city of Newcastle'. Honestly, I've never been overly invested in English history (save for Arthuriana, but that's fantasy), but the way this book builds the fantasy on top of a skeleton of truth makes me much more interested in finding out about reality as much as the in-book lore of the place. (Much in the same way Assassin's Creed made me interested in finding out the truth of the history it depicts to better compare the story to.)

I might have to go on a wikipedia spiral about the history of places like York and Newcastle at some point. If these liveblogs don't swallow my entire weekend XD

"We do not care for men who build their reputations at the expense of other men's peace of mind." I do not like this man. (I know I'm not supposed to like this man, he is a representation of the worst sort of self-aggrandizing and complacent entitlement of rich white armchair-scholars, but it bears saying; I really don't like him XD Much respect to Segundus for not punching him in the face.)

"English magicians were only ever given common ivy." Ah, symbolism. I have a lot of thoughts about why ivy, honestly, and I definitely want to do some research on this later, but the phrasing here is so telling. 'Only ever given common ivy', making it so blatantly not some sort of accolade, but something commonplace and unremarkable. There's also the fact that ivy can be associated with neglect, as it's seen so often on old, crumbling buildings, and as a symbol of nature 'reclaiming' or even taking over that which people have built. (Again with the ominous whimsy of this book; the gothic imagery of an old house all over-taken by ivy matched with the tone in which the comparison is made making light of potential drama of the symbolism.)

There's also the correlation between ivy and lovers (ivy clings and binds and twines around things. And I recall reading somewhere about it being used for symbolism in the story of Tristan and Isolde?) but I don't think that's quite as applicable here, even though my brain does love to chew on it.

I'm noticing now, as well, that the author makes excellent use of 'show don't tell'. Instead of simply telling us that the room was noisy and everyone was shouting over each other, though we do get told that, we're also given the example of an old man being very passionate about some point that no one can actually hear over the noise.

I find it interesting because I've been reading a lot of things expressing frustration with the maxim because, I think, people take it too literally. That you must never tell, and only show, which of course will absolutely ruin your pacing and make your story very boring. But this, here, is what I think it means. Of course we could simply have been told 'it got loud as everyone argued', but the art of writing is not to simply tell people what happened, but to make them feel it. And by 'showing' us this little snapshot, by giving the noise a face in this old man who cannot make himself heard over the din, despite being very engaged in making his point, it makes the whole business feel much more real.

Oh, I feel so bad for Honeyfoot and Segundus in this part. Although I find it very interesting that we never actually got to see whether Norrell did do any magic for them. We cut from him confessing that he's a practical magician to Segundus and Honeyfoot leaving, and we don't actually know what happened in between.

And, of course, neither do Honeyfoot and Segundus. Which is deeply, deeply unnerving to me when I think through the implications. Not knowing where you are is one thing, but not knowing where you have been is a whole nother level of creepy. And yet, the narrative doesn't treat it as a particularly horrifying occurance. (Again with the ominous whimsy.)

There is something of a theme of this, too, in the book, with the truly horrifying things that magic makes people capable of being treated as a sort of just a thing magic can do, rather than lingering on the violations of privacy, personhood, and autonomy. Not to say that I feel that the narrative is treating them as inconsequential or in some way not as bad as they really are, but that it doesn't pass judgement on it, and lets you draw your own conclusions (which is a bit refreshing in this resurgence of purity culture in fandom at the moment).

Like, here, Segundus doesn't react with any particular horror or upset at his confusion and disorientation. Which, honestly, I find only heightens my own horror. He's just... sort of vague and fuzzy about it all, even in his emotional reaction to his memory being vague and fuzzy. (Like how someone with mind control telling someone to 'do a bad thing' is not nearly so horrifying as someone with mind control telling someone that 'you want to do a bad thing')

I find this part particularly gave me shivers, when Segundus and Honeyfoot are being questioned about the library and they're asked of the books:

"Had they been permitted to take them down and look inside them?" "Oh, no."

Like, everything else we hear from them is just... an obfuscation of the facts? There were a lot of books in the library, some of them were very rare, and that's the impression they've been left with even if they can't remember the specifics, but that? That, we know for a fact to be false.

Which then very abruptly throws Segundus's previous assertion that he knows for a fact that he hadn't seen any magic done into doubt.

Honestly I think that whole sequence is masterfully done. Because at the time, the way Segundus explains it, we're given no reason to doubt his assertion. He says he feels as though he saw magic, but knows for a fact that he didn't. Which can very easily explain away his awareness of the extra lighting and the... (I keep wanting to call it a maze-array, but that's the wrong fandom XD) directionlessness of the hallway, as him having the sense of magic, but not, actually, knowing for sure it was such because neither he nor us the audience were shown Norrell actually casting those spells.

Except then we get that blatant untruth, and suddenly that blank space of time between Norrell's confession at the end of chapter 1 and Honeyfoot and Segundus leaving at the beginning of chapter 2 just opens up with posibilities.

There's also the contrast between Honeyfoot merely being affected in the moment he tries to explain, and Segundus having felt 'heavy and stupid' for the entire week in between meeting Norrell and meeting with the Society. I do love how clear it is already that Segundus is sensitive to magic, the way he noticed so clearly the magical lighting and direction-obfuscation in the last chapter, and now this.

"Other men may fondly attribute their lack of success to a fault in the world, rather than to their own poor scholarship." "But what is my reward for loving my art better than other men have done? For studying harder to perfect it?"

Ooooo burn! He's so catty. What an asshole (affectionate)! Not to say that the Society (and Foxcastle in particular) don't thoroughly deserve it, of course. Everyone in this room is so ready to be offended, they're actively looking for reasons. Their lives must be so incredibly boring that this is how they choose to entertain themselves, holy shit XD

Oh, god. This attorney guy. Robinson. He is so... He's something, alright. "He was so clean and healthy and pleased about everything that he positively shone, which is only to be expected in a fairy or an angel, but is somewhat disconcerting in an attorney." No kidding. And during the whole scene he's so... blandly inoffensive and faux-innocent and defferential that it puts my hackles right up. He is deeply unnerving to me.

'This would be only fair' he says, of a deeply unfair and rigged agreement designed solely to punish them. 'Then surely they would recognise magic when they saw it' he says, as if he's not perfectly aware that they've just been given an incentive to fucking lie about it. 'All your friends have done it' he says, as the only argument he can come up with to try and coerce Segundus into signing the agreement. (Once again, much respect to Segundus for not punching this guy in the face.)

Yuck yuck yuck yuck yuck. Creepy motherfucker.

I love the descriptions of scenery and environment in this book so much, they're so damn evocative:

"The very voices of York's citizens were altered by a white silence that swallowed up every sound." "The winter gloom was quite gone, and in its place was a fearful light; the winter sun reflected many times over by the snowy earth."

Oh. Hmm. I can't be sure, but I think this is the first time the narrator has inserted themself quite so blatantly into the narrative. Things have been couched as observations before, but I don't remember before this the narrator actually referring to themself, or directly addressing the reader, or positing an opinion of their own? (I may have to go back and listen to chapter 1 again to check...)

"brooding blue shadows of the cathedral's west face" "sailing magisterially around the corner like a fat black ship" "he had a strong thin face with something twisted in it like a tree root" More great description and more adjective-adjective-noun phrases.

And then we come to Segundus and Childermass's second first meeting. Again, I feel so bad for Segundus, having his mind and memory messed with like this, but, if you'll excuse me a moment, -shipper goggles on- Segundus still remembers him! "I've seen you... I can picture you! Oh, where?" Can't remember so much as taking down the books that so enthralled him in the library never mind reading them, but he remembers Childermass.

"He thought John Childermass very insolent." Aaaaa, that's my blorbo! He's so cheeky, I love him so much.

"Several looked about them before going inside, as if taking a last fond farewell of a world they were not quite sure of seeing again." And we end the chapter on yet another absolutely magnificent line. Not quite the almost-cliffhanger of the first chapter, but still extremely tantalising, baiting the reader with questions about what, exactly, is going to happen next.

Hmm. Since this one isn't quite as long as chapter 1, I think I'm going to stuff chapter 3 in here, too; try and condense things a little bit XD

Chapter 3 - The Stones of York (February 1807)

"The cold of a hundred winters seems to have been preserved in its stones and to seep out of them." I have been in old churches and this is entirely accurate. I've said it before and I'll say it again, the description in this book is really top tier. Simple, but incredibly evocative and poetic.

"Bells often went with magic, and in particular with the magic of those unearthly beings, fairies." More symbolism, and this one I know less about, but at the same time, it feels right in a way I can't actually explain. Just that the vibes, the atmosphere it creates of bells being this ominous sound associated with something dangerous.

That being said, on thinking about it, I find it very odd that bells are symbols of fairies in this book for two reasons. One is the way that humans often get referred to as 'Christians' as a whole (I remember this gets explained later as a consequence of fairies being bad at telling the difference between humans, I think?), and church bells are the most commonplace example of bells I can think of. So why, then, are bells so specifically associated with fairy magic when there's such a strong connection to the way the book talks about the people who are not fairies?

And also, one of the primary uses of bells, with more significance in the past but with the tradition continuing on to this day, is to tell the time. To put order and structure on the otherwise abstract passing of the day. Which is in direct contrast to everything else we've been told about magic so far. Magic thrives in the places that are not structured to suit humans. Trying to impose scientific reason on magic kills it.

...Okay, I am definitely reaching here, but it just occurred to me that the other primary use of bells is as a warning. I can think of a bunch of examples; ye olden ships and fire-engines, castles and forts and such. All used to say 'something is wrong, action must be taken to avoid disaster'. And that makes me wonder if the bells are less a product of the fairy magic and more, perhaps, some other magic acting as an alarm.

And the only person I can think who could have cast such a wide-reaching, long-lasting spell would be the Raven King. And wouldn't that make sense? Wouldn't a King want to have a warning that some other being is trying to abduct one of his people?

...I'm reaching, but I really like this theory actually. Even though we knew the Raven King had no compunctions about stealing his own subjects away himself. (I still think it fits, as a King would feel entitled to privileges that others would certainly not be permitted.)

Which is a whole 'nother thing I have thoughts on. It's very interesting that the second real bit of information we get about him (after the bit about him having 'only three' Kingdoms being mentioned in one of Norrell's books. I think that's the only time he's actually directly named before this?), is that despite being an Englishman, he has the fairy habit of abducting people to other lands. And that ballad about it!

"The priest was all too worldly, Though he prayed and rang his bell, The Raven King three candles lit, The priest said it was well."

What is this? What does it mean? It does answer a bit of my speculation about bells, I think - they're used as a warning/warding off it seems (given that it's paralleled with praying) - but then there's that bit about the Raven King lighting candles and this, presumably, causing the priest to say 'oh alright then, do carry on'? I'm gonna have to keep my eye out for any more candle symbolism as well, I think.

"This land is all too shallow, It is painted on the sky, And trembles like the wind-shook rain, When the Raven King goes by."

-shakes fist at the author- You weren't content giving me chills with your description in prose, now you're doing it in verse?! -weeps- God. God. I don't have words for how this makes me feel. I am going fucking feral. I want to print this song out so I can eat it. Fuck.

And it's followed up by the narrator absolutely roasting the Magicians of York, which is making me cackle far more than it probably should because I'm still high off that absolutely unnecessary bit of poetry.

I love the way the narrative builds up to the magic. We get the bells, and then a voice, and then what it's saying, and then another one, and then that it comes from a statue, and then the rest of them, and between all of it we get these elaborate descriptions of the magicians reactions and fears.

Going back a little bit. The tale of the girl with the ivy leaves in her hair. This coming in the very next chapter after we were told that magicians are associated with ivy I think can't be a coincidence. And I wonder if the girl being a magician might not be a part of why the stones care so much about her murder? Not that I think murder inside a cathedral is all that common, but I find it hard to believe it only happened once in over 500 years.

"Kings, even stone ones, dislike above all things to be made equal to others." Hmm. Given how many Kings we have this story, I have a feeling this is Significant.

The fact that the stone statues that were to be repaired flinched from the chisel is... Oof. The idea of stone having a concept of harm, enough to fear it, is wild. And it raises the question of how... aware of what they are the statues are. Obviously we have the examples of kings bickering and quarrelling because they do believe themselves to be kings. But are they aware that they are statues of kings, or do the truly believe themselves to be those kings? The first statue seems aware, talking about how 'no one saw but the stones', instead of 'I saw'.

And if they know that they're stones, then... what does it say that they're afraid of the very thing that created them in the first place? Or is the fear of being 'remade' into something different? Is it particular to that statue, and another might welcome the chance to transform?

...Apparently I am my father's child.

My dad: But what is it like to be a tree??? -overthinks it- Me: But what is it like to be a stone??? -overthinks it-

I love this conversation between Segundus and Childermass. Childermass is coming at the thing so side-ways and sneaky, and yet... he's so blatant about it? It's so obvious right from the very start that he's leading up to something, and then he just... waits for Segundus to offer, instead of actually just asking? It's such a weird approach to take.

Also, the fact that we get another of those lovely poetic descriptions of the snow and the clouds as Childermass is waiting really gives the sense of a long drawn-out silence, and I can't help but laugh at the idea of this bizarre little stand-off, these two men just... staring at each other in the snow.

-shipper goggles on- "Until all the world contained was the falling snow, the sea-green sky, the dim grey ghost of York Cathedral... and Childermass." Perhaps it's an aspect of the audiobook that doesn't come through quite as strongly in the text, but the weight put on that last? Putting him on the same level as these... rather ephemeral, magical things, the natural phenomena of the snow and the sky, and the 'ghost of York Cathedral'? As well as the contrast of these... pale, dim, ghostly things, to Childermass who's so often described as dark and ragged. Even without that description here, it makes his presence so stark against this hazy, light backdrop. (And all this implied to be from Segundus's persepective =3)

And then there's all those compliments Childermass pays Segundus once he's gotten what he wanted, too XD (Even if I do kind of get the sense that Childermass doesn't necessarily mean them entirely as compliments. I don't think he thinks very well of people who are too obliging, tbh.)

You know, this is very much my brain veering off into the wilds here, but the thing about Mr Honeyfoot pursuing the tale of the girl with the ivy leaves makes me think of... this idea I've had for a while, mostly inspired by a JSaMN fanfic, On the March, where Childermass 'wakes up' the Yorkshire moors, and the notion of how magic, which in this book is so tightly tied to nature and the wild, could so easily be affected by the location in which it's done.

And if a place like York Minster can be aware of what's going on even when magic isn't being done upon it... then are the stones aware of Mr Honeyfoots efforts on their behalf? Do they see, for whatever value of sight they possess, him fighting this battle for them, and does this earn him anything from them? Can a stone feel gratitude? Is there some reciprocity or good will there? Does Mr Honeyfoot forge a bond of some kind with, or win the favour of, the Stones of York Minster?

There's a fic in this somewhere. (Mr Honeyfoot gets into a disagreement inside the Minster, and a stone drops onto the head of his adversary. Crumbly old buildings, you know, someone ought to check and make sure it's not going to happen again!)

'The Last Magician in Yorkshire' Now there's a phrase you could build an entire other story around. Another quite powerful end to a chapter, though not quite as gripping as the last two.

Well, I'm glad these two were somewhat shorter than all my thoughts on chapter 1. And I'm now more than half way through this week's chapters. I hope I'll be able to get 4 and 5 done tomorrow (or later this evening, maybe, if I feel like it?)