#no rachel lynde though

[no-where-new-hero]

Rewatching the 1975 Anne of Avonlea adaptation and even though it will never be quite as perfect as the Megan Follows version, I will say that they absolutely NAILED Mr. Harrison and Rachel Lynde.

[batrachised]

Now I would love to know who YOUR favorite LM Montgomery character is?

This changes with the day, the hour, the moment lol because she wrote so many fantastic characters, and similar to your experience, as I get older, I identify with more and more of them! My favorite character often becomes whoever I happen to be discussing at the moment (Barney is so rich, Dean Priest is a universe of complexity, Mrs. Rachel Lynde is Mrs. Rachel Lynde, Mark Greaves is a personal comedic favorite--he'd definitely have a tumblr account, and the list goes on.) When I was little (are ya'll ready to be surprised?) I would have said Beverly from The Story Girl. Idk man, I just really liked him! He seemed cool! I always wanted to know more about what happened to him and Sara Stanley!

Now, though, I'm going to take a brave and wild stab at pinning down who it is. Walter Blythe is forever at the top of the list, and because Jane of Lantern Hill is on the mind, I'm going to add Andrew Stuart. Walter fascinates me in being a standout male character amongst the rest and his need to, as I just read in an academic article earlier, keep his feelings secret from the rest of the world! Andrew Stuart is just delightful. His story imo kind of hints at the grown-up novel LM Montgomery sometimes talked about, in that you know he suffers from PTSD, he's on the brink of divorce, his career didn't go anywhere he wanted it too, he's estranged from his daughter, he's arrogant and sometimes not self-aware, he married '~above his station', he has the worst mother in law in the known and explored universe but his own family is also far from great - his background, although never fleshed out in full, is practically dripping with more Serious Adult Topics. I reread Lantern Hill for Jane, but there's another novel peeking through it that I would have liked to see.

Also, Uncle Benjamin.

[chorusgirls]

𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙸𝙵 𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝙷𝙰𝙿𝙿𝙴𝙽𝚂 𝚃𝙾 𝙱𝙴 𝙿𝙾𝚂𝚂𝙴𝚂𝚂𝙴𝙳 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷 𝙰 𝙷𝙴𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙲𝙰𝙽'𝚃 𝙱𝙴 𝚃𝚁𝚄𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙳—?

…  FULL NAME   …  sabine stone.

…  NICKNAMES   …  sab, sabs, the swan.

…  BIRTH NAME   …  redacted.

…  AGE   …  twenty-five.

…  GENDER  …  demi woman.

… PRONOUNS … she & her.

…  SEXUALITY  …  bisexual. kinsey scale 3.

…  CIVILIAN OCCUPATION   …  prima ballerina of the new york city ballet.

…  CRIMINAL ASSOCIATION   …  political spy for red eye ( unknown; sleeper soldier ).

…  NOTABLE ATTRIBUTES  …  skin as close to flawless as is possible. tall & thin with a fluid & balletic way of moving. immaculate posture. seemingly perfect, precise control of her body.

... BODY MODIFICATIONS ... breast implants.

…  CHARACTER INSPIRATIONS   …   mal cobb ( inception ). odette ( swan lake ).  odile ( swan lake ).  nina sayers ( black swan ).  lily ( black swan ). rachel dawes ( batman begins ). talia al ghul ( the dark knight rises ). vesper lynd ( casino royale ).  ophelia ( hamlet ).  dominika egorova ( red sparrow ).  harley quinn ( dc ).

( + ) elegant, pristine, ingenious, adroit, graceful, dedicated, generous, romantic, curious, captivating, tender, malleable, intuitive, empathetic, perceptive, charitable.

( - ) inconstant, paranoid, repressed, emotional, indulgent, anxious, delusive, fragile, impulsive, mercurial, high strung, manipulative, fatalistic, possessive.

trigger warnings: suicide, brain washing, mental illness / misdiagnosis, drug abuse / self medication.

𝚂𝙿𝙰𝚁𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙴𝚂.

she’s born somewhere insignificant along the terrestrial korean-russian border, with a name nobody is around to repeat and a fate no god bothered to sew up properly. the child spills out, over, as shapeless as mercury from a broken tube. hands with leather gloves collect her. 

it’s an experimental trial, but the child is promising. obedient, agile, pretty, and in possession of something lethal: the desire to please. uprooted from nunavut to new york under the heavy palm of a handler, identities forged as father and daughter, they are welcomed into the halls of damon stone. in exchange for access to at the time cutting edge technology possessed by stone inc, it is understood that the pair’s presence is of benefit to the patriarch, and that the girl will be, in time, a shared asset. though her loyalty is imprinted to the organization that delivered her, her talents can be utilized as damon sees fit.

the remainder of her upbringing is isolation and precision. she has no peers or friends, sees no one that her parental handler does not deem part of the objective. it’s blood on the floor and a cold cement room and the feel of rain pelting skin, always and always. ballet is used as a rigorous method of discipline, a devotional occupation through which hours of the day are spent. reality blurs, cracks into a fine spiderweb of rifts and clefts. the drugs pry open her mind and leave it malleable and hazy, allowing for the only devotion that can supersede loyalty: love. this is love. 

by the time her makeshift father has killed himself, what sabine sees on the floor  ⸺  believes, for perception is the only reality ⸺ is the blood of her own lineage on the floor. it is claire stone who holds her as she sobs. the mission, then, is complete: the women have been drawn together as if preternaturally. with affection garnered over years of interaction and the bonding of trauma, claire adopts young sabine as her own. the surname of a new age god is affixed to the end of her own, her placement among the elite secured, and the implantation is complete. a weapon unaware of her own edge is born.

she makes her stage debut at seventeen, slim and taut as a vein pushing up from below the skin. claire and damon stone sit in the audience, watching with pride, in the process validating the weight of her transplanted surname. the news of a stone daughter is monumental. the performance perhaps even more so. the audience rises like thunder to greet her.

the stone family cites security and privacy as a reason not to discuss further adoption details, but the gossip is immense and insidious. a virtuoso of a dancer continually outperforming her elders and ascending the ranks of the nyc ballet in record time, with no traceable past in the city, a thread of rumour stitches through the city: she’s a replicant, an android, an ai child created for the stones to love (or, in the least, show off)  ⸺  and a display of their inevitable superiority to humans. her place will be in the history books, they sneer, one way or the other.

known throughout the papers as the city’s swan, that she might not be the white one is what escapes the audience ⸺ and sabine herself. the memories of her falsified childhood are fractured, an imperfect product; there are gaps, messy overlays, unexplainable pieces, synthetic emotions that at times feel rubbery between the fingertips of her mind. while she has no memory of being a child of red eye, she questions herself. her authenticity. the doctors call this a personality disorder. the society columns jest at is as mechanic in nature. real or unreal, dreaming or awake, white swan or black. 

beautiful and of immeasurable talent, she exists as a young god of the city, neo-royalty walking the streets of new york in an elegant chignon and black cashmere. the youngest stone descendant, she's known as a people's princess, her hours off the stage allotted towards the pursuit of philanthropy. yet there is something stirring in her, dark feathery turnings growing increasingly erratic, and the prescribed pills never help. the ballerina is slowly earning predilection for a good time, though the stone name and money has largely kept the unsavoury tidbits from hitting the papers. the stone money keeps the debt from coming back to haunt her. the stone mother keeps her locked, however tenuously, to reality. but there is nothing in name, money, or love, that can keep her safe from what is coming next.

𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙾𝙽𝚂.

while tons of people consider it outlandish, there’s still a running question/conspiracy theory among the public as to whether or not sabine is organic or android. some even go so far to as to assume she’s a long-haul public relations move for the stone inc

the argument against this that her fans / supporters often bring up is that no matter how well executed, an android would never be able to express the raw and intense emotion she manages to convey (such a pretentious point and entirely untrue but. anyway). she's considered a once in a lifetime talent, and within the company it's considered certain she'll be decorated with the title prima ballerina assoluta later in her career.

probably slowly running up a tab with the jade tribe for narcotics and will run back to mummy to pay it off <3

any deal between red eye and stone inc as facilitated by damon stone has gone dead in the water with the passing of the patriarch. sabine’s true identity, however, and the trigger to recall training, is known by the agency. the tracking implant remains in her arm.

despite offers from numerous major ballet companies, sabine never considered any but nycb. the engrained red eye mission keeps her tethered to new york, leaving only for the occasional vacation.

finds comfort in fashion ⸺ it’s not so much vanity/materialism as a way to solidify a semblance of self. when joan juliet buck said “style itself is an intuition through which one accepts or discards what the outside world has to offer. the firmer on stands on one’s own values & memories, the less one looks like other people, the more one looks like oneself.”

has a love of texture specifically ⸺  silk, velvet, etc ⸺ and skin sensitive to the feel of it. 

lowkey frequenter / devotee of el anhelo. she craves the brief, intense connections. also becoming more of a frequenter of gravity and anywhere dark, pulsing, and full of sensation.

has been diagnosed with exploding head syndrome, which is less interesting than it sounds. despite the opinion of numerous doctors, sabine has never fully shaken the idea that it’s a memory.

is adept at manipulation though she’s never understood why. also very perceptive. that’s the red eye training peeking through :) baby is unwittingly hardwired to get close to people and has a genetically enhanced memory. despite not yet being “switched on” by red eye, she could, for instance, already repeat numerous stone age or elite individual secrets she’s learned over the years

in classic sleeper soldier fashion, all her training is simply lying dormant and waiting for the trigger. while currently she's something of an 'enhanced' human by way of speed, agility, endurance, etc (part of the reason she's so unrivalled on the stage), sabine is currently otherwise a seemingly average individual. when the code phrase is used / when otherwise triggered, the physicality of her training will be fully restored.

similarly she feels very fatalistically about dance/ballet. genuinely thinks she could die if she stops/that it’s the driving force of her soul. there is real and intense passion there, but the fatalism is again a leak-through of the horrific red eye training / ballet used as a method of discipline

really does love claire and considers her her mama :( but there are control and trust issues and sometimes she thinks mb she really is an android :(((

might be hypersexual? we will be figuring that out

exceptional pain threshold/tolerance, even moreso than the average ballerina (but on par with a red eye operative). despite her seeming fragility and silkiness she can actually bear a lot of weight and pain, physical or otherwise

long term, we are sure hoping her red eye training gets triggered and she becomes the city’s lil cracked-mirror, neo-noir, odette-odile version of harley quinn <3

𝙲𝙾𝙽𝙽𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂.

* RED EYE (EX OR CURRENT) DYNAMICS.

FOR HER I WOULD INVENT GOD IF I HAD TO.  a red string of fate turned into a gordian knot. inseparable like an illness until the bloodletting, this was sabine’s other half at the red eye institution for the handful of years she was there. she does not remember you, but there is an intangible and intense pull towards a stranger that she does not understand; seeing each other again is  not a knife through the chest only because the blade has been sitting there all along since she left. it jostles in your chests, a faint pain.

BOUND TO YOU.  should be a red eye handler. obsession. she, above all others, your curiousity spikes for. the lone manifestation of a new method, what she could be fascinates you. you plan to be the one to flip her switch, but first you watch.

UP ON A TREE BRANCH. a nefarious little cheshire cat, following her around in the dark. you remember her, the little girl she once was, the favoured child  ⸺ or at least you know the objective to lead her home to red eye’s cold arms. there is something so compelling about the purgatory of her existence, angelic at damned all at once. you can’t help but play with it between your hands, stretching her nerves out like putty.

NOT A LEASH BUT A WHIP. you never had a chance. so few of you did. perhaps, if she runs now, there is one for her. the methodology might differ: perhaps you try to frighten her away, perhaps you encourage the abandonment of everything she’s ever known while you carve out the doom in her arm. leave, is all you are trying to say, in the end. get out. save yourself.

THE FORWARD-FACING SHADOW. must be a defected red eye member that has been in nyc for a longer period of time than the masses. redemption, perhaps, for the past you shook off but that you know is coming for her: a guardian, if not an oil-coloured kind, lurking in the dark to watch over the girl. to keep her safe as you can.

* GENERAL DYNAMICS

APPLE SEEDS. the provider or purveyor of her illicit desires. i’ve been assuming they’ll be from the jade tribe given their proximity to the drug trade, but could technically be from anywhere. her go-to dealer.

THE GILDED CAGE. caporegime or higher in a gang. she is the swan of the city, perhaps, but only their little bird. a likely unhealthy relationship, one tinged with ideas of inconstant possession. she sleeps in your bed and turns to you when all else would forsake her. when red eye comes knocking, you’ll pull up the walls. she’s not theirs, not really. she belonged to you first.

A ROPE WITH A LOVING KNOT. someone who will pull her back from the abyss as she moves closer to it, who holds her when she cries. 

GOLDEN FRUIT. high echelon, upper crust friends. the young gods of new york, if you will.

SMILE FOR ME BABY. preferably a masc muse. lips broken open under possessive teeth. promises abandoned on the sink, clothes on the floor, pills under tongues. bruises left where the evening gowns won’t see it. obsession and dependency. sex and jealousy. someone’s always leaving and coming back. there’s no end to them, and it’s only getting worse.

THE STROKE OF MIDNIGHT. connections she’s made at el anhelo, various one night stands, a variation of ‘drunk girls in a bar bathroom best friends,’ or someone she meets routinely as some toxic version of dating wherein they only get together under the influence of anhelo’s custom drugs.

more i’m too lazy to write properly: someone intent on figuring out if she’s android or not, party / downward spiral / up against the edge friends, a female ballerina fwb tinged with the intensity of the industry, a friend of claire’s she fucked because you can’t control me mom!!!, those that want to encourage her fall, jade tribe soldiers/muscle that have had to knock more than once to collect $$, the gang member she butts heads with because “princess u dont run things around here”

[lillipad72]

The Annotated Anne of Green Gables ~~ a special rereading

a little intro on how i will be doing things for this: generally I will not be commenting much on the story itself but more on the notes in the book i find most interesting and expanding/analyzing them :)

CHAPTER I ~~ Mrs. Rachel Lynde is Surprised + the epigraph

"The good stars met in your horoscope,/Made you of spirit and fire and dew." -Browning

This line is the first bit of text given by Montgomery, as seen in the epigraph. It comes from the poem "Evelyn Hope," by Robert Browning. This poem is about an old man lamenting the death of sixteen-year-old Evelyn and his love for her, which she never experienced. While the context makes this poem more morbid, the lines themselves are beautiful and lyrical. I am trying to figure out why Montgomery chose these lines to introduce Anne. Was it some deeper meaning she found in the poem? Was it the image of Evelyn that these lines describe? Did it match her image of Anne? Or something else entirely? Let me know what you think! (A watercolor of Evelyn from 1908 is above, and here is the poem)

"Mrs. Rachel Lynde lived just where the Avonlea main road dipped down into a little hollow, fringed with alders and ladies' eardrops and traversed by a brook that had its source away back in the woods of the old Cuthbert place; it was reputed to be an intricate, headlong brook in its earlier course through the woods, with dark secrets of pool and cascade."

The first line of the actual story (more like a complex sentence)! I just wanted to take a second to appreciate our scenery here and specifically talk about the "ladies' eardrops." When first reading, I knew this must be a plant, for it followed alders, but I knew nothing about it. The more common names include jewelweed and spotted touch-me-not. This plant is native to North America and is mostly found near creeks. It spreads very rapidly and does not need cross-pollination! Actually, in the State of Washington, it is considered a weed due to its fast reproduction. I think that including this plant with specifically that uncommon name for it is used to draw us into the almost fantastical world full of wonder that is Anne's soon-to-be home, Prince Edward Island. Because even if you do not know which plant the name refers to, the name shouts beauty and delicacy. I have even more thoughts about the symbolism of this plant but fear that I might be looking too much into something that might just be a passing reference. Oh and above is a photo of ladies' eardrops!

"Mrs. Rachel found abundant time to sit for hours at her kitchen window, knitting "cotton warp" quilts -- she had knitted sixteen of them, as Avonlea housekeepers were wont to tell in awed voices."

While Rachel Lynde must have 'abundant time,' she also must be extremely fast at knitting. "Cotton warp" refers to a kind of yarn used for weaving, and she was actually making a bedspread. With this type of yarn, knit squares were not a thing; instead, she would have used elaborate lacy patterns. After researching, I found a post in which a woman described how long her mother took to crochet a similar type of quilt. It took her mother approximately 300 to 400 hours to complete. And Rachel knit sixteen of them and is on her seventeenth at this point. No wonder the Avonlea housekeepers were in awe. But that is not the end of her quilts. She gives Anne six quilts while in college (five are just lent, though), Diana gets one for her wedding, and another two for Anne upon her own wedding (also not clear if any of these are newly knitted for the occasion or ones she already has). Also, our favorite person, Lucy Maud Montgomery, knit three of her own 'cotton warp' quilts in her lifetime. One of which is known as the 'Crazy Quilt,' and a photo is above!

This chapter didn't have too many notes that I found super interesting, for most of them had to do with geography, and it is a shorter chapter, so I hope you enjoyed my findings on these three topics!

next chapter

[mzannthropy]

I've been thinking about Jane Andrews lately (I'm just loving all the L.M. Montgomery discussions and posts, you guys have no idea how happy it makes me to finally be able to talk about LMM, even though I probably don't interact as much as most of you, I very much appreciate it). Jane's not a character I ever have thought much about, but the post I made recently about wanting to marry rich brought her back to mind.

Jane is mostly described as plain, not so much in looks (though that too), but in personality. Yet towards the end of AOGG, on their way back from the hotel concert, she expresses a wish to be rich and have diamonds. (To which Anne has a great answer, but that's not what I'm talking about here.) So, Jane works as a teacher for 3 years, first in Newbridge, then in Avonlea, and then, when Anne comes home from college for her fist summer holiday, Jane has resigned her job to move to another teaching position in West in September. Rachel Lynde comments that this is bc she can't find a husband in Avonlea.

Anne defends her friend, saying that Jane is a nice girl and not attention seeking, but Rachel retorts:

“Oh, she never chased the boys, if that’s what you mean,” said Mrs. Rachel. “But she’d like to be married, just as much as anybody, that’s what. What else would take her out West to some forsaken place whose only recommendation is that men are plenty and women scarce? Don’t you tell me!”

I think Rachel is being unjust here. Bc like... so what if Jane wants to go West to find a husband? You can't have it both ways. You can't mock a woman for being an "old maid" and at the same time criticise her for taking steps to find a guy to marry. Jane is moving West to work as a teacher, not sit around to be courted by men. And she's not sitting at home, crying and feeling sorry for herself like some Bridget Jones character waah I can't get a maaaan waaaaaah, but she's actively getting off her ass to seek an opportunity.

Also, she's moving half a fucking country away! There were plenty of places nearer her home where she could have gone. Anywhere else on the Island, Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, or even Ontario. But she's going to a place where it will take her days to travel (even nowadays, according to my google search, PEI to Winnipeg is an 8.5 hour flight). I think leaving her home and family and everything she knew to travel such a faraway place where she didn't know anyone, as a young woman, was an incredibly brave thing to do. She knew about a place that had more men than women, so she went there to get herself a man.

Next we hear about Jane, three years later, is when she's getting married to a millionaire. So she got exactly what she wanted. You can say, like Valancy, she chased her dream. (Her mother is being insufferable about it, but that's hardly Jane's fault, I suspect one of Jane's reasons was to get away from her mother! Mrs Harmon is one nasty woman.) We know from AHOD that her marriage is happy and I have nothing to say other than Good For Her.

[highqueenofprydain]

WIP: Teleria

This character gets shortchanged in the one book she’s in, I think. She comes off as a well-meaning but airheaded busybody, with her fluent chatter and constant self-interruption to issue prunes-and-prisms criticisms of Eilonwy’s general unladylikeness.

But there’s a key line Eilonwy drops in The High King that indicates the Queen of Mona is shrewder than she appears. She mentions that Teleria teaches her that a lady never insists on her own way and yet things seem to work out for her in the end.

This is telling. It sounds like Teleria is that woman who is actually running everything and everyone pretends not to know it.

It makes a lot of sense. She herself is not a daughter of Llyr but she’s related to them and their women are powerful. She’s come from a matriarchy, married into a patrilineal clan, but Mona is a mix of Llyr and Prydainian culture and she navigates a power balance halfway between the two.

I’m depicting her with a spindle in hand not only symbolically as a domestic goddess but literally; she seems like the type who multi-tasks through everything, and I imagine her casually spinning thread while she marches through the halls of Dinas Rhydnant, organizing the budget and planning banquets and keeping track of which foreign dignitaries are visiting and when, and who shouldn’t be sat together because of family feuds, and what Rhun’s latest ceremonial achievement is and the interview for his next tutor. Servants and courtiers dance to her bidding. There’s not a thing happening in her household she doesn’t know about. Except…

Magg. Why. Because Magg has taken over everything Rhuddlum used to do, and she doesn’t realize it because she’s used to leaving that boring King stuff up to her husband, even though he’s never been super great at it; it’s his stuff and she leaves it to him because you have to let the men think they’re good at something, you know, bless them.

Meanwhile Rhuddlum is slowly sliding into early dementia and she doesn’t realize it because Magg is hiding his machinations so well. The king will be dead in a couple of years but Teleria is like Rachel Lynde; she sees everything going on except the thing at her shoulder, or maybe she’s just in denial because she’s been doing the emotional labor of her household for decades and she just. cannot. take anything else. And yeah I just made this up but it’s working for me right now.

[jomiddlemarch]

gingerbread

1. “What are those, Anne?” Diana asked, pointing to the pile of unevenly shaped, lumpy brown biscuits which were keeping uneasy company with Marilla’s famous cherry jam thumbprint cookies and some of Mrs. Rachel Lynde’s golden shortbread. Anne cradled the well of her tea-cup and let the steam rise up like a genie before she answered; she knew Diana wouldn’t mind waiting because she was a bosom friend and had shown it even more every day since Matthew died.

“I don’t know, to be honest, Di,” Anne said. “I found them wrapped up in a clean dishtowel in a little wicker basket by the side door. There wasn’t a letter or a card or anything to say who made them or what they were. I know they don’t look particularly appetizing, but I thought I should at least put them out before I throw them away. They made me wish we had a cheerful pig named something splendid like Hieronymus to feed them to, but alas, we only have the chickens and the cow and it wouldn’t do to put Buttercup off her feed. We’d have no butter or milk for a week.”

“Marilla would never let you name a pig Hieronymus,” Diana remarked. She picked up one of the biscuits. “I’ll try one, a little bite anyway. If it’s terrible, I warn you, I’ll spit it out in my napkin.”

“You can’t offend me, Di—I still remember all those sets of Hammond twins,” Anne said.

Diana sniffed at the cookie, then took a dainty bite, chewed for a moment and then smiled.“I know what this is—and who it’s from,” she said.

“Don’t keep me in suspense,” Anne said. “Have I a mortal enemy in Avonlea who wishes to dispatch me with inedible pastry? It cannot be a secret admirer—"

“You have a friend, you goose,” Diana said. “As soon as I tasted it, I knew what it was.”

“Well?”

“It’s the Blythe gingerbread,” Diana said. “I’ve tasted it a thousand times, it’s their own spice blend and Mrs. Blythe will never say exactly what the spices are and in what proportion. But she never made this, she’d be horrified if she even saw these, halfway to burnt. Gilbert had to have made them.”

“Gilbert?”

“It’s not that surprising, Anne,” Diana said. “He hasn’t tried to hide that he wants to be your friend and it makes sense that he’d want to give you something—but in a way that you don’t have to thank him for it. It’s true these aren’t the best biscuits, but it’s the thought that counts and it’s awfully sweet of him.”

“It is sweet, isn’t it?” Anne said, looking at the biscuits again. He only had the most rudimentary baking skills, which was understandable since he was the Blythe family’s only son, but she imagined him in the kitchen, measuring out the flour and sugar, his brow furrowed as he considered how much of each spice to add, maybe licking a smear of molasses off his thumb. “I’ll have to thank him,” she said.

“I suppose,” Diana replied slowly. “Or you needn’t. He didn’t leave a card or a note. I don’t think he expects you to say or do anything. He just wanted to do something nice for you. I don’t think he expects anything in return, not even a thank you.”

“I’ll have to return the cloth and the basket, though,” Anne said.

“You leave that to me,” Diana said stoutly, as if she were undertaking one of Hercules’s twelve labors. Anne smiled again, thinking of Diana with the basket in the crook of her arm and Gilbert finding it on his doorstep, the cloth neatly folded with little pine tassel tucked in as a talisman.

[daily-rayless]

Meme taken from @ringneckedpheasant

As always, while I would recommend most of these authors, I do not support everything each of them has ever written and in some cases object strongly to some of their stuff.

I enjoyed this exercise a lot. First lines, “hooks”, can be so iconic, and it's interesting to look at them in isolation.

Lady of Quality – Georgette Heyer: The elegant traveling carriage which bore Miss Wychwood from her birthplace, on the border of Somerset and Wiltshire, to her home in Bath, proceeded on its way at a decorous pace.

Haven't read this one yet, but this strikes me as a very Georgette Heyer opening line – you know it's going to be a fancy setting about fancy people. That being said, it's also extremely bland. I would take out the information about her birthplace (because why does it matter at the outset?) and replace it with something more energetic. Overall it, feels staid and, well, decorous.

Rating: 5/10

The Complete Fairy Tales of George MacDonald – In this case, the opening line isn't by MacDonald; it's an introduction by Roger Lancelyn Green: Once upon a time there was a poor farmer's son who lived in a little house in the north of Scotland, a house so small that he and his five brothers had to sleep in the living-room, in little box-beds built against the walls with sliding doors to keep out the draught and make it even more box-like.

The details about the beds are good. I can see a child (or an adult) reading that line and being intrigued by the boxiness. Is it a cozy box, tucked away, or a box where things are put and forgotten? The fairy tale style is also charming. My quibble here is that I would've broken it into two sentences somewhere around the north of Scotland.

Rating: 7/10

The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe – CS Lewis: Once there were four children whose names were Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy.

Tidy, straight to the point, no gimmick. A bit boring, but it moves you along quickly to the more interesting stuff. But still, a bit bland. I've always believed in reading The Chronicles of Narnia in their publication order rather than the chronological order the American editions go with, and this partially demonstrates why. Lion was the first to be published, and its language can feel simpler than the other books.

Anyway, nothing special about this opening line. Lewis is lucky the book's dedication is so much more memorable.

Rating: 2/10

Mockingjay – Suzanne Collins: I stare down at my shoes, watching as a fine layer of ash settles on the worn leather.

Most of the books on this list are fairly old, so this highlights the stylistic change in more modern books. Immediately in the protagonist's head, brief language, an indirect hint at conflict. It's an effective opener, letting the reader know something bad has happened, leading into the explanation rather than trying to pack too much into the first line. Though the line comes after seeing the title for Part One, which is just “The Ashes” – so having the ashes immediately referred to reads as unintentionally funny to me. The ashes. There they are, on my shoes.

Rating: 8/10

The Luck of the Bodkins – PG Wodehouse: Into the face of the young man who sat on the terrace of the Hotel Magnifique at Cannes there had crept a look of furtive shame, the shifty, hangdog look which announces that an Englishman is about to talk French.

As an opening vault goes, the style is roundabout but the landing is pure Wodehouse. It's maybe a little too wordy before it hits the punchline, but I can't actually see where I'd cut anything to try to improve it.

Rating: 9/10

Anne of Green Gables – LM Montgomery: Mrs. Rachel Lynde lived just where the Avonlea main road dipped down into a little hollow, fringed with alders and ladies' eardrops and traversed by a brook that had its source away back in the woods of the old Cuthbert place; it was reputed to be an intricate, headlong brook in its earlier course through those woods, with dark secrets of pool and cascade; but by the time it reached Lynde's Hollow it was a quiet, well-conducted little stream, for not even a brook could run past Mrs. Rachel Lynde's door without due regard for decency and decorum; it probably was conscious that Mrs. Rachel was sitting at her window, keeping a sharp eye on everything that passed, from brooks and children up, and that if she noticed anything odd or out of place she would never rest until she had ferreted out the whys and wherefores thereof.

Merciful Providence, Maud, you are s t r e t c h i n g the definition of an opening line! This line spills out and babbles like a brook – like the book's heroine Anne. There's nothing wrong with that, I just don't understand why she went with semi-colons instead of periods. Was her typewriter broken? As a single opening line, it's ungainly. But the line about the brook behaving itself as it passes the Lynde house is golden.

I think it's interesting to see the famous Green Gables called merely “the old Cuthbert place”. Anne of the Old Cuthbert Place would never have sold fifty million copies worldwide.

Rating: 4/10

Singer in the Shadows – Irving Litvag: I discovered Patience Worth (or, as true believers in the occult would say, she discovered me) by the flimsiest of coincidences.

This is the only nonfiction book on the list, and the subject is fascinating. In the 1910s, a woman named Pearl Curran claimed to be the medium through which a spirit named Patience Worth communicated – and launched a successful writing career. I've read one of Curran's/Worth's novels, Hope Trueblood, and I wasn't very impressed by it. But Litvag's investigation of the supposed phenomenon is very engrossing. To that end, I would have clarified more of the wild premise in the first line – I discovered the ghost Patience Worth – or something like that, because otherwise it's a pretty tame opener.

Rating: 6/10

Spells of Enchantment – ed. Jack Zipes: It has generally been assumed that fairy tales were first created for children and are largely the domain of children.

This is a collection of myths, fairy tales, and folktales, so the opening line comes from its introduction. It is huge, and even though I've owned it for probably twenty years, I still haven't gotten all the way through it. Zipes' opener is fine, but basic. I feel like most people who pick up an 814-page fairy tale anthology already know that fairy tales weren't originally intended for children. But it works for what it is, implying a contradiction, egging the reader on to find out what the truth is.

Rating: 5/10

Shadow Scale – Rachel Hartman: Let us first consider the role of Seraphina Dombegh in the events leading up to Queen Glisselda's reign.

I love it when fantasy authors not only present the immediate story, but add scholarly meta commentaries on their own fantasyworld. This opener lets the reader infer that the heroine, Seraphina, is going to do stuff that's so important and remarkable, she's not just a protagonist, she's a figure in history. This is a good example of using a “spoiler” to actually spur the reader on to learn more; giving them a glimpse of the future doesn't mean that a plot twist is ruined.

Rating: 6/10

Forever Amber – Kathleen Winsor: The small room was warm and moist.

Not much of an opener. Forever Amber, one of many twentieth century historical sagas that tried to follow the success of Gone With the Wind, became a bestseller on the strength of its salacious, amoral heroine Amber. But this opening does nothing, not by itself. Whatever interest is going to be generated will have to come from the following sentences. Gone With the Wind, despite its serious flaws, does a much better job of setting tone and sparking interest in its opening line.

Rating: 2/10

If this interests you, consider yourself tagged!

[aibidil]

Oh!, to be a battleaxe side character in classic lit—

Betsy Trotwood (David Copperfield)

To this hour I don’t know whether my aunt had any lawful right of way over that patch of green; but she had settled it in her own mind that she had, and it was all the same to her. The one great outrage of her life, demanding to be constantly avenged, was the passage of a donkey over that immaculate spot. In whatever occupation she was engaged, however interesting to her the conversation in which she was taking part, a donkey turned the current of her ideas in a moment, and she was upon him straight. Jugs of water, and watering-pots, were kept in secret places ready to be discharged on the offending boys; sticks were laid in ambush behind the door; sallies were made at all hours; and incessant war prevailed. Perhaps this was an agreeable excitement to the donkey-boys; or perhaps the more sagacious of the donkeys, understanding how the case stood, delighted with constitutional obstinacy in coming that way. I only know that there were three alarms before the bath was ready; and that on the occasion of the last and most desperate of all, I saw my aunt engage, single-handed, with a sandy-headed lad of fifteen, and bump his sandy head against her own gate, before he seemed to comprehend what was the matter. These interruptions were of the more ridiculous to me, because she was giving me broth out of a table-spoon at the time (having firmly persuaded herself that I was actually starving, and must receive nourishment at first in very small quantities), and, while my mouth was yet open to receive the spoon, she would put it back into the basin, cry ‘Janet! Donkeys!’ and go out to the assault.

Mrs. Cadwallader (Middlemarch)

The parishes of Freshitt and Tipton would have felt a sad lack of conversation but for the stories about what Mrs. Cadwallader said and did: a lady of immeasurably high birth, descended, as it were, from unknown earls, dim as the crowd of heroic shades—who pleaded poverty, pared down prices, and cut jokes in the most companionable manner, though with a turn of tongue that let you know who she was. Such a lady gave a neighborliness to both rank and religion, and mitigated the bitterness of uncommuted tithe. A much more exemplary character with an infusion of sour dignity would not have furthered their comprehension of the Thirty-nine Articles, and would have been less socially uniting.... She would never have disowned anyone on the ground of poverty: a De Bracy reduced to take his dinner in a basin would have seemed to her an example of pathos worth exaggerating, and I fear his aristocratic vices would not have horrified her. But her feeling towards the vulgar rich was a sort of religious hatred: they had probably made all their money out of high retail prices, and Mrs. Cadwallader detested high prices for everything that was not paid in kind at the Rectory: such people were no part of God’s design in making the world; and their accent was an affliction to the ears. A town where such monsters abounded was hardly more than a sort of low comedy, which could not be taken account of in a well-bred scheme of the universe. Let any lady who is inclined to be hard on Mrs. Cadwallader inquire into the comprehensiveness of her own beautiful views, and be quite sure that they afford accommodation for all the lives which have the honor to coexist with hers.

"Excuse me, it is you two who are on the wrong tack,” said Mrs. Cadwallader. “You should have proved to him that he loses money by bad management, and then we should all have pulled together. If you put him a-horseback on politics, I warn you of the consequences. It was all very well to ride on sticks at home and call them ideas.

Mrs Rachel Lynde (Anne of Green Gables)

Mrs. Rachel Lynde was a red-hot politician and couldn’t have believed that the political rally could be carried through without her, although she was on the opposite side of politics.

“Well, since you’ve asked my advice, Marilla,” said Mrs. Lynde amiably—Mrs. Lynde dearly loved to be asked for advice—“I’d just humor her a little at first, that’s what I’d do .... That is I wouldn’t say school to her again until she said it herself. Depend upon it, Marilla, she’ll cool off in a week or so and be ready enough to go back of her own accord, that’s what, while, if you were to make her go back right off, dear knows what freak or tantrum she’d take next and make more trouble than ever. The less fuss made the better, in my opinion. She won’t miss much by not going to school, as far as that goes. Mr. Phillips isn’t any good at all as a teacher.... I declare, I don’t know what education in this Island is coming to.” Mrs. Rachel shook her head, as much as to say if she were only at the head of the educational system of the Province things would be much better managed.

Granny Weatherwax (Discworld)

She hadn't ever needed to. Granny Weatherwax was like the prow of a ship. Seas parted when she turned up.

Unlike wizards, who like nothing better than a complicated hierarchy, witches don’t go in much for the structured approach to career progression. It’s up to each individual witch to take on a girl to hand the area over to when she dies. Witches are not by nature gregarious, at least with other witches, and they certainly don’t have leaders. Granny Weatherwax was the most highly-regarded of the leaders they didn’t have.

It was one of the few sorrows of Granny Weatherwax’s life that, despite all her efforts, she’d arrived at the peak of her career with a complexion like a rosy apple and all her teeth. No amount of charms could persuade a wart to take root on her handsome if slightly equine features, and vast intakes of sugar only served to give her boundless energy.

Lady Bruton (Mrs Dalloway)

Lady Bruton had the reputation of being more interested in politics than people; of talking like a man; of having had a finger in some notorious intrigue of the eighties, which was now beginning to be mentioned in memoirs.

She was getting impatient; the whole of her being was setting positively, undeniably, domineeringly brushing aside all this unnecessary trifling (Peter Walsh and his affairs) upon that subject which engaged her attention, and not merely her attention, but that fibre which was the ramrod of her soul, that essential part of her without which Millicent Bruton would not have been Millicent Bruton; that project for emigrating young people of both sexes born of respectable parents and setting them up with a fair prospect of doing well in Canada. She exaggerated. She had perhaps lost her sense of proportion. Emigration was not to others the obvious remedy, the sublime conception. It was not to them (not to Hugh, or Richard, or even to devoted Miss Brush) the liberator of the pent egotism, which a strong martial woman, well nourished, well descended, of direct impulses, downright feelings, and little introspective power (broad and simple — why could not every one be broad and simple? she asked) feels rise within her, once youth is past, and must eject upon some object — it may be Emigration, it may be Emancipation; but whatever it be, this object round which the essence of her soul is daily secreted, becomes inevitably prismatic, lustrous, half looking-glass, half precious stone; now carefully hidden in case people should sneer at it; now proudly displayed. Emigration had become, in short, largely Lady Bruton.

[dailyanneofgreengables]

Chapter 1: Mrs. Rachel Lynde is Surprised (part 2)

Accordingly after tea Mrs. Rachel set out; she had not far to go; the big, rambling, orchard-embowered house where the Cuthberts lived was a scant quarter of a mile up the road from Lynde’s Hollow. To be sure, the long lane made it a good deal further. Matthew Cuthbert’s father, as shy and silent as his son after him, had got as far away as he possibly could from his fellow men without actually retreating into the woods when he founded his homestead. Green Gables was built at the furthest edge of his cleared land and there it was to this day, barely visible from the main road along which all the other Avonlea houses were so sociably situated. Mrs. Rachel Lynde did not call living in such a place living at all.

“It’s just staying, that’s what,” she said as she stepped along the deep-rutted, grassy lane bordered with wild rose bushes. “It’s no wonder Matthew and Marilla are both a little odd, living away back here by themselves. Trees aren’t much company, though dear knows if they were there’d be enough of them. I’d ruther look at people. To be sure, they seem contented enough; but then, I suppose, they’re used to it. A body can get used to anything, even to being hanged, as the Irishman said.”

With this Mrs. Rachel stepped out of the lane into the backyard of Green Gables. Very green and neat and precise was that yard, set about on one side with great patriarchal willows and the other with prim Lombardies. Not a stray stick nor stone was to be seen, for Mrs. Rachel would have seen it if there had been. Privately she was of the opinion that Marilla Cuthbert swept that yard over as often as she swept her house. One could have eaten a meal off the ground without over-brimming the proverbial peck of dirt.

Mrs. Rachel rapped smartly at the kitchen door and stepped in when bidden to do so. The kitchen at Green Gables was a cheerful apartment—or would have been cheerful if it had not been so painfully clean as to give it something of the appearance of an unused parlor. Its windows looked east and west; through the west one, looking out on the back yard, came a flood of mellow June sunlight; but the east one, whence you got a glimpse of the bloom white cherry-trees in the left orchard and nodding, slender birches down in the hollow by the brook, was greened over by a tangle of vines. Here sat Marilla Cuthbert, when she sat at all, always slightly distrustful of sunshine, which seemed to her too dancing and irresponsible a thing for a world which was meant to be taken seriously; and here she sat now, knitting, and the table behind her was laid for supper.

Mrs. Rachel, before she had fairly closed the door, had taken a mental note of everything that was on that table. There were three plates laid, so that Marilla must be expecting some one home with Matthew to tea; but the dishes were everyday dishes and there was only crab-apple preserves and one kind of cake, so that the expected company could not be any particular company. Yet what of Matthew’s white collar and the sorrel mare? Mrs. Rachel was getting fairly dizzy with this unusual mystery about quiet, unmysterious Green Gables.

“Good evening, Rachel,” Marilla said briskly. “This is a real fine evening, isn’t it? Won’t you sit down? How are all your folks?”

Something that for lack of any other name might be called friendship existed and always had existed between Marilla Cuthbert and Mrs. Rachel, in spite of—or perhaps because of—their dissimilarity.

Marilla was a tall, thin woman, with angles and without curves; her dark hair showed some gray streaks and was always twisted up in a hard little knot behind with two wire hairpins stuck aggressively through it. She looked like a woman of narrow experience and rigid conscience, which she was; but there was a saving something about her mouth which, if it had been ever so slightly developed, might have been considered indicative of a sense of humor.

“We’re all pretty well,” said Mrs. Rachel. “I was kind of afraid you weren’t, though, when I saw Matthew starting off today. I thought maybe he was going to the doctor’s.”

Marilla’s lips twitched understandingly. She had expected Mrs. Rachel up; she had known that the sight of Matthew jaunting off so unaccountably would be too much for her neighbor’s curiosity.

“Oh, no, I’m quite well although I had a bad headache yesterday,” she said. “Matthew went to Bright River. We’re getting a little boy from an orphan asylum in Nova Scotia and he’s coming on the train tonight.”

If Marilla had said that Matthew had gone to Bright River to meet a kangaroo from Australia Mrs. Rachel could not have been more astonished. She was actually stricken dumb for five seconds. It was unsupposable that Marilla was making fun of her, but Mrs. Rachel was almost forced to suppose it.

“Are you in earnest, Marilla?” she demanded when voice returned to her.

“Yes, of course,” said Marilla, as if getting boys from orphan asylums in Nova Scotia were part of the usual spring work on any well-regulated Avonlea farm instead of being an unheard of innovation.

Mrs. Rachel felt that she had received a severe mental jolt. She thought in exclamation points. A boy! Marilla and Matthew Cuthbert of all people adopting a boy! From an orphan asylum! Well, the world was certainly turning upside down! She would be surprised at nothing after this! Nothing!

“What on earth put such a notion into your head?” she demanded disapprovingly.

This had been done without her advice being asked, and must perforce be disapproved.

“Well, we’ve been thinking about it for some time—all winter in fact,” returned Marilla. “Mrs. Alexander Spencer was up here one day before Christmas and she said she was going to get a little girl from the asylum over in Hopeton in the spring. Her cousin lives there and Mrs. Spencer has visited here and knows all about it. So Matthew and I have talked it over off and on ever since. We thought we’d get a boy. Matthew is getting up in years, you know—he’s sixty—and he isn’t so spry as he once was. His heart troubles him a good deal. And you know how desperate hard it’s got to be to get hired help. There’s never anybody to be had but those stupid, half-grown little French boys; and as soon as you do get one broke into your ways and taught something he’s up and off to the lobster canneries or the States. At first Matthew suggested getting a Home boy. But I said ‘no’ flat to that. ‘They may be all right—I’m not saying they’re not—but no London street Arabs for me,’ I said. ‘Give me a native born at least. There’ll be a risk, no matter who we get. But I’ll feel easier in my mind and sleep sounder at nights if we get a born Canadian.’ So in the end we decided to ask Mrs. Spencer to pick us out one when she went over to get her little girl. We heard last week she was going, so we sent her word by Richard Spencer’s folks at Carmody to bring us a smart, likely boy of about ten or eleven. We decided that would be the best age—old enough to be of some use in doing chores right off and young enough to be trained up proper. We mean to give him a good home and schooling. We had a telegram from Mrs. Alexander Spencer today—the mail-man brought it from the station—saying they were coming on the five-thirty train tonight. So Matthew went to Bright River to meet him. Mrs. Spencer will drop him off there. Of course she goes on to White Sands station herself.”

Mrs. Rachel prided herself on always speaking her mind; she proceeded to speak it now, having adjusted her mental attitude to this amazing piece of news.

“Well, Marilla, I’ll just tell you plain that I think you’re doing a mighty foolish thing—a risky thing, that’s what. You don’t know what you’re getting. You’re bringing a strange child into your house and home and you don’t know a single thing about him nor what his disposition is like nor what sort of parents he had nor how he’s likely to turn out. Why, it was only last week I read in the paper how a man and his wife up west of the Island took a boy out of an orphan asylum and he set fire to the house at night—set it on purpose, Marilla—and nearly burnt them to a crisp in their beds. And I know another case where an adopted boy used to suck the eggs—they couldn’t break him of it. If you had asked my advice in the matter—which you didn’t do, Marilla—I’d have said for mercy’s sake not to think of such a thing, that’s what.”

This Job’s comforting seemed neither to offend nor to alarm Marilla. She knitted steadily on.

“I don’t deny there’s something in what you say, Rachel. I’ve had some qualms myself. But Matthew was terrible set on it. I could see that, so I gave in. It’s so seldom Matthew sets his mind on anything that when he does I always feel it’s my duty to give in. And as for the risk, there’s risks in pretty near everything a body does in this world. There’s risks in people’s having children of their own if it comes to that—they don’t always turn out well. And then Nova Scotia is right close to the Island. It isn’t as if we were getting him from England or the States. He can’t be much different from ourselves.”

“Well, I hope it will turn out all right,” said Mrs. Rachel in a tone that plainly indicated her painful doubts. “Only don’t say I didn’t warn you if he burns Green Gables down or puts strychnine in the well—I heard of a case over in New Brunswick where an orphan asylum child did that and the whole family died in fearful agonies. Only, it was a girl in that instance.”

“Well, we’re not getting a girl,” said Marilla, as if poisoning wells were a purely feminine accomplishment and not to be dreaded in the case of a boy. “I’d never dream of taking a girl to bring up. I wonder at Mrs. Alexander Spencer for doing it. But there, she wouldn’t shrink from adopting a whole orphan asylum if she took it into her head.”

Mrs. Rachel would have liked to stay until Matthew came home with his imported orphan. But reflecting that it would be a good two hours at least before his arrival she concluded to go up the road to Robert Bell’s and tell the news. It would certainly make a sensation second to none, and Mrs. Rachel dearly loved to make a sensation. So she took herself away, somewhat to Marilla’s relief, for the latter felt her doubts and fears reviving under the influence of Mrs. Rachel’s pessimism.

“Well, of all things that ever were or will be!” ejaculated Mrs. Rachel when she was safely out in the lane. “It does really seem as if I must be dreaming. Well, I’m sorry for that poor young one and no mistake. Matthew and Marilla don’t know anything about children and they’ll expect him to be wiser and steadier that his own grandfather, if so be’s he ever had a grandfather, which is doubtful. It seems uncanny to think of a child at Green Gables somehow; there’s never been one there, for Matthew and Marilla were grown up when the new house was built—if they ever were children, which is hard to believe when one looks at them. I wouldn’t be in that orphan’s shoes for anything. My, but I pity him, that’s what.”

So said Mrs. Rachel to the wild rose bushes out of the fulness of her heart; but if she could have seen the child who was waiting patiently at the Bright River station at that very moment her pity would have been still deeper and more profound.

[seawolvesanddragons]

AWAE 12 Days of Christmas Countdown - Day 8

Marilla has knitted several things for various loved ones over the years. Now that they’re older, Anne and Jerry decide to try and return the favor. 

The first time Marilla finds herself knitting Anne a new hat she insists it's only because the current one is so shabby. It wouldn’t do for her new charge to be catching cold every time she had to leave the castle. 

And besides, she needed a new knitting project. Green Gables had plenty of blankets, it didn’t need any more. 

She was partially through the hat when she decided she might as well do a scarf to go along with it. For Anne’s health, of  course. Her current hat and scarf was more tatters than fabric, as apparently the orphanage didn’t place a high value on their children not freezing to death. 

(As a caretaker of multiple charges herself, Marilla found such oversight lazy and despicable.) 

She was almost done with the scarf, its matching hat lying neatly next to it, when Marilla noticed the colors. 

Out of habit, she had grabbed the yellow and black yarn. Understandable, as the Cuthberts were from a long line of Huffepuffs. 

Really, a scarf was a scarf and a hat was a hat. The purpose was to keep Anne warm in the winter, not boast her house for all to see. That was what the school uniforms were for. 

But Marilla had seen Jane Andrews own bronze colored hat and goves, and Diana Barry had been dressed in blue since she was a mere babe. Marilla remembered her own days at Hogwarts, were she and Rachel had enjoyed charming as much of their belongings as they could yellow and black in a fit of house pride. 

Anne already had such a hard time fitting in. Perhaps a show of house pride wouldn’t go amiss. 

Besides, Marilla might have some leftover blue and bronze yarn from when Rachel’s daughter was expecting and really it was only practical that she use it up. And while Marilla didn’t hold with vanity, yellow and black would clash with Anne’s  hair terribly.

Matthew raised an eyebrow at her that evening, when he saw her detangling the blue yarn. 

“Not a word Matthew Cuthbert,” Marilla warned. 

“I dinnae say anything,” her brother shrugged. “Just wondering what you’ll do with the other one now.” He gestured to the completed scarf and hat next to her, almost blending in with the family banket. 

Truthfully, Marilla hadn’t thought about that yet. The scarf and hat were too small for her or her brother to use, and all of the Lynde’s children (who for years had been the main recipients of Marilla’s knitting projects) were grown and gone. And it was hardly as if Twycross was going to put another child at Green Gables for Marilla and Matthew to have to adopt. 

Though, there was another eleven year old at Hogwarts whose winter wardrobe was solely lacking. 

“It can go to Jerry Baynard,” Marilla decided. “After all, waste not. Give it to him next time you take the both of them into the forest, Matthew. And do try not to make a fuss over it; we don’t want to embarrass the poor lad.” 

“Huh,” Matthew said, considering. “I don’t reckon I’m the one fussin’ over here.” 

Marilla pretended not to hear him. Honestly, brothers could be such a trial. She should point that out to Anne next time the girl waxes on about the enviable “bond between siblings.” 

*

Her next knitting project takes her most of the summer. Blankets normally did. And whatever Matthew might think, it was entirely practical. He had never been up in Ravenclaw tower, he had not a clue how drafty and cold it got up there! It would be just like three twelve year old girls to fall asleep with the windows open and wake up frozen the next day. 

No, Anne would need a blanket, a thick one. And Marilla needed more yarn anyway, she just happened to pick blue and bronze up. 

No, Matthew, she was not over mothering. 

Though, they did owe Jerry for helping them out over the summer. The Hufflepuff common rooms were far too warm to need an extra blanket (a point Marilla prided herself on) but perhaps a nice jumper wouldn't go amiss. 

*

By fourth year, Marilla had given up any pretenses. She was a mother, with one official charge and one unofficial charge whose hats and scarves were torn one too many times from unsupervised explorations of the forest. 

So a new set of gloves and hats and scarves were churned out, along with a special pair of gloves for each; ruby red for Anne, dark purple for Jerry. 

“For school, are they?” Matthew asked with a knowing smile. 

“They’re old enough now to require some gloves that aren’t based on their Hogwarts house colors,” Marilla sniffed. “A bit of individuality and color never hurt anyone.” 

*

Fifth year, Bash received a dark green scarf (so that you’ll stop complaining about the cold, Sebastian!) for Christmas, while Muriel was given a pair of hand knit lavender gloves. 

Phineas looked at Marilla suspiciously over his brand new navy hat. 

“You’ve gone soft,” he accused.

“Fiddlesticks,” Marilla huffed. “You sound like my brother. Utter nonsense.” 

*

Their last Christmas Morning as Hogwarts students, Anne and Jerry presented Marilla with a neatly wrapped package, eager smiles on their faces. 

Marilla pulled at the delicate twine holding the wrapping together (Anne’s work, no doubt). The paper fell away, leaving a multi-colored, heavy looking swarth of knitted wool in its place. 

“My word,” Marilla said, running her hands over fabric. It was softer than even her coziest of blankets. 

“Its a blanket!” Jerry explained excitedly. “Anne and I made it. Well, technically you made it too..”

“What Jerry means to say,” Anne interrupted, as Marilla looked confusedy between the two. “Is that the blanket is made from all of your old knitting gifts.” She pointed at the far edge of the blanket, where two yellow and black squares were offset by a blue an bronze one. “Those are from the first scarves you made us, plus an old one of Matthews. And there, that’s part of Jerry’s jumper, and over there is part of the baby blanket you made Mrs. Lynde when she had her first child-” 

“They went all over Hogsmeade,” Matthew said softly, a gentle look in his eyes as he nodded toward the blanket. “Collected up bits and pieces from just about everything you ever knitted.” 

“Well, I never,” Marilla said, blinking rapidly. There was moisture in her eyes that threatened to overflow. “What a thoughtful gift.” 

It was colorful, certainly, full of reds and blues, purples and golds, silver and greens and so much yellow Marilla wondered it didn’t hurt to look at. But the colors blended far better than Marilla would have guessed. It was a pattern of all the love and warmth and hope Marilla put out into the world, wrapped up into one gorgeous blanket. It felt like home. 

[lottie--1234]

The Song is Ended But The Melody Lingers On

Muriel wandered down the stairs of her small teacher’s cottage. She sighed, thinking of the dream she had last night. Dreams like that frequented her mind. She dreamt of Jonah. Again. Not that it was bad, it just made her miss him all the more. It was living a dream, only to wake up and live the nightmare over and over. He was gone. And he was never coming back.

The teacher knelt by Jonah’s old chest and opened it up. It was filled with letters they had sent one another, old clothes she couldn’t bear to throw away and other relics from her past. Inventions, his stethoscope, the like. She fished out a small jewelry box and opened it. Her rings were still sitting inside, as usual. She smiled to herself, remembering the day he had proposed to her. They had been walking to a friend’s house for dinner when the heavens opened up and it began hammering down with rain. The pair began to run when Jonah had stopped suddenly. He turned around and got down on one knee. Right then and there. It was a moment filled with laughter and happiness, even though everything was soaked through by the time they got to dinner. Jonah had later explained that he waited until the moment he didn’t feel nervous anymore. The ring was simple and he had made it himself, they didn’t have much money to spare. But she thought it was beautiful. Silver wire wrapped around a moonstone. She had told him that it looked enchanting. And he had replied that she looked enchanting.

Her wedding band was inside the box, too. And his was on a necklace that she hadn’t taken off since the day he died. She had insisted for Jonah to be buried with the ring but the mortician had refused. He said it would make a good keepsake for the children. The nonexistent children. She couldn’t bear to correct him.

Muriel pulled a large red sweater out of the trunk and pulled it over her blouse. It was one of the few sweaters that still smelled like him after a year. She remembered the Christmas he wore that sweater underneath his whitecoat as he worked in the busy clinic. That clinic, she remembered well. It was run-down and the roof was full of leaks. They lived upstairs as the clinic was open twenty-four hours a day. Luckily their friends worked there, too. Jennie, Emily, Lucas. This reminded her. She had letters to send later on. They included the daily letters she wrote to Jonah. A friend would take them and put them under a rock by Jonah’s grave. They would remain unread. Or else, she’d jam a fishhook down their throats.

A rap on the door broke Muriel from her stance. She quickly got up and opened the door a crack, not wanting whoever it was to see the open chest and the items that were now taken out. “Muriel, that sweatshirt is far too big for you. Honestly. Now, let me in. It’s positively freezing out here. Come on! No one’s getting any younger.” It was Rachel Lynde. The short, stocky figure barged past Muriel, letting herself in.

“Um- Good morning, Rachel. To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you so early?” Muriel asked, directing the lady away from the mess in the living room. She poured a cup of tea for herself and for her visitor and brought out a plate of biscuits. At least she had breakfast now.

“I was just here to tell you that Mr.Gillis’s nephew is in town. I’ve taken the liberty of telling him about you and he seemed very interested indeed. I must say, this matchmaking business is rather bracing.” Rachel nattered. Muriel sighed. She was in no mood for this. She hardly ever was in a mood for this. It had to end now.

“Rachel, stop. This has to come to an end. I’m completely fed up. There are things you don’t know and quite frankly- it’s none of your business. But since you’ve made it a mission to insert yourself into my business, I’ll tell you. I’m a widow. I was married to a wonderful, adventurous man named Jonah Stacey and he died of tuberculosis at the young age of 26 a year ago because he was a doctor and caught it from a patient.” Muriel blurted out. This took Rachel by surprise and all she could do was stutter. “This sweater was his. This was his wedding ring.” Muriel said, pulling out the silver wedding band on a chain that hung around her neck. “These are all inventions we made together and this is what he looked like.” the teacher told the lady, pulling various black and white images of her late husband out of the trunk. “This is a beach in a box. He made it for me when we visited my hometown in Cape Breton because he knew I missed the beach when we were living in Toronto.” the blonde explained, opening a tin box to reveal seashells and a tiny love note buried in the sand. “He was kind, level-headed, stubborn and annoyed the life out of me at times but I miss him every day. He was my soulmate and while my birthday was last week, I turned twenty-seven but he never will. So next time one of your suitors graces my doorstep, I will jam my walking stick so far up his-”

“That’s quite enough, Muriel. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Rachel interrupted. She was devastated she had been so insensitive.

“You should be sorry. You know, we thought we were going to grow old with one another. Like you and Mr.Lynde. But it’s over. The song is ended but the melody lingers on. Every day.” Muriel said, wistfully.

[readermagnifique]

Anne with an E Season 3 finale!

Spoilers.

Good grief I am in LOVE!!!

I want to have a character on this show for the sole purpose of having a bisexual affair with Winnie Rose, no I am not taking constructive criticism at this time.

Josie Pye counting the hours until she can get away from all the whispers and snide comments that she is definitely still getting, and probably mostly from her parents broke my heart she deserves to fly they all do.

Ruby is still a little gem and I love her.

Shirbert Part I: They are so proud of each other, look at those cute grins.

Moody still holds the title of best awkward comments.

"Congratulations"

"Congratulations"

You poor dumb dumb babies I love you both.

Miss Stacy is the best you can't change my mind. Potato lightbulbs forever indeed.

"7 days until we spread out wings and soar" Tiny babies, we stan.

"It's your future, not theirs"

"It's not your future, it's ours!"

This next scene was heartbreaking.

The Barry's were getting better and I hate them again now.

Matthew Cuthbert you are a cute potato and your one (1) flaw in life is pushing people away to protect them. We stan.

Mummy Lacroix learning to be softer is what I am here for!

Shirbert Part II: Beautiful! Sublime! This letter was everything we've been wanting to hear since day 1. Also definitely breaking his promise to Winnie to not say ANYTHING about not being engaged for 2 weeks, but we'll let it slide because you're cute as a button, and the pen mention at the end was the cherry on top.

I honestly expected her to completely miss the fact that the letter was even there. Never expected her to rip it, and was even better when she ran around trying to find the pieces, and GOT IT COMPLETELY WRONG! You are the most adorable tiny human, and this had me shaking my head not knowing whether to be frustrated or laughing.

Diana being almost catatonic at the idea of her future broke me. It is not being talked about enough, this was heartbreaking.

"I can't fly"

"My poor Diana, they've clipped your wings" This was beautifully tragical, and so so sad. Dalila Bela was phenomenal in this whole episode - more on that later.

Marilla being the best Mum. She has grown so much and she is the sweetest. This whole episode she was a damn star! I love her! She's done a complete 180° from where she started, from big things like being kinder and more open with those she loves, to small things like making a dress with beautiful, most definitely expensive, blue velvet for her girl.

Elijah redemption arc - I love a redemption arc, and they are the hill I will die on thanking you. And Bash learning to forgive him and allow him into his daughter's life - this was inspired, thank you Moira!!!

Marilla talking the Barrys round to the idea of Diana's desire to control her own life not being a selfish one was beautifully done. Just her being careful and considerate as she has always been at her core.

Miss Stacy and Anne both giving beautiful presents to each other - and MISS STACY WRITING KINDRED SPIRITS ON THE FRAME WAS SPECTACULAR!!! And her conversation about happiness was so sweet and caring, and mentioning depression in her own way did anyone else notice this?

Marilla being so excited about letters of Anne's past, and putting Matthew straight, just like he did earlier in the series.

Matthew crying; I can't cope with it. End of discussion, couldn't deal. He's too sweet.

Elijah is going to be such a good big brother now he's doing his best.

Anne packing away her room; so beautifully filmed, and so bittersweet. She has loved this little room more than anywhere else, and it's lovely.

Jane and Josie are friends again? They're stood together in the line, and no snide comments. They smile to each other while the matron was talking. Was there a deleted scene or something? Can someone write their reconciliation as a one shot? I want to see Jane learn like Prissy exactly what her family is.

Anne is definitely going to learn sign language, I will place good money on those odds. Just you watch her.

Somehow the matron reminds me of the librarian in Monsters University?

Anne putting her necklace on the bed meant for Diana.

The girls being excited and giggling in pure delight with each other, dancing and carefree, away from the small minds of their town. Beautiful and inspirational, and most of it is down to Anne, you cannot change my mind.

Miss Stacy screaming in excitement for Gilbert going to Uni! His yelling with her!

Mummy Lacroix learning from her son to help him forgive his own stepson. Redemption arcs all around in the Lacroix farm.

Siblings united at last. Mary would have been the happiest woman to see this.

AUNT JO! MY ULTIMATE FAVOURITE!!! LIFE GOALS!!! I LOVE HER!

Can we all just appreciate that Cole has been at art school carefully studying and perfecting the Gay Artist Walk™ and he is doing so well? The hips. The hands. Look at that beautiful carefully learnt carelessly elegant flounce! That is Growth.

Jo calling Marilla Anne's mother and how happy it makes her.

ANNE'S PRINCESS MOMENT! THAT DRESS! I CAN'T EVEN! ABSOLUTE PERFECTION!!!

Anne is the bravest of women, so strong, and all of those closest to her know this.

Cole and Jerry are the best brothers, you cannot prove this wrong.

Anne takes that moment to break apart on one that she trusts with her life, and one who she knows trusts her with his, and then just as quickly pulls herself back together again and carries on. She just needed that moment, and he knew to give it to her.

The cows are Pride and Prejudice and this is fantastic.

Matthew you adorable bean, and I cannot cope with you tearing up twice in one episode.

Anne with her dress, and gloves, and parasol. Mesmerising.

Mrs Thomas is hilarious.

"They were SCOTTISH!"

"He's DEAD! You know that." Cracking up laughing.

I want to know who Katie was? This is the second time she's been brought up. The imaginary friend who lives in glass cabinets. Other than that we know nothing, and I need to know more.

The book.

I want to have a character on this show for the sole purpose of having a bisexual affair with Winnie Rose, no I am not taking constructive criticism at this time.

I fully and completely believe that after they sorted out the fact that neither of them had any idea what the other was bloody talking about, Anne and Winnie are pen pals, and they're going to chat about Paris and Uni and become good mates. I am here for Anne's respect for other women, and you know for a fact that she has never said or thought a bad word about Winnie from day one, because none of it has ever been her fault. And Winnie has been understandably angry, but once she stops hurting over Gilbert (and has a bisexual affair with me that is definitely going to happen I swear) she will be happy to call Anne a friend, because she has always been loyal to her friends and never made a move on her man while he was hers, even when drunk and looking gorgeous after the exams.

The train. How amazing was every scene on this damn train. Diana going to Uni, hearing about Gilbert not going to Paris and not engaged, but also not going to queen's and definitely not sorting things her friend and this is unacceptable??? Her face??? Incredible!!!

Anne running in that dress is a vision.

Diana's face as she sits in the chair opposite Gilbert. And he smiles politely and has to do a double take because the FuRy??? Of this girl??? Phenomenal.

I am always here for whenever Anne has her hair down.

Diana going HARD for Anne. On a public train. Fully laying in to the smartest and dumbest boy in her class.

Diana is a wonder, all she needed was friendship with an unlikely redheaded orphan brat to unlock her imagination, and that redheaded orphan is the girl who has saved her from misery and drudgery and brought colour into her life, and she deserves so much better than the confusion Gilbert has been giving her this whole time and Diana is throwing EVERYTHING at him and I am here for this ride or die friendship!!!

"DIANA WHAT LETTER???" THE URGENCY THIS POOR BOY!!!

This running montage was perfection, then the silence just as they saw each other. Majestic.

That gentle hand on her cheek, asking permission, then the kiss.

And then Anne Shirley Cuthbert does the most Anne Shirley Cuthbert thing and pinches herself to check it's real.

And Gilbert So-Smart-And-So-Dumb Blythe still had to check that she loves him as much as he loves her and both of these reactions are the most valid thing I have ever witnessed.

And that second kiss; Anne "If I wanted to kiss a boy, couldn't I just, kiss him?" Shirley Cuthbert going for it, I am here for it on every level, I hope it's within the correct timespan for visiting suitors, because you're definitely not in the parlour Anne!

Anne not even getting mad that he's leaving just after he kisses her, she is so understanding what a damn angel.

And Gilbert desperately trying to reassure her before he has to run off again. That hand kiss, I am swooning over their romantical notions, the pair of them!

"DiANA???"

"Can I still be your roommate?" Look at this baby, with her witty quips and dramatic entrances! I adore that Anne has found a home among people who are just as dramatic as she is.

Mr Barry redeaming himself somewhat - "Take the carriage! Run boy! Accomplish your dreams!" He's learning, it's all we can ask for. Maybe next season I'll begin to like you again.

That hop out of the carriage, the return of the flirty eyebrows, that kiss; Mr Blythe! Straight out of a romance novel! He knows how to put his romantical notions into action.

"I have follow up questions."

Marilla and Matthew running with the book! The book itself! Mummy Shirley had red hair!!! Baby Anne's First Picnic!!! "Their handwriting looks like mine." !!!

"You are a wish come true, I never knew I was making" Marilla tear my heart out why don't you?!?!

Dear Gilbert I look like my mother.

This was a phenomenal, perfect ending to this series, we were not only fed, but giving a ten course meal, thank you Moira!!! Only thing I could have wished for was more Jerry, because he is a tiny baby, and more ka'kwet. Also the brutal and gruesome death of Billy Andrews would have been a nice bonus, but I'm happy to wait until season 4 that is definitely going to happen.

Now just give me a character on this show for the sole purpose of having a bisexual affair with Winnie Rose. Jo and Gertie 2.0! Meeting in a Parisian bookshop! Yes please!!!

[vmecholls]

Anne with an E

After binge watching all 3 seasons of Anne with an E (& rewatching my favorite scenes), I’m so sad the show was cancelled.

Things we will not see with the cancellation that breaks my heart.

1. The town of Avonlea reacting to Anne & Gilbert. Rachel Lynde talking to Marilla about “our Anne & Gilbert Blythe.” Jane, Ruby, Tillie, & Josie. All the townspeople who assumed Anne wouldn’t marry.

2. Anne & Gilbert as penpals… the LETTERS they would have written. 🥰

3. Anne & Gilbert as an actual couple. I would have liked for them to actually have had time to have a conversation in the last episode.

4. Ruby & Moody… the sweetest, cutest couple.

5. Jerry boarding at Green Gables.

6. More Bash, especially Gilbert, Bash, & Delly (& Hazel & Elijah).

7. Diana & Jerry. Though I’m not sure I like them together since Diana was so mean to him.

8. Anne, Diana, Ruby, Josie, Jane, & Tillie at Queens College.

9. More Cole & Aunt Jo.

10. More Gilbert Blythe.

[gilbertsannegirl]

Anne, who had always liked Gilbert’s merry, young-hearted mother, was grieved in secret over this. Marilla said nothing; but Mrs. Lynde gave Anne many exasperated digs about it, until fresh gossip reached that worthy lady, through the medium of Moody Spurgeon MacPherson’s mother, that Anne had another “beau” at college, who was rich and handsome and good all in one. After that Mrs. Rachel held her tongue, though she still wished in her inmost heart that Anne had accepted Gilbert.

L. M. Montgomery (Anne of the Island, A June Evening)

[shirbertshitposts]

I haven’t watched the Sullivan films in a while, well I did watch the first half of the first one a few months ago, but I’ve forgotten some of the scenes and like *deep sigh* choices were made that I Do. Not. Get.

Specifically I was just reminded of Sullivans adaptation of how Anne and Gilbert finally become friends and it involves Gilbert caressing Anne’s cheek and calling her carrots.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nh3eb4DZTLw

Let’s break that down. 

Anne has been holding a grudge against Gilbert for FIVE YEARS because he called her carrots and the moment she finally accepts his friendship Sullivan thought oh Gilbert should call her carrots but affectionately and she won’t get mad this time...like bitch what? Anne was deeply upset not only when Gilbert called her carrots but also when Rachel Lynde called her carrots. Clearly she takes deep offense to this seemingly innocent characterization of the color of her hair. Why would anyone ever want to bring that up again knowing that? In the books Anne is still sensitive about the color of her hair well into adulthood, so much so that here is a quote from 15 YEARS into Anne and Gilbert’s marriage, in Anne of Ingleside 

"Oh, it is too bad my hair is red," said Anne icily.

Gilbert thought he was wise in dropping a dangerous subject. Anne, he reflected, had always been a bit sensitive about her hair.

Also have you ever had someone you JUST became friends with lovingly caress your cheek? That’s weird as hell. You’d probably slap their hand away. There is literally a scene in Anne of the Island, at which point in the story Anne and Gilbert have been best friends for two years already, where Gilbert touches Anne’s hand and she immediately rejects his touch.

Gilbert suddenly laid his hand over the slender white one lying on the rail of the bridge. His hazel eyes deepened into darkness, his still boyish lips opened to say something of the dream and hope that thrilled his soul. But Anne snatched her hand away and turned quickly. The spell of the dusk was broken for her.

In the Anne of Green Gables scene of them becoming friends they say non-offensive things to each other and shake hands. You know like friends would, because they’re friends now. There’s not supposed to be romantic tension between them yet. 

Here is the Anne of Green Gables scene this is supposed to be based off of:

Halfway down the hill a tall lad came whistling out of a gate before the Blythe homestead. It was Gilbert, and the whistle died on his lips as he recognized Anne. He lifted his cap courteously, but he would have passed on in silence, if Anne had not stopped and held out her hand.

“Gilbert,” she said, with scarlet cheeks, “I want to thank you for giving up the school for me. It was very good of you—and I want you to know that I appreciate it.”

Gilbert took the offered hand eagerly.

“It wasn’t particularly good of me at all, Anne. I was pleased to be able to do you some small service. Are we going to be friends after this? Have you really forgiven me my old fault?”

Anne laughed and tried unsuccessfully to withdraw her hand.

“I forgave you that day by the pond landing, although I didn’t know it. What a stubborn little goose I was. I’ve been—I may as well make a complete confession—I’ve been sorry ever since.”

“We are going to be the best of friends,” said Gilbert, jubilantly. “We were born to be good friends, Anne. You’ve thwarted destiny enough. I know we can help each other in many ways. You are going to keep up your studies, aren’t you? So am I. Come, I’m going to walk home with you.”

Marilla looked curiously at Anne when the latter entered the kitchen.“Who was that came up the lane with you, Anne?”

“Gilbert Blythe,” answered Anne, vexed to find herself blushing. “I met him on Barry’s hill.”

“I didn’t think you and Gilbert Blythe were such good friends that you’d stand for half an hour at the gate talking to him,” said Marilla with a dry smile.

“We haven’t been—we’ve been good enemies. But we have decided that it will be much more sensible to be good friends in the future. Were we really there half an hour? It seemed just a few minutes. But, you see, we have five years’ lost conversations to catch up with, Marilla.”

Yes, Anne blushes in the scene but I think it’s more out of embarrassment that she’s been so mean to someone who is willing to do something so nice for her. She is embarrassed that she held onto her grudge for so long. And look at the way Gilbert speaks to her. It’s just friendly. Gilbert literally uses the word friends three times. I mean it’s a little bit funny that he doesn’t let go of her hand after shaking it, but he’s not flirting with her here. Even though he is in love with her, he is not actively flirting with her in this scene because he knows she wouldn’t be receptive to it. She has just accepted his friendship. It took them five years to get to this point. He wouldn’t want to jeopardize that in any way after it took them so long to get there. Gilbert is receptive to Anne’s response to him and he knows the boundaries he can’t push with her. In the later parts of Anne of Avonlea and the beginning of Anne of the Island we him struggle with trying to push their relationship towards romance but Anne responds negatively each time so he keeps toning it back until the fateful first proposal where he can’t take it anymore and ignores all Anne’s signals telling him to stop and just steam rolls ahead declaring his love. And that ends badly for both of them.

Also let’s talk about how in the Sullivan scene Gilbert rode up on a fucking horse literally like a hero out of a romantic story. The WHOLE CRUX OF ANNE BEGINNING TO REALIZE SHE LOVES GILBERT IS HER SAYING THAT ROMANCE ISNT LIKE A GAY KNIGHT RIDING DOWN

Here is that quote from Anne of Avonlea

For a moment Anne’s heart fluttered queerly and for the first time her eyes faltered under Gilbert’s gaze and a rosy flush stained the paleness of her face. It was as if a veil that had hung before her inner consciousness had been lifted, giving to her view a revelation of unsuspected feelings and realities. Perhaps, after all, romance did not come into one’s life with pomp and blare, like a gay knight riding down; perhaps it crept to one’s side like an old friend through quiet ways; perhaps it revealed itself in seeming prose, until some sudden shaft of illumination flung athwart its pages betrayed the rhythm and the music, perhaps . . . perhaps . . . love unfolded naturally out of a beautiful friendship, as a golden-hearted rose slipping from its green sheath.

Ahhhhh what the fuck

WHAT THE FUCK

I would say why would Sullivan do this when there is so much textual support against it in the later books but I bet that motherfucker hasn’t even read most of the later books because they butchered Anne of Avonlea and Anne of Windy Poplars and the Continuing Story is not based on any of the books at all so clearly they give no fucks i guess???

Why do the adaptations insist on making Gilbert into a romantic hero when the whole conflict of Anne and Gilbert’s relationship is that he isn’t one. He’s just a regular boy who becomes Anne’s best friend, so she doesn’t realize how much he loves her and that the way she loves him isn’t purely friendly.