#note: unfortunately i could not translate to find the artist's name so let me know if you know!

[claire-starsword]

Authentic Story of the Shining Force - Saint Fencer Max - Author's comments

Final translation notes:

Yodobashi Camera is apparently a japanese electronics retail chain, hence the label on the bag.

A volume with 40 pages only feels very weird to me, but I couldn't find any other possible translation for what he says here. Besides, the structure of this thing is already wack anyway, chapter 1 has like, 10 pages while chapter 4 has almost 30.

In any case, I get the feeling that this manga got robbed of an official publication, and this volume is an independent work of sorts thrown together by Ono. Might explain why the printing is wack and cut panels at points. Still very glad it exists, because I doubt scans of the original run would have ever surface on the internet otherwise. Actually, I appreciate this whole afterword so much, it's a lot of info I would have never found out by myself, and god knows video game stuff does not keep any track of its own history overall. Any recorded info helps.

Tao indeed appears in Tanuma's manga with the same design as here. I will not be translating that thing, but Tao's couple of appearances are pretty much all I liked from it, so here:

Ono also refers to that manga as only "Tanuma's version", which I feel is the main way JP fans refer to it, but since the artist's name had already been mentioned, I used the subtitle as well, which I feel is the best way to specify it.

I don't know what a Game On is, nor what a Game Dome Harumi Shop is :( Those are very unfortunate names to try to google (in fact, the latter only gave me results for this very manga lol). Let me know if you know anything.

The fact Ono has worked with Masaki Wachi later however is interesting to me. I assumed through most of my notes here that some odd elements of this manga, especially Max and Cain's backstory, could be hints of things changed late in development, and brought back for the GBA version. I still think that's the most likely explanation, as at least one of the GBA-only flashbacks is very similar to unused content in the game itself. However, I eventually did figure that something else should be considered. Perhaps certain similarities between this and the GBA version are also things Wachi liked from the manga and wanted to add in the remake, since the two continued to work together somewhere. Who knows?

The wife. For the longest I've been reading her name as Sega Blue, which was an easy reference to parse, but while joking in the tags ten seconds ago I realized I was misreading it. I'm not sure if Brel is supposed to mean anything or be read a different way. Oh well. We still have the second name for an easy laugh.

That's all for this weird piece of Shining Force, thank you all for coming along with this ride. I feel this manga has quite a lot for fans to enjoy and think about, and I think it sucks that it is even more obscure than the Tanuma one. I hope this translation helps bringing it more to light, and I hope you all enjoyed!

[uelden]

Vanity Fair interview translated

Just a side note before the actual translation; I don't know why, but instead of reporting the full questions and answers in full as she should, the journalist decided to report only summarized fragments of what Måneskin said and patch these fragments up into messy clusters. She also worded a couple phrases in a very confusing way (and yes, she's fully Italian). In short, she did quite a poor job, so the final shape of the interview is not that good. I didn't expect top-tier journalism from Vanity Fair but ffs. You'll see what I mean.

I translated it as it is, adding just a couple footnotes to give you insight on Italian pop culture references.

Translation under the cut

Måneskin: "Different from whom?"

by Lavinia Farnese, 09 June 2021

"True justice is being judged for what you do and not for what you are." The ones who are convinced of this are Damiano, Victoria, Ethan and Thomas who, by being the emblem of a generation that is finally free, refuse labels and conformism. In life, in love and on the stage. Where, maybe precisely because of this, they're winning everything

With the still unexpected (first place at Sanremo Festival) and the incredible (triumph at Eurovision) in their eyes, Måneskin are on the sofa of the house-studio they rented - to resume writing songs and rehearsing them - like you are after a won battle: lying in a calm and unreal silence, alert and a bit irreverent, happy.

In the garden there's the tennis table and the pool, the light of summer when it's starting and calming the country all around, and it filters inside from the large windows, and it goes onto the shining black of Ethan's hair, which blends with Thomas' eye shadow and the butterfly he has tattooed oh his naked forearm, which completes the picture of Victoria's golden crucifix hanging between neck and tank top and ends on the black nail polish of Damiano's stretched hands.

It's a human fresco, a Theatre of wrath [translator's note: "Teatro d'ira"] - to call it with the title of their latest album, a platinum record already - where their flaunted 20 years of age, their irregular femininity and virility are grown into proud and challenging custom, a pop glam rock generational manifesto of hard-earned liberties in a finally-unconditional expression of the self.

To watch them from any angle and from another age is to think that a great love will be born in those who'll understand: this new way of being in the world, the true and sovereign realm they hold where "diversity=exceptionality", the power of the artistic and cultural revolution of which they are healthy carriers in establishing in all lyrics and gestures the right to live according to one's own nature past the "people (who) talk, the people (who) unfortunately talk, and don't know what the fuck they're talking about." [tn: "Zitti e buoni" lyrics]

We go where we're afloat, where the air isn't gone. [tn: journalist's own variation on "Zitti e buoni" lyrics]

Miley Cyrus says hi – The numbers of a phenomenon

"The streams of Zitti e buoni are growing by the second, and they bring us above Muse, at the top of English charts, twelfth in the Spotify Global Chart. Followers almost tripled, in the post-Rotterdam period (from 1,4 to 3,3 millions, ed.) Contagious and universal folly: t-shirts and merchandising sold out in 10 minutes. Like the records, the tickets for a tour that keeps adding dates and expanding over geographic maps. They're contacting us even from some festivals were The Rolling Stones went." Thomas

"After the pretextual controversy over cocaine that France built against us, later disproven by my drug test, some graffiti popped up in Spain depicting me as a “No drugs” poster guy. Some tweets made us laugh: "Congratulations, Italy! I've never been more certain that four people have had sex with each other." Miley Cyrus started following us -You're great. -You guys are greater." Damiano

From the garage to the stars – Story of a flight

"It was only 2016, and we played in restaurants, in the streets, in via del Corso. Damiano without even a microphone, Thomas' guitar with wonky strings, Ethan was drumming on a cajón. During Rome highschools' sit-ins (Kennedy, Virgilio, Mamiani) we had our first confirmations and half-hours of celebrity, playing among those who criticized us and those who went "wow they're really cool." One of the rare times when they would have paid us – 50 euros each – we gave the money to the next band in the lineup so that they would make us play in their spot, later in the day, when there would have been more people. We had already realized how things worked. Visibility mattered more than money. And we still think that." Victoria

The intimacy of rock – Choice of a genre

"Music allows us the miracle of extending to others some very personal and private topics, sometimes even difficult and thorny ones. They are and they remain deeply your own, but at the same time they become a confession that reaches a wider audience, and in this passage that is alike a delivery, they find a place in you as well, a processing of them. You overcome them, you accept them. One second it's something aggressive, the next it's a ballad. Cathartic». Damiano

Against panic – The stage as therapy

"I've suffered a lot from anxiety and panic attacks, it's an issue I've worked on thanks to a psychotherapy course, my friends and my family. Playing helped me in not letting myself be paralyzed by my fears, not making myself limited in my private and professional life. I've learned to accept, to live with this side of myself. I don't hide it. I don't feel ashamed of it." Victoria

Analysis as necessity – Relying on someone saves you

"This belief that only madmen go to the psychologist is a widespread ignorance. No-one's born learned. [tn: common Italian saying] And it's often hard to understand the very reason why we're here, let alone the origin and direction of our desires. It's a long and legitimate journey towards lucidity, a kind of backing to become transparent." Damiano

Being out of our minds – But different from them [tn: "Zitti e buoni" lyrics]

"When you feel a strong passion towards something that is not a canonical job but an artistic language, that already puts you on a level of anomaly, which is not superior or inferior to other people, but it puts you in the position of the one who breaks the mold and also works at a loss, the one who sustains great risks while trying to do something that who knows if it will take you anywhere. "Why do it if it doesn't pay?". You want to give this dream of yours an aesthetic, but it becomes "You're dressing so weird! You must be gay!" - now that I'm 22 I laugh about it, but when I was 17 it had an effect on me, too." Damiano

The beauty of uniqueness – Of believing in it and defending it

"And I mean, at the end of the day if we're all different it's not because we want be alternative but because, really, no-one is the same. Justice is being judged on what you do and not what you are. Justice is equality, respect, beauty." Ethan

Fluid sexuality – Pride is freedom

"Heels for men that like themselves in them, kisses among ourselves, we have an open, extended mind, and we're proud of it. The horizons become vast, past the oppression of conservative families. With the information on the web knowledge becomes greater and with it the possibility that minorities will be less and less minorities, because the majority will be less of a majority. This way we'll make insults and bullying grow quieter. If social media get to a village of 50 souls and reveal to a girl who's afraid of the dark that someone has felt her same fear, then there's no reason to give a name to that fear, to mark it with labels which also limit and restrict. Definitions always had this effect on me. You shouldn't even consider the gender when judging someone, let alone their orientation." Victoria

Sexism – A culture to be dismantled

"Emma [tn: Emma Marrone, Italian singer] drops the bomb: “At Eurovision when I was there they massacred me for a pair of shorts, while they said nothing to Damiano – bare-chested and in heels.” The easy judgment against women is more fierce, constant, debasing (if I have a lot of sex I'm cool while Vic is a whore, where I show myself strong I'm a leader while Vic is despotic and a pain in the ass who reached success because she's hot.) As a male I'm privileged, the abuse I get is not comparable to those a woman has to live through, the comments over my aesthetic are centered only on my aesthetic and don't insinuate anything about my professionalism and my competence, while women are victims of this kind of thought in a systematic way. It happened though to find myself standing with a woman who while pulling me to herself to take a selfie, started licking my face out of the blue... I mean, what the hell do you want? Who asked you? Consent exists, and it's due." Damiano

Grow yourself – The only commandment

"To me conformism is the opposite of education [tn: could also mean "politeness"] and is the asphyxia of expression. I fortunately never endured heavy bullying, heavy enough for the the judgement of others to change me. But the mold of the small crumbs of bullying I got and of the kind of aggression that scars is the same. If I'm a kid who dances and likes dolls you have to let me do what I like. I was a kid who wanted to keep his hair long and played with Barbie. As a teen, my friends looked at my hair: " You have to find a girl with short hair to be at your side." My grandparents took away my dolls: "Stop it, they're not for you." Ethan

"When I was six I was already sick of them, the distinctions between masculine and feminine. I've always had strong ideas about how I wanted to be. I refused things that were typically defined as girly, and all around me they mocked me because I went skateboarding, I played soccer, I didn't wear skirts, I was giving myself the chance to be as I wished. I endured it a little, I suffered a little, but I had courage, and now thanks to that courage I know that I could have gotten even much more hurt, otherwise I would have left to others the most important choice: the one about myself." Victoria

Love in progress – Music, girlfriends

"I've been married to music for the last 20 years. I can't wait to celebrate our golden wedding anniversary." Ethan

"Everyone makes their own experiences, sometimes it goes well, sometimes it goes wrong, but it's always not anybody's business." Thomas

"When I first felt feelings and attraction towards a girl it was a bit disorienting because I had never had the courage of going beyond the limitations I had put for myself. For society being heterosexual is the norm and so you often define yourself in that way automatically, depriving yourself of the freedom to live many shades and faces of love. Once I overcame the initial insecurity of having to call into question my certainties I've lived my sexuality in a very natural and free way, as it should be for everyone." Victoria

"I had paparazzi at my door every day and night. So, after four years of relationship, I revealed her name. I still have paparazzi at my door every day and nigh, but at least I don't have to hide anything anymore." Damiano

The worth of the group – Phenomenology of protection

"The true engagement though, the true family is among ourselves, our band. We've believed in it since day zero, even before we called ourselves Måneskin (Moonlight in Danish), even before Ethan drew a giant moon on the flier for the first concert we ever did. We share everything, even the pain for the tragedy of Seid Visin, who committed suicide at 20 because of racism. [tn: I think the journalist asked them their opinion about Seid Visin's death, which was a current events topic in Italy, and then pasted it syntaxically in the middle of Thomas' answer, which was not a great move] A group is what we all should be: stay united and not back down an inch in the face of oppression that is generated by a distorted view of diversity." Thomas

I'm not of the right age – Like Gigliola [tn: Gigliola Cinquetti won Eurovision with her song "Non ho l'età", which means "I'm not of the right age"]

"Before you the only one who won both Sanremo and Eurovision on the same year was Cinquetti (1964). If there's anything I feel I'm not of the right age for? No, honestly no. Maybe having children. Regarding children I'll be honest: I'm not of the right age." Damiano

Having touched the sky – The fears that remain

"We're more than inside the dream, we're in the conquered dream. When you fly high there's the risk of plummeting and hurting yourself, but we'll work hard not to end up like Icarus, who burns his wings with the sun. Everything is in our hands. And this - a bit pretentiously - reassures us rather than scaring us." Damiano

[fandomlurker]

A Ponderous Rewatch: Jockey For Position

Now that we’re done with that long cameo, it’s time for our feature presentation for tonight, and it’s a doozy!:

We open with Pinky frantically running on a spinning globe while Brain stands above him on the…globe holder? I don’t know if that part has a name or not.

“[winded gasps] Can I stop now, Brain?”

“Not until I finish my demonstration.”

Brain, that’s just… Well I was about to say it was mean, but given that Pinky understands the details of his plans better when Brain demonstrates it or draws elaborate diagrams, maybe it’s for the best? I doubt Brain could make that large globe spin just by using his hands, and Pinky’s been seen a lot of times running on the mouse wheel in their cage so he’s gotta be pretty in shape. Still, it feels like Pinky’s been running for a lot longer than he needed to…

You know what? I change my mind. It is a bit mean, Brain.

“When I build my reverse geotropic arrestor, Pinky, and throw it from the North Pole like this…”

The word “geotropic” doesn’t quite sound right. I wonder…

…Okay, yeah, Brain’s getting worse at naming things.

“…In a matter of seconds the cable will become taut, gravity will cease, and everyone will fly off the face of the Earth!”

Oh my GOD, Brain. This has got to be the stupidest plan you have come up with yet! Nothing about this will work.

Well, there goes poor Pinky.

“Leaving us alone to assume control.”

It’s still “us”, huh? Noted.

Long Pinky.

“Egad, Brain, brilliant! Haha hehe heh—!”

Pinky, sweetheart, I know praising Brain is kind of your thing but this is one time I’m going to have to call you out on your bias because this is super not brilliant and I’m actually a little worried for Brain’s mental state.

“—Oh wait, no, no. What’s going to keep us from flying off the Earth?”

That’s one flaw of many, Pinky, but I guess it’s as good a start as any.

“We will duct tape ourselves to a tree.”

Because the tree will totally stay in the ground when the Earth abruptly stops spinning. Not that it will stop spinning, because none of this makes any sense.

Brain, did this idea come from, like, a dream you had or something? Is that why the plan is working on dream logic?

I know this is a comedy cartoon and this is all a joke but sometimes Brain’s plans are so fucking out-there I just have to roast him for it.

“Unfortunately we still need to raise money to buy a one billion ton magnet. But I have a solution!”

Oh boy, can’t wait to hear the solution to this one. It’s gonna be stellar if the whole plan today is anything to go by.

Oh nice, Brain’s the one sewing for a change! Usually this is Pinky’s area of expertise, but it’s always nice to see that Brain can do some classically domestic things too.

“Tomorrow is the running of the Kentucky Derby. Do you know what that is?”

Most of my knowledge on it comes from “My Brother, My Brother, and Me” goofs, so my mind keeps autocorrecting it to “Kenfucky Derby”, but go on.

“Umm… Oh! A very large hat?”

“Promise me something, Pinky. Never breed.”

“I’ll try.”

Well, that’s going to come back to haunt them.

“The Kentucky Derby is the biggest horse race of the year. There’s a one million dollar purse going to the jockey riding the winning horse.”

“And I am going to win that purse!”

Okay, first off: Pinky, are you just going to stand there and stare at Brain as he gets changed? Like, I understand they’re naked normally and this is the exact opposite of stripping but umm…

Secondly: Brain, did you really have to get that up close to tell Pinky this? You two are making this too easy for me.

“Zort, Brain! A million dollar purse?!? Ooooh!~ You’re going to need matching pumps and earrings for that!”

Pinky’s got his priorities in order.

“Focus, Pinky, focus!”

“Now watch.”

And now Brain’s ordering Pinky to watch him dress and I just…I have no words. This is all so suspect. Why do you two even need a dressing screen if you’re usually naked anyway? And it shouldn’t matter if anyone sees you get dressed unless this is some weird reverse nudity taboo you two have developed and if that’s the case, why are you allowing Pinky to watch? And if it’s for a dramatic reveal WHY ARE YOU ORDERING HIM TO WATCH YOU CHANGE???

This episode is already so goddamn wild.

I am really not sure how I feel about that pan-up of Brain when he’s thrust his pelvis forward. At least the outfit is cute, though.

“Narf! Oh, Brain, I get it! You’re a beautiful lawn ornament!”

“Beautiful”, huh? Also noted.

“Look at me, narf, I’m a pink flamingo! Ahahaheh!”

Oh LORD, Pinky, how are you—?!?

“I’m a cement deer! Ah hah!”

PINKY, STOP, YOU’RE SCARING ME! D:

“Oh, I’m one of the seven dwarves, Brain!”

That’s more acceptable but Pinky, sweetie, warn me if you’re going to nightmarishly shapeshift again, okay?!

I guess we can add that to the list of random abilities Pinky has.

“Stop it, Pinky, or I shall have to hurt you.”

You are much calmer about this than I would be if this happened in front of me, Brain.

“Oh. Right-o, Brain. Narf.”

“Now let us make haste, for we have much to do before the race begins.”

“Poit.”

So then we cut to Churchill Downs, and I can only assume another roadtrip adventure was had off-screen.

“First, Pinky, we must visit the stables.”

“Inside, we will find the winning horse.”

“Err… How are we gonna do that, Brain?”

“The racing form, Pinky.”

My bet’s on... [squints] hLUUNO the horse.

“By analysing the velocity-based pace line, mile turf win and bayer speed figures, we’ll find a grade one stakes claimer who’ll give us a key horse situation.”

“Key Horse Situation” would be a great band name. Also, whoops, little bit of an error on the name plaques, background artists.

What do your mouse eyes see, Pinky?

“Err, can’t we just ride the pretty one?”

SHE!

So here she is, one of the few characters debuting in the Animaniacs run that will matter to PatB lore going forward aside from our main duo.

A fun fact for you all: Phar Fignewton’s name is a triple reference joke. “Phar Lap” was a champion thoroughbred race horse in the late 1920s and early 1930s. Fig Newtons are small pastries filled with fig paste. Lastly, “Fahrvergnügen” was a slogan for Volkswagon starting in 1990. Translated, it means “driving enjoyment”.

Phar Fignewton makes a whinnying noise and ends it off with a goofy laugh.

Brain is not impressed.

“Heavens, they’re multiplying…”

Pinky is instantly smitten with her.

BONK!

“This is a business trip, Pinky!”

“Oh. Right. Sorry, Brain.”

“Here is our horse.”

“’Daddy’s Little Angel’…”

I guess it’s an ironic nickname.

“Pinky… Are you pondering what I’m pondering?”

“Whu… I think so, Brain, isn’t Regis Philbin already married?”

…

Now I’m wondering if Pinky is suggesting that one of them marry Regis or if he’s suggesting that Regis marries the horse. Either way, what the fuck?

Yeah, same.

“The race, Pinky. By combining the statistics and my low body weight, this horse cannot lose! The prize money will be ours!”

GAH! Brain, I’ve had enough minor heart attacks from this episode because of Pinky’s eldritch morphing ability, I don’t need another one of your bizarre close-ups to do the same!

“Now I must take the place of the real jockey.”

“Hello?”

“Is this the Jockey who’s going to ride ‘Daddy’s Little Angel’?”

“Yeah.”

“This is Ed Mcmahon from Publisher’s Smearing House. You’ve just won ten million dollars.”

Pinky delightedly and silently listening in and chuckling in the back is precious.

And honestly, Brain, I don’t know why you’re crouching here, but it’s also cute.

“I won ten million dollars… I WON TEN MILLION DOLLARS! I am outta here! Later!”

The mice are lucky that he’s so excited about winning all that money that he forgets to do basic things like ask when and how he’ll get the money.

“Louie! Louie!”

“Later!”

“Who’s gonna ride my horse? I mean, Louie is the smallest, lightest jockey in the entire world!”

Did you know that there’s a weight requirement for jockeys, but no height requirement?

“Not anymore!”

“[GASP]”

Whoops, I just noticed another error, though it’s minor: Brain’s jockey outfit throughout this scene is light tan and purple instead of the pea green and purple that it’s supposed to be.

“You’re a jockey?!”

“Actually, I am a mouse in the early stages of an elaborate scheme to take over the world.”

The more this happens, the more I’m starting to think that Brain does this shtick on purpose to emotionally and mentally disarm people who would otherwise suspect that he’s not human. The fact that it works shows you just how idiotic the human beings of this world are.

“Well, fine, we all need a hobby but…will you ride my horse?”

Oh, sir, I think it’s much more than a hobby at this point. If only you knew…

“I shall ride! And win!”

His design is a little odd here, but it’s still a good pose.

So Brain next has to be weighed to make sure he meets the requirements.

“Saddle: Seven pounds. Saddle and rider: Seven pounds 3 ounces.”

So if you can recall from the previous rewatch post, a house mouse on average weighs 19g, and a common wood mouse weighs 23g (it can be up for debate which type of mouse Brain is).  Converting Brain’s 3 ounces of weight to grams would result in him weighing 85.0486g.

Brain does have a bit of a cute little potbelly thing going on, but he’s also consistently much smaller in height and width than the average adult mouse in the series. I think the incredible difference in weight is mostly coming from the heft of Brain’s, well, brain and skull…and the muscle mass packed into that tiny body to help keep him upright.

“A genetically perfect jockey! This is fantastic!”

Please don’t phrase it like that.

“…Let’s look into early retirement.”

That jockey on the left is going through some shit, man. He looks like how I feel after working an eight hour shift on the holidays.

And so we skip to the beginning of the race!

That poor, poor jockey…who changed colour schemes for some reason.

There’s Phar Fignewton with a jockey who honestly looks like he’s high.

And here’s our little mousey fella, who has somehow managed to make this aggressive horse obedient.

“Camptown race is five miles long, do-dah, do-dah.~”

He’s so happy he’s singing to himself! This is honestly so precious that I completely forgive him for not getting the lyrics correct.

Coincidentally, Daddy’s Little Angel is positioned next to Phar Fignewton.

“Ooh, isn’t this exciting, Brain?”

Uh oh.

“Pinky, what are you doing here? Your weight will disrupt my winning calculations!”

I don’t know if it’d be that off, Brain. The combined weight of two mice is still much less than that of a human jockey.

“But Brain, it’s too exciting! I—“

[TARGET LOCKED]

“Oooh! Heh. Hello.~”

I think I’m going to save my thoughts on this whole…thing until the end. Right now I will say, however, that I wasn’t quite expecting the tongue-hanging-out-of-gaping-mouth lovestruck/horny??? reaction.

“Pinky, the race is starting!”

Too late, Brain.

And we’re off!

Bye, Pinky.

“There’s baloney in our slacks…~”

Pfft.

So as the race goes on, we get to know a few more of the horses’ names: Isle of Yap (a nice callback to the first PatB short), Flamiel (which is apparently the WB writers’ favourite word?), and Leggo-my-Egoiste (a double reference to an old Eggo slogan and the name of a cologne).

The other jockeys are more than a little surprised by Brain and his steed taking the lead early in the race.

Phar Fignewton is trailing way behind.

Meanwhile, Pinky’s woken up from fainting, seeing the oncoming horses—

--and promptly freaks out and stumbles back down again.

“Victory, she waits for me! Oh, the do-dah-day!”

You really have to stop tempting fate like this, Brain.

Phar Fignewton’s very tired, but what’s this?

Is that…Pinky in harm’s way?

ThePowerOfLove.mp3

Determined and fueled by her inexplicable crush, Phar Fignewton starts gaining ground on the other horses.

Brain didn’t calculate for this!

…Oh! Hi, Warners! Looks like they’re cheering Phar on.

“Oh no! Yah! Yah! Yah!”

I didn’t think whips were allowed in races like the Kentucky Derby, but apparently they are. Their use was only restricted—not banned—in the summer of 2020, which is alarming to say the least.

On a different note, I know some of you folks are now jotting down the fact that Brain knows how to use a whip. I see you.

She makes the save!

And she also wins the race! Way to go, Phar Fignewton!

“In the words of the great Willie Shoemaker: ‘Nuts!’”

It was a good try, Brain, but honestly I’m glad you failed this time if only so that you wouldn’t embarrass yourself with your actual world domination plan’s failure later. Maybe take a couple nights off to rest up a bit and formulate plans that aren’t totally bonkers, hmm?

I might as well go ahead and talk about this now. I…am conflicted on this whole Phar Fignewton thing. It makes for a very strange one-off joke about Pinky instantly falling in love with a distaff counterpart of his that’s a horse for whatever reason…but the fact that she’s not a one-off character is baffling in and of itself. Like I’ve said before, she’s mentioned a couple of times going forward as being Pinky’s girlfriend, or as a bizarre joke at Pinky’s expense about him being in/having been in a relationship with a horse. There’s even a small running gag about Pinky’s reaction to people’s disgust about it: “People can be so intolerant!”. I don’t know if the joke is supposed to be one about racial segregation or a wink and nod to queer folks in the only way that the writers could get away with in a cartoon at the time (in a “see, Pinky’s down for a relationship with anyone, even outside of his species!” type of way).

Phar Fignewton herself is a sweetie but besides that she has no personality to speak of and we’re just meant to assume based on physical appearance that she is equivalent to Pinky. And like, she hasn’t been uplifted to human levels of intelligence and sapience like Pinky has because of Acme Labs, but she seems to be naturally sapient for some unknown reason and just simply unable to speak English.

On top of all this, the relationship is very shallow and the only reason we’re given as to why Pinky likes her is because he finds her pretty. It’s perfectly in character for Pinky to easily fall in love, as he does so with other animals a couple more times in the spin-offs, but it just feels weird that this is the one that sticks around purely to become a running gag that gets mentions that are sometimes literal years apart from one another.

And listen, I know the writers most likely made this a thing just because they thought it was a funny joke and a few of them managed to remember about Phar and would use Pinky dating her as a gag. I know this. But it doesn’t make it any less confusing and weird. I remember the jokes about Pinky and horses from way back when I first watched Animaniacs and the PatB spin-off when I was a kid and I never had any context for it because I don’t think I ever saw this specific episode. Coming back as an adult and seeing all these episodes in order and watching this one in particular and finding out the context is “Pinky thinks a horse is pretty and the horse and him are in love and long-distance dating now” is both underwhelming and leaves me with more questions than answers.

…Also, if my earlier theories on why the writers made this joke are correct, does this mean Phar Fignewton is metatextually a beard for Pinky?

I just don’t know, folks. You’re welcome to leave your thoughts on this in comments.

Let’s wrap this up.

So as we can see, Brain is, as usual, back to work on another plan that involves—

—a goddamn cannon, holy shit! What is he using the glue for? That’s a little ominous, given what’s been involved in this episode.

There’s a hammering noise in the background and we see Pinky putting up a photo of Phar Fignewton.

“Pinky, will you please stop that? I’m trying to concentrate on tomorrow night!”

Wow, you’re more irritable than usual, Brain. I didn’t think some delicate hammering would annoy you that much.

“Mwah!~”

…Despite my ramblings earlier, that’s very cute of you, Pinky. I’m sure you could’ve gotten a better photo, though.

“Why, Brain, what’re we gonna do tomorrow night?”

Try to take over the world, of course! Right, Brain?

“Guess.”

…

Umm, wow. That’s a first. You look like you’re absolutely enraged, Brain. All this over some hammering sounds?

This had me taken aback a bit when I watched it the first time, not gonna lie. We’ve seen Brain after a plan’s failure plenty of times before. He’s been frustrated, sure. Humiliated at times, or maybe he just sighs in resignation and walks off into the sunset. It always ends with him simply using these feelings to fuel the fire in him to do better tomorrow night.

This is the very first time we’ve seen him jumpy and irritated at the most minor of things and so angry that he literally refuses to participate normally in his and Pinky’s shared catchphrase. And this was for a plan that was just to fund the real plan! So why is this time any different?

Oh.

OH.

Okay, that’s… That makes a lot of sense, actually. Damn.

Hey, fanfic writers? Ya’ll ever use this as the very first time Brain experiences romantic jealousy? Let me know.

“Oh yeah, try to take over the world. Right.”

I think even Pinky’s put off by this development, if his hesitant and quiet finishing of the saying is anything to go by.

And that’s what we end off with.

All in all, this episode is a wild ride of strangeness in small moments and bizarre additions to lore and ends on the first subversion of the long-running closing gag of the series. It’s not exactly a great episode, but that ending is intriguing enough for one of the main purposes of this rewatch. In short, I’m just baffled.

Luckily the next episode is much better. Next time, the mice head on down to Tennessee to seek world domination via country music.

See you then!

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Gashadokuro

Debut: Takiyasha the Witch and the Skeleton Spectre

Skeletons! What would we do without them? Not only are they great for like, letting us not be blobs of flesh, but they make great monsters in nearly every situation! You need some kind of undead creature to fill in for you? Whether it's wielding a sword or doing a funny jig, skeletons will always have your back!

But the Japanese don’t do monsters like the rest of us. They’re not content with sticking to the status quo. They like to think outside the box! For example, once they said “what if a skeleton was like, really really big?” And everyone clapped. 

Enter the Gashadokuro! It means rattling skull! I guess. As much as I like reading about yōkai, my info is limited to English sources... Wikipedia says it means “starving skeleton”, but I can’t find anything to back that up! Regardless, they are made up of the remains of people who died from starvation. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a giant creature that died to give birth to a giant skeleton, but you know what? I think this is cooler! Isn’t it fun learning about these crazy monsters from old legends?

Hold on, which old legends? There aren’t any! It might've fooled you and many others, the Gashadokuro is a very recent creation- as recent as the 1970s, actually! Born from late 20th century boys’ magazines and illustrated encyclopedias, the concept of A Really Big Skeleton soon captured the hearts of people all over Japan! With a little help from manga legend and yōkai dad Shigeru Mizuki (see: GeGeGe no Kitaro), they really consolidated themselves as a resident Funny Monster like they’d been here all along!

Wait... Have they been here all along? You might’ve noticed that Mizuki’s illustration seems nearly copied from this old woodblock print: Takiyasha the Witch and the Skeleton Spectre, by Utagawa Kuniyoshi! To put a long story short, it’s about the daughter of a rebellious samurai (he was decapitated and brought back to life, but thats another story) who stayed in her father’s manor after his death. Thanks to a pact with a demon/wizard/demon wizard (there's a few versions to the story), she was able to scare away the emperor’s officials by summoning a horde of demons! But our pal Kuniyoshi took some artistic liberty, making her summon a giant skeleton, instead!

So basically, even though the Gashadokuro is pretty recent, their most famous depiction predates the existence of the Gashadokuro in the first place! I’m sure there’s some real purists who don’t think these yōkai should count, but I say that makes it so much better! After all, the whole fun of it is being part of a living, breathing culture!

Speaking of living culture, another fun part about yōkai is spotting them in all your favorite cartoons and games! So under the cut, some cartoons and games.

 Of course I gotta talk about Yo-kai Watch! Specifically, Gutsy Bones from Yo-kai Watch 2, and his trusted ‘Crank-a-Kai’ gashapon machine! Get it? Cause, the “gasha” in “gashadokuro” sounds like the “gasha” in “gashapon”? (Well, they do both use the onomatopoeia for rattling!) On that note, I’ve tried out some of those “gatcha games” that are all the rage these days, and none of them have any giant skeletons, so like, what gives?

As of Yo-kai Watch 3, Gutsy Bones is now one of the few befriendable boss Yo-kai. Hooray! They had to shrink him down a bit, but they let him have legs this time. He’s not very good at being a giant skeleton now, but a regular skeleton is just as good, right?

Castlevania Aria of Sorrow has a boss called the Creaking Skull, which is a rather literal translation of Gashadokuro. On that note, Castlevania has a lot of funny skeletons. A LOT of funny skeletons! I could write a very long post about them all, but Mod Hooligon has already subjected you guys to enough torture.

There’s a Gashadokuro in Okamiden, too! Quite a few of these are missing their lower bodies, huh? I guess it does look obscured in the woodblock print, after all. 

Here’s the Gashadokuro from Nioh! Scary! I don’t exactly know much of anything about Nioh, but I do know it has lots of yōkai, so it gets a pass from me! Hooray for yōkai!

The Gashadokuro in Yu-Gi-Oh is looking pretty decked out, what with their armor and flames and all! Good for them! I don’t even know what a mayakashi is, but it’s probably cool right?

Here’s Shin Megami Tensei, hitting us up again with some demons! This one has a G on his forehead, presumably standing for Gashadokuro. Or Gario. I don’t know much about SMT either, but I’d probably like it for the monsters! Anything is better with some monsters.

I mentioned GeGeGe no Kitaro before, but did you know the Gashadokuro has appeared in nearly every Kitaro adaptation, plus the live-action movie and a handful of video-games? I suppose it’s only fitting, considering its connection to Shigeru Mizuki. Speaking of, there’s a Gashadokuro on Shigeru Mizuki Road, too!

Man, I’m totally rambling at this point, but I’d love to go to Shigeru Mizuki Road.

Whew! That’s a lot of skeletons! You certainly won’t be lacking in calcium after this post! Thanks for sticking with me this long! So to bid you farewell, I’d like to remind you to keep your skulls a-rattling... And all your other bones, too!

[bastillewolf]

Midnight In Sheffield (I)

Pairing: Alex Turner/Reader

Summary: When a soon-to-be-wedded insomniac author heads back home to visit her parents, she comes across the likes of a mysterious musician on her sleepless escapade in the AM.

Notes: Not sure if this is going to work out, but I’ve made the creative decision to write a series of Alex Turner fanfics, going down each album and all most likely lightly based off movies. Like the Grand Tranquility Hotel from the Grand Budapest Hotel, this one is based off Midnight In Paris. No need to have seen either movies to read these fics. It won’t take place around the same time, as Sheffield has been through some stuff in the early 1900s. I will keep it all a bit old-school themed, but just won’t name a specific era, so you can take your own spin on it. I’m not familiar with Sheffield at all, never been there, so I’ll keep locations vague and add the Paris theme a bit in there. Hope you tag along for the ride, and let’s have one for the road.

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list!

Chapter I - AM

“I don’t see how this could be more important to you than meeting my parents,” she grumbled, her voice muffled by the pillow she had planted her face in. The sheets of the bed were soft and had a pristine white colour, much to her dismay. The entire hotel room was much too extravagant to her liking, but it was Mark who insisted on paying extra to make their stay most comfortable.

“Please don’t be difficult now, sweetheart,” her fiancée replied, as he set one of his neatly folded trousers in the dresser on the shelf next to where his ironed shirts hung. “You know how much it means to me to be able to see James and Rachel again after all these years. I’m sure your parents will understand. If not, I’ll beg for their forgiveness.” He dramatically bent down to his knee, as if to gallantly portray his apology, making her roll her eyes.

“That wouldn’t be the first thing you’d have to apologize for. First of all, you’re going to have to tell my dad why you didn’t ask for his permission to marry me-“

“You already said yes!”

She shot him a look. “And secondly, you’re going to have to explain to my mum why you didn’t want to stay at their home. I think she would’ve been very happy to play hostess to the man who’s going to marry her daughter in a few.”

He crawled on top of the bed, his curly brown hair hanging over his face as he hovered above her and kissed her forehead. “I’ll be sure to make up for it. Now, please get changed. We’re having lunch.”

“Please don’t tell me it’s going to be at that ritzy restaurant we went to last time. I’m still not over the way that waiter felt the need to explain everything to me like a five-year-old whilst pointing everything out with his little finger.”

“Well, you can’t speak French, darling. I think he tried his best at explaining the menu to you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Just, please stop drooling on the pillow and put on something nice. For me?”

Seeing the convincing puppy look on his face, she gave in with a sigh and a very loud slurping noise as she lifted her head from the pillow, making Mark huff.

 Meeting with James and Rachel wasn’t the worst thing in the world, because she didn’t see them very often and they were overall nice people. At least, if you didn’t count every time James tried to be the smartass of the group by giving some random fact about anything and everything they came across, or if you ignored the way Rachel was evidently very flirty and touchy with Mark, or if you turned your head away every time the couple made those wretched kissing noises as they shared what should be an intimate moment.

What Mark had with Rachel was something she could never come between, something she also shared with many good friends of her own. They were the type who would always share that bond with you, no matter how long you hadn’t seen each other, and she could only be happy that Mark still had friends like that.

His work as a lawyer didn’t allow for him to make all that many mates, as most try to stab him in the back just to be able to get that promotion they wanted. He’d often come home with his head hung low after days like that, when loneliness took over the pride he had of his usually exhilarating job.

And thus, as she watched Rachel hug him extra tight, she kept her mouth shut. It was for the best, and it was only one afternoon she had to endure.

But she vowed to herself to not let it happen at her wedding. That was her day. Fuck Mark and fuck Rachel. She wasn’t going to be left alone dancing with James, who seemed to be known for having two left feet, by her own husband. But that was something she’d have to worry about in the future.

Her worries now were trying to translate a French menu without asking a waiter, deciding which fork to use, and refraining from telling James to shut up about the painting that hung behind him, of which he was giving an entirely unnecessarily intricate description.

“As you can see, the painter made sure the flag of the boat is standing diagonal to the man in the front, to make the artwork a treat for the eye with this interesting form of composition. It makes the scene all the more dramatic, wouldn’t you agree?”

Mark and Rachel hummed thoughtfully, but both were looking at the painting as if it was some Professor Layton puzzle they had yet to solve.

“What do you think?” James turned to her directly, catching her off guard. James usually wasn’t one to ask others for their opinion, so she could only guess it was an attempt to test her bare knowledge on the subject to make himself look like the smarter one.

“I think you said it all, James,” she decided to answer with, “I’m afraid I haven’t thought about art in that way since my classes in school. As of now, I have more important things to worry about than what the composition in a painting is like.”

It was low of her, she knew that, but someone needed to teach him a lesson.

“Ah,” James said, seemingly unfazed by her subtle insult, “Now that you mention it, how’s your book coming along?”

She sighed. Of course, he was going to play that card. She could’ve seen it coming.

Being a published writer of a few mediocre novels she’d written back in school, she was still in search for her new muse, and things were getting a bit desperate, to say the least. She had absolutely no idea what her next story was going to be about, finding everything in her life to be inexplicably boring and explicitly dull.

Not so much to say she wasn’t happy. No, she liked being with Mark. But she couldn’t say her life was a real adventure with him, or anyone for that matter. They lived in an apartment in the big city, where Mark had his day job and she her comfortable bed. He’d come home and she would’ve cooked – whatever attempt it was each time – and cleaned, and perhaps even written down a page or two only to never look at it again.

“Oh, you know. It’s getting there,” she lied, “Inspiration is lacking a bit these days, unfortunately.”

“I’ve always found inspiration to be a bit of a myth,” James said thoughtfully, “Why is it exactly that one particular thing that’s so inexplicable yet so necessary to create something? It seems a bit… I don’t know, like an excuse for some writers. I’ve heard many talk about it seriously, and many call it pure laziness. But then again, I wouldn’t really know much of the matter.”

There was the comeback.

She smiled tightly. “No, you wouldn’t. I can agree that some writers use it as an excuse to hide their laziness, as I find that a lot of characters write their own stories as soon as you sit down and start typing. However, inspiration is indeed something vague, and could be considered a writer’s virtue or downfall. It’s however you approach the subject, and however you try to deal with it or rationalize it as an artist.”

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have even mentioned it. I wouldn’t know much about it, since I’m only an art consultant, after all.” He threw his hands up degradingly.

Fucker.

“Oh, come on, let’s not be so childish. All of our work is equally as important, as long as we’re happy doing it,” Rachel intervened, before raising her glass, “Here’s a toast to inspiration and art!”

Though she was relieved the argument was over and the attention drawn away from her, she couldn’t help but feel that familiar itch from the downgrading undertone in Rachel’s voice. Call it jealousy if you might, but she wasn’t one to let something like that slip from her mind, however many years may pass.

“So, if I may be so bold to ask,” Rachel continued, and the writer had almost collected her guts to blatantly reply with a ‘no’ when the woman was already speaking again, “What are your plans after the wedding? Are you moving? Already thinking about having kids? No pressure, of course.” She laughed with a pitch so high it nearly shattered the wineglass she was bringing to her lips to pieces.

“Oh, she always gets a bit icky talking about having kids,” Mark chuckled, “But if it were up to her, we’d be moving to some remote village in the outskirts of France, living in a tiny apartment until we grow old and turn to dust.”

She shrugged at her fiancée, “Doesn’t sound all that bad to me.”

“That’s because you came up with it.”

“Don’t you want to be closer to your friends?” Rachel asked, “Why move to the middle of nowhere, when you have everything out here?”

“I don’t know. I guess because of the peace and quiet. A simple life, with the bare necessities.”

“I wouldn’t have protested if it wasn’t for my job,” Mark added, which was a blatant lie. She’d heard him cut off her dream many times over for many different reasons. “Unfortunately, my French isn’t good enough to be a lawyer, and certainly not in the outskirts somewhere.”

“I thought you barely spoke a word of French, anyway?” James asked her.

“I know, but I would learn it there. It would be a part of the adventure.”

He snorted, “I’m sorry darling, but adventure is for children. It’s time to grow out of that. Perhaps you should find something you like in a proper job.”

 She’d prompted to walk back to the hotel, through the rain, as Mark, James and Rachel – mostly Mark – had tried to convince her to share a cab with them. But no way in hell would she spend another unnecessary moment with that couple, and Mark knew better than to follow her out, for she would only be walking too quickly for him, and he would have quietly trailed after her the whole way back.

So, when she finally reached the building, he allowed her to soak in the tub for a few hours before finally approaching her.

“He has a point, you know.”

The look she gave him was an evident warning, yet he still had the guts to continue. “I’m not saying you should stop writing. I know that’s your passion. But, I’m asking you to maybe find something that could come close to that in the meantime, at least until you find something to write about. And perhaps, after we get married-“ he kissed her wrinkly palm, “-we could afford ourselves a nice vacation cot somewhere in the outskirts of France, and we could visit it as often as we’d like.”

She pursed her lips, turning her eyes away from his pensively. “I’m not sure your job would allow that. Your vacation days would be limited, and my desires to go on a holiday always growing.”

He smiled gently. “I’m sure we could work it out after I get that promotion.”

She looked at him, her eyes slightly glossy. “I just don’t want to feel like I’m giving up.”

“You’re not giving up, sweetheart. You’re only taking measures to be able to do the things you like, and when things are going well you can set your priorities straight. It’s the better thing to do.”

Her mind might be relieved to hear this solution, but her gut remained ridden with unease.

 “Mark? Are you coming?” she called out, her hand hovering over the doorknob of their room.

“I’ll be right after you!” she heard him say, “Work is phoning me, you go ahead. I’ll take the next cab.”

“Alright, but don’t be too long!”

 They were supposed to meet with their parents that evening to share the big news, but after hugs were shared and multiple cups of tea were had, Mark still hadn’t shown. She was beginning to grow worried when he didn’t pick up his phone, and even went as far as to step outside to frantically see if the connection was better.

After eight missed calls, she finally reached him.

“Can you believe it?” she heard him slur, “I stepped into the same cab as James! We’re at the pub, you should come join!”

Hearing faint noises of protest from others on the other end of the line, she quickly grew more and more bothered. “Mark, we were supposed to see my parents tonight.”

“Oh, we can see them again tomorrow! I figured you needed some catching up to do.”

“You could’ve joined in on that catching up, as they’ve barely seen you three times over the past four years we’ve been together.”

“Please don’t be like that sweetheart, you know I adore your parents. In fact, I’ll come over right now if that’s what you-“

“No,” she quickly cut him off, not being able to stand the mental sight of her parents having to deal with her drunk fiancée. “You know what, have fun. I’ll stay at my parents’ for the night.”

“Sounds like fun! Call me-“

She’d hung up the phone before he could finish his sentence, and had dropped to her knees as she felt her bottom lip tremble. Not wanting to alert the neighbours, she quickly forced her numb legs to work again and strode in the direction of town, a walking route she usually took whenever she was upset when she was young. She sent a quick text to her mum, telling her she’d meet again with them tomorrow and explain what happened. She really couldn’t be bothered right now.

Tears streamed down her face at the thought that her feet were so unwilling to go back to face her parents, who she’d have to disappoint yet again with a disappearing soon-to-be son-in-law. It wasn’t that she couldn’t tell her parents about her problems, it was the thought of disappointing them once again with a mistake she was making.

A horrible, horrible mistake.

She was no longer aware of which way she’d gone, as all shops around her seemed unfamiliar, yet she could’ve sworn she hadn’t messed up any turns in her route.

Wherever she was though, was a beautifully quaint, with antique streetlights and a cobbled road. Shop windows held curtains made from white lace, and showed off vintage clothes and items for a real bargain.

Must be one of those vintage sales, she figured, as her eyes grazed along cars with brands that were so old she couldn’t remember the names of them. Stores like these must attract the more interesting people with vehicles like those.

It was when she saw a polished and brand-new-looking typewriter in one of the windows, she paused. Above it, she saw her own reflection; a puffy reddened face stained with an ongoing array of tears.

“I really hope you’re not crying because you want that typewriter so awfully bad,” a voice spoke.

She whipped around, coming face to face with a man who was giving her a kind look. His eyes were hazel, matching the brown suit he wore, and his head shaved to a buzzcut. He had sharp features, and still looked awfully British.

“I- Uh… No, I’m not,” she stuttered, trying to wipe the waterworks away with her sleeve.

The man then held out a folded cotton handkerchief to her, along with a smile as an attempt to cheer her up. She gratefully accepted both.

“Not any bloke I’d need to beat up, is there?”

She laughed blubberingly, “I don’t think that would be the solution to my problems, but thank you.”

“Thank god,” he huffed, “Because to be quite honest, I can’t throw a punch for the life of me. I would’ve had to ask one of my mates to do it for me, and cheer him on as he’d won my own fight.”

“I don’t think that would count as your fight,” she chuckled.

“Defending a lady’s honour is always my fight,” he replied. He shook his head, “Apologies for the rudeness, miss. Haven’t even properly introduced myself. I’m Miles.”

She gave him her own name, “and it’s nice to meet you, Miles. May I ask what you’re doing about this late?”

He gave her a strange look, “Why, it’s the perfect hour, why wouldn’t I be about? The night has only just started, and one of my close mates is preforming in the pub nearby. Want to join?”

She only took a moment to hesitate, before wilfully agreeing. “Sure.”

[mrneighbourlove]

Digging up Trouble: Ch 1. Plover and the Crocodile

"Fuck off you bastards! And don't you come back!"

Leere took the bow and fired off another arrow just for good measure. She knew Al-Daida could be dangerous, but she had hoped to avoid conflict by staying under the radar and being foreign. Heading back to the archaeological grounds, she checked on her team. At the age of 25, Leere's current passion was discovering ancient treasures across the world. Her latest search brought her to the dunes of Al-Daida, looking for the remains of princess of Hyrule that married a matriarch of Al-Daida thousands of years ago. She hoped to find the remains of the princess and return her to Hyrule. The site was discovered three days into their arrival, and her team opened up a massive underground tomb. Each layer would take days of work to uncover, which made work slow. What started the trouble was finding a trove of jewels that had been buried away. All it took was slip of the tongue from one of crew mates and word spread fast. A group of bandits tried to raid them when they were tired after a day of work.

Returning to camp, Leere was thankful no one was killed. A few injuries and the account only herself and the one Goron she brought with her could fight put a pit in her stomach. They couldn't afford to work by themselves now. After putting it to a vote with her crew, they decided to buy some protection from the local government.

The next morning, when things were calm, Leere journeyed an hour out towards the city by herself. Walking through the markets, she tried to not pry too much on the towns on goings. Adjusting her hat, she made her way up to the palace gates. "Excuse me? Is this the home of Matriarch Fayruz?"

"What business do you have here?" The guard asked Leere, not allowing her to pass into the palace just yet. Visitors were frowned upon by the matriarch unless an appointment was previously set. There were only a few exceptions, like that one defeated royal lady from a couple of years back. "The matriarch's time is very precious and she does not like to be disturbed. Do you have an appointment set with her?"

"I do not. But I seek her help. I am Doctor Dragmire, archaeologist of Hyrule. My team has recently come under attack by bandits, and I wish to strike a bargain with her for our safety." When the man only raised an eyebrow, Leere sighed. She didn't like throwing her royal title around, especially when outside of her own country, but she supposed she might get more help from a royal if she was recognized as one. "I'm also known as a Princess of Hryule."

"... I will send a messenger. Please wait." The guard had no patience for dealing with issues like this. There were plenty of princesses, princes, kings, and queens in the world, but only one matriarch. She would decide if she wanted to receive this supposed 'daughter' of Hyrule. She did not look like any Hylian he ever encountered. The servant returned with a whisper in the guard's ear. "Fine. You may pass."

"Thank you."

Leere was escorted inside the chambers of the palace. As she entered, she politely took her hat off. The Doctor had heard rumours of certain monarchs nailing hats into the heads of rude guests who refused to remove them. Looking at a pool, her red eyes grew three sizes at the sight of a massive crocodile relaxing in the sun. She then laid her gaze upon a tanned skinned woman with horns upon her head. Holding her hat, Leere politely gave a gentle bow of the head. "Matriarch Fayruz, I presume?"

"That I am, and you, my child, a supposed 'princess' of Hyrule?" Fayruz got right to the point. She had her servants attending to her every need. One was blocking the sun with a rather large elephant leaf, while another had a tray of fruit and cheese for her to enjoy. "You are... very different than any Hylian I've ever seen. Something tells me you are not exactly Hylian."

"It's true I'm no Hylian. My name is Leere Dragmire, adopted daughter of Ganondorf and Zelda."

"Ah, adopted. That makes much more sense now." Fayruz stood from her fainting couch and greeted Leere with a wave of open arms. "I am Matriarch Fayruz Ola. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, though I have to say, I am surprised." The Nara then crossed one arm over the other, while an expression of puzzlement adorned her face. "To find one of you here of all places."

"I came to your lands in search of the tomb of Queen Wannaba. She was an ancient princess of Hyrule who long ago married a Matriarch of Al-Daida, although back then I believe they might have been known as Pharaohs. I was hoping to return her body and secrets to Hyrule. Unfortunately, I hit a snag. May I sit down?"

"The majestic Pharoah Walijah, also known as Wannaba to foreigners." Fayruz chuckled with a soft smile. "I understand, some names are hard to say in various tongues." She clapped her hands and the servants provided Leere with a chair. "Though, you do know that the beliefs of our people say that lovers are to be together?"

Leere nodded. "I hope you don't think me a thief. Truth is, my kingdom, well, I merely acquire what she was buried with. They say the Queen was highly fascinated with death, studying the living dead as well as the realm of the dead. She left an artifact upon the surface with her King before dying, but she was buried with some personal pieces, as well as instructions on where one could find what she left behind. Unfortunately, she also was buried with a massive amount of treasure. And that's where my problems have arrived. The moment word of treasure spread outside my crew, bandits organized and attack my site. I was barely able to push back a small raid on my own. I've journeyed here today in hopes that I could strike a bargain with you that could grant me and my crew protection."

"There is a difference between a thief and a scholar hoping to study history, but Al-Daida likes to hold onto their dead." Fayruz listened to Leere's suggestion of a bargain. The matriarch really had no interest in this historical dig. The dead were in the afterlife, where the worries of life and the pressures of being a ruler were no more. Yet, the dead were to be respected. "What is your bargain?"

"There are sure to be many historical treasures that are native to Al-Daida alone. I originally was going to sell them to merchants and scholars across the country. However, I would like to offer these finds exclusively to you. You can also have 25% of the jewels I uncover. Does this satisfy you?"

"This does, however, I do have one condition of my own." Fayruz informed Leere. "Princess Walijah stays here. It is not proper to separate lovers in my culture who are bound by the soul."

"Agreed." Leere was thankful. It was nice to secure a bargain so quickly. Standing up, she went to shake the Matriarchs hand. "You know, you're shorter than I expected."

Fayruz actually laughed at Leere's observation while the servants looked upon the foreigner with large eyes. No one was ever so straightforward with the matriarch. At least she was amused, that was a good sign. "True, I am not as... what is the translation in Hylian?" Fayruz thought for a moment and then said, "I believe it is 'butch' as the other females here?"

"Nothing wrong with being butch or not being so. You're still taller than myself. I have to ask, is the blue around your eyes part of your skin or eyeliner? I assume the yellow must be part of your genetic makeup rather than tattoos." Leere had a truly fascinated look in her eyes. "I've never met a people that have varied so colorfully from individual to individual."

"That is kohl, dear, we Al-Daidans have a variety of skin tones." Fayruz mused at Leere's starry look. It seemed the princess was rather fascinated with the culture of her people. There were plenty of brothels the woman could visit if she wished, but the matriarch was not sure if it was appropriate. Hylian people had certain sensitivities to the talk of sex. At least, that was what the matriarch was told. "Tattoos are seen here as a piece of art. You ought to visit one of our tattoo artists for one if you'd like."

"Oh, one tattoo is enough for me, but thank you." Leere gave Fayruz a smile. "I'd like to extend the offer to check in on the dig anytime you wish."

"I appreciate the offer, but Naunet is not a big fan of the desert." Fayruz motioned to her huge crocodile who was crawling out of the pool. "She likes her patches of sunshine, but is a little too prissy to get sand under her claws. However, if you need any translations, please let me know."

“If it’s from your tongue, a translation would be marvellous.” Leere gave the Matriarch a wink as she made her way out. “I’m going to inform my crew of your generosity. Thank you once again Matriarch.”

"Don't worry, dear, my marvelous pets will ensure your camps will not be disturbed." Fayruz certainly noted the princess was a flirty one. Perhaps the 'proper' customs of Hyrule never stuck with her. Or maybe she was simply curious.

~

Fayruz meant exactly what she said when referring to pets. Marvelous sand rays, the size of craters, sailed through the desert. The talented riders made sure to encircle the camp to protect it, taking shifts here and there.

Leere and her team had made marvellous progress, digging down to the second level. She had spent two weeks at the site now, carefully cataloguing and studying her findings. Eventually, they came across the doorway to the third and final floor, where the ancient Queen’s remains should remain. Inside the door chamber, she found hieroglyphs giving warnings about the book of the dead, the staff of ghosts, and the crown of life. Littered on the wall were multiple priest masks, which Leere took.

After some inspection she deduced none of the masks held any curses. After some deliberation, she thought the colourful masks could make a good gift to the matriarch. Sending a request out, she wanted to know if the Matriach would host a small party for her dig team.

"Matriarch, I do not know why you entertain that desert digger and her team." Bennu scoffed as he read the letter that Leere sent, requesting a small audience and a party celebrating their discovery. "We should have chased her out. The dead are not to be disturbed."

"I know, my mate, I do not necessarily like the idea of her digging into the tombs of our ancestors, yet this one had a Hylian bride." Fayruz reminded her husband gently. "And shared blood ties have the right since she is a princess of Hyrule."

"Adopted princess, not true blood."

"While that may be, she is offering us money for her efforts and our protection."

Another Nara bowed gently to the Matriarch and Bennu. "How do we know for sure she is a princess? These tomb raiders are sly and dishonorable people. It doesn't matter how much money she throws us if she is seeking an even greater prize."

A fourth, a noble visiting, nodded. "Matriarch Fayruz, I have seen this Doctor Dragmire. Her red eyes and pale skin betray what she is. A Mortuus. I have owned a handful over the years."

"There are portraits in historical books of every royal born or adopted. Check the archives if you wish." Fayruz dismissed their worries. "Besides, if she does try to get away, the sand rays already have her in sight. They can simply eat her and we can take what she tries to steal. Do not fret, I always am one step ahead." She then arched an eyebrow. "Do you not believe in my capabilities? Perhaps you'd like to continue the discussion with Bennu? Or my beautiful Naunet instead?"

This first Nara bowed, quickly shaking his head. "No my Matriarch."

The lord shook his head, sighing. "Sand Rays would be such a waste~" ________________________________________________________________

Crossover Story with @ridersoftheapocalypse

Next Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/643133699902390272/digging-up-trouble-ch-2-picking-out-a-book

[adozentothedawn]

Saint Waidwen The Musical The Justification

This is an explanation for something I wrote in this fanfiction. Go read it maybe if you haven’t? :) But if you don’t have the time or interest, the relevant thing for this is that I mention a controversial musical adaption of the story of Saint Waidwen in Readceras.

Yeah, so first of all, I just really wanted this to be a thing because musicals about weird things are just my jam. I can however justify why this could totally be a thing! I’m aware that I don’t have to, but I just really want to write this, so I will. Now sit down and listen.

(Also you might know a lot of these things already, but I don’t know what they teach in your countries so I’ll just explain the basics.)

Let’s start off with why anyone would ever do this anyway. 

First of all, people make musicals about weird shit all the time in reality, so why not in Eora. Like look at Les Mis. Does that scream “musical” to you? And, yet it’s pretty cool! 

Second of all, Art moves in cycles. To explain this, I’ll use german literature, because that’s what I learnt in school and therefore know a few things about. Let’s begin at the era of the “Aufklärung” (enlightenment I guess? It’s an era of literature from about 1720 to 1790. Note also that eras can’t be distinctly seperated, they do go on simultaniously for a while). This was the time of logic and reason first and foremost. Art had to be practical, without actually having to serve a purpose. So after a while of this going on, there were a bunch of young people who decided, fuck that. We want emotion to be important again! Among those people were for example Ghoete and Schiller, two names you might know, because they’re kind of famous. So there were these young men (and they were almost exclusively men unfortunately) who started writing plays and poems which are based on extreme emotion and the idea of the natural genius (genius is a relative term here, the characters were still kinda dumb, but they were very poetic about it), instead of sticking nicely to the idea of reason. This era is called “Sturm und Drang” (roughly: storm and urge, these are really hard to translate. Also they’re names, so they’re not really supposed to be translated anyway). Now these young people weren’t young forever though, so they grew up at some point (or died, but you get the point). Both Goethe and Schiller decided at some point that that stuff they wrote was kinda cringy and started writing other things, more focused on harmony, beauty and (as in the Aufklärung) tolerance, as opposed to the more forceful and often tragic Sturm und Drang. This was then called the “Weimarer Klassik” (Weimar being the cultural centre of germany at the time and Klassik as in classic). And then after a while, a new generation of young people decided that that was dumb and started someting called the “Romantik” (romance, not necessarily as in love, but more as in romantifying things). In this time, people wrote about magic, myths and fairy tales, the less realism the better. So you see what’s happening here. One generation says: This is great! The next one says: Fuck that, I’ll make it as different as I can. That generation grows up and decides: eh, maybe let’s tune it down a bit. Then the next generation comes and says: Fuck no! again. Of course there are always some that stick to their style, but that’s the general idea.

Now, how does that apply to my musical idea? For that let’s look at Readceras for minute. Readceras was founded by a bunch of farmers, though there was a tiny elite, as we know because Waidwen managed to win some of them over, most people were pretty poor. Poor people usually don’t have the time or recourses for literature or painting, with music, especially singing, being the most accessable form of art. That’s not to say that farmers don’t make art, weaving and the painting of furniture was a thing for example, but the poorer the people, the less they have to use, even when it’s winter and they’d have time, and Readceras was just pisspoor. Singing doesn’t really need anything, and instruments are reusable if they somehow managed to get one. So chances are, Waidwen and his generation grew up with music as their main form of art. Then the Godhammer happened, which sucked big time for them, and they probably wanted to distance themselves as much as possible from the time before Waidwen and idealize him, which in all likelihood lead to art changing a lot as well. 

Because here’s the thing, art doesn’t just move in cycles, it is also heavily influenced be societal and political happenings (but you probably knew that). For example: the literature era that followed (roughly, it began a bit before the other one ended) the Romatik was the “Biedermaier” (which is a surname and not translatable, you might now it from a furniture style though, that’s pretty big in Austria, not sure how it is where you live), which is a style that was heavily aimed inwards. It was mostly, look how happy my little family is, everything is great, nothing is happening, nothing at all, and could be mostly described as idyllic and quiant. That was, because it was a time of political regression, with the empire getting more authoritarian again and literature being heavily censored. So when Waidwen took the throne art probably already started changing, though he likely didn’t notice much of that as he was kind of busy being king and GOD, and with another traumatic event it would’ve changed even more. So it’s completely feasible that 20 years later the youth would decide to fuck all of that over and go back to find their roots, while changing what they find to fit their style. Admittedly the existance of elves mucks up the timeline a bit, but since the largest group of people there are human anyway, I’ll ignore that. Also, in context with the fanifc I’m writing this for, the timeline is helped by the fact that my Watcher is an Eothas priestess. Might sound weird, but hear me out. Favaen came to the Dyrwood as a missionary, and though she got sidetracked a bit, that was still her end goal. So after everything was over and she was well established as Taynu of Caed Nua, she made it into a sanctuary for Eothasians started to spread the faith there again. Of course she didn’t achieve too much in 5 years, but she set a trend. With Adaryc spreading word about her in Readceras, that would’ve had an effect there too, at least insofar that the Dyrwood wasn’t completely off limits anymore and leading especially young people who hadn’t lived through the war to be more curious about it.

Now, why would the older people not like that? Well for one, it’s different, and different is bad in Readceras. Also, it reminds them of a time both worse and better. Worse, as in the Aedyran colonial times (because I refuse to belive that Waidwen didn’t change the economy at least a little for the better), and better when their god literally walked among them, which he doesn’t anymore, so it rubs salt into that wound.

Then how can they get away with putting it on at all? That I can answer with absolute certainty, because it is entirely rooted in canon. The Ladies of the Aviary. Worshippers of Hylea which work explicitly to help artists portray their art and avoid censoring. They convince higher up people, or if they cannot be convinced, help the artists avoid detection. They don’t discriminate between good and bad art, and only seek to spread it unchanged and as the artist intended.

And while we’re on worshippers of Hylea, the church of Hylea is known to comission plays and poems about Eothas and Waidwen, specifically as a way to mourn their dissapearance, which certainly had a hand in the musicals creation.

For the last point: why does Waidwen like it? Now, aside from a personal preference I just made up, we established that Waidwen grew up with music. While the rest of his generation may have distanced themselves from that sort of art, Waidwen never had the chance to grow up so to speak. His death was one of the factors in the changing of art and so he never got to experience that. Yes I had to end this post on a sad note.

Thank you for listening to my TED talk that I basically just did because I wanted to rant about literature for a bit.

Here the Soundtrack It’s on Youtube cause I don’t have Spotify. The last song was added after the events of Deadfire btw

[entwinedmoon]

John Torrington: A Portrait of the Stoker as a Young Man

(Previous posts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8)

Different forms of art have depicted Torrington in different ways. In my last post I discussed how in music Torrington seems to be depicted as either some sort of restless spirit or reanimated man-out-of-time, with a focus on his death and the eerie undead appearance of his mummified body. There’s not much of a focus on what he was like when he was alive, with the inspiration for these works coming from the image of his dead body. Sadly, we don’t have any pictures of what he looked like when he was alive, but that doesn’t mean people haven’t tried to imagine it. In fact, Torrington’s depiction in visual artworks often focus more on what he was like when he was alive, with various attempts at reconstructing what he may have looked like before he died and was buried on Beechey.

One of the first attempts at recreating what he may have looked like comes from the Nova documentary “Buried in Ice.” At the very end of the documentary, there are artistic reconstructions of Torrington, Hartnell, and Braine. I’m not entirely sure who the artist was, but the credits list an illustrator, Wayne Schneider, and he may have been the one to draw these. I can’t find the illustrations outside of the documentary, so please forgive the bad quality of the screenshot I had to use below.

Here we have a John Torrington who looks aged before his time. He was only twenty when he died, but judging by the state of his lungs, he probably had a hard life, so he may have looked much older than his years. This is a very serious-looking Torrington, as if he were standing for a portrait or daguerreotype for several minutes and had to stay completely still.

This drawing also gives him almost shoulder-length hair. Owen Beattie was a technical consultant on the documentary, so he probably had a say in what the recreations of the Beechey Boys may have looked like. This makes me think that the hair length shown here is most likely how long his hair actually was. Yes, I know, I’m going on about his hair again, but due to the confusion over what his hair looked like, it tends to vary across artistic depictions, as we shall see.

Another thing of note in this recreation is the noticeable lines around his mouth. In the pictures of Torrington’s mummified body, there are prominent lines around his mouth, but how much of that was due to postmortem distortions and how much would have shown on his face in life is hard to know. The artwork above is not an official forensic facial reconstruction, and even official reconstructions are highly subjective, so this is just one possible interpretation.

There’s another artistic interpretation of Torrington from around the same time. Remember the children’s book Buried in Ice? Well, what’s a kid’s book without some illustrations?

Now that’s the face of a man who got sick of backbreaking, lung-destroying labor in Manchester and said, “Screw it, I’m going to the Arctic.” The hair here is similar to that depicted in the documentary illustration, but the lines around his mouth are softened. The illustrations for this book were done by Janet Wilson, and she brought a liveliness to Torrington’s face that the somber drawing from the documentary greatly lacked. He still has a slightly careworn face, but he looks closer to his actual age. Janet Wilson also did wonderful detailing on the shirt that he was buried in, which he is wearing in her drawing. The kerchief tied around his head in death is here tied around his neck—and I love the inclusion of the blue border around the kerchief, which is not really noticeable in the photos from his exhumation but is noted in the reports on his burial clothes.

I’m fond of this picture because it gives Torrington some personality beyond that of a sad, tragic victim. It makes him seem like a real person who lived, with a bit of a sly and carefree attitude. He also gives off a kind of back alley salesman vibe, like he knows a guy who knows a guy who could sell you a kidney. But I especially like it because he’s smiling as he’s speaking, and after seeing picture after picture of Torrington’s frozen death grimace, I would love to know what he looked like when he smiled.

There’s another artistic reconstruction which I found on YouTube. It’s by artist M.A. Ludwig, who has a YouTube channel (under the name JudeMaris) dedicated to facial reconstructions of various historical figures, including all three of the Beechey Boys. Here’s Ludwig’s interpretation of what Torrington may have looked like:

He looks much younger here than in either of the two previous interpretations. This John Torrington looks like a young man ready for adventure, with hopes and dreams of a long future. He has slightly shorter hair in this interpretation, but also, he’s blond. I’ve noticed confusion online about the color as well as length of Torrington’s hair, with a lot of people these days thinking he’s blond. I think that may have something to do with the wood shavings he’s resting on in photos, which as I discussed in a previous post, some people have confused for his hair. I’ve also encountered a few versions of the usual photos of him where the lighting looks different, resulting in the few visible wisps of his hair looking much lighter than official reports have described them. Interestingly, the blond hair makes him look younger and gives him an innocent and almost naïve appearance, completely different from the sly, I’ve-got-a-bridge-to-sell-you Torrington from the children’s book.

Now I’m going to move on to an artist who is well known to Franklinites. Kristina Gehrmann (@iceboundterror​) is a German illustrator and graphic artist who specializes in works with a historical or fantasy setting. She has drawn many pictures inspired by the Franklin Expedition, and I have bought several of them from her shop on Etsy, including three different versions of the ships Terror and Erebus sailing in the Arctic or caught in the ice. Currently, those three pictures are on my wall next to a large painting I inherited from my grandparents of two non-Franklin-related ships that I pretend are Terror and Erebus anyway (I call this wall The Boat Place). Gehrmann also wrote and illustrated a graphic novel in German about the Franklin Expedition, Im Eisland, published in three parts and available through Amazon. But if, like me, you don’t speak German, Gerhmann has made an English translation, titled Icebound, available for free here.

Gehrmann has actually drawn two slightly different versions of Torrington, one of which is more like the artistic reconstructions shown above and the other is of a fictionalized Torrington in the graphic novel Im Eisland. I love both of her interpretations, but they are of two different styles. Let’s start with the graphic novel version.

Im Eisland uses a manga-like style, so this version of Torrington is based in that. It gives him a wide-eyed, youthful—and joyful—appearance (when he isn’t dying of consumption, of course). This is the happiest and liveliest Torrington I’ve seen. The manga art style results in some simplified features and a rather modern hairstyle, but there’s nothing wrong with using some artistic license to better convey the personality of a character.

Gerhmann’s other illustration of Torrington is possibly my favorite, even if it might not be the most accurate:

This is a lovely illustration, and it really plays up Torrington’s youth, making him look almost angelic. I’m going to be completely honest—he is very pretty. This version of Torrington is an incredibly handsome young lad, and if Torrington really looked like this, then I think he probably would have been very popular in life. I could go on, but I probably shouldn’t.

I also love the amazing detail on the shirt. You may have noticed some slight variations in these recreations when it comes to his shirt, and I think that’s due to the fact that his shirt looks downright complicated in the few pictures we have of it. There are horizontal stripes and vertical stripes. There’s a high collar and buttons and all these folds that it can be hard to see exactly what it looks like, and unfortunately there were no textile experts present during the exhumation, so there was no one to lay out the shirt and take a closer look at it before redressing and burying him. But every time someone gives their best attempt at figuring out the puzzle that is his shirt, I’m happy, and this one looks very close to how it may have actually looked. My one issue with this picture is that his hair is short and blond, which doesn’t fit the description provided in the autopsy report. But the facial features look true, so I tend to overlook that little nitpick.

This version of Torrington, by the way, is probably the most well-known interpretation. In fact, when you search for John Torrington on Google, this picture crops up:

I have even seen online articles about Torrington that use this picture as a reconstruction example. This is in no way an official reconstruction of him, but it is by far the most popular. (And yes, I bought a copy of this picture, too.)

While reconstructions of what Torrington may have looked like when alive are common among artists depicting him, there is some artwork that uses images of his mummified body as inspiration instead. Irish artist Vincent Sheridan has a gorgeous collection of work inspired by the Franklin Expedition. Several of these feature the mummy of John Torrington, including an etching aptly named “John Torrington.”

Torrington appears as a ghostly apparition in many of these prints, alongside the repeated imagery of a skull, two very physical signs of the human cost of the expedition. While most of the bodies of the men lost have yet to be found, their bones scattered or buried across King William Island, Torrington’s body is a stark reminder that this tragedy did happen, and that these men did die, not just vanish off the face of the earth. I’ve described Torrington as the poster boy for the expedition before, and here his death seems to represent the death of everyone who sailed with Franklin, his face a haunting piece of evidence for the fate that met them all.

Now, I’m not entirely sure how best to transition between that solemn reminder of death and this last piece of Torrington-inspired artwork that I would like to mention, so I’m just going to dive in. This next artwork also uses the image of Torrington’s mummy as inspiration, but in a completely different manner from Sheridan’s work. I refer, of course, to the John Torrington plushie.

This adorable little mummy plushie was created by craft artist Nancy Soares, aka sinnabunnycrafts on Etsy (@sinnaminie​). Whether you think a plushie of a mummified body is in good taste or not, you have to agree that this little guy is freakin’ cute. I might be slightly biased, though, because he was originally crafted for a custom request from my sister as a birthday present for me. But now anyone can buy him or his Beechey buddies. This little guy even made a special appearance during John Geiger’s presentation at the Mystic Seaport Museum’s symposium, Franklin Lost and Found.

I think the fact that there’s a plushie of John Torrington is amazing. People used to take pictures of the recently deceased and use their dead loved one’s hair in jewelry to remember them, so this isn’t that different. To me, at least, it’s a memento to honor him, reminding me that Torrington was more than just a boy who died but a boy who once lived as well.

It is also super adorable.

Next: Torrington as depicted in literature. Spoiler alert! He dies. A lot.

<<Back | Next >>

Torrington Series Masterlist

[shuusuis]

[ENG] Mukanshu Main Story 1: Island of Ice and Fire

Mukanshu （夢間集）Main Story 1: Island of Ice and Fire, Scenes 1 - 11.

Read below ↓

* Specific notes for each scene are at the bottom of that scene.

*Some general notes: I’ve left the character’s names untranslated, but have opted to translate the location names since they provide context (and are translated in the novels). For more information on the characters introduced thus far, check their profiles.

Scene 1: The Journey Begins

Player(1): (Where am I......?)

I stop before a stone wall, feeling a slight warmth with my right hand. I gently trace my finger over the wall’s engravings, as if being guided by some unseen power.

Stone Wall’s Engraving:  “Under heaven, no one could be my equal-- unbearable loneliness is my destiny.(2) The bravery of youth, the tranquility of adulthood, the complacency of old age- once these have passed, there are no further boundaries to be crossed!”

As my finger brushes over the final line of the engraving, a light is emitted for just a moment, and I involuntarily close my eyes.

[Scene change]

Ryoku: “..................hmm?”

Suddenly, a young man stands before me, blinking and smiling.

Player: Who…...are you……?

Ryoku: Huh? Don’t look at me like that. I don’t look like such a bad guy do I……  There’s no need to be scared. I’m Ryoku(3), a renowned treasure. Ah, but truth be told, I don’t exactly know why I’m here. When I woke up, I was here beside you.

Player: Well, where are we?

Ryoku: We’ll talk later. This area is full of demons and monsters(4). I absolutely won’t let anyone get hurt while I’m around.  Since I can handle these monsters, you should come with me for now!

Monsters: Grrrrrrrooooooooowl!

Ryoku: Well, speak of the devil! I guess there’s no avoiding it, here we go! 

Notes:

(1): Player character is...you! I forgot what the default name the game enters for you is, so I’ve just left it as player for now. 

(2): This quote is at least partially adopted from the inscription on one of the character’s in Jin Yong’s novels, undefeated swordsman Dugu Qiubai’s tomb. The full quote can be found here and reads: “Having roamed the jianghu (martial artists' community) for more than 30 years, I have killed all my foes and defeated all champions. Under Heaven no one can be my equal. Without any other choice, I could only retreat and live in seclusion in this deep valley, with only a Condor as my companion. Alas, all my life, I have sought a match but in vain. Unbearable loneliness is my destiny."

(3):  His name literally means “Green”. He’s a weaponized bamboo stick used by members of the  Beggar’s Sect in Jin Yong’s Legend of the Condor Heroes.

(4): They use the term  魁魅魍魎 (lit. mountain monsters and river spirits). It’s a fairly broad term with a lot of historical context, read more here.

Scene 2: Mysterious Amnesia

Ryoku: Whew, what a dangerous place! Are you alright? 

Player: Yeah, I’m fine. 

Ryoku: It’s a good thing I’m here otherwise you probably would have been eaten by now. 

Player: Thank you. This place ... Why am I here?

Player: (The only thing I can remember is that dream from before.  My name is….. ) Player: I’m sure I…… I have to go back to that place……! 

Ryoku: Hmm? You’ve got some place you wanna go? Well, let’s get out of here first!

As Ryoku finished speaking, the ground suddenly began to shake.

Ryoku: Follow me! Let’s get out of here fast! 

Notes:

If you’re playing along with the games audio (which I recommend!) you’ll know that there are small battle between these scenes, which is why the cuts between stories is so sudden and why (in the future) new characters may join during battles. Also, the separation of scenes with battles is also the reason some scenes are so short (like this one).

Scene 3: In Search of a Dream

Ryoku: They’ve got us surrounded.  This might be a little tough by myself.

Player: (I felt a familiar power in that dream …)

           (If I could return to that place….)

           (I’m pretty sure…. Ryoku will be helpful.)

[Lights flash]

Player: (I’ll search for it!..... That dream from before….)

Scene 4: Wandering Bell’s Chime

Kinrei(1): Where are we?

Ryoku: Here? This is the Island of Ice and Fire.

Kinrei: The Island of Ice and Fire? I’ve never heard of it. 

Kinrei: Hmm, how do you intend to get out of here?

Player: We were just looking for a way out of here. Why don’t we search together?

Ryoku: Sounds good!

Standing before Ryoku, Kinrei continues to eye him suspiciously.

Player: Don’t worry, we won’t hurt you.

Kinrei: ……. There are many cunning, vile people out there, I can’t trust you so easily.

Ryoku: It’s not like we’d gain anything from hurting you. Besides, don’t they say “two heads are better than one”(2)? I don’t think it’s such a bad idea. You think so too, right?

Kinrei: …………… Fine, I understand. But what I said earlier still stands-- once we get out of here, we’re complete strangers.  I won’t care anymore.

Ryoku: I figured Kinreicchi would agree after all!

Kinrei: Ki….kinreicchi? What’s with that nickname?!

Ryoku: Ahaha! Now then, I wonder who’ll show up next~

Notes:

(1): Kinrei literally means “Golden Bell”. In Return of the Condor Heroes, the heroine Xiaolongnu uses a sash strung with golden bells as a weapon.

(2):「三人寄れば文殊の知恵」a phrase that literally translates to “Three people together have Manjushri’s wisdom”. It is the equivalent of phrases like “two heads are better than one” or “the more the merrier”, indicating that having more people in a group benefits the whole.

(3): Kinreicchi: Ryoku added a cutesy-sounding ending to Kinrei’s name.

Scene 5: The Heavenly Sword Appears

Ryoku: Whoooah! Jackpot! Who woulda’ guessed that the legendary Iten (1) would show up! *whistles*

Kinrei: I’ve certainly heard the legend: "The powerful and honorable weapon: the Dragon Saber; It can slay the Dragon. Use it to command the world. Who dares to disobey orders? If the Heavenly Sword does not appear, what weapon can go against the saber effectively?"(2)…Since Iten has shown up, it stands to reason that Toryuu(3) may soon appear as well, right…?

Monsters: Grrrrrrrooooooooowl!

Ryoku: Those nasty monsters don’t know when to give up, huh!

Iten: I sense the presence of evil…!

Notes:

(1): Iten literally means “Heavenly Sword”, sometimes translated as “Heaven Reliant Sword”. He is one of titular weapons in the novel “ The Heavenly Sword and the Dragon Saber”.

(2):  The mantra that kinrei recites is straight from Jin Yong’s novel; this English version can be found here along with the context for the surrounding lore. 

 (3) Toryuu literally means “Dragon Saber”. The second legendary sword from the same novel as Iten.

Scene 6: Island of Ice and Fire

Once again, the ground began to shake and continued rumbling for a while.

Iten: Where is this place? The terrain seems so unstable…

Ryoku: We’re at the Northern Sea of the Island of Ice and Fire. The island’s name is derived from the cycle of ice and volcanic eruptions that have been ongoing for millions of years.

Iten: The island of Ice and Fire…

Kinrei: Huh? You know this place?

Iten: Yes. I’ve heard stories of it before, but this is my first time actually being here. However, this place is brimming with evil spirits. It would be best to leave as soon as possible.

Ryoku: If Bro Iten says so, then we better hurry up and find a way out of here!

Scene 7: Iten’s Old Friend

The shaking of the ground violently intensifies, seeming as if it could collapse at any moment.

Iten: That’s strange… that guy should have immediately known that I had appeared here… why hasn’t he shown up yet…?

Kinrei: “That guy”? Are you acquainted with someone else on this island?

Iten: Well, it’s more like we’re stuck with each other…(1)

Kinrei: Could it be...that you’re talking about Toryuu?

Iten: Right… well, you don’t have to worry about him.

Kinrei: You’re right. For now, let’s find a way out of this place.

Notes:

(1)“we’re stuck with each other”: Iten literally says “腐れ縁”, lit. “rotten affinity” meaning an undesirable, yet unfortunately inseparable relationship. 

Scene 8: Heart of Ice and Fire

The coastline of the island is compacted with ice; within the center of the island, a volcano rises.  There isn’t a single way to get across.

Ryoku: There’s no way out of the island even along the shoreline….

Kinrei: It’s possible that there could be a hidden pathway somewhere….

Ryoku: We’ve searched the island’s perimeter already, I guess we’ll have to head for the island’s center now.

Kinrei: Seems like the closer you are to the center of the island, the stronger the presence of monsters and demons.

Iten: I sense spiritual energy concentrated in the center of the island…. It’s possible that there’s something inside.

Kinrei: I suppose that means it would be worthwhile to go there.

Monsters: Grrrrrrrooooooooowl!

Ryoku: It wasn’t just your imagination, the number of monsters really is increasing! Everyone, be careful!

Scene 9: Cursed Mirror

An enormous monster appeared before us when we reached the center of the island. It gazes down at us from its perch atop a mirror that emanates a dark aura.

Player: This one’s the same sort of monster?!

Kinrei: This monster is made up of many evil spirits…. For one to reach such a massive size, how much evil energy must accumulated inside its body…

Ryoku: Whooooah, that thing’s freakin HUGE! Don’t tell me we can’t beat it...

Iten: The blade of this heavenly sword shall not return to its scabbard until every last drop of blood has been drained! A monster of this level is nothing to fear.

Player: Wait a moment! There are smaller monsters surrounding it too. First we should exterminate them, then focus on getting rid of the enormous spirit!

Scene 10: Shards of the Cursed Mirror

Just as the defeated monster fell, the mirror emanating the evil aura fell as well.

I pick up a fragment of the mirror and notice three characters inscribed on it: “Soul Stealing Mirror”. I feel as if I’ve seen patterns like this before…

Ryoku: Would you look at that! Now that the snowcap has collapsed, we can see a way out of here!

Iten: It’s possible that the entire island may start to collapse…

Toryuu: Hurry, this way!

In the midst of running, the fragment I was holding slips from my hand.

Panicking, I stop in my tracks and stoop down to search near my feet.

Kinrei: What are you doing!?

Ryoku: Hurry! Cracks are forming in the ground…..!

Player: But ... that mirror’s shard…. I have to find it!

Toryuu: You idiot...!!

I’m stunned as Toryuu grabs my hand and begins to pull me ahead.

Scene 11: Within the Dream World

Ryoku: (panting) We somehow escaped…?

Iten: What were you waiting for back there?.....We narrowly avoided death.

Iten turns his gaze on me condemningly.

Ryoku: What were you searching for earlier?

I tell the other how the inscription on the mirror was similar to the engravings I saw on the stone wall within my dream.

Ryoku: What was the place in your dream like? Maybe someone there would have a clue as to what’s going on.

Player: Whenever I try to remember the scene within my dream, my right hand starts to feel warm again.

[dream memory]

Player: Over there is… a cold, secluded place...where many weapons are buried….Around there is a stone wall with an old inscription that reads:

“Under heaven, no one could be my equal-- unbearable loneliness is my destiny.The bravery of youth, the tranquility of adulthood, the complacency of old age- once these have passed, there are no further boundaries to be crossed!”

After listening to me recount my dream, Toryuu and Iten speak up at the same time.

Toryuu and Iten: That’s the Tomb of Swords!!!

After briefly making eye contact, the two avert their gazes once more.

Kinrei: What do you two know about this Tomb of Swords?

Toryuu: I heard a story of such a place long ago…. It seems quite similar to the place that you described in your dream….

Player: The “Tomb” refers to all those graves.  I’m certain there are many weapons buried there. It may be just as you say.

Ryoku: I know that you want to go to that place, so why don’t we head there together? I can escort you to the Tomb of Swords

Toryuu: If the inscription on the Soul Stealing Mirror has a connection to the Tomb of Swords, it’s a good enough reason for me to go there too.

Iten: Do you think that person would still be in the Tomb of Swords?

Toryuu: I’m interested in that as well. Looks like you and I have decided to take part in this journey too!

Iten silently nods his head in agreement.

Ryoku: What about you, Kinreicchi? Aren’t you gonna come with us?

Kinrei: Huh? The place I want to go is… (sighs)... well, I’ll accompany you for a while.

[beastofeasto-blog]

GENERIC JAPANESE PUN AND/OR OBVIOUS CULTURAL REFERENCE: My Experiences At Hyper Japan

The people at Hyper Japan, which ran from Friday until today,  ranged from a duo dressed as the twins from Ouran Highschool Host Club, Godzilla himself (whose terrible hand I had the pleasure of shaking), and dozens of people  wearing meme t-shirts. So far, so MCM. What set Hyper Japan apart from a more usual celebration of mangakas and mecha were the somewhat terrifying woman in johdpurs from the Tea Authority, a room dedicated to over a hundred different types of sake, beer and spirits, and the significant attention paid to Japanese craftsmanship.

But of course, since this is after all a food blog, let's talk about the food. At the very beginning, I was collected from the front desk by two charming women from Fourteen Ten. We headed immediately to The Ramen Experience, where I was given a choice between shoryu, paitan and tonkotsu style ramen, and a chance to sample all three before deciding on which one I was to have in my bowl. Each comes from a different region, and each is distinct in flavour and mouthfeel. Shoryu, or soy sauce, was rich and roasty, effortlessly smooth and slightly sweet. Paitan, which, on the website was described as a chicken-based soup, was in person labelled as seafood stock. Either way, it was remarkably unfishy, and had a prominent, pleasant taste of both fresh and roast garlic. Tonkotsu is the neighbourhood darling style, a milky-cloudy broth made by cooking bones and feet for dozens of hours. A good tonkotsu should be gutsy, slightly thick, impossibly creamy and pure tasting. While the one I tasted was perfectly adequate, it did not live up to my expectations about what tonkotsu ought to be. As a result, I had a delicious bowl of shoryu ramen, with both gari, aka pickled ginger, and something that tasted like yacai, Szechuan pickled mustard greens (sour, slightly funky, a little bitter and lightly spicy) and  along with the obligatory slice of chasu. Despite that the noodles lacked much of a bounce or snap, and the chasu wasn't fatty enough for my taste, it was a bowl worth finishing. That sounds like a lot of criticism mixed in with some faint praise, but no, outside of a couple stylistic choices, it was a bowl I'd be more than happy with at a restaurant, and would have been proud to make at home (I've tried making ramen. I've followed Binging with Babish's method, J Kenji Lopez Alt's version, and the edition found in Japanese Cooking: A Simple Art, whose title is possibly the biggest lie ever told. All of them were difficult, all of them were an obscene amount of work, all of them were frankly not worth the effort. If I find a method that works and doesn't make you want to die, I'll be sure to let you know.)

After that, the Fourteen Ten people let me loose on the stalls. I wandered past a woman selling EGL (Elegant Gothic Lolita) fashion, several weapons salesmen and a very busy stall selling manga both in the original and translated. Nearby, there were tables groaning with dolls and plushies, and there, over the way, were dakikamura, or body pillows, featuring characters from the Boku No Hero Academia anime. On the main floor, there was a condensed area where Japanese designers, artists, and craftspeople sold beautiful things, such as calligraphy, immaculate flowers made of silk, and  shamiasen, traditional stringed instruments. I asked the person running the shamiasen stall if I could touch, and she leaned forward, rested a single finger on its body, and gave me a thumbs up. In short: no. I managed to get (very brief!) interviews with four different stallholders. I felt that since I was there, I might as well go do some journalism. I got brief peeks into the minds of two artisans, and one of the husband-and-wife teams selling swords, axes, and blades of all kinds:

The weapons sellers, Lee and Catherine, used to be in the business of selling replica toy handguns, until the law changed (presumably following the Dunblane massacre  but neither mentioned it and nor did I). When that happened, it made replica guns a lot harder to sell. So instead, they moved on to selling swords, and especially movie replicas. It only made business sense for them to go to Comicon. Catherine's favourite is a massive bastard from World of Warcraft, while Lee favour's LOTR's Andruil. They don't think that any of their wares ought to be used for anything other than ornamental purposes, though you could technically use them for bushcraft.

The next pair I spoke to were Tomoko Kuroda, and her friend Yuko. Since their design heavily featured a pair of cats, one black, one white, named Alain and Jean, I asked whether they belonged to them, and about their personalities. While Alain and Jean aren't their real names, they are indeed their cats, and the characters of the globetrotting gatos – ones that are “curious and fickle, but very fussy with their travel items”. have existed for two years. Kuroda collaboarated with the famous artist/illustrator called Masako Hirano. A fact about each cat is that Alain is very interested about everything and very positive, while Jean is sensitive and naive, and likes to study hard.  However, according to the info card I received, “Our effort to analyse their psyche might be pointless but this is our pleasure and mission nevertheless. This interpretation of the world seen by cats' eyes is our unique brand story.” Here, here!

You can find their e-boutique here.

While many people have heard of origami, comparatively few know about kirigami. I had the privilege of speaking to Susumu Yamayoka, who won the Grand Prize for the Charming Japanese Souvenir Contest back in 2011 for his City Postcard kirigami series. Kirigami is the art of paper-cutout. Yamayoka's series celebrated traditional Japanese scenes in aching, intricate detail – unsurprising, since Yamayoka told me that he's been doing papercraft for the last two decades. It took Yamayoka two months to design four postcards.His website is here

While there were many other stallholders, demonstrating mastery in mulberry-paper bookbinding, and watercolours, I did not have time to interview them all.

Then, I made a nice trip into the grimy speakeasy at Hyper Japan known as The Sake Experience. You rocked up, received about sixteen drinks tickets and two snacks tickets, and waddled around from table groaning with artisanal handmade drinks to table groaning with artisanal handmade drinks. Now, for those who've not had a sake experience, let alone The one; sake is a fermented rice beverage with a taste that uninitiated westerners may find quite unfamiliar. A good way to describe it is “like a grassier, fruitier dry sherry”, but since there are as many styles and traditions in sake brewing as there are in, say, French winemaking, the description I gave is insufficient. Another point about sake is that it can be drunk hot or cold. I remember saying when I was fourteen, having tasted my first hot sake, I said it tasted like “warm, unminty mouthwash”. It probably wasn't good stuff, but, as with many things, it's an acquired taste. I imagine that a mug of warm sake on a howling and bitterly cold Nagoya night would be comforting. As for the process of making sake, it involves inoculating cooked rice with Aspergillus oryzae, known in Japanese as koji, a fungus that transforms starches and sugars found in rice into alcohols. It's absolutely nothing to be afraid of, it's the rice edition of our homegrown hero, Saccharomyces cerevisiae, without whose noble efforts we'd never slug down a sixpack of PBR again – not that PBR has much of a future in our world. Cooked rice, koji, water, yeast and lactic acid are combined – at least in sake-houses that forsook the old way of doing things, where the rice and koji mixture is pounded to a paste – and the resultant mixture fermented. This is then pressed to remove unfermented solids, filtered once more, and then left to mature, like one would with wine.  

For absolute beginners, I would suggest investing in a bottle of Shochikubai Shirakabegura Mio Sparkling Sake, not just because it doesn't have that much of a challenging koji flavour, but because it's significantly nicer than cat piss cava or bland prosecco. It has a gentle fragrance, is just the right side of sweet, and the carbonation adds both a sour note and makes it feel more refreshing. It isn't brut like champagne, more, a gentle, friendly face to pick up for a pleasant night in.  I had the luck of picking up a bottle for £4 at the event – they were practically giving it away.  

For those still a bit too afraid, there are a wide variety of Japanese fruit liqueurs. These often aren't like schnapps or are lighter fluid with a few drops of synthetic peach essence. Many Japanese fruit liqueurs, such as umeshu, have an ABV of about 12%. Umeshu is made by soaking whole green plums in grain alcohol, which is consequently watered down and sweetened.  A different liqueur that I had the pleasure of drinking at Hyper Japan was Yomeishu Pink Grapefruit and Ginger (top); “precisely what it says on the tin!”, according to my tasting notes; a lusciously smooth and mild bev, tasting of real – if candy-sweet – fruit, like a boozier, top-quality alcopop. It was only later that I discovered that Yomeishu's flagship is a TCM (I use the “C” here generically) herb liqueur containing, of all things, the processed skin and organs of the mamushi pit viper, Gloydius blomhoffii. Unfortunately, I did not taste the snake tonic since it wasn't on offer, but had it been, I would probably have declined because I don't want to drink snakies. Nevertheless, snake-flaying aside, the good brewers at Yomeishu can make a lovely drink. The one umeshu I sampled , Urakasumi (buttom), was “bracing[ly] plummy” with an “almond bitter aftertaste”. As I don't have considerable umeshu experience, it was perfectly nice.

There were other types of sake on offer, such as the Yamabuki Gold, an aged sake, or koshu. The difference between a younger sake and a koshu is rather like a tequila blanco and añejo: the aged edition acquires a bronzeish colour and a deeper, often honeyish taste. I described the 7-time-in-a-row International Wine Challenge gold winner as having a “burnt toffee” character, “hypersmooth”, and with a “savoury aftertaste.”

On the complete opposite end of the spectrum was the Junmai Ginjo Sachihime Dear My Princess, charmingly subtitled in block capitals with ALL THE BEST WISHES FOR YOUR FUTURE LIFE. I described the unpasteurized sake from what is apparently the smallest brewery in the Saga prefecture (found on Kyushu, the southern island making up Japan proper) as “sweet, creamy, esteric and smooth.” Following some basic research into sake tasting terminology, this “esteric”- or “fruity” quality is also known as ginjo, which is the resulting fragrance from the slow and low fermentation of rice whose exterior is mostly removed. Two compounds that contribute to ginjo fragrance are isoamyl acetate, well known to any brewers in the audience to being one part of the duo in many Hefeweizens, the other being clove. Due to my experiencing isoamy acetate almost always in conjunction with the phenolic compounds that made up clove, I iniitally had written down “phenolic” instead of “esteric”, and then had second thoughts as I noticed more classical fruit elements evolve, such as ethyl caproate – another ginjo component – which is common in many fruits, including apple and pineapple.

There were, oddly enough, what appeared to be luxury bottled tea., from the imaginatively named The Tea Company. It's here where I ran into the absurdly fashionable and intimidating woman from the Tea Authority. She recommended the Thé D'Or Gyokuro, which turned out to have “excellent clean bitterness”. It was a “very green” green tea, with a pleasing “sprightly slight salinity”. I preferred, however, the Ibushi, from the same label: it “tickles the throat”, had “topnotes of fruit, then smoke and malt”, and was “silken, bitter, refreshing and savoury”. The tea used to make the Ibushi was apparently smoked over Japanese cypress. Do I approve of bottled tea costing  between £11 and £30 per bottle? I honestly have to say, even if it was absolutely delicious tea, that I can't.  

Finally, there were two spirits I tried. One was the Satsuma Shiranami, which is a spirit made from sweet potato- and it sure tasted of it: “earthy, nutty, popped rice, sweet but not sugary, and filling” is how I described it. This would in my mind be a fantastic addition to a hot toddy or pre-Christmas lunch drinks.  The second is something I don't anticipate many of you ambling out of your wells to get, but I'll rec it anyway: the Kyoya Shuzo Yuzugin, combines two things that unsettle many people: gin, our proudest spirit, and Japanese botanicals, which can not be to everybody's tastes. Unsurprisingly, it had a deep, floral, long-lasting yuzu fragrance, and remarkably, I noticed a light tongue-buzz feeling, due to the sansho peppercorn. I won't fully get into this now, but the short is that the fruit of the Zanthoxylum trees produce compounds called sanshools, which give an anaesthetic, electrocuting, tingling, numbing sensation, most prevalent in Szechuan cooking, and one that I adore. Sansho peppercorn is Z. piperitum  while good ol' Szechuan peppercorn is Z. simulans or bungeanum. While overall I can see more applications for the Satsuma Shiranami, not just in drinks, but as a nice thing to spin around a highball glass while relaxing, as one does when one is 23, if you like both yuzu and gin, and manage to find a bottle, go get it. Also, the bottle's pretty.

In the drunken stupour that tends to accompany having too many small drinks, I stepped outside and saw a stand selling three of my favourite Japanese snacks: takoyaki, sweet potato korroke and karaage. I got three for three, and sat down heavily in a chair, and watched the crowd pass me by as I had my snacks. Takoyaki is an orbular delicate wheat pancake, filled with chopped octopus. Mine were decorated traditionally, with aonori, aka green laver, mayonnaise and a sweet-savoury glaze made from Worcestershire sauce and reduced sake, soy sauce, mirin, kombu, and katsuoboshi (shaved dried bonito tuna). I like them because they have a wonderfully crunchy outside, and the inside is still kinda like a just-underset egg yolk or slightly underdone pancake batter, or a bechamel sauce. I think it's obscenely delicious, and was thankful at the paucity of octopus bits in the ones they gave me.

Karaage is a deep frying technique different from the better known tempura. In karaage, marinated pieces of meat, most usually chicken, are tossed in potato starch and deep fried until crispy. These had a crusty, gloriously msg-laden shell with tender pieces within. The crust had big crumbs in it, lending a nice variation in texture.

Korokke is a Japonification of “croquette”, where usually mashed potato is stuffed with a filling, rolled in panko, and deep fried. These ones were pure sweet potato, and utterly fantastic. I have a long-held suspicion that the Japanese sweet potato cultivars tower head and shoulders above those grown anywhere else. They tend to have the most amazing chestnutty taste and yielding texture. These were no exception. The korokke were “fudgy” and satisfying, the panko crust so ethereal, it might not have even been there. Of the three fried snacks, they were without a doubt my favourite.

In short, I did not eat or drink one thing on Friday that wasn't delicious, and there were a few that were completely exceptional.

As I walked back from Kensington Olympia to take the bus home, I thought about how I'd been exposed to so many different aspects of the culture of another somewhat strange, tea-obsessed island, and how valuable it was that events like Hyper Japan are put on; raising awareness in not just the more massively marketable aspects of another culture, but their unique traditions also. I had a great time.  Since it's now over, I honestly can't wait for the summer one!

[sssoto]

Happy 200th birthday, Serena!

My dearest baby Serena da Silva has her birthday today, October 17th, and it’s not just any birthday - today marks the day she was born 200 years ago! EEEP how exciting is that? You only get to celebrate an anniversary like that once in your lifetime!

If you’re unfamiliar with Serena, she is my character from my book project series for Amnesia: The Dark Descent, in which she plays a major role. She’s probably the character nearest and dearest to my heart, and she tends to be a fan favourite among readers as well, so I wanted to do something extra special for this particular anniversary.

So here comes: a birthday feature! In which I display all the amazing gifts Serena has received today.

First of all, I want to show the wip of what I had planned to do for Serena, which unfortunately I couldn’t finish in time since my laptop screen broke at the WORST. TIMING. EVER. I meant to have this artwork ready for today, but since I won’t be able to finish it until later, I’ll share a wip of the clean sketch:

I must admit, I’m quite proud of it! It’s the first time I experiment with perspective and interiors for real, and I also usually suck at drawing animals, but Cleo (Serena’s cat) came out quite okay here, so I’m happy! I hope I’ll be able to finish it sooner rather than later.

And now, let’s get into the amazing gifts my baby has received today AAAHHH!

@juliajm15

If you’ve been following me for a while, you might know that @juliajm15 is an art goddess who’s been making amazing beautiful fanart of my characters for the past couple years. She always goes so above and beyond for me, and that can be seen by LOOKING AT THIS GORGEOUS PIECE OF SERANIEL FANART.

IT’S THEIR FIRST KISS. THEY’RE SO YOUNG AND INNOCENT HERE. THAT HEIGHT DIFFERENCE. THAT DRESS. THAT HAIR (BOTH OF THEM). I COULD GO ON GUSHING BUT WE’D BE HERE ALL DAY.

OH YEAH, AND THAT BACKGROUND.

I just had to mention that.

OMG I die over how perfect and cute and romantic this is, it just completely captures the essence and emotion of that scene in my book! I feel so blessed and privileged, how am I ever gonna recover from this perfection?

But not only did she do this amazing gorgeous romantic piece for me, she also did a complete remake of Serena’s character portrait and DAMN SHE LOOKS GORGEOUS.

HOW does she always manage to capture Serena so perfectly? Ugh I honestly just can’t with this perfection, I just can’t. That expression, that hair, those LIPS. Okay, I’m gonna move on because I could literally gush about Serena’s face all day, but then we’d miss out on all the other amazing gifts she received today! Just, thank you so much @juliajm15 my darling, you’re such a generous and ultra skilled human being, thank you so much for being in my life and supporting me always

@shaelinwrites

So meme and aesthetics queen @shaelinwrites totally disarmed me today when she sent me THIS GORGEOUS MOODBOARD FOR SERENA OH MY LORD.

LOOK AT THAT GORGEOUS WINTER AESTHETIC. OMG LOOK, CLEO MADE A CAMEO ON THE BOTTOM LEFT. Omg these colours are just too beautiful I CAN’T. The art supplies, the gesture and expression of this girl, it’s all SO Serena. The whole feel of this moodboard is just so romantic and cosy and wintery and ugh, the nightgown, the long dark hair. I’m aware I’m just rambling and gushing throughout this post DEAL WITH IT.

And @shaelinwrites didn’t stop there, no, as any good bae, she knew how important the bae is. HAVE SOME MORE SERANIEL, THIS TIME BLACK AND WHITE SEXY EDITION.

OH MY LORD. HOW WILL I EVER RECOVER FROM ALL OF THIS. I CANNOT DEAL, CAN. NOT. DEAL.

All of this is literally just so accurate. Like, it’s so friggin’ hard to find good stock images that can embody a fictional character, BUT MY BAE DID IT *CRIES*. Thank you so much bae, omg this surprise was such a highlight today!!

@coffeeandcalligraphy

Another dear friend of mine (who’s a total cinnamon roll btw), @coffeeandcalligraphy, also went above and beyond for my character’s birthday because LOOK AT THIS:

I swear, everyone remembers the bae Baeniel. Eeeeeveryone.

Omg I swear, MY BABIES LOOK SO ATTRACTIVE HERE LIKE OH MY LORD. Daniel boooiiiiiii with that Expression of Angst™ and them puffy lips, and SERENA OMG THE HAIR AND THE LIPS AND EYES, HER INDIGENOUS ROOTS ARE SO PRONOUNCED WITH HER EYES AND I LOVE THAT.

I actually can’t??? Like how do I have so many talented af friends??? I must be a talent MAGNET I’m telling ya.

Oh and Rachel had the same idea as Baelin and went the sexy Black and White edition with the OTP as well:

BECAUSE CAN WE EVER HAVE TOO MUCH SEXINESS? I THINK NOT. Thank you so much @coffeeandcalligraphy I swear your art just blows me away, you’re improving at such a rapid pace, slow down, I can’t keep up

@sarahkelsiwrites

Also @sarahkelsiwrites is a close friend of mine, and actually @coffeeandcalligraphy‘s twin sister (gotta collect the whole pack amirite), and as part of her inktober challenge she did THIS GORGEOUS INKED PORTRAIT OF SERENA:

LIKE OMG OKAY SO the Victorian aesthetic is on POINT here, and OMG I love that her Hispanic features are soooo visible here. ALSO DAMN, THE DETAIL ON THE JEWELLERY. THE INKING OF THIS IS ALSO SO GREAT, LIKE, DO YOU SEE THE LINES IN HER HAIR???? I’m sorry, I’m an artist, I have to appreciate it when I see good craft, okay? I also gotta note that I’m living for how everyone always remembers Serena’s choker because girl never goes without one

Ugh HER EYES AND LIPS okay I gotta stop. I mention the eyes and lips every time, when will I switch it up. NEVER. Okay, glad we got that settled.

(Yes, I’m a dork, but only when I’m overwhelmed with this much love and beauty, I swear.)

Also omg THE SONG LYRICS, THOSE ARE SELENA GOMEZ LYRICS, AND IT’S STARS DANCE, AND I LOVE THAT SONG, AND IT’S SO RELEVANT, AND I’M ACTUALLY SHOOK. LORD thank you so much @sarahkelsiwrites god I just can’t believe how friggin’ talented and generous and thoughtful all of you are, I will never get over it.

Constance

So I’ve not mentioned this, but not too long ago I was totally taken by surprise and utterly *shook* when I received a private message on the site where I have Memoirs posted. This long message came from an angel named Constance, who registered a profile just to tell me how much she adored my story, give me fanart, and TELL ME SHE’S TRANSLATING THE ENTIRE THING TO FRENCH BRUH.

So if any of you out there are speaking French and not super comfortable with English, but still interested in reading Memoirs, it’s Constance you wanna hit up. She’s got you covered.

But back to the FANART.

Constance is working on this GORGEOUS Serena fanart for me, and while it’s not all finished yet, she said I could still post it for the birthday feature! (I’m going to update the post with the finished piece once it’s ready)

LOOK HOW CUTE AND PRETTY AND YOUNG MY SERENA IS HERE. THIS DRESS IS SO PRETTY, I DIE. OMG SHE HAS THE LOCKET. I realise like 90% of this post is all caps, but WHO CAN BLAME ME? I’m so #blessedyouknow right.

All I wanted in my life is Serena in a pink pretty dress. Thank you for realising my dreams, Constance *cries* and thank you so much for the endless support and this generosity! Seeing other people getting so invested in my story and characters really moves me so much, it’s all that I could hope for waaahh.

2k17 - Birthday One Shot

Okay, so I know how I said I couldn’t finish my artwork for Serena in time as I had intended, which made me very, very Sad™, BUT. I came up with something else.

So this was actually SUPER spontaneous and I usually NEVER do something like this, but I took a chance, and you know what? It worked out. I just wanna say thank you so much to my bae @shaelinwrites who pushed and motivated me to do this, I dunno what happened, but you must’ve transferred some of your writing machine abilities to me, because I actually managed to finish an entire one shot in JUST ONE DAY. (Are you as shook as I am? Cuz I can never seem to finish a chapter so I’m shook.)

Since I couldn’t finish my artwork for Serena like I planned, I decided to write a short fluffy non-canon one shot for her birthday. It was super spontaneous and unplanned, but it actually came surprisingly easy to write! I’ve not written in first person in many, many years, so this was really a leap of faith LOL, but I like the end result! A major thanks to @shaelinwrites, who encouraged me and critiqued the short before publication, and @coffeeandcalligraphy, @sarahkelsiwrites and @juliajm15 for giving it a read and telling me their thoughts as well! I hope you all enjoy this little piece of fluff; since I’m taking so long to write my book, maybe this can keep y’all entertained meanwhile

Thank you so much to everyone who’s supported me and celebrated Serena’s birthday with me, even just in spirit! It makes the long journey all worth it, knowing there are people out there who care (’:

(short story starts under the cut!)

Roses and Ballerinas

The balcony drapes danced lightly with the gentle morning breeze, a delicate waltz. My existence was comfort, head cushioned by feather pillows and silk sheets swathing my naked form. Sunlight hadn’t woken me; London was always grey, ash brick and fog, and even more so in the rainy days of October. However, for what one might expect, the morning didn’t seem to carry its usual autumn gloom—though I suppose that observation could’ve had more to do with my current disposition.

A smile crept on my lips at remembrance of the night previous, one which, if anyone saw, surely would’ve spoken of scandalous notions unfit for a such young lady to entertain. Fortunately, none had been around to witness what had occurred in this room; tangled limbs, kisses of the sweetest character, ardour’s touch, skin marked with such fierce passion that even I could not have imagined. It didn’t seem right that something so blissful could be immoral. Should a simple seal of matrimony reverse what was once considered debasement? What a frigid, unromantic sentiment. If anyone would’ve cared to ask me, I would sing praise to the levels of delight and unison one could only reach when committing so wholeheartedly to Venus’ embrace. Might my lover treat me to such a lovely experience again tonight? This was after all a special day of mine.

I turned in my silk cocoon to face him, and was met with a disappointing sight. Half my bed was empty, only evidence that anyone had occupied the space a faint outline in the wrinkled sheets where his body had laid. I was accustomed to sharing this queen size with no one. My parents had always been diligent in ensuring that I was endowed much more space than a small person like me required. Somehow, the vastness of this bed, indeed this entire room, seemed pronounced in this moment. I fancied I didn’t really like that much space at all. It only served to remind me of my loneliness.

Rationality grounded me; naturally, he’d gone to his own room before my maid servant would come to knock. It was only sensible. If Lydia came to discover him here, she could not keep such a secret from Mama—though truly I hadn’t much need for concern today, as she was typically inclined to let me sleep in on a day of my celebration. Yes, it was the day itself which heightened my sensitivity, nothing more. Admittedly I’d had hopes for the morning, that he might wake me with another of his sweet kisses, might whisper words of admiration and appreciation in my ears as he’d play with my dark locks—an occupation he liked to take up whenever he visited my private chambers, I’d noted with slight thrill. Indeed, he was a beautiful man—one would be hard-pressed to argue the fact—but more importantly was how knowledgeable he’d proven himself on the treatment of a woman. Had I ever felt so worshipped and adored? If so, I couldn’t recover the memory.

My hand caressed the empty space next to me. He’d always held my fancy, even before either of us could be consciously aware of such implications. As far back as when he’d been a scrawny boy with round green eyes and tufts of brown hair that grew unrestrained, too wild for taming. Such was he when I’d first laid eyes upon him, myself a guileless, wide-eyed girl just six years of age. Our childhood was an innocent one, as most are, and a discordant one, as most aren’t. We’d been too young to fathom the consequences of our relationship. Even so, I could never regret it.

The door clicked open. I sat in surprise, pulling on my duvet to cover me. Why would Lydia not knock? This conduct was so unlike my meek maid, and certainly rude and improper. Under usual circumstances I’d not mind, but in my current exposed state I would’ve preferred for my servant to know her place and knock before entering. Would she not question my state of undress? Would I have answers to offer that wouldn’t further incriminate myself and fuel her suspicions?

But the sight which entered was not Lydia; indeed, this character was too tall, too broad, too much man. The clothes he’d discarded last night was now fitted on him in a most casual manner, shirt tucked carelessly into the waistband of the trousers he’d worn the day before and not fully buttoned. The tension in my body dwindled, and I let a sigh of relief. “You’re awake already? I thought I might make it back before you’d notice my absence.” He wore a crooked smile as he closed the door behind him, though it wasn’t smug but awkward, as if regretful he might’ve troubled me while he was gone.

“Daniel, where did you go? Did you not care to think you could get caught sneaking in and out of my room like that?” I said while he approached. I could not ignore how he moved with an arm behind his back, making his climb back into bed rather clumsy looking.

His smile was amusement now, a hint of a chuckle on the tilt of his lips. He leaned close, and his scent engulfed me, piquant and potent, woodsmoke and seasalt. I savoured the fragrance of him, and his warmth, and those lips, perfect for kissing, as they met mine in a sweet greeting. “Happy birthday, darling,” he muttered against my smile.

He pulled back, much to my dismay—though that sentiment was soon replaced by curiosity as he presented whatever he’d cared so much to hide behind his back. “What is that?” The words escaped me before I’d taken a proper glance at the object; a wooden box, handcrafted. The carving of a rose adorned the top lid and composed the main attraction. Still the rest of the box was as skilfully ornamented, only with less eye-catching swirls and foliage.

“Watch.” He bit his lip in thrill as was his habit—one I found rather endearing, I might add. He produced a small key from his pocket and inserted it into an opening hidden on the side.

I looked on in fascination as three turns of the key set the box in motion. The lid of the case rose all on its own, and as a lovely tune began its play, a small ballerina came to life and emerged from the box. She twirled around in a graceful dance, contentment in her gesture. I brought both hands to my lips, unable to contain my smile; she had long black hair, just like mine. “A music box!”

“Is it to your liking?” Daniel chuckled, and this time his grin was indeed quite self-satisfied.

I took the music box in my own hands and brought it closer to my face. The ballerina spun and spun without a care in the world; she was me, a version of myself I had dreamed of once. Unrestrained, unchained, free of her cage. Her face was simply painted, but the meaning in her dancing form could not escape me. Such I had seen myself, fantasized of another life. That he remembered… “It’s beautiful! How… When did you arrange this?” The inquiry came out more quiet and raspy than I had intended, but he heard.

“Good while ago,” said he with an air of nonchalance, as though it was little trouble. “The actual crafting of the box and ballerina wasn’t too difficult, but I needed some help to have all the parts fitted together. A clockmaker assisted me in getting the thing to actually play; as you know, I’m not much of a musician.”

I audibly gasped and stared up at him, unable to help myself. “You crafted this yourself?”

He seemed amused by my shock—no wonder, as I shouldn’t have been so surprised. He was the son of an artisan after all. The tune of the music box came to a halt at last, its last note fading into silence. “With my own bare hands. Look here,” he pointed to the interior of the lid, “There’s an inscription.”

My eyes followed to where he pointed; the ballerina had indeed stolen attention away from an engraving hidden behind her, on the curved inner side of the rose-adorned lid. Soul free of sorrow, heart light with hope; this be the path I follow, this is the path I chose. My chest swelled, and breath hitched. I wanted to speak, yet couldn’t bring the words to my tongue. Instead I choked on them, and they came caught in my throat.

Daniel tilted his head, understandable question lingering in his expression. Oh, those striking green eyes, this lovely visage. Handsomeness was a term he embodied so utterly; how was it fair for a face like that to completely disarm a woman? I composed myself and swallowed the cry which would’ve escaped me if I’d had just little less self restraint. My one hand cupped the side of my face while the other held the music box, and my smile had no end to it still. Since all else I felt refused to be spoken, I settled on the one feeling I could formulate with ease—amusement. “Some poet you’ve become, huh?” I laughed, shaking my head, yet in an effort to quell the rush inside me.

He grinned and gave my shoulder a gentle shove, an action so very like his behaviour as a boy. “Don’t laugh, I put in a great effort; see, the words rhyme!”

My giggles intensified at his reaction. I placed the music box on the nightstand and spun the key again, thrice; thus the ballerina resumed her carefree dance, light and free. She was magical, twirling such as she did. What a spirit to have, a life to live. To choose your own path to follow, and not the one chosen for you.

I turned towards my company again and pulled on him, locking him between my arms in a tight embrace. “Thank you, Daniel.” I squeezed in hope that the fierceness of my display of appreciation would deliver the message better than words could. “Thank you so much. It’s wonderful.”

“I do consider myself quite the expert on gift giving.” His chuckle was warm against my bare neck. A large hand planted firmly between my shoulder blades and pressed me deeper into his warmth. “I’m sorry if I had you worried, Serena. I only went to fetch my gift for you. I promise I was careful.”

“It’s fine, Daniel.” The words came out in a sigh of contentment. He was indeed so broad and so much bigger than I; his figure wrapped me in amenity, instilling within me an ease I couldn’t hope to discover elsewhere. It was an ease of novel excitement and nostalgic familiarity, all at once. “In truth, what bothered me was the idea that you’d left me to wake by myself.” I pulled away enough to look at him and brushed a strand of his long, brown locks from his face. “Today of all days.”

At those words, Daniel constrained his smile from widening too much, and I blushed by the notion that I’d said something to make him so satisfied with himself. “Well, let me assure you that you needn’t worry of that, my love.” He leaned over me, and I fell back into silk. I had no need for the duvet to cover my naked figure any more; his broad form was quite enough coverage. “You should know that the only instance in which I would leave this bed willingly would be the moment you tire of me and kick me out.”

I bit my lip as a gratifying sensation waved through me, and my fingers found way to the waistband of his trousers, pulling the shirt loose of it. “If that is a challenge,” I laughed, “then go ahead and make your attempt at tiring me.”

By the smirk on his lips, it seemed he accepted. The music box played its last note; it rang into the room and deadened to silence, and so a music of another kind took its place. Lord pray that Lydia would have the thought to let her lady sleep in on her birthday.

So that was all for this century’s anniversary! Thank you so much to all my friends who made these amazing gifts for her, and all of you who participated in celebrating her; it means so much

Until next century, darlings! (I’m kidding, I’m not gonna be inactive on this blog a whole century…)

[happymetalgirl]

August 2020

Black Crown Initiate - Violent Portraits of Doomed Escape

Black Crown Initiate are one of those bands who have so much going for them in terms of their potential and so much about them on paper sounds like exactly the kind of thing I could nerd the hell out over, yet neither of the band’s previous two albums really made that connection with me or showed themselves to be anything other than respectful substitutes for albums like Cynic’s Focus, or Rivers of Nihil’s Where Owls Know My Name, or Opeth’s Watershed. Like The Wreckage of Stars and Selves We Cannot Forgive, Violent Portraits of Doomed Escape draws moments of exceptional strength from modern metalcore to produce a few highlights such as “Years in Frigid Light”, “Sun of War”, “Death Comes in Reverse”, and the closing solo of “Holy Silence”, but its awkward balancing of softer passages and smoother clean vocals just serves as a reminder of how easy Mikael Åkerfreldt makes it look. The band again certainly showcase what great talent they have and that they have the chops to hold their own with this sound, but until they take their compositional style beyond Soen-plus-death-metal, they will have a hard time escaping the shadows of the big names in their field.

6/10

Misery Signals - Ultraviolet

Misery Signals’ output has slowed with the NWOAHM it was borne from, but after only gracing the previous decade with a single full-length (2013’s ironically titled Absent Light) with members preoccupied with side projects, the band re-united its original line-up with long-absent vocalist Jesse Zaraska and a reignited commitment to the phased-out version of melodic metalcore that they sported at the movement’s height of cultural relevance. There are some bright spots of greater melodic vocals invigoration like “Some Dreams” and the quick “Through Vales of Blue Fire”, but Ultraviolet sounds as out of place in this decade as it would be obscured into the background fifteen years ago, serving less as a testament to the glory of 2000’s metalcore and more as a reminder of how saturated the movement became with recycled material.

5/10

Year of the Knife - Internal Incarceration

I missed out on it last year, but Year of the Knife put out their debut album, Ultimate Aggression, last February, a half-hour ripper of no-nonsense metalcore that embodies the current movement that has fixated on reinventing metalcore’s grooves while staying in line with its central aggression. While Ultimate Aggression indeed embodied its title thoroughly, I was hoping it would serve as a filling appetizer for the main course of the group’s sophomore album, Internal Incarceration. After such a promising debut, I have to say Internal Incarceration is a bit underwhelming. The band still flex their hardcore muscles to the point of bulging out of their t-shirts and provide plenty of slam-inducing groove, which there are a few especially good highlights of on “Nothing to Nobody” and the title track. Unlike the creative grooves Ultimate Aggression teased an expansion upon, Internal Incarceration is a more generic display of strength, which makes for this longer listen unfortunately much less exciting. It’ll still get the kids in the pit swinging and kicking once that gets re-instituted, but they sound more like your average local hardcore band who heard Knocked Loose than an up-and-coming powerhouse of the genre.

6/10

Mesarthim - Planet Nine & The Degenerate Era

I feel like such a fool for taking this long to catch on to the prolific Australian project Mesarthim, whose expansive catalog has been all over Bandcamp in the five years since the band’s first release, with this year’s The Degenerate Era being their fifth full-length and Planet Nine being their seventh EP! I may be late, but I made it to the party to see what Mesarthim is all about. I’ve seen a few bands on Bandcamp tag their sound with the “void metal” label, and of the bands I’ve heard, I’ve not really found it to mean much beyond atmospheric black metal with a bit of a space-related aesthetic associated with it, but after hearing Mesarthim, I can see now that this migh be a genuine sub-genre branch of ambient black metal, the subtle but fearless incorporation of shimmering, chime-like electronics and synthetic choral elements really does evoke the vastness of space and the divine wonder of the cosmos. And the band’s two-song EP release this year, Planet Nine, definitely captures that with its bright melodic progressions and expansive synthetic whirring. It’s definitely very atmosphere-based, very dependent on the lushness of the sounds, which are unfortunately hampered in a few of the softer spots by some messy production, but the band’s smooth transitions do help them make up for the flaws in production quality (which I’m amazed they haven’t ironed out this many albums in), and the fixation on gorgeous atmospheres and intentional transitions makes me strongly suspect they take some notes from fellow celestially themed black metal ambient innovators Alrakis.

7/10

Clocking in at around 44 minutes, The Degenerate Era isn’t that much longer than its EP co-release this year, nor is it all too disparate in style, although the band do dip into more traditionally heavy black metal territory here and there, but otherwise it’s lots of expansive synthetic orchestral elements, lots of spacy guitar-playing, and a pretty gutsy dose of the kind of electronics that would send any already-squirming black metal purist over the top into a full blown temper tantrum. The greater range of emotional diversity on this LP in comparison to Planet Nine puts it a little bit higher for me, although both have a similar appeal and are indeed definitely worth checking out.

7/10

In the Company of Serpants - LUX

In the Company of Serpants continue their culinary tinkering with the latest melting pot of metallic styles on LUX, stirring various chunks of 90’s New Orleans sludge, modern death metal a la Rivers of Nihil, and even late-80’s thrash into a broth of atmospheric post-metal (which serves as a gratifying climax specifically to the opening track, “The Fool’s Journey”) that may not be the most groundbreaking dish in the planet, but the freshness of whose ingredients and the skill of whose chefs comes through in the good consistency of the project. I liken it to a soup in that it’s based heavily on atmospheric post-metal and that it’s hard to get a bite of this album without it, and that there are various pieces of meatier genres in there usually popping in one spoonful at a time. Personally, it’s a soup I enjoy and one I think anyone who enjoys some dynamic post-metal or likes their atmospheric metal with a spiritual feel would enjoy.

7/10

Terminal Nation - Holocene Extinction

Terminal Nation are a five-piece from Little Rock, Arkansas who make their full-length debut through the excellent upstart curators 20 Buck Spin, and the band’s aptly titled debut meshes death and doom metal in a flurry more angrily condemning than the average record in the field, occasionally unable to keep from spiraling into grinding blasts of fury in their rage against the capitalism whose very design has oppressed so many and ushered in ecological catastrophe and a new wave of fascism. 2020 has made political commentators out of many, and Terminal Nation are not shy about where they stand and where they place the blame for our world’s ills, targeting the military industrial complex on “Death for Profit”, for-profit medicine on “Caskets of the Poor”, and capitalism as a whole on “Master Plan”. Despite the songs being easily stylistically categorized, the band refuse to let one hybrid genre label define them as a whole, exuding old-school grindcore through filthier guitar tones on songs like “Thirst to Burn” and “Leather Envy”, while slower tracks like “Cognitice Dissonance” and “Expired Utopia” opt for a slow roast kind of scorched Earth, borrowing the occasional nasty metalcore breakdown along the way. Covering a relatively wide range of styles and an array of apocalyptic topics, Holocene Extinction is as blunt in its delivery instrumentally as it is lyrically, and it hits as hard as an album of its nature should, setting this band up on a great start. Fight on!

8/10

Krallice - Mass Cathexis

Already the eight LP for New York’s prolific black metal experimentalists, Mass Cathexis finds the ordinarily forward-thinking band at a loss for major ideas beyond doubling down on he technicality of their sound to the point of stepping on a few of the land mines in the techdeath minefield. They still work in plenty their of their usual progressive song structuring and cerebral atmosphere, and I do enjoy it enough, but I know Krallice can do better than this. And I’m sure they will, and it’ll probably be pretty damn soon too.

6/10

Drouth - Excerpts from a Dread Liturgy

On their sophomore effort through Translation Loss Records, Portland-based quartet Drouth dress up their abundant competence with the basics of blackened death metal as a grander artistic statement than it really is with five epic, yet dragging, showy, yet shallow songs of rather generic material for the genre. I respect the band’s commitment and I give them credit for the performative abilities they showcase on their second album, but I can’t pretend to be wildly excited about 40 minutes of run-of-the-mill blackened death metal.

6/10

Faceless Burial - Speciation

This is the second full-length record from Melbourne three-piece Faceless Burial who have kept a pretty steady pace after their first demo release in 2015 and their independent full-length debut in 2017. Released through Dark Descent Records, Speciation is a refinement of the blunt, bellowing death metal that the band presented on their debut. Packed with delicious low-register guitar riffs, rumbly bass lines, and manic blast beats, Speciation is a candid portrait of much of what makes modern death metal what it is, and what makes it so delicious even looking up at its top tiers. I think Faceless Burial could certainly one day reach those top tiers, and Speciation is a strong step in that direction.

7/10

Avatar - Hunter Gatherer

Swedish quintet Avatar are nothing if not creative, and their decision to go all-in on the circus-freak aesthetic seems to have catalyzed the wildness with which they reimagine and remold melodic death metal. And they’ve certainly been actively prolific over the past decade that saw their emergence into the spotlight, releasing consistently every two years, and they’re right on time this year with Hunter Gatherer. Coming off of the bombastic tale of 2018’s Avatar Country and knowing that the band have a penchant for concept albums, I was eager to see what Hunter Gatherer’s might be, and while there’s no connective narrative, the album generally sticks to a theme of gazing into a chaotic future. The sensational Swedes kick off this year’s effort with its most uncharacteristically generic display, the standard melodeath “Silence in the Age of Apes”, but the album doesn’t take long at all to get to Avatar’s usual extravaganza as the second track, “Colossus”, immediately kicks of with a punctuated siren wail and from the get-go you know you’re in for a ride, and the track’s swaggering mid-tempo march is headbanging as fuck. Oh the invigorating melody just keeps coming too; “A Secret Door” balances alternative rock’s soaring triumph with the natural tendencies toward that feeling from melodeath. The song “Child” captures Avatar’s essential traits with its risky stage-production sway, its soaring chorus, and it’s rumbling low-tuned foundation that all serve the band’s grand ambition in spectacular fashion, and the subsequent “Justice” only soars even higher from there with its palm-muted-backed chorus and Johannes Eckerström’s absolutely fist-raising vocal melody. And the Swedes keep the high-stakes moves coming with the grippingly candid piano balladry of “Child”. As with every Avatar release, though, there are some songs that don’t fly over so well, but only two out of the ten. The band’s switch into half-measured seven-stringed eccentricity on “God of Sick Dreams” is just one of the moments that feels like it could have been a bigger display of creativity, while “Scream Until You Wake” is a clumsily cheesy collision of melodic heavy metal and arena butt rock that unfortunately puts the band’s theatricality in a bad light. The album finishes on two powerful notes, though, with the quick thrash of “When All But Force Has Failed” that immediately reminded me of Bullet for My Valentine’s “Waking the Demon”, and the epic eight-stringed cinematic finale of wormhole. While I still may not have been in love with an Avatar album from start to finish, I still look forward to reviewing their music whenever they have a new album out because even if not everything they do on a particular record, the group’s zealous drive to put on a good show always yields an eccentric and exciting track list and the enthusiasm the band has for whatever imagination it is they’re realizing comes through in their performances. So even if there are a few acts during the show that don’t dazzle me personally, I stay for the whole performance because there’s never a dull moment, and there really is nothing else like it, and Hunter Gatherer has proven sticking around to be worthwhile, because the band have struck their most consistent effort yet, and one I can say I really do love as a whole even with its momentary flaws.

8/10

Moloken - Unveilance of Dark Matter

This came out way earlier in the year, but this is the fourth full-length album from Sweden’s version of Ulcerate, Moloken. I totally kid with how reductive I’m being there, but I mean that comparison as a compliment because Ulcerate are one of death metal’s most interesting acts at the moment and their album this year definitely bolsters their already-high reputation for post-death metal alchemy, and I’d say Moloken’s new album this year showcases how they perform similar sonic sorcery with the vile, grungy sounds of old-school sludge metal, transforming the heroin-intoxicated street babblings of depression into a cleaner, progressive form. And while some of that hyper-perceptible mental anguish is suppressed in that evolution, there’s still enough vibrant torment there inthe clangy bass lines and the yowling screams of agony underneath the layers of more complex, heavy, and modernized instrumentation. I think the song “Hollow Caress” probably highlights the span of older and newer sludge elements on this album best out of the tracks here, but really this whole album is an enthralling window into the spasms of the tormented psyche that might look all too familiar.

8/10

Ingested - Where Only Gods May Tread

Ingested cook up nearly 50 minutes of crusty blackened death metal similar to that of Ancst with a punchy deathcore edge a la Despised Icon or Venom Prison on Where Only Gods May Tread, and for as predictable as the results are, they do pack a solid punch that presents the rhythmic battery of deathcore as a worthy tool of death metal aggression rather than a purist-discredited development. And the band have even tapped a few members of the new and old guards to endorse their metallic campaign through collaboration; Crowbar’s Kirk Windstein joins in on the sludgy barn burner “Another Breath”, while hardcore advocates Matt Honeycutt and Vincent Bennett contribute their talents as well. While it’s, again, not the most groundbreaking of releases, Ingested certainly get the job done satisfactorily beyond what any reasonable purist could gripe about.

6/10

Thou - A Primer of Holy Words

After dropping their compilation of Nirvana covers just a few months prior, Thou hit us again with another compilation of cover songs they’ve done over the years that exemplifies their greater aptitude for the cover song when it comes to styles closer to their wheelhouse like the hardcore punk of Minor Threat and Born Against and the doom metal of Black Sabbath as opposed to the lo-fi grunge of Nirvana, though the band still insist on trying their hand at sludgifying a couple of 90’s grunge classics on a misguided cover of Alice in Chains’ “No Excuses” and Soundgarden’s “Fourth of July”. Like Blessings of the Highest Order, A Primer of Holy Words more or less just runs all the songs on it through a Thou processor to churn out a rather homogeneous mush of sludgy cover material out the other end. It’s a more complimentary batch of songs to the machine the band puts the songs through than the Nirvana covers were, but it’s not something that revolutionizes the originals or outshines Thou simply doing their own thing enough to have me itching to return to it.

5/10

Halestorm - Reimagined

Halestorm take all the punch out of their best hits like “I Get Off”, “I Miss the Misery”, and “Mz. Hyde” in this unnecessarily partially stripped back, partially minimally electronic remix/re-recorded EP of their gutsy modern hard rock catalogue, along with a passable cover of Whitney Houston’s classic “I Will Always Love You”. The unplugged mix of these songs spotlights Lzzy Hale’s booming voice even more than usual, but, again, unnecessarily removes her from her most fitting and supportive context. The neutering of the songs’ instrumental rock swagger to back Hale’s attitude-rich vocal delivery has mostly unfavorable results, the still-vibrant swoon of “I Miss the Misery” coming out the most unscathed, but the most butcherd of the bunch has to be the band’s most storied hit, “I Get Off”, which is about as lifeless as re-dos get. Honestly, the only point I can imagine the band attributed to this project would be the center Hale’s already very centralized voice, which is, not to be a broken record here, just unnecessary. I doubt it was her actual motive, but it’s like she didn’t want anyone else around her sounding good too, so she could stand out better. But more likely it was just another poorly conceived misfire of an acoustic EP of many, not the first or last of its kind. Perhaps my sharp distaste for this one is the impressive display Breaking Benjamin showed on their acoustic re-do album earlier this year.

3/10

Batushka - Raskol

Despite being lambasted as frauds by most fans of the original incarnation of the band after the legally-backed and Metal Blade-released Hospodi was embarrassed by the rushed, but clearly more artistically sound, Панихида (Panihida) from Krystov Drabikowski’s unofficial version of the Batushka project, and more or less exposed as such through the side-by-side release of the two albums, Bartłomiej Krysiuk’s version of Batushka still managed to strike a deal with Witching Hour Productions to release more material this year. I reviewed both Batushka projects last year and despite Drabikowski’s album feeling a bit rushed due to the circumstances of its release, it still blew Hospodi out of the water. Whereas Krystov’s album captured the aesthetic and compositional essence of the seminal Batuska debut, Bart’s album sounded like a generic blackgaze imitation of the real thing, which put the debate to rest for me and most of the Batushka fan base as to who was the deserving artist of the Batushka name. Nevertheless, Bart is giving it another go with the Batushka project in an attempt to earn back the trust he squandered amid the feud that boiled over last year. Biting off a smaller piece of material this time with the modest half-hour slab of Raskol, Bart actually does refine his craft to a slightly more respectable level after shamelessly pimping the band’s name out last year. Fans embroiled in the feud on Krystov’s side seem to forget that even if he wasn’t the driving force of the band, Bart was a part of Batushka from the start and for a long time, so it’s not really that outlandish or surprising that he would actually get better at doing the Batushka thing. While it does still lean on standard shoegaze elements to bide time when Bart’s imagination (or whoever he might have brought on to assist him this time around) runs dry, Raskol is a vast improvement on the cheap, inauthentic-sounding Hospodi, feeling like a much more believable part of the Batushka canon. I still understand fans’ skepticism of the validity of Bart’s incarnation of the Batushka project and I myself still don’t feel totally comfortable lending my full support to a man who hasn’t done much to contest the allegations of unethical actions against him. If this is to be the legal version of Batushka, so be it, at least it’s a little more believable now.

6/10

Primitive Man - Immersion

Denver’s Primitive Man have been the poster child for gargantuan, muscular death-sludge-doom for their entire career, whether it be on their various splits and collaborations or on their full-length projects. The band have played around with harsh noise as a supplement to their absolutely merciless core metallic sound, especially on the lengthy demo, P//M, but the hulk-powered trio have largely kept their main projects free of bells and whistles, which has certainly not led them astray. The band’s 2013 debut album, Scorn, was a sweat-inducing warm-up of direct, no-nonsense, hate-filled sludge metal, and the band quite literally doubled down on it on 2017’s 77-minute Caustic, whose undeniably captivating and fearsome ferocity and tapped so simply yet so tangibly into the core ethos of metal music in this day and age made it one of my favorite albums of that year. This year, the band trimmed it back to six songs clocking in at just 36 minutes, and despite its relative shortness, Immersion spends its time savoring the band’s doom at its usual slow-burning pace. Aside from the noisy two-minute interlude, “∞”, Immersion is another unyielding slab of the vibrantly hateful doom metal that made Caustic such a monolithic album. Despite its being built similarly to it predecessor, Immersion’s half-length feels like a half measure, checking all the boxes, but not really giving the band enough time to vary up their very thick but very homogeneous style except for the harsh noise interlude and the anticipatory buildup of “Entity”. The band are definitely powerful enough to doom-slam their way to finishing the mission though, and Immersion is by no means a failure to showcase that raw power.

7/10

Atramentus - Stygian

Donning your funeral doom metal debut album with a Mariusz Lewandowski art piece after 2017 is a pretty gutsy move in at least that it immediately draws comparisons to Bell Witch’s masterful Mirror Reaper, yet that is the first move Atramentus have opted to take (plus it’s not like a hundred other bands haven’t commissioned the Polish surrealist since then), but they were a bet that 20 Buck Spin has had no problem pitching in to for the Québec-based band’s long-awaited emergence onto the scene. The band’s sudden arrival with a sole release deceptively suggests they are a super new act, but the project has been on the shelves of vocalist/guitarist Philippe Tougas since 2012, who composed the album and kept it in the vault until 2018 (perhaps inspired as many of us were by Mirror Reaper) to finally record it. Stygian is a less melancholic doom metal album than a first impression of the cover might suggest given how many bands have adopted much of Mirror Reaper’s aesthetics. Instead, the debut album’s three tracks offer a refreshingly frightful mix of thundering, mega-chambered drums, Halloween-ish organ hums, dark ambient echoes, and deep rumbling growls and augmented throat chants that are similarly hellish, but also divinely ceremonial hums and emotive soloing during the last of the three movements that serve to maintain the vastness the album invokes. Indeed, the third song (which is half of the album’s length) rolls back some of the menace in favor of some more familiar mournfulness. And of course, this is all delivered at an absolutely tortoise-ish pace as is the key feature of the genre (save for the final burst of blast beats three minutes before the album ends), and of course it can very easily be reductively summed up as a condensed version of Four Phantoms or Mirror Reaper but I really do think Stygian will stand out from the largely homogeneous doom metal crop for what it does do differently with its more ominous elements and hopefully inspire Atramentus to stay active.

8/10

Innumerable Forms - Despotic Rule

The Boston five-piece are back with a two-track demo after a smashing debut in 2018 that captured the vile sludgy doom of Primitive Man and the adrenaline of brutal death metal. The first song on this year’s short offering, “Philosophical Collapse”, explodes out of the gate with deathly quick pace and fury until like a fatigued distance runner after a minute-long burst of speed, it succumbs to doomed sluggishness for the bulk of its runtime. The second and titular track is based on a slower Iommi-esque doom riff that slowly takes the modernized sounds of Sabbath into thrashy territory over the course of its nearly five-minute runtime. Both songs capture the aggressive doom at the heart of Innumerable Forms’ sound that made me love Punishment in Flesh so much, and I hope these songs are at least a sign of what is to come from the band.

Innumerable/10

Unleash the Archers - Abyss

I feel like for power metal especially, putting out a boring record can be worse than an incompitent or poorly executed album, and Unleash the Archers definitely provide strong support that with Abyss, whose moments of mild euphoria (which is an extremely generous description) are much too few and far between the slog of totally formulaic and under-delivered melodic autofill. Vocalist Brittany Hayes showcases her capacity for power metal drama on the epic “The Wind That Shapes the Land”, which only makes her utterly bland, zero-effort delivery across the rest of album that much more offensive. Yeah, I’ll keep it short and keep myself from going too in on this album, because, yeah it’s just boring, which is a massive and avoidable mistake to fulfill an easy baseline requirement for power metal, which, to me, is grounds for failure.

3/10

Incantation - Sect of Vile Divinities

Good ol’ Incantation are back with another 45 minutes of doomy death metal, the likes of Ossuarium, for example, have harped on, which, to give a ratio for clarity, is like 80/20 death/doom. Definitely more death metal gusto than doom metal void-gazing to avoid that pitfall of lethargy, the trade-off for this clearly minimally ambitious album being the numerous pitfalls of death metal. Sect of Vile Divinities definitely gets the job done and it’s sometimes pretty savory along the way, but it’s definitely not an above-average slab of meat from this particular slaughterhouse.

5/10

Kolossus - The Line of the Border

Kolossus is the one-man atmospheric black metal project of Genoa-based creator “Helliminator”, who released this debut LP back in March to relative silence. And with how saturated bedroom ambient black metal is, I get how easy it is for things to get lost in the weeds, but for anyone who stumbles upon this one, it’s definitely a good few leagues above your typical atmospheric black metal release, and Satanath Records did well to catch wind of Kolossus after the independent split release with Manon in 2018. The Line of the Border is a confidently dynamic record whose fluidity in its shifts from acoustic melancholy to post-metal sludge and somber, yet seething, black metal agony showcases Helliminator’s and his collaborators’ compositional ability. It’s a hard album to sum up, and that’s a good thing for an album in a field so easy to reductively describe.

7/10

Humavoid - Lidless

Lidless is the patiently-awaited sophomore album from Finnish four-piece Humavoid, who’s 2014 independent debut album caught the attention of up-and-coming German label Noble Demon through its bold, progressive approach to experimental death metal that, when even just competently executed, gives off such a naturally heady vibe. But Humavoid are not about taking the path of least resistance and not about just creating the appearance of innovation with metal music, and their second record’s thrilling firestorm of Meshuggah-influenced djenty jaggedness that puts Veil of Maya and Jinjer to shame and jazzy eccentricity that fires a warning shot past Imperial Triumphant in the larger-than-life swirl of sounds that would make Devin Townsend cream his britches make for quite the decisive statement. Lidless may be comprised of very familiar ingredients, but the compositonal ingenuity the band wield and the constant headlong drive into the unknown make the combination of sounds on this album. The frightful, falling-stalactite-feeling piano-playing and synth work especially keep the mood of the album ever-shifting and the rest of the band excitedly on their toes, along with anyone hearing their overachieving madness. This is definitely one of the year’s best, and I am so eager to see what lies ahead for Humavoid.

9/10

Expander - Neuropunk Boostergang

Of the bands partaking in this past decade’s thrash metal revival Austin, Texas’ Expander are one of the less hokey, more serious-sounding bands to emerge recently, but of the handful of (2) EPs the band have released and the debut they put out in 2017, nothing the band has done has really sounded any alarms in my ears that they might be one of the bigger movers of the genre in the coming, now-current decade. Reliable underground curators Profound Lore and little-guy-supporter producer Kurt Ballou, though, disagree with my doubt in the band’s potential and have backed their sophomore release here, Neuropunk Boostergang. Harnessing some industrial elements and aggressive shouting that hearkens to American Head Charge and labelmates Lord Mantis and angular riffing reminiscent of both nasty sludge metal and crossover thrash with a more futuristic technicality, Neuropunk Boostergang is definitely a significant step up from Endless Computer, and an album that finds the band zeroed in on an attractive sonic identity. Not many thrash albums beckon the descriptor of atmospheric, and if so it’s certainly more of a generous way of saying it’s boring and blends into the background. Yet Neuropunk Boostergang manages to touch on meditative chords with its immersive and fascinating take on thrash metal, forward-thinking and avant-garde with an early version of the genre that most bands think simplistically to nostalgia-trip over. I wouldn’t have backed Expander to put out anything of major value based on their entire back catalog, and I wouldn’t have guessed that they would actually carve out a little niche for themselves to really blossom in. But the gnarly Texans (and Profound Lore) have proven me wrong in my favorite way with my favorite thrash release of the year.

8/10

Seether -  Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum

Seether have not been doing so well, at least creatively, for the past several years, their last album before this one, Poison the Parish, being a completely unmemorable late-career display of the creative dryness within the band and the expiry of the post-grunge they capitalized in the early 2000’s. Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum is not a full return to form, but it is a step in the right direction that the band desperately needed, which just comes from more meticulous songwriting this time around. The opening track “Dead and Done” is an energetic and vibrant start to the album and “Beg” revisits that “Fuck It” type of energy that the band need to embrace more frequently, while the silky “Wasteland” adds a scoop of Deftones’ shoegazy guitar work and captures the emotive potency that makes post-grunge so appealing when it’s at its best. The swinging “Bruised and Bloodied” offers a taste of the wackier side of Seether, while the more traditionally grungy “Pride Before the Fall” shows just how much the band appreciate Alice in Chains, and they actually help diversify the largely dragging energy of the album. Indeed, the bulk of the album is still unfortunately rut-entrenched filler that could have been better trimmed. It’s passable filler, but it just means that this album is still one that I’ll only be partially returning to to visit its best tracks.

6/10

Powerman 5000 - The Noble Rot

I have never been too big on electro industrialist project Powerman 5000, which wouldn’t even make a B-team picked by frontman Spider One’s own big brother Rob Zombie. My introduction to them was through their 2009 album, Somewhere in the Other Side of Nowhere, an astonishingly character-less and generic caricature of the industrial metal Zombie so exuberantly champions. The band have their better projects like Tonight the Stars Revolt!, but nothing they’ve put out so far has really ever convinced me that I should be paying them more attention. This year’s The Noble Rot is a pretty non-offensive outing, but also typically devoid of imagination. Not to stoke sibling rivalry that’s not there or anything, but it’s like if Rob Zombie were trying really hard not to upset suburban parents from the 90’s. It’s a lot less butt-rocking than the band have shown they can be at their worst, and it’s overall passably listenable. The metropolitan swagger of “Black Lipstick” is a notable highlight where Spider One’s sultry delivery actually works in the track’s favor. But unfortunately there really aren’t any other significant positives to speak of, and listenable is about as kind of a thing as I can say about this album.

4/10

Gulch - Impenetrable Cerebral Fortress

San Jose’s Gulch definitely get points for their all-out work ethic and for leaving everything on the stage or studio, but the band’s sophomore effort this year simply echoes the same need for continued growth that their debut did. The group’s exaggerated but still-maturing take on hardcore punk is thrilling in the short moment it occupies, but entirely forgettable.

5/10

Venomous Concept - Politics Versus the Erection

Like Gulch, Venomous Concept definitely get points for the effort they pour into their very similar brand of aggressive, off-the-wall hardcore punk, but theirs turns out to be another similar case of too little of that effort directed toward really arranging their outlash in an efficient way. It works for the stages and getting kids kicking in the pits that aren’t around anymore for the time being, but only at that baseline level that all good punk music in this vein does. Unfortunately, there’s simply not enough creativity in this project, or traditional punk ethos done exceptionally well for me to be all too enthused about it.

5/10

John Petrucci - Terminal Velocity

Show-off.

7/10

Pain of Salvation - Panther

A lack of ambition has never been a weakness for Swedish prog zealots Pain of Salvation, who love biting off sometimes a bit more than they can chew with their consistently lengthy and overly galaxy-brained concept albums. I definitely respect the massive inspiration the band always seem to tap into and I find them quite capable of fulfilling their creative mission more often than being too heady for their own good. The band do insist on integrating a perplexing degree of early 2000’s nu metal into their sound, and including some rapped verses that seem like a quota they just have to check for some reason. And Panther is, for the most part, another solid display of talents from Pain of Salvation, whose impressive compositional prog chops do more than enough to obscure the odder choices that pop up here and there.

8/10

Ulver - Flowers of Evil

I don’t know why but for some reason I thought Ulver’s venture into synthwave was a one-day stop before they moved on to whatever was next for them. I wasn’t expecting the genre-polyamorous visionaries to make another album in the same synth-y new wave vein as 2017’s The Assassination of Julius Caesar, yet Flowers of Evil is an unexpected and welcome sequel to an album that opened up a whole new avenue of sultry smoothness for the band, and it’s just as cool as it’s predecessor. Are Ulver the new Depesche Mode? I don’t know, if they are, I’m okay with that.

8/10

Necrot - Mortal

Necrot are a recently established trio from Oakland, California who have certainly generated a lot of buzz around their sophomore LP release here since their announcing it a few months ago. I mean I saw memes about the cover relating to coming home and taking off your pants or bra after a long day back in July. The band’s straightforwardly deathly 2017 debut, Blood Offerings, certainly didn’t seem to drum up too much hype around the time of its release, but the band are certainly releasing Mortal this time around to quite a captive audience, and after all the anticipation for their second album, Necrot show the world that can definitely play some death metal. Honestly, I went into this with a pretty open mind and eager to see what Mortal would be al about for the new group with the spotlight on them, but apart from a more old-school approach to riff-writing that does indeed come as a breath of fresh air in today’s death metal landscape, I don’t really see what else about it is such a big deal. I’m not saying there aren’t some tasty grooves or even a good few attention-grabbing solos on here, but I really don’t get what the death metal world is getting all hot and bothered about for this album beyond its checking off all the usual boxes and maybe doing a little smoke and mirrors to present themselves like a modern incarnation of Death or Morbid Angel. I mean I like it as much as, if not a little bit more than, any other average death metal project and I really do like what they band are doing with vintage riffs in this context, but I just don’t see what it’s doing with the very typical elements of the genre that it employs so much better than their average contemporaries that’s ramped up such astronomical hype.

7/10

Pig Destroyer - The Octagonal Stairway

Probably the EP I have been the most pumped for, it’s nice to hear some new Pig Destroyer not so long after their 2018 release, Head Cage, which took some getting used to for me, but I can say I regard it pretty highly as a step toward a more full-bodied sound for the band. I mean they’ve never been short on the shrapnel-spraying volatility needed to wholly carry a project, their groundbreaking creativity with the building blocks of grindcore setting them at the top of their field to look down at the grindcore masses far far below, and J. R. Hayes’ impressive poetic lyricism being a hefty bonus, and Head Cage wasn’t really that big of a stylistic departure for them apart from adopting the sound pallet of their contemporaries. The Octagonal Stairway is definitely more of an interim project for the time being, the first three tracks continuing the band’s mass-building with their sound; they’re as hard-hitting and representative of Pig Destroyer as any song off Head Cage, the title track in particular. I can grant to the pickiest Pig Destroyer Fan that there still isn’t as much slasher-film gore being invoked through samples of such, overtly grotesque lyricism, or scraping guitar tones that mimic the sharping of rusty bone saws. The last 14 minutes of the 25-minute EP are consumed by sample-driven ambient industrial music that the group have definitely had more creative and immersive experiments with. The 11-minute closer, “Sound Walker”, has its flashes of cool industrial manipulation, but given how high Pig Destroyer have set the bar for their ventures into this kind of territory with the cinematic horror of Natasha and even Mass & Volume, this massive track, while a respectable slab of industrial noise ambiance that flows as well as the aforementioned projects, lacks that narrative immersion and grandeur the band have shown to harness so well to bolster their music. For what handful of their talent the band offer here, it’s just enough to remind us of their immense prowess and that they’re still there, watching, waiting.

7/10

[thedoctorvie]

Another questionnaire

1: when you have cereal, do you have more milk than cereal or more cereal than milk?

Pffft, more milk of course. What kind of uncivilized barbarian uses more cereal than milk?

2: do you like the feeling of cold air on your cheeks on a wintery day?

Depends on the coldness of air. Sometimes, if the winter mood is right.

3: what random objects do you use to bookmark your books?

Toilet paper; other, smaller books.

4: how do you take your coffee/tea?

Coffee: Milk and a bit sugar. Tea: Nothing besides tea.

5: are you self-conscious of your smile?

Don't know. Sometimes yes, sometimes no.

6: do you keep plants?

Yes, artificial ones. Those never fail me.

7: do you name your plants?

Nope. I'm not THAT crazy... yet...

8: what artistic medium do you use to express your feelings?

I don't have enough mastery over any artistic medium to adequately express anything inside me.

9: do you like singing/humming to yourself?

Yep.

10: do you sleep on your back, side, or stomach?

Left/right side alternating, most of the time.

11: what’s an inner joke you have with your friends?

Wait, what? Which friends?

12: what’s your favorite planet?

Venus. 460 degrees celsius, sulfuric acid rain, active volcanism, a hundred times higher atmospheric pressure than earth... exactly my kind of planet.

13: what’s something that made you smile today?

The astonishing and heartwarming reactions to an important facebook post of mine.

14: if you were to live with your best friend in an old flat in a big city, what would it look like?

Since my girlfriend is my best friend and we live in a (somewhat) old flat in a big city... not very different than now ;)

15: go google a weird space fact and tell us what it is!

One from google: Neptune radiates more heat than it gets from the sun. One from me: Alcohol has been found in some galactic nebulae.

16: what’s your favorite pasta dish?

Penne carbonara.

17: what color do you really want to dye your hair?

Something appropriately futuristic. Don't know what the cyberfashion of our future looks like.

18: tell us about something dumb/funny you did that has since gone down in history between you and your friends and is always brought up.

Again, which friends? But i once didn't remember the appropriate name of a wire whisk and called it something very funny (which, unfortunately, can't be translated to english)

19: do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw/ in it?

Nope.

20: what’s your favorite eye color? Green.

21: talk about your favorite bag, the one that’s been to hell and back with you and that you love to pieces.

My bags from the medical university of vienna.

22: are you a morning person?

Ahahahahahahaha, no.

23: what’s your favorite thing to do on lazy days where you have 0 obligations?

Coding, reading, playing computer games.

24: is there someone out there you would trust with every single one of your secrets?

No, and i guess there never will be.

25: what’s the weirdest place you’ve ever broken into?

Broken into? I'm not that type of criminal ;)

26: what are the shoes you’ve had for forever and wear with every single outfit?

Currently cheap brown synthetic leather boots from a discount store.

27: what’s your favorite bubblegum flavor?

Apple.

28: sunrise or sunset?

Sunset.

29: what’s something really cute that one of your friends does and is totally endearing?

My girlfriend, when her brain just quits and does something very irrational.

30: think of it: have you ever been truly scared?

Oh yes.

31: what is your opinion of socks? do you like wearing weird socks? do you sleep with socks? do you confine yourself to white sock hell? really, just talk about socks.

I like socks, but not white ones. I like my socks systematically ordered. Socks are life to me, since they guard my feet from unwelcome encounters with... *shudder*... nature.

32: tell us a story of something that happened to you after 3AM when you were with friends.

Why all those "friends"-questions? Seriously, i can't think of any interesting story with above parameters.

33: what’s your fave pastry?

I am no big fan of pastry. Maybe buns?

34: tell us about the stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it?

It is a very old teddy bear. His name is teddy bear. It looks a bit like Mr. Beans' teddy.

35: do you like stationary and pretty pens and so on? do you use them often?

Whats a stationary pen? I mostly write with boring black stabilos.

36: which band’s sound would fit your mood right now?

Good question. Kai Tracid?

37: do you like keeping your room messy or clean?

Both.

38: tell us about your pet peeves!

I could write a book about it. But one of the most important is when people hurt other people.

39: what color do you wear the most?

Pitch black like my heart.

40: think of a piece of jewelry you own: what’s it’s story? does it have any meaning to you?

I don't own much jewelry except of my engagement ring. You can imagine its story and meaning.

41: what’s the last book you remember really, really loving?

The one i am currently reading, roughly translated: "Manual of chip cards"

42: do you have a favorite coffee shop? describe it!

No, i don't.

43: who was the last person you gazed at the stars with?

My girlfriend, while smoking in the courtyard of our residential building.

44: when was the last time you remember feeling completely serene and at peace with everything?

That was... well... the last time... lets say... ehm... wait...

45: do you trust your instincts a lot?

Depends on the situation.

46: tell us the worst pun you can think of.

Unfortunately, i can't translate it into english, but i will give it in german: "Haben Sie Milch?" - "Ja, fettarme." - "Das sehe ich, aber haben Sie auch Milch?"

47: what food do you think should be banned from the universe?

Insects.

48: what was your biggest fear as a kid? is it the same today?

It was being abducted by aliens (seriously!). I don't know what my biggest fear today is.

49: do you like buying CDs and records? what was the last one you bought?

I didn't buy any CDs or records in the last few years. The last one i bought a long time ago was some album from The Vision Bleak.

50: what’s an odd thing you collect?

Books.

51: think of a person. what song do you associate with them?

I usually don't have strong connections between persons and music, but one of the strongest is between a friend of mine and Ashbury Heights - Spiders.

52: what are your favorite memes of the year so far?

I... don't know. I don't remember any in particular.

53: have you ever watched the rocky horror picture show? heathers? beetlejuice? pulp fiction? what do you think of them?

Rocky horror picture show: Yes, i liked it and its crazyness. Pulp fiction: Yes, its ok, but very overrated.

54: who’s the last person you saw with a true look of sadness on their face?

My girlfriend.

55: what’s the most dramatic thing you’ve ever done to prove a point?

Er... don't know, argue it?

56: what are some things you find endearing in people?

Intelligence, kindness, individualism, openness, tolerance, very broad interests, insatiable curiosity

57: go listen to bohemian rhapsody. how did it make you feel? did you dramatically reenact the lyrics?

It made me feel bored (sorry!). I didn't dramatically reenact anything.

58: who’s the wine mom and who’s the vodka aunt in your group of friends? why?

The what and who? What the heck are you talking (writing?) about?

59: what’s your favorite myth?

The one of diarrhea god of some tropical island (i am NOT kidding, it really is a myth! It is from some book about world mythology)

60: do you like poetry? what are some of your faves?

I never read any good poetry.

61: what’s the stupidest gift you’ve ever given? the stupidest one you’ve ever received?

The stupidest i ever received where non-fitting (but expensive) clothes. The stupidest i've ever given? No idea.

62: do you drink juice in the morning? which kind?

Nope, through my veins runs coca cola.

63: are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organized or kinda leave them be?

Well, it's kind of a mess, but i try to organize them.

64: what color is the sky where you are right now?

Black (because it is night)

65: is there anyone you haven’t seen in a long time who you’d love to hang out with?

Yeah, but i don't know if i get along with her as good as back then.

66: what would your ideal flower crown look like?

Wild and untamed.

67: how do gloomy days where the sky is dark and the world is misty make you feel?

Like i am in the right place where i can feel good (strange, i know).

68: what’s winter like where you live?

Chaotic. Sometimes warm, sometimes cold, often in-between.

69: what are your favorite board games?

Monopoly, chess.

70: have you ever used a ouija board?

No.

71: what’s your favorite kind of tea?

Black tea.

72: are you a person who needs to note everything down or else you’ll forget it?

No, i just forget it.

73: what are some of your worst habits?

Good question... smoking?

74: describe a good friend of yours without using their name or gendered pronouns.

A red-headed, smart, wild cat.

75: tell us about your pets!

You think cats are strange and crazy? You don't know mine.

76: is there anything you should be doing right now but aren’t?

God, yes... too much.

77: pink or yellow lemonade?

Yellow.

78: are you in the minion hateclub or fanclub?

FANclub! I LOVE em!!!

79: what’s one of the cutest things someone has ever done for you?

Being there for me.

80: what color are your bedroom walls? did you choose that color? if so, why?

Greyish, my girlfriend made me a portal bedroom for my birthday. Wait, can i revise question 79?

81: describe one of your friend’s eyes using the most abstract imagery you can think of.

Re-emission of electromagnetic field waves, outside the thermal spectrum of usual chemical reactions.

82: are/were you good in school?

No, i didn't want to be.

83: what’s some of your favorite album art?

I liked the one on Monolith - Subsystem, don't know why.

84: are you planning on getting tattoos? which ones?

Yes, an aesculapian staff.

85: do you read comics? what are your faves?

Yes, i especially like star wars comics.

86: do you like concept albums? which ones?

What the fuck is a concept album?

87: what are some movies you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives?

Good question. All Star Wars-movies. 2001 - a space odyssey.

88: are there any artistic movements you particularly enjoy?

3D-generated arts (see for example https://blendpolis.de/forum/kunst/galerie)

89: are you close to your parents?

Yes, kinda. But i am more adult then they are.

90: talk about your one of you favorite cities.

Well i like Berlin very much. People there seem to be much more open and uncomplicated than in vienna.

91: where do you plan on traveling this year?

I don't know, i don't plan anything at the moment.

92: are you a person who drowns their pasta in cheese or a person who barely sprinkles a pinch?

Drown it in ALL the cheese!!

93: what’s the hairstyle you wear the most?

Long, open and flowing.

94: who was the last person you know to have a birthday?

A fellow student of mine.

95: what are your plans for this weekend?

Preparing the silvester party at our home.

96: do you install your computer updates really quickly or do you procrastinate on them a lot?

I have activated automatic updates.

97: myer briggs type, zodiac sign, and hogwarts house?

ISTJ or INTJ, gemini, slytherin.

98: when’s the last time you went hiking? did you enjoy it?

A loooooong time ago, and yes, i enjoyed it.

99: list some songs that resonate to your soul whenever you hear them.

Schalldruck - Turntable Junky (The Crow Remix) ASP - Krabat Weird Al Yankovic - White & Nerdy Zeromancer - Doctor Online Robert Palmer - Bad Case Of Loving You Eluviete - Omnos Crazy Town - Butterfly Faun - Tanz mit mir

[chekhov-and-chill]

The Great Combinator, Ostap Bender

SO SO SO SO I FINALLY GOT AROUND TO WRITING THIS OKAY HERE WE GO

    So today I would like to introduce to you the most charismatic personage in Russian literature, and my favorite character of all time. Ostap Bender is the main character of Ilf and Petrov’s 1928 satirical novel The Twelve Chairs and the protagonist of its 1931 sequel, The Little Golden Calf. What’s interesting is that Bender is, in my opinion, the main character but NOT the protagonist of the first book, while he is definitely the protagonist of its sequel. Additionally, due to several external factors that I won’t delve into right now, the character of Ostap developed very quickly between the two books, so it is difficult to discuss the two Benders as one singular character. Furthermore, out of the multiple movie portrayals of Ostap Bender, at least the two pictured above (Sergei Yursky in The Little Golden Calf, 1968 and Andrei Mironov in The Twelve Chairs, 1976) deserve separate posts discussing their portrayals of the character. So I’m going to break all this up into several posts, and for now I’ll just talk about Ostap as he is in The Twelve Chairs. Let’s start with a little translated excerpt from the book, the first appearance of Bender. 

     At exactly half past eleven o’ clock, a young man aged about twenty-eight  entered the village of Stargorod from the direction of the village of Chmarovka, to the north-east. A little street urchin ran along behind him.     “Mister!” cried the boy gaily, “gimme ten kopeks!”      The young man took a warm apple out of his pocket and handed it to the boy, but the child still kept running behind. Then the young man stopped, and, looking ironically at the boy, said quietly:     “Perhaps you’d also like the key to the apartment where the money is kept?” The boy realized the complete futility of his pretensions and dropped behind.     The young man had lied. He had no money, no apartment where it could be kept, and no key with which to open said apartment. In fact, he didn’t even have a coat…

     From this introduction, we find out three crucial things about Bender. The first is that he is broke and homeless. The second is that while he may not even have a coat, what he DOES have is a sparkling sense of irony. The third is that, since the boy assumed he would have money, Bender carries himself with such confidence that one would never guess his desolate state just by looking at him. 

     Very quickly, we find out that Bender is a con artist, reffered to by the narrator as “The Great Combinator” a man who claims to know “400 comparatively legal ways to part the general population with their money”. “Comparatively legal” is an accurate assessment of what Bender does. He does not resort to violence or outright thievery, and clearly has a code of ethics, especially compared to other characters in the book. Bender is the odd type of anti-hero that one roots for by comparison- because almost every character in the book is a caricature of certain negative traits; it puts Bender’s actions in perspective.

     But every character has some sort of motive for behaving the way they do, so what is Bender’s? Surely someone with his amount of intellect and charisma would easily be able to find a job, make money, maybe even start a family. But Bender isn’t remotely interested in participating in the monotone uniformity of Soviet life; Bender has a dream. Bender’s dream is called “Rio de Janeiro”. It should be noted that Bender’s knowledge about the city of Rio de Janeiro is limited to a picture he saw in a magazine as a child, and a few clippings from an encyclopedia. And yet, he goes conning his way from town to town with one purpose; to gather enough money and escape to Rio. Over the two books in which he stars, we come to understand that even Bender himself, on a subconscious level, understands that his dream is impossible. But it gives him a reason to live.

     After arriving to Stargorod, Bender meets the book’s protagonist (but not it’s main character; that’s Bender): a generally unpleasant but extraordinarily well-written individual named Ippolit “Kisa” Vorabyaninov. It should be noted that “Kisa” is the Russian word for  “kitty”, or, more fittingly, “pussy”. Kisa happens to be in town looking for his late mother-in-law’s treasure (sewn into one of a scattered set of twelve chairs, hence the title). Bender offers to help him with this task, for 50% of the profit. How he managed to weasel into this deal is telling both of Bender’s skill and Kisa’s stupidity. Bender quickly takes charge of the operation, and treats Kisa mostly as a burdensome apprentice.      

     As the book goes on, Bender’s character becomes better and better defined. The reader cant help but fall in love with his charisma, intelligence, sense of humor, and confidence; and as you read, you find yourself justifying Bender’s actions and clutching at any moment where he shows signs of morality (again, to be fair to Bender, few of the book’s characters show any signs at all). But at the same time, Bender isn’t made out to be the perfect “Robin Hood” that con-artist-heroes usually are. Absolutely everything he does is for his own benefit. Bender is selfish, self-obsessed, arrogant, and has no qualms about taking advantage of innocent people to get what he wants. The only times he says anything pleasant or positive is if he’s trying to charm someone into bending to his will. In simple terms, he’s a jerk. His relationship with Kisa is also interesting; Bender always treats Kisa as inferior to him, but also shows him rare moments of pity or even affection. He constantly complains about Kisa’s incompetence, but makes no attempt to teach or improve his accomplice. Bender’s treatment of Kisa winds up costing him dearly at the end, but I won’t discuss that now.

     Why does Bender appeal to me personally, other than the reasons above? Bender is one of the (sadly) few Jewish heroes in Russian literature. One of the authors, Ilya Ilf (which is not his real name), was Jewish as well. I love seeing my people represented in literature, especially if they are well-developed main characters, not minor villains portrayed with stereotypes (as is the case with many books, unfortunately). Other reasons? Bender is an icon of Russian culture; his quotes, even the nonsensical ones, are always used in conversation. You can’t NOT love him.

     Anyway, I’m positive no one is actually reading at this point, but I’ll probably continue these rants. I still want to talk about the movie versions and the sequel and all that jazz. As Bender would say, “the ice has broken, ladies and gentlemen of the jury! The ice has broken!”

[ourmusicmaker]

The Rubaiyat of E.Joyce Francis

The Rubaiyat of E. Joyce Francis

Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, The Astronomer–Poet of Persia, Translated into English Verse by Edward FitzGerald with “engraved headpieces by E. Joyce Francis”, was published as no.6 of the Ebenezer Baylis Booklets, in Worcester in 1934 (1). It was a limited edition of 500 copies. Using FitzGerald’s first edition, it contained five headpieces and one tailpiece, these being shown as Figs.1a, 1b, 1c, 1d, 1e & 1f. Mostly the illustrations seem to be generic rather than related to specific verses, though Fig.1a is clearly the dawn associated with the opening verse, and Fig.1f clearly depicts the turning down of an empty glass in the closing verse. Fig.1e, for example, is clearly a generic depiction of Omar and his Beloved, in the booklet somewhat incongruously located towards the end of the Potter’s Shop interlude. Again, Fig.1b could refer either to verse 33 (“Then to the rolling Heav’n itself I cried...”) or to verse 52 (“And that inverted Bowl we call the Sky...”), neither of which is anywhere near the illustration. The colophon of the booklet is shown in Fig.1g. This lists the consultant–typographer as Leonard Jay, whose name we shall encounter later in connection with the Birmingham School of Printing. We shall have more to say about the other books she illustrated in this series below, but meanwhile, who was E. Joyce Francis ?

Biographical

There is little or no information readily available about her and her work. She gets no mention at all in either Brigid Peppin’s and Lucy Micklethwait’s Dictionary of British Book Illustrators: the 20th Century (1983) or in Alan Horne’s Dictionary of 20th Century British Book Illustrators (1994). Nor is she mentioned in Albert Garrett’s book A History of British Wood Engraving (1978). But thanks to some online research of ancestry records, and more particularly, thanks to contacts with her daughter–in–law, Sylvia Goodborn; her niece, Barbara Chisholm; with Joyce’s friend of many years, John Perfect, and his wife Sue; and with Jane Dew, who likewise knew Joyce for many years, we can rectify that.

Eleanor Joyce Francis was born in West Bromwich on 6th June 1904. In the 1911 census we find her, age 6, living with her family at 57 Bayswater Road, Handsworth, Birmingham. Curiously her name is spelt Elinor on the census return (as it is elsewhere, for that matter – see below – though on her birth certificate it is Eleanor.) Her father is Harry Morris Francis, age 38, an Assistant Secretary at the Birmingham and Midland Institute (the BMI still exists today); her mother Charlotte Francis, is also age 38; and she has an older sister, Margery Francis, age 10. The family is prosperous enough to have a general servant or domestic called Rachel Williams, aged 47.

Joyce (for so she was familiarly known) attended Birmingham School of Arts and Crafts between 1921 and 1935, but with a gap in her studies in the year 1924–5 (the academic year ran from September of one year to the end of August the next), and another between 1927 and 1929. (No–one seems to know what she did in the gaps.) Records there show that she studied elementary art in 1921–2; general drawing in 1922–3; book illustration in 1923–4; craft in 1925–6; wood cuts in 1926–7; and drawing & painting in 1933–4. Details for the other years she attended the School are scant, unfortunately, being restricted to enrolment date and such like. As for the somewhat vague heading of crafts, it would appear that it included book–binding, pottery and textiles. Her skills in book illustration and the creation of wood cuts, were, of course, put to good use in the Ebenezer Baylis booklets mentioned above, and of which we shall have more to say below. During the period 1921–1933 she was living with her family at 152 Hamstead Road, Handsworth, Birmingham, but sometime during the academic year 1932–3, the family moved to 82 Hagley Road, Edgbaston, Birmingham, where they were still living in 1935 (2).

In the third quarter of 1938 Joyce married Arthur Thomas Goodborn in Birmingham, and though she was now Eleanor Joyce Goodborn she continued to use Eleanor Joyce Francis as her professional name. In the 1939 electoral roll the couple are recorded as living at 8 Colinette Road, Putney. London SW15, for reasons possibly connected to her husband’s family – he had been born in Lambeth, London in 1905. In the second quarter of 1939 their daughter Marianne was born in Wandsworth. Some time after that they moved to Loughborough, where her husband was the Senior Tutor in the Department of Teacher Training at Loughborough College. It was in Loughborough that their son John was born in November 1943. Some time after that, they moved to Birmingham, where he had been appointed the Arts and Crafts Inspector for Schools in the Birmingham area, and where she was to teach Arts and Crafts in the Education Department of Birmingham University. Of their two children, Marianne was to remain unmarried, dying in 1998, as we shall see, but John, who died in 2016, was to marry twice. Sylvia being his second wife, she only got to know Joyce from 1973, by which time Joyce had left Birmingham to live in Wales, on which more presently.

As for Joyce’s husband, Arthur Thomas Goodborn, he died in Handsworth, Birmingham, in 1952, aged only 46. Probate records give the couple’s address as 35 Wyecliffe Road, Handsworth, his effects of £5425 16s 6d being left to his widow, Elinor (sic) Joyce Goodborn – not a fortune, but quite a lot of money in those days.

A number of photographs of Joyce have survived, and one of particular note is that of Fig.2a. It is undated, but has the feel of the 1960s about it, and shows Joyce teaching a pottery class (presumably at the University.) The photo was supplied by Sylvia Goodborn, who describes it as “absolutely her.” For comparison, the photograph of Joyce in Fig.2b was taken at Jane Dew’s wedding in 1968. The somewhat dark photograph of Joyce shown in Fig.2c, supplied by Barbara Chisholm, was clearly taken much later, probably at Cae Newydd (of which more below.) Barbara also supplied the photo of Joyce as a little girl, shown here as Fig.2d.

In the late 1950s John Perfect met Joyce through the Youth Fellowship of St Michael’s Church, Handsworth, where she often used to give talks about art. He was in his mid–teens at the time with ambitions to go to art school, so they had something in common and struck up a lasting friendship. (Sue Perfect, incidentally, got to know Joyce somewhat later, from about 1968.)

According to John, St Michael’s Church and Joyce’s talks were attended by the professional people that lived in the Handsworth of those days – doctors, journalists, business people and such like.

Handsworth was a safe Tory seat. The MP was Sir Edward Boyle whose idea of electioneering was to cruise round the area, waving from his Rolls Royce.

As for 35 Wyecliffe Road, it was “a large semi–detached house of an art nouveau style, probably built in the twenties or early thirties.” It is still there today.

Jane Dew told me:

I met Joyce and her daughter and son in the late 1950s when my parents moved back to Birmingham from South Devon. Joyce lived in the same road (Wyecliffe Road) and my mother soon made friends with her. I was still at Secondary School but Joyce knew l really wanted to train in the Arts.

She regularly taught me, informally, techniques and history, lending me books and taking me to exhibitions. She knew a wide range of people and her house was regularly full of musicians, actors and artists. I made friends with her daughter, older than me by a decade, and her son, just a few years older than me.

But, John goes on:

Joyce didn’t care for Birmingham and for some time before I knew her she and her husband had rented a cottage on the hilltop behind Aberdovey in Wales. Called Cae Newydd, it is clearly marked on the ordnance survey map for the area.

Jane adds that Joyce and her husband began to rent Cae Newydd in the early years of World War 2, so that if Birmingham was bombed, the family had a safe haven. Come the late 1950s, Jane adds:

Knowing l missed the countryside, she invited me to stay with them during the school holidays.

I stayed with them for many years and grew to love the area. I regularly accompanied Joyce, with her son, to deliver her paintings to galleries, and help with the unpacking/packing. She also allowed me to draw in her studio, sitting away from each other and working in comparative silence!

She was immensely generous and encouraging, especially when l gained a place at Birmingham College of Art & Crafts (now Birmingham City University). My career as an embroiderer was greatly influenced by Joyce, and I remember her showing me how to design a repeat lino/woodcut to produce an effect like that shown here (Fig.3).

Aberdovey (or Aberdyfi as it is known now) is on the west coast of Wales, about 8 miles north of Aberystwyth. After her husband’s death she continued to rent the cottage, and to stay there as often as she could escape from Birmingham. As for getting back and forth between Birmingham and Aberdovey, John tells us:

Transport was a problem and she bought a succession of rather scruffy vans and cars. She’d load her painting gear into them and take off. Amazingly they never let her down, though she did have a man who maintained them for her. By far the nicest was a Ford ten of late 40’s vintage that had a wood–panelled body that used to be described as a shooting–brake or woody style. I remember the bonnet being opened to reveal an engine that appeared to be smaller than the battery; also, it had pre–war pattern, rod–operated brakes, so it was fortunate that it didn’t go very fast.

John’s first trip to Cae Newydd was in one of Joyce’s vans, when he was in his late teens, and he was to visit it many times thereafter. On occasion he even looked after the cottage, when Joyce was away teaching in Birmingham. His picture of the cottage, done from a photograph taken in about 1980, is shown in Fig.4.

His pen–picture of Joyce back then is wonderful and tallies with Figs.2a & 2b:

She was a woman of ample proportions and wore her long grey hair tied in a bun at the back. She wore long, floppy skirts, frilly blouses, often fastened with a cameo brooch, and a man’s wrist–watch that had probably belonged to her husband. All very Margaret Rutherford.

In 1960 Cae Newydd came up for sale and Joyce bought it. It was, shall we say, very basic – there was no running water (that had to be brought in from a nearby stream, and boiled before use), and there was no electricity supply until poles were put up for the farms in the area in the early 1960s. Thus for quite some time there were only oil lamps for lighting, for example, and log fires for heating. As for the toilet, it was a slate–built shed outside the cottage. A mountain stream entered and exited through holes in the walls, and there was a wooden seat by way of luxury. Joyce apparently referred to it as having a “two hole perpetual flush.” But to her the cottage was idyllic and she regarded it is her spiritual home. John goes on:

To get on with Joyce it was necessary to pass the Cae Newydd test. Those who liked the place despite its privations were in. Those who didn’t, and they were many, were regarded rather differently.

But in 1973, finances dictated that if she wanted to keep Cae Newydd, Joyce had to sell her Birmingham home. With her daughter, Marianne, she moved to Aberdovey, and bought a small shop in New Street there which also had living accommodation. There, they opened what we would now call an Arts & Crafts café, in which they sold a variety of home–made goods as well as pictures by Joyce. Sue Perfect told me:

I remember the goods at the tearoom as being mostly the patchwork quilts, the woollen blankets and the occasional rag rug. The material was mainly recycled not the sort of material one can buy on a bale. Ultimately it was a source that would sooner or later outstrip supply but for the while the tweeds were matched and separated from the cottons so that the finished article was colour and weight matched. The rag rug pieces were poked and drawn through individually onto hessian or sacks, not the prepared backs that one can purchase from craft shops today. Joyce and Marianne were incredibly resourceful and would use anything that would bring a creative pleasure to them and others.

To this account of early recycling, Jane Dew added that the blankets were knitted from wool which in part had been collected from the wire fences of nearby farms, having been scratched off the backs of passing sheep!

Joyce also used to run craft workshops there – patchwork and spinning were two popular examples. The café side of things was run by Marianne. The business was very successful, but neither Joyce nor her daughter were temperamentally suited to a 9 to 5 lifestyle, and, at least on the arts and crafts front, demand rapidly outran supply – at one point Joyce sold the quilt off her own bed to one insistent customer. So, having made sufficient money, Joyce decided to sell the shop and spend the proceeds on Cae Newydd. That was when the real problems began.

Cae Newydd was, as already indicated, one of those homes which sounds idyllic, and indeed was so, for a short stay in summer. But in the winter, with wind, rain & snow blowing in from Cardigan Bay, it was cold, damp, and with no running water and only a primitive outside toilet, it was far from idyllic. The stresses and strains eventually had their effect. Joyce suffered a major stroke and was admitted on a permanent basis to Towyn Hospital, where she died in 1985. Marianne stayed on, but she too was “eventually invalided out” (as John puts it), and she died in the same hospital as her mother in 1998.

Joyce was an active member of the Aberdovey / Aberdyfi Art Society, which still exists today. Unfortunately, despite diligent enquiries by Stewart Jones, Kate Coldham and others, none of the current membership approached remembered much if anything about Joyce, which is perhaps not surprising given that she died over thirty years ago.

Books Illustrated: the Birmingham School of Printing

Joyce was closely associated with the Birmingham School of Printing, which was housed in the Birmingham School of Arts and Crafts, in Margaret Street, in the city centre. (In 1971 the School of Arts and Crafts was absorbed into Birmingham Polytechnic and subsequently into Birmingham City University, the Margaret Street building now being BCU’s Department of Fine Art.) Prominent in its history was Leonard Jay.

Jay was born in Bungay, Suffolk in 1888 into a family which had been much involved in printing. His family moved to London in 1893, and by 1905 he had left school and become an apprentice printer. In 1912 he joined the part–time staff of the London County Council School of Arts and Crafts, becoming a full time member of staff in 1924. He was appointed as the first head of the Birmingham School of Printing in 1925, a post he held until he retired in 1953. He died in 1963 (3a). Under Jay’s overall direction, students, guided by their teachers, produced no less than 192 books and pamphlets between 1926 and 1953 (3b), these including three editions of The Rubaiyat (3c).

In the 1930s Joyce produced illustrations for six booklets for the Birmingham School of Printing. Perhaps not surprisingly, three centre on John Baskerville (1706–1775), who is principally known today as the Birmingham–based printer and designer of typefaces.

Baskerville is worthy of an Omarian aside. Despite being a confirmed atheist, in 1763 he printed what was to become one of the classic editions of the Bible. It was, of course, an exercise in Printing, not Devotion – with equal ‘piety’ he had printed an equally classic edition of Horace in 1762. (I can sympathise with that: my own religious views are similar, yet I wrote a book on religious medals.) But of greater interest is the fact that, in accordance with his wishes, when Baskerville died in 1775 he was buried, in an upright position, beneath a conical monument of his own design (formerly a windmill, apparently), deliberately situated in the unconsecrated ground of his own estate. This was, as the epitaph of his own composition made clear, in protest at “the Idle Fears of Superstition and the Wicked Arts of Priesthood.” Alas, in 1821, he turned out to be in the way of an ongoing canal construction: his monument was dismantled, and his body was, to cut a lengthy story short, moved, in defiance of his wishes, to the consecrated ground of the crypt of Christ Church, Birmingham. Arguably Baskerville got his revenge, though, for in 1897 the church had to be demolished. Unfortunately, his revenge was short–lived, for his body was then moved to a vault under the chapel of the Church of England Warstone Lane Cemetery, again in consecrated ground (4a). There matters rested until 1963, in which year a petition was presented to Birmingham City Council arguing that the wishes of one of their most prominent citizens should be respected, and that his remains should be removed to unconsecrated ground. After all, it wasn’t just Baskerville's wishes that had to be respected: it was argued that the devout Christians alongside whom Baskerville had been buried might not like the idea of having an atheist in their midst! Alas, the petition seems to have been signed by only about a dozen people, none of whom was related to the deceased, so the Council decided, in view of the difficultes involved in finding some legally suitable unconsecrated ground, to leave poor Baskerville where he was, atheist or not (4b)

But to return to the publications of the Birmingham School of Printing, the three Baskerville booklets in which Joyce had a hand were, in order of publication date:

Letters of the famous 18th century printer, John Baskerville of Birmingham: together with a bibliography of works printed by him at Birmingham collected, compiled and printed under the direction of Leonard Jay(1932), for which Joyce did the frontispiece portrait of Baskerville (Fig.5a). (The portrait is seemingly based on a 1774 portrait of Baskerville by James Millar in Birmingham City Museum and Art Gallery.) (4c)

Dr Hans H. Bockwitz, Baskerville in Letters, translated by Herbert Woodbine (1933). The cover illustration was as in Fig.5a, but printed in red ink on a pale blue background (Fig.5b).

Dr Hans Bockwitz, John Baskerville in the Judgement of German Contemporaries, translated by A.B. Hill (1937). The cover illustration was as in Fig.5a.

The three other booklets illustrated by Joyce for the Birmingham School of Printing were, again in order of publication date:

William Shakespeare – Venus and Adonis (1934). Its fine front cover is shown in Fig.6a and its four headpieces by Joyce are shown in Fig.6b, 6c, 6d & 6e. These are my personal favourites amongst Joyce’s book illustrations. Curiously this booklet does not appear in either of the bibliographies cited in note (3b).

Benjamin Walker, Saint Philip’s Church Birmingham, and its Groom–Porter Architect (1935), for which Joyce did the frontispiece (Fig.7).

William Bennett, Richard Greene, the Lichfield Apothecary & his Museum of Curiosities (1935), for which Joyce did the cover portrait of Richard Greene (Fig.8). This was one of a series titled Johnsoniana: Dr. Samuel Johnson & his friends, though Joyce only illustrated this one.

Books Illustrated: Ebenezer Baylis & Son, Worcester

Ebenezer Erskine Baylis, the founder of the firm in 1858, was born in Worcester in 1834 and died in London in 1920. In the census return for 1851, living with his family in Worcester; he is recorded as being a printer’s apprentice. In 1856, in the Parish Church of Edgbaston, Birmingham, he married Sarah Elizabeth Lane, also born in Worcester. At the time of the marriage, he was a printer living in Birmingham. Their first child, Marion Jesse Baylis, was born in Birmingham in 1857. Shortly after, in 1858, as noted above, he founded his printing firm. In the 1861 census, he and Sarah were now living in their own house in Worcester. Besides their daughter Marion, they now had a son, Frank Edwin Baylis (born in 1859.) In the Census Return Ebenezer is listed as a Printer Compositor. At the time of the 1871 census, they were still living in Worcester, though at a different address, Ebenezer being recorded as a printer employing three boys. By now, besides Marion and Frank, they had another son Ralph Archibald Baylis (born 1865), plus another daughter, Ruth L. G. Baylis (born in 1866).

It was Frank Edwin Baylis who was to become the “Son” in “Ebenezer Baylis and Son.” By the time of the 1911 census he was a master printer, bookbinder and wholesale stationer in Worcester, married with five children, three of whom seem to have been employed in the family business. As noted above, Ebenezer Baylis died in 1920, and in 1924 the firm, now with Frank Edwin Baylis as its director, was registered as a limited company. He was to die in 1935, after which the business seems to have passed to his son, Frank Russell Baylis, who by the time of the 1911 census, at the age of 22, was already a master printer, and who was listed as the second major shareholder, after his father, in the application for limited company status in 1924. The two other lesser shareholders were two of Frank Edwin’s other children, Clifford Erskine Baylis, Printer, and Marion Dora White Baylis, Cashier.

The firm continued under the name of Ebenezer Baylis and Son Ltd until 2001, after which its history need not concern us.

Our main concern here, of course, is with the series of twelve Ebenezer Baylis Booklets published between 1933 and 1935 (5), years after the death of Ebenezer, as follows:

No.1 – Fine Printing by Leonard Jay (1933) No.2 – Christmas by Washington Irving (1933) No.3 – Baskerville in Letters by Dr. Bockwitz (1934) No.4 – ABC by Geoffrey Chaucer (1934) No.5 – Parables taken from the Authorised Version of the Holy Bible (1934) No.6 – Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam (1934) No.7 – The Book of Ruth (1934) No.8 – Gray’s Elegy (1934) No.9 – Preface to Milton’s Paradise Lost by John Baskerville (1935) No.10 – Hymn on the Morning of Christ’s Nativity by John Milton (1935) No.11 – Christ’s Sermon on the Mount (1935)/p No.12 – The Bible in Type by John Stone (1935)

All of these were published in association with the above-mentioned Leonard Jay of the Birmingham School of Printing, no.3 being essentially a reprint of the booklet published a year earlier by the School, and mentioned in the last section. Joyce contributed illustrations to six of the booklets as follows:

For no.2 she did a woodcut as a headpiece for the first page (Fig.9)

For no.3 she did the front cover illustration (effectively Fig.5b)

For no.4 she did a woodcut for the front cover (Fig.10)

For no.6, as we have seen already, she did six illustrations (Figs.1a, 1b, 1c, 1d, 1e & 1f)

For no.7 she did four woodcuts (Figs.11a, 11b, 11c & 11d)

For no.11 she did the frontispiece (Fig.12)

An interesting aside, relevant to the firm though not to Joyce, is perhaps worth mentioning here. In 1934, the firm of Ebenezer Baylis & Son, who by then had a London office in EC1, were involved in a libel case at the High Court of Justice, Hodgkinson v. Powys and Others. John Cowper Powys was the author of a novel, A Glastonbury Romance, published by John Lane, the Bodley Head Ltd, and printed by Ebenezer Baylis & Son Ltd. Capt. G.W. Hodgkinson thought that the rather dissolute character, Philip Crow, in this ‘saucy novel’, might be unjustifiably identified with him, as indeed he might given the details, though it is clear that any resemblance was purely accidental. Author, publisher and printer readily expressed unintended liability, great regret, and settled out of court (6).

What is not clear at the present time is how the company of Ebenezer Baylis & Son came to be associated with Leonard Jay and the Birmingham School of Printing. By the time Jay took up his post in Birmingham in 1925, Ebenezer Baylis had been dead for some years, and his son Frank Baylis was in charge. As indicated above, Ebenezer spent some time in Birmingham, and presumably had (family ?) connections there. This plus the common involvement in printing, may explain the connection between the firm and Jay. It may well be, too, as Caroline Archer of the Typographic Hub at Birmingham City University has suggested, that the firm, which was apparently a sponsor / supporter of the Birmingham School of Printing, took some of its apprentices from the School. However, at the moment no precise details are available.

Books Illustrated: Other

It is interesting that all of the foregoing works illustrated by Joyce were done in the 1930s. With one exception, to which we will turn later, I know of no work illustrated by her later than the Baskerville booklet, mentioned above, published in 1937. Whether this had anything to do with her marriage in 1938 and the birth of her daughter in 1939, I do not know, but certainly, back then, when women artists married and started a family, art sometimes took something of a back seat, though, as we shall see, Joyce certainly continued to paint.

Besides the illustrated works listed in the last two sections, there are only two other books illustrated by Joyce that I know of.

The first is of a totally different nature to any of the foregoing: Boccaccio’s Decameron, produced in two hefty volumes, printed at the Shakespeare Head Press, Saint Aldates, Oxford, and published for the Press by Basil Blackwell – vol.1 in 1934 and vol.2 in 1935 (again in the 1930s, note.) It was a limited edition of 325 copies (of which 300 were for sale), with another 3 copies printed on vellum. It was a sumptuous and exclusive edition, in other words, which today fetches high prices.

As the colophon at the end of vol.1 tells us:

The text of this first volume of the Decameron has been prepared from that of the first English translation, printed by Isaac Jaggard for Mathew Lownes in 1625, and compared with the first edition of 1620. The wood engravings have been recut by R. J. Beedham and E. Joyce Francis from those in the edition printed by the brothers Gregorii at Venice in 1492.

But we have to turn to “A Note on the Illustrations” at the end of vol.2 (p.267–8) to find out just who re–cut which wood engravings:

The illustrations which add both beauty and interest to the foregoing pages have been copied in facsimile with a very slight reduction from the woodcuts in the edition of the Decameron printed at Venice by the brothers Gregorii in 1492. They have been re–engraved on wood for the present edition – most of them by Mr R.J. Beedham but the engraving of those for the Second and Eighth Days is the work of Miss Joyce Francis.

Vol.1 covers the first five days of The Decameron, and vol.2 the last five, so, in effect, Joyce did one day in each volume, or about a fifth of the engravings. She did eleven engravings for the Second Day, three of which are shown here as Figs.13a, 13b & 13c. She also did eleven engravings for the Eighth Day, three of which are shown here as Figs.14a, 14b & 14c.

An image of vol.1, open at the title–page spread, was used to head the Printing section of British Art in Industry – 1935 (p.82), a souvenir booklet of an exhibition held at the Royal Academy that year. The exhibition, which took two years to set up, was supported not only by the Royal Academy, but also by the Royal Society of Arts. The front cover of the catalogue is shown in Fig.15a and an image of p.82 in Fig.15b.

How Joyce came to be involved in the publication of The Decameron is, alas, unknown at present. It may have been that she had contacts at the Shakespeare Head Press in Oxford, but it would seem more likely that her involvement came via her ‘senior’ co–worker on the project, R. J. Beedham. (7a)

Ralph John Beedham (1879–1975) was a master of the woodcut, his book Wood Engraving, with an Introduction and an Appendix by Eric Gill, having first been published by St. Dominic’s Press, Ditchling, Sussex, in 1921. In fact Beedham wrote the book at Gill’s suggestion (7b), though neither the Introduction nor the Appendix gives any details as to how this came about. Subsequently the book’s publication was taken over by Faber and Faber, though it was still printed at Ditchling, a fifth edition of it appearing in 1938.

Gill was instrumental in founding the Catholic Crafts Guild of St Joseph and St Dominic at Ditchling in 1920, St Dominic’s Press being its publishing arm. Though Beedham was certainly associated with Ditchling, it is not clear how much time he actually spent there. He was born and spent most of his life in London (7c), and indeed earned his living there, teaching at the London County Council School of Arts and Crafts. He had some connection with Ditchling as early as 1917 (7d) and may have spent some time at Ditchling in the early 1920s (7e), but this may well have been in School vacation times, and some of his work there may have been done by commuting from London. (Gill is known to have commuted from Ditchling to London as business dictated.) At any rate, Beedham’s role at Ditchling was not prominent enough for him to feature in Fiona MacCarthy’s detailed biography Eric Gill (1989), though he clearly impressed Gill enough to contribute to and publish his book.

As the book is a practical guide to the techniques of wood engraving, and as it was clearly popular enough to have run to a fifth edition by 1938, it appears highly likely that Joyce owned a copy. Since Beedham was 25 years older than Joyce, and since his teaching career was at the London County Council School of Arts and Crafts, rather than in Birmingham (where, as we saw earlier, Joyce studied Woodcuts in the academic year 1926–7), it would appear she was never a student of his, and so they must have come together via a different route. One possibility, of course, is that she simply wrote to the author of a book which she had found very useful, and he, impressed by her talent and enthusiasm, invited her to help him out with the large number of woodcuts required for the Boccaccio volumes. Another possibility is that she got to know Beedham via Leonard Jay, who, before taking up his post at Birmingham, had taught, like Beedham, at the London County Council School of Arts and Crafts.

[Beedham did have some connections with publishing in Wales (7f), but since these occurred well before Joyce and her husband took to living in Aberdovey, it is highly unlikely that they have any bearing on the Boccaccio.]

The one book (so far as I know!) which was illustrated by Joyce and which dates from well after the 1930s, was S. Malcolm Kirk’s Operation Panpipes published by Peter Nevill Ltd of London and New York in 1949. For it Joyce did a coloured frontispiece (Fig.16a) and ten black and white illustrations, five of which are shown here (Figs.16b–16f.) It is a children’s story set in post–war Britain (rationing is still in force!) and centres on three children, David, Jim and Margaret, who spend their annual holidays at Carrig on the West Coast of Scotland. Unfortunately their freedom to roam is severely restricted when the War Department decides to set up a Military Training Camp there, with artillery ranges and tank manoeuvres. One day, when the children are out playing, they meet the ancient god Pan (Fig.16a), who had fled from Greece to Scotland to escape the war, getting there by riding on the back of the winged horse, Pegasus. When he learns of the Military Training Camp he and the children hatch a plot (code name: Operation Panpipes) to drive the army out and restore the peace. The plot involves Pan enlisting the aid of the forces of Nature. Thus the Naiads (Nymphs of rivers, springs and ponds) flood the camp; the Nereids (Sea Nymphs) disrupt a naval landing exercise and the Hamadryads (Wood Nymphs) entangle the tanks in foliage. When the tanks are cut free and set out on a training exercise, the ground gives way under them because the Gnomes have hollowed out the earth below. At one point in the plot, the children get to ride Pegasus (Fig.16b) and at another, the Brigadier of the Camp gets assaulted in the rear by a Unicorn ridden by Pan (Fig.16c). During a peaceful interlude, the children and the animals of the wood are treated to a performance by Pan on his Pipes (Fig.16d), then it is back to business with the Loch Ness Monster deluging the soldiers with water (Fig.16e). Operation Panpipes works – the Army abandons the Carrig base – and peace is restored. There is a general celebration, this being shown in Fig.16f, probably the most interesting illustration in the book: Pan plays the bagpipes for a change, watched by (in the foreground) the wood nymphs (left), water nymphs (centre) and gnomes (right). The three children are in the audience, of course, along with various woodland creatures, and Mr and Mrs Pegasus are in the background, with their two foals, Black Spot and White Spot. Even the Unicorn is there, though by now the Loch Ness Monster has gone home. Note the EJF monogram in Figs.16a, 16b & 16e. We shall meet it again in the next section.

Why and how Joyce came to illustrate this book twelve years on from her last illustrated work, is not known, and little information is available about the author, Stanley Malcolm Kirk. He was born in Aston, Birmingham, in 1905. In the 1939 register he is listed as “partner in repetition engineer[ing firm?]” in Birmingham, which may explain why he seems to have written nothing else apart from this children’s story: this may well have been a one–off, done more or less as a hobby (8). In 1946 he married Annabella Sheila Cameron in Solihul (ie Birmingham again.) By 1965, though, they were living in Purley (London) and they were still there when Annabella died in 1979. S.M. Kirk himself died in nearby Croydon in 1990 (or at least his death was registered there.) Barbara Chisholm, who first alerted me to the existence of this wonderful little book, thinks that perhaps Joyce got to know the author through her older sister, Margery (Barbara’s mother.) Given the Birmingham connections just mentioned, this is quite possible.

Unpublished Art Work

Though Joyce gets no mention in most of the standard dictionaries of book illustrators and wood–engravers, she does get a brief mention of her paintings in J. Johnson and A. Greutzner’s book The Dictionary of British Artists 1880–1940 (1986). The entry tells us simply that she exhibited between 1928 and 1937; that she lived in Birmingham during this period; and that she exhibited 26 paintings at the Royal Society of Artists, Birmingham, and 5 paintings at the Royal Scottish Academy, no details of which are given. Fortunately, we can expand on that.

In 1928 at the Galleries of the Royal Academy in London there was held the 14th exhibition of the Arts and Crafts Society. It featured a wide range of crafts from ceramics through jewellery to furniture and prints. One of the prints, no.52 in the catalogue (p.32), was by Joyce. It was a colour print titled “Monkey”, though unfortunately no image of it seems to have survived. The front cover of the catalogue is shown in Fig.17a and the page relating to Joyce in Fig.17b. (The latter gives an interesting snapshot of the variety of material on display.) Joyce also featured in the 15th such exhibition in 1931, where an example of her book–binding was on display: a copy of Songs to Our Lady of Silence, bound in blue morocco with gold tooling (p.70 in the catalogue.) This book of devotional poems, by Mary Elise Woellworth, though she is not named in it as the author, was first published by Eric Gill’s St. Dominic’s Press, Ditchling, in 1920, with a second edition appearing in 1921. It contained five wood–engravings by Desmond Macready Chute (though he is not named in the book either.) St. Dominic’s Press was mentioned earlier in connection with R.J. Beedham, though whether this has any relevance to Joyce’s choice of a book on which to demonstrate her book–binding skills is not known.

As regards Joyce’s paintings, Jane Dew writes:

She exhibited widely and regularly submitted pieces for the Merionedd Artists. I know her work sold well and l clearly remember sitting in the back of the van, holding a single painting, often half a dozen, for delivery to a gallery or a purchaser. Her subjects were landscapes, l have one from the Cotswolds (“The White Road between Windrush and Burford” – Fig.18), given to me as a birthday present in 1962, and one from the Derbyshire Dales (“Via Gallia, Cromford” – Fig.19). She also painted floral subjects, frequently cyclamen, tulips, roses and lilac often with patterned pottery, often the one you were drinking from!

Neither of these pictures is signed or dated, but Joyce’s name and address are given on the back. The inscription on the back of the Cotswolds picture tells us that it was painted in her days at Loughborough, so in the early 1940s; that on the back of the Derbyshire Dales picture, that it was painted somewhat later, when she was living at Wyecliffe Road in Birmingham.

Jane also owns two woodcuts by Joyce, one of her garden at Loughborough (Fig.20) and the other of two penguins (Fig.21.) Note the monogrammed initials EJF in the lower left corner of the latter, as already noted in some of the illustrations for Operation Panpipes.

As regards Joyce exhibiting her paintings, Jane still has the catalogue of a County Art Exhibition held in Barmouth in the late summer of 1965. Its title page is shown in Fig.22a and the page listing Joyce’s contributions in Fig.22b.

Another of Joyce’s paintings is owned by John & Sue Perfect and is shown in Fig.23a. Signed on the front, its title, “Erw Pystill” (a farm near Cae Newydd), and a date of 1950, are given on the back (Fig.23b.) The back of the painting is interesting, for it tells us that it was at one point offered for sale at 15 guineas, presumably through a gallery, but that it was then withdrawn from sale for some unknown reason. Note that the back of the painting bears both her Birmingham address (35 Wyecliffe Rd, mentioned above) and the address of Cae Newydd. Interestingly a phone number is given for both addresses, odd in the case of the latter, which was at that time singularly devoid of most modern luxuries!

Another painting, signed and dated 1967, but untitled, is shown in Fig.24. This is owned by Christopher Riggio, of London, who bought it in “a posh junk shop on Lordship Lane, East Dulwich” in 2018, as it reminded him of the paintings done by a friend of his, Gareth Cadwallader.

The next painting (Fig.25) was sold by Monopteros Fine Art some time ago, the gallery listing it as “Welsh Border Landscape” by E. Joyce Francis. But there is a mystery surrounding this picture, for it is unsigned and undated, and there is nothing on the back of the painting to link it to Joyce. On the contrary, on the back of the painting, in pencil, is written: “ St.Georges Comp / Marion C Robison / Farm in the North Riding / 1471.” If anything, then, this suggests that the painting is by Marion C. Robison and depicts a farm in the North Riding. So what is going on here ?

The present owner of the picture is Jeremy Fisher, the son of the gallery owner, and he was able to tell me that the picture had come to the gallery attributed to Joyce and with the title, “Craig with a Smithy” (Elan Valley, Mid–Wales.) Luckily, Sue Perfect was able to throw some light on all this, for Marion C. Robison was a Birmingham–based artist who lived in the same area of the city the whole time that Joyce was there. Sue and her husband (like Jane Dew), are convinced that this painting is indeed by Joyce, and believe that Joyce painted it on a canvas given to her by Marion C. Robison, whom she very probably knew in Birmingham. The Smithy is almost certainly one of two such in the Aberdovey area.

An example of Joyce’s flower paintings, signed and dated 1959, is shown in Fig.26. Titled simply “Vase of Flowers,” the painting was sold by Arcadja Auctions in 2009, and its present whereabouts are not known. Jane Dew believes that this painting’s original title, of which she has a record from when it was previously sold in 1990, was “Gladioli, Carnations and Scabious, in a Vase.”

Our next painting is a still–life by Joyce (Fig.27) now in the possession of artist Tony Sawbridge. He and Joyce were great friends in her Birmingham days. Moving in the same artistic circles – both frequently exhibited at the Royal Birmingham Society of Art – they agreed to swap paintings with each other, which is how this painting came into Tony’s possession. He told me that they rather lost contact with each other when Joyce retired from the Education Department at Birmingham University, and moved to Wales, though he did pay several visits to her Arts & Crafts Café in Aberdovey.

Finally we have two paintings owned by Barbara Chisholm. The first is another landscape (Fig.28), probably in the Cae Newydd area, and painted in about 1965. Joyce gave this picture to Barbara for her eighteenth birthday. The second – altogether different from anything seen so far – is a painting (“Dreams”) of a couple in an armchair (Fig.29). It is signed and dated 1960 in the bottom left hand corner. The young woman is thought to be Joyce’s daughter, Marianne, but it is not clear who the young man was.

It only remains for us to look at some of Joyce’s “lesser works”, a delightful series of Christmas cards which she produced year on year for her friends. Four are shown here as Figs.30a (1962), 30b (1963), 30c (1968) and 30d (1970). Unfortunately, three of these are intended to be displayed folded over, like a tent, so it is difficult to show them effectively here, but the detail in all is clear enough even when flattened out. Cae Newydd and Wycliffe Road put in an appearance, along with Joyce’s famous vans and her pet cats. The double bass, incidentally, is John Goodborn’s (Joyce’s son), shown in Fig.30b in his Land Rover.

Finally, the rather neat little picture shown in Fig.31 was done by Joyce when she and Marianne left Birmingham for Aberdovey for good. It was a farewell from herself, Marianne and their cats to Jane’s parents. What I particularly like about it is Joyce’s skilful caricature of herself – seen also in Fig.30c – both making me smile when I think of Fig.2a & 2b and John Perfect’s description of her as a Margaret Rutherford–ish “woman of ample proportions.”

Notes

Note 1: Jos Coumans, The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam: an Updated Bibliography (2010), #76.

Note 2: The Registers of the Birmingham School of Arts & Crafts are now housed in the Arts, Design & Media Archives at Birmingham City University (formerly Birmingham Polytechnic), and my thanks are due to Fiona Waterhouse, Research Assistant there, for giving me a guided tour of them. The Registers, which, oddly enough, mostly spell her name as Elinor, give her address at the time of her attendance. That she was still living with her family throughout is confirmed by the Electoral Registers of 1930 and 1935.

Note 3a: A useful biography of him can be found in Lawrence William Wallis, Leonard Jay: Master Printer–Craftsman, first Head of the Birmingham School of Printing 1925–1953: an Appraisal (London, 1963). Jay’s papers are housed in the Leonard Jay Collection at the Cadbury Research Library at the University of Birmingham, and there is an online catalogue of them, as well as a typed paper version by Christine L. Penney, Catalogue of the Leonard Jay Collection (University of Birmingham Library, 1988.) The collection had been assembled by a good friend of Jay’s, Arnold Yates, with the assistance of Jay himself, and it was bought by the University of Birmingham Library in 1987, with the aid of a grant from the Victoria & Albert Museum.

Note 3b: A list of the earlier publications can be found in Bibliography – City of Birmingham School of Printing, which is a Catalogue of Books produced between 1926 and 1935, with an introduction by Leonard Jay (undated, but presumably published in 1935/36.) It lists 82 works. A full listing of the 192 publications produced between 1926 and 1953 can be found in L.W. Wallis’s book, cited in note (3a) above. There are copies of all 192 in Birmingham University Library.

Note 3c: Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam of Naishapur, the Astronomer-Poet of Persia: Translated into English Verse by Edward FitzGerald (1928), not decorated / illustrated, (Coumans #94.) The text is from FitzGerald’s first edition.

Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam: translated into English Verse by Edward FitzGerald (1931), illustrated by Charles Meacham (Coumans #81.) It is “Dedicated to Ambrose George Potter the English Omarian Enthusiast.” The text is again from FitzGerald’s first edition.

Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam: translated into English Verse by Edward FitzGerald (1937), decorated by Catherine Gebhard (Coumans #71.) This too is “Dedicated to Ambrose George Potter the English Omarian Enthusiast” and the text is again from FitzGerald’s first edition.

Note 4a: A fascinating and detailed account can be found in Benjamin Walker’s booklet The Resting Places of the Buried Remains of John Baskerville, the Thrice–buried Printer (Birmingham School of Printing, 1944). I have omitted here the somewhat gruesome details of the exhibition of Baskerville’s remains between their removal from his grave in 1821 and their subsequent (clandestine!) interment in Christ Church in 1829.

Note 4b: The story of the petition was covered on the front pages of The Birmingham Post on 8th March 1963 and 2nd April 1963, but was also of sufficient national interest to be reported in The Times on the 9th March 1963 (p.6, col.1) and 13th March 1963 (p.5, col.1).

Note 4c: There is a copy of it in the National Portrait Gallery in London, and it is this which is pictured in Walker, as note 4a, facing p.8.

Note 5: Actually, this was the First Series. A Second Series was started, and presumably it too was intended to consist of twelve booklets, but it seems that only two were actually published: no.1. Elizabeth Barrett Browning, A Selection: Sonnets from the Portuguese (1935) and no.2. William Bennett, Doctor Samuel Johnson and the Ladies of the Lichfield Amicable Society 1775 (1935). The latter had originally been published in the previous year by the Birmingham School of Printing as part of their series titled Johnsoniana: Dr. Samuel Johnson & his friends, along with Bennett’s booklet on Richard Greene mentioned above. Why the second series ‘fizzled out’ in 1935 is not clear, but it may have had something to do with the death of Frank Edwin Baylis in that year.

Note 6: See The Times, 28th July 1934, p.4 col.6. The novel being centred on Glastonbury, the case attracted some attention by the local press. A lengthy account can be found on the front page of The Wells Journal, 3rd August 1934, for example.

Note 7a: Albert Garrett, A History of British Wood Engraving (1978), pp.146, 155–8, 232 & 374; James Hamilton, Wood Engraving and the Woodcut in Britain c.1890–1990 (1994), pp.15 & 121–2; Malcolm Yorke, Eric Gill – Man of Flesh and Spirit (2000 ed), pp.167 & 169.

Note 7b: This is stated on the front inside flap of the dust–jacket of the 1938 edition.

Note 7c: Online quarterly birth records & census returns for 1881, 1891, 1901 & 1911 place him in London, as do electoral registers for 1925, 1935, 1936, 1937 & 1939. The 1921 census return is not yet online, unfortunately.

Note 7d: Beedham engraved two of the illustrations (the rest were done by Gill) in God and the Dragon: a Book of Rhymes, by H.D.C.P (Douglas Pepler), self–published at Ditchling in 1917. (St Dominic’s Press was set up in 1921, but Pepler apparently had his own hand–press.)

Note 7e: This information comes from Joe Cribb, whose father, Joseph, worked with Gill from 1906 until the artist’s death in 1940: “In my father’s memoir of the Guild he says that Beedham worked at the Crank (Gill’s home on Ditchling Common) in the early 1920s. But nothing else. It is unclear whether he was an occasional visitor or local resident at the time.” (Personal email.)

Note 7f: Beedham engraved the frontispiece for Letters of a Portuguese Nun, published by Francis Walterson of Talybont Dyffryn, North Wales in 1929. The frontispiece was designed by Joanna Gill, the youngest daughter of Eric Gill.

He also engraved illustrations for two publications of the Gregynog Press, Eros and Psyche (1935) and The History of St Louis (1937). As indicated in note 7c above, Beedham was actually living in London in both 1935 and 1937.

Note 8: It would appear that S. Malcolm Kirk was the joint translator, with G. Prerauer, from French to English, of D.E. Inghelbrecht’s book The Conductor’s World, published, like Operation Panpipes, by Peter Nevill, in 1953. So far as I am aware, this is the only other published work in which Kirk was involved.

Acknowledgements

In addition to thanking the people named in the body of the above article, I must first and foremost thank Sandra Mason and Bill Martin for handling the initial correspondence with the Birmingham and Midland Institute, Birmingham City University Library and the Cadbury Research Library at the University of Birmingham, Edgbaston Campus. It was they, too, who made the initial contacts with Sylvia Goodborn, John & Sue Perfect, and Jane Dew, and they too who did the initial spadework with the Aberdovey / Aberdyfi Art Society. I must also thank the many staff members of the three Birmingham libraries just mentioned, as well as those at the British Library.

[choiminhovevo]

hehe

who’s messier? Paige, unfortunately. Artists are always messy, but once they gets a cleaning bug she can be neat as Minho

do they fight often? If an argument between the two gets out of hand Paige says “let’s settle this argument with Mortal Kombat” and Minho agrees. They’ve only argued maybe twice.

who’s the funnier drunk? Paige probably. Minho controls his alcohol well and Paige is a social drinker- one wine cooler and we’re done, but two wine coolers and they’re talking about electric forks and putting salt grains on spoons for shits and giggles and everything sounds stupid.

who’s uncomfortable with PDA and who loves it? Both hate pda don’t hold hands it makes you gay.

who texts more often? Minho texts a lot. Paige writes letters.

big spoon/little spoon? Minho wants to spoon Paige but Paige hates being touched, especially when they’re sleeping. They’d rather jetpack their tall princeling.

who made the 1st move? Minho, surprisingly. Paige didn’t hide their affections for Minho, but they were just affections, nothing more, did not want to act on them because rejection = instakill. When Minho reciprocated said feelings Paige freaked like any sensible shoujo manga protagonist would and it took two volumes for them to be like “okay my shortcomings compared to your flawlessness isn’t so bad so I guess we could date.”

any nicknames? Paige calls Minho “my sun and stars,” in Dothraki. It took Minho a good six months and three watches of Game of Thrones for him to realize that oh shit they’ve been calling me this all this time?!! And the boy heart-eyes at the thought. He calls them dearest and it takes all their willpower not to roll around on the floor and squeal.

the most embarrassing music on their phone? Minho has Top 40 on his phone and Paige has an amalgam of broadway hits, Asian pop, Bengali music and Techno music. Putting their music on shuffle during long road trips is a hoot. Minho can’t deal.

what’s “their song”? In their circle of friends Paige will insist “Amerikkaz Most Wanted” by Tupac and Snoop Dogg is their song, but truthfully it’s BoA’s “Romance”.

who reads more? Minho reads just as much as Paige, but Paige has the extensive book collection and always reads the longer, “difficult” books just for the hell of it.

who remembers anniversaries? They both do; Minho is sentimental and so is Paige (but they won’t admit it). Paige has a photographic memory and remembers everything.

who is better with kids? Minho; Paige is terrified of kids, but they like them for some reason so they are patient with them as they teach them languages and useless facts. (“hey did you know that kangaroos can’t jump backwards?”)

who tops/bottoms? Paige called bottom bunk (“but I gotta pee more at night!” Minho whines. “You get top bunk,” Paige growls, booting up Mortal Kombat X on the PS4)

what’s their favorite activity? Playing games together, traveling, playing soccer, swimming, having eating contests...

weirdest hobbies? Minho watches Ron Perlman montages on YouTube sometimes...

who would make a blanket fort? would the other help? Paige makes blanket forts (“I am a fearsome dragon and I am required a cave of my choosing.” “Paige there are no caves in Seoul.” “So this blanket fort will suffice, homie.”) Minho asks if he can come in and Paige cheerfully says yes you may, and thereby declares their dragon hoard as cute soccer boys named Minho.

who cooks? Paige. Minho can cook, but he’s busier than Paige and Paige is honestly better because if it were up to Minho it would be kimchi jjigae and ramyun mostly. Should Paige cook they don’t have the same recipe every week; sometimes they’ll do themed weeks. Just no Mexican (“but I like Mexican food!” Minho whines. “I’m sick of it, plus it gives you the Hershey squirts.” “Lies and slander!”)

how do they eat ice cream? what’s their favorite flavors? They put the ice cream in their mouth and they eat it…? Paige is allergic to ice cream and eats lime sorbet while Minho likes strawberry and vanilla.

who said “i love you” first? Believe it or not, Paige did. And Minho’s brain rebooted and he stumbled over the words as he said “hey I love you too champ.” and Paige’s brain is still short-circuiting to this day.

do they go on dates? what are they like? When Minho has free time and doesn’t want to play video games with Paige they go out to dinner, go to the aquarium, go book shopping to add to their burgeoning collection (“I just can’t help myself I need books!” Paige cries. “In a few short years we’re gonna be on Hoarders, aren’t we?”) They’re very quiet and don’t draw attention to themselves because there are fans about

Christmas traditions? They wear ugly Christmas sweaters and Paige speaks a lot of German, and they bake a lot of goodies from America that Minho hasn’t heard of.

do they go trick or treating? who stays home and hands out the candy? No one trick or treats in Seoul; kids don’t go wandering in the city like that, but they do go to costume parties. Paige brings in Halloween-themed treats and they engage in spooky tomfoolery with the other members of SHINee.

do they stargaze? Expand. Stargazing is difficult in Seoul, so when they go on their rare Jeju trip, they go to the most remote part of the island, where the only light is from the fishing boats. Paige didn’t major in astronomy and Minho isn’t familiar with constellations but they like to look up at the night sky and love the atmosphere. Almost always, Paige will start to sing the Discovery Channel’s “The World is Awesome” song and Minho always has to shut them up. Do they listen? Fuck no.

who’s the laziest? Paige! Shamelessly! Minho doesn’t complain because they pull their own weight and knows that their job requires that they do a lot and when they wants to do nothing, they will do nothing, Lord willing.

who complains more? Paige doesn’t like to complain; they internalizes their strife. Minho rarely complains.

who wakes up earlier? Paige naturally gets up at 6 am and hates it. If it were up to them they’d sleep in with Minho. Minho has to get up early for flights to other countries but he wants to sleep in with Paige.

who’s more protective? Minho is the feudal lord and Paige is the handmaiden.

who gets jealous easily? Minho. His middle name is Jealousy. Paige finds it amusing, but doesn’t purposefully get into situations where his jealousy may spike. Sometimes they call him “Eifersuchtig Honeypot” and he scowls at them.

how do they cuddle? when and where? They cuddle on the couch, under a snuggie, after a long day of dance practice and translation work and art and Minho is nursing a beer and Paige is watching Funhaus.

how did they meet? Christianmingles.com Paige was wandering around the restaurants by Konkuk and stumbled into a dumpling and ramyun shop. They were eating alone and Minho was there with Jinki and some friends from TV. Minho was lamenting about how he missed the food in America and how he would like to visit the other states (“I like Texas, it’s a shame I’m never there for more than 48 hours”) and Paige is like Texas? I’m from there! And them can’t help themselves and butts into the conversation, telling them about their family in Texas and all the pros and cons of America. Normally idols are tired and don’t want to engage in public, and Paige felt bad about that, but Minho and Jinki noticed that they didn’t act like a fan and didn’t invade their space like a fan, but as a person just casually overhearing their conversation. So they talk, and are happy that they know Korean. They both try to converse in English and Paige freaks and starts speaking in German (“I have no clue what you’re saying now????”) Jinki is flummoxed but Minho is intrigued and asks the ol’ “hey do you know kpop?” question and Paige deadpans “oh boy I do.” their dry and abrasive wit is enough to make Minho laugh and open up to them easily and offers to show them around Konkuk, since they are a teacher at the Konkuk middle school. And the rest is history.

what do they smell when they smell amorentia? The fuck is this.

what lockscreens do they have? Minho has a group selca of SHINee celebrating Paige’s birthday, and Paige has a photo of Minho napping and they put a bow on his head.

how many emojis do they use and which ones? Paige keeps forgetting that emojis are a thing and Minho uses emoticons like it’s 2011.

who throws ill-advised parties? Should Taemin visit Paige’s apartment for nefarious reasons he ropes them into throwing parties where it’s nothing but Achievement Hunter playing in the background and nonstop Cards Against Humanity and Million Dollars, But… and that they get to make snacks and regales the party in their wild stories of their travels. Also it devolves into a Minho roasting session. Paige is always down for it.

who sets the other’s ringtone to something loud and obnoxious behind their back? Minho because Paige never locks their phone. What he doesn’t know is that Paige always has their phone on vibrate. The joke backfires. (note: the phone is Ouran High School Host Club’s opening theme and when Paige finds out they’re pissed and go to put their phone on sound)

lick-claiming. who does it? is the other deterred? Minho, believe it or not. (“Choi we have kissed at least five times your cooties are now my cooties.” Paige takes the cookie, stares into Minho’s eyes, and bites into it with passion. Minho fumes)

who glitterizes everything? Paige! Loves glitter and would have it in every inch of the apartment if they could.

who is obsessed with HSM? Minho and Paige is like “love is dead”

who draws sharpie dicks on the other when they get blackout drunk? Minho was blackout drunk once and Paige didn’t put dicks on his face (“his face is perfect I’m not gonna mar it”) but they do take his phone and put the meatspin on all his phone tabs. Minho was displeased.

who uses chopsticks/can either of them use chopsticks? Both use chopsticks, but Paige is left-handed and holds chopsticks funny and Minho calls them out on it. (“How the fuck you expect me to eat these noodles, son?!”)

when they can’t sleep what do they do? Paige takes heavy amounts of melatonin to sleep, but it rarely works so they lie there talking about their desires to travel and what they’re gonna eat the next day.

what order do they wash themselves in the shower? They both wash anywhere and everywhere; showers are for cleaning you heathen.

who impulse buys? Paige, but mainly impulse buys food and snacks.

who’s clumsier? Paige is the Lad of Stubbed Toes and who the fuck put this banana peel here? Gotta step on it? Step on it? Why? You gotta.

what are their coffee orders? Minho likes Americano with a pump of vanilla syrup, Paige likes earl grey tea with inordinate amounts of sugar.

what apps do they have? Minho has the same apps as Paige except for Pinterest, Google Docs, Netflix, and Twitter. He has sports apps and an English vocabulary app for him to practice. Paige has translator apps and Google Docs.

what are their favorite TV shows? Both like watching old school anime and nature documentaries. Paige watches travel programs and Minho watches sports