#replies ⟿ elizabeth

[chloesimaginationthings]

Will Abby ever meet Elizabeth 👀

I’ve technically drawn that once before! In newer comics? We’ll see,,

[anghraine]

Do you have any favorite/interesting short essays? I'm in between semesters and not wanting to fall totally out of practice reading academic writing.

I do! It seems like you're specifically thinking of academic essays, which for me are generally specialized enough that it's a bit difficult to recommend them without knowing what topics someone is interested in.

That said, some academic essays worth reading, which are available on JSTOR:

Julia Prewitt Brown's 1990 review "The Feminist Depreciation of Jane Austen" articulated a lot of my frustration with feminist critics' often rather narrow readings of Austen (it's not anti-feminist, but rather pointing out the short-sighted form of feminism and bizarre hot takes in what was then the established feminist literature on Austen specifically). 11 pages long.

Elizabeth McGrath's 1992 article "The Black Andromeda" about the whitewashing of Andromeda (especially in reference to Ovid's Andromeda) in art and general discourse around her. 16 pages long.

Jacqueline Jones Royster's 1996 essay "When The First Voice You Hear Is Not Your Own." I have a lot of gripes with composition studies, but this one's good. 11 pages long.

William K. Wimsatt and Monroe C. Beardsley's 1946 "The Intentional Fallacy" is very dated, but also very worth reading in terms of the history of anti-intentionalism, especially given how important anti-intentionalism is to modern fandom (usually in reference to Barthes's "Death of the Author" but the basic concept long predates it). 19 pages long.

It belatedly occurred to me that you might be looking for shorter or more casual essays than these, or on less directly academic topics (though maybe not!). For instance, if you're more "here" for SF/F than my other interests, there are some great essays in Uncanny Magazine and Reactor among others (I find Reactor a bit hit and miss, but when it hits, it hits hard). For instance, I recently read and enjoyed "Seven of Nine is a Third-Culture Kid" by Dawn Xiana Moon and "On Learning to Read Generously" by Molly Templeton.

I could also give you some recommendations for essays more directly about history or psychology in some area that I find interesting, but that's likely to be less accessible and I assumed not what a follower of mine was likely looking for.

[north-noire]

michael afton centric whiteboard animatic (?) drawings things on whiteboard with friends :] this part of the AU is set around Sister Location! song lyrics are from The Adults are Talking - The Strokes

[acrossthewavesoftime]

Wait... are you saying that Simcoe was possibly a Bicon, in addition to being a hero of Upper Canada?

That, my friend, I am! Albeit with the usual caveats that there are some things we cannot say for certain.

I think there are hints pointing towards Simcoe having been possibly romantically, or even sexually, inclined towards men as well as women.

Apologies for my tardy reply, but this got a tad long, so please proceed under the cut:

Edward Drewe: "My Dorilas"

The first hint is the poem I was talking about, written by his fellow officer Edward Drewe, whom Simcoe knew since childhood. Drewe wrote the poem as a farewell to Simcoe upon being invalided back home to England early in the Revolutionary War.

For me, the repeated emphasis on the sorrow of parting in elborately dramatic scenes (such as imagining what would happen if Simcoe would die before also returning home, complete with a description of his "mangled corse" [sic, and a bit sick, too]) and particularly the repeated address of Simcoe as "Dorilas" seem to point in that direction.

The lovely and ever helpful @my-deer-friend was able to pinpoint a potential origin for the appellation "Dorilas" from the Tale The Loves of Dorilas and Euanthe, published in the Oxford Magazine in 1774.

Assuming the name is a direct reference to either this particular story or similar stories, due to the personal nature of the poem, my assumption would be that Drewe, complementing Simcoe's Dorilas, cast himself in the role of Euanthe.

This, by the way, is the last paragraph of the story:

"[G]olden shafts" and Venus having "crowned the night when Dorilas the pride of swains enjoyed his beloved Euanthe" does sound quite... Well, they surely weren't just looking at is stamp collection together.

If the appellation "Dorilas" in Drewe's poem indeed does refer to Dorilas and Euanthe, I think that would be a very distinct hint as to how the relationship between Drewe and Simcoe might have looked like.

John André: "an officer whose superior integrity and uncommon ability did honour to his country, and to human nature."

Another man who was very important to Simcoe was John André. They knew each other, and enjoyed spending time together. They were of a similar age and had shared interests. Similarly to André, Simcoe could draw well and was a man not shy of conviviality.

When André was captured, Simcoe approached Clinton submitting a plan for André's rescue which would have included putting his own life on the line that was however refused by Clinton.

Now, I'm perfectly sure I have seen Simcoe's letter to Clinton somewhere, but cannot find it. It seems to exist, too, because the plan to rescue André was also known to Simcoe's biographer, Mary Beacock-Fryer, who makes mention of it, sadly without referencing the original (Beacock-Fryer, Mary: John Graves Simcoe. A Biography, p. 56.).

What I can provide you with however is the assertion, in Simcoe's own words, that he

[...] had given directions that the regiment should immediately be provided with black and white feathers as mourning, for the late Major Andre, an officer whose superior integrity and uncommon abiity did honour to his country, and to human nature. John Graves Simcoe, Journal, p. 152 (1844 reprint).

In his so-called Journal, a work he compiled in order to highlight his own role in the war and political stances which he wrote with the intention to serve as a stepping-stone for his (political) career after his return to civilian life (and half-pay) in England, there are not many hints as to how his relationship with André may have looked like, which, given its nature, makes sense.

He does however highlight, in his Journal and later private letters, how greatly André's death upset him, and allegedly, though I have never found any proof for this, André's self-portrait, drawn at the eve of his execution, was copied by Simcoe's artiscally gifted wife to give to Honora Sneyd, André's former sweetheart.

There are no concrete hints to any relationship in a romantic or sexual sense with André, in any case however, I think it bespeaks their close bond that Simcoe was willing to sacrifice his own life for André, and had the Queen's Rangers add feathers to their hats as a token of respect and rememberance to him.

Mary Anne Burges: Defying Social Expectations

Simcoe was by most accounts a person who was naturally jovial, affectionate and inclined to see the good in everyone; local stories and historical anecdotes about Simcoe highlight his approachable character.

One curious personal relationship was that with Mary Anne Burges, his wife's best friend; the two were a 'package deal', which he knew; legend has it that after she had accepted his proposal, Elizabeth Gwillim, the future Mrs. Simcoe, sent her fiancé to talk to her best friend and promise her that he would never come between them.

How much of this story is true will remain lost to history, but Simcoe had no issues with Burges moving into the vincinity and being a constant visitor. She even became, in the absence of blood-relations, an aunt of sorts to the Simcoe children who would help take care of the four eldest daughters while their parents were away in Upper Canada.

Mary Anne Burges and Elizabeth Simcoe were friends ever since their teenage years and Burges sometimes came to stay with her bestie, who was then living with her maternal aunt Margaret and the latter's husband, Admiral Samuel Graves, whenever her cash-strapped parents considered putting pressure on her to get married already.

Mary Anne Burges remained single for life, carved out a professional existence (albeit an at times precarious one) for herself writing for magazines, had a great interest in the natural sciences and even became a single (foster) mother to an orphaned relation. Here is what she wrote to Elizabeth when a gentleman decided to try his luck with her by way of a surprise proposal:

[...] so I wrote him word that I had more a determination to continue single all my life [...]. Mary Anne Burges to Elizabeth Simcoe, 8 June 1795.

Her refusal to the proposal had nothing to do with the particular gentleman in question; she was simply not interested in men in a romantic or sexual capacity, which she seems to have been very open about. In another letter to her best friend, shortly after the Simcoe's had left for Upper Canada in 1792, she gives an account of a spat between herself and the notoriously quarrelsome Margaret Graves, jealous of the close relationship between her niece and Mary Anne Burges. Margaret Graves mused loudly that friendships between married (Elizabeth Simcoe) and unmarried ladies (Mary Anne Burges) were very improper, because unmarried ladies might ask a married lady about advice regarding her lovers. Mary Anne Burges coldly replied that "[t]hat can easily be overcome by not having any lovers."

Mary Anne Burges remained a trusted friend close with the Simcoe-family for as long as she lived. Given that the Simcoes were very close, and Mary Anne had been around the Graves' house, too, I would guess that Simcoe would have known either from Mary Anne Burges herself or from his wife, that she was resolved not to conform to the common expectations held for women in the day. Despite that, she was allowed a close relationship not only with his wife, but particularly with his children.

To me, Simcoe's relationship with Mary Anne Burges evidences that he was more, for lack of a better word, open-minded than one would expect of an aspiring social climber with politically otherwise conservative leanings in the late 18th century, which may have influenced his view on and willingness to engage in romantic or perhaps even sexual relationships with other men.

Samuel Graves: Simcoe's upbringing

This open-mindedness likely stems from his upbringing between his mother's and his godfather's household. While I sadly know only very little about his mother, I know quite a fair bit about his godfather Samuel Graves.

Graves valued education (and scolded his older brother because he considered his nephews too little educated to successfully make their way in the world), was married to a member of the Bluestocking circle who believed that women should have more legal rights, especially regarding social mobility through education and vocational training as well as allowing married women to hold property in their own name, and allowed Mary Anne Burges to stay in his home whenver she required an escape from her home life.

Even more interesting is that due to a severe case of malaria contracted while serving abroad as a young man, he had grown infertile. He knew this, and was open about it to his family. Taking this into account, his marriages defy the contemporary socio-religious expectations somewhat as they could never produce any offspring; his two marriages were, from the pieces of evidence I have, likely for love.

His second wife, Elizabeth Simcoe's aunt Margaret, née Spinckes, appears to have been firm on never wanting any children of her own due to having watched her sister die in childbirth, which, coupled with her aversion to giving up her substantial fortune to a husband, had kept her from marrying so far; looking at her marriage to Samuel Graves, it seems that she not only trusted him with her property, she was also happy to have sexual relations with him, some light allusions to this apparently very delctable part of married life she left behind in letters.

Conclusion:

It was in this at the second glance rather surprising environment that Simcoe grew up in, and that may have influenced his personal development, and perhaps instilled in him an acceptance of people not conforming to social expectations, which may have influenced his possible relationships with men such as Edward Drewe and perhaps even John André.

Simcoe's acceptance of Mary Anne Burges as a close friend to his wife and daughters (and to himself, too), who by modern terminology would likely fall under the umbrella term "queer", shows that throughout his life, he was accepting of people who, especially regarding personal and potentially sexual relationships, defied social expectations.

How his own relationships with other men may have looked like concretely, and how the people involved would have perceived, termed and described them might sadly be forever lost to history; for a great analysis of terminology and (what we today consider to be) queerness in an 18th century context, I will link this excellent post by @my-deer-friend.

Especially Edward Drewe's potentially sexually underpinned poem may suggest that a relationship going beyond a romantic friendship between him and Simcoe may have existed.

I think that in Simcoe's case, no prior evaluation of his friendships with men of a similar age prior to his marriage has taken place yet because firstly, most scholarship on him was written in the 19th/early 20th century when queer history was, to put it mildly, not exactly a priority, and secondly, because his very happy, monogamous marriage (about which he wrote poetry containing such great lines as "[...] shall my Eliza with true passion burn") and eleven (!) children do not instantly suggest any attraction to other men on his part.

A further, more in-depth analasys would be a desideratum on my part, especially because I believe there is some basis for it meriting further research.

[intxication]

@elizabeaufort

Jude had been gracious enough to give Mathias space in the church to have his own little projects. From a small wooden shed for stray cats, to a garden box to grow plants and veggies. He was rather proud of it too, and Jude allowed him his space there. The garden was green and starting to bear produce, the first of the season. Pride filled him seeing a few red tomatoes on vines and stubby carrots in the dirt.

While mass was going in the church, Mathias was outside tending to his little garden. Sometimes he could sit there and listen, pretending to be amongst the rest of the flock, but most days he didn't want to. It was too nice outside, and the subject was too boring. So he rolled up his sleeves and put on a hat to block the sun, then got to work.

As he dug around in the dirt, pulling weeds and dead leaves, he noticed a shadow fell over him. Mathias put down his spade and lifted his head.

"Hello, today's mass is being held inside. Are you lost?"

[fideidefenswhore]

'Thus he ended his speech, and he doesn't say That he had wronged or spoken ill of the king, But he prayed that God long keep the king In life, in happiness, [in honour], and in contentment. And when, to the people in attendance, he said, With a steadfast countenance, "Pray for me," With a firm heart he presented his head To the sharp blade that carried it off in one blow. [And not fearing the great cruelty Of the sharp blade [...] Each one seeing that people bore great grief from it] The [three] who had to die afterwards Said nothing, as if they intentionally Had entrusted Rochford Alone to speak for their conscience [...] [The Queen] was still so curious [...] Therefore, they tell her that her brother had shown The greatest strength of any man ever seen [...] The story of the death of Anne Boleyn : a poem by Lancelot de Carle, JoAnn DellaNeva (Translator, Editor, Writer of added commentary)

"'I will,' he said in a good lawyerly fashion, 'not in this point arouse any suspicion which might prejudice the king's issue.' Unwilling to drop his line of questioning, Hales next claimed that George had spread malicious reports which called into question the paternity of Anne's child, Elizabeth. George did not dignify this with an answer. He knew his own sister." Hunting the Falcon, John Guy & Julia Fox

"But George refused to answer the question with the required yes or no, not wishing, he said, “to engender or create suspicion in a matter likely to prejudice the issue the King might have from another marriage.” Nor would he respond to any suggestion that he had spread a rumour that Elizabeth was not Henry’s. The idea that he believed Elizabeth was not the king’s child and that he had repeated such an untruth was, to George, so contemptible that he would not even dignify it with a reply." The Infamous Lady Rochford, Julia Fox

"George Boleyn's real 'crime' was to be Anne Boleyn's brother and Princess Elizabeth's uncle. He was intelligent and spirited enough to mount a powerful defence of his sister. He was powerful enough to provide the focus for Boleyn followers and, especially, those who would assert Elizabeth's rights as heir to the crown." Anne Boleyn, Josephine Wilkinson

[nosensedit]

⊹ ִ࣪ এ credits on twitter ִ࣪ ⌁ like or reblog if you save! ♡ ¸. • *

[apollosgiftofprophecy]

The conspiracy of Rachel Elizabeth Dare :p

for the tag game!

Based on this post by @hogoflight

Basically, Rachel's at art school or whatever and some of her classmates/friends are really invested in this camp she goes to, this weird jewelry she wears, and the (Apollo) cult imagery she has on her, in her dorm, and in her notebooks.

Our three heroic investigators are Liz, Mila, and Sam, who bravely put themselves on the line to figure out what the fuck is going on with Rachel Elizabeth Dare.

Rachel is partly amused but also exasperated.

Apollo's here to cause as much chaos as possible >:)

[asecretvice]

Hey. I just really want to thank you for “And This, Your Living Kiss”. I’m guessing you may be a bit tired hearing us talk about it, what, 4, 5 years after you published it? I just need to express some gratitude. Your poem “Perfect” was probably the first poem ever to make cry, and I still read it occasionally when I’m down. It’s honestly probably my favorite poem ever. For me it captures this delicate, still very anchored kind of happiness that just hits so deep. Kind of like the opposite of melancholia. I hope you get what I’m saying and that I’m not just talking out of my ass, and if I am, I was hoping you’d share some of your thoughts about this poem?

Also, this story is truly my favorite story ever. Has been for a very long time. A question I have for you is, is there any place where we can read more of your poetry? And if not, I was also wondering if you’d be willing to share with us some of your favorite poets/poems?

Firstly, thank you for your patience; sometimes it takes me a while to get to asks.

But mostly, thank you so much for these kind words. Do not ever doubt yourself when taking the time to extend your positivity to others; I—and I daresay the vast majority of people—do not get tired of receiving these small kindnesses. It’s a reminder that life can be full of connection, a reminder that when I send a little bit of my heart out into our raging, grief-filled world, there are those who accept and understand and, hopefully, keep passing that love forward. And thusly we make the world a better place. So please receive my gratitude for reaching out.

That you love “Perfection” means so much to me. It was the first piece of the fic I wrote, you know, and pretty much became the basis for who Dean is in the fic thereafter. I don’t feel you’re talking out of your ass at all. Dean is such a complex character, and I think that’s why so many of us relate to him; we see our own complexity and contradictions reflected back at us through him. There is of course happiness there among the rest—a boy/man who is at his happiest when with his family (blood or no). Underneath it all is that deep thread of love we (and Cas!) admire and strive toward within ourselves.

Unfortunately I don’t have poetry published anywhere else. Maybe someday.

Several of my fav poets/poems appear in the fic already, though they’re among many others. However because I’ve been thinking about her lately, I hope you’ll indulge me if I talk about Elizabeth Barrett Browning and her masterpiece Sonnets from the Portuguese.

In the modern day EBB’s words most often show up in the guise of “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.” It sounds a bit hokey, doesn’t it? I know I always thought so; especially to my teenage ear it was sickly sweet if not downright simpering. Spoiler: I was wrong. Context changes everything.

Do you believe that some books or stories come into your life at just the right time? Fast forward to when I’m 18 or 19. I’m in a town I’ve never been to before, visiting people I barely know. My host needs to work and offers to drop me off in the town center to explore. I agree because the weather’s fair and I’m desperate for a break from polite company, as it were. Happily it’s a pleasant area, full of green and not far from a large canal. After wandering along its edge for a while I aim back toward the local stores and window-shop up and down the streets. At last I stumble upon a used bookstore right next to a gelateria! Well you couldn’t have put two things together that more matched my taste if you tried. Naturally, I resolve to find a book and then go next door for some gelato and spend my time enjoying them both.

The bookstore is in an older building, for sure, with hardwood floors and the type of wainscoting that make me think it’s from the early 20th century at least. It’s split into multiple rooms and connected by open doorways; I wonder if it used to be a home. Many, though not all of the bookshelves are built into the walls and painted a pleasant white, stuffed to the gills with books in every color. The only other soul in the building is the man behind the front counter, and aside from a swift exchange of polite smiles I am left alone. I start by going to the left and poking around the shop and its little book-filled rooms counterclockwise, determined to choose at least one thing before I leave. What type, what genre? What length, what mood? I don’t know, but am sure I’ll know it when I see it. I’m free to choose whatever I like, you understand, because rarely had an English teacher in my past convinced me I couldn’t teach myself better, and I’d resolved never to take a class in the English department in college if I could help it (and for better or worse, I never did).

I take my time twisting in and out of the treasure-filled corners, no rush and no fuss. Yet no book sings to me. At length I near the back of the shop; on the far side beneath a window is a short, two-shelf bookcase. With waning hope I crouch in front of the shelf and begin reading spines. Aha! It’s filled with poetry. Perhaps there is some hope after all…then there it is: Sonnets from the Portuguese. Definitely faux-fancy binding, but still pretty. It looks like this:

I flip through, and every sonnet is accompanied by a different piece of silhouette art. It’s lovely, and it sings to me. A small pencil mark on the inside indicates it only costs a couple bucks, so I rummage in my wallet, stop by the front desk, and leave the store with the book clutched in my hands. With the rest of my cash I go to the gelateria next door and pick a couple of unusual flavors and again, alone, I choose a rickety metal table outside and sit with nothing but birds and sunshine for company. I skip the introduction and open the book immediately to the first sonnet:

I thought once how Theocritus had sung Of the sweet years, the dear and wished for years, Who each one in a gracious hand appears To bear a gift for mortals, old or young: And, as I mused it in his antique tongue, I saw, in gradual vision through my tears, The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years, Those of my own life, who by turns had flung A shadow across me.  Straightway I was ’ware, So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair, And a voice said in mastery while I strove, . . 'Guess now who holds thee?'—'Death,' I said, But, there, The silver answer rang . . 'Not Death, but Love.'

What do you glean from the poem? It is slow and sad, a bright mythologized ideal set against a woman sunk deep in dark grief, a darkness that swiftly shifts into horror as a Shape appears behind her, physically pulls her from her weeping, and demands a response. She is so sure that her own death has at last come upon her, except what’s appeared…is love? Love, of all things? Love?

This is not at all what I am expecting to read. I fill up with another spoonful of gelato and eagerly turn the page.

And turn, and turn—Reader, I’m hooked. I’m strapped into a rollercoaster and freefalling down the first slope, on a wild ride built by a woman who’s been chronically ill since childhood, who’s lived through the death of her mother and beloved brother, whose father keeps her in his house and firmly under his thumb even long into her thirties, who still manages to write and get published and yet still lives lonely in her dark room…Sonnets from the Portuguese is an epic journey via the most astonishing set of 44 sonnets about how love completely changed her life, sonnets which her husband later touted to be the best in English since Shakespeare (and I agree). If you haven’t read the sonnets I encourage you to do so before reading on, link here, but if you’d rather I walk you through…

Even reading them again now I am in awe. How baldly and boldly she talks about how she and Robert, because of course it’s about her famous courtship with Robert Browning, are not meant to be. Not just her circumstances at home, not just her poor health, not just the fact that she thinks herself so below him and his worth, but also her grief. The darkness that lives in her! So many lines from these poems are woven into the tapestry of my life, like from sonnet V: Behold and see / What a great heap of grief lay hid in me. She warns that it could ruin him. Stand further off then! go! it ends.

And yet the next one (VI) begins: Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand / Henceforward in thy shadow. It is too late. She’s already been changed. The world and her perception of it are already shifting. Read how the beginning of VII illustrates this:

The face of all the world is changed, I think, Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul Move still, oh, still, beside me, as they stole Betwixt me and the dreadful outer brink Of obvious death, where I, who thought to sink, Was caught up into love, and taught the whole Of life in a new rhythm.  The cup of dole God gave for baptism, I am fain to drink, And praise its sweetness, Sweet, with thee anear.

She was sinking into oblivion, death her companion, until he stood between them and she was caught up into love, no longer to go through her days sitting simple and still in her room, content to wallow in the sorrow she’d been given. Yet…that still doesn’t matter, because how can she reciprocate? And, crucially, does it make her a bad person that she can’t?

am I cold, Ungrateful, that for these most manifold High gifts, I render nothing back at all? Not so; not cold,—but very poor instead. (VIII)

Have you ever been there? Found yourself wondering if you’re even capable of love and kindness toward others given all you’ve been through, and how horrible it feels to think that ability’s been stolen from you? Is what little you can eke out even worth anything in comparison? Beloved, I only love thee! let it pass. (IX)

But she continues turning the idea of love over in her mind. Could it be that love is fully worthy, no matter where it comes from? There’s nothing low / In love, she reasons, when love the lowest (X). Still it does not seem that she herself could be worthy—and if this is worthy love, anyway, would she have even known how to do it if she’d not first been shown by him?

And thus, I cannot speak Of love even, as a good thing of my own: Thy soul hath snatched up mine all faint and weak, And placed it by thee on a golden throne,— And that I love (O soul, we must be meek!) Is by thee only, whom I love alone. (XII)

It seems that Robert persists in his own love, because then an earnest plea: that he love her for love’s sake, because people change in time. She herself is changing now because of him! Do not even love her because he loves taking care of and comforting her, because his love could lessen her need for that comfort! (XIV)

Regardless she is not without feeling, as sad and calm as she outwardly seems. She’s just not like him. But…could his love and his will be strong enough to overcome all these obstacles? Why, conquering / May prove as lordly and complete a thing / In lifting upward, as in crushing low! With such success, she says, I at last record, / Here ends my strife. (XVI)

But of course, nothing can be quite so simple. Her first question is how she can be useful to him. This does not feel like a full partnership:

How, Dearest, wilt thou have me for most use? A hope, to sing by gladly? or a fine Sad memory, with thy songs to interfuse? A shade, in which to sing—of palm or pine? A grave, on which to rest from singing?  Choose. (XVII)

That theme of death, too, is still ever-present. Even as the next couple of sonnets talk about how they’ve exchanged locks of hair she speaks of it. In XX a sea-change is further revealed, however, when she compares her life before Robert to the one after knowing him, how link by link, [I] Went counting all my chains but now, in contrast to VII’s cup of dole, she drinks from life’s great cup of wonder! She begs him to keep saying that he loves her (XXI), continuing the theme that his love will teach her, lift her, allay her many fears. But the next again ends with the death-hour rounding it.

Robert’s response? That her death would harm him. She admits to marveling at this revelation. If it is to be believed,

Then my soul, instead Of dreams of death, resumes life’s lower range. Then, love me, Love! look on me—breathe on me! As brighter ladies do not count it strange, For love, to give up acres and degree, I yield the grave for thy sake, and exchange My near sweet view of heaven, for earth with thee! (XXIII)

So first we learn that it is Love, not Death that has grabbed her; then we know that she feels Robert’s soul has slipped between her and the brink of death and thus she begins to question her constant sorrow; she is changing by his love; she will stop worrying about her worthiness and be of use to him and bask in what love he is willing to give her; but only now, finally, does she give up death itself in order to live her life. She is choosing to live!

The next few sonnets double down on this, about how all her hope had become despair, about how for so long she only had visions for company, and didn’t know they were mere shades in comparison to a reality of actually living, how Love, as strong as Death, retrieves as well. Also important? His saving kiss (XXVII).

We’ve come far, but progress isn’t an even trajectory. The rollercoaster dips again: now that she wishes to live, she wishes to live in his presence. She is both touch-starved and starved for company. Because their letters—one of, if not the most famous set of love letters in the English language—are to her all dead paper, mute and white! She speaks of how they fixed a day in spring / To come and touch my hand…a simple thing, / Yet I wept for it! (XXVIII) So we got the first mention in the last sonnet of his kissing her, and now a memory of when he first touched her hand. She goes on to write about how thinking of him is no longer enough; she needs to be near him. She then wonders, when he is gone, if she has embellished his feelings for her. Can you blame her? I certainly can’t. Her dark thoughts are now manifesting in these doubts about her perception, rather than her abilities.

But upon his next visit, she admits, I erred / In that last doubt! (XXXI). His presences reassures that all is real, not dream. And while she has always found it unlikely that their bond could have formed so fast (Quick-loving hearts, I thought, may quickly loathe, XXXII), now that she knows him she knows it was wrong to think that of him. She then brings up her childhood and draws parallels between the bright happy love she felt then with the love she feels now…even though, given the life she’s lived, the love she feels really can’t be the same. Her thoughts are no longer that of a child’s, which can be lightly turned aside, but for him she can and will turn from her dark, lonely thoughts when called.

This all decided, that their love is deep and true and as real as the loves she used to feel, and that she wants to be with him, an important question remains: If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange / And be all to me? Simply reading the poems and knowing their time period (Victorian) it could be enough to assume that it’s a regular leaving of your childhood home to create your own. But remember what I said at the beginning? The control her father exerts over her? She knows he would never approve. Hell, it was difficult enough for her siblings to make lives for themselves within his shadow. Going with Robert would mean truly leaving everything. She knows it won’t be easy: For grief indeed is love and grief beside (XXXV).

This great fear invites more doubt. She admits she has grown stronger and more confident, but that doesn’t make her troubles disappear. She knows she does their love a disservice in so doubting and in so fearing, but she can’t help it. But then…she returns to the physical, to his presence. In XXXVIII she speaks of their first three kisses: the first on her hand, the second for her forehead, but half-landed on her hair, and the third upon my lips was folded down / In perfect, purple state; since when, indeed / I have been proud and said, “My love, my own.”

She goes on in the next sonnets to say how grateful she is that he truly sees her and knows her beyond all the layers of sorrow and sickness she labors under. It should also be noted that, uncommonly for their time, he at 33 or so was courting her at 39/40. And so she is grateful, too, that he thinks it soon when others cry “Too late.” (XL). She then thanks all who had ever loved or listened, but again thanks Robert for listening to her even when it was difficult. She doubles down, now, on her decision to live:

I seek no copy now of life’s first half: Leave here the pages with long musing curled, And write me new my future’s epigraph, New angel mine, unhoped for in the world! (XLII)

And then—only now, as the rollercoaster shoots us upward and onward in joy and hope for a good, loving future—does she begin sonnet XLIII with How do I love thee? She asks this, not as some young girl with no life experience about a boy she’s seen across the room (I mean, how else was I supposed to interpret it, given how it’s used in the modern age?). She asks this as a woman full four decades into her life, a life full of chronic illness, an authoritarian home, and familial grief. She asks this after months of courtship during which she fought for every inch of belief, and hope, and joy. Where she at last came to know her own strength of heart and of will. Because she does leave her home, dear Reader. She elopes with Robert Browning, gets married in France, and lives out the rest of her life in Italy, where death finally catches up to her at 55. Keep all this in mind, as you read the sonnet in full:

How do I love thee?  Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of everyday’s Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.

There is one more sonnet, where she brings back flowers, a motif I didn’t spend time on in this post, to talk about how their souls are intertwined down to their roots. I bring it up now not just because flowers end this glorious cycle of forty-four poems, but because I think of her grave.

A year or two after I fell in love with these poems I was lucky enough to be in Italy myself. Some friends and I were walking around Florence and I insisted we had to find the English cemetery. I remember it as being this island of a hill in the middle of some busy streets, all fenced in with a little building at the entrance. When we scurried across the street and inside, there was a nun there who greeted us warmly. I told her I was looking for Elizabeth Barrett Browning and she lit up. She motioned for us to follow as she told me that they do their best to take care of her grave, and have always done so (I don’t know if she means just those who work there or Italians in general, as EBB was loved by Florence in her time). But, she said, they did not look kindly upon Robert, because he spent all this money on a beautiful tomb but he never, ever came to visit. She said this with the authority of someone who had witnessed it herself, though of course that was impossible. This was clearly a story deemed important enough—or perhaps simply so full of strong feeling—to stand the test of time.

The tomb is indeed beautiful. The pictures when I did a quick lookup on the internet do not do it justice; forgive me for not having the energy now to dig up where I’ve saved the old files of the pictures I took myself. At the time it was absolutely surrounded by tall, enormous roses, deep red in color. After I had my fill the nun was kind enough to take us on a tour of the rest of the cemetery, which was lovely. But I’ve never been able to shake the memory of that story, the one where the nuns lived and died resentful of an absent Robert.

It wasn’t until about a year and a half ago, when I read Fiona Sampson’s recent biography Two-Way Mirror: The Life of Elizabeth Barrett Browning that it finally made sense. Robert often avoided grief in this way, it seems, afraid to travel back to England when family members were ailing until it was too late. Whether you agree with his actions or not, his absence we can at least hope is from his great love turned to great grief, rather than a lack of feeling on his part. He himself died in Venice; their only child died in Italy also. Robert is, however, still separated from Elizabeth in death: he is buried in Poet’s Corner, Westminster Abbey, London.

If you’re hoping for a neat bow on the end of this post, there isn’t. I think of her often not just because I love her poetry but, I suppose, because each year is slowly, inexorably bringing me closer to the age she was when she decided she would live her life again, and though I haven’t found a soul-shaking love like she has, I am trying, trying, trying to live, too.

[richmond-rex]

I once saw a blog using Buck's letter as evidence to prove that Elizabeth of York was ungrateful, cruel, and cruel to Anne Neville. We all know that this letter is unlikely to be true, and the content is not like Buck's chosen explanation... Many scholars who believe in Buck's explanation want to use it to denigrate Elizabeth's morality and prove the innocence of Richard III and the evil of Henry VII... However, my idea is, even if it is true, what can it be used to illustrate? Is it excessive for Elizabeth to hope for the death of a woman who has deprived her mother of her legal status? Anne's husband killed her family and insulted her identity. Her maid status is more like an insult than "kindness". I think most historians and novelists are too harsh on Elizabeth's character, and I don't think she wants Anne, a woman who accepted the tragic experience of Elizabeth's family, to die as a malicious thing.

Hello! I think everyone is entitled to their own opinions so I don't want to say OP was right or wrong in expressing their interpretation of Elizabeth of York. Personally, what I would want my followers to be aware of is that Elizabeth's letter which is often quoted in pop history books has not actually survived — what is actually quoted is Buck's interpretation of that letter as he filled in the blanks with what he thought would best fit Elizabeth's context. We just need to keep in mind that his goal was to redeem Richard III's reputation (read more of my thoughts on the letter here).

she feared the Queene would neu[ blank ]

My own opinion is: who is to say that Elizabeth of York was expressing any wish for Anne Neville to die at all? What if what she was actually saying is that she feared the queen would never recover from her illness and intercede in her favour? Elizabeth's letter was addressed to John Howard (Duke of Norfolk) to make him intercede with Richard III for her. If she needed someone to intercede with the king — if she needed an intermediary at all — that hardly speaks of any great familiarity between her and her uncle as the letter is so often taken as evidence (if they were lovers, why address someone else at all?). Considering the traditional role of the queen as intercessor, it's not out of ordinary to suppose Elizabeth had written to Anne Neville first but found the queen unable to aid her plea because of her illness.

I don't think many modern authors use this letter to denigrate Elizabeth of York tbf but they certainly do it because it adds a salacious gloss to her story — just a hint of controversy that makes pop history books sell. As to Elizabeth's family situation, it's difficult to speculate on her feelings about Anne Neville, whether she would put the blame solely on her uncle's feet or if she would see his wife as an accomplice, but what I think we can say is that it's impossible to tell her feelings from a single fragmentary line.

[lordisitmine]

On Characterization, and the Nature of Immortality

I got a comment on the most recent chapter of TTNBD that made me realise some things about how I view the characters- namely the differences between Lizzy and Ciel and how it plays into my writing- and I wanted to re-post it here and kind of elaborate a little. TO BE CLEAR: this is NOT me calling out this commenter or being upset with them- I just thought it might be interesting to document my thought process for clarity and posterity.

The comment in question:

"I'm a little upset with sybil and lizzy, is the option not there for them to do the same as ciel and sebastian. Lizzy if she was willing, could be changed, but it sounds to me like she plans to stay a human, which sounds kind of boring to me..lol"

My response:

"I maybe should have made that clear- Sybil isn't fully a demon, so she wouldn't have the ability to change Lizzy, since they aren't already in a contract with each other. Also, I don't think Lizzy would want to live forever- not everyone is well-suited to immortality, in my opinion. Ciel living forever makes a lot more sense to me because he was already disconnected from his humanity jn a way, and had that craving for power and control, which makes living forever/demonic power a natural transition for him. I don't see that for Lizzy. I think Lizzy is too human, I think she feels too much compassion and love for her fellow humans to ever live apart from them. That's just my view, obviously. But also, no spoilers, the story isn't over yet!"

Now, let me expand on that:

It has always been important to me as a writer that the plots of my stories only exist/progress insofar as they match up with the motivations/traits of the characters therein. One comment I get more than any other is that I am very good at characterization- this is why. I pay attention to the way characters act, feel, and exist within the world of the canon setting, and I try to emulate that as much as I can while still telling non-canon stories & portraying non-canon relationships. Obviously, different writers, readers and fans have different perceptions of characters, but I will always stick to my perception, as it is the only perception I have.

I say this so when I explain why I've done things the way I have, you'll hopefully understand why.

In TTNBD Chapter Eight, Claude describes the nature of the demonic mating ritual to Alois. His explanation is as follows:

"As the story goes, there was once a demon, one who was among the first to adopt the Faustian method of existence. This demon had fallen so deeply in love with their human master, and the master with their demon, that upon completion of their contract, neither of them wished to ever be parted from one another. The demon devised this ritual as a solution...... The newly turned demon is created from the power of the existing contract- this in turn creates a perpetual exchange of energies. Each of the demon’s power feeds and is fed by the other’s."

The ritual, as I imagined it, can only be performed by a full demon, on a soul that they are already under an existing Faustian contract/bargain with. I think I have made that clear enough. Sybil, not being a full demon, doesn't need to consume souls as sustenance/cannot consume them, and therefore cannot be in a Faustian contract with a human. She couldn't turn Lizzy immortal whether she or Lizzy wanted it or not.

And, to be honest- I don't think Lizzy would choose that, even if it was an option. But why not? Ciel couldn't wait to do it, and wouldn't it be way more romantic if Lizzy and Sybil got to be together forever? I beg your patience- I'll get there.

Living forever is something a lot of us sometimes wish we could do- most of us (myself included) are scared of aging/death to some extent, some more than others. The obvious drawbacks of immortality are often discussed in literary/fandom spaces- outliving your loved ones, boredom etc. But one thing that doesn't get discussed enough (in my opinion) is the fact that immortality would require one to live separately from human beings, despite resembling them. Choosing to live forever would be choosing to other oneself from humanity while still being forced to exist within its influence. And I believe some people's personalities just aren't suited for it.

And there, dear reader, we have the crux of the issue- I think Lizzy has one of those ill-suited personalities.

First, let's take a look at Ciel. He and Lizzy have, to a minor extent, been narrative foils to each other throughout this story- going through some of the same character beats/plot arcs, but having their perceptions, motivations and feelings affected in different ways.

Ciel, in my opinion, was a great candidate for immortality. He, through both his upper-class status and childhood trauma, has always been separated from the experience of the common man (or humans in general). He already has that seed of discontent with his mortality within him, as well as a disdain for a lot of the things humans choose to do and the ways in which he perceives it to be foolish, dirty, or below him. There was always something in him that was disconnected, that put him apart from mortality, even before the ritual.

He also has an innate craving for power and control- as well as a willingness to do anything to achieve/maintain it, even at the expense of his fellow mortals. And really, what gives one more power and control than to be immune from death itself? And then there's the fact that he happens to have his fate and soul deeply entwined with Sebastian, an already immortal creature, who would do anything to stay by his side for all eternity. So, turning Ciel into a demon, making him immortal, was a no-brainer from the perspective of accurate characterization.

Lizzy, on the other hand, is (again, in my own opinion), almost too human for her own good. In my quest to break her out of the annoying childish character that she has in the anime, I discovered someone who, like Ciel, has deep convictions, as well as a stubborn streak- but, unlike her cousin, Lizzy has a love and compassion for others that limits her ability to be objective or always do what is necessary in order to succeed.

Furthermore, Lizzy doesn't have the same ambitions Ciel does, nor the inherent disconnect from the human race that is present at the core of Ciel's character. That's what makes the contrast between them work, and it's why they'll never completely see eye-to-eye, even when they're working toward the same ultimate goal.

To put it simply, I think Lizzy would miss being human too much. I think, despite that fear of death we all have, she wants to grow old, to experience all the stages of human life to their fullest. I don't think she could live in audience to humanity's saga- I think she needs to be an actor in it. Which is why the idea of making her immortal has never once been something I've seriously considered doing or have any plans to do in TTNBD. I won't say anything about what WILL happen in the TTNBD finale, but that is one thing that will NOT be happening.

That being said, this story isn't over yet! Once, again, no spoilers, but if you know me, you know I don't do sad endings! We're in the business of satisfying conclusions here, so all I'm asking is that you stick with me in this endeavor and let me get you all to that finish line!

If you read all of this, thank you so much. It means a lot to me that people care about what goes into crafting a story like this one. Love you all, and I hope to see you again soon!

[chloesimaginationthings]

Okay, but Elizabeth being an absolute savage girlboss isn't something that's talked about enough.

Love how you're spitting facts for our girly pop. 💪💪💪

TBH I go off the personality baby has, and gotta assume some of that sass is definitely Elizabeth

[anghraine]

At Longbourn, nothing would have changed Lizzy mind about Wickham, because at that point, she was very sexually attracted to him.

I'm not sure what this is in relation to (maybe the post about Bingley trying to deliver a warning about Wickham?).

In any case ... maybe so? But it's by no means certain. Also, I think that, while Elizabeth is definitely sexually interested in Wickham, she is even more interested in her own ego, and Wickham's charming flattery + Darcy's lack of either in his behavior towards her are all factors in Wickham's appeal for her. It's not a purely sexual appeal by any means.

And I don't think we can say for certain that literally nothing would have gotten through to her—all we know for sure is that nothing did in the specific circumstances of the novel, until Darcy's letter.

[puppett-boyy]

Hello Charlie! I have finally started using the internet!!!!!!!! How are you today?

:O Hi liz! I'm good! It's great that you finally joined us :D

[flo-nelja]

Arranged marriage for the meme!

Yay! I don't have a vivid imagination for this trope, so more than half are cases where the arranged marriage is totally canon.

Thorn/Ophélie (La passe-miroir/The Mirror Visitor)

It's very classic arranged marriage (for supernatural reasons) turns into resentment that stops them from realizing the good things about the other turns into alliance turns into unspoken love (painful for the reader) and maybe more? It fully worked on me. I especially loved how the description of Thorn (the book is Ophélie PoV) turn from uncharitable descriptions of an average looking man to very horny descriptions of an average looking man.

If you don't know the series, I can advertise it more. It's good French fantasy.

2. Louis/Caesar (Kimi o Shinasenai tame no Monogatari)

Yeah I have at least one m/m canon arranged marriage, is a dystopian future where romantic partners and reproduction partners are totally disconnected. It's a painful case of arranged marriage with love only on one side, it's a mess and they don't make it work. I enjoyed it though. ^^

3. Xavin/Karolina (Runaways)

In the category: arranged marriage to end a war. This one starts with love only one one side (it helps that one of them was raised to see this marriage as a positive thing and the other never heard about it), but they make it work. For a while. Because they're separated because you can't get peace that easily. Not the main romance for Karolina, but my fave.

4. David/Josiane (L'homme qui rit)

This one has a creepy age difference, but the relationship is fun despite it. They're capricious nobility of the kind "we could have loved each other so much, but the fact that our parents decided this for us is totally ruining the concept". I have hope for them in the future.

5. MIlly/Lloyd (Code Geass)

They are a case who absolutely don't fall in love with each other and break the engagement. I think their personalities go well together, though, and that they could have been good friends if not for the "ugh" reaction of being arranged engaged.

6. Khonnen/Leah (The Dybbuk)

Tragic version! Their parents engaged them to each other before they were born, and because of this they feel drawn to each other (it's a world with magic) and fall in love. Leah's uncle has forgotten about the promise and wants his niece to marry a rich man. The boy dabbles in dark magic to get her anyway and dies, but his ghost is possessing her. It's absolutely not healthy. Still shipping it.

7. Philip/Elizabeth (The Americans)

Communist spies in the eighties who are technically work colleagues but have a marriage licence and actual children. It's a slow burn romance and I love it.

8. Eponine/Marius (Les Misérables)

This one is absolutely not canon! I don't know why, I came across the idea of Marius thinking he has to marry Eponine out of gratefulness for Thénardier saving his father, either because he's naive, or because Thénardier is manipulating him, and I thought it had potential for being absolutely awful (complimentary)!

9. Ciel/Elizabeth (Black Butler)

You know, they're cute (they're cousins but I don't care). As of recently in the manga it's more complicated than this, but if anything it made me ship it even more.

10. Twilight/Yor (Spy x Family)

Both got married to have a cover for their (opposite sides) spy activities. Neither knows about it. It's written as cute anyway, on the arranged marriage that becomes real side, with their common affection for their (arranged) daughter a big part of the feelings. It works for me.

[nosensedit]

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