#some of us want to experience catharsis through fiction though hope this helps | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bbq-hawks-wings · 4 years

Text

There are times when we get caught up in black and white, either/or, and all or nothing. We forget sometimes to breathe, step back, and find the gray in between. Sometimes we recognize that those hard lines in the sand are drawn more out of habit than any concrete reasoning we can immediately muster, and that there isn't really a justifiable reason to place such great emphasis on separating the thing in question in the first place. Opinions on evaluations of fictional characters are held in extremes as marks of character and points of contention within fandom far and above what they usually should be.

For many, fandom is a form of escape above mere entertainment. Comfort characters garner a following of people who often share enough commonality to bolster each other and bind them together in support as they cheer on and vicariously live through each and every one of that character's victories. Occasionally, though, these characters can end up having the exact opposite effect.

Even putting my personal feelings about Takami Keigo aside, I've always been fascinated by what he objectively is as an anime character. Though I fully recognize that removing myself from the equation is difficult, if I had to put my impression of what he is in the industry into words I'd say he feels like lightning in a bottle. It's not often in anime I find a character with such an appealing and striking visual design within his own series and next to characters of any other series, alongside such an endearing and clearly defined characterization in the way he's written and the way he acts - the whole combination of which is more powerful than the sum of its parts is something I can only describe as plain and simply "appealing" - and the mundaness of the word betrays the profound extent to which that definition applies. Almost anyone in the world could look at that character with no prior knowledge and say and say, "I like him." Almost anyone who might venture to look a little deeper would probably say at the very least, "Yup, I can appreciate that character exists" even if it stopped there.

There's likely far more of these kinds of characters in anime than I give them credit for, but Hawks has struck a chord with me in particular that resonates far more than most other examples I could think of. He's done the same with many more, I know. I am not the only Hawks-centered meta/analysis blog on this site alone by any stretch of the imagination. I wouldn't be surprised if my own more-often-than-not, self-indulgent interpretation of events has however many more rolling their eyes at my work. I experience the same thing myself on occasion in regards to content I disagree with (all in good faith, please understand - we all have different tastes and viewpoints and that's a good thing), but in this particular context I find something exceptionally bittersweet in it.

For some, it's simply bitter because they place an emotional stake in the ultimate fate of Takami Keigo far above what I do - something that's much more personal and valuable than I often realize; or maybe I do, but those reasons why simply strike far more deep and personal for others than I can personally relate to.

From the very beginning Hawks has been framed in the moral gray of the greater context of the My Hero Academia lore. He is not all good but not all bad. The way he interacts with others comes across as cold and calculating, but his inner thoughts betray a warmth and depth that's deeply endearing. The contrast of the massive good he seeks to do despite the profound wickedness of his upbringing has captured the hearts of many and has them thinking more or less the same thing, "This character has such an undeniable amount of good in his heart that he deserves to end up happy after all the pain he's been through."

"He deserves to be free. He shouldn't have to be alone anymore. He should do what makes him happy, not anyone else." Every single Hawks fan I've heard from has echoed these same core sentiments, though it's taken many forms.

Herein lies the near paradox of his fanbase, ironically befitting his ambiguous nature: the very traits that endear him to individual fans are often the context and lens by which they define the key to the ultimate happiness they want for him, and that spectrum is a wide one to the point of having one of the most diverse dedicated fanbases to a single character I've ever seen.

Just as an easy example, for someone who latched onto the fact he was used like a literal tool for others' gain, they may see the key to Hawks' happiness in rebellion - kicking the system, fighting the man, going apeshit for once next to people who also are tired of being trampled over.

For someone who recognizes his unwavering desire to do good and help others despite his developmental environment may see him being handed the reins of his own life back to him as his ticket - to have the choice of saying yes or no, to be able to keep going or just fly away merely because he wants to.

I have to pause and emphasize that they key to understanding both perspectives is catharsis for the audience in question, and while I have my own opinions as to which is more befitting to the character as written, I am placing equal emphasis on both interpretations as valid reasons to root for the ultimate outcome in each scenario.

This is all in response to comments I've received thanking me for being so steadfast and vocal in my insistence that while Hawks' formal allegiance may change, his heart and the way he feels towards heroes in general will not. I may have my personal preference and own interpretation of what that will look like in the end, but the key takeaway is that I don't see him bucking the entire heart of the hero movement in hopes to get back at the Hero Commission.

However, that isn't to say I don't understand or look down upon those who either genuinely have come to a different conclusion or would just rather see it happen because it would be more satisfying or interesting for them in particular. I also wouldn't be sore if it ended up coming to pass assuming the buildup to that point felt appropriate and genuine as I don't see it as an impossibility for his character. For me, it doesn't have to be a point of contention driving a wedge between different Hawks fans.

So if you ever feel frustrated or upset at the amount of support in your preference or lack thereof in your desired direction, don't let it get to you. While others have their own reasons for wanting the ending they want, the overall result they want from him is more than likely the same as you.

I asked a completely informal poll giving people an either/or ultimatum for where fans personally wanted him to end up, purposely leaving out a potential third option; but the replies I got overwhelmingly echoed the same one regardless of the false either/or I intentionally planted, "I have my preferences for where I want him to end up, but really all I want is for him to be free and do what he wants in the end because it's what HE wants to do."

That's amazing!

Simply by virtue of my own audience or the way it rippled through the community it could be biased in any direction, but when at least HALF of the total responses say, "Neither" in some capacity regardless of a forced preference I think it's safe to say that we all have a lot more in common regarding this character than we often realize, and he isn't even real!

Hawks was always gray on purpose, and I really hope at the end of his arc we get something that pulls together and unites the other characters in the series as well as the fans because I think that's the point of his character to begin with. I doubt everyone will be completely happy with the outcome off the bat, but as long as it's genuinely satisfying from a character development standpoint I hope we can pull together in support knowing we can't always get what we want, but it was a good run - plus there's always fan fiction for when the author got it wrong!

For real, though, let's get excited together. Find your corner, but follow the character not the crowd. You don't have to think of them as perfect, and sometimes the characters that even end up disappointing us the most stick with us longer. We can always dig a little deeper to find out why they did what they did, or why we want something so badly for them, and even just acknowledge when we just want what we want because we want it. That doesn't make us bad people or bad fans. Fiction is usually written to be enjoyed - HeroAca definitely not an exception to that general rule - and tastes in entertainment vary far and wide. Any one series with that variety of expectations aimed at it just can't satisfy everyone so I'd personally rather it stick to the story it was trying to tell from the beginning instead of succumbing to a popularity vote, even if I didn't get the ending I wanted.

I just hope this was a comfort to some of you and an olive branch to others in case you were feeling down about how others viewed your comfort character or just caught up in another ultimately pointless fandom war because it happens. Maybe we can even use it as an exercise to see things from another viewpoint to understand their perspective and realizing it's okay to agree to disagree. I don't want to put this in the character tags because I think there are plenty that don't need or want this content but still those that do who will find and share it in confidence. This isn't about sides or even being right. Let's enjoy our favorite character together and watch him be happy in the end, however that ends up being.

#she speaks

13 notes · View notes

aliceslantern · 4 years

Text

Beyond this Existence: Atonement chapter 17

Ansem always had a penchant for strays, so it's not at all surprising when he takes in the orphaned child Ienzo. The boy's presence changes everything, far more than Even is willing to admit. Ienzo's brilliance seems promising, but the arrival of a young Xehanort pushes the apprentices onto a dark, cruel, inhumane path which will affect the future of the World. And even once it's all over with--once Xehanort is dead--they still must pick up the pieces, forgive one another, find a way to atone for their atrocities, and struggle to accept the humanity which has been thrust upon them.

Or: Even's journey from BBS through post-KH3

Chapter summary: Even and Ansem repair their old friendship, growing closer in an unexpected way. Even's newest research project breaks his stagnation.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

It takes time.

Time of conversations, of walks, arguments. Time digging through the muck of their pasts. It is still hard to trust one another; it might always be. But they seem to be getting somewhere, and Even will take somewhere after nowhere.

He tells Ansem about those long twelve years under Xemnas's thumb; about the replicas, Roxas, all they did to make worlds fall. About vain attempts at Kingdom Hearts, about the dissolution of his rapports with Zexion, Lexeaus, and especially Xaldin; the horrors of Castle Oblivion; his own death. He recounts it with a sort of distance, and then rolls up one of his sleeves to show Ansem part of the scars.

"How's that for karmic payback?" he asks dryly.

Ansem examines his arm with a stricken expression. Then, deliberately or not at all, he runs his fingertip along it. "Does it still ail you?"

The touch is unsettling; though why? Even is feeling something unfamiliar. Discomfort? Uncertainty?

Something else entirely? He was never good at feelings.

"Not so much," he says. "Though most of the flesh is numb. You may get some pleasure from the fact that I was first to die."

Ansem doesn't comment on this. "And this devastation is… total?"

"All but my face, hands, throat, and feet. I suppose I should be grateful for that--hard to do delicate work if one cannot feel one's fingers." He can feel the blood in his face. "My body does not matter, so long as it does not collapse on me."

"At our age vanity is just that," he agrees. "I am… sorry."

He barks an awkward laugh. "What for?"

"None deserve to die so violently."

"Blame Axel's flair for the dramatic. A simple slice to the jugular would have been sufficient."

There are a few beats of silence. Ansem taps the tips of his fingers together, restlessly. “And the others?”

“How did we die?”

“Is that too… voyeuristic to ask?”

“I don’t believe so.” Even sighs. “Xaldin and Demyx were both felled by Sora, Lexeaus by Riku, Zexion by… Axel’s machinations. I’m afraid it’s all rather violent. But it was necessary, to be whole. Seems to go against the grain.”

“It does,” he agrees.

“Things seem to make less and less sense to me the longer I live.”

Ansem chuckles. “That’s how it seems. Wisdom is merely… negative learning.”

Months, and months, and months--

He and Ansem seem to be developing a warmer rapport. It is easier to be with one another, to be frank. Something like their old friendship peers through the cracks. It gives Even hope, for the first time in a long, long while. Hope that they might yet be saved. Things warm between the rest of them, as well. The talk is not so dreadfully existential. This is helped considerably by the two boys; Ienzo’s dry humor and Demyx’s easygoing nature are encouraging. The idea of all having dinner together is no longer so awkward, but rather something to look forward to.

When possible, Even helps Ienzo with his memorial project for their victims, in its final draft. One spring day, the boy presents it to them, explains at length what it means; the symbolism of flowers, the presentation of their records, the histories of those impacted by what they did. It’s the culmination of an entire year.

Hearing it all, Even is filled with something like pride for the boy, the way he so gracefully has taken responsibility. It is something he himself must learn to do.

Radiant Garden elects a city council, a group of seven individuals to take the brunt of the work from the committee. There’s some worry as to whether they may face legal consequences for what they did, but eventually, and along with the committee’s vouch, they’re allowed to remain as they were, so long as they provide their assistance. As this is what they all want anyway, it’s no issue. Ansem acts as advisor; with this to fill his days, he improves.

They’re allowed to build the garden. Almost everyone spends as much time here as possible, doing what they can. It’s good to work with the body.

Once it’s all done…

For a while he and Ansem stand in front of the wall of names. He places incense in the altar, lights it; many other burnt sticks are already crowding the stone.

I’m sorry.

He doesn’t say it, not out loud. They’re resting in a place beyond words, no thanks to him. His heart is racing, and he can feel the wetness in his eyes. As much progress as they’ve made, the guilt will be there, probably forever. And rightfully so.

Ansem rests a hand on his shoulder. “Peace, Even,” he says gently. “It’s alright.”

Perhaps it’s this implication of forgiveness, but he breaks. It seems all the pain is at the surface now; the loss of his family, the brunt of what he’s done. It hurts to be forgiven. He does not nearly deserve it.

Ansem gently embraces him. To be touched is something of a shock, and for a moment it only intensifies this crying fit. More pathetic yet, he’s clinging to him like a lifeline in this storm.

But once it’s through, once he so slowly collects the pieces of himself, dries his eyes, there’s something like catharsis, an undoing rather than a sealing away.

(And, he notes, Ansem still smells the same.)

“I… must apologize,” he says thickly. “This is most unbecoming.”

“I daresay you could use a cup of tea,” Ansem says, letting go of him.

“Perhaps something stronger.”

---

Even knows time is passing, as much as it may not feel like it. He shouldn’t be surprised when gossip is laid at his feet, brought by Dilan, who heard it from Ansem, who heard it from the city council, who heard it from the committee, who heard it from Demyx. It’s a complicated game of telephone, but as soon as Even hears it, he knows it’s not mere rumor:

Ienzo and Demyx are engaged.

He’s gotten used to the boy by now, but yet he feels something like the anger he had when he first found out they were together. Because god Ienzo is just so young . Much too young to make a decision like this. Almost getting himself killed is one thing, but… getting married? At twenty-one?

“That so,” he says to Dilan.

He smirks. “What can I say. My sources are reliable.”

“You should’ve been a journalist, not an engineer.” He leans against his palm. “Has anyone talked to him about it?”

“Not quite.” He shrugs. “Would it be the worst thing?”

“At this point in their neurological development, they are literally incapable of making consequential decisions. I don’t want them to do something they’ll regret.” His heart is beating hard with dread.

A shrug. “I’d take a divorced Ienzo over a dead or depressed one. Besides. Wasn’t your marriage rather spur-of-the-moment?”

He has a point. Still, Even feels blood rush into his face. “I’ll talk to him.”

He doesn’t have to wait long; the boy comes to him with a thick manuscript, a more portable version of the stories he’s gathered from their victims, and the survivors. It feels… odd, to hold it in his hands. Odd and uncomfortable. He knows the truth of it. Yet to hear their words is… well. Power to the boy for being able to handle it. “I never pictured you as a soft scientist,” Even says instead.

Ienzo exhales. He needs glasses now, the first concrete sign of his humanity catching up to him. “You’re going to be frightfully disappointed in me, but I no longer derive any pleasure or fulfillment from so-called “harder” subjects.”

Even frowns. “Why on earth would I be disappointed?” As though pursuing his passions were a bad thing?

“I do recall a period in my life when you found my perusal of fiction a waste of time, when I could be studying.”

He sets the book down. “We all know what a fool I was, back then. No.” He smiles. “The only way I’d be disappointed in you was if you were to waste your life faffing about. But you were never lazy.”

He scratches his cheek. “I understand the… trepidation, you might feel,” he says slowly. “And… it is quite harrowing.”

Even drops his eyes. “I can only imagine what the experience has been like, for you.”

“...Gathering these stories?” He hesitates. “Not everyone is… willing to share such dark content of their hearts. I’ve had more than one door slammed in my face.” He wrings his hands. “I’d hoped that my suspicion regarding everyone’s opinion of us was mere paranoia, but some folks do feel a certain… ire. Not that I can blame them.” He clears his throat. “It’s… worth it, to hear their voices. We… need to understand the human impact. I don’t mean the numbers.” He is shy, sheepish. “I have… written something of an abridged memoir, myself.”

Ienzo always loved stories. It must be one of the many ways he’s trying to take care of himself. “It would only make sense. You are one of the victims.” Used, manipulated, stunted, deprived of a normal life.

He flinches. “Victim and perpetrator in one. Seems I am fated to live in dichotomy.” He inhales sharply. “I have already spoken to the others. It might be valuable to give your own version of events. Not necessarily for publication.”

Funny boy. “For the good of my recovery?”

The earnestness almost makes Even laugh. “Well, yes. You had said you were trying to write and reflect, to delineate a new identity. How is this any different? Your perspective could offer some insight to future generations, when they inevitably look back at all this.”

“Record keeping,” Even mutters. “Very well. I… will consider it. Are you alright?”

He flinches, again, and presses a hand to his brow. “I had hoped these new glasses would lessen my headaches, but that appears not to be the case.”

Concern blooms in him. “You’re still getting them? After all this time?” Surely it isn’t healthy.

He smiles, but it looks fake. “Not frequently. You needn’t worry. Take as much time as you’d like with it. I have other copies.”

“I shall, but…” Even looks him over. He is improved compared to those early days--a healthy weight and color--but that doesn’t mean he isn’t still feeling the ramifications of all he did. “ Do let that fiance of yours take a look at you. Apparently he’s quite competent.” He waves his hand dismissively.

Ienzo, hearing the word, flushes; caught.

“Did you actually think you could keep it under wraps?” Even asks. “What with Dilan’s inane gossiping?”

“Not… secret. I don’t see why my personal life should be of interest to anyone.”

“Of course it will be, when we live on top of one another.” He debates biting this bullet. “You are so… very young. So young.”

He scowls. “As nobody will let me forget.”

“I don’t want you to get into something so permanent. You’re barely stable yourself.” When Ienzo says nothing, he adds-- “Even if you were not only twenty-one, you’ve only been with him a year. I realize you are not used to the idea of permanence, but this will be--”

“It was I who asked him.”

He blinks. Not at all what he thought. “I’d’ve--figured--”

He’s rather snappish when he says, “Demyx is very respectful of my boundaries. He would not force me into anything I did not explicitly ask for. Should it end, we will deal with it maturely. But I don’t see that happening.”

Again, his mind’s made up. Concern wells in Even. But he supposes Dilan must be right. The boy should be allowed to make his own choices. His life has already been so tempestuous; this might offer him a shred of stability, artificial or no. “Do you truly want this?” Even asks. “Would it make you happy?”

“Yes,” he says. “And I am already happy. Insofar as I can be, anyway.”

Then that’s that. “I suppose I will always see you as a… child.”

He sighs. “Par for the course when you raise someone.You were always… more my guardian than Ansem. But you must trust I am able to make my own decisions. After all, you--” He blushes.

“I what?”

“It was not me you came back to Radiant Garden for.”

“You know why I had to leave. Ienzo, I did not want to, but who else would’ve--”

“...I know.” He bites his lip. “Still. A note would’ve been appreciated. You needn’t protect me anymore. Especially from Demyx.”

Even sighs. “Old habits die hard. Or so the cliche goes.”

“...Right. Well. I shall leave you to it, then.” He leaves, allowing Even to consider the manuscript in front of him. It takes a few minutes of culling his nerve to open it.

One could not call Ienzo a “concise” writer. His language is flowery, emotional; he plays with the voices of the survivors, curating it carefully. Even wonders if, had the boy been raised differently, he might’ve been a writer after all.

It is harrowing. The heartbreak and torment these people went through--the snippets of it--

Even once she was back, she was never the same.

He just vanished. We thought it might’ve been the wolves, beyond the city limits. But then we heard those stories about the castle and I… I just knew, in the pit of my stomach. I felt so betrayed by the king. Why did he let this happen?

I kissed their cheek, tied the ribbon in their hair. They were so excited to go; their whole class was rooting for them. They never came home.

Even feels nauseous. Still, he continues. He knows he needs to do this, to listen to them. To again feel that human weight.

Perhaps the most upsetting part of it is Ienzo’s, shoehorned at the very back.

I know people must think we’re monsters. It is only right, it is only true . Yet we were also subjected to the darkness we bore, its ache, the way it destroys all that is good. My unraveling was a slow one, one I am still trying to fix. But is anything we do ever enough?

Is it?

---

So Even writes again, abridging his manic, borderline unintelligible journals from the months prior into something halfway readable. It’s hard to find the balance, between feeling and fact, what will make a cohesive narrative. He was never a writer, nor, he thinks, does he want to be. He gives Ienzo some suggested edits and leaves it all at the child’s favorite desk in the library.

Again there’s that stiff sense of catharsis, of a sort of release. His mind is so much more tangled than he ever thought. More complex.

(More human.)

He wonders, with something like a flash, if in fact darkness harnesses the mind like addiction. It truly is a euphoric pull. If only, if only he had working MRI equipment to study the mind. All he has is blood, is feelings. That doesn’t account for much. Not watertight science.

He finds himself rambling about this to Ansem, of all people.

This seems to shake him; for several moments Ansem just stares into the middle distance, something stricken on his face. Then, “Even, you’re a genius.”

“Don’t be absurd--it’s been in my face all along, yet I’ve ignored the signs--”

“We all have. We thought this was about morality--and it is, of course we’re still accountable for our actions. But all this… difficulty becoming human, the way we were undone so quickly… it makes a sort of sense. Why we couldn’t stop even though we knew what we were doing.”

“Which is why I’m positively aching to study our minds,” he says, pacing. “I’ve no functioning machinery. A blood test won’t tell me much of anything anymore, except chemistry, and it’s so variable considering we’re all basically guaranteed to have multiple mental illnesses outside of this supposed “addiction”. There’s simply no way--”

“Oh, I can think of one,” Ansem says.

Even snorts. “Really? Name it.”

“We do know a few people who work with the body. In a way that is not quite literal.” A smile. “Not everything has to be so black and white.”

He blinks. “That is… absolutely correct.”

---

When Even asks Demyx about it, he also gives him that same odd look.

“Well fuck,” he says. “I mean I’m happy to help, but like, I’ve only been doing this for a few months now. Not sure I can… collect data, or whatever.” He spins idly on one of Even’s stools.

“You said you work with people’s energies. What does that tell you?”

He blows a raspberry. “Mostly it’s a… well. It depends. Like a color, or a note. Your personality, basically. But actually feeling inside the brain…” He looks at his hands. “You know… I’ve been desperately trying to repress it, but I’ve been inside someone’s head. I felt their…” He flinches. “Anyway. I wouldn’t know what to look for.”

“That I can help you with. And I can be guinea pig--if necessary.”

He bites his lip. “This will help people?”

“I’m positive.”

“Okay. Sure. I’m in.” He ruffles the hair at the back of his neck. His knee is jiggling. He doesn’t quite want to meet Even’s eyes. “I’ve gotta… do some reading. Some asking around.”

“I’m sure.”

“So guess I’ll go?”

“Of course. Thanks, Demyx. This means a lot to me.” To think there'd be a day when he willingly sought Demyx's help, his expertise.

He flashes a peace sign and stands.

“Wait.”

He tenses. He knows they’ve both been anticipating this. “Yeah?” he asks cautiously.

“You and Ienzo…” Even trails off. “Is this what you want as well?”

He looks up. He’s blushing. “It really is. I…” He bites his lip. “Love is weird and terrifying, but we kind of… helped each other become human. Kind of literally for me. Not sure if that’s why things between us are so intense. I can’t imagine it changing.”

“...I see.” He can tell there’s some realization to be gleaned from this; he can also tell that he desperately does not want to know it. “Very well.”

“Guess you can’t get rid of me after all,” he says. He smiles a little. “See ya.”

---

Love.

Why is Even thinking about this?

Feelings are complicated enough without adding romance to it. Familial, platonic love is one thing; anything else is too much.

He was married, once.

He still can’t be sure he truly loved that person the way they all blathered on about. A love, not the love. Is this something he would want? Is he worthy of anyone? It’s surely not necessary. But for the first time Even desires a personal life… whatever that may mean. His work/life balance has never been ideal, in his brief time as a spouse, a parent. This vein of thought alone is indulgent. He should shunt it away, bury it. Besides, to want this type of love would mean there has to be an object of such affection… and there isn’t one.

He decides to ask Ansem about it.

“I’m afraid I can’t be much use,” he says, barely looking up from the papers spread all across his desk. It’s a familiar sight, yet also one Even hasn’t seen in years. He chuckles wryly. “But Even, you are a human being. You have a right to these things, should you so want them.”

“What, and force someone else to put up with me? Perhaps my synapses are misfiring.”

Ansem circles something on the paper in front of him. “These people write law like they were raised in a barn.” Then, “I suppose they were. Anyway, perhaps you should view it as a sign of growth. You always held others at arm’s length--even before you became a Nobody. Now, you’re allowing people into your life, your heart.” He twirls a pen vaguely.

“It certainly does not feel like growth.” He scoffs. He shifts a little in his seat. “Is that something you ever saw for yourself? You’ve never mentioned a spouse, a lover.” This almost seems as if it is getting too personal. “Does it simply not interest you?”

“I… wouldn’t say that.”

Oh?

“I am improving, true. I think it will be some time before I can confidently… pursue such matters.”

“...It sounds almost as if you have a certain individual in mind.” Ansem is fond of writing letters; perhaps some pen pal?

There is just the slightest hesitation, almost unnoticeable. “I do believe Dilan’s gossip mongering is getting to you.”

“...Perhaps.”

---

What does it mean?

Moreover, why does he care?

Every time Even tries to push the question out of his mind, it comes back with a vengeance. He keeps coming back to that interaction. And every time, it gives him a jolt of something like fear. He refuses to think critically about it. More important work at hand.

He’s again spending more time with Demyx; moreso, actually, than with Ienzo. If they’re to work together, it’s par for the course. But Demyx isn’t a scientist. Some things are simply beyond his realm of understanding. The boy is trying to study the texts that Even leaves him, but it all seems to worry him.

“Not sure I’m cut out for this,” he says. “You should really just ask Aerith.”

Even frowns. “Why not?”

“I…” He looks down at his hands, which are trembling. “I’m a total newbie. Who knows if what I find is even right?”

“I thought you’ve done this before?”

He flinches. “Once. And… not under ideal circumstances. I had to… stop someone from having a stroke.” He’s flushing.

“This is not nearly so invasive.”

“I know that, but…” He traces a finger along the page.

Even frowns. “What’s wrong? I don’t believe you’ll hurt anyone. I just want to look for injury, response, that’s all. Which is something you do every day.”

Demyx shakes his head. “It’s not that. I guess I should be honest. Family, and all.”

Even feels a thick wave of anxiety. “...What?”

He drops his eyes. “The person was Ienzo.”

His heart falls to his feet. Even feels his hand at his breastbone. “But the boy’s fine,” Even says.

“Yeah. Now. These… headaches. It was more than just the manifestation of his will, or whatever. It was an accumulation of years of stress. Like the glasses. All the fucked up shit that happened to his body caught up to him. I was just lucky enough to be there when it happened.” His eyes are watering, and he blinks hard. “I just feel really icky when I think about it.”

Even squeezes his shoulder gently, in an attempt to comfort. “I don’t… blame you.” Ienzo is the youngest of all of them. If he has--or had--such problems, what could be wrong with the rest of them? “You’ve gotten yourself looked at, I hope?”

“I… yeah. There would’ve been some trouble with my heart. But Aerith knew what to look for, so she fixed it.” He lays a palm on his chest.

It’s becoming clear. “You’re scared of what you might find in the rest of us?”

“Maybe. It’s weird. I’m not used to my patients… being us.”

Even is also unsettled. Of course he knows that he’s treated his body poorly in the past--too much work, not enough food or sleep--but it’s another thing to embody that knowledge.

“At least it can be fixed,” he says slowly. “I don’t want to fuck up. Any time--but especially if it’s you guys. I… sort of care.” He laughs wryly.

“Well I’m afraid you’ve gotten yourself into a situation where you must be involved with us.”

“It’s easier now than it was back then. Don’t you think?”

“It gets easier every day.”

---

The pit keeps getting deeper. Every time he thinks he understands just how much darkness has destroyed them, it grows yet more cataclysmic. The stress--while they did not necessarily feel it as Nobodies--is having infinite consequences. After some prodding, he is able to convince them all to give him a sample of their DNA, to further study their epigenomes. It’s engrossing work--work that might help future generations avoid their perilous mistakes. The sample size is still incredibly small, and incredibly skewed. No women, for example, and most of them are middle-aged (or, begrudgingly, older). He wonders if the townsfolk would be willing to participate, but as soon as the thought forms he’s aware of the paranoia.

“I can bring it up to the city council,” Ansem says one evening, in his quarters. “And put out some feelers. They claim to be so interested in the people’s emotional state. And we are desperate for some kind of mental health treatment. This might help beget that.”

Even feels exhausted. He still has so much to do. He has to admit it’s nice to be driven again, to have a goal to work towards. It certainly has lifted him out of that dark, dangerous place. “Oh, I certainly hope so.”

Ansem puts down his pen, stretches his wrist. “I must say modesty becomes you.”

Even scoffs. “Funny.”

“I mean it. You’ve changed more than you think. I’ve so rarely seen you approach things with grace and tenderness.”

“Flowery words.” He picks at the ends of his hair, suddenly unable to look him in the eye. “I spent so long working so selfishly. I said it was for the greater good, but really it was for the greater good of… Even.” He winces. “To know I can actually help, or at the very least leave behind a study that might help future generations… is a comfort.” He leans his elbows onto the table. “I’m exhausted.”

“You look it. You should try to get some rest.”

“...Perhaps. I’ll get up when I can find the ambition.”

He picks the pen back up. “No reason you can’t sit with a friend.”

“...You would consider me one?”

Ansem raises an eyebrow. “As if I would let you sit here blathering on otherwise?”

Even rolls his eyes.

“I do enjoy your company. Rather more than I used to. I am starting to… let go of the bitterness. It does nothing except make me harder and less tolerable. You are all trying so hard to better yourselves… I’d best follow suit.”

There’s a few moments of silence, but it’s comfortable. Even finds himself, again, thinking of their previous conversation. He’s almost tempted to ask. Should he? And why is such a thought putting a tightness in his throat? “...So what do you think of this wedding?” he asks instead.

Ansem fully sets aside his work, and leans back in the chair. “I did not think it would happen so soon. But they work well together, as a pair. Why wait, as it were. Demyx is an earnest young man, and he’s also changed so much. He really would do anything for Ienzo. And I think after so much neglect, Ienzo deserves as much love as he can find.”

“...It’s so… funny, I suppose. For the longest time all of us rotting in that castle could not tolerate each other, and here we are… quite literally family.”

“Better than being alone.”

“...It is. It took me a long while to realize I could not live that way. Too long. People need… people.” His lip curls.

Ansem laughs. “Quite.” He takes Even’s hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Besides, some deserve a fresh start.”

Even blinks. He should move his hand, but finds himself almost immovable. He recalls that night many years before, when he was bedridden with that flu. The way the touch seemed like it was always there. It sounds almost as if you have a certain individual in mind.

Even. You dunce.

Too slowly, he withdraws. “I should… get some sleep. We’ve both had long days.”

Ansem looks vaguely startled. “Yes. Well. Good night.”

“Good night.”

He limps back to his quarters, feeling vaguely nauseous, like he’s been punched. His heart rate is erratic. This is something very like panic, but at the same time, not quite. His mind races. It aches.

Isn't this what you've desired?

With Ansem?

He feels like he can't breathe.

Are these feelings real, or his?

What does he want ?

That simple touch--a squeeze of the hand--is almost enough to unravel him. Much less--

He can not mentally compute it.

Even has to come out with it. To verbalize the thought in whole. To love Ansem?

And yet. Who else could it possibly be?

Is he in love?

He certainly isn't alone.

But isn't love instantly knowable?

Either way, Ansem likely has feelings for him. What does this mean? Is this what he wants?

After so long without anything, love and lust are incalculable. Unobtainable.

What does Even want?

Is he worthy?

He can't breathe.

---

"Even?"

He's pretending to sleep when he hears the voice. "Is something the matter?"

"...I would like a word." Ansem's voice is gruff, scratchy.

"Now?"

"Are you really asleep?"

A fair point. He puts on his robe. Finds Ansem in the doorway. (His heart stutters--a warning sign.) "What do you need?"

"...I'd like to talk."

He gets dressed. Follows Ansem down the hall in this silky blue night. His heart races, flooding him with cortisol.

(And something like hope.)

They walk for a few minutes. "So what exactly couldn’t wait until morning?" Even asks.

Ansem hesitates. "My words fail me. I… can… feel something."

"Congratulations."

He touches Even's shoulder. "I thought you may feel something as well."

His heart about shatters. "Ansem. You deserve more than me. A person who is whole, untainted, better than some wretch--"

Ansem touches his cheek, and his world about stops. "You are so much more than that."

In this dark hallway, Ansem leans up and, so gently, kisses him on the mouth.

It’s bizarre; how the body remembers what to do. It has to be close to fifteen years since he’s kissed someone, but yet something about this is so familiar. His smell, the subtle scratch of his beard. Like it’s all happened before. Something like panic replaces the hard-won pleasure, and he breaks away. He finds himself tensing, breaking away all too soon.

“Are you alright?” Ansem asks.

“I’m not so sure. I just… why?”

“Haven’t we spent long enough being miserable and alone?”

“I… suppose.” He’s infinitely grateful for the semidarkness. He can feel himself unravelling.

“Do you want this?”

“What I want doesn’t matter.”

“But it does.” Ansem takes Even’s hands.

“We took this sort of thing from people. Do we really deserve it?”

“And what is the alternative?” Ansem asks softly. “Locking yourself away? Grinding down your own emotions? None of that will meaningfully help you atone.”

He can hear himself breathing tremulously. “Alright.”

“Alright, what?”

Even can feel his words failing as well. “I will… try. But it’s been… I feel so--” A stuttering wreck.

“We’re not young. We’ve no need to rush headfirst into things.”

“I need to… process all this.” He pulls away his hands. “I can find you later.”

“Of course.” Ansem chances kissing him once more. It’s quick, chaste, and yet is all too much. All of this touch is. Even can feel himself getting choked up. “Good night, Even.”

He listens to his footsteps retreating into the darkness. Despite the warmth of the early fall evening, he’s shivering. It’s not normal, to react this way; he knows this much. Below the anxiety, he feels something very like relief. Closure. He’s known Ansem longer than he’s known anyone. It’s only suitable they find one another now.

He sinks wearily into bed, and sleeps.

#beyond this existence: atonement #even (kingdom hearts)#ansem the wise #demyx #ienzo #beyond this existence

5 notes · View notes

touchmycoat · 5 years

Text

book reflections: Confessions by Minato Kanae

Confessions

The heart of this book deals with revenge. It's a familiar theme: when a heinous crime has been committed, are criminal justice procedures ever enough? To what degree is revenge, personally exacted, justified?

Confessions complicates this question by throwing the spikes of tension between children and adults.

Children are such a fascinating subject of study—not to go too far into it, but “childhood” is very much a socially constructed phenomenon (my formative understanding of this is Kathryn Bond Stockton's The Queer Child, which narrates a history of adults-depicting-children, and the values and anxieties that reveals). Confessions asks the question, “what happens when children commit heinous crimes?”

The book begins with a monologue by middle school teacher Moriguchi on the last day of the semester. What first seems like philosophical rambling lays out a multi-layered social phenomenon.

Layer one: social inclination to believe that children are always the victim, never the perpetrator. This is outlined in the story about the teacher who was called out by a female middle school student seemingly in need of help one night, then accused of sexual assault. The student later confessed it was because she wanted revenge—the teacher had scolded her for chatting during class. The teacher was forced to reveal, under these circumstances, that she's trans, and that she had no designs on the student in question (which is certainly a narrative choice to think further about—the quickness of the anecdote and the inherent logic it's meant to convey, that simply by proving herself a woman, the teacher convinced her coworkers that she's exonerated of all suspicion. At least trans identity isn't being inherently linked with deviance?). The teacher was still fired, and the school instituted a new policy that should students ever call teachers for help after school, only male teachers can go to male students, female teachers to female students, etc.

(The narrative, in its determination to gesture to the incapability of institutions to fulfill human needs, uses this as the ignition point for Naoki's unhappiness with Moriguchi.)

Layer two: children receive public anonymity in the court of law, meaning punishment is dealt in secret, and presumably, they can return to society afterwards carrying none of their criminal history. This is outlined in the “Lunacy” case, where a young girl kills her own family with cyanide, after conducting a series of experiments on what poison was most effective. The case got plenty of sensationalist press coverage, but where is the girl now, Moriguchi asks. Has she gotten her punishment? Was justice ever exacted?

Layer three: sensationalist press coverages without embedded moral value only teach children the outliers. At worst, it teaches children that this is the way to get attention (which is precisely what Shuya and Mizuki took from the Lunacy case). Moral outrage loses ground to morbid fascination, becoming worse than an empty gesture; like the teacher who replaces Moriguchi, posturing as some beacon of moral justice is merely for self-satisfaction.

Maybe, more accurately, the book wants to know, “how do you punish a child?” Some, like Moriguchi's not-husband, like Moriguchi insinuates the juvenile criminal justice system to be, answer, “you don't.” Children are products of their environment, so the ones who should be punished are the teachers (as posited by the “Lunacy” case and the chemistry teacher who got all the public blame for giving the child access to cyanide). Alternatively, children are still learning and growing. Moriguchi's not-husband was quite the problem child himself, but he turned things around and became the most truly moral figure of this entire book. He believes in the capacity for change in children.

But Moriguchi doesn't care much about that. Shuya and Naoki plotted to and killed her four-year-old daughter. She wants revenge.

What makes her fascinating as the central figure of this book is her clarity of mind. She isn't someone who's lost herself to vengeance; she systematically identifies the flaws (or what she thinks of as flaws) in the juvenile criminal justice system and then chooses her own revenge. On one hand we have the empathetic response to a mother losing her child, and the willingness to let a fictional character play out, for emotional catharsis, something we might not necessarily endorse in real life. On the other hand we have the unease of her turning this calculatedness toward children: Boy A and Boy B, middle school students.

(Cue comparative cinema studies of the 2010 Confessions film and 2007's Boy A. Oh, apparently Boy A is based off of a novel as well?)

Oh, and then she does take her revenge. She says she's laced Boy A and Boy B's milk cartons with HIV-infected blood.

And now, in what is the true brilliance of the book, Confessions starts to give us other perspectives. We get Mizuki the perfect student, who is first victimized by the hoard of angry classmates (and it's such a consistent literary and real life theme I guess, the cruelty of a mass of children). We get a peak into her questionability in a somewhat tender moment though: why does she just have a poison-testing kit lying around? In this section, we also get a protagonistic portrayal of Shuya; it's not that we doubt Moriguchi's version of the psychopathic-child-inventor Shuya, but now he's the martyr (as per the title of the section). He quietly suffers the bullying of the class, tells Mizuki his negative blood test, and becomes “genuinely” happy at Mizuki's compliments, saying all he's ever wanted was that acknowledgement.

Mizuki also bares her teeth against the new teacher, accusing him of being the cause of Naoki's mother's murder. At this point, it was almost narratively heroic, after we've suffered the annoyance (through her perspective) of the self-important teacher. But afterwards, in Shuya's section, we hear her confess to wanting to poison that teacher for “ruining Naoki's life.” She's killed by Shuya before we hear more, but might that have played out? How much do we fear the mental criminality of children?

We also get Naoki's sister and mother's perspective. We get a doting mother insistent on the innocence of her child, making excuse after excuse for Naoki, even when Naoki's fully confessed to throwing Moriguchi's daughter into the pool. How much responsibility does a parent have toward her child? Does she hold ultimate faith in him, stand staunchly at his side in support of him? Does she do right by the society (and in theory by her kid) by turning in her own child? We were meant to be annoyed by her cruel insistence to blame everyone but her son, but we see in Naoki's section right after that his sanity relied so much on this idea that his mother unconditionally loves him. He believes that, once he's gone to jail for his crimes, he can do his time, reform and return to society as long as his mother is there to love and support him.

Of course, that's when his mother decides to kill both him and herself—a murder-suicide for her failure as a mother.

(It really does haunt me, thinking about Naoki and his stymied possibilities. He killed Moriguchi's daughter in a moment of callous spite, motivated by a desire for revenge against Shuya's dismissal of his overtures of friendship. He lived in such a tortured state for a long time, a child grappling with the terror of impending death by himself, terrified of infecting those who love him. His instincts, when he emerged into the real world again, was to weaponize his “infected” blood. Yet he ended up on such a hopeful incline—mother's love with save me. All this happens as his mother spirals downwards, coming to terms with her own child's monstrosity. The book seeds Naoki's redemption, but takes the sprout away before we can see whether or not it carries infection.)

Finally, we get Shuya's story. I fully bought into it, as I was expected to. The book gestures multiple times at his ability to pen a convincing narrative of innocence. Or at least, a narrative of the anti-hero. He walks us through his absolute love for his mother, the engineering genius. She gave up her career for him, but then turned that dissatisfaction into abuse. Abuse turned back to gestures of love when she was found out, divorced, and forced to move away, and Shuya held deeply on to his faith that he will be reunited with her again. The desire of a child for his mother's love motivated the murder of Moriguchi's daughter, the planting of a bomb at the school festival. It ended up killing Mizuki as well.

Moriguchi bookends this tale, tying up loose threads. Yes she absolutely put the blood in their milk, but it was her not-husband that swapped out the infected cartons. Yes, she wanted to destroy Shuya and Naoki's lives; it won't bring her joy and it won't bring her daughter back, but nonetheless she wants her vengeance on the two boys. The possibility that she was only scaring Naoki and Shuya, that she threatened to but never did anything actually immoral, is completely swept away. She tells Shuya she visited his mother and told her all of his crimes. Baiting Shuya with what his mother said, she instead tells him that the bomb he planted had been deconstructed at the school and reconstructed in his mother's lab instead. Making the bomb and detonating it had both been Shuya's choice.

Shuya had killed her daughter. Now she's killed his mother.

(But did she? I have no doubt she did, but this book doesn't deal in absolutes.)

So—what are we left with? A psychopathic child inventor-slash-murderer motivated by a desire for maternal love? A girl who admired another murderous young murderess and wanted a turn of her own with poisons, murdered before she could prove herself either way? A cruel and reactionary accomplice who came to the conclusion that he had done something wrong but that he could repent? A mother who refused her son's criminality until the very last moment, and believed they were both beyond salvation? Another mother who took justice into her own hands by ruining the lives of two young boys who killed her daughter in cold blood?

...Is there such a thing as cold blood in this novel? Every “cold” act was done with passionate motive: Shuya wanted to prove himself to his mother, Naoki wanted to prove himself better than Shuya, Moriguchi wanted to give her daughter proper vengeance. HIV is the symbol here of criminality, first given, then saved from, then weaponized by both boys. There's so much, with the blood! Naoki coming to terms with the infection he didn't have made it possible for him to confess the truth, to start himself on the path toward salvation (even if it only lasted a few pages). Shuya embracing the infection right away because if he were dying his mother would surely come back; losing that possibility of death led to him befriending, then of course in the end murdering Mizuki.

Shuya plotted the murder of Moriguchi's daughter, but wasn't actually responsible for the cause of death. Naoki was the accomplice, but at the last moment, made the choice to actually extinguish her daughter's life. This murky twist of motion and motive (Kathryn Bond Stockton!) would prevent them from getting the full punishment of homicide in a juvenile criminal justice court, as Moriguchi explained. Now, because of the blood, they've both committed an inarguable murder with their own hands. Naoki loses his mother and his entire world order that revolved around her unconditional love for him. Shuya's murderous inventions are never allowed to succeed, and he never gets to “prove” his genius, until it was used to kill his own mother, the one person he wanted acknowledge from and to live with. The punishments are incredibly cruel—but are they justified?

#kanae minato #confessions #confessions (2010)#this is really an insane book lmfao #i loved every construction of it and could probably #spend a lot more time constructing an academic essay bout it #comparisons of it to gone girl are fucking right #the same complicated treatment of women and criminality #but this one is a lot more haunting tbh cause it deals with children #in such a full and complicatedly emotional way #spoilers

12 notes · View notes

shemakesmusic-uk · 4 years

Photo

Getting to Know...

Fantasy Non Fiction.

Fantasy Non Fiction is a fierce four-piece rock band featuring the original music of drummer/vocalist, Rose Cangelosi, a queer songwriter navigating the world through the catharsis of musical composition.

Fantasy Non Fiction raises the bar for drummer-led projects, with complex rhythmic styles that complement the captivating melodies. A vivid, kaleidoscopic sound is rounded out with an array of musical influences that illustrate the strikingly honest songwriting. Candid poetic lyricism speaks to the genuine nature of each song, whether commenting wryly on the strange nature of the social universe and unrequited love, or reflecting remorsefully on a glass-shattering temper tantrum.

Musical chemistry and time-tested friendships keep this group of full-time musicians moving ever forward. The release of their self-titled debut album, which is being self-released on May 8 represents only a fraction of the prolific repertoire you’ll hear at a live show, and showcases the band’s catchy melodies, while leading listeners on musical sagas through what makes our everyday lives full of fantasy.

We had a chat with Rose all about how the band came to be, the new album and more. Read the Q&A below.

Who are Fantasy Non Fiction?

“We are four buddies who met in various states at various times. I have known Molly Reeves and Nahum Zydble for over a decade, from playing in different music scenes in Northern California. One summer, Molly asked me to go on tour with her band, and told me about her life in New Orleans. I saved up some money and moved into her spare room one year later. I met our bassist Sam Albright two weeks after I got into town, at my first gig on Frenchmen street. We started playing together and hit it off right away. At that time, I had been writing songs for years, but was too shy to put them out into the world. Admittedly, I had an aversion to singing because of what I now know to be a kind of “Jazz School PTSD,” where I wanted to be seen as a drummer and taken seriously. I can’t tell you how many times people ask me if I am a singer the second they find out I’m a musician. I looove to sing and think the voice is one of the most beautiful instruments, but at the time I wanted to be seen as this serious drummer, you know, part of the instrumentalist “boys” club. Finally when I got over that nonsense-head-trip, I realized my songs would just be paper collecting dust--unless I performed them. When I started opening up I realized people liked my writing and connected to it, so I had the courage to bring other musicians into the process, and they were into it too. I never dreamed I’d be playing with Molly and Nahum on the regular, they are two of the coolest people and best guitarists I’ve ever met, and I was reaffirmed when Sam heard my songs and wanted to be a part of the band. Fantasy Non Fiction is my fantasy, it's really my dream come true. But--if you're wondering--that's not why I named it that. It is fitting though...the name is more about the nature of our collective but individually-perceived reality. We all live in these little fantasy realms, the songs I write are just a handful of my own experiences that I think other people can relate to."

How would you describe Fantasy Non Fiction's sound and your drumming style? Who/what are your influences?

"My writing varies a lot, and we play in multiple styles, but we have consistency in our instrumentation and each player has their own definitive sound. Molly and Nahum create lush textured backdrops and weave “guitarmonies” around my vocals, and Molly sings background vocals with natural finesse and good taste. Sam Albright has this huge rich tone that grounds everything, his bass lines venture beyond their conventional role with counter melodies as well as chordal accompaniment on songs like 'Strange Effect' as well as our space-ballad 'Rocket to Mars.'

"My drumming is influenced by the different percussion styles I encountered in my formal education, but I try to lay down a solid groove and just “play the songs,” I’m not trying to show off. Besides, I sing my naturally syncopated, rhythm-centric melodies while I play, so I have to choose my battles there. I have played a lot of jazz and international music styles that you can hear in my drumming too. Everyone has their own influences that affect their playing, but my songwriting specifically is influenced by a lot of different factors, from folks my parents listened to when I was young, to my favorite old jazz standards, early 2000s pop and grunge rock, as well as contemporary indie bands and what-have-you. I’d rather not name any names, I want people to hear for themselves."

You've just released your debut album. What can you tell us about the record? What was your creative process?

"I can tell you we worked very hard to make it happen. We are all full time musicians, and everyone contributed their precious free time and energy. Our creative process was fairly natural; we learned a few songs at a time, started playing shows, made adjustments, and when it came time to record we picked the songs that felt ready. The band saved all the money we made at shows and spent that on the album. We recorded at NOLA recording studios in Mid City with the fabulous Michael Harvey. I produced the record with a lot of preconceived ideas about what I wanted, and he was attentive to those details, and overall excellent to work with."

What do you hope listeners will take away from the LP?

"Whatever suits them best. I hope people listen to the record and hear it without trying to fit it into a box. I want people to listen to the songs and see what it stirs up for them, if anything. I write from a very honest place. It feels good to show vulnerability--whether about relationship issues and unrequited love, social awkwardness, melancholy, or guilt and regret, knowing that other people go through the same things. What made me fall in love with music is its ability to transform suffering. I go through some growing pain that makes me feel terrible and depressed until I write a song about it, and then I find myself on the other side. There is no therapy with faster results. If I can make listeners feel something that moves them someplace else, then I’ve done what music has done for me. That's why I meddle in this business. Empathy is transformative."

Finally, how are you guys coping with the COVID-19 lockdown and what do you have planned for when we all go back to normal?

"Well, it’s been a strange emotional rollercoaster. We planned our album release for May 8 far before we had any idea that a pandemic was around the corner. When COVID-19 hit New Orleans, the streets that are normally filled with music ran silent, and we went from busy full time musicians with multiple gigs a day to unemployed “gig economy workers.” I really struggled with the idea of going through with the release. It felt self-focused and surface level to promote our debut album while so many people are suffering, mourning, and dying. When I expressed these feelings to friends and family they shot it down as nonsense and wanted to hear what we’d been working on for so long. A close friend reminded me that this is the time when a lot of people need music and art more than ever, and I remembered how I’ve used music to cope with things, like I mentioned before. I decided the only way I felt comfortable continuing with the release was to set aside some of the profits to give back to our community in New Orleans. The band all agreed to continue with this new plan in motion.

"As far as what we plan to do when this is over...we are rescheduling our release show, but I don’t think there will be a “normal” as we knew it before. COVID-19 will have unforeseeable lasting effects on our community and the music industry. It's too soon to know what this will look like, but it is what it is. This time has certainly been positive in reminding me not to take myself, music, or anything too seriously. Life is precious, and can change at any moment.

"The world will keep spinning, we will move through this, together, and see what is beyond when the time comes. I just want to hug my friends again, and help create a better after, in whatever way I can."

Fantasy Non Fiction is out now.

#getting to know #fantasy non fiction

1 note · View note

animus-wild-magic · 4 years

Photo

Story writting tips: Antagonistic characters

We have already discussed the relevance of building an interesting and multifaceted protagonist, and now it’s time to talk about the other side of this coin: the antagonist. It’s imperative that you craft an antagonistic force with the same care and dedication as you did to your hero. In a similar way to our main character, the antagonist also typically goes through a drastic change at the climax of the story, though frequently this irreversible transformation it’s simply their death or destruction.

“A protagonist and their story cannot be more or less intellectually fascinating and emotionally convincing than the antagonistic forces that create them.” (Robert McKee, Story)

The antagonism of a story might reside in a typical villain character, but keep in mind that the antagonistic forces are essentially each and every power or influence that opposes the protagonist’s will and quest. The more complex and interesting are those forces, the more dimensional and creative the protagonist becomes. The conflict exists in order to change the herom challenging them at extraordinary levels so that we, as an emotionally engaged audience, can experience catharsis for their change, their success or failure in overcoming such adversities.

The antagonist is a key piece and should be treated with the proper attention. A flat and dull antagonist can be felt as an insult to the emotional and intellectual capability of your public. The antagonist character or the opposing forces should be woven seamlessly as part of your plot, integrated with your hero’s conflict and motivations, as well as with the theme of the story. What this means is that the struggle between the protagonist and antagonist is a reflection of the theme of the story, and of the moral or lesson you want to convey to your audience.

In a typical heroic tale, this is generally seem as justice, represented by our classic knight in shiny armor, against injustice or tyranny from and evil overlord. When both forces clash, the audience gets to experience this conflict and take their own lessons and reflections to their lives. The impact of this experience is proportional to how real and connected your story was to them, and the antagonistic forces are part of what makes a story feel real and compelling.

So, how do we match protagonist and antagonist into a single coherent theme? First of all, we must have a well structured theme and know what is your hero’s journey, so that we can properly oppose them with challenging forces. We’ve already talked about the four major points, or building blocks of a character: taking action, going through change, being a mirror or avatar to the audience and expressing a personal perspective of the world. Let’s review this concept focusing on the antagonist character.

The antagonist character must take action, generally the first act that goes against the protagonist’s will and desire. Frequently, the antagonist’s action leads to consequences that cause the hero to start their journey, often reluctantly, and thus revolting against the antagonist is the first movement towards the unfolding of the story.

This character also goes through transformations, sometimes emotional and sometimes quite literal, with many fiction stories leading to a physical transfiguration of the villain, whether into a terrifying dragon or the technological upgrade of their body in order to combat the hero. This is a typical climax of an epic story, but the antagonist can also go through many changes as the story progresses, such as the metamorphosis from a hero’s childhood best friend into their adversary in love and ultimately their foe in battle. Showing this change can also be very humanazing, and this is especially important for the next topic were going to discuss.

As much as the audience generally likes to see themselves in the hero, it’s very crucial that they can also have some fraction of this empathy for the villain of your story, even if it tastes bitter when they realise this. As we’ve already considered, the main conflict between the protagonist and antagonist should be something that can be translated to human experience, a conflict that might occur inside their lives. That moment in which your reader scratches their head and considers “Well, this guy actually has a point.” is when the conflict presented in your story reaches the real world and leads to an involving emotional and intellectual experience.

Which takes us to our last crucial point of a character, their world view. All of the previous actions and changes your villain goes through, all of their effort to oppose the protagonist must be true to their personal perspective. This is the main reason we generally get bored by villain that are simply “evil for the sake of evil”. Those kinds of characters lack a motivation that feels compelling and relatable, a sense of intelligence and emotion that builds up to the conclusion that such actions must be taken in order to express their point. It’s the thing that makes us reflect upon a good antagonist and realise we might not agree with them, but we understand their actions. Pure madness or a purely evil nature are tools available to build an antagonist, but they tend to leave the audience with a feeling of incompletion and distance.

This essential structure can be helpful to craft and refine an antagonist character along with your hero and always considering your theme. Like we said, the antagonism can come not only from a person, but also from the environment and situations around the characters.

Next week, we’ll be talking about these and other inciting events that move your story! Hope to see you there!

You might also like to read about How to build a character: Part I and Part II

If you don’t want to miss this, go ahead and subscribe to our newsletter!If you

enjoy this content and comic, please considerer supporting us at Patreon!

#howtowritecomics #creative writting #Writting Tips #writting blog #writters on tumblr #writting comics #writting stories #how to write stories #how to write

2 notes · View notes

the-little-prophet · 4 years

Text

BDRP Questionnaire 2019

Posting this on Charlie since I actually talked about him quite a bit! Let’s gooooo

Characters: Berlioz, Hades, Kiara, Nala, Andrina, Merida, Charlie, Apollo, John, Su, Ashleigh, Nemo, Jun

Pick one of your characters and talk about their growth (we recommend choosing an older character, but it’s up to you!) What about their story has surprised you? What are you proud of? How have they changed from their original inception to now?

This one goes out to Charlie. I pitched Charlie very deceptively-- claiming he was a prophet, aligning him, at first, with Calliope, making it look like Charlie’s magic was of the classical, Cassandra-inspired kind. But all along, I knew that what I wanted Charlie to be was more of this sci-fi/fantasy blend as an homage to his movie’s sci-fi bend too. This year, I got to actually reveal that Charlie is a time traveler after two years!! This is very exciting for me! I’ve enjoyed being able to lean into Charlie’s new image systems with this reveal, even though I’m out of my depth and breaking like 67 different time travel rules, probably lol. Still, it’s been great to take him to that place, and to invent Future-Charlie as both a deux ex machina and an expression of identity/choice/free will etc etc. I did not have Future-Charlie in mind when I created Charlie, so that was something I was proud of coming up with!

Pick another character and talk a little about where you WANT them to go. What are your plans for them going into the new year?

I’m going to talk about Nemo if only because everyone else feels like a spoiler lol. Nemo, as a relatively new character though, is still full-speed-ahead on his initial goals that I outlined for him in his application. Now that Nemo’s been established in the school and he has this little group of buddies, I want:

To focus on his wing. I want Nemo to push himself, get himself in a spot of trouble, potentially injure himself.

Reveal his wings to at least one mundus friend

Continuing to infuse his posts with body image issues. This is a slow build kind of plot that really is like...the broth of Nemo’s plot-soup, lol, while training for his placement is the chicken and belonging at school is the noodles….it needs to be this throughline more than like, para a, para b, para c. at least for now.

Pick a thread or a plot that you’re proud of and talk about why you loved it.

I could pick a lot of threads here lol it’s honestly so HARD. But I think I want to shout-out to the Charlie/Jim first kiss thread because it surprised even me and Hannah. We initially planned for the first kiss to be just that-- one kiss, then we done, Jim and Charlie go on to be friends. But like in the best of cases, Jim and Charlie’s palpable chemistry actually informed more of Charlie’s arc and opened up avenues previously closed to me/Charlie since Charlie had been so SHUT to the idea of love. So! I really loved that thread. Also because like, I literally made Charlie experience the big bang after his first kiss. And THAT’S the BEST way to use magic in my opinion. Like when you can infuse magic with an emotional catharsis-- I think the other time I did that super well was similar actually, when Herc kissed Kiki’s cheek and she grew a tree in his room lol. So yeah! Some of my best writing in that thread, amazing chemistry, big surprises. It was an absolute pleasure.

In terms of your own writing, identify 1-3 strengths and talk about why you think it’s one of your strengths.

-Image systems. I dragged myself for this, but I think it’s something that really helps me find a character’s voice and make myself excited to RP them! Also, I think it’s what people like about my writing sometimes. Maybe. IDK, lol. -Complex Emotion: I’m stealing this from my mentor who said I’m good at creating complex emotion and so you know its true. My most introverted characters get the bulk of this naturally--they are introspective and feely and give themselves the space to think and feel. But I really want to try to inject more into my extroverted characters. I think I’m doing well for Nemo, who had undiagnosed anxiety and so that informs a lot of his personality in very interesting-- very OPPOSITE-- ways as Berlioz; Nemo struggles with being alone because ‘alone’ means he gets too in his head. That’s been really fun for me and why he’s quickly become one of my fave voices to write (I know, u all thought it was because I am in love with Jimin (true), but no its bc Nemo is an anxious, big feeling baby and he’s always so Alive to me, plus i was made to write a fairy it was always my destiny.)

In terms of your own writing, identify 1-3 areas of improvement.

-Dialogue: PERSONALLY I feel like I’m not great at dialogue. Some posts are better than others and I think I’m good at like…..texting dialogue? IDK. I feel like I struggle in paras though to craft good dialogue. It’s just, rn, average dialogue. Of course not every post needs to have hilarious, punchy, great dialogue. But do my characters sound different? Am I doing all I can to create rhythm and speech patterns? -Filtering: Im being very picky rn, because actually I don’t do this too much, but I do it enough where I’m like, I gotta go read some really stellar writers adn ban myself from using “Feel” and “think” for like a whole month. What I’m talkinga bout is like: Ber realized/ Ber thought / Ber knew. That kind of writing is totally fine, but that’s about it. I need to come up with more creative ways to talk about feelings and abstract concepts!!!

-Character: I know everyone is probably like………….how dare lauryl put this here. But listen. I don’t think I struggle with character on RP. But outside of RP? Oh boy! The THING about RP is you MUST create a character, that’s your vessel for writing here, and so you do all that development plus u got the four years of worldbuilding informing that character, and literally EVERYTHING CHARACTER DRIVEN ITS...THERE IS NO OTHER WAY. Outside of RP though I think I have struggled because my natural affinity is worldbuilding and shit like that. I’m type 5 baby, I am attracted to characters who let me poke at things I don’t know anything about, like even Jun, part of it really is like, petitions and grocery store management lmfadsofij. SOOOo idk I just need to be able to focus on crafting characters that are compelling vessels for the cool shit I like to do outside of RP.

Pick one of your plots, or even just a character, and come up with a list of 3-5 “mentor texts” where you can look for inspiration or research, then write a short (2-4 sentences) why you picked those texts. JOHN DARLING BREAKS INTO FAERYLAND 1. Call Down the Hawk/Raven Cycle: It’s no coincidence that my reread of Raven Cycle last winter played a pretty big part in inspiring this new version of John. The descriptions of the magical forest Cabeswater and the hunt for Glendower have the same kind of contemporary fantasy vibe that I really like for John. And of course, Ronan’s dream magic is very much intertwined with the faery realm feeling like a dream (and Ashleigh, obviously, as a dark faery who can manipulate them). More than that though, the attention paid to the psyches of each character and how they drive the plot forward is just… /chefs kiss. 2. The Mabinogian: I want to draw from these classic Welsh/British stories and incorporate them in creative ways! Or just as, like, motifs are something. :) I have tried to do this but would like to be a lot more intentional, instead of just being like lmao let me look up some random shit for this one reply~ 3. The Hazel Wood: This book deals with characters coming into the real world from a book world! This kind of goes along with the Mabinogian as I kind of ish want to do something similar, only treating the Mabinogian as a historical, cultural text as opposed to a fiction. This book also focuses a lot on fairy tale tropes (like numbers) which I really want to incorporate in John’s stuff. I want to ideally write some of my own fairy tales-- I have one in mind actually through Ashleigh but it’s related to John too since he’d the scholar of said stories.

And now, a wishlist!

-Exploring Nemo’s disability. This is slightly challenging for me since we don’t have many fairies, but I’m brainstorming some ideas and hope to really kick it off in January, leading up to his Talent Placement Test. -I really want to have a lot of town-centric plots for Jun. Would love to rp with the police officers! I want to have Jun try to get some ppl arrested tbh ahah, like, Fflew for loitering, or maybe reporting Mitte. I would love some arch nemeses tbh-- Mitte does seem like a good one. AND I want to submit at least three petitions next semester!! Maybe i should make that two!! Still!! -Do some Bonfamille plots. I already have something I’m really excited about and have already planned here so this is a teaser… -Keep writing essays. The fairies have been great, getting me really inspired to do these.What’s been an amazing mental exercise, and why I cannot stop writing these, is thinking about how the political philosophy of Pixie Hollow informs how it functions: technically, socioculturally etc. It’s really fun for me to basically build a communist thought project and then enact it for real. I feel like I’m learning a lot about...well, societies, lol, and how the material factors endlessly bleed into, and shape, ideas and beliefs (and vice versa). Also, I literally have to do these because when Nemo is IN the Hollow and I want to write him getting a glass of water, I’m faced with a lot of technical questions: do fairies have running water? Does he have to get it from a stream? How do they keep things cool? Etc etc. And that’s why I go off on these, and I’m excited to keep doing them, as many as I can, with feedback from my fellow fairies. Also, do want to do ones that are NOT fairy related, so we’ll see about that. -Write John backstory. He’s gone on a few other adventures and I’d like to actually one-shot those maybe lol. -Alternate Charlie Timeline: This is something that’s bopping around in my head and I haven’t found the perfect way to make it happen, but I want Charlie to travel to an alternate version of his life and get stuck. When I figure out the right way to do this, my partners will also get to rp alternate versions of their characters lol. That’s fun right!! Of course it is, we do it all the time with AUs, but this one obvi be more personal and more closely tied to canon.

OPTIONAL: Why do you RP? First and foremost, I RP because it’s writing for the sake of writing-- joy for joy. I think this is even more important this year as I’ve had to focus on mentorship writing outside of RP. RP became the place where I didn’t have to think so hard about making everything make sense, lol. It gave my brain a break so I could be less judgmental of myself and just have fun and do the most ridiculous stuff...and some of my fave stuff iS ridiculous because of that...like Nemo and Sindri making flower crowns or the ASC nonsense. It’s this kind of light, fluffy, low-stake (but still High Stake) stuff that provided me endless joy when I needed it the most. Second of all, I RP because I really want to invest in people’s creative energy. I think doing so gives back to myself. Building canon, helping people brainstorm, seeing people grow-- I feel like a proud mom when I get to have this kind of mentorship role myself. I talked to MK about this, but even though Sam left to go off and do greater things, that’s like-- to me, it was a lot like he was graduating from this weird BDRP school I’ve helped create. I felt nothing but pride and happiness for him and really felt like, if BDRP was to explode tomorrow, I ACHIEVED the thing I set out to do when, four years ago, I sat on my computer and drafted BDRP’s mission and vision and committed myself to this admin role. And THAT’S what I want ideally-- for BDRP to be this collaborative place that doesn’t focus too much on what makes sense, on sitewide plots that force people into roles. I have always wanted plots like ASC and John’s search for Excalibur to be able to exist side by side, and I think we’ve done that. Now we just have to tend this garden, don’t we, haha? May BDRP bear many delicious fruit.

#bdrptask #this is a rambling mess but always fun aint it

1 note · View note

clawfootpress · 3 years

Text

Dear Mr. Met:

The other day I was riding my bike and I blew right through a stop sign. Didn’t even slow down. Didn’t even see it. I blame the Mets, partly. I was listening to a Mets game on my phone and they were winning but the Orioles had the bases loaded in the eighth and I was getting nervous. It was only my second day as a dog walker, so the part of my brain that wasn’t worried about the Mets was worried that I’d left a dog outside or a door unlocked or maybe the owners thought my notes were weird and they didn’t want me walking their dog again. With my brain full of such thoughts and feelings, I blew right through the stop sign.

I don’t mean I saw the stop sign, slowed down, looked both ways, and rolled on through without coming to a full stop. I do that all the time. No, I’m talking about blowing right through it, not even knowing it was there.

I don’t normally listen to my phone when I’m out biking, running, or walking. I don’t like things in my ears, for one, and I genuinely like hearing the sounds of the city. I thought I might be okay listening to the game since I wasn’t wearing ear buds. I had the phone mounted on my handlebars, the volume turned all the way up. It worked right up until the bases were loaded and I got nervous and blew right through the stop sign.

A guy in a truck honked at me and called me an asshole. It could have been worse, he could have also been distracted, maybe also by the Mets. Who knows? It’s a big city in a big world. Maybe it was his second to last day on the job. Maybe it had been too many days since his last day on the job. Maybe his daughter was in the hospital. Maybe his daughter wasn’t talking to him. Maybe his daughter finally called him that morning after twenty-eight years. Maybe his boyfriend broke up with him. The multiplicity of possibilities boggles the mind.

The point is, the guy could have also been distracted and blown right through the stop sign and then I really would have been in a jackpot. I still didn’t like being called an asshole, though, so I hit my brakes and turned around.

Oh, he said, yeah?

Yeah, I said, and rode right back at him.

You know how there’s this idea that if we put energy out into the world our desires can manifest? I believe that to be true. I’m not sure exactly how it works, I just know it works because I’ve seen it work. Rather, I’ve seen the inverse work. The energy I put out disintegrates the objects of my desire, which Buddhists say is good, I think, but I don’t know. I find it to be frustrating more than anything.

It makes sense when you think about it. If there is a law of attraction, then there has to be a law of repulsion. No light without dark. No day without night. No hot without cold. No pleasure without pain. No sweet without salty. No joy without sorrow. No life without death. No attraction without repulsion. Imagine someone out there setting an intention for something. As the thing is moving toward them, it has to be moving away from someone else. In order for them to attract, someone else must repel. That’s physics.

Even the great Jacob deGrom is not immune. In a game against the Rockies, he struck out nine batters in a row. Ten, as you know, is the record, held by the greatest Met of all, The Franchise, Tom Seaver. deGrom looked untouchable. He looked inevitable. I got excited. I texted my friends. The next batter got a hit.

Boy, was the guy in the truck mad. Understandably. I broke the law and put myself and others in danger, including him. He honked and yelled at me, which was freedom of expression at its finest. I stopped and turned back toward him and rode right back at him. I did that because he called me an asshole. I was wrong to blow through the stop sign, but I’m too proud to let someone call me an asshole.

God and Ben Franklin gave that man every right to shoot me dead in the street (Freedom of Worship), but he didn’t shoot me, even though I charged at him like a wild beast.

Instead of shooting me, he said, Oh, yeah?

Instead of apologizing, I said, Yeah. You don’t get to call me names.

I said this because I’m a man and deserve to be treated as such, even when I fuck up. I dared to look the man in the pickup truck in the eye and demand he treat me with basic dignity. To which he responded, You’re right. I was wrong about that.

Organized religion is dying but religiosity is alive and well. Prayers of Confession are all the rage.

Everybody wants confession, everybody wants some cathartic narrative for it. The guilty especially. I’m watching True Detective, Season One.

Look: Ellie Kemper should not have been in that Veiled Prophet debutant ball mostly because debutant balls are dumb, but raking her over the Twitter-coals until she apologized did nothing good. She was nineteen. At nineteen she was just as much a Victim of the Patriarchy as a Perpetrator of White Supremacy, but the crowd demanded atonement. Atonement for what? For being born into and participating in the life of a particular place with particular people at a particular time?

Maybe you never had to navigate growing up with racists. Maybe you never had to navigate the complexity of loving racists. Or being loved by racists. Maybe you never had to do the emotional labor of depending on racists to drive you to the hospital. Of knowing racists are more than their racism. Knowing they are capable of great acts of love, which make them beautifully human, but makes their racism more stark, more deliberate, more sinful, awful, frustrating, heartbreaking. Of having to choose as a child, then as an adolescent, between participating or feeling completely alone. In a time and a place where there were no counselors, or the counselors were also racist. Maybe you’ve never had to parse out different subcategories of racism as you try to discern which relationships are worth it, whatever that might mean, and which are completely irredeemable, and then finding the courage to act accordingly. If you haven’t, you’re lucky. Privileged, even.

Twitter got its confession, but neither you, nor I, nor Ellie Kemper, nor America is any less racist for it. I submit that Twitter only got its confession because Ellie Kemper was already prone to introspection, has been introspecting most of her life, and has done more introspecting than the average Twitter-activist. She didn’t change her mind, she was forced to dig up her past shit and lay it on the table to be picked over by people who only just took a seat. The new arrivals took a look at the shit and said, Boy that stinks. Then they felt better, and Ellie Kemper felt worse, and nothing else changed and that’s called progress.

My tension and adrenaline drained away. I saw his face, his particular face. He wasn’t a Man In a Pickup Truck, representative of everyman in a pickup truck; he was who he was. He had a round nose and bags under his eyes. Two or three days of stubble on his cheeks and chin. I wonder if he has grandchildren who complain about how scratchy it is? He looked scared, like a tired man who’d almost hit a careless cyclist. He didn’t to kill anyone and he was angry that I almost caused him to kill someone. I didn’t want this man to kill anyone, and I certainly didn’t want him to kill me.

It was then that I apologized for blowing right through the stop sign. Well, I was wrong about that.

He looked a little confused. It was a confusing situation. So, he said, we’re good then?

I felt a little confused. Weren’t we supposed to keep yelling?

We’re good then, I said.

His last words to me were either, I love that, or I love you. I’m 99% sure he said, I love that, but isn’t it pretty to think that he said, I love you?

Listen: it’s not that I’m anti-confession, but I’m wary and increasingly wary of proforma Prayers of Confession, especially when they are religiously proscribed by a demographic that claims to be Not Religious. (In the words of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie: Ask them a question and you are told the answer is to repeat a mantra.) Public confessions do, for better or worse, what religion does, for better or worse: tell us a story, give us a sense of control, shape our experience, and help us think we’re actually doing something – Look what we did, we extracted a confession! Private confessions don’t provide narrative, characters, or catharsis. All they offer is humanity, complexity, intimacy, vulnerability, and, occasionally, transformation.

I’m working on non-attachment, and, accordingly, on non-judgment, judgement being a form of attachment to the story we tell ourselves about how things should be.

It’s difficult. I remain attached to the story that thirteen-year-old boys should be allowed to grow up, no matter how much they fuck up when they are thirteen-years-old, therefore I judge the officer who killed Adam Toledo. I judge the adult who gave the boy a gun and showed him how to shoot. I judge the people who made the gun and all the hands that carried the gun to the boy. I judge people who love guns more than they love thirteen-year-old boys.

I ‘preciate you, I said, clipping the first syllable like I was someone I’m not. If this was fiction, I’d strike that dialogue as sounding untrue, not in character, but real life is messier, real people are inconsistent, and that’s really what I said.

I’m not great at talking to people. I was kind of hoping to get this one job with a delivery company because it was closer to home and paid more. The interviewer asked how I’d heard of their company. I said a friend had used them to move a large machine. I should have stopped there, but there is a word-gremlin inside me that likes to blow through stop signs. I said I’d moved that machine before and boy was I glad I didn’t have to move it again. I said that to the guy interviewing me about moving machines.

So I’m walking dogs.

What I want to do is write stories. I desire to never sit through another interview. I want my stories to be my interview and you, the reader, the one who says, You’re hired, you can start immediately, you’ll never have to move machines or walk dogs ever again.

I hesitate to say this too loud, lest the Inverse Laws of Attraction hear me. I also say this with an acute awareness that what writing does, for better or worse, is tell a story, give me a sense of control, shape my experience, and help me think I’m actually doing something. The obligation I have, then, is to tell good stories, to the best of my ability, populated with characters full of humanity, complexity, intimacy, vulnerability, who, at their best, offer the possibility of transformation. No cartoon villains.

Unless I’m writing a cartoon. And there are villains.

Is it possible for me (or anyone) to privately apologize for something I say or write, but publicly defend the right – and even the necessity – of saying it? It is. Is it possible for each to be equally true? It is.

Fully human/fully divine. Very well then, I contradict myself.

In the meantime, the world keeps shouting. It’s really difficult to talk when people are shouting all the time, especially when they are shouting the same thing over and over again, which is, BANG BANG BANG!

I don’t know what to do with that. It feels like I either have to shout or ignore it. Shouting makes me tired but ignoring it feels as reckless as blowing right through a stop sign. So I work on my stories and let them try to make sense of this absurd world.

Speaking of absurd, just when I thought I had this letter all buttoned up and ready to send out the door, my wife was in a car accident. Another driver blew right through a stop sign and slammed into the driver’s side of our car. My wife is okay; our car is not. The woman who hit her was not distracted by the Mets because the Mets were rained out that day. I don’t know much about her other than she was driving on a suspended license without insurance. God and Ben Franklin gave her that right (No Quarter Without Consent). Who are you or I to tell her how to live?

Equally, my wife could have shot her right between the eyes (Redress of Grievances) and of course that would have solved everything, except my wife doesn’t carry a gun. She probably never will. Can you believe that?

The guy in the pickup truck nodded and drove away. Such things can happen, even in America, depending on the characters, and when they don’t the story seems more stark, more deliberate, more sinful, awful, frustrating, heartbreaking.

#LFGM,

Matt Lang

PS –While I was naming and claiming my desire to watch Jacob deGrom strike out ten batters in a row, in another part of space-time Aaron Nola struck out nine batters in a row, and he looked untouchable, he looked inevitable. Someone got excited, someone texted their friends. On June 25th Aaron Nola, pitching for the Phillies, against the Mets, in New York, struck out ten Mets in a row, tying the record held by the greatest Met of all, The Franchise, Tom Seaver. I listened to all ten while riding my bike.

Be careful what you wish for.

0 notes

majestywritez · 3 years

Text

Dream Sequences

Intro to Post:

Hey lovelies!! Today's post is all about dreams. Most people think dreams are an easy subject or topic to write about since you know, we all experience our own dreams but to write a good dream sequence, requires a lot of different aspects that I will be going over in the rest of today's post so without further a do let's get started!

Uses for Dreams in Literature

The Realization Dream

In a Realization Dream, something must “click” for a character in a dream, something they couldn’t figure out while awake.

Maybe a character is incapable of putting together certain pieces of evidence in his waking life, but in the midst of a dream’s storm-and-chaos, the pieces fall into place for them. Or maybe their latest desires are thrown into sharp relief in a vivid dream in true Freudian style.

2. The Internal Conflict Dream

A character struggling with an impossible choice might very well dream about it.

Using a dream sequence to colorfully illustrate internal turmoil can give a face to a character’s agony. Remember: show, don’t tell. This is something I often struggle with when writing, guys! Anyone else? Lol

3. The Foreshadowing Dream

The foreshadowing dream is probably one of my very favorites and for me its easier to write. This sequence gives a character a glimpse of the future while they sleep. This particular effect can range from mere hints at events to come—for instance, a character dreams about a ghastly trial where horrible evidence is brought against him, then wakes up and gets dressed down by his overbearing girlfriend—or outright prophesy.

In either case, this dream type should be used sparingly, and with extreme caution: if your characters are able to accurately predict the future with any sort of consistency, it can drain the tension right out of your story!

4. The Communication Dream

Also known as a “shared” or “linked” dream, this conceit comes from the popular notion that people are somehow able to communicate with one another via their dreams.

When used literally—usually in a more fantasy-oriented setting—the Communication Dream can be used either to demonstrate the close emotional bond between siblings, friends, or lovers, or simply to relay important information across vast distances without the use of communication technology.

Or, if the dream isn’t actually “shared,” it can allow one character to say something to another character that she could never say in person, creating a moment of catharsis.

Also a rule to remember before writing a dream: before you begin writing your dream sequence, ask yourself exactly why you’re including it.

If you can’t answer further than, “Because it’ll be awesome,” then the sequence probably isn’t necessary to your story.

Now that we're done discussing the uses for dream sequences, let's get into actually writing one!

Tips for Writing Dream Sequences:

1. Apply a bit of Logic

Writers and critics alike refer to how certain scenes accurately capture “dream logic,” or the fact that dreams seemingly operate on no logic at all.

That’s the keyword, however: “seemingly.”

Remember again that you’re writing a scene first, a scene that your readers need to be able to follow—at least somewhat. Your dream sequence needs to establish its own brand of consistent “dream logic" to ensure that the scene actually functions as a scene.

Even the most surreal and chaotic dreamscape needs some sort of through-line that ties it all together: as bananas as dreams get sometimes, they still have a narrative of some sort.

Even if you decide that your story would be best served by a wildly inconsistent dream sequence, you can at least be consistent in your inconsistency. Basically, keep the chaos running at the same level at all times, and the events within will hold some semblance of internal consistency—even if they’re actually coming apart at the seams.

2. Use Narrative Distance

You’ve no doubt heard of the classic “out-of-body experience” dream, where the dreamer watches their own actions as though they are a spectator instead of being “in the driver’s seat.”

Well, there’s a way to capture that floaty, out-to-lunch feeling in fiction using a narrative technique called narrative distance.

Narrative distance, or “perspective distance,” refers to the implied “space” between the reader and the narrator or character in the story. Are your readers privy to the narrator’s private thoughts or opinions about the goings-on in your book? Does he or she have a distinct personality—or even agency in the story, to a degree?

If so, that’s close narrative distance.

First-person perspective has the closest and most intimate narrative distance, but third-person has varying degrees of this as well. Can your third-person narrator omnisciently “hear” the thoughts of all your major characters—or does the narration function more like a camera lens, observing the action only on a surface level? Or can the narrator only “hear” the inner monologue of one central character? Or maybe a chosen few? All these decisions affect the narrative distance of your story.

But how does this apply to dream sequences? Well, in order to create that floaty, dreamlike feel, simply increase the narrative distance in your story for the duration of the scene. If you’ve got a first-person narrator, switch to third-person limited. If you’re already in third-person limited, “pan out” further—go for that action-oriented, cinematic viewpoint we described earlier.

The goal is to create a shift in perspective so radical that it makes your readers feel like they’re dreaming as well. “Zoom out” from the dream’s events, set your character loose inside—and watch the mayhem begin from afar.

3. Use a Little or Lots of Detail

There are two basic settings for fictional dreams.

First, there are the dreams that take place in vast voids with little detail and only a few characters and concrete objects within them. This creates an empty, lonely, and often eerie atmosphere, appropriate for both nightmares and reflection.

But these dream-voids aren’t merely seen, they’re experienced—and a very specific type of writing is required to simulate that experience on paper.

In this sort of dream, a lamp should go from “the lamp with the gold-colored lampshade and the base shaped like a crouching cat” to simply “a lamp on a low desk.”

Be vague. Be infuriatingly vague. Withhold details. Use sentence fragments. Leave gaps in your descriptions for your readers to fill in: after all, that’s what they’d do if the dream belonged to them!

The other kind of dream turns everything up several notches: the noise, the saturation, the colors, the mayhem… These dreams feel overcrowded, bursting at the seams, difficult to navigate without stepping on (or in) something unpleasant.

These are a different sort of nightmare: use them to communicate stress or illness or indecision, the product of a split, fractured, or divided mind.

Embrace that chaos in your writing. Go into detail overload. Describe things in florid or grotesque fashion, especially things that wouldn’t normally be either florid or grotesque. Have random, surreal elements intrude into the central narrative of the dream, and make sure these intrusions are as unpleasant as possible. Make your readers uneasy with their descriptions.

Not only does this overblown style suit surreal imagery, but it can make even ordinary scenery feel fevered and dreamlike.

A word of warning, however: exercise at least a smidge of restraint here. You may want your fever-dream sequence to be unpleasant, yes—but not so awful that your readers simply walk away.

Alright, I hope all of this information helped anyone who's interested in writing dream sequences. That's it for today's post, have a wonderful day and don't forget I love you all!

0 notes

jacktaylorfansite · 7 years

Photo

My writing background is not Joyce or Yeats but the Americans - Award winning novelist Ken Bruen

BY CHARLIE MCBRIDE Galway Advertiser, Thu, Nov 16, 2017 Photo by: Mike Shaughnessy

The Ghosts Of Galway, Ken Bruen’s 13th Jack Taylor novel, has just been published and to mark its arrival Bruen met me in the Hotel Meyrick last Monday to range widely over his eventful life and acclaimed work.Bruen has published 37 novels, a number of which have been filmed, including nine of the Jack Taylor series, yet he grew up in a ‘bookophobic’ household. “I was born just there, in No 9 Eyre Square” he says, pointing out the hotel window toward the building in question. “I lived there 'til I was 10 years old when we moved up to Newcastle. I remember my father putting me up on his shoulders outside O’Connell’s pub to see JFK as he passed by on his visit here in 1963. There were no books in our family aside from the Bible. When I told my father that I wanted to be a writer he asked ‘Why don’t you get a job that is respectable’.” Bruen’s passion for books and crime fiction was triggered by a fateful gift. “A wonderful man called Tom Kennedy gave me a library card when I was 10 and it opened a treasure trove for me," he says. "One day I noticed in one corner of the library, were all these American paperbacks someone had donated by the likes of Jim Thompson, Raymond Chandler, and James M Cain. I asked the librarian could I borrow them and she said ‘Take the whole box, nobody wants them.' Those books formed me as a writer; that’s where my writing background is – not Joyce or Yeats but the Americans. When I started writing The Guards I wanted to write an Irish crime novel with an American style.” By a strange coincidence Tom Kennedy was also the father of Ken’s future partner Phyl. The couple have now been together for 36 years and have a daughter, Grace. Though they grew up near each other, Ken reveals they never met until adulthood. “Phyl lived all over the world and so did I," says Ken. "We first met in the GBC restaurant when we were both home for a visit. I heard this woman giving out yards to somebody and I looked over and she asked me ‘What are you looking at?’ I said ‘God help that person who’s listening to you,’ and I turned away. She came up and tapped me on the shoulder and said ‘Do you want to go to the pictures on Saturday night?’ I told her ‘You’re the most formidable woman I’ve ever met.' In all my books the women are the strongest characters.” After getting a PhD in metaphysics from Trinity, Bruen spent more than 20 years working all over the world teaching English. In 1979 he was in Rio de Janeiro when he was arrested following a fracas in a bar and suffered six brutalised months in prison. I ask why his books scarcely draw on his globetrotting experiences? “Every publisher I ever had would ask ‘Why won’t you write a travel book?’" says Ken. "When I was travelling I even kept a diary and when I went to Rio I had 30 leather-bound travel diaries. But after coming out of prison I was so destroyed I burned every single one of them. The only one in all my books where there is travel is the series about Inspector Brant; he goes to Australia and the reason I did that was I was just after coming back from there and I liked it so much I wanted to put it in a book. I do use America as a setting for three novels and I was in America when I wrote them. There are three cities I love to write about; Galway, London, and New York and there is more than enough there.” After the trauma of Rio, Bruen settled in London where he began to write in earnest, partly as a catharsis. “I thought I was absolutely finished as a human being; I couldn’t get past what had happened in Brazil,” he states. “Friends suggested I go back teaching but I told them I couldn’t. They said ‘We have some really screwed up kids and no-one can relate to them, why not just come and talk to them’. So I went in and something clicked; they saw how messed up I was and I saw the same in them. "I started teaching them about books; they hated literature but they loved anything to do with crime so I decided to write a book set in Brixton and sneak in literature by having a guy obsessed with the poet Rilke. Lo and behold the book, Rilke On Black, took off. The kids loved it and it got nominated for best crime novel of the year. With both the book and the teaching I started to heal; while the nightmares never fully went away they became less intense. My books are dark because that was my experience – I wouldn’t be able to write a light book. But even with something terrible you turn the page and there’ll be something darkly humorous.” After 15 years in London, Ken and Phyl returned to Galway when their daughter Grace was born. “We moved back just before the boom happened,” he recalls. “Suddenly there was all this money, and there was dope and all kinds of problems that prosperity brings. I’d been thinking about the librarian and books and Galway as it was changing. My brother Noel had recently died as a homeless alcoholic in Australia, and they all came together in my head and I said to Phyl one day ‘It’s time I wrote an Irish crime novel set in Galway’. That was The Guards, the first Jack Taylor book. It was only ever meant to be this small Irish novel but then it took off in America. My publishers had wanted me to change the Irish style of the vocabulary because they didn’t think Americans would understand it, but I refused and the Irish argot was the very thing that made it sell because all the Irish there loved it.” With 13 Taylor books now in print, all of which feature familiar Galway landmarks I suggest it can only be a matter of time before someone starts doing a Jack Taylor city walking tour. “I’ve heard there is one already!” Bruen replies, “I’d love to go on it myself just to see where he goes. Some Japanese tourists came to my door a couple of years ago and they wanted me to give them a Taylor tour so I took them into Garavans at 11 in the morning and they started drinking whiskey. They wanted me to join them but I said it was a little early for me so I sipped coffee until four o’clock when I poured them into a taxi when they were all legless. Garavans were delighted because they went through six or seven bottles of Jameson in five hours.” In the Taylor books, Jack is constantly running up against priests, most of whom are deeply flawed individuals. “I was in Gormanston boarding school for five years,” he declares. “They were the five worst years of my life. I didn’t suffer sexual abuse but there was corporal punishment and the priests continuously told me that I’d never amount to anything. I knew if I ever wrote my priests wouldn’t be like the one in The Quiet Man, they’d be like the ones I had experienced and I’ve never had to exaggerate once; that’s what the priests were like in Gormanston; they drank like fish and smoked, yet presented this pious facade to the world. “The other thing I wanted to go against, and it caused me even more trouble than the priests, was that Jack says in every book ‘my mother was a walking bitch’. In Irish literature the mother is this lovely mother mo croí type. Even though my own mother was nothing like Jack Taylor’s, I wanted everything to be the opposite of what it usually is. I got tremendous grief from mothers about that, telling me ‘You can’t say that about an Irish mother’ and I’d reply ‘I didn’t say it. Jack Taylor did’.” Bruen’s novels and the Jack Taylor series in particular have been garlanded with praise and awards, while the film versions have boasted blue-chip stars like Iain Glen, Kiera Knightley, Aidan Gillen, Colin Farrell, Jason Statham, and Paddy Considine. For all the accolades, Bruen has been weirdly neglected by Galway’s cultural establishment, having never been invited to read at Cúirt or the Galway International Arts Festival ,or received any other official recognition. “It’s just one of those things,” he says, philosophically. “I’ve given up caring about it but I don’t know why I never get asked.” One hopes that injustice will be remedied soon. In the meantime readers can relish The Ghosts of Galway.

#ken bruen #galway advertiser #charlie mcbride #mike shaughnessy #ken bruen interview #interview

1 note · View note

kingofthewilderwest · 7 years

Text

Note: This personal vent post (though it’s about my own current personal Stuff) contains massive Mass Effect 3 spoilers.

I’m a bit of a latecomer to the Mass Effect franchise... played the first game at the end of 2015 and the second at the start of 2016. I decided to play the full trilogy in anticipation of Andromeda’s release, and I finally had the opportunity to purchase and play ME 3 for the first time these last two weeks. I knew about a lot of the spoilers, but it’s still profoundly impacted me, and made me feel something more deep, unsettling, real, and pressingly painful than the typical recreational feel I get with a bittersweet story. This hurts.

There are a number of reasons it hurts, but the thing that hurts me most is Mordin’s story. I think it’s the best character story hands down in the Mass Effect trilogy - I could talk for a long time about that freakishly amazing characterization and retribution arc. But the point is that Mordin’s story HURTS MAJORLY because, even though I love it, I relate too much to it.

I’m not the same as Mordin, but I found a lot of... identity comfort... and an ability to relate... to the character. I can relate to the hyperactive mind constantly doing ninety side projects. I can relate to dabbling in a lot of different areas... where he might be creative writing, music, theatre, genetics, and the like, I’m things like creative writing, music, linguistics, philosophy, theology, and the like. I can relate to using data and logical analysis as the point of choice over other factors to the point it’s ridiculous. I can relate to being outwardly smooth and confident about my choices while inside being eaten away by what I’ve done. I’ll even admit I can relate to his eyebrow-raising ethics. I can relate to ever wondering if I made the right critical choice. I can relate to being introverted but willing to converse or open up, relate to loving the sciences and the arts, relate to not being the best at socializing or showing it but still obviously caring about the people in my care. Screw it, even the asexuality thing. I guess the whole point of this rant paragraph is that I can find a lot of excitement, happiness, and comfort in Mordin’s character because I can relate to it.

And I can relate to the... success thing... I guess. The great, esteemed Doctor Mordin Solus. Pretty important guy. When he was at the top of his game working with the STG on the genophage, he had top secret clearance, worked with the best resources and team, had an extremely active life filled with excitement and companionship, and found it satisfying. I’m not trying to sound cocky or anything... but I had those years, too. Not quite as monumental, but still... that sense of self-confidence and everything going right around me and being successful? Yeah that was there. High school years, especially senior year - first chair All-State Orchestra flautist, highest GPA valedictorian in the school’s 120 year history, soccer player on the best team in the league, all sorts of awards and recognitions coming my way, great friends to stay by me... I was the TOP and I knew it. And I was thrilled and I loved it.

But life goes forth, and as it does, the consequences of our actions catch up to us. The year 2011 started as my best year. It ended horribly and led to a terrible 2012. I don’t need to explain what happened, except that things came crashing down on me everywhere. Everywhere. And over the course of the last five years, I continued losing. I couldn’t even stay in a PhD program because my depression took too hard of a toll on me for me to stay engaged (I will NEVER return to that program).

So here I am, in the middle of nowhere, some no-name graceless location, feeling like the rest of my life is going to be spent here.

Mordin’s story felt so real. After he left Omega, though, with the sleepless nights and the spiritual soul-searching... he made a comeback. Entered the Collector base. Worked with the STG again to help ‘Eve’. Even created a cure for the genophage to undo that which gave him so much ethical struggling in the first place.

I want that so badly. To get out of this mire of uselessness I’m currently in, where I sit around like a lump of potatoes doing nothing important at all, not even getting decent human contact. To get back to a state where I can be productive and impactful again.

But while there are some moments that Mordin’s story can inspire me... Mass Effect 3 also crumples me.

Fuck it, that was one of the big things that got spoiled to me before I played the game anyway. I KNEW that Mordin was going to die (yeah yeah I know there’s a way for him to live, but that requires some hoop jumping I hadn’t done). I knew that the Renegade route was literally you shooting him right then and there. I managed to piece together a lot of the rest because plots are predictable - I predicted it had to involve some sort of betrayal, that it involved the genophage, that it likely involved some sort of retribution arc where he created the cure, that it’d be a Kobayashi Maru. But I still bawled when I saw him in my Paragon route implement the cure.

I’ve never been NUMBED and... sort of traumatized... by a character death before. In truth, I tend to adooooore these things. And I STILL will argue with you guys for centuries to come that this scene on Tuchanka is the most incredible and impacting moment in the entire ME franchise. Fight me. So I do adore it. I can’t stop thinking about it. But I *did* legitimately feel horribly, painfully numbed for two days after seeing the Paragon death with my own two eyes from my own actions in the game. It’s like I was literally mourning a real being.

Yes, I know that they write characters really well, and that Mordin was extraordinary writing even on top of that. But it wasn’t just losing a fictional character that I’d attached to. It was.......... somehow, somehow... hitting at the struggles I’m currently in. And basically telling me my life was going to explode. Whatever I do, it’ll end in a “death” - maybe I’ll accomplish something, but it’ll be my end.

I’ve been terrified since leaving the PhD that I am at a dead end. That I’m not going anywhere, that I *can’t* go anywhere, that I’m stuck in a stasis no matter how hard I fight to get something better. That I’m going to be in dead end jobs with no progression and little companionship and no sense of satisfaction. That I’ll never again feel the thrill of what it was to tackle academia in my heyday. Where getting a Masters and three Bachelors and a Minor and a Certificate in four fucking years from a university was TOTALLY doable with an extremely high GPA and a bunch of awards and scholarships and.... where I could LIVE and be in my element. I’m afraid I’ll never get that sense of element again. That I’ll just be in something lackluster, unfulfilling, unappealing. I’m afraid I’ll never leave Omega and never be able to get that peaceful night’s rest. And I’m afraid that even if I make it to Tuchanka and reach the top of the Shroud... I’ll just get shot down... and never get the returned fulfillment in my life I wanted.

Mordin surviving in ME 3 requires two bad decisions to be made in the previous games, and frankly, while it does mean he lives, it’s not a satisfying ending so much from a storytelling perspective. The story was MEANT for him to die. And it just comes as a crushing blow to me... making me feel as though my story is meant to die. I’m not saying literally - I’m not saying me dying - but me having any good experiences in life dying. No matter what I do, whether I’m shot in the back or not... it ends.

Sometimes I can look at the scene and feel inspired. I can see how fucking nervous he was to implement the cure. How he took those attempted deep breaths, how he hummed under his breath to try to comfort him as the tower was falling apart around him, how we could see how scared he was that the next fiery blast would be the one that took him out. That’s inspiring and amazing, to see someone be brave and do things despite them not feeling brave. To see him make that successful redemption in the Paragon route and become a hero that will be sung about in the generations to come (ballads about him! theatre kid Solus would feel so honored), to see that the first born krogan prince is named after him... I mean, that IS the story of a hero. That’s inspiring.

But so often what I just feel is....... a sense of loss. A loss of *me*. That I’m lost and never coming back.

And that’s not quite it either. But I don’t have the words for what I’m feeling or why I’m feeling it or why some stupid instance in just a video game (albeit a very good story) is hitting me so hard. Usually I’m like, soaking into dramatic death scenes. They’re my catharsis, weird as it sounds. I seek out recreational pain so that I can get a sense of emotional relief in my own life. But this? This was raw pain. I’m so happy I experienced it, but at the same time, I’m struggling with this. I can’t fully articulate why. I know this long vent is only part of it.

I’m just... so sick of being nowhere.

And even if I can’t point out “why,” I just feel so... afraid... pained... hurt... to end up as he did. That I could end up like that. That a character I aspire and adore so much ended up as he did. Don’t get me wrong, it was so fitting, it was so good... but I just... emotions... I can’t.

It’s not about the game. I’m not having problems with the GAME. I’m having problems with something in my heart, resonating within my own life.

It’s the problem of seeing your own hero come crashing down I guess???

Yeah.

Seeing one’s own hero - and through that one’s own ideals and hopes and dreams - come crashing down with a bullet in his chest and a hand that never reaches the console to disseminate the cure.

Mordin’s death.

It’s somehow an attack on my own sense of hope and dreams and goals.

I just... I don’t know what more to say. I don’t even know if this is coherent... crying too hard and too lazy to reread for edits. How many times have I cried about this now?

Friendly reminder that sage all-knowing advice, “It will be okay,” or “I believe in you” responses do *NOT* make me feel better. Non-obtrusive suggestions of what’s going on in my head, saying you relate, or something like that is welcome though.

#blabbing Haddock #non-dragons #Mass Effect 3 #ME 3 #ME3 #personal #don't mind me #I guess sort of indirectly #depression #?#just really sick of having unstable job situations and being in this stasis #also about the game #don't get me wrong #this IS hands down my favorite scene #in the entire franchise

4 notes · View notes

queerasart-blog · 7 years

Text

E.M.FORSTER AND HIS MAURICE | Issue 0

E.M.FORSTER AND HIS MAURICE, A BREAKING FREE THROUGH ART by Elissa Abou Merhi

ART AND LGBT? HELPING A CAUSE

It is well known that literature was always a way for author to engage themselves in touchy subjects - should we quote Animal Farm, the George Orwell renown criticism of Stalin’s USSR? Or even, more recently, Maya Angelou's work on Afro-American situation in the 21st century? It’s undeniable; writing, literature, art all together have contributed to promoting engagement, different ways of thinking, revolutions, criticism...

Art however can also be a synonym for escape. Writing what you hoped you would be? Writing all the feelings you wished you had the right to feel? There’s no doubt as why the LGBT community has been using art as a way of expressing itself since the beginning of ages: through art, you get to feel. Feel, even though some might have killed you for those feelings you had. And writing helped the community evolve and gain its right, a little. It also helped each of the writers, a little too.

We can only suppose that was also the case of E. M. Forster, British author of the 20th century. Known for his ironic novels, for his criticism on the hypocrisy of the British society or even for A passage to India, who made his success, his posthume published novel Maurice is of a high controversy. E. M. Forster is an interesting personnage, whose life, posthume novel and links between the two, are a great example of how literature has helped so many gays, lesbians, bisexuals, transgenders, queers, ...

E.M.FORSTER, a short biography

To fully comprehend Maurice and how it is distinctive of literature’s importance, it is helpful to zoom a little on his personne. Though, if biographers have something they can agree on about E.M.Forster is that he definitely was a strange one. His life is a life full of contradictions.

Born in 1879, Edward Morgan Forster is an only child whom father died from tuberculosis when he was only aged two. Thus, E.M.Forster spent his whole childhood in the company of woman - a situation which was largely used by his biographers to explain, following Freud’s theory developed in the 20’s, his homosexuality, and which also explains the profound love Forster had for his mother, as she was a constant figure in his life. He never left her side, went travelling around Europe with her after his university years, and lived with her until her death in 1945, aged 90. The mother figure is indeed quite an important figure in his novels, notably Maurice. As for Forster’s opinion on his homosexuality, theories were developed by critics stating that his book, The Longest Journey, was the only one, except Maurice, really making references to his own life and situation through metaphors, thus stating that Rickie’s clubfoot, which is a congenital disease, is a parallelism with his own homosexuality which he could have thought to come from his own father. Of course, such theories were never verified, with E.M.Forster remaining quite discrete on his sexual and love life.

An ambiguous attirance towards the working class

Thanks to his inheritance, E.M.Forster was granted a high education, going to Tonbridge School and King’s College, Cambridge, where he was a member of the Apostle, which is a debate society. Thus being part of the higher classes, part of the elite, Forster was however thoroughly interested in the working class. He had a passion for his friends’ couple, who were able to manage the differences between their classes to live together and love one another. When searching for his lover, he was always seeking the perfect man, the “Ideal Man”, in the working classes. Still, despite this pure interest in the working class, E.M.Forster appeared to be in complete dependance of his money and status. A friend where he spend the weekend at used to say about him that he evolved in his world as if everyone were to serve him; he would leave his clothes everywhere, knowing that when he would wake up, it would all be cleaned up. This passion for the working class contradicts itself with his everyday life and his nature, which is considerably disdainful towards it.

A publicly denied orientation

Such high-view of himself might be the reason why Forster never admitted publicly his sexual orientation. If his closest friends knew of his lovers, most of them still were surprised at how he got fond of them and continued to support them after their relationships. His homosexuality was belatedly known - however, at multiple occasions, Forster still defended this cause and, when asked if he would have preferred not to be homosexual, he clearly stated that he had no trouble with this nature of him. He might have not wanted to accept publicly his homosexuality in favour of his mother, which he did not want to shock. However, it is still a question as why he did not admit it after her death. It is also interesting to see how critics and biographers are always timid on the question of his homosexuality, rarely stating it in their biographies.

It is thus clear how contradictory Forster is of a person, an elite college boy whose homosexuality is admitted with difficulty and who’s always in search of the Ideal Partner, preferably in the working class, while at the same time being afraid of mixing up too much with them. Writing Maurice was, undoubtedly, a way to break free with the social expectation on him.

MAURICE, a liberation

Whilst writing, authors may have the tendency to use their own life events in their novels, developing their characters with some of their own traits, either consciously or not. E.M.Forster is no different - it is undeniable that he is, in huge parts, the inspiration for his Maurice. However, to make it fictional, his Maurice appears to be an ameliorated version of himself.

A clear link between Maurice and Forster

When reading both the novel and Forster’s biographies, one can only be struck by the parallelism between the two. The book starts off with his main character, Maurice, leaving his junior high school after the death of his father- let’s remember Forster is also a child with a single mother. He has a huge love for his mother, and feels completely at peace in his home - the reference to Forster’s own feelings, stated before, is clear. Living in the same house for years, until the death of his mother, he was really attached to it, and this love for the place where he grew up is found again here. Moreover, just like Forster used to say he had a horrible high school experience, his own Maurice also happens to have a few years he did not enjoy singularly.

For them both, the true revelation happens when they reach their college years, gaining confidence, friends, knowledge, and opening to their true feelings towards their homosexuality. It is thought that Forster began to comprehend his sexual orientation by the close relationship he had with an older friend of him in college, which is exactly what happens to Maurice. The similarities between the two go even further than only general life events; the reference to the gardener, Andy, who Maurice cries for with despair, is the replica of a boy Forster was very fond of in his childhood, to whom he felt it was his duty to help learning knowledgeable things. Such details are troubling and can only but spread beliefs as whereas Maurice is an alter- ego of E. M. Forster, a double of himself who got the chance to be happy, when he could not.

Maurice, the man he could never be?

Sure, Forster was not a miserable man, living an adventurous life, either in India, Morocco, America or his native United Kingdom, having marvellous friends and prosperous fundings, and he seemed to be quite at peace with his sexual orientation, despite not admitting it publicly. However, whilst reading Maurice, one can only ask itself whereas his Maurice could be a version of him who would have had a happy ending. Without spoiling much the story, as we all know that is not the most enjoyable of things, we should know that Maurice have an eventful relationship with a man, who appears to be his Ideal Man. There might reside the cry of heart of Forster, despaired to have never found this Ideal Man he sought for endlessly. Maurice is the boy who has the same life as him, but finishes by being loved and in love, with the ending of the novel being joyous. Written in his mid- career, when he was still young, Maurice can thus be seen as the novel in which Forster wrote all his hopes, all his beliefs, his reflexions, putting himself in order by using his words - it can also be seen as the novel in which he wrote everything that he could never have, could never be, as a catharsis, as if writing them was a bit as if he got to live them a little. Indeed, we do not know for real, and it might be doubtful, however it does seem like Maurice was E.M.Forster’s liberation through writing.

Maurice, written in a shot in between the writing of A passage to India, is a rip of heart, a pure cathartical writing, which without doubts mixes up fantasy and real life feelings and events, in a recreation of a parallel life he could have led, if he admitted things clearly. The raw of this text might also be the reason why Forster always refused to publish it in his lifetime.

MAURICE, the damned novel

Forster had the chance to mature in quite an open minded circle, which left him the chance to be at ease in his private life. However, despite this open mindedness, a clear rejection was expressed towards Maurice, which still is alive today.

A shocking novel

Sure, Oscar Wilde did not hesitate an inch and published clearly oriented content, not fearing counter effects. However, Forster, despite being known today for his writings on genders, sexual orientations, preferred not to involve himself too much in the community nor to restrict his writing genre to gendered literature. Moreover, his friends, who read his novels beforehand, rejected strongly the erotical fictions he came to write, and despised even more Maurice, which they saw as a raw, unpolished, unnecessary novel. When he first made them read it, they clearly interjected him not to publish it - sure, Forster did not have that ambition either, but this rejection shows how poorly Maurice was thus seen. Likewise, a few short stories he wrote on the matter too, clearly erotic this time, were destroyed afterwards, and were clearly shocking for his fellows. As to why Forster was not inclined to publish his novel, a few suggestions can be thought of; was it the realistic touches he had merged into it that were too personal to share so abruptly? was it the presence of his dear mother, who he would have never wished to see her know? was it the fear that it would catalogue his writing afterwards, as decadency, between others?

A biased criticism

Maurice’s reputation, however, is still vividly similar nowadays. Biographers, literary critics, clearly look down on this novel, sometimes never even mentioning it; sometimes saying it was a novel which is clearly not worth the remaining of Forster’s bibliography. Still, as a reader, knowing nothing about Forster at first, having never read other of his artworks, we could definitely question this harsh criticism. Sure, the theme is quite common - however, beside what they call a pure romantic simpleminded story, we can also focus on the reflexion on God, on religion, on the effects of their homosexuality on their relationships with others, on their daily lives, on their own personality. It is pure, maybe too pure, but still is a writing that is enjoyable and that, by the questioning Maurice goes through when realising his kind of love, shows how difficult it can be, how writing it might help understanding oneself, and how reading it might also be a first step towards accepting it too.

See, as surprising it may seem to choose E.M.Forster as an article subject for this era, seeing how Oscar Wilde is the legitimate guess that will come to your mind, his personne, his life, his artwork and difficult relation towards it show how difficult it was at the time, and still is today, to jungle with your emotion, your sexuality, your creativity and your own life. It also shows how one can break free through writing. It shows how Art is, indeed, an immense way for the LGBT community to progress; how Art and LGBT are undoubtedly intertwined.

Bibliography

Maurice, E.M.Forster ; Concerning E.M.Forster, Kermode Frank, New York Farrar, Straus and Giroux 2009 ; E.M.Forster et son monde, King Francis, Paris Passage du Marais 1993

#e.m. forster #maurice #lgbt art #lgbt zine #issue 0 #past articles #concerning e.m. forster #biography #analysis

0 notes