#these fictional korean men would never treat me bad

[rudolphsboyfriend]

JKR’s chamber of secrets: the racist undertones in the harry potter books

The harry potter book series is arguably one of the most popular works of modern fiction. It is widely regarded as essential reading for children all over the world, and has one of the biggest fan bases of any book series. Despite it being one of the biggest phenomena of English literature, the series and the author often showcase and promote bigoted opinions, such as racism, and transphobia. In this speech I will be discussing JKRs chamber of secrets: the underlying tones of racism in the Harry Potter books.

The first thing I would like to point out, is that the elves have from the beginning been seen as these happy, carefree slaves, that are completely and utterly against freedom. This to begin with, is feeding into the slaving myth and propaganda that slave owners that told to the general public so they could benefit from free labour. This is very racist as it suggests that JKR believes that slaves were a good thing and should not have been eradicated. Hermione is the only one who seems to care about the elves’ freedom and while fighting for their freedom she is seen as a silly, misguided person for it.

Another problem with this is that while the good guys try to fight back against Voldemort's racist ideology of only wanting purebloods to exist, and wants to eradicate muggleborns, they also complicit with Voldemort's racist ideology. Wizards treat muggles as inferior to them this is shown from the first book, ‘even the muggles have noticed somethings going on’ Professor McGonagall says dismissively and Hagrid tells Harry ‘It’s your bad luck you grew up in a family o’ the biggest Muggles I ever laid eyes on’. It is obvious that the word muggle is not only a description it’s an insult. They also abuse muggles by erasing their memories which is distinctly a violation of consent. The books show an obvious social hierarchy, the idea that some people are better than others: purebloods, half-bloods, muggleborns, muggles, half-giants, werewolves, goblins, elves. And if this way of thinking is applied, as this book is targeted to children it can make them think that some people are better than others and if they apply this to race, sexuality, and transgender people, it can create a generation of bigoted people as so many people see her as a role model that they can copy her bigoted way of thinking. She is one of the main reasons that there are so many transphobic people is because SHE encouraged them to become more radicalised.

J.K Rowling is also anti semantic as she based goblins on harmful Jewish stereotypes. Due to years of anti-Semitism Jews were portrayed as having big noses and being greedy, as they tended to work with money. But at this point who's surprised?

The few people of colour presented in the books were done in a racist fashion. Firstly, the Patil sisters, were the only desi characters in the book and they were sort of prissy and irrelevant to the story, that being said. The outfit they were is a more simplistic, watered-down, unflattering version of actual Indian ethnic wear. In general, Indian clothing is so bright and beautiful, and the designs are so intricate, the designers simply didn’t bother to represent Indian culture, instead chose to focus entirely on Hermione's glow up. Secondly, Cho Chang. WOW! Do I need to say more? This is one of the most openely racist things she has done. She took two Korean surnames mixed them together and called it a day. Especially in a magical world full of mystical names like Luna Lovegood, Albus Dumbledore, and Nymphadora Tonks, she didn’t even give the name even an ounce of thought.

By casting a Korean actress to play Nagini, in Fantastic Beasts, who later on becomes a pet for a white man, when she is the only Asian character is racist. End of story. It is specifically the lack of diversity that makes this stand out. It IS racist to Asian women because Asian women only ever see stereotypes like the exotic Asian woman who is fetishized by white men – which is a REAL thing. Having Nagini being owned and controlled by a white man, is harmful and just racist. Did J.K Rowling not have a single person that could have pointed the problem of having an Asian women end up in permanent enslavement to an evil white guy?

Due to the criticism J.K Rowling received for not including enough diversity in the books, she claimed that Hermione was black, which is great, but did not bother to include this in the books. She thought that by saying that ‘hey guys I now think Hermione is black’ it was enough. She simply wanted those brownie points. It is increasingly obvious that she can never be bothered to write good representation.  She also did this when she made Albus Dumbledore gay, as queer baiting to add more diversity. This could be rebutted with the idea that she does not know how to include more accurate representation. However, Rick Riordan, who in the beginning didn’t have a very inclusive universe, strived and learned to write and include diversity in the Percy Jackson universe. The author of one of the most popular book series is more than capable of learning how to write more inclusive books, she does not though because she is racist, homophobic and transphobic.

In conclusion, there are a lot of racist undertones to the harry potter books, that reflect the authors actual feelings in real life. She does not include enough representation and the few she does are written in a racist manner. In recent years she has also proved to be incredibly transphobic, teaching young children who see her as a role model that trans men are not real men, when they are and the other way round. And this concludes, today’s speech on why JK Rowling is a vile human being.

this is my speech it suck but it drags JKR through the mud and i have no brain cells left over

also @noboren and @sarcastic-sayori heres my shitty speech if you think of ways of making better please tell me

WOOHOO BESTIEEE NICE!!!!! Drag her 😌🙏🏼

[yournameyn]

Feeling Deeply

Genre: Fluff so much fluff. Arranged Marriage fic.

Pairing: Namjoon x OC

A/N: Aaaaaa this is the first fic I'm posting ever ever. It's basically a way to follow the red thread of my desires. OC is named Brishti. She's Indian. She's Bengali & curvy & an introvert. This whole fic is 90% going to be a slow burn fluff fic about two introvert nerds getting to know each other. Seriously there's like hardly any real angst, maybe slight angst about okay when are these two going to bang - if you look very carefully but basically its just slooooow fluuuufff. Hopefully you all like it. Please let me know what you think. Current Chapter: This one is loooong. Remember this is all happening in the 1960s. OC & Namjoon are both really well off first gen immigrants. In this chapter we have our couple coming closer together - talking about some issues they've both had in their lives. Also this is the chapter where you'll get to know one of my favourite Namjoon songs and like why the OC is named what she's named. Also just a reminder because im a bit paranoid - Rim Jhim (referred to as Rim) is our OC Brishti. Its a pet name that's introduced in this chapter. And Namjoon being the wordsmith that he is makes it shorter, with the korean meaning of the word.

Previously in Feeling Deeply: Preface-ish Chapter 1

Chapter 2

And so it went for the next few days, the two of them quietly discovering each other. They were finding out the normal, casual, small things - how he didn’t like mint chocolate, how she loved bitter black coffee. Since both of them worked, they decided to split the chores at home. It worked out great because Namjoon liked to sweep & Brishti loved to do the dishes. They both struggled to cook but they decided to learn how to cook each other’s cuisines. So she was learning how to make kimchi (the green onion one) & he was learning how to prepare daal (the yellow one). They split the rent & decided to create a separate bank account for their savings. Talking about money increased warmth because they discovered that neither valued it excessively.

Slowly, they began talking about things a little more intimate. Meanings of names were revealed. She was impressed that his name meant genius. And he loved that hers meant rain. Pet names were introduced. He called her Rim - an even shorter version of her daak naam Rim Jhim. He told her to call him Joon. She looked away, smiling, then - silently telling him they’re not there yet. What he didn’t tell her was that he was already making up a fairytale about Joon, the genius & Rim, the brilliant jade that makes him so.

They spoke about books the most. Between them, they had half the globe's literature covered. She had read Indian authors & Russian & Spanish ones. He loved Korean authors, Japanese literature & all the Greek Classics. He geeked out about philosophy & poetry while she nerded over nature writing & music. They spoke about how they might take a look at other European writers & musicians together. To that end, Namjoon brought home a book of love poems by Rilke.

He hadn’t told her that he wrote poetry too. He hadn’t mentioned anything because it seemed like an indulgence of the past, poetry. But that night everything changed. After a late dinner, Brishti had asked to read aloud from the book he’d brought. As she read ‘To Music’, Namjoon saw tears float in her eyes. Secretly, something inside him had wept too. And just like that, he knew he would begin writing soon.

Each week the two watched late shows of classic hollywood musicals in a nearby theatre because they’d decided against a tv in their home - opting, instead, for a record player. Meeting for a movie each of the two Fridays they’d spent together so far was an experience both looked forward to - not only for the movie. In the darkness of the movie theatre, they experienced the first glimpses of intimacy. Soft smiles, whispering, silent glances, hands caressing each other. He loved how she laughed with abandon. She loved that he would tear up during the emotional scenes.

Her smile was getting wider, warmer toward him, Namjoon noted everyday. He’d been sleeping separately since their wedding night because he wanted her to feel safe. He was mostly okay with that except if he thought about it… If he thought about a time when he would get to touch her - Namjoon almost felt dizzy with feelings.

This happened the most when he saw her read by the window, he ached to touch her. That was her - Brishti - that was who she was at her core. Reading, running her fingers through her short hair, staring out the window, thinking, looking at clouds & then going back to reading. She was still quiet, but less so. She spoke about the rain and the trees and when she was happiest, he learned, when she really trusted that no one was going to judge her, she spoke about the moon. It had happened twice in the last few days.

He couldn’t stop looking at her. As though that needed reasoning, he thought about it at the office too. It wasn’t the only answer he could come up with but Namjoon had never seen a body like hers. She didn’t seem brittle or delicate, the way most women looked - or were “supposed to look”. She didn’t care what a body is supposed to look like, at least, it seemed that way to him. Brishti’s curves were not subtle. She was short and while almost everyone was shorter than him, Brishti was just… sexily so. She’d do these things… seemingly normal, everyday things but they would quickly, embarrassingly, inspire an arousal in him. Like, that thing she did, when she stretched after waking up or even if she stretched her arms or her neck… for some reason that turned him on so much, he’d have to hide… or excuse himself. His breath hitched, everytime he thought about how he hadn’t still actually seen her body.

Brishti, too, enjoyed looking at him from afar. Sharing, creating a living space with a man was never something she thought she would enjoy. They had exchanged the basic stories of how they had reached each other.

Namjoon had said, “I’d met a couple of women… girls… but they just seemed either plastic or porcelain… you know? I mean, not all of them could have been that but that's how they… presented themselves? You… I saw your photos in a pile that the matchmaker labelled ‘rubbish’”

“What?!”

“Yeah… I’m sorry but it’s actually a compliment to be labelled ‘bad’ by a matchmaker. That’s why I was looking in that pile in the first place… when I heard you wanted to keep working… Honestly I was so relieved...”

She smiled, “At least you got a look at me… I didn’t even know what you looked like till we met. I had no choice at all. A boy had agreed to marry me - despite… me… so that was the end of it. That was the bargain with my brother… otherwise I wouldn’t have been allowed to work either.”

“Wow… I’m so sorry, Rim. That’s really… really unfair.”

“Hmm yeah… I just figured if I can keep earning & the man turns out to be wrong, at least I can leave.”

“That’s… thanks for not leaving...”

Brishti smiled, “I got lucky...”

Namjoon understood, then, that Brishti might be an introvert but that did not mean she was shy. She made him blush & laugh. She made him speak without inhibition. The more time he spent with her, his feelings poured out.

“Thanks… It’s been really nice to share this home with you. Just to have you to talk to… My life was not going that great...” he said.

Brishti nodded, even though she already knew this. Whatever he said, strangely, she could see a deeper melancholy behind it. They spoke about being strangers in a strange country. She told him how she had to fight at the library for Tagore to be considered classic literature. How she was slowly but surely, being accepted in the oddball group that ran the library. She was not the only non-english person there, so things were easier for her. Besides, true readers had always been more accepting of the different.

Something made her regret sharing her happiness about this because his struggle in this foreign land was far more intense… she could sense pain behind the words he used. Namjoon did not enjoy his job the way she did. He worked overtime most days and came home bone-tired. Kim Namjoon was in many ratraces at the same time - races Brishti felt he didn’t want to participate at all. Being a lawyer, being an asian - the ‘model minority’, being a slightly well-off Korean in a sea of white men, in a sea of less fortunate asians who were being treated much worse than him. Trying to create a name, an identity of his own was wearing him out... chipping away at his soul.

Brishti sometimes saw him and saw a great banyan cutting itself down, trying to be a shrub just to fit in. When she asked him how his day was, he always smiled. It was real, the smile and yet it couldn’t hide the sadness in his eyes. Something that was beginning to bother Brishti more and more, these days. He... had begun to matter more and more these days.

Now, about two weeks into their marriage, she was experiencing butterflies about the smallest things; Things like watching him sleep on the fold out, bringing him coffee in the morning. She felt a pull deep inside her take over when he would come out of the shower in the bathrobe, skin glistening from the shower & musky man-scents launching her body in a fantastical arousal & her mind in overdrive. Somedays, Brishti even went for a shower after he’d been, just so she could soak in his essence & bathe in a trance she had never felt before.

On their third weekend together, Namjoon didn’t have to go to work the whole weekend. He’d spoken to his superior at the firm to let him have weekends free - after all, he was married now. Post lunch that Saturday, Brishti and he kept unpacking, organising while talking (well, later on, it was just coffee & talking) into the early hours of Sunday. They spoke about things they loved, people they had loved. About fictional crushes and real ones. Both of them spoke about their past relationships. Something Brishti was delighted about - especially since Namjoon told her he was not the type to hold someone’s past against them.

Brishti couldn’t believe it when Namjoon had correctly guessed, “It was the photographer, right?”

“What-?! How- Where- How did you…?” Brishti couldn’t even form a question.

“Your photos, at the matchmakers… something was different. All the other pictures women give out for arranged matches seem... fake. Yours were… real… private. You looked comfortable… looked like you were being teased...” What he didn’t say was how much it seemed in those pictures like she was with someone she truly liked… maybe even loved.

Sat on the ground opposite Namjoon, Brishti kept her gaze on him. It unnerved Namjoon that she could really see him. She unnerved him further when she said, “You should say what you aren’t saying… or… asking?”

“Did you love him?”

“Not really… it was just... a different kind of friendship… ended almost as soon as it began. But I- I don’t regret it. It wasn’t the kind of love-” she trailed off. She looked away, smiling but trying to hide it. The same way she had in the photograph.

He pressed further just to tease her “Kind of love...?” Namjoon was intrigued because she was blushing now & he wanted to plant a thousand pecks on her. Instead he said, “So you can just… stop what you were saying? Mmm. Okay. I see.”

She looked at him then, “I’m feeling… a lot… of… different things these days. Especially because of a couple of dimples...”

Just like that, she turned the tables & his dimples appeared. He blushed, “Yeah… same. I mean… you don’t have dimples but I’ve-”

She nodded to let him know she understood. And then asked, “Uhm... Have you… had sex?”

Namjoon bit his lip, “Yeah… yes. I... had a girlfriend in law school. It… uh… wasn’t serious… for her.”

Brishti looked away nodding, as if stopping herself from saying something.

He looked at her… knowing what she probably wanted to say. He wanted to hug her but he only said, “It doesn’t matter, does it? For me it doesn’t. Doesn’t matter if you’ve had sex too… I know how people can be about virginity… I- honestly… it's just another way to control people.”

She looked at him with a mixture of emotions. She took a minute to compose herself & then said, “I’ve never met a man like you… and it's a little confusing and annoying… Not that you are annoying… not at all. It’s just the world is annoying because this is how low the standard is for a man. A man accepting that the woman has a past makes him… forward…? But of course the woman has to… because, well, he’s a man and he has needs. We’re all told that… Shirley... who works with me… she knows it too. Women just aren’t supposed to talk about their pasts. All women.”

She paused & got flustered further because of how dedicatedly Namjoon had been listening. It really seemed as if he was taking notes. The serious expression on his face, it made Brishti's ears feel hot. Almost as a distraction, she went on -

“It's crazy but that seems to be the only thing THE WHOLE WORLD has agreed on - they can’t agree on one way to make bread but they all agreed that women are inferior. It’s such a basic thing to just let me work… because I want to… but it's annoying that it makes me feel lucky. My best friend had to go through hell because she thought she could trust her husband with the truth about her past… so it makes me feel lucky that… you won’t…”

Namjoon could see the pain in her words. Maybe that’s how she could always sense the pain in his words, he thought.

After a calming silence passed over them, he spoke - “I won’t. I don’t really know what it’s like for a woman. And… maybe you won’t like to hear this, but… I was the same, Rim... I was the man my society had trained me to be. Everything changed when I came here. When, for the first time in my life, I understood what it’s like to be treated inferior. Since then, I just… I cannot be the cause of a feeling like that within anyone... So… you’re right. I’m not doing anything everyone shouldn’t already do. All of this should be normal. Expected. Hopefully the world learns a bit faster…”

Brishti smiled at Namjoon. She chuckled when tears pooled up in her eyes. He instinctively reached out for her & placed a hand on her leg, just below her knee. A jolt went through Brishti and she looked surprised. He did too. Namjoon retracted his hand immediately & looked away, blushing. That’s when Brishti laughed out loud. She stood up. And asked him to stand up, silently.

He did. It always made Brishti’s heart flutter just how gorgeous and tall he was. Someday, she would tell him. Someday, she would show him. For now, she couldn’t help feeling bashful as she asked, “Can I get a hug, Joon?”

This was the first time she’d used the pet name that he’d asked her to call him by. This was what his family called him. And her using this name assured Namjoon of just that - she was becoming family. Her question had made his heart flip. He moved without really thinking, because this is what his body had wanted since the day he saw her. He pulled her up in his arms. He felt like he was melting. She was soft. Warm. Beautiful. And in his arms.

Brishti gasped a little when Namjoon had scooped her up in his arms. She was on her toes, literally & figuratively. She held onto him, less as a hug & more as support… at first. Then, she felt his arms… the strong arms that she had been ogling at, around her. It was as if a knot came undone, within her, suddenly. And in its place, the softest silk suddenly flowed through her body.

She closed her eyes and breathed him in. The same essence that she’d been soaking in after he had showered, that she had been breathing in whenever he would pass by or reach past her. The essence that she had now become so hungry for that she had been secretly sleeping with the shirt he’d worn from the laundry basket. That essence was now all over her. Her chin turned up, resting on his shoulders, her cheeks touching his, her hands - on their own - reached the nape of his neck and began to play with his hair.

When she did that, Namjoon held her tighter, pressed her on to him. He felt her body react to his. One hand reaching her shoulder around her back, he moved the other closer to her waist, so his hands could fold over her curves. He could feel her breath hitch when he did that.

Brishti was revelling in the feeling of his hands, his fingers, feeling his fingertips press into her - that was a feeling she could never have imagined making her so... so... drunk. She was drunk. She ran her hands up and down his vast back, all the way up to his hair. All of a sudden she could feel herself overcome with emotion. Tears began pooling in her eyes again. And she said, before it was too late, she said, “Thank you, Joon, for everything… thank you.”

When he heard the tremble in her voice, Namjoon pulled away, just so he could see her. Brishti quickly retracted too - to wipe off her tears, trying to laugh off the silliness, apologising. Namjoon replied, “It’s okay… I understand… I… Thank you, Rim. I hope you… you know what I mean...” What he wanted to say, what he hoped she understood was that she was what was helping him come alive. But being unable to, Namjoon knew someday he would. Someday soon.

Brishti nodded to say she understood. Namjoon tried to lighten the atmosphere, saying, “You’re not… just anyone, you know? So… maybe you should tell me something I could do which is… not just basic decency, but something that can be considered truly feminist, you know. I’d love to do that for you.”

Brishti smiled and nodded. She suddenly felt tired & almost of its own accord, her body stretched into a yawn. She said, “I’ll think of something. We- I should go now… Do you want- anything?...” Brishti was delighted about how drunk she had gotten from one hug. It was exciting that she knew she’d be sleeping with the sweater he had tossed in the laundry basket tonight. She decided to take a bit more time to enjoy being intoxicated without a substance, together and alone.

Later that night, as Namjoon laid on his fold out sofa, alone, he thought of how great it had felt to have Brishti in his arms. To have someone who wanted to know about his day. To feel her heartbeat, like raindrops, knocking on his chest like it was a window pane, almost as if asking to be let in…

Thoughts like these, they made Namjoon reach for the notepad & pen that he always kept close by. He wrote. He wrote of being world weary and suddenly having a friend. Suddenly feeling like the world wasn't rushing him, that he didn’t need to run, that he could take time, be slow, be a poet. His heart tugged at his pen as it wrote lines about what it felt like to have someone cry for him. To have someone be full of feelings for him, to have someone to embrace his weary body. He wrote about how he missed that embrace and yet it was okay… as long as she was still here, maybe not just next to him, yet. Maybe someday. It was okay because she asked how he was every day and Brishti was here, forever. Namjoon felt tears run down his own face, as he titled the first poem he’d written in almost five years - Forever Rain.

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Oooooh god you read it?! Thank you so much! Please please let me know what you thought! Get into my messages about it! I would love nothing more than to hear what you felt about this!

[scripttorture]

Torture in Fiction: The Age of Shadows

My copy of The Age of Shadows says ‘Korean cinema at its best’ on the cover and I’m no expert on world cinema but I’m inclined to agree. It’s an incredible piece of film making. The period backdrops and costumes are lovingly recreated, rich and detailed. Every single actor is doing an incredible job and they’re putting their all into a story that’s both satisfying and surprising. The lighting and the way each scene is shot creates an amazing atmosphere.

This is a really high quality film. Personally I think it’s the best World War 2 movie I’ve seen.

But I’m not here to talk about how Western cinema often overlooks really good movies from other countries. I’m rating the depiction and use of torture, not the movie itself. I’m trying to take into account realism (regardless of fantasy or sci fi elements), presence of any apologist arguments, stereotypes and the narrative treatment of victims and torturers.

The Age of Shadows is set in Occupied Korea and it’s primarily about Lee Jung-chool.

Lee is a police officer and he’s a Korean. With the nation controlled by Japan and the Korean people oppressed many Koreans look on people like Lee as a traitor.

Lee’s sent after the Resistance. Police attempt to capture two Resistance members who are selling an antique to raise money for explosives. When this doesn’t work Lee takes the antique to a known Resistance sympathiser and antiques expert (Kim Woo-jin), attempting to track down the main group.

Kim knows that Lee’s a police captain and when Lee keeps showing up Kim takes the problem to the leader of his Resistance cell, Jung Che-san. Jung makes a rather daring decision, he suggests befriending Lee and trying to turn ‘the enemy’s spy into our own’.

The rest of the movie plays out as a cat and mouse game over Lee’s loyalty, with his true sympathies obscured until the very end of the film. Between the excellent script and Song Kang-ho’s brilliant turn as Lee it really does keep you on the edge of your seat.

There’s a lot of violence and action throughout the movie. It’s mostly fights and gun battles between Occupying and Resistance forces. However there are a couple of scenes that are legally torture and a few scenes that fits the pop culture conception of torture.

Part way through the film one of the Resistance members is captured alive and tortured, a woman called Yeon. Lee hasn’t really met her and has no strong emotional connection to her. At this point Lee is still playing both sides but he’s shot a fellow police officer, he is compromised and the last thing he said to Kim was that if they met again one of them would die.

Lee’s superior officer takes him to Yeon. She’s cuffed and tied to a wooden chair, messy, exhausted and has clearly been beaten. Lee’s boss asks Lee to question her in Korean and ask for Kim’s location. At first Yeon doesn’t answer and a policeman threatens to smash her feet with a hammer. Lee’s boss stops him and then takes a piece of glowing hot metal from the stove. He hands it to Lee and instructs Lee to burn her face. Yeon keeps screaming that she doesn’t know where Kim is.

Raids on Resistance safe houses follow, with most of the Resistance members shot dead. A few are captured alive and we see one, hung from his hands and burnt with hot metal while Lee watches. But Kim escapes and Lee later receives a message to meet Kim and bring false ID.

Lee goes and finds Kim with all the Resistance’s explosives. They release that Kim didn’t send the messenger. Kim flees through the woods and is captured alive but his pack contains potatoes. He’s tortured by Lee’s boss and asked the location of the explosives, he says they’re ‘under your feet’.

Later Lee is captured. He doesn’t have the explosives and while we don’t see it, it is heavily implied Lee is tortured as well.

The surviving Resistance members and Lee are brought before a Japanese court. Lee, with his voice breaking and tears streaming down his face, says he is a loyal member of the police force who was acting to the best of his ability trying to flush out the remaining Resistance members by taking the explosives. He denounces the Resistance and claims he was on the side of the police all along.

A month later Lee is released and we learn that Yeon starved herself to death in custody. Lee breaks down in tears when he finds out.

We see Lee at home, unresponsive and despondent. And then we get a flashback which changes everything. Before Kim and Lee separated Kim asked Lee to hide the explosives and denounce the Resistance, to play the loyal Japanese police officer one more time.

Lee recovers the explosives and plants them in the Police Bureau club on the night of a banquet. The last shot of the film is Kim smiling in his cell.

I’m giving it 10/10

The Good

The movie does a wonderful job of exploring what it takes to change hearts and minds. There’s an awful lot of time devoted to Jung and Kim socialising with Lee. They talk, they share meals, they drink together. And it really does create a sense of building strong relationships in a realistic way. I loved the way the movie really hinges on these building relationships.

While it’s showing realistic ways to change hearts and minds the movie also subverts and averts the idea of threats or force changing people’s beliefs. It does so repeatedly. There are Resistance ‘rats’ who betray the group but these characters aren’t tortured and don’t seem to be coerced.  They say they did it because they don’t think the Resistance can win.

The film also does a brilliant line in showing how far people will sometimes go to avoid compromising their beliefs. Within the first ten minutes we see a Resistance member commit suicide rather than be captured by the Japanese or the police.

The scene with Yeon is messy in a way torture scenes often aren’t. It is still prettied up, but it struck me as unusual that Yeon isn’t sexualised in this moment. That her pain and exhaustion is allowed to be ugly, to be messy. The scene is primarily framed as distressing. It’s rare in torture scenes generally and it’s rarer when the victim is a female character the story expects us to find attractive.

The police don’t get useful information from Yeon. In fact it’s unclear whether Yeon can give them the information they want; the place the Resistance were planning to meet changed multiple times before Yeon was captured. There’s a good chance she genuinely has no idea where Kim is. But the torturers keep asking the same question. The whole set up feels incredibly true to life, the pointless repetition from the torturers and the strong possibility the victim can’t give them what they want.

The police don’t get useful information from any of the Resistance members they capture and torture.

Yeon’s resistance is different to Kim’s but both are possible. Kim is allowed a little macho posturing, telling the police flatly that he will never tell them anything. Then he bites off his tongue.

Lee is visibly shaken by witnessing and participating in Yeon’s torture. His boss comments on it and we see his hands shake. Watching the movie again it’s very easy to read witnessing torture as the moment Lee definitely changes sides. His loneliness and distress are clear from the shots, the acting and the script. Torture has a realistic impact on him and it radicalises him.

The Japanese police say that torture works, that the Resistance will tell them everything eventually, and it is realistic to have torturers and torture apologists express these sentiments. It’s nice to see a story that has characters expressing these views without supporting them.

The torture methods we see clearly are in keeping with the time and place the story is set. The Japanese occupying forces did use hot metal to burn political prisoners in Korea, they did suspend prisoners from the wrists and they did use pincers to crush fingers. The torture scenes in this movie might be the most historically accurate ones I’ve ever seen.

The movie also shows a few scenes that are legally torture but are not treated the same way narratively. A Japanese police officer who works with Lee in the beginning of the movie is shown torturing his underlings by repeatedly slapping them. The attacks are frenzied and while we don’t see the effects on the victims we do see the effect on the character’s investigations- he seems to be taking most of his accurate information from Lee and is unable to obtain any on his own. This is realistic, torture impedes investigation.

This officer is also realistically framed as seeing himself in competition with Lee. Torturers do tend to frame their actions as competition and as chasing individual glory. The officer takes information from Lee and Lee’s sources but doesn’t offer any in return. He doesn’t communicate with Lee. He doesn’t obey the orders he has, which are to listen to and learn from Lee. And as a result we see him bungling multiple raids on the Resistance.

The Bad

Yeon is shown as being in a much worse state physically then the other Resistance members after torture. Despite the narrative implication that they’re treated the same way. This seems to suggest that the one female member of the group is the ‘weaker’ member. Her resolve and loyalty are not questioned, but her physical ability is. And there’s no evidence to suggest men are more likely to survive torture then women.

I think that while it’s positive that we see different sorts of resistance from Yeon and Kim but the choice of responses seem to be heavily gendered. It’s significant that Kim is the one who gets the good lines and spits defiance while Yeon screams that she doesn’t know.

Miscellaneous

The sheer volume of alcohol consumed in this movie is absolutely incredible. And it makes for some interesting scenes of various characters trying to act drunker then they are while trying to ply another character for information. The Resistance; never knowingly sober. In seriousness though- this is a rather old fashioned version of trying to drug the truth out of someone. And it’s portrayed as realistically unsuccessful.

Overall

I really do love this movie, it’s a great piece of storytelling and I think overall it uses violence and torture well.

Throughout this they support the plot, develop the characters and help build up the setting. It’s a movie with a lot of on screen deaths but despite that none of them seem cheap. The loss of life is to establish both the time period and the stakes for which the Resistance and the police are playing.

Torture, when it appears, is mostly about the strength and defiance of survivors. It’s distressing, it’s visceral. In Yeon’s case it’s framed as especially tragic, her death and suffering are needless. And it doesn’t work. If anything it undermines the police by deciding Lee’s wavering loyalty.

Torturers in the movie aren’t portrayed as competent investigators. They’re also not glamorised. Lee’s boss is an immaculate official but he’s also very clearly the bad guy and he’s never portrayed as ‘cool’. At best he’s a crafty enemy to outwit. The Japanese officer who is supposed to ‘assisting’ Lee is shown as brutal, unable to follow orders and incompetent. He’s a blustering bully who helps push Lee’s loyalty towards the Resistance by making the police force an uncomfortable place to be.

Witnessing and participating in torture is shown as affecting as well as pointless. And while the torture scenes are still prettied up in some ways they do look- well awful.

I think there are some sexist elements in the way victims are portrayed and I wish that could have been handled in a better way. But nonetheless, torture never ‘works’ here. Survivors are effected by what they go through but they’re not ‘broken’. They don’t change their strongly held beliefs.

And they keep going. Despite their pain.

This movie might not be everyone’s cup of tea but when it comes to torture and torture survivors it’s overwhelmingly positive.

Available on Wordpress.

Disclaimer

[idunlikegirilikebah]

Blez: Zen, but then she falls in love with V and kinda forgets about him a little when the V route is released. She’s kinda lazy when it comes to the four days before each route, missing a bunch of chatrooms. Before she branches the path she usually replays a few to get the person she wants. Her first party she didn’t invite any guests (she was gonna wait until right before the party to answer all the emails but accidentally entered the party anyway). Was PISSED about the secret ends. She fell even more in love with V at that time.

Blee: She gained interest in Mystic Messenger from Tuesday and Cecilia through osmosis. She probably got a lot of bad endings for neglecting the chat rooms. (Stupid Blee, not adjusting her sleeping schedule for the RFA.) But once she started taking the game seriously, she tried to romance 707 even though she was in casual mode. She ended up going on Jaehee’s route instead, and she fell in lurv. Later on, when she FINALLY unlocked deep story mode, she went on 707’s route and fell in lurv with him too. She’s so conflicted about this. Help her.

Tuesday: She was the first among the Gen1 gang to play Mystic Messenger. She literally only downloaded it to romance Jaehee, but she ended up becoming Mystic Messenger trash instead. She sets alarms so she can get all the chat rooms without spending hourglasses. Whenever a chat room is unlocked, she drops EVERYTHING she’s doing to complete it. She cried like a bitch when V’s route was revealed. Also, Jumin is her husbando. (existential crisis intensifies)

Cecilia: Of course, Cecilia was the first to hear about Mystic Messenger from Tuesday. She was constantly bombarded with screenshot and fan art, but mostly, she only pretended to care cause that’s what good girlfriends do? Tuesday finally convinced Celie to download the game. However, the fILE WAS TOO BIG. “Just delete some stuff from your phone,” Tuesday insisted. Once Cecilia finally got it downloaded she skipped through the prologue without much thought, telling Tues it was okay. As she completed more chat rooms, though, she came to realize that it was pretty interesting. She didn’t give much thought to her choices in the game, and ended up getting Yoosung. She considered deleting the game at this point, because Yoosung definitely wasn’t her first choice. Then she got the feelins for him. How could she not? He’s such a sweet little gaming college student. She missed chat rooms sometimes, but never spent her hearts or hourglasses. She’s a HOARDER. As time went on, she began to fall in love with the one character without a route: Unknown.

Clay: “uuuuuuuu mystic messenger is GHEY”

Zenn: It was love at first sight for him. Yoosung was just so precious, he told himself that he would never love any other character more than him. (Especially not Seven. I mean, he’s the most popular character. Seven was too mainstream for him.) However, when he did Seven’s route he was completely and totally in love. He loved how energetic and happy he was, his depth of character later on in the route. Honestly, he found that out of all the characters, Seven was the most relatable. He replays Seven’s Christmas and Valentine’s Day content a lot. When he plays another route, he can’t help but get hearts from Seven. (“ugh i need to play his route again after this”) He spends a fuckton of money on hourglasses because he HAS to be in every single chat room no matter what. Has the after endings, Valentine’s Day content, and all the dlc for every character. Tried doing the bad endings but couldn’t bring himself to go through with them. (except for the bad ending in the christmas dlc)

Jase: Jase don't have a favorite he doesn't like the game. He got like two bad endings before he decided that he didn’t like it. “Why don’t you like the game, jase?” “i keep getting bad endings, therefore it’s trash” “did you play at least half of the chat rooms?” “nah” “did you get a lot of hearts from the character you were trying to get?” “nah, i kept breaking them” “did you get at least 10 people to come to the party?” “nah” “well, maybe if you gave it another chance--” “NAH”

Jess: She enjoys talking to Jumin a lot (are we sure the people in this app are fake? She cries) She wastes no time in finishing Zen’ route (which was who she got first), stashing her hourglasses and buying the deep route stories to see her husband. She finishes Jumin’s and feels empty inside. Literally cries to Sacra about her fake husband. “It’s not fair,” she sniffles, “he just needed someone to be there for him and understand. HE’S NOT A ROBOT HE HAS EMOTIONS TO-” “jess…. I’M TRYING TO SLEEP” She decides to take her mind off of Jumin and plays Seven’s route. She’s not too interested in him, thinks he’s a little annoying. She becomes interested in Vanderwood, however. Even more so during the Secret endings. By the end of it she’s left clutching her phone, emailing cheritz the same sentence over and over. “I NEED A VANDERWOOD ROUTE”

Danny: Danny does not wish to play because “that would make him gaayyy”

Sacra: Started playing way later than everyone else. His goal is to get all the endings. (WOO!) Wonders if he’s technically catfishing the RFA, and is amused by the thought. He didn’t aim for anyone’s route in particular, and ended up getting Zen. Hasn’t even played the other routes yet, but he’s already claimed Zen as his husbando. Gets really invested in the plot line for Zen’s route, literally cries to Jess when Zen gets depressed after Echo Girl’s false accusations. “I’m just so worried about him, you know? HE DOESN’T DESERVE THIS.” And Jess just pats him on the head. Poor Saccles.

Kael: Jumin, because he’s hot and likes cats. What more could he possibly want?

Atlas: (shrug emoji) He don't play the vidya.

Blythe: Yoosung’s her fave, but she wishes he’d stop talking about Rika. Every time Yoosung does that, she’s like “(grumbles) if you miss her so much why don’t you just marry her?? fuckin Yoosung (picks the nice and supportive option)”. Gets extremely upset if she breaks anyone’s heart, even if she doesn’t like the character. “YOOSUNG NO. I DIDN’T MEAN THAT ABOUT RIKA (dies)” Selected the wrong options for most of the emails on her first run and barely got ten before the party.

Sparrow: Sparrow loves Yoosung because she's creepy and she always goes for the young, innocent ones. She completed every route in a week because she bought hourglasses for the 24 hour thing. She obviously completes the emails quickly, but she usually only just barely gets about ten guests.

Jax: Team Honey Buddha and PhD Pepper? *sits in a corner staring into seven's eyes* He loves both Seven and Unknown by the time he finishes the game, however. Frequently checks to see if there's a new chatroom when he's awake, and when one opens, he drops what he's doing to complete it. Sometimes uses hourglasses to unlock them for the next 24 hours. Sleeps with a 707 body pillow.

Kiro: Zen. Hottest Hari plus hottest RFA member equals… happiness? YES. Answers emails immediately after getting them, and never needs to look up walkthroughs to get those guests to come to the party. (Except for monogamy. He didn’t suggest they buy handcuffs for their girlfriend. WHO DOES THAT???) Gets THE FEELS like nobody’s business when he gets that phone call from Zen on day 9, where Zen talks about marriage and how Zen had imagined what their child would look like.

Enzo: fuck I don't want enzo to like any of them. It's like… he contaminates them with his… enzo… ness. I can't see him liking Jaehee, Jumin or seven. *sobs* he's a V man. He also has a thing for Jumin’s father, Chairman Han.

Armelle: She didn't like any of those fucks. She wishes there was a Glam Choi route.

Elodie: She starts the game and thinks Zen is super cute. However, as she’s playing, she feels bad for Jaehee and how hard she works, and ends up getting her route first. Hates Jumin with an undying passion because of it. She also gets more feelings for Zen because of Jaehee’s route, and plays his next. Literally apologizes to Jaehee out loud when she gets close to Zen. She tries really hard to save hourglasses but when she sees she missed a chat that Zen or Jaehee was in, she can’t control herself.

Bodford: His fave does not have a route. It’s the omelette Yoosung made. And omelette Yoosung too. He plays the April Fools dlc over and over so he can see his love and protect him from pigeons. Now, if only there was porridge in the game…

Dex: “ECHO GIRL ROUTE WHEN?” Doesn’t like the game, but he’s petty as fuck. He went on a campaign and sent spoilers to the rest of the cast until he got blocked by everyone. Except Tuesday. “Hey Tuesday, [SPOILER]” “wut. I already know that lolol.” “But what about [SPOILER]” “I completed Seven’s route four months ago” “V gets a route in august” “wtf that’s not a spoiler. That’s official news. You’re annoying, i’m blocking you”

Michael: *cries late at night bc Yoosung and Jumin aren't real* *i mean I lOVE YOU ZENN* Nah but for real if Jumin or Yoosung were real he would leave Zenn. Was one of the first to buy the newly released body pillow covers (Jumin’s of course), and bought Zenn the 707 one as a gift. They share custody of the emoji pillows. Michael keeps up with the chats. He barely ever misses any of them

Ursa: (squees about Yoosung with her girlfriend Blythe)

Johnny: Only downloaded Mystic Messenger because Tuesday kept crying over these fictional Korean men and wanted to see what the deal was. Oh boy. He loves the April Fools dlc okay. Tells everyone Jaehee is his favorite, but it’s really Unknown. He got the prologue bad ending right off the bat, and it was love at first sight. Made a squee of joy when Unknown called him cute. Got Unknown’s phone call in the Christmas dlc, and was like “wow I love Christmas now”. Johnny is a gayboy

[davidjjohnston3]

I am mad at my biological father... People in Milwaukee have strong spirits but they don't test or discern from whence these spirits come (Satan); they have a kind of 'anti-a'ga'pe' that wants to send people to Hell.  I finally got fed up and started cursing or at least confuting in my head and heart, wishing there would be terrorized for messing with me / my soul.  I want them to be chastened.  In what universe is it OK to antagonize someone's soul rather than build them up / edify?  It's Babylon America: commerce is king, pornography is the supreme teacher(?), media is religion, movie-theaters are temples.  All this time my 'father-in-law' was trying to teach me the American way of lying to the civil authority and medical professionals... A while back I took stock of 'our' old family home and realized in some ways my biological parents are not that bad.  I told my biological father as much and he got even more mad / contemptuous of me. Do I not assess the man properly? Reddit got mad at me for saying 'social form' and some Christian on Twitter tried to 'nope(?!..=|)' me for saying I prayed Sec. Pompeo will be President.  'No room in the Kingdom for phony Christians.'  What's phony about defending the faith worldwide?   Paul Washer of HeartCry Ministries extols the authority of the African father and the son kneeling before him but Caucasian American dad-son relationships are not that way in my experience.  Once I bowed to my dad but it didn't mean much.  Once he bowed to me after my (near)-suicide-attempt in Korea and that did mean.. Anti-racism seemed like an important concept to me but then I thought there are so many people who just wanna get stuff and if I met Ibrim X. Kendi in real life he's probably be cordial enough but not hesitate to unlease looters and rioters against me for his vision of the greater good not to say communist-disintegrationist-chaoticist utopia.   Everyone in Milwaukee seemed to be mad at me a while back since the story of me in Korea at the high school was not 100% storybook.  'Oh David James Johnston he fell in love with his 16-17-year-old student, but realized they are being left behind or the Korean War is really terrible and they're all in danger up there then some things happened with the faculty and he tried to kill himself.'  That is not totally inaccurate but I wasn't 100% the depressive melancholy young prince over the last 9 years.  I had some ambitions and I studied a lot and I also had bad habits like smoking. I got a short-sleeved white polo shirt at the department store and lost a bit more weight.  I am around 5'11 165 I would guess.  I really have to make sense of my cardiac condition although hopefully it was acute / idiopathic from the Pfizer vaccine.  What scares me is that I had a foreaugury or prophecy(?) of it in 2016 when I felt something like a powdery liquid running down behind my breastbone at the same time as when I was walking around Lake Park in terror of Koreans from the past coming to kill me, angel soldiers, 'the stars throwing down their tears,' the tiger of wrath, and also, feeling like God was feeding me something without having to eat. I still haven't read all of Blake's 'America: A Prophecy.'

* The psychiatrist whom I respect offered or 'ordered' me Prozac last week and it made me think.  I feel almost like the Boomers saw Millennial children as having no souls.  My parents wanted to send me to Hell.  My mother always used to speak about 'Rosemary's Baby' and when I was young I ran around with a red cape in a strawberry patch.  My mother told me this when I was in the mental hospital in 2013, afraid of the color red and not wanting to tear my chicken sandwich since I thought that it was metonymic(?) for tearing the Scripture rather than swallowing / appreciating it whole.   'We Boomers worked hard, stopped the ['totally causeless not trying to help anyone'] Vietnam War, Civil Rights, moreover weathered the traumas of JFK, MLK, RFK assassinations; ergo we earned the right to treat our daughters as sex-slaves and fire out our sons in order the better to take advantage of our neighbors' daughters whilst also amusing ourselves by medicating and psychologizing our kids rather than loving them and tending / nurturing / ministering to their souls.'   I didn't take the Prozac but I did think of (Ms. / Artist / [Singer]) Kim Taeyeon - 'Love in Color' is my favorite song of hers which makes me think about abortion-culture in a way and how 'too many choices' can destroy or over-modulate the distance or scuff and wear down the love in a relationship - and bipolar disorder.  I was diagnosed with bipolar in 2012 and suffered manic symptoms for most of my childhood.  I felt in the hospital that one possible 'aetiology' or origin / backstory of bipolar is knowing that people out there want to kill you; or even, damn your soul to perdition / Hell / everlasting eternal conscious torment for displeasing them or going against their norms / expectations. My diagnosis was later jacked up to schizoaffective / bipolar schizoaffective, then nearly 'crossed the ionosphere' into schizophrenia, and is now back to schizoaffective thanks to the wonderful, integrity- and probity-filled psychiatrist, who was also the only person telling the truth and not being a corporatist tank-driving-vehicular-manslaughterer at my commitment hearing where Father in Law lied to a district judge and the justice system treated me like a second-class system.  The ONLY person whose yes was yes and no was no. I still think sometimes about 'the condition of fiction.'  I wish I could develop my more scholarly ideals sometimes rather than writing in this 'free' style as I don't really like freedom I like formality and rules. I miss [].  I used to see so many colors and I saw this person in my mind's eye / Spirit when I met her online; but yesterday I felt like I just saw 'dark red.'

*

My brother is really rich (from Data Science)... I need to mend fences with him... I feel as if over the years I might've had mixed motives in 'taking him under my wing.'  We had a bad relationship when I was young and I even stole money from him a couple of times.  I also tried to catch him looking at pornography online rather than rebuke or chastise or plead with him not to, for courting death and failure.  I just wanted to embarrass / shame him. I helped him get a job shortly after the Great Recession and I guess some part of me falsely believed he owed me a favor for that. I sent him many books over the years. After my initial diagnosis of a possibly disabling mental disorder my mother told me he had said that I could live with him if I needed help but that no longer seems a possibility - in fact he said, 'I never said that.'  I was worried since I'm weak.  Hopefully God willing I can get back to where I was a couple of months ago and actually execute sth like the description of the educational administrative job that I was offered. I came to a point in my life lately where I no longer know whether something is destiny.  When I took the HS job in Korea - maybe the biggest decision of my life - I was confident.  But in the last couple of months has been a tempest or fog of war or I simply made so many decisions I don't recognize myself completely.   I want to work on 'Leaving Babylon' or 'Leaving Milwaukee' or 'Leaving America.'  There are or seem to be good Christians in Milwaukee but why live in Babylon - commercial empire worshipping all kinds of false prophetesses, porneia, objects, death, child-rape, abortion, post-partum abortion, automobiles, meals, brands, money / Mammon and other 'stuff' Pastor Timothy Keller calls 'Counterfeit Gods' (to say too little since they're actually often demons from Hell)... I'm not sure how to write it without penning distracting trash that would give wannabe writers bad habits and make naive readers think they know more than they do. My net worth is about 2,000 dollars but I want to give it away just because I'm mad.  I thought about selling my Lenovo X-1 laptop since it's Chinese Communist poison / curse, I know it's hacked by Huawei or whoever through a nano(?)chip, Father in Law tracks with AI... I heard the new Samsung smaller notebooks have around a 17-hour battery-life.

Milwaukee's Child Protective Services appear to be some kind of CCP-derived 'metaphor-joke.'  Amber Alert a child has been kidnapped in either a silver Kia or a Chevy Impala.  You can mount a plate-reading AI-camera on a 50-dollar drone easily...

I'm applying to a job in Korea.  I have no idea if I'll get in.  It is in my favorite neighborhood, and I liked the video of their staff. This would be a 'redemption-arc' for me.  'I am so exciting.'   I don't know if it can be. I listened to a few minutes of 'Inferno' by C. Cho.  Masterpiece.   Did I ever pay dues like a BigLaw junior associate?  Was I ever fast-tracked?   Career-decisions are difficult.  I have literal rejection-demons, I think, or uncertainty-demons.  Maybe it is Belial himself: sensuality plus intellectual abnegation.  Like I want to pretend the Spirit isn't there.   Other people also suffer disappointment-demons, I feel.  Loss-demons.   Understanding others can be challenging, and the fun of it, moreover, is overrated for some people.  IDK if I can ever. And too, some people, once you understand them - when they realize you understand them - become shameless.  They get more seared-conscience than ever, like the only reason they were ever acting good was to save / maintain face.  'Buyaolian.'   In past I tried to be all things to all men but lately I ended up trying to be 'Chinese mistress' to someone in a bad way.  I had already tried 'Japanese daughter, daughter-in-a-box.'  I don't know why I don't try 'son' except it makes him fake more than usual, that I know of. I felt praised like a daughter when I got praised; although maybe it is just me. 'Hello Kitty is a girl,' Said the Sanrio person. I looked at our family cat Ariel the other day and thought, 'my adult daughter Yves from LOONA.'   He used to look like a manly lion, like Jesus even, the Lion of Judah. Cats are feminine. I would get a cat but I just want to teach and write. This cat seems at peace; he no longer overeats nor conversely is hyperthyroidal and thin / 'dried out.' I miss the cat Pukah from down the way, who was fat and 'crepitant' in her voice-sound.  I took care of her for pay and bought some Audiobooks with the 'loot' or 'lucre.'

I honestly have a theory about Koreanness I don't like to share called 'Han Death Runes' that says some people see Koreans - women and girls - and just want to rape and beat and kill them.  They just do.  Japanese soldiers / officers / the entire government did.  Doubtless Chinese did before that.  Korean men did too.  Caucasian men do now.  Other people look at babies and want to kill them - not a joke, empirical Science has recorded it; Saint Augustine some 1600 years ago developed the category of Original Sin.

For a time I was convinced that ShowerThoughts on Tumblr was the Korean girl whom I attempted to save from attempted sex-trafficking by implying she should work hard in tenth grade and learn about [AI, IT]... 

I am interested in helping orphans and other young people; today in lieu of the Lead Teacher offer I missed out on I applied to some Assistant jobs at Christian private and charter schools and was impressed with the humaneness of the management-questions on the online hiring-assessment.  Nonetheless, ‘Blessed Are the Peacemakers,’ and the world will need I think / believe for somebody to prove that it is possible to take care of young people who don’t have good parents such as through a better orphanage-system someday.  At least, this is kind of what I dream and daydream about.  I think Saint Paul would talk more about older women helping younger women to be good mothers, however, or ‘teaching’ them, whatever that means.  

The pro-life cause as this political cartoon long ago pointed out is supposed to be in favor of life far beyond the emergence in to this world as a defenseless eight-pound baby.  

*

I feel lately as if I ‘waged a war for peace’ and ended up as the only casualty.  I don’t mean to aggrandize myself.  I strengthened my enemies and all I got out of it was a clarified love.  I hope / wish that this constitutes suffering and not just punishment before Moses for being a bad teacher with abominable taste in student clientele, and also forget to send off graduates with a graceful hail and blessing, maybe a final exhortation and prayer, and let them be they.

[stavoskreskas]

I’m going to stop responding on OP’s post, because she obviously doesn’t want people to respond to her unless they agree.

I was at work all day yesterday and was fairly busy when I got home. So I’m posting this now that I’ve had a chance to respond.  So far I’ve got a few comments I want to address so I’ll just at everyone here.

Izetarion

First of all, this conversation was never about fans of GL. It was about gay men who are fans of comics/anime/works about gay men.

The ask essentially translates to:

Not trying to start anything, but what about yaoi fan boys? Have any problems with them or just the yaoi fan girls?

Yaoi fangirl, fujoshi, it all means fan of BL (gay romance comics).

That’s what it means.

If all fans just called themselves “BL Fans/Enthusiasts” you would have anti-BL Fans/Enthusiasts blogs saying BL Fans fetishize gay men.

As a man who likes men, and has faced homophobia I don’t appreciate people calling my sexuality (i.e. liking men) a fetish. The fact I like guys isn’t a fetish. The fact I like kissing guys or think guys are hot together isn’t a fetish.

Fetish implies it’s some deviant abnormal kink that I’m attracted to two guys. I’m tired of my sexuality being treated as something wrong.

And yes, we are talking about comics, but they’re comics about two men together and I find that hot because I am a man and I like men.

Sexually harassing people is wrong. I’ve experienced sexual harassment while cosplaying. But that doesn’t make “anime fan” or “cosplay fan” a slur that means someone who sexually harasses cosplayers.

If some Fujoshis and Fudanshis call themselves BL fans that doesn’t make a difference in what they do. If BL fan girls sexually harass guys that’s gross and wrong, whether they fall themselves Fujoshi or BL fan. Treating real people like objects for your gratification without their consent is wrong.

Because doing anything to someone without their consent is wrong.

@STONERBRUJX:

Am I Japanese? No, but you don’t need to Japanese to know the definition of a Japanese word.

Fundashi means male fan of BL.

It is the male equivalent of Fujoshi because Fujoshi means female fan of BL comics.

Your logic “Pretty sure OP thought it was the straight guys that jack it to lesbians and call themselves allies exactly how gross fujoshi do with slash pairings”

Implies that Fujoshi means straight girls that get off to comics about gay men. Aside from the fact that you can be a fan of gay romance, even romance that includes some porn, without getting off to it (I read for the plot):

Fujoshi just means girl fan of BL, it includes lesbians and other queer girls.

Even if a girl does find gay comics or  erotic fanfics hot, there is nothing wrong if a girl gets off to comics about gay men.

Just as there is nothing wrong with gay guys who “jack it to comics about gay men”

Which is what the anon was asking about.

Shipping something doesn’t make you an ally. But thinking gay pairings are hot doesn’t make you “gross”.

Your husband speaks the language, but it still doesn't make him Japanese. South Koreans and Japanese people are not interchangeable.  

The definition of Fudanshi I am giving is how a Japanese words as defined by Japanese people. It means fan of BL. (If you don’t believe me you can google it, or have your husband google it in Japanese)

I’m sorry your husband was sexually harassed. Sexual harassment is wrong. Were these “fujoshi” Korean women? Japanese women? White women? The fetishization of asian men by white women is bad, of course, but that's a completely different topic.

In any case regardless of what these women like to read or watch or enjoy what they did wrong was sexually harassing someone. The issue isn’t whether or not they’re BL fans, it’s the fact they’re harassing people. If K-Pop fans had harassed him for being Korean or anime fans (just anime fans) harassed him for being Asian that’s wrong. But being a fan of something, K-pop, anime, BL, doesn’t mean sexual predator.

We have words for that, like ‘sexual harasser” or “creepy” or “gross”

You can say I don’t like creepy people or I don’t like sexual harassers and no one will disagree.

But you can’t say “fan” or “geek” or “nerd” or any other word meaning fan of thing means “gross”, because that’s not the definition of the word.

Especially when the fandom is romance which reflects sexualities and desire. I’m not “gross” for thinking men are hot or enjoying gay comics or imagining myself with fictional guys.

Which is what the question was about. Male fans of BL.

You do see a difference between reading a comic or fanfic and thinking it’s hot and sexually harassing someone? So why are you insisting on using a word that means people who enjoy reading comics or fanfics means sexual harasser.

@rottenboysclub  @profudanshi anything to add?

[fairyjihoonie]

Guanlin x Reader - Myosotis

Here I am, back with another Member x Reader fic. Hope you enjoy :)

Word Count: 8k

Tags: Angst, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Angst with bad ending

What is love?

How does love feel like?

Is it beautiful like what my grandparents told me when I was 5?

“Y/N, when you fall in love, please remember that you should love that person with all your heart, but don’t give him everything that you have. Leave some for yourself. Love is one of the strongest things in this world. Without love, we wouldn’t be here. If love will be painful for you in the future, then don’t think that love is cruel. It is only the moment that is cruel.”

–

Every single night, you turn on your bedside lamp and grab your favorite book inside the drawer. You usually read before you sleep, because you believe that you would sleep with only happy thoughts inside your mind. Maybe you’ve been this in love with the feeling of being in love, and you yourself want to experience how falling in love feels like and how it feels to love someone.

You squint your eyes to adjust your eyesight since your only source of light is right beside you while reading.

You let out a little squeal when the other main character already told the other one that she loves him. You finally sigh with a big smile on your lips and call it a night. You inserted your bookmark in between the pages where you last read on and closed it. Placing the book on the bedside table right beside the lamp, you see your phone lighting up with the name of your best friend.

Time check: 2:41 am.

From: Linlin Told you that you should stop reading late at night. It’ll ruin your eyesight. I’m telling your parents.

You smirk and typed a reply.

To: Linlin Well, Mr. Lai Guanlin, you should stop searching for dances and trying them out at this time.

From: Linlin We fair then. Good night. Hope those two in that book break up.

To: Linlin Not a chance. It’s true love.

From: Linlin How would you know if it’s true love when you don’t even know how it feels to fall in love? Duh.

To: Linlin Sleep.

You turn off your phone and also the lamp. You settled down under your blankets and shifted to the other side of the bed, facing the window. You sigh as you stare at the moon in the sky, while a smile forms on your lips. Sometimes you think about that future someone, who will he be, how will he look like, and how will he treat you. You’re too in love with the thought of being in love, since people kept on telling everyone that falling in love is something that is truly beautiful and addicting.

You fell in love with a bunch of guys like the ones in the books, the ones you see on TV, but you never ever fell in love with someone that you know dearly and see everyday.

Although some people thought you’re in love with your best friend, Guanlin. You thought its impossible to fall in love with that guy since he’s just someone that you like being with but nothing romantic is attached.

In Guanlin’s case, he is in love with you. You were too involved in the world of fictional people, so that’s why you never saw the look in his eyes whenever he looks at you. His eyes and face lit up every single time he sees you smiling, being too focused on the book you’re reading and when you’re just being you.

Maybe a book about two best friends can help you figure out Guanlin’s feelings.

Guanlin shuts off his laptop and lights, preparing for bed. He walks towards his bed and sits at the edge, turning on the small lamp on the bed side table. The picture frame right beside the lamp captured his attention, and he smiled. He reached for it and stared at it for a while. He smiled at the image of where he was wrapping you around his arms when the two of you went to the amusement park when the two of you were just 14.

The two of you were in senior year, no doubt that time flew real fast. Guanlin thought of the possibilities of the two of you staying together up until college, going to the same college together, being together as best friends… or maybe upgraded into something more beautiful.

Guanlin shook his head and placed the frame back at the table. He knew it was impossible to be with you since you were too involved with something else, and he knew he will never, ever, win your heart.

–

Guanlin found you in your same usual spot at the library, at the couch section at the very corner. You lean back on the beanbag, reading a book, as usual.

You notice the tall figure walking towards you so you inserted the bookmark between the pages of your book and closed it. You smile at his presence and waved. He sat right beside you.

“Aren’t you going home yet?” He asks you while he reaches for your book, looking at the summary at the back cover. “I’ve got my bonus allowance today, so I could treat you dinner I guess.”

“Dinner you mean… Street food galore?” You ask with hope. “Right? Right?”

“Right.” He shows his gummy smile and stood up. He extends his hand towards you and you hold it, pulling you so you could stand up. He hands you back your book as he walked towards the exit of the library, you following behind.

You two grab your bags at the exit of the library (since bags aren’t allowed inside the library) and proceeded going outside of the campus.

Guanlin started to talk about his parents going to visit him for one month and he was really excited about it. He was excited to bring you to their house again and talk together, since his parents really like you. Sometimes, Guanlin thinks that his parents likes you more than their actual son, but he doesn’t mind at all- because if he asks you out, they would be very supportive.

On the other hand, your parents doesn’t like Guanlin. Maybe your mom is the one who doesn’t like him.

You two have been best friends since 1st year if middle school but your parents have been quiet about you hanging out with Guanlin. There were times that Guanlin went to your house but they never allowed the two of you to hang out alone in your bed room, or if you two would hang out in the living room, your mom would always be there to watch you. From that time, you knew Guanlin was uncomfortable so you two agreed that he will never go to your house again unless needed to.

You saw the food cart at the end of the road so you hold Guanlin’s hand and pulled him along while you run. He ran as well, smiling while looking at your hand on his’.

You two stopped running as you reached the food cart and let go of his hand. Guanlin felt a little empty, joining both of his hands together and pouted slightly.

You started to pick some of your favorite food and started eating. Guanlin laughs at you since you started stuffing your mouth the moment the two of you arrived. Maybe you were just too hungry and you were enjoying the fact that its free.

“Careful,” He says as he pats your back gently. “You might choke from eating too much.”

You laugh a little “I won’t. You know me, I eat a lot.”

“Yeah that’s why you’re getting chubbier,” He whispers but you heard it clearly.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing. I said your cheeks are cute, whenever its stuffed.” He says. He gets the tteokbokki that he ordered from the person who serves it and started eating.

“Just admit that I’m cute,” You said jokingly while chewing.

“you are.”

The moment that you heard that, you started coughing out loud because of the sudden compliment. You felt your cheeks flush and you hear Guanlin laughing at you. He started patting your back and gave you your bottle of water to drink in.

“Careful.” He chuckled while patting your back gently. You immediately drank water so you could calm down a little, but you can still feel your heartbeat, it was so fast that you can’t even recall when was the last time it beated this fast, but in fact, it was a first.

There were times that you would think of Guanlin more than a friend but you usually ignore that since you know that it’s not even nice to fall in love with the person who is, your best friend. You’ve read tons of books where the side characters are best friends and they break up, and never became friends again. You do love Guanlin. You love him so much that you want to stay as friends because you know that is where you two would last.

Also, there were times you just want to hug him but it would feel awkward. Anyway, you shrug those thoughts and breathed deeply. You took another bite of your food and enjoyed it as if nothing happened.

–

“Ah, you ate so much.” Guanlin complained after paying everything that you two ate. He counts the remaining bills inside his wallet and unfortunately, no bills were found. Only coins.

The two of you were walking at the sidewalk that leads to the bus stop where you always ride home. It was a busy night so you could see a lot of business men and women going out, rushing to their night shift.

“Korean street food is the best,” You comment while eating off the ice cream cone. “Also ice cream is the best. You’re the best!”

“You’re just nice to me because I treat you a lot,” He sighs while shoving his wallet inside his pocket. He walks right behind you and placed his hands on your shoulders. “It’s kinda late so I’ll walk you home, this way.” He pushes you lightly while guiding the way.

“You know that I’ve told you many times that my parents doesn’t like you,” you remind him. “I don’t want to see them mad or disappointed when they see you walking me home.”

He stops walking and looks at the bus stop right beside the two of you. You turned around to look at him. “I can manage up to here.”

Guanlin sighs and started to pat your head. “Okay, shortie.”

“Don’t brag about your height.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Then stop calling me short.”

“Your height suits you. If I hug you, you fit right inside my arms.”

“I’ll prove it to you that I don’t,” You say as you step forward. “Come on, hug me.”

Guanlin started to hesitate to wrap his arms around you. It was all of a sudden. He stared at your eyes, he thought that you stole all of the stars in the sky because it sparkled. If he would stargaze, he would look into your eyes instead. His gaze goes down, and stops at your lips. Never, even once in his life, has he tried to kiss them. He started bringing his arms up to hug you, but something stopped the two of you.

You looked at the bus stop and you see a black car, rolling the windows down. It was your dad.

“Y/N! Glad that I found you,” Your dad smiles. “Come in now, let’s go home.”

You sigh and smile at Guanlin. “See you tomorrow.” You pat his arm and started running towards the car.

Guanlin watched you enter the car, waving one last time. He looks at your dad who wasn’t frowning, but he was actually smiling at Guanlin. It felt weird because he knows that your dad doesn’t like him either. Maybe, your dad does like him, its just your mom who doesn’t.

–

Guanlin arrives in his small apartment, placing his bag on the floor and heads to his desk. He started to think about confessing his feelings to you but it felt wrong. He wanted to tell you how much he loves you even though it would really ruin your friendship. He loves you so much that he didn’t mind to be selfish.

The moment that he fell in love with you, he knew he will never let you go. He will never let you go no matter what the case was.

There were times he doubted himself. There were times when he wanted to tell you what he feels towards you just to stop his feelings for you, but he can’t. He knew that the feeling was strong and true. He knew it was true love, because he never felt this way before. The kind of love he has for you is that, he wants to marry you.

Every night, he wishes, he prays to all of the Gods that you would return those feelings because he knew he would always take good care of you no matter what happens. He knew the universe is in favor with the two of you, and prays that no one would jinx it.

And all he could do was hope.

–

You waited inside Guanlin’s apartment to surprise his parents and sister. You prepared something for them, like a cake and also take outs. You knew they would love it and you know that they love you.

You heard the wheels of the taxi screech in front of the apartment and you knew that they arrived. You started to set everything up last minute and see if it was perfect.

It was.

You head to the door and walk outside, seeing Guanlin help his sister bring out her luggage from the taxi. You see his father and you ran towards him, greeting him.

“Is this y/n? You’ve grown into a pretty lady,” His father smiles at you and you shake his hand, welcoming him again.

“Yes, it’s been a long time,” You smile as you grab his luggage. “I’ll help you with this!” You smile while bringing his stuff carefully inside the apartment.

Guanlin walks towards his father and smiles. “That’s her.”

His father nods and pats him on the back. “Marry her.”

Guanlin blushed “Too early!”

“At least I approve.”

Guanlin just shakes his head while trying so hard not to smile. He looked at you from afar, thinking how beautiful you really are, and how much he wants you to be in his arms. He knows, for sure, that he really loves you so much, and his father could tell.

“Help me with this,” Guanlin’s sister cut off his thoughts, handing him her bag. He nods and brings them inside the apartment.

You walked past Guanlin, running towards his mother who was also going out of the other taxi, since they brought too many things with them in Korea for Guanlin and also for you. You greet her with a hug, his mother smiling while hugging you back. You could say you really did establish a good relationship with his family, but they were kind of expecting that you two would be dating but it’s disappointing because you two aren’t.

“It’s nice to see you again, you’ve grown so much,” Guanlin’s mother told you while hugging you tight. “Will you help me with these?”

You nod “Of course I will!” You smile while bringing their other things out of the taxi, bringing them inside the house.

–

It was around 6pm when his family sent you home. They wanted you to stay but they were being considerate to you, letting you go home as early as 6pm so you wouldn’t miss the bus and arrive home safely. Travelling at night is indeed scary.

You gave his parents and sister a hug before leaving, carrying a bag full of things from Taiwan like food, some clothes and also some skin care products that you actually like. They really treated you like a family member, since you’re the only person they trust when it comes to Guanlin.

Guanlin walks you to the nearest bus stop, carrying the bag for you. You tell him how pretty his sister became and you wanted to hang out with her soon. Guanlin nods, saying that his sister would be happy to hang out with you.

You reach the bus stop and no one was there, so you sit down on the bench and Guanlin follows to sit down right beside you.

“What does Taiwan look like?” You suddenly ask. “It seems like a pretty place.”

“It is,” Guanlin says, sighing. “I miss it there.”

“Won’t you go back to Taiwan?” You ask, playing with your hands.

“I can’t,” He says.

“And why, mister?”

“I can’t leave you.”

“Oh there you go again,” You laugh, hitting his arm. After laughing for a while, you see that Guanlin has a serious look on his face. “You okay?”

“If I go back to Taiwan, I might just look for you and go back in no time,” He says. “Anyway, my future’s sorted out. I’ll go to college with you, support you with your work-“

“Why are you talking as if we’re a couple?” You ask, coughing a little while looking at the sky, which was turning orangey-pink and the clouds were puffy like cotton candy.

“Don’t you want us to be one?”

Your eyes widened and immediately looked at him to see if he’s serious or if there would be a hint of him joking. Indeed, he was serious.

“Are you serious right now?”

“Maybe I am?”

“GUANLIN!”

“The bus is here.”

You look at the bus who was about to stop right in front of you. You didn’t want to stand up yet since your legs suddenly became weak after he said those words.

“Don’t you want us to be one?”

“Y/N, come on,” He says, holding your hand to pull you up. You slap his hand away gently, grabbing the bag from him. “Are you okay?” He asks with a concerned look on his face.

“I’m fine,” you sigh. “go home safely.” You say as you walk towards the entrance and hop onto the bus. You take out your card, hearing the beep sound saying that you’ve successfully paid for your bus fare and walked towards an empty seat right beside the window. Once you sat down, you see Guanlin who was still standing outside, giving you a smile and waved at you. You also give him a smile and waved.

Then the bus started to go.

You didn’t really fall awkward after that statement of Guanlin. It’s not like it was one sided.

There were times that you thought, what if you and Guanlin were a couple? It’s never impossible, right?

These days, the thought of you and Guanlin being a couple is becoming a big possibility. You sometimes think about scenarios if you two became one. Sometimes you would get lost in your thoughts and when you snap out from your thoughts, that’s when you realize that you were actually thinking about you and Guanlin as a couple.

These days, you could feel that your heart beats faster than usual, and Guanlin is the reason for your heartbeats.

You suddenly smile and bite your lower lip. You felt your cheeks flush, just with the thought of Guanlin.

‘Maybe… just maybe… I am actually in love with him.’

You thought you should stop lying to yourself once.

‘…well, I think I do love him.’

–

Guanlin arrives home, with a worried look on his face. He couldn’t tell you the truth- that he has an option to go back to Taiwan or not.

If he chose to go back to Taiwan, then he would receive great benefit from the college he would attend to and give him a scholarship. If he stays in Korea, maybe, he would be with you a lot but he would be working, since their family has been financially unstable.

Either way, he doesn’t mind to work part-time in Korea, just to be with you. But, grabbing the opportunity to have a scholarship from one of the colleges in Taiwan, is also a great thing.

He chose to stay in Korea.

–

You stayed up late again, reading a book. It was the weekend anyway, and tomorrow is Sunday and you could rest the whole day, no need to wake up early.

It was around 2am when you noticed that your screen lit up, and you saw that it was a call from Guanlin. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw that it was from Guanlin. You took a deep breath before you pick it up.

“Hello?” You answered.

“You’re still awake? Uh… I don’t know why I’m calling you right now but…”

“Okay, same goes with you,” You say, shifting to a comfortable position on your bed. “Why are you awake?”

“Because I couldn’t sleep, I took a midnight walk,” He says.

“What the hell it’s 2am, and you’re out?”

“Yeah I came to see you,” He says.

You started to jump a little, and immediately crawled to the window. You draw the curtains to the side, and you got shocked when you saw Guanlin right outside of your house, and waved when he saw you.

“Are you crazy? I told you that you shouldn’t come to my home anymore!”

“Just come out for a while, please?”

“My mom’s gonna kill me if I come out.”

“Come on, just come out for a while.”

“If my mom caught me, you’re dead.”

“So you’re coming down?”

“Yes, just wait.” You hang up, running towards your closet to grab your bra since you weren’t wearing one and you don’t want to get cancer by wearing bra while sleeping and get embarrassed in front of Guanlin, not wearing any bra.

You open the door slowly, tip-toeing down the staircase and trying really hard not to leave any evidence that you were going to sneak out.

You open the front door, seeing Guanlin sitting on the sidewalk. You try to hide your smile, closing the door slowly and quietly. He stands up, waving at you. You walk right towards him, waving as well.

“I still don’t understand why you’re here, this late.”

“I just noticed that the stars are out tonight, wanna stargaze?” He asks, looking straight in your eyes.

“You asked me to stargaze with you but why aren’t you looking at the sky?”

He laughs at you, stepping closer, not breaking eye contact. “I am, stargazing.”

You start to blush, pushing him away. “It’s too late for this, Guanlin.”

“Why? Are you falling in love with me?” He started to joke, laughing.

“Maybe if you do continue doing that, I might, for real,” You whisper, taking a subtle step forward. Guanlin heard it, but pretended he didn’t. He was incredibly happy so he wrapped his arms around you, giving you a tight hug.

“Do you wanna hangout today?” He whispers. “Like, when the sun rises and we’re all fresh from sleep?”

“Why not?”

–

It was 4pm and you get out of your house wearing a white sweater with a denim skirt, going for a simple outfit but also something that you don’t usually wear, maybe, is to impress Guanlin? You never did this even once. You even put on a little bit of makeup, just usual face powder, mascara and lip and cheek tint.

Guanlin waits for you at the bus stop where you usually get on, just to surprise you. He was sure that it wasn’t a date but he dressed up, extra careful and extra… handsome?

A smile appeared on your face once you saw him, but he wasn’t looking at your direction. You sneak up right behind him, tapping his shoulder.

Guanlin turns around, seeing you and smiled.

“There you are. So where do you want to go?” He asks you.

“it’s like 4pm, shouldn’t we go somewhere just near?”

And that near, became farther.

–

The only place you wanted to go to is somewhere far away, which is the beach.

The beach at nighttime is the prettiest. It took you two an hour to travel on bus and also on foot. On the way, the two of you would order food from food carts, ice cream shop, and just talk while on the way to the beach.

You see a lot of people at the beach, mostly foreigners. You thought it was a bad time to go to the beach but honestly, it was fine for Guanlin.

“Are you going in the water?” He asks you while walking towards the shore, the water splashes on Guanlin’s shoes. “Come and remove your shoes, lets dip out feet on the water.”

“Promise me you won’t push me,” You say while kicking your sneakers off and placing your bag on top of your shoes.

“Hold my hand,” Guanlin extends his hand for you to grab, smiling at you. You smile back, gently holding his hand and leads you to the water.

You felt the sea water cover your feet up until your ankle, and it was kinda ticklish. Also, the sand was very smooth to stand on, and you feel like you don’t wanna leave yet- especially, standing right beside Guanlin, was beautiful.

“Shortie, are you enjoying this?” Guanlin teases you by calling, chuckling. He holds your other hand, caressing your knuckles gently.

“Shortie… really now?” You sigh.

“Your height really suits you, and your height is perfect for my height,” Guanlin says. “Wait, did that make sense?”

“How could you even tell that our height matches perfectly?” You ask him, stepping forward a little. “You can never tell.”

All of a sudden, Guanlin leans down, and you never thought he would do anything at that moment. The moment you felt his lips on your forehead, that’s when your heart loses it.

“See? I told you our heights were perfect,” He smiles at your blushing state, squeezing one of your cheeks. “Can we… try this out?”

Your heart beats a bit faster, knowing what he meant but you ask anyway. “Try… what?’

“This thing called… dating,” He asks with a sheepish smile, scratching the back of his neck. “You know… You and Me, together…”

Your lips turned into a smile as you step closer to him. Guanlin’s eyes widened when you stepped closer, not knowing what you would do next. You slowly wrap your arms around him, resting your ear on his chest, and you could hear fast, pounding sounds from inside of his chest.

“Your heart is beating fast,” You say, smiling. You felt Guanlin’s arms wrap around you, and felt him kissing your head.

“Every heart beat screams your name, y/n,” He whispers, hugging you tighter.

You sigh deeply, and the smile on your face wouldn’t fade. Maybe, going to the beach at this hour wasn’t that bad.

“Let’s try,” You say. “You, me, dating.”

–

Weeks has passed since you’ve agreed to try it out, try dating Guanlin. Honestly, dating Guanlin wasn’t that different like before, but the difference is, there are more hugging and also kissing on the cheek, forehead, and holding hands. Kissing on the lips? Never happened, even once.

One time, you and Guanlin went to his apartment to tell his family that they’re dating, and they were happier than the two of them. Although, it wasn’t confirmed that you really do like Guanlin, but you were sure that Guanlin really likes you.

You never said you liked him, and you never said that you love him either. Guanlin didn’t seem to be bothered by it, but actions speak louder than words, it was obvious that the two of you were really in love.

You never fell in love with him that fast, you knew you were in love with him since before, it’s just fear, blindness, and the thought of just staying as friends made you think that you’re not in love. But Thank God, Guanlin finally made a move and asked you out.

Months passed, graduation is around the corner. You and Guanlin were hanging out again after class, hand in hand, when you pass by a newly-opened flower shop. As expected, your favorite color was blue, and there were small, tiny blue flowers that was displayed outside. You never saw any flower like that before, but it was indeed beautiful.

“Excuse me, what is this flower called?” You ask the lady who was removing thorns from the rose. She looks at you with a smile.

“That is called Forget Me Not, pretty isn’t it?” She says. “It’s kind of expensive, but they’re beautiful flowers! This flower symbolizes True Love and also Memories you don’t want to forget.”

“The meaning is so beautiful,” You smile. “Thank you.” You say to the woman and you pull Guanlin. “Those flowers are really pretty but have you seen the price?”

“Expensive.”

“True.”

The meaning of Forget me not was carved in your heart. The meaning was beautiful, and you thought that this flower itself is beautiful.

–

Every night, you started to write letters. You wrote all of your feelings, thoughts, and also how much you love Guanlin. You decided to keep all of these letters in one box, or tie it, and give it to Guanlin at the right time.

The night you were writing the 5th letter, you received a text message from Guanlin. He told you to come out of the house, and you did. You tip-toed your way out of the house, and open the door with the sight of Guanlin, hiding something behind his back.

“What are you hiding?” You ask him suspiciously, trying to peek what was behind him. He started walking backwards, away from the door. “Where are you going?”

“Just follow me, I don’t want your parents to hear us,” He whispers while walking backwards, still hiding something. You follow him, still suspicious of what he was hiding.

You still followed him, until you two reached the lake near your house. The moon was high up in the sky, giving a beautiful light that reflected on the water, and also gave a beautiful lighting on the two of you.

“It’s true that girls are 100 times beautiful during the night,” Guanlin says.

“So are you saying I’m not beautiful? Okay, what are you hiding?”

“Y/N, you’re the most beautiful person I know,” He says. “And I’ll only give you this when you kiss me.”

You scoff. “A kiss? Are you serious? You know I’m never ready for a kiss.”

And it wasn’t a lie. There were times when Guanlin was so tempted to kiss you on the lips, but you usually push him away. It was usually when you two just ate, or you weren’t just ready.

“Y/N….” He pouts. “Don’t you want to kiss me?”

“Cheek.”

“Fine.”

You walk closer to him as you tip toed up, about to kiss his cheek.

Guanlin, craving for a kiss on the lips, suddenly turned, facing you and you felt his lips o yours.

Due to the huge amount of shock you suddenly pushed Guanlin away, covering your mouth. You were blushing furiously, and you wanted to scream out loud. Scream, because of happiness.

“Hey, I wanted another one,” Guanlin smiles. “Your lips are really soft.”

“I hate you!”

“But I love you,” Guanlin says, stepping closer. “I love you.”

Your heart beats like crazy, but it was crazier after Guanlin spoke those three words. Three words that made you smile, that made you happy, three words that made you feel special.

“Y/N, I love you, it’s crazy-“

Guanlin stopped talking once you shut him up, by wrapping your arms around his neck, tiptoeing up, and kissing him on the lips. You never knew kissing feels this special, this beautiful, and it felt like, you two were the only ones around. Your head was spinning, and your heart was beating real fast.

Guanlin closes his eyes, responding to the kiss. He leans forward, dropping the bouquet of Forget-Me-Not flowers on the grass and wraps his arms around you. You let go for a while, trying to catch your breath and Guanlin initiates his own kiss, kissing you softly and sweetly, like you are the most fragile thing in the whole world.

“Wow.”

“… wow.”

You giggle at his blushing state, and it was the first time that you’ve seen Guanlin blushing like that. And it was cute.

“I accidentally dropped them,” Guanlin said, picking up the bouquet of Forget Me Not flowers. “I wanted to give this to you… The lady at that store gave it to me for free. And it’s like …. About to wither.”

You smile at him, accepting the flowers. “It’s not withering, it looks new.” You say, looking at the flowers. “Thank you.”

“I’ll walk you home.”

–

You arrive back at home, smiling widely as you enter your room with the flowers. You grab the vase that’s used as a display in the room and washed it in your CR, filling the vase with water. You place the flowers inside the vase and displayed it on your desk, where you left your letter on.

“oh I’m not yet finished with this,” you say as you sat down again, continuing the letter.

This is the night when you told me that you love me. And we kissed. It was the most magical night, and thank you for making me feel this special. I love you, Guanlin.

–

A week after graduation was the most fun week ever. All of your classmates gathered all together for a last get together before College starts, and that’s when all of you are travelling to Busan.

“Take care, okay, y/n?” your mom tells you while giving you some pocket money for the vacation.

“I will,” You say while adjusting your neck pillow that’s around your neck. “Guanlin will arrive in 5 minutes, so I’ll wait outside.”

You saw your mother frown when she heard the name of Guanlin. “Y/N… can I be honest with you?”

You started to become nervous when your mom suddenly spoke that way. “Yes, mom?”

“I don’t like Guanlin,” She says honestly. “But I can’t do anything about it… I know the two of you are together, but, I don’t like him for you.”

“H-How…” You clear your throat. “How did you know, mom?”

“You always go out with him, more than usual,” She says. “I don’t… like him for you. Just, break up with him soon.”

You hear the door bell, signaling that it was Guanlin. You don’t say a word and started towards the door. Before you open the door, you look at your mom. “Mom, you know I am an obedient child, but I’m sorry. This time, I have to disobey you.”

–

You look out of the window of the train, Guanlin resting his head on your shoulder, sleeping. You think about what you’ve just said to your mom, and you regret it. You love your parents, and you also love Guanlin. It was very hard to decide, whom to go with.

You felt Guanlin stretching and waking up, his hair started to stick out. You laugh at him while brushing his hair down neatly.

“Did you sleep well?” You ask.

“I did.”

You smile as you reach for his hand, lacing your fingers between his’. “I can’t wait for college.”

“We’ll still be together,” He says, nuzzles his face on your neck. “You smell really good.”

“Have you found a part-time yet?” You ask him.

“Mhm, the flower shop was looking for a cashier, and the salary is reasonable,” He says, kissing your neck teasingly.

“Don’t kiss that spot- th-that tickles, hey!” You started giggling while pushing him away.

Guanlin started to laugh loudly while tickling you, and gave you a peck on the lips. “You’re so cute.”

“I know.” You both laugh.

–

The whole class arrived in Busan and you run to the beach, and it felt really great. The ocean smells nice, seagulls were everywhere. Busan, was definitely beautiful.

All gathered to their hotels, you stayed with some of your girl classmates since they’re trying to avoid you and Guanlin in one room, to avoid other people thinking about you two doing something inappropriate but you know that you’ll never do anything like that.

Of course the first thing the whole class did was to go and swim at the beach, also after that gathered to do a bonfire and talk about things. You snuggled closer to Guanlin, holding his hand. You lean your head on his shoulder while listening to your classmates’ stories and laugh whenever something funny happens.

At that moment, you knew you’ll miss all of them. You’re glad that you and Guanlin would stay together until college and you were sure that things would work out.

One by one, some of your classmates went back to the hotel to sleep, wash up, or just enjoy the wifi access. You and Guanlin just stayed there, until everyone was all gone.

“Do you remember when I asked you out?” Guanlin asks. “It was at the beach too.”

You smile at the memory. “Yes, I do. And I had no idea that we would really fall in love with each other.”

Guanlin sits up straight, looking at you with a cheeky smile. “Fall in love? You never told me that you love me.”

You roll your eyes and placed your hand on his cheek. “You know, actions speak louder than words.” You whisper.

“I wanna hear it,” Guanlin insisted. “Please?”

You took a deep breath and kissed him on the cheek. “I love you, Guanlin.” You whisper on his ear. “I love you, so much.”

Guanlin smiles, hugging you tighter. “I love you more.”

“I love you more than you love me,” You say, leaning on his chest. “Got anything better than that?”

“I love you more than anything else in this world,” Guanlin says. “Promise me you’ll never leave me, no matter what.” He shows his pinky to you. “Promise?”

“Promise me that you won’t leave me either,” You say, wrapping your pinky on his’.

“I promise you that I’ll marry you in the future,” He says. “Promise me you’ll say yes.”

“I promise.”

–

A week has passed and everyone was going home, except for you and Guanlin. You two decided to stay for one more night and leave the next day, since Busan was making you two stay.

Your parents had no idea that you two would stay there longer, and it was surprising because Guanlin insisted to stay for one more night, because he felt like he didn’t have enough time with you yet.

You two stroll around the town in Busan, holding his hand tightly, while swaying your hands around. There were a lot of people strolling, including them. You hear the other people speaking in satoori and you were used to it. Guanlin in the other hand, isn’t that familiar with satoori yet.

“You know some guys who speak in satoori are really hot,” You tease, nudging him.

“Don’t make me jealous.”

“Aw no baby, you’re the cutest, I love you.”

“Did you just act cute?”

“Maybe?”

Guanlin chuckles and wraps his arm around your shoulder. “Oh, a photo booth. You want to go in?”

You look at the direction where Guanlin was pointing and nod. You two run towards the photo booth, sitting right in front of the camera and started posing.

After taking pictures, you waited for the pictures to be printed. Finally after months, you had new photos from the photo booth.

You feel your phone vibrating and it was a call from your mom. You had 9 missed calls, and you knew you were doomed.

“Hello mom?”

“Y/N! You told me you’re staying in Busan until yesterday, don’t tell me you’re still there?”

“I’m doing fine, mom. I’m not dead, I’m with Guanlin,” you say in a matter-of-fact.

“Of all people, why Guanlin? Go home, right now!”

“I’m doing fine and he’s doing fine. It’s not like we’re going to do something that will ruin our future,” you say, rolling your eyes. “I’m hanging up.”

“Y/N! Don’t you dare hang up on your mo-“ “Signal’s gone,” you shake your head. “Bet she’s really mad.”

“y/n… Do you really want to go home? Your mom might be mad,” Guanlin says with concern. “I don’t want your mom to be angry.”

“Look, you wanted to stay and I wanted to stay. Come on, let’s ride the next bus.” You say. “It’s not like we’re going to die.”

Guanlin has a worried look on his face and nods. “Okay, let’s go.”

You wait for a little while until the next bus arrives, and you ride in it. You had a weird feeling with the bus you’re riding. You saw the tire, it was nearly flat. You raise your concern to the bus driver, telling that the bus might have a flat tire.

“Flat tire? I just changed the tires today so it’s impossible for it to have a flat tire,” The bus driver says, throwing his cigarette stick in the trash bin.

Guanlin lightly pushes you to move forward, letting you sit down on the window seat. Your heart was beating really flat, and praying that the bus didn’t have a flat tire.

“Guanlin, I want to get out,” You say, shaking. “I hope this bus doesn’t have a flat tire.”

“Didn’t you hear the bus driver? He said that the tires were changed today so you don’t have to worry, okay?” Guanlin assures, patting your back. “Hey, look at me.”

You look at him with worry.

“Everything’s going to be alright, okay?” He gives you an assuring smile while holding your hands. “If something happens, I’ll protect you.”

You nod and calmed down. You smile at him, and leaned on his shoulder.

The bus started, and you felt more nervous. But you know nothing would happen, maybe the tires really appeared flat but it was fine when it arrived in the bus stop. Maybe, you were just overthinking.

In a while, you look at the window side and started to scream. Other people started screaming and the last thing you heard was a big crash.

And everything turned dark.

–

Guanlin started to panic once he woke up. He saw white walls, a white ceiling, beeps, and it was quiet. He was alone.

He sees a bandage wrapped around his arm, also an IV injected on him. He was certain that he’s inside the hospital.

The first thing that entered his mind was; you.

A nurse enters, and immediately he knew who it was.

“Can I go out? I’m completely fine, I need to know where patient Y/N is.”

She shakes her head. “Guanlin, you shouldn’t stand up yet. You just woke up.”

“I don’t care, I need to see her,” Guanlin was full of anger and worry, he wanted to see you asap, and he felt guilty.

If they came home sooner, this wouldn’t have happened. It was all his fault and things shouldn’t have happened if he didn’t insist to stay in Busan.

Now, he doesn’t know how you’re doing.

“Fine,” She sighs. “She’s in a critical condition, the truck hit her real hard.”

Guanlin recalls the exact moment the accident happened. The bus didn’t have a flat tire, a truck that was parked, suddenly slid down the road and hit the bus, right at their direction. Guanlin remembers the way he wrapped his arms around you and covered the back of your head with his hands, but it was useless.

“She’s alive… right?” Guanlin asks, tears started flowing down on his cheeks, and his heart was beating really hard due to anger, fear, and guilt. He blames himself for everything, and he wants to see you.

“She’s alive. If you want to see her… I’ll fix you up.”

–

Guanlin peeks from the door, seeing you lying down on the bed, with a bandage wrapped around your head. Guanlin cursed silently, and tears started to fall down again.

“Excuse me.” A voice from behind speaks and Guanlin immediately moves away. He quickly recognized the person behind him.

It was your mother.

“Sorry,” Guanlin mutters, looking away. He was about to walk away but she called him.

“Guanlin?”

Guanlin had chills run down on his spine and looked at your mom. “Yes?”

“Stay away from my daughter.”

–

Weeks has passed and Guanlin was already released from the hospital. Guanlin lies down on his bed, looking at the photo the two of you took from Busan. He suddenly felt the tears flow from his eyes, just by staring at your face, he felt his heart clench.

Guanlin thinks he’ll just put you in danger.

Guanlin gets up, and leaves his apartment and runs to the nearest bus stop to ride to the floral shop nearby, where he bought the flowers for you. He receives a text message from the nurse in the hospital.

Guanlin, y/n is fine. She’ll be discharged from the hospital today. Make sure to introduce yourself properly.

Guanlin felt tears appearing on his eyes and sniffed. He wiped his tears, and texted back.

Thank you.

Guanlin gets off the bus and runs to the floral shop. He knows that your mother told him to stay away from you, but he won’t allow that. He needs to see you, at least once.

“Once of these please,” Guanlin says, picking up a small bouquet of Forget Me Not flowers, and gave the payment to the lady. “Thank you.”

The image of you smiling under the moonlight, passed by your thoughts. He knew that this will get you excited, and happy. He was more than excited to see you again, but was still worried.

–

Guanlin arrives in your place, but there was no sign of humans inside the house. Guanlin decided to wait a little longer, he didn’t want to miss you. He brings the flowers up to his face and started sniffing, and he was delighted by the smell.

“Excuse me.” A sweet voice, a voice that Guanlin always heard, and longed for, he finally heard it.

He looks up at you, who was walking with a crutch. Guanlin gets up and wraps his arms around you. Tears started to form, and those tears became a pool of tears. He started to sniff louder, and he whispered “I’m glad your fine.”

The weird thing is. You didn’t hug him back.

Guanlin lets go of the hug and gave you the flowers. “Your favorite.”

“Uhm… sorry but, Who are you? “

Then at that moment, everything was crashing down.

“Y/N…?” Guanlin’s eyes widened, and his legs felt weak. “Y/N, you don’t know me?”

“Can you move, I don’t know you,” You say while walking some more.

“Y/N, you must be kidding me. I know you remember me, you promised back in Busan-“

“She has amnesia. She won’t remember who you are.”

Guanlin looks behind him, and it was your mom. “Oh…”

“Come on now, Y/N, let’s go inside.” Your mom said, holding your arm.

Guanlin didn’t know what to do but to hand out the bouquet of flowers to you. You look at him suspiciously, but accepts them anyway.

“It’s your favorite.” Guanlin whispers, while trying hard not to cry. “Goodbye.”

Guanlin turns around and started walking away.

He brings out his phone and calls his father, long distance call.

“Hello? Yes Guanlin? You called?”

“Father…” Guanlin started crying really hard in the middle of the road and sat on the sidewalk.

“Guanlin? Is everything alright?

“Father… When can I go back to Taiwan?”

–

You stayed outside the house after the boy gave you those bouquet full of blue flowers. Your mother left you there, walking inside the house with a smirk on her face.

You stare at the flowers, as you felt tears come out from your eyes.

‘Guanlin… I’m so sorry.’

–

8 years later…

Guanlin arrives in his room where he sees a package from Korea on his desk. He came back from work and the first thing he saw was the package. Curiosity grows inside him and opens the package.

Layer after layer, he sees a small box with a flower tied up around the box.

And it wasn’t any ordinary flower. It was a dried, small, blue flower. Forget Me Not.

Guanlin suddenly smiles at the memory of you. A painful memory, where he left you, and went to Taiwan.

It was no use to stay in Korea after that accident. He thought he should’ve fought for you but, your parents were scary enough and, he knew that you wouldn’t get hurt if he leaves.

Guanlin did the wisest decision. Leaving Korea, with only one broken heart. And it was Guanlin’s broken heart.

He started untying the string around the box and opens it. He sees different kinds of envelopes, with different dates.

And it was your hand writing.

Guanlin started reading them one by one, and it was obvious that his heart started pounding real fast and tears started to form in his eyes. The letter was about your feelings, during that day when Guanlin first confessed to you.

The second letter was about falling in love with Guanlin and how much you appreciated him

The third letter was about the fear of going to college, but you were sure and happy that you’re going to college with Guanlin.

The fourth letter was about the time when your feelings were confirmed. You were truly in love with Guanlin.

The fifth letter was about how much you love Guanlin and how your first kiss went.

The sixth letter’s paper were kind of new, and it was dated two years ago. Guanlin tilts his head and wondered why there was a letter dated two years ago.

“I guess this letter is just from her mom, telling me to stay away once I receive this.” Guanlin shrugs, placing the letters in the box again, but he notices a little note folded sticker on the cover of the box.

He unfolds it, and it was newly written.

Guanlin…. I miss you.

–end–

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[how2to18]

THERE’S A CERTAIN BRAND of criticism reserved for overstuffed, bizarre stories — it consists of the critic throwing up her hands in despair and saying: “Sure, whatever, why not?” It usually has to do with a lack of narrative cohesion or consistency — but mostly it’s about the element of surprise. Whodunits rely on surprise by flouting expectation: when the audience least expects something, swerve. Poke the bear after insisting it’s harmless, then reveal it is the murderer. Avant-garde works rely on surprise by flouting tradition: baffle, provoke. Poke the bear, make it dance and tell you a campfire tale about a murderer with a heart of gold. Two men called Vladimir and Estragon wait, forever, by a tree, and it’s probably much ado about nothing? Charles Kinbote pretends to care about a long poem, but really he cares only about himself, and some country named Zembla? Sure, whatever, why not?

The Argentinian writer César Aira — I bought all 16 of his English-translated books, including his most recent, Birthday — is precisely the sort of writer to elicit that reaction. Take a centuries-old epiphany about a pirate treasure by a translator who appears at the exact location, and is immediately made rich. Or a headless dog who, without any semblance of a brain or any kind of nervous system, survives to adulthood. These are Aira stories, and if I’m being totally honest, they don’t strike me as particularly avant-garde. Most things that actually happen in an Aira story, in the sense of a plot, happen pretty quickly. The rest is digression, mostly Aira straight-up messing with the reader. On the basis of sheer experimentalism, there’s no Pale Fire–like flouting of formalism here. The prose is candid. There’s always some narrative. On the basis of grand metaphor, again, no dice. If you’re waiting to understand something, you won’t.

But that’s not true. Aira isn’t without tradition or precedent — he’s just hard to pin down. The provocations are too capricious; the subversion is undercut instantly with a cruel reminder of reality or lack thereof. The closest tradition is probably Dadaism in its insistence on nonsense verse. Then again — at least according to a profile in The Nation — Aira’s destabilizing of reality is supposed to be deeply political, the works of a man who was “a young militant leftist, with the notion of writing big realist novels.” But at least from the translated works that precede Birthday, there is little narrative coherence to his radicalism. If there is, it’s like an editor returning a draft with the sentence, “TK TK capitalism TK TK.”

Who says that’s a bad thing? There’s a big show of laziness, too, which is very much a conventionally bad thing (Aira claims to improvise entirely and never rewrite). In Varamo, the titular character contemplates the disbursement of his salary in counterfeit money:

After all, Panama was a young nation, and situations of this kind require a minimum of history. It was complicated enough to establish the laws that govern the legal printing of money, an operation which, in its early stages, is bound to resemble counterfeiting. So if he were caught trying to use fake money — as he was sure he would be — the case would set a precedent; the sentence and the legal concept would have to be invented, made up from scratch, given a comprehensible form and surrounded with discourse to make them plausible. All of which would involve intellectual and imaginative work, but that didn’t make the prospect any brighter for him.

Is this also what Aira the writer is doing? In the very first paragraph, the narrator promises us a book about how Varamo wrote a celebrated masterpiece of Central American poetry in one night. We never get that book, so it doesn’t matter.

Or actually, maybe it does matter, because on the night in question — before the writing begins — Varamo meets two spinsters who smuggle golf clubs and pontificates that for them, “the national was a categorical imperative,” the same as for printing money, even counterfeit money. A little detective work: Varamo the character, a hapless bureaucrat, writes his masterpiece in 1923 when Argentina was still one of the richest countries in the world (soon to change in the wake of a military junta taking power in 1930). It makes some narrative sense that the novel seems so very anxious about the black market and counterfeit money (in 1920s Argentina, an abundance of counterfeit money was quite real). In which case the plot is the digression, and everything else is vital.

So I suppose it is political after all: the idea that the bizarre is also real, from the writer who once chastised other Argentinian writers for being too unconcerned with the country’s “social and economic problems.”

How does one tell the difference? Conversations is easy. The post–Cold War United States manipulated the lives of people in ex-Soviet states, causing reality itself to having a strange in-between-y status. Others are harder. In The Literary Conference, giant silkworms engulf and destroy a whole city, by way of a cloning machine. In The Little Buddhist Monk, a suicidal Chinese pony imported to Korea jumps off a pagoda, because it has no knowledge of the toxic Korean herbs it would have otherwise required. In The Miracle Cures of Dr. Aira, Dr. Aira tries to cure cancer using “screens” that include or exclude everything in the universe: “[H]is right hand […] divided up the joys and sorrows of Muslims; his left was pulling a little on another screen that excluded too many apples.” In The Seamstress and the Wind, a woman drives a car “as light as a yawn” which can contain “only one not very fat person […] and only if they were tightly-folded up.” It’s going somewhere, or nowhere. It’s a mystery or, a soda bubble, or a magnet car. It may or may not occupy space. “The proverb says mystery does not occupy space,” Aira writes. “All right, fine; but it crosses it.”

If that isn’t the writer’s version of throwing his hands in the air and saying, “Sure, whatever, why not,” I don’t know what is.

¤

But there’s a pretty major problem with all that I’ve said thus far, though it’s the consensus view — and that is the idea that Aira is somehow colossally enigmatic. Alena Graedon in The New Yorker calls Aira’s novels “difficult to classify.” K. Reed Petty in Electric Literature insists that the reader not “try to understand.” Aura Estrada, for the Boston Review, wrote that Aira’s work showed that “the literary enterprise […] [is] pregnant with possibilities.”

The problem is that those pregnant possibilities do indeed mean very real things: both for Aira and fellow Latin American absurdist writers with whom he shares a tradition. The literary scholar Ericka Beckman reminds us that what people find colorfully absurd about Latin American fiction is often very real. A Latin American dictator in Gabriel García Márquez’s The Autumn of the Patriarch sells the entire Caribbean Sea to the United States; the body of water is subsequently moved to the Arizona desert. But it’s the actual privatization of ordinary things in Latin American countries that lend the story its gravitas. “In 1999,” Beckman writes, “the Bolivian government signed a $2.5 billion contract to privatize the city of Cochabamba’s water supply.” Under the proposed agreement, a San Francisco–based consortium “was to own all of the city’s water resources, even the rain that fell from the sky.” The tradition also extends to Borges and Bolaño, the latter of whom called Aira “one of the three or four best writers working in Spanish today.” But whereas Bolaño is considered to have written some of the most innovative critiques of globalization and fascism, Aira is merely “not meant to be understood.” If that’s all Aira means to us, then we’ve lost something of immense value.

Indeed, much of Aira can be construed as a new articulation: not an idiosyncratic style from an exotic backwater, but something creatively new, a giant middle finger to the Western literary enterprise. In The Proof, for instance, a teenage lesbian couple (“Mao” and “Lenin”) try to seduce a shy girl and subsequently commit a violent act in a supermarket as a “proof of love.” According to Latin American literary scholar Héctor Hoyos, The Proof is about “destabiliz[ing] sexual orientation” and the inherent violence of ordinary commerce in the supermarket. That’s reasonable, and strikes me as a far better way to understand Aira than claiming he’s not meant to be understood.

How to explain the gonzo story that is How I Became a Nun? The story is narrated by a six-year-old child (boy or girl?), and begins when the father treats the child to ice cream for the very first time, only to become incensed when the child despises it, tries it himself, finds it revolting, and violently kills the ice cream vendor. Soon after, the child reports that “my body began to dissolve … literally … My organs deliquesced … turning to green and blue bags of slime hanging from stony necroses … bundles of ganglia.” Turns out there is a wave of lethal food poisoning, by way of cyanide contamination, across Argentina and neighboring countries.

The boy/girl is, as are many of Aira’s characters, named César Aira, and the child’s affliction affects not just the body but the telling of stories. It’s all very paradoxical; insistent that language is “anti-mimetic” and bears no resemblance to reality. In Conversations, a story-within-other-stories, the narrator immediately digresses: “[A]n aside: a memory can be identical to what is being remembered; at the same time it is different, without ceasing to be the same.” This is all the stuff of Barthes and Derrida, the idea being that nothing in the novel is real (or even helpfully un-real). If Aira really is Barthes and Derrida in plot form — poststructuralist children’s books, imagine that! — then thank goodness that these stories are so fun. With a lesser writer the hand-wringing would never end.

So, let me contradict myself again. Once you get the hang of it, Aira’s politics aren’t particularly difficult to suss out. Most of the time, when Aira says something, you should probably just believe him. One of his major themes is: People get these ideas, and it doesn’t really matter if they are true. A second major theme is of Authorial “exclusion”: a litany of unreliable narrators wax lyrical about closed loops or circles in narratives (Barthes would be proud). A third: If we wrap something simple into something indirect and symbolic, people are drawn in, even though we’re cheating. Boy/girl César decides to deceive a doctor: “The aim of my ruse was to make her think I had something ‘difficult’ to express.”

Let’s do Aira a favor and dispose of Barthes and Derrida because, simply put, we don’t need them. I’m not scoffing at literary theory. I simply think it makes more sense to privilege Aira’s own words. Here’s a stronger case. Every so often, you find something that has to be Aira the writer speaking directly to the reader. In Conversations, the narrator laments the plot weren’t more outlandish: “That […] would have resulted in a much more interesting story, right?” In How I Became a Nun, Aira is baffled by a singer, broadcast on television, who cannot sing: “[To] the Tone Deaf Singer herself … perhaps she is still alive, and remembers, and if she is reading this … My number is in the telephone book.”

I’m fairly certain that Tone Deaf Singer is really out there somewhere. I hope she got in touch with César Aira, and that they talked.

¤

So much is made of Aira’s oddities, plot twists, and diversions, but I want to convince you that it’s the emotional effect that should make you stick around. I read Ghosts last of all, and I was entirely unprepared for it. Shorn of quick swerves, Ghosts is perhaps his most poignant. Set at a construction site for a bourgeois condominium, the world-building is exquisite; no other translated work of his is as detailed or as tremulous. There aren’t surprises in the manner we’ve become accustomed to: the eccentricities feel familiar; the philosophizing logical.

Set over the course of a New Year’s Eve, Ghosts is only somewhat about ghosts — the ones that the workers and the immigrant family squatting at the site see, but the families soon to move in don’t. It’s a book preoccupied with the juxtaposition of the rich and the poor, while also fixated on the sadness and peril in the lives of an enormous cast of characters, slowly spiraling down to focus on the oldest daughter of the central squatter family.

It is uncommonly gentle and empathetic for Aira. But then it was with Ghosts that I realized that although Aira ensures the ludicrous to keep the pages turning, almost every one of his works also contains within it much sincerity and earthiness. The Proof reminds me of the wonderful film Tangerine in its spiky, breakneck earnestness. The Linden Tree proudly wears its heart on its sleeve: at turns nostalgic and charmingly silly. In almost every one of the others, something makes me go weak in the knees. It may even be called a “realist” oeuvre. Birthday — the most recent translation, released in February — makes this case best of all. A beautiful memoir inspired by Aira’s 50th birthday, Birthday is worthy of serious philosophical attention: lengthy digressions tell one explicitly how Aira perceives the past, the present, and the future, but what clarifies all his work is how he how he wrangles strangeness out of the quotidian. The phases of the Moon are a source of self-deprecation; the first encounter with electricity, fraught with worry; politics, a consequence of some remaining static as others charge ahead through life; death, as a proxy for history and how much we miss every day, “like Rip Van Winkle.” Everything in life is ultimately pretty strange, a cheeky rejection of the idea that “avant-garde” even exists.

So, ultimately three very simple things about César Aira: 1) He is exactly the sort of writer to elicit the response, “Sure, whatever, why not?” 2) He gets people all in a tizzy about his “tradition.” Okay, sure — though he’s already said a whole bunch about Borges. 3) He is most certainly meant to be understood. Of course he is. Don’t be daft! Just listen.

¤

Kamil Ahsan is a biologist and historian with a doctorate from the University of Chicago. His work has appeared in The Rumpus, Dissent, The Millions, The American Prospect, The A.V. Club, and Jacobin, among others.

The post Meant to Be Understood: On César Aira’s Complete Translated Works appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

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[violetsystems]

#personal

I took the train behind my apartment eight stops to a town called Cicero to meet my mom for a matinee last Saturday.  She introduced me to Blade Runner when I was little.  I always tell the story that she made me put my hands over my eyes during the movie’s one brief nude scene.  It kind of sticks with me I guess because she exposed me to a lot of interesting stuff when I was little.  At the same time she was pretty adamant I learn the right way.  She was a Russian Political Science major, linguist and read me Tolkien at an early age.  Her birthday is November 2nd and we usually celebrate day of the dead together.  I figured it would be nice to take her for an early birthday present to see it.  She didn’t make me close my eyes this time.  She actually really enjoyed the movie.  I did too.  There’s a lot to talk about.  For me it was a nice introduction to Denis Villeneuve and his cinematographer.  I watched Sicario the other night and there’s some really intensely poetic shots.  I also like the performances and relationships a lot in both movies.  I felt like it was very human.  It certainly felt human to watch it next to your mom in the theatre.  With things going on in the world lately I’ve been retreating in my life to things that make me feel more human.  I was just thinking to myself that it had been only maybe nine months since I abandoned alcohol.  You can’t unlearn bad habits overnight.  Sometimes it takes some intense soul searching and facing yourself in the mirror.  I don’t have the kinds of anxiety in my head that I have over the years.  I also don’t have the expectations or bizarre delusions of what success really is.  Things were not been great for awhile in my personal life.  I never could sit and watch things be corrupt.  I always had to say something unpopular year after year.  It was mostly the truth and it kept me alienated.  I finally decided to leave all the anxiety of this city behind and travel around five years ago.  I went to Hong Kong and Seoul.  I stayed in Chungking Mansions in Tsim Sha Tsui and visited my cousin who taught at a World Peace School.  She lived there with her husband from Beijing, daughter from Kenya, and half Chinese half Swedish son.  Years later in the back aisle of a movie theatre in Cicero I would finally learn those memories were indeed real.  I was not actually a replicant.

I do think the most human relationship in the movie was the love between two synthetic beings.  It was dystopian enough to sit next to my mom uncomfortably and look at my phone longingly.  Love is a complex thing to think about.  I think about it often when I run.  Days like today it hits me in the elevator when I miss my floor twice staring at my dash.  In this climate it can feel like there is no love to be found.  There is so much ugliness cracking through these days.  It sucks up the air we breathe and the energy we have to resist.  Watching a science fiction movie with my mom was a nice way to share some peace for once.  I didn’t play cards down the street this week.  Sometimes being social can be exhausting.  Everybody wants you to be the peace maker.  Last time I checked I didn’t work for the UN.  But I am a Global citizen in some respects so I try to stay reasonably open.  Two people approached me on the street yesterday and knew who I was.  They had been to a show I threw back in February of 2016.  I was doing everything by myself at that time.  I wanted it to be safe even back then.  I wanted it to be accountable. It was small.  But it was good enough for people to mention it to me on the street.  I’ve always tried to be humble above everything.  And honest.  It pains me to be honest just like everybody else.  A friend had written something about men being very anxious about talking about feminism in this climate.  You should be if you have something to hide.  That’s all there is to it.  If you feel sickened by what’s happening regardless of how you identify you should let the voices be heard.  And we should listen to every horrible detail in horror as men to be really honest.  Because we are not doing anybody any favors looking away from it.  I wonder sometimes what men are afraid of when it comes to hearing women out.  I don’t really have much to say about it personally.  I listen.  I think about how I could change.  It doesn’t matter how much better I am in some people’s eyes.  Being accountable isn’t a fun experience.  A friend had said something to me about sharing music all these years.  I’ve shared a lot.  Jokes on the internet.  Things I am thinking about.  I do wake up at 5 am sometimes paralyzed thinking for some sort of inspiration.  Some sort of plan for the day to be better than the last.  I have far less distractions these days.  Or the ones that I have just mean a lot more to me.  It’s been a long fight to make that believable.  For me it was resisting.  I can’t live in a world like this without trying to be something better.  That may just be five hundred miles of running since April talking.

The most important thing you can do in life to me is learn how to love.  I spent a lot of time traveling by myself trying to connect with elements of my past.  Maybe that was part of loving myself in a city that shunned me for not accepting the status quo.  There was a time traveling to Korea and Japan was an escape for me.  It’s funny more people know about me in context in those places than back home.  I was  a guest in those countries.  And I found a lot of genuine places that treated me like a human being.  Took me at face value and judged me by my actions.  Years later there’s places that still remember me by name and the conversations we had about America and how I view it.  I talked a lot about Daul Kim back then.  She was my first real insight into Korea.  I felt like she was a voice of a lost generation there.  She took her own life and it’s a horrible lesson to carry around in the back of your head.  How fetishization can reduce people to objects.  How loneliness exists in some of the most beautiful people.  How the world is built upon oppression, sexism and racism.  How in some way it’s hard to fight when nobody remembers what battles you lost.  I posted a photo of a ticket to the Comfort Women Museum in Seoul the other day.  A friend had talked about how men are afraid to talk about rape culture.  A friend from Seoul was the one who suggested I go to the Museum.  We went out for coffee, ice cream and eel a few times and I listened to her talk about Korean politics.  I’ve been on dates over the years but I haven’t been intimate with anybody for awhile.  I don’t believe in rushing things.  I don’t really believe in expectations.  I believe I was led to the comfort women museum to experience it.  I’ve told the story here before.  You start in the basement.  I went alone.  You work your way up.  The basement is obviously the most disturbing part.  They tell the horrible stories first.  And I cried.  I still cry.  I don’t give a fuck what anybody thinks about my tears.  That is undeniable pain.  I didn’t want a medal for it.  I got a ticket and a time stamp.  Later I worked my way up to the top and stared out at the garden.  Two older women approached me and asked why I came to visit.  I told them.  They had come from Japan to visit.  It was a very human moment.  And an honest one to face alone as a man.  Kind of like watching a 300 foot tall naked woman break Ryan Gosling’s heart in the movie theatre next to your mom.  Really glad I’m not a replicant.  Really glad my heart is not broken through all of this.  And really appreciate the people who inspire me to love more openly and honestly through these dark times.  It’s a gift to be able to feel it genuinely.  The Kate Bush discography kind of helps too. <3 Tim