#this whole idea of them being misunderstood is wild. they took their own reputation and shot it dead like a lame horse

[zeb-z]

“bad and pierre were the heroes of today the server will never know how they sacrificed their reputation to save everyone 😞” yeah and they will never know either, what are you talking about. they made their decisions without having any of the information elquackity had - there were no heroes making a difficult decision to save who they could save. there was no honor in their actions today. bad assumed everyone would be using the same underhanded tactics he planned on using. pierre just wanted to win, survival his priority even if it meant the cost of the others. any so called “heroism” was entirely accidental.

[merrythievesfanboy]

A Thomas Lightwood Bisexual Story (Part 1)

Art by NairaFeather

Takes place AFTER Chain of Gold,so will have spoilers.

Thomas Lightwood was currently at the Devil Tavern,drinking a ginger beer,and trying to understand his own feelings.

He didn't want to admit that he was struggling to understand what was happening to him. After telling Alastair Carstairs to never talk to him again,he expected to feel lighter,the rumors Alastair spreaded about his father were awful,and it caused pain to his family. It made Gideon angry,it made Sophie cry. And yet,there he was,wondering if he was too hard on Alastair.

Couldn't he simply forget all about it? Maybe that was why he asked for the beer in the first place,but then again,getting drunk would only make him forget for a period of time. He would remember eventually.

Still,it wasn't like he had a better idea anyway. The Devil was quite full this night,werewolves screaming and having fun,vampires drinking blood with some kind of weird extra ingredient,not to mention the faeries and their silly giggles.

It was hard to focus on the drinking with all that noise,Polly herself was quite curious when she saw Thomas enter all by himself. He couldn't blame her,The Merry Thieves were always together,it was hard for one of them to show up alone there.

But Thomas desperately needed to be alone. He loved his friends,but James, Matthew and Christopher wouldn't understand what he was going through now,and that was not a surprise for Thomas.

-Give me another one Polly,please.-Thomas asked,Polly stared at him with a concerned expression.

-You sure about this? Aren't your parents worried about you or something?-She asked.

-They always are,but i don't have time for their blabbering,at least not today.-Said Thomas.

-Got it.-Polly said,giving Thomas another ginger beer.

Thomas gave her a weak smile,and drank from his beer. In times like these,he wished he had the same ease Matthew had in getting drunk. Too bad,it would still take a little more for him to get there.

-Mind if i take a seat beside you?-Asked a female voice,unknown to Thomas,but she had a strong accent.

-Not at all.-Thomas said,turning his head to see who was the woman.

She had black hair,almost the same color of James',her eyes were light brown,and her skin light.

But what really caught Thomas' attention was the Voyance Rune on her hand. She was a Shadowhunter.

Thomas knew he couldn't hide his shock for a moment. A Shadowhunter girl in the Devil Tavern? Surely she was either mad or didn't knew of the reputation of the place.

-A fellow Shadowhunter in a place like this? Surely this was the last thing i thought i'd find here.-She said.

Thomas carefully chose his next words. It was kind of weird,he grew up with three women in his house,his mother and his two sisters. It was easy for him to talk with Lucie,Cordelia,even other girls that usually showed up in the balls. So why did it felt weird talking to this one?

-Pardon me,have we met before?-Asked Thomas.

-We did not. Or maybe we did. I can barely remember faces that i see in balls or other occasions.-She said.

Thomas didn't knew what to say. Surely he wasn't expecting anyone besides Polly to talk to him. He never really understood why some people would simply approach him for a conversation.

If Matthew were there,he could chat with the girl himself,or maybe if James were there,he would come up with a excuse to make them leave.

But they were not there,and Thomas had to be a gentleman,or Sophie would consider herself a terrible mother.

-I do believe we have not met before. My name is Thomas Lightwood.-He said,waiting for her answer.

-I am Giovanna Monteverde,pleased to meet you,Thomas. I am relieved to see i will have some company tonight.-She said.

-Monteverde? I think this is the first time i have met one of your family. Which is a little strange,considering that i have lived in Idris for a good part of my life.-Said Thomas.

-It is the first time i meet a Lightwood myself! Though your family is a lot more popular than mine. I do believe it is because of a certain Benedict Lightwood?-She said,smirking.

Thomas nearly blushed.

-Oh yes,there is quite a story there. Not really something us,Lightwoods,appreciate anyway.-Said Thomas.

-I see. Anyways,i have always been at the Rome Institute. Have you ever visited there?-She asked.

-I have not. But what is an Italian Shadowhunter doing in London?-Asked Thomas.

-I turned eighteen a few weeks ago,and i have decided to visit the London Institute. After all,it was here where the Mandikhor attacks happened,was it not?-She asked.

Thomas blinked,he didn't even liked to remember the Mandikhor. Their deadly poison took Barbara from him,and that wound would never heal.

-I see. So you took interest in London due to that? I assure you it was quite an awful time for us all. Luckily,we have an antidote,so if more Mandikhors show up,they won't be able to harm us that way never again.-Said Thomas.

-Oh i took interest in London for many different reasons. I heard balls in this time of the year are absolutely gorgeous. I'm excited to see all by myself.-She said.

But Thomas could barely understand her. The noise was way too loud. To be expected,after all,they were in the Devil Tavern.

-Would you like to talk in a more silent place?-Asked Thomas.

She nodded,and followed him upstairs.

When they got in the room,the thought of being alone with a girl crossed Thomas' mind,causing a strange sensation.

It was a little hard for Thomas to understand himself sometimes. He knew that people were different from each other. Even in aspects,that technically,they should be all the same.

One example was his very cousin,Anna Lightwood. He knew that dressing like a man wasn't the only thing Anna did. He knew she could seduce any girl she wanted,even though she was a girl herself.

But Thomas didn't quite felt like that. He felt attraction to girls,he knew that. But it wasn't only to them. His time in the Shadowhunter Academy made him realize that.

He felt attraction to boys too. But it seemed way too messy to think about that. He wasn't sure of the reactions something like that would cause.

His family did seem to accept that. His Uncle Gabriel and his Aunt Cecily loved Anna,and they got really mad when people used bad words to describe their daughter. All the others seemed to care for Anna the same way. His parents,his cousins too.

Still,Thomas simply didn't felt ready to reveal anything. Perhaps he was still figuring out who he trully was.

-Quite scandalous,isn't it? What would our society think if they saw a lady and a gentleman that do not have an understanding getting in a room together?-She said,laughing.

-Is that a problem for you? Also,we are only having a conversation. How could something like that be scandalous?-Thomas asked.

-Oh,i don't have a problem i assure you. But my parents would definitely have,if they knew i came to a place like this,they would be quite furious with me.-Giovanna said.

-They are not with you? Well,that's not surprising. I went to Madrid all by myself as well.-Said Thomas.

-You did? Well,seems like we have quite a bit of things in common. We are both 18 years old. Both went to different countries to visit different Institutes. And both don't really care about this whole "understanding" thing.-She said.

After Thomas locked the door,Giovanna suddenly kissed him.

It took him a few seconds to understand what was happening there. She was a stranger,still,they were kissing. Maybe he was not crystal clear in his intentions? He really brought her there just to talk.

They broke the kiss,both in need of air. Her lips tasted like alcohol and something sweet,almost like strawberry.

-Don't take me wrong,i don't really do this with every gentleman i see.-She said.

-I think you may have misunderstood me. I wasn't planning on...-Thomas was saying,but he didn't even knew how to finish that sentence.

-I was though. Unless you have an understanding with some lady in London? If you do,i am more than ready to leave.-Giovanna said.

Thomas just stood there for a moment,thinking about the answer he could give her. He could lie,lie and make her leave him alone there. Seemed like the more reasonable thing to do. He was a gentleman,and he didn't want to ruin her reputation,like a man once did with Eugenia.

Still,was that what he really wanted? If she was visiting London,then certainly they would meet again,probably at the Institute at any moment. But he could have this little secret of his.

-Should i leave,Thomas?-She asked again.

Thomas shook his head.

-No.-He said,and kissed her again.

They fought for dominance,deepening the kiss as they moved towards the small bed in the room. It wasn't a big room really,but then,Thomas never thought he would ever do something like this.

Giovanna unbottoned his shirt,revealing Thomas' tanned muscled body,she ran her hands over his chest and his hard abs,it was quite the sensation.

-Raziel bless the Shadowhunter training.-She said,Thomas almost laughed. It was surely something a lady should never say. But he didn't care,and Giovanna didn't seemed to care either.

-Is this okay for you? I truly do not wish to do something you are not okay with.-Thomas said.

-Do not worry,Thomas. Nobody in London knows me,and i don't really care about what people think of me. And it isn't like you are ruining me or anything. I want this too.-She said.

-Very well then.-Thomas said,taking his shirt off and laying with her on the bed.

"The Next Morning"

Thomas woke up with the sunlight on his eyes. He still was at the Devil's,and the memories of the last night invaded his mind.

Giovanna. They had slept together. It was definitely one of the most amazing nights he ever had. Surely one he would never forget.

He wasn't wearing any clothes,and only the bed sheets covered him.

-Damn.-Thomas said,after realizing that all his clothes were scattered on the floor. It was quite a wild night.

He heard footsteps,though he wasn't really sure if he had completely woke up yet. Perhaps he was still sleeping?

-How strange. I don't really remember locking the door after we left.-Said a voice he knew well.

Matthew. What bloody hell was he doing there so early?

-I'm pretty sure we left the key with Thomas.-Said James.

-We didn't find him anywhere though.-Said Christopher.

"Oh bloody damn hell!" Thomas thought,they were all here? And he wasn't even dressed!

-Thankfully,i always bring my spare key with me.-Said Christopher.

There was no time to do anything. They entered the room and saw Thomas in that situation.

All of them looked absolutely in shock. Matthew looked like he was about to laugh. Christopher was blinking quite fast,and James gasped.

-Tom? What on earth? Why is the room this messy? Are these your clothes on the floor?-James asked.

Thomas looked at the window. Alastair crossed his mind. He was probably awake and living his life as if nothing happened. He probably didn't even care if Thomas wouldn't like to talk to him ever again.

Yet,he was still there,on his mind.

Perhaps there was more than just attraction and sex in the world. Perhaps love was an actual possibility.

But Thomas wasn't sure if he would ever figure that out.

[owlsshadows]

Confession Time (IzanaYuki, part 5)

1 Tea Time | 2 Study Time | 3 Garden Time | 4 Zen Time

She asked him exactly how he plans to court her.

Izana has no idea.

He never had.

But she touched his face and her fingers smelled like lavender and sage – and he wanted to bury his face in her hand and plant kisses in her palm, and he never wanted anyone more before.

He lost.

She walks ahead of him now on the rocky path down to the stables – her white dress letting through just enough light for his thoughts to wander – and she laughs, carefree, as if she owned the whole world, as if she had nothing to fear. As if she did not confront Zen just an hour ago.

She is nothing he has seen before. She honestly, truly mesmerizes him.

As an heir to the throne, he has always been surrounded by swarms of young ladies whom, just as the suitors proposed by the Council of the Wise, were way more interested in his title and the influence coming with it, than him. These ladies found the sound of ‘queen’ sweet enough to tolerate his manners – most of which he invented to get rid of them – and quite a few would not have shied away from dirty methods to become widowed young.

So when he first heard that his little brother – his sweet, naïve little brother, who believed in the good in people and who thought that a battle can be won on values and virtue alone – returned with a souvenir from one of his secret trips to the borders, Izana was more than ready to get rid of the girl as soon as possible. At first she did not seem to be too hard to deal with, taken aback by his bold hostility. She wavered when facing him, answers never quite sharp; only her eyes, her eyes fighting him on every occasion.

It was in Lyrias when he first saw her shine – it was her unwavering judgement, her devotion and professionalism that first caught his eye. Shirayuki was not aiming to see Zen, all she could see amidst the chaos was the contagion threatening the town and the people she wanted to save. She selflessly worked to the point of fainting, and the body in his arms felt way too light as he brought her to the infirmary.

He took her for a rookie opportunist. He could not have misjudged her more, and oh, how he regrets it now that he has thoroughly fallen for her.

Even if all he gave away was the confession that his teasing had some truth behind; he knows he lost. He armed her, and Shirayuki has never been one to not use a weapon in her hand.

As they reach the stables Shirayuki smirks at him, reminiscing about that one time in Lyrias when he let her sit with him in the saddle.

“There are times I regret learning how to ride a horse,” she says, playful glint in her eyes.

“Really?”

“Un. In times like this, I wish I could pretend to be young and inexperienced.”

“Oh?” he helps her in the saddle, helpless. “And why would you?”

“Don’t act dumb, Izana,” she laughs, baring her sharp teeth at him. “Who wouldn’t want to be seated in front of you, back pressed against your firm chest!”

“You ridicule me,” he states.

“I do. But can’t a jest hold some truth, Your Majesty?”

Her question is elegantly posed, flirtatious, lethal. Exactly how Izana expected.

“I see,” he says, not quite ready to give in to her yet. “Should we ditch your horse then?”

Shirayuki turns her head to him, face equal parts surprised and excited. She raises a brow, slowly, contemplating.

“It depends,” she says then. “Maybe.”

She canters ahead, red hair flowing behind her in the air. As she moves, she pulls the air around him; and rather than the smell of the horses and the stable, it is the thick, earthy scent of herbs that sticks in his mind.

“Depends on what?” Izana catches up, leading his horse next to hers.

“Since when have you been ‘mesmerized by my beauty and my brains’?” she cites him.

If the question takes him aback, at least the bluntness of it, Izana is a master of hiding his emotions – and no matter how he feels as if he was lying beside the feet of this woman, he is still a king with reputable cunning. It is not for his wits, but his routine that his surprise does not show on his face.

He decides, in the split of a second’s time, to respond to her with the same candor.

“I estimate it to be somewhere around the time you started wanting to be pressed against my firm chest.”

Her eyes lose a tad of their shine as she blinks away rapidly.

“Oh,” she says.

Her lips form a tiny ‘o’ and stay like that. A feeling of superiority washes over Izana with childish satisfaction, and leaves him a little less lost.

Shirayuki is still Shirayuki. Even if he was careless enough to give her the means to kill him slowly, she is still a benevolent spirit. She grants him the chance to fight for his life.

“Did I surprise you?” he asks. “Back with Zen…”

“Well,” she starts, reining her horse in a slow, casual pace. Izana matches her rhythm, training his eyes on her. As if to avoid his gaze, she looks straight ahead now, showing her profile to him. “I was not… necessarily… surprised. I mean. Mesmerized can mean a lot of things. Professionally speaking I had a general idea of your approval of me for quite some time, so to be mesmerized by my brains is not at all surprising. To speak of my beauty, though…”

“It’s your eyes,” Izana confesses. “It has always been.”

“What of it?”

“The determination that shines in your eyes is my demise.”

“I’m headstrong,” she translates his words, voice almost tired.

“I find it attractive.”

Silence falls between them. Shirayuki turns her head in his direction, watching his face intently. She searches him, as if she was trying to look through him and his well-trained poker face.

As if he would let her.

As is he could leave her hanging.

“Day by day, I’m surrounded by people who change their opinion with the tide. People whose morals are holding up only until they are in a position beneficial for them. To find someone who will not bend or accept a compromise at the expense of others…”

He trails off, his eyes wander. He looks at the glint of sunshine caught in her unruly brows, the trace of freckles sprawling across her forehead, the piece of hair caught in her eyelashes.

“You know, in the beginning, when you insisted on your friendship with Zen, those eyes of yours drove me crazy. I was determined to dull their shine.”

“You don’t have to remind me, really,” she says.

“Now it feels like a breath of fresh air,” Izana continues unfazed, holding her gaze.

Shirayuki blinks, shying away.

“You call it beauty but it’s my personality after all,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear tensely.

“You’re beautiful,” he says. “I’m especially captivated by your eyes, true, but I could spend days looking at your face, the curve of your lips or the shape of your cheekbones or...”

“I didn’t intend to seek flattery,” she cuts in, embarrassment tinting her face.

“It wasn’t to flatter you,” Izana replies. “I honestly find you beautiful.”

“Izana…”

“No, let me address this, as I might get misunderstood. Your beauty is not just a pretty face or a desirable body. You have them both, undeniably, but it truly is your personality which makes you irresistible.”

“Am I… irresistible?” Shirayuki coughs, reddening deeper. The doubt in her voice is almost painful. Izana looks at her in horror, a sudden urge awakening in him to drag all those people out who have ever made her lose confidence, ready to have them meet dreadful ends.

“Yes,” he says, firm. “You are.”

A silence fills the space between them, akin to the one before, yet so different. The look on Shirayuki’s face is no longer searching, but outright shocked, eyes wide open like two green ponds in a poppy field.

Izana feels the reins of the situation finally fall into his hands – strangely, only after he gave up all resistance to fight his demise.

“Now… did I surprise you?” he asks.

Shirayuki opens her mouth to reply, then closes, opens it again and shuts it close.

She is lost.

So, so lost.

“Yes?” she manages to say, octave higher than usual, squinting, as if she asked him to advise her on the answer.

“In this case, I apologize for my bluntness. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“It’s not… uncomfortable,” Shirayuki says. “It’s just… wild.”

“Wild?”

“A little different from how I imagined.”

“Mesmerized can mean a lot of things, you said so yourself.”

“But I never imagined for you to be this mesmerized, Your Majesty.”

“I have not always been this mesmerized,” Izana says. “But you grew on me.”

“Are you, and pardon my impertinence to ask, perhaps in love with me?”

“Would it change anything if I said I did?”

“I…”

“In lines with our agreement, I am to make you fall for me. Me being in love with you should not alter things between us the slightest bit.”

“But I can’t simply…”

“Shirayuki,” Izana leans over, pulling the reins of both her and his own horse. He waits until they come to a halt before speaking up again. “If you continue to worry about what I said, I will be forced to ask you to forget it all.”

“How could I forget you calling me irresis…”

His finger comes up to seal her lips, rendering her silent.

“Shirayuki. I wouldn’t want to take the truth from you, but you really upset me at the moment.”

He feels her huff, as she lets out a sigh through her nose, but she resists no longer. He lets her go, gripping the reins of his own horse to lead it down the path leading towards the lake.

Shirayuki grabs his coat to stop him, looking in his eyes with a serious face.

“I… I apologize for teasing you,” she says then, bowing her head. “Should I knew the extent of your affections I wouldn’t have dared to…”

Izana lets out a breathy laugh.

“So… my firm chest, huh?”

Shirayuki looks at him equal parts relieved and betrayed.

“I could’ve said anything from your strong arms to that stupid handsome face of yours,” she says. “It was just an example to rile you up.”

“I see,” he says, tasting her defenses. “And? How much truth did your little joke have?”

“Is that important?” she asks back meekly, red creeping back onto her face.

“I try to seize this opportunity to affirm our mutual interest. I hope your pride would not prevent you from speaking the truth.”

“It won’t,” Shirayuki shakes her head, falling suddenly silent. Izana trains his eyes on her, waiting for anything further, but nothing comes.

“I see,” he says finally, urging his horse to a lazy trot.

They move in silence for a while until they reach a pond, where Izana motions they get down from their horses. Once he tied the reins of their horses to a neighboring tree, he takes a basket down from his saddle – he had that light lunch packed after all.

Shirayuki helps him lay down a blanket after she carefully examined the grass for anthills.

He takes out the cheese, fruits and wine, and summons a pair of glasses from somewhere deep inside the saddlebag. Shirayuki accepts the wine silently, and after sipping her first glass slowly, she chugs down a second within a second. When she leans across the blanket to reach the bottle for a third, Izana stops her with his arm.

“I’m still waiting for your reply, you know,” he says.

“It’s not my pride,” Shirayuki says. “The thing stopping me.”

“Then what?”

Blinking at his arm before her she quivers, trying to retreat to the far edge of the blanket. When she answers, her voice is barely audible.

“It’s my fear.”

“Fear of what?”

“My fear of falling for you, Izana.”

“Would it be that bad?”

“It would mean that we marry.”

It takes Izana a second to digest what he heard and collect himself. It takes him another to lean forward and take her glass to lay it down beside the blanket, outside of Shirayuki’s reach.

“Is it my rank, my behavior, or does marriage itself frighten you?” he asks.

“None of them? All of them?” Shirayuki hesitates. “Maybe not your behavior. That one I’m used to. But… becoming a queen? Or a wife? You may even be able to convince me that I’m worthy of your attention for the time being, but my doubts will stay with me. What if I can’t perform my duties well? What if I’m infertile? You will be pressured even more by the Council and the nobles, you will lose that little popularity too that you have…”

“Now, that’s just plain rude,” Izana cuts in, grabbing her aimlessly flailing arms. “First, because you question my taste in women. And second, because you imply that my people don’t like me.”

“You can’t just… fall for me, while I’m still trying to grasp the reality of the whole situation,” Shirayuki mumbles, poking at his hand supporting his weight.

“It doesn’t change a thing…”

“It changes everything!” she cries out, only to retreat further the next moment. “Izana I… I’m terribly afraid. I can’t just admit to my attraction without thinking of the consequences.”

“So, you are attracted to me?”

“Of course I am, have you ever taken a good glance in the mirror?”

“Ah, you said you like my face before…”

“I said you were pretty. I didn’t say I like any of it.”

“But you have just said that you are attracted to me.”

“I did.”

“So… which one is it?”

“Not the face.”

“My firm chest then.”

“Izana, please don’t tease me, this is hard as it is already.”

She lets out a frustrated huff, tears shining in the corner of her eyes. She is not looking up, not looking at him – she stares at the hand she pokes gently, as if she was knocking on a door timidly.

“I get it. I won’t pry any further until you come to me on your own.”

“But you can’t do that, Izana, not if you really… I know myself better than anyone else, and I can’t guarantee that you would ever have a reply.”

Izana holds back a sigh.

“Addressing your fears,” he taps on her fingers, slowly entwining them with his own. “Becoming a queen is not much different from becoming anyone else’s wife. You’re great at diplomacy. You have proved yourself countless times already. And if you are worried about court etiquette, changing it is what kings are for.”

“But what if I will not be to your liking as your wife?”

“I’m afraid you can’t be not to my liking.”

“But what if I can’t bear your child?”

“Even if you were not to bear my children, I wouldn’t want anyone else as my wife,” he says, eliciting a small whine from her. “Anyways, you said it yourself that we will discuss it later, what you get to bear my child…”

“That was my immature arrogance…”

“So?” Izana asks, silent as a whisper and soft as an embrace.

Shirayuki lifts her stare from their entwined fingers, eyes shining wet.

Izana cannot help, but dry off her tears with his fingers.

“See. I just promised my brother that I will never hurt you, and here I’ve already made you cry.”

“Heh,” Shirayuki smiles through her tears. “You can say in your defense that I was so touched from your confession that I started crying.”

“Were you, though? I don’t recall confessing.”

“I didn’t forget.”

“You should,” Izana replies. “It was not the best confession in history.”

“Then what would be the best confession in history according to Your Majesty?” she asks, and he takes up on her curiosity in an attempt to console her.

With his words, he brings a grand scene to life, a ball with flowers and jewels and horses and chariots, and hundreds of guests and attendants, fireworks and illusionists – managing to make her laugh. And it is the moment she tilts her head back to laugh, the moment her tears shine like diamonds in between her eyelashes, the moment her nose is red and stuffy, her voice is coarse and the edges of her lips have become puffy and slightly shapeless – the moment he leans down to press a kiss on her eye.

Her laugh gets caught in her throat, diminishing into a tiny whimper. Surprised, she blinks up at him.

“Sorry. I didn’t plan to…”

“Do you really find me irresistible?” she asks.

Izana gulps in response, opening, then closing his lips without saying anything.

He was not to kiss her. He did not want her to feel pressured by his feelings. He wanted to relieve her burden with an overblown story, not to silence her with an act of affection she never asked for. He – he lost.

Control, tact, mind, the right to console her – he lost them all with one simple, thoughtless action.

He wishes he could rewind time. Redo it all.

Take back his words and actions.

Go aloof about it. Wait for it. Be composed, gallant and patient.

Tell her a joke.

Encourage her with his actions, rather than his words.

Court her, the way courting is supposed to be done – write her a poem, a love letter, send her flowers and take her for a walk in the gardens. Become her chatting partner before becoming her confidant; her best friend before becoming her lover.

He messed up. Played too fast, too eager.

“Shirayuki, I apologize,” he starts. “If you wish, I release you from our agreement right here and right now, I accompany you back to the castle and treat this whole proposal as something that never happened…”

“Do you really find me irresistible?” she asks again, voice weak and nasal, but her eyes, fixated on him, are fearless again.

Izana gulps for a second time, wishing for the knot to untie itself in his throat.

“I do,” he says.

“You… sure seem strangely honest today,” Shirayuki replies, reaching for his hand he pulled away. Instead of entwining their fingers again, she slides her hand up his arm, squeezing him at his shoulder, fingers digging into the muscles so hard it hurts.

“Shirayuki…”

“I can’t promise you a thing.”

Her fingers curl in closer, crumpling his coat underneath. Her nails, clipped short, feel hard but blunt through the layers.

“I can’t promise that I’ll be a good wife, or that I’ll bring you happiness. I can’t promise you an heir either.”

“You don’t have to,” Izana breathes.

Shirayuki takes a deep breath, tugging at his shoulder to draw him closer.

“But I won’t allow you to release me. Not when you are finally within my reach.”

[adrianfavell]

Radicalism in the Wilderness

BOOK REVIEW

[expanded version of review published in Japan Times on 26/02/17]

Reiko Tomii (2016) Radicalism in the Wildnerness: International Contemporaneity and 1960s Art in Japan. Boston, MA: MIT Press, pp. xviii+293

Reiko Tomii’s profound, yet accessible, study of 1960s avant garde art from Japan offers an answer to a perennial problem in the appreciation of Japanese culture. So often international observers rely on the perception that culture from Japan is “exquisite” or “cool”, without knowing how or where to place it in international currents. Japan indeed often represents a clichéd parade of the exotic, weird and plain off-the-wall. At the same time, avant garde movements, seen to be delayed copies of trends which started in London, Paris or New York, have often been ridiculed as derivative—as infamously happended to the pioneering Gutai group of artists, when their works were first compared alongside Jackson Pollack in 1958. The apparent craziness of Japanese avant garde gestures also frequently baffles, its throaway ephemerality and  “vanguard extremism” foregrounded for amusement: all those 1960s artists with a predilection for dangerous group stunts, often in the nude...  The well known critic Yoshiaki Tōno once said in frustration that this was like forever equating its avant garde artists to wartime kamikaze pilots.

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Reiko Tomii’s mission is to retrieve these misunderstood visionaries from the “abyss of history”. For many years, she has been the leading figure of a New York-centred network of art historians (PoNJA GenKon) working to establish the reputation of avant garde fine art from Japan in the post-war period. As an independent writer, educator and curator, she has been involved in many of the key translations of contemporary Japanese art writing, and some of the most important exhibitions in the city. In her own work and those around her, she has marshalled the flowering of understanding about Japanese art from the 1950s and 60s in particular. Radicalism in the Wildeness reads like a lifework, many years in the gestation. And, although it may seem to be on a specialised topic, its argument holds a very broad significance for the global study of culture.

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Tomii cuts to the heart of the dilemma of how we are to understand what she calls the “contemporaneity” (kokusaiteki dōjisei) of Japanese works: striking and original art that was similar yet dissimilar to more renowned innovations taking place at around the same time in the US or Europe. They were neither really in advance nor behind, but with careful reconstruction of their relations, can all be placed correctly as part of global innovation, through a comparative and transnational exposure of  what she calls “connections” and “resonances”. Sometimes real networks and direct translation of ideas can be found; and sometimes, rather, related discoveries of global import were being made synchronously in local places, in different parts of the world. The history she writes is of the 1960s, when events in culture and politics were momentous everywhere, with a heightened globility intensified by growing linkages. She is proposing, in effect, a model for the study of  global transactions and undercurrents, which can work to decentre the Eurocentric tendencies of conventional art history, while underlining a historical lesson of understanding the global as happening at once and variously in multiple, distinct locations. At the same time, the Japanese embraced a conception of “contemporary art” (gendai bijutsu) in the 1960s, that was ahead of the notion “contemporary” being adopted in the US and Europe. 

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The book is built around three particular case studies of artists, among the lesser known in the pantheon of post-war Japanese art. These vivid presentations are a masterclass of art historical writing in their precise documentation and narrative unfolding. The first, Yutaka Matsuzawa, was a philosophically minded conceptualist whose purpose as an artist became clear when he had a vision about art needing to “vanish the object”. After the suspension of the famous Tokyo avant garde art show, the Yomiuri Independent Exhibition, in 1964, he went on to to staging exhibitions of invisible art works in remote locations. Next up, The Play, were a 60s collective in the Kansai region who coalesced as a group to devise a mode of working outside art instutions with absurdist performances. In a famous piece they all rode together on a styrofoam raft shaped like an arrow down river from Kyoto to Osaka. The third, GUN (Group Ultra Niigata) experimented with a Japanese variant of land art. The cover of the book shows their work in a mountainous part of Niigata, spraying colour in a snow field out of borrowed farmer’s pesticide equipment. Each of these artists and groups took their radical reaction to the constraints of mainstream society and culture out into the wildnerness of rural Japan.

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This idea of “wilderness” as a key characteristic of Japanese contemporary art plays a central role in Tomii’s argumentation. It refers to those who have often worked in rural locations outside of institutionalised forms and channels of recognition, far from metropolitanTokyo. It also speaks of the wilderness of working in the absense of any viable commercial form of making a living—it is this which leads to the ephemerality and physicality of contemporary art gestures, in what Tomii calls the chronically under-commodified environment of Japan, compared to highly self-conscious performances of Euro-American conceptualism when it took a break from lucrative gallery shows. It is also the wilderness of Japan in relation to the world’s art centres and powers.

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How much these artists fulfill the promise of “radicalism” in the title is sometimes harder to grasp. Unlike, say, the much celebrated Genpai Akasegawa who fell into long running conflicts with the authoriries for his work, such as his model Y1,000 note, these artists were rarely political in a direct sense. The leader of Gun, Michio Horikawa, posted a black stone to Richard Nixon in 1969 (which was politiely received), and printed fake zero en postage stamps with the prime  minister’s face. But on the whole, these artists shunned the political activism of the time, and steered well clear of any grounded social engagement of the kind nowadays so widespread in Japan. Tomii sees this as a strong point: that their interventions, as art, now restored to the canon, have lasted so much longer than the futile violence of 60s and 70s radical leftists. At the same time, their absurdist gestures were accused of being “bourgeois art”.

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Tomii’s writing works as handbook of contemporary art history references, but more connections might be made with the long standing post-colonial literatures in historiography, philosophy and sociology, which have long wrestled with issues of “provincialising” the West, or revealing the power of “glocal” cultural forms. Tomii, in effect, proposes an addition to these “decolonial” models and it would be good to see her work rightly placed at the heart of intense current debates on the idea of thus studying “Asia as Method”.

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For all their iconoclastic edge, the 1960s pioneers were absorbed into Japanese museum presentations in the 1970s, and they have received some wider appreciation in recent years. Matsuzawa’s famous Psi Zashiki Room was recreated for visitors at the Yokohama Triennale 2014 by artist-curator Yasumasa Morimura. The Play have recreated their work in Paris, and attracted the attention of international curators such as Tom Trevor.  GUN’s rural work, which remains a little more obscure, was a precuror to the Echigo-Tsumari art triennale, which takes place in the same region. Tomii’s rigorous “amplification” of these figures puts them back into a “decentred” canon, “regrouping” post-war Japanese art as among the most extraordinary production world wide.

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Over-emphasising this art historical point, though, would be to limit this book to specialists. Beautifully written and structured, Radicalism in the Wilderness is a book for any culturally literate reader interested in questioning how to study regional art in its correct international context. As it is discovered, it will surely receive wide attention: as a central contribution to post-colonial work re-assessing ideas of centre and periphery, and a very-likely-to-be classic contribution to global cultural studies.

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Adrian Favell

http://www.adrianfavell.com