The Paradox of Pain

I write this with a gutted feeling in the center of my chest, after just finishing Fables Volume 18 ("Fables: Cubs in Toyland").

There are some plots--in TV, books, movies, etc--that are are predictable. This does not mean that they're bad. Sometimes, especially when I've had an exhausting day, all I want is something straightforward and simple, something that won't make my brain or heart hurt. And I'll freely admit: I love Downton Abbey to the bottom of my heart, and boy does it ever make my heart hurt, but it is not exactly subtle. I can usually see the hurt coming from a mile off and attempt to build whatever hasty fortifications I can. Do they work? Not really. And I'm not criticizing it for the fact that I can (sometimes) anticipate events--I'm just pointing out the fact.

However, while predictable plot lines aren't bad, and can be quite engaging, and moving, and surprising, and powerful despite the fact, as with Downton Abbey, they never have quite the effect as things that take you really by surprise. And a lot of that surprise has to do with the suspense that comes from accepting the possibility of pain, from knowing that there are no limits that the creator isn't willing to cross.

There are some shows, books, movies, etc, that you know will never do anything drastic. You know the ones I mean. You can always tell--maybe you've read/seen other work by that creator and know what you're in for, maybe throughout the work there are opportunities to take it to the next level and it doesn't go there, maybe it's just a feeling you foster, throughout the experience, based on writing style or the choices the creator makes. However you arrived at the knowledge, you know that nothing truly bad will ever happen to the main characters. Nobody "important" will ever die, all of the scrapes and dangerous situations will be escaped from, there will inevitably be a happy ending in which everything has been worked out and everyone is settled with their Romantic Interest. And again, I'm not saying that happy endings are bad things. But when you know that it's coming, it makes the journey of getting there a whole lot less impactful.

The stunning ones, the ones that live in your bones, are the ones that rip your heart out. Maybe early on they kill off a character unexpectedly, or take the story where you never thought they would. They do something heart-wrenching, something mind-blowing, that you never thought they would dare to do. Because not many stories dare to be daring. Generally, people like happy endings, like knowing that the people they are reading about/watching are safe, and producers and publishers like people being happy (they're the ones that will keep spending money). Deus ex machina is the beloved of the audience, for its presence ensures and reassures that the creators are not willing to do anything truly injurious to the characters, and thus will not do anything injurious to them, ever. But the daring ones take away the safety net of predictability. By demonstrating that they are willing to take that leap past the point of no return, they establish the pervasive, ever-hovering threat that they will do so again. They obliterate the limits of expected story lines, and that is a scary thing for audiences. It indicates that they are serious. That they have no qualms about doing the unimaginable. In this they create the suspense that is the hated and adored of all fans.

Just knowing that something irreparable can happen, because it's already been done once and what's to stop them from doing it again?, makes the thing so much more alive. Every emotion is heightened during the experience--every cliffhanger more frightening and every hint more meaningful. It is an exhausting state to be in, a horrible state, a state of constant tension and paranoia. It is a wonderful state. You become so much more attached to the characters, so much more invested in the story. The experience is that much sharper and that much more powerful. You soak everything up, all of the dialogue and the choices and the hilarity and the happiness, all of the dilemmas and the characters and the relationships between them. They become precious things, when if the unthinkable hadn't happened, they wouldn't be, not to the same extent. Because you never know. Everything is coated in a poignant layer of disquiet, all within the audience's mind.  

This is why I love it when books and TV shows make me cry, when I am left reeling and in pain for days. As much as I hate it when bad things happen to the characters I love, I love it when bad things happen to the characters I love.

A few of the stories imprinted on my heart because of their proficiency in this torture :

• Fables, a graphic novel series by Bill Willingham and Mark Buckingham. This is one of the most striking things I've ever read, because 1) the story line is incredibly original, complex, and continuously surprising and nuanced, 2) the artwork is astoundingly beautiful, and adds a whole other layer to the plot and to the reading experience, and 3) it breaks my heart with every volume. 
• Primeval, a British TV show that finished airing in 2011 (though all of it is on Netflix Instant Watch and I'm sure various other internet-places). The season finale of Season One is the episode that changes it all, and from then on the punches just keep coming. There is no reprieve. Amazingly disregarding of customary narrative conventions. You learn quickly not to get too comfortable with the state of things. It has great characters and relationships, and is very, very funny when it's not throwing you for a loop.
• Fringe, an American TV show which just aired it's series finale on Fox a few weeks ago. Shockingly inventive, and yet somehow believable from the beginning, I can't remember exactly when you realize that this show does what it wants. The plot arcs are incredibly complicated and complex, everything building on and off of everything else to create a layered web that you don't even really notice the depth, and genius of, until you start exploring it. It has some of the best characters and character depictions I've ever seen. The kind of show that is truly willing to do anything. Anything. No matter what kind of pain it inflicts on the viewers in doing so.
• Unspoken, by Sarah Rees Brennan. Arguably all of her other books too (particularly The Demon's Lexicon series), which are just as powerful and suspenseful and heart wrenching, though less notably so than in this one. The full extent to which the author will go is not evident until the very last pages ("She can't," you think while reading. "Sarah Rees Brennan won't. She just won't." And then she does, and the book becomes that much more intricate and emotional, and you realize that you never really expected her to in the first place, because what she does is downright cruel to her readers). Her fans constantly complain about what she does to them in this book, and she takes great pride in her reputation as a heartbreaker.
• Doctor Who, a longstanding British TV show which is wonderful for many reasons, and which I am including here because when my friends and I watched the finale of the latest season (Season 7, episode 5 of the current series), we cried not once but twice, the last time for a good twenty minutes because Things Happened and they were not Pleasing Things. I've watched intermittent episodes of previous seasons, all within the current series, and have cried multiple times, notably during the momentous episodes.  

There are many other books which possess this quality, and which I love very much, but the things listed above are the things which I hold most notably in my mind as examples of this. I could also give a list of shows and books which aren't daring in this way, and which I still adore. Though this is one of the features of stories that I appreciate the most while reading/watching, and which I think can change the whole tone, depth, and impact of them, it itself is not an exclusive indicator of a good story.  

There are many of those which do not cause intense emotional distress. 

--Flannery   

Book People

...Or, A Post In Which Flannery Carries On About Jane Austen, A Quest For The Time Machine, And Questions Concerning Her Future.

(Disclaimer: I am the one who is not concise. It is one of many traits my pseudosister possesses that I sometimes wish I could steal. I make my apologies now.)

I have been having a lot of feelings about books lately. Not in a "I just finished this awesome novel, allow me to fangirl for a while" way (though admittedly that happens a lot), but in a "I want to be involved in the literary world, look at these awesome things, and the awesome things people are saying--let me join in" way.

In addition to being a Pseudosister, I'm an administrator for the Jane Austen page on the Fandom blog. Today, Dear Readers, was the 200th anniversary of the publication of Pride and Prejudice. I will not allow this to devolve into a P&P-appreciation post, but suffice it to say that that novel is very near and dear to my heart, as is Jane Austen and her works in general (am I staying up far later than I should considering I have class tomorrow morning watching my collection of adaptations on my laptop? Did my friend and I spend a good five minutes making incomprehensible noises and dancing around the hallway after we watched today's Lizzie Bennet Diaries episode? ...Maybe. Maybe). And I spent most of my day between classes and chorus and eating and other important things like that scouring the internet for links and dates for my "200th anniversary" post.

What struck me was not only that there was stuff about it everywhere--in newspapers, on blogs, in museums, in ads, in recently-released books--but that everyone was still talking about it in the first place. 200 years is a long time. It's a testament to Austen's skill as a writer and the universal themes of her story that after all this time people are still as enamored of it as they were in 1813. It's never been out of print! There have been 20 million copies sold worldwide! So many movie adaptations, and book adaptations, and books and art and other things inspired by this novel; people regularly dress up in period costume and hold events like those of the Regency era; there is merchandise and fan fiction and I don't even know what else. (This is starting to turn into a litany of Jane Austen Enthusiasm, isn't it? ...Heh.) The devotion of the fans is incredible (and if there's one thing the internet has taught us, it's not to underestimate the emotions of a fan). It has been debated and analyzed in all kinds of academic settings and scholarly discussions.

And the awesome thing is that the same can be said about any number of literary works. So many books continue to inspire and encourage people, providing enjoyment and prompting wide varieties of conversations, despite their age. This is what I love.

As someone who grew up in a household full of books (literally full of. We're almost at 19,000 and counting, and no, I am not making that up), and was taught to understand and enjoy both the overreaching and personal importance of them (basically what I'm saying is that I was born and raised a nerd), I love that people are so eager and willing to express their feelings about a novel, be they positive or negative, and that these feelings are getting so much widespread attention in today's society. I love that people are talking about books, in, at least from what I saw, a civilized manner. There were no personal attacks in the comments, no blind promotion or hatred, but rather explained, respectful opinions.

I know that the kind of comments I just described are not necessarily normal (oh how I wish!)--I need only to go watch a music video on YouTube to see the truth in that. But this brings me to the core of this post, to the feelings that prompted this post in the first place. I can't help but feel that book people are good people. That statement is pretty naive and generalized, I know, but...seeing people be happy together over books makes me happy. I can't help but think well of someone who can have a logical discussion on the merits or lack-thereof of a novel, or who can happily devote the time to writing an article about a book or character or adaptation, etc, or who gets so attached to a piece of writing that they spiral into incomprehensible noises and dances in hallways. Hey, I'm a nerd. It's what I do.

It's not just today, though, with the Austen post. Whenever I have an English class I try to buy the books at one of the fabulous independent bookstores in town rather than from the campus bookstore. For my sci-fi/fantasy class I needed a good long list of them, and so into the first indie I went. As the clerk was looking up the titles, we got into a conversation, started by the fact that they didn't have a copy of The Time Machine and that that was actually the one I needed first. He kept telling me that they could order it, but that wasn't really the point.
"It's fine that you don't have it, I just wanted to see if any of the local stores had the books I needed before getting them from school," I told him.
It was like a magic key. We began talking in earnest, with him saying several times how appreciative he and his fellow clerk (I have a feeling they were the owners) were for my going to indies, and he went on a bit of a mini-rant about universities and their ways of tricking students (this post isn't a plug for independent bookstores, I promise, though really. Think about it.). The clerks asked what course the books were for, what professor I had, and I told them. They happily exclaimed that the professor shops there often!
"Oh, I know we have this one in stock, my fellow clerk loves it! Your professor probably got this recommendation from her!"
I bought what books I could and placed and order for the rest, and as I was paying the clerk said, laughing, "This is a long list! I'll tell [your professor] to go easy on you guys next time he's here!"
I left filled with a renewed love for and pride in book people. It's this kind of relationship, this camaraderie, that I adore. It was a short, pretty impersonal conversation. And yet there was kinship, based on the mere shared love of books and the recognition of that love in the other person.

(As I read over this, I want to add that in a sense I'm talking about nerds as well as book people--there's the same feeling of connection about all sorts of things people are passionate about, be it Doctor Who or Jane Austen or what have you. This wonderful quote from John Green, which I have immortalized on a poster on my wall, encompasses the emotion and bond I'm trying to relate: "Nerds like us are allowed to be unironically enthusiastic about stuff. Nerds are allowed to love stuff--like, jump-up-and-down-in-your-chair-can't-control-yourself love it. When people call people nerds, mostly what they're saying is "You like stuff," which is not a good insult at all. Like, "You are too enthusiastic about the miracle of human consciousness.")

It happened again in the next store I went into (still on my quest for a copy of The Time Machine). The person behind the desk was one I was familiar with, the woman who headed the Young Adult section there and who I had bonded with in a similar way, as I just had with the other clerks, on previous occasions, when I had gone in to buy new releases of things and we ended up trading book recommendations for a good ten minutes. She told me that they were out of The Time Machine, and then--
"I love your pin!" gesturing to the "YA Saves" pin I have on my coat.
I beamed, thanked her, and left. It's rare that people know what my pin means--the only other time someone has commented on it (apart from giving it confused looks/ignoring it/cautiously asking me about it) was in fact in the only independent bookstore near my hometown, when the clerk said "I love your pin! Mine's at home!". I felt again that kinship, that sense of "You're a part of my world and I'm a part of yours, and I acknowledge and appreciate that fact".

I love being a book person, being a part of that world. And I guess I'm getting around to the other part of my post. I want to spend my life being in that world, I want to be allowed to do that for a job. People always say to do what you love, and...that's it. Writing, of course, is part of it--I will never stop dreaming of becoming a published author--but apart from that, which I can not see going over very well with the parents when I graduate college ("Guess what! I'm not going to get a job with an immediate income! I'm going to spend all my time writing novels and trying to get them published!"), I want to do something with literature. Whenever I have encounters like the ones I did in the bookstores, as well as when I simply read an article about issues in publishing and the YA world or current YA trends or the problems with the portrayal of certain YA trends, I get such an intense feeling of "when can I do this?". I want to talk about these things. I want to write about these things. I have more intense feelings and opinions about these things than I do about many others. The problem...is that I don't actually know what I want to do. 

I have been somewhat apprehensive lately about the fact that I really have no idea what actual job I want to do after I graduate, or even what I want to major in. As a first-year college student, I know that it's okay not to know that yet, but I can't help but feel that way when literally almost everyone I talk to, first-years included, has a plan for their college education at least and in some cases for their future careers. I can't say how reassuring it was to be in my Introduction to Comparative Literature class this afternoon, where everyone but one is a first-year, and have virtually every single person admit to not knowing what they want to study.

Whatever I end up studying--English? Comp Lit? History? Anthropology? American Studies? So many possibilities...--I know where I want to end up. The specifics of that (publishing? Translation work? Publishing?) may be a little less clear, but I know where I want to end up, in a vague, indefinite sense. And I know that even while I'm figuring it out, even once I have figured it out, I will always be a Book Person. And I take comfort in that.

--Flannery

(P.S. I wanted to share some of the Jane Austen pieces that made me especially happy and proud to be a Book Person, such as Huffington Post's debating articles on who the best Mr. Darcy is in the movie adaptations--the comments are lovely--and Sarah Rees Brennan's insightful discussion on sexism in the literary world.)

It's Too Darn Cold

Many important things have happened to me in the past week. I returned to the city, started my second semester at college, watched the first half of the six-hour BBC Pride & Prejudice…. All very significant life events. But the dominating feature of this truly remarkable week was the bitter, bitter cold. It’s Jotunheim. It’s Hoth. It’s the Third Circle of Dante’s Inferno*.

It’s too darn cold.

 
When I venture out of doors, the air assaults every exposed inch of my skin. The chill seeps into my clothes. My fingers burn, my legs tingle, my face suffers paralysis. I’m adopting a new platform, people: when pants lose their effectiveness, they are no longer worthy of being called pants. What I’d call them instead, I’m not sure. But I would make my disappointment known!

I’m certainly wimpy when it comes to the cold, but this is getting ridiculous. Actually, it would be more accurate to say that it is making my fashion choices ridiculous. I wrapped a scarf around my head before leaving for the bookstore on Wednesday night and had no regrets. I tried to look decently stylish for the first week of classes, but it eventually came down to not taking off my coat and scarf (around my neck like a normal person would have it) in most of them.

Fortunately I received a semi-stylish coat from Santa this year. And the scarf makes me look like Sherlock. Well, I’m a short eighteen-year-old girl; it would take a lot more to make me look like Sherlock. But it makes me feel like Sherlock.

 
DOWNSIDE TO COLD WEATHER: Pain, misery, anguish. Pants rendered ineffective.
UPSIDE TO COLD WEATHER: Sometimes I feel like Sherlock?

I cannot take this much longer.

-Bridget

 

*And the quantity of brownie-substance I consumed today would indicate that I belong there.

New Year, New Blog

This is it, people. This is the year we blog.
 
Here’s to reading books, writing stories, watching movies and television, lurking around the internet, being fantastic college students, and providing a running commentary on life. Because what is life if not source material for a running commentary? IT IS BUT A WALKING SHADOW, A POOR PLAYER THAT STRUTS AND FRETS HIS HOUR ACROSS THE STAGE AND THEN IS HEARD NO MORE.

We’re just doing our part to make meaning of the universe.