Thoughts on I Don't Want to Kill You

Trigger warning: Same as the first, found here.

Batman. Batman and serial killers. Yeah, that’s a good hook.

My midnight-reading play-by-play to K. via Facebook while reading I Don’t Want to Kill You: I have got to stop reading your scary books late at night, but: I CANNOT BELIEVE SHE DIED. First the therapist, now Marci the lady friend. BAH. Okay, back to reading. Gotta finish so can sleep. And then 30 minutes later (nearly 1am; which, recalling that I am secretly 80 years old, 1am is cRaZy late for me) upon finishing the book: And now his mother. Egads.

Which is to say, lots of people die in this book. Not John, Wells isn’t pulling a Shakespeare and killing the title character midway through (Julius Caeser in his eponymous play) – but he is perhaps pulling a Whedon, killing the characters the audience is emotionally invested in. And it makes sense for Wells’ story, just as it (usually[1]) does for Whedon’s, but still. It was all very sad and tragic.

And kind of yicky, too, it must be admitted. Marci the aforementioned lady friend didn’t just die, she was possessed by an identity-stealing demon who, while looking for love and acceptance and perfection, discovers that Marci’s life isn’t perfect and joyous and filled with love at all times, and becomes morose, depressed, and suicidal. So the demon controlling Marci’s body causes said body to kill itself (how much Marci is left in the mind is unclear), and the demon moves on to Brooke – thinking Brooke is the one, Brooke has the perfect life, John loves Brooke.

Yes, it’s a little strange. The demon of book 3 isn’t so much concerned with killing John (or even killing the girls it inhabits; that’s just a gruesome side effect) as it is with loving him, and by extension owning him [2]. The first demon had no body – it had to steal parts. The second demon had no emotions – it had to steal feelings [3]. This third demon has no self – it has to steal identities. It is the most supernatural of the three, having no form or mind that we, the readers, can really latch on to. IDWtKY was the most fantastical of the trilogy, and while it was a nice break to not be terrified out of my wits during the entire reading experience, this demon did rather make me roll my eyes.  The tragedy of suicide, and heartbreak, and jealousy, and mother-sacrificing-self-for-son was all very real and present; but the demon itself was just headshake-inducing.

Alright, enough about demons. Let’s talk about Batman.

IDWtKY talks a lot about performance vs. reality. Is John his internal, sociopathic thoughts (the thoughts that want to torture and maim, deform and kill, embalm and destroy)? Or is he his actions: ridding the town of demons, rescuing the women in the torture house, not attacking his mother with a knife? He explicitly ponders this, as people in the town start calling him a hero, praising him for his cool and collected demeanor in the face of dead-body-in-the-lake. John has, naturally enough, trouble reconciling this external hero-accolading with his inner monologue of hit/strike/kill.

Nolan’s Batman trilogy is also all about performance [4]. Yes, the trilogy is about a lot of other things too, but the character of Batman is utterly a performance, along with his alter-ego, Bruce Wayne.  Batman is “what the city needs him to be” and Bruce Wayne is the cover up for that (super)hero performance: by presenting one character to a certain subset of reality (Gotham’s elite), another character is given space to play [5].

As I wrote to K.,  Batman has all the trappings of an actor: he has props and tech -  grappling hook and wing gear so he can fly, because superheroes are supposed to fly. He has a costume: wears a mask, because heroes as far back as Robin Hood wear masks. He has a set: a secret lair, and a silly character name with -man in it, because that's how these things go. And it's a good performance, a necessary performance; a performance that saves a lot of people and does a lot of good. But it’s still a performance, an act.

Then there’s PartyBruce, who buys the Russian ballet, owns an obscene amount of hotels, and sasses CEOs during board meetings. His are the antics of a partyboy; his props are a fast car and a plethora of suits, a magnificent manor house, and several servants. Oh, and money. Lots of money. This, too, is a performance.

And then somewhere, there's the man that performs both of these characters; holds them both inside, can be both of them, and really, at the heart of things,*is* both of them. Is this man somehow separate, or is he the parts he plays? 

Nolan’s Bat trilogy deals with the same issue as IDWtKY: is a person what they think, or what they do? Is John a hero because he saves people? Is Batman? Or are they both just the darkness within, lost little boys who long for a love they can’t achieve?

On the other hand, it is rather a fallacy to assume that these things (what you think vs. what you do) are mutually exclusive. Life is a performance; to live is to act, in both senses of the word. Just because I am both good marshalling large groups of people to complete a task and bad at talking to those same people one-on-one doesn’t mean that one action is true and one action is a lie. They are both true. They are both me. The sociopath who wants to cut people apart to examine their insides and the teenage champion who demon-slays are both John Wayne Cleaver. The Dark Knight and the yacht-partier are both the youngest Wayne.

The demon of IDWtKY wants perfection, immutability, Reality, Truth – and it is driven mad when it realizes, as it moves from girl to girl, killing as it goes, that shifting shadows on a cave wall are the Truth. To live is to act, and to change; to be one way sometimes, and another way later. Not in a hypocritical way (professing one thing and intentionally doing the opposite), but just in the way that life takes many skills and many performances. The stage of existence requires deep, complex characters with many varied strengths and weaknesses, not clownish tropes. Truth is self-perception layered with others’ perceptions – the Truth is that John is both a heroic monster-killer and Mr. Monster.

As with most things, Shakespeare said it: All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts…

***

And with that, we end my rambles about Wells' trilogy, and most likely also end my foray into the horror genre.

xo,

Devo

[1] I, like much of the fandom, am not entirely convinced that Wash needed to die. Angel, yes. Tara, sure. All those Dolls, probably. But Wash?

[2] ] Maybe? By now, it’s been a while since I read this book, and I’m riffing. So riff with me.

[3] Somebody should have sent it over to tumblr; there are MANY feels to go ‘round, there.

[4] Leastways, it is when the person watching is one who has spent vast quantities of time contemplating the nature of performance vs. reality in Shakespeare’s collected works. Which is to say, if you’re me.

[5] In the sense of “play up on a stage”, to act. English gets very slippery here, because “to act” is both “to do an action” and “to perform a story on a stage” – and both meanings work in the context of Batman. 

Choose-your-own-adventure Hamlet

Because why not? 

To Be or Not to Be is riotous fun, at least if you're a Shakespeare nerd like myself. I expected to be un-enthused, as normally CYOA books drive me bonkers, but this one is something else. It's kind-of a video game, and kind-of Hamlet, and kind-of a comic, and kind-of a novel, and kind-of a meta-commentary on theater and the act of reading. 

Some choice quotes

1. Polonius, instead of having an interminable and rather dull speech, says this to his son before he returns to school: "Oh hey, Laertes. Have fun on your trip; to thine own self be true."

2. Ophelia is sassy: Hamlet says to her: "...among my princely duties is STUDYING ENGLISH LITERATURE." To which she replies: "I mean, that's great, but that doesn't make you a writer...Just like being a history major doesn't make you, I don't know, Julius Caesar."

3. Hamlet, upon destroying the pirate ship: "Yes, today we truly were gods from the machine."

4. And finally, meta-novel; you (as reader/player) turn into King Hamlet after being a different character, and as the previous character knew who killed King Hamlet, but now that you're playing as King Hamlet, you're not supposed to know that anymore. "This is an example of dramatic irony, only since we're in the second person, it's an amazing example of an entirely new species of dramatic irony, something I'm going to call Second Person Pronoun-Paradoxical Auto-Dramatic Irony. You are now aware of something you shouldn't be aware of. ¶ This should be fun!" [1]

I'm still trying to figure out how to get into the Fortinbras story line...

Oh look, a picture! That hardly ever happens on this blog. 

All those yellow tabbies are endings I've read. There are many more to go.
The blue tabbies keep track of places with multiple directions, some of which I haven't yet chosen. 

xo, 

Devo

[1] This reminds me of Douglas Adams' explanation of grammatical tenses for the time-traveling hitchhiker. 

13 Shakespeare Quotes

No great secret, but I love Shakespeare. I've already given you my favorite villains and their speeches, so today is for one-liners, beautiful moments, word play, and sass. We'll leave the speeches for now. And I'll try to avoid the death quotes, as we've already seen those. 

 Not exhaustive or "favorite" list, as there are many more than 13, but without further or much ado[1], here are 13 Shakespeare Quotes.

For those who want just the quotes and no rambles: Voilà. 

1. 
Are his wits safe? Is he not light of brain? 
– Lodovico, Othello

2. 
I am sure care's an enemy to life. 
- Sir Toby, Twelfth Night

3. 
Malvolio: I am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art.  
Feste: But as well? Then you are mad indeed, if you be no better in your wits than a fool.
- Twelfth Night

4. 
Such harmony is in immortal souls,
But whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. 
– Lorenzo, Merchant of Venice

5. 

O god that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the market place. 

– Beatrice, Much Ado About Nothing

6. 

Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. *proceeds to kill two men*  

– Richard II  

7. 

‘tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus, 

Another thing to fall. 

– Angelo, Measure for Measure

8.

Hamlet: What’s the news?

Rosencrantz: None, my lord, but that the world’s grown honest.

Hamlet: Then is doomsday near.  

- Hamlet

9. 

…Nothing in his life

Became him like the leaving it. 

– Malcolm, Macbeth 

10. 

....For I cannot be

Mine own, nor anything to any, if

I be not thine. 

– Florizel, Winter's Tale

11. 

Simple, plain Clarence, I do love thee so

That I will shortly send they soul to heaven. 

- Richard III

12. 

I would 't'were bedtime, Hal, and all well. 

– Falstaff, 1 Henry IV

13. 

Brackenbury: What wouldst thou, fellow? And how cams't thou hither?

Second Murderer: I would speak with Clarence, and I came hither on my legs. 

- Richard III 

For those who are interested in my Shakespeare rambles: Voilà. 

1. Besides Hamlet, Othello is my favorite tragedy. And really, that comparison is not apt, as I love Hamlet for its brilliance and its importance as a cultural object, but I love Othello's characters, its story. I love Othello as a narrative and feel for the people in it; I've spent so much time dissecting Hamlet in minutest detail that the characters are no longer real: they're changeable ciphers, useful lenses through which to see clearly cultural moments and human nature. But Othello, man, Othello. Those are some dang tragic, misguided, loyal, conniving, and evil characters. Emilia who is such a broken, cowed woman until the end when she gets her rage on. Iago with his void of self and manipulative ways, who destroys everybody's lives so completely that you can't help but applaud. Othello, whose trusting nature and sense of honor just somehow won't quite extend to his wife he loves. 

2 & 3. Feste is one of the sassiest, piercing Fool characters in the Shakespeare cannon. He takes things to their logical, ridiculous ends, and allows no one a moment's piece. His brain is always on, his snark always at the ready. He's not terribly nice (see that whole lock-him-in-the-cellar-and-make-him-think-everybody's-abandoned-him-because-he's-a-lunatic thing he pulled on Malvolio, who while a twit, didn't really deserve that), or sweet, or sympathetic to one's plight, but in the end, Feste will make you see the world more clearly. And what more can you ask from a fool?

4. "Harmony" being music. Lorenzo is expounding here (to Jessica his beloved, if I recall correctly) about the music of the spheres, and saying that humans could once hear that celestial music, though it is our lot to now be enclosed in a body that keeps us from that divine harmony. It's all so beautiful and tragic.

5. My favorite interjection/cursing/moment of outrage, bar none. 

6. I am ridiculously, inordinately, and inexplicably fond of the histories. It has been so long since last reading this particular one that I can hardly remember the plot, but I love this moment. Richard II is kind of a beaten noodle at this point, imprisoned by the crown-snatcher Bolingbroke (later Henry IV) [2]. His kingdom's been yanked away, he's sitting in a cell, and life is just not going well. Then this line and subsequent action, which makes me cackle. 

7. Measure for Measure is a weird, disconcerting play[3], rather like Merchant of Venice in that respect. There's this terrible man, Angelo, who will only free this woman Isabella's brother if she sleeps with him, Angelo (oh, and btw, he's betrothed to someone else, and Isabella's a novice nun). Angelo is a paragon in the community, however, renowned for his virtue and reserve, so trying to get anybody to believe her that he's a lecherous snot is an uphill battle for Isabella.[4] It's all very blech. BUT, despite all the overtones and undertones and sideways-tones, there are some biting lines like this one. Moments that make your skin crawl with their accuracy. 

8. Oh, Hamlet. So full of sass, all the time. I have pages and pages of things I could say about this play and this character, so we'll just leave it at "sassy," for the moment. 

9. Sass again from a tragedy! I'm sensing a theme. I suppose I like the dissonance of snark against the gory battles, kingdom disputes, all-powerful Fate, and other Very Serious Topics. 

10. Oh, Florizel. This shepherd/shepherdess love story is such a sweet, quiet one, and remarkably free of drama, since it's the B plot (possibly even the C plot) in the play. There's little deconstruct-romantic-tropes, let-us-examine-human-nature in this love; just simple, clear affection.

11. Which is to say, "Clarence, dear, I'm going to have you executed." Richard III is the sassiest of villains. 

12. Huzzah for histories! [5] Falstaff and Hal's relationship is fraught and problematic underneath all the joking and bonhomie, but this moment when the ever-jolly, ever-drunk, -theiving, -prank-playing fat knight lets out a sigh of regret to his friend at the battles he must fight and the heartache of his country and his soul is delicately touching. 

13. Gotta  love those extremely literal Second Murderers.

xo, 
Devo

----------------------

[1] Heheh, puns. 

[2] Yay, Wikipedia refresher course!

[3] "For a variety of reasons, some critics have labelled it as one of Shakespeare's problem plays." source

[4] Wikipedia to the rescue again!

[5] I should make t-shirts.

Transgressive Reading: Out of Sequence

I just read this book: The Unseen by Katherine Webb.

Or at least, I sort-of read this book. I mostly read it. I read nearly all the words on all the pages. But I didn’t read them in order. Did I really read it, then? Let’s talk[1] about that.

For a long time, I thought the only way to read a book was to start at the first word and read to the last one. And if I didn’t – if I didn’t read every sentence, and in the order that the author intended – I hadn’t really read it. It wasn’t a true experience. It was a cheat, a fake.

I’ve gotten over that, thankfully.

The Unseen (Amazon summary here) follows three characters, two in the same time and place, and one 100 years later. (Full disclosure, modern-researcher-slash-historic-mystery-solver-interspersed-with-the-historical-happenings is a plot device that annoys[2] me[3]. In The Secret History of the Pink Carnation series, I just finally started skipping every chapter from the modern POV and got along much better.) Per that long parenthetical, the modern-day plot I left by the wayside. The modern to historic back to modern thing yanks me around too much, and I'm left disconnected from the story.

Anyway.

I’m left with the two women in 1911, living in the same house whose stories are connected but each have different narrative POVs. I didn’t feel like waiting to find out what happened with Woman A by being diverted by Woman B. 

So I did the unthinkable, the creative-vision-destorying: I read out of sequence, skipping Woman B’s plot to read all of Woman A’s, and then back through to read B. It made my life much better, let me tell you.

I suppose it depends on what one wants out of a reading experience. If all the threads are engaging enough and the writing captivating enough[4], I want the narrative as the author intends.

But in the case of The Unseen, I wanted light. Fluffy. Easy to follow. And the POV hopping was harshing my mellow, so I fixed it[5].

To answer the opening question of this post, I'll say yes. Yes, I read The Unseen. Did I receive the story the way it was meant to be? Probably not. But I did read it.

So here's my reading advice: read how you like. You want only the book sequenced as written? Awesome, read from Word Open to Word Close. You want to skim? Skim away. You want to learn about this plot and these characters, not that plot and those characters? Sweet, skip around until you find the thread you like.

In the current patois: You do you.

xo,

Devo

---

[1] Rather, let’s I talk at you about that.

[2] Feeling compelled to defend myself, I point out that Shakespeare himself gave up on the Chris Sly Taming of the Shrew frame after one scene.

[3] Yes yes, there are many narrative devices that bug. But I promise there are many devices that I love!

[4] Both very subjective criteria

[5] Did the same with Way of Shadows – found the A plot and followed it, ignoring all the political machinations and cultural gobbledygook that put books-with-maps on my do-not-read list.

Shakespeare and Cemeteries

These are a few of my favorite things...

Richard III

...All of us have cause

To wail the dimming of our shining star,

          But none can help our harms by wailing them

 Othello

'Tis destiny unshunnable, like death

Hamlet 

...To die, to sleep,

To sleep perchance to dream. Ay, there’s the rub,

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil

Must give us pause...

Lear’s Fool

So, out went the candle, and we were left darkling

Hamlet

Had I but time - as this fell sergeant Death

Is strict in his arrest…

The rest is silence

 Adam (As You Like It) 

Yet fortune cannot recompense me better

Than to die well, and not my master’s debtor

Gertrude (Hamlet)

 Thou know’st ‘tis common - all that lives must die

Passing through nature to eternity

Gloucester (King Lear)

As flies to wanton boys are we to th’gods;

They kill us for their sport

xo, 

Devo

Doers of Dastardly Deeds

Today is villain-day. And (like most things) nobody does villains better than Shakespeare[1]. They run the gamut from calculating (Claudius) to chaotic (Iago) to crazy (Macbeth). They give some of the best speeches[2], mess with the hero’s head, foil nicely-arranged, loving relationships, have people murdered, do the murdering themselves, and generally wreak havoc and confusion.

I had wanted to do a post on King Lear, which I just finished reading for the first time.  I wanted to talk about insanity, or love, or the evil stepsister trope. I had many plans. But the villains are clamoring for recognition, as they do. So instead, it’s time to talk about Hamlet’s Claudius and Much Ado’s Don John[3].

They are respectively my favorite tragedy and comedy villains. Many people love Iago and his anarchical tendencies, his lack of remorse, and his subversive scheming. I imagine this is the same reason people love Dark Knight’s Joker[4]. But I love Claudius not for his anarchy, but instead his desire for legitimacy (even as he kills his brother for crown and wife) and for his guilt. And I love Don John for owning his dastardly-ness. Iago evades description and labels – he says, “I am not what I am” (Othello, I.i.65); Don John, on the other hand, quite clearly recognizes himself and his role: “[L]et me be that I am, and seek not to alter me” (Much Ado, I.iii.29).

Iago lacks self; Don John and Claudius have self in spades. What better way to examine self than in speeches? Here are my favorites (even more favorite bits highlighted). Read them aloud. Let the words wash over and surround you.

Don John, Much Ado About Nothing, Act I, scene iii, lines 10-14, 21-29.

I cannot hide what I am. I must be sad when I have cause, and smile at no man’s jests; eat when I have stomach, and wait for no man’s leisure; sleep when I am drowsy, and tend on no man’s business; laugh when I am merry, and claw [flatter] no man his humor. …I had rather be a canker in a hedge than a rose in his grace, and it better fits my blood to be disdained of all than to fashion [affect] a carriage [behavior] to rob love from any. In this, though I cannot be said to be a flattering honest man, it must not be denied but I am a plain-dealing villain. I am trusted with a muzzle, and enfranchised with a clog. Therefore I have decreed [determined] not to sing in my cage. If I had my mouth I would bite. If I had my liberty I would do my liking. In the mean time, let me be that I am and seek not to alter me. (translations from the Norton Essential Shakespeare)

Claudius, Hamlet, Act III, scene iii, lines 36-72

Oh, my offense is rank, it smells to heaven;

It hath the primal eldest curse upon’t,

A brother’s murder. Pray can I not,

Though inclination be as sharp as will;

My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent,

And like a man to double business bound

I stand in pause where I shall first begin,

And both neglect. What if this cursed hand

Were thicker than itself with brother’s blood?

Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens

To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy

But to confront the visage of offense?

And what’s in prayer but this twofold force,

To be forestalled ere we come to fall,

Or pardoned being down? Then I’ll look up.

My fault is past. But, oh, what form of prayer

Can serve my turn? “Forgive me my foul murder”?

That cannot be since I am still possessed

Of those effects for which I did the murder –

My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen.

May one be pardoned and yet retain th’offense?

…

… What then? What rests?

Try what repentance can. What can it not?

Yet what can it when on cannot repent?

Oh, wretched state, oh, bosom black as death!

Oh, limed soul that, struggling to be free,

Art more engaged! Help, angles, make assay.

Bow, stubborn knees, and heart with strings of steel,

Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe.

All may be well.

[later]

My words fly up, my thoughts remain below.

Words without thoughts never to heaven go.

(from Hamlet: Norton Critical Edition)

These speeches and the villains they stand for differ in many ways, first by surface: Claudius speaks blank verse[5], Don John speaks prose. This fits their respective villainies well: Claudius is a king and concerned with power, state, and legitimating his right to rule. Such a man could hardly be expected to break out of verse, even in his most private moment. He retains the symbols of ill-gotten gains (here represented by verse instead of prose) even as he laments his crime. Don John, on the other hand, does not dissemble. His is the prose of a straightforward man. He is less concerned with legitimacy than Claudius, but with honoring his own nature and tendencies: to disrupt, annoy, destroy. 

Don John has no regrets, and I can't help but admire him for it. He declares himself a villain, saying that he would rather be a weed (“canker”) and disdained than be other than what he is: “a plain-dealing villain.” He refuses to play nice, or pretend a love that he does not feel; he will eat, sleep, and laugh when it pleases him and no-one else. “Let me be that I am,” he declares, “and seek not to alter me.” He will not change his destructive ways, for he is answerable only to himself – he will do as pleases him, others’ feelings and lives be hanged. He refuses ceremony and ritual, deference and social graces. He will not subsume his own will in order to get on with others. He does not feel badly for what he is.

Claudius, on the other hand, has many regrets, and still, I am admiring. He regrets, he introspects – and yet, he does not repent. Oh sure, he talks a lot about repenting and absolution, but his “thought remain below.” Though he makes a show of praying, even he recognizes that his ambition and desire for crown and queen prevent him from effectively praying. He cannot repent while still holding on to “those effects for which [he] did the murder” – and he is not willing to give them up.

Claudius regrets: he recognizes his villainy as something wrong and abhorred by heaven; he even likens himself to Cain, the first brother-killer. He sees the evilness of killing his brother and taking his kingdom and wife, but cannot actually let go of his own advancement. This is a man whose “ambition has throttled his morality” (from The Eyre Affair) – but the interesting bit is that he recognizes it. He has remorse, he sees his wrongs, but it’s not enough to bring him to repentance.  

xo, 

Devo

Undoubtedly, some of these musings influenced by many a Shakespeare professor. 

---

[1] Well, Q and the Borg from TNG are pretty great. And Firefly’s reavers are terrifying. But we don’t really get into their psyches like we do with Shax’s villains.

[2] For the end-all, be-all of villainous speech-giving, read Paradise Lost; Satan’s speeches are incredible.

[3] Which I always want to spell “Don Jon,” because symmetry.

[4] Never having seen it, I cannot say for sure.

[5] A post detailing my love of blank verse is forthcoming.