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mr. a i don't think you know the book we're talking about here. there are zero maurices in the secret history
the book
Maurice
I have never read the secret history nor have a vested interest to do so (I apologize for the disappointment)
it doesn’t appeal to my grouchy old man ways
"the secret history" and "maurice" in the same sentence. mr. a WHOOO is maurice
Who is Maurice? Lord to think the youth of today know nothing!
It is considered the first gay novel (though I beg to differ on that front) with a happy ending, I am of the controversial opinion that is not a very good novel (understanding it’s significance and I would never say it shouldn’t exist)
I have no will to watch the movie for the novel was bad enough I cannot imagine an adaptation short of changing most aspects of the basic plot to be good (not to mention from what iv seen the white washing of the main character)
I am too cynical for most gay media, I don’t care for skinny white boys languishing aesthetically about palatable love. I never did even as a young boy because I never loved men that way, when I saw a man I could love I wanted to kill him.
Male violence and all of that
"The Two Voices," Charlotte Forten Grimké, 1858
In the dim December twilight, By the fire I mused alone, And a voice within me murmured In a deep, impassioned tone—
Murmured first, and then grew stronger, Wilder in its thrilling strain— "Break, sad heart, for, oh, no longer Canst thou bear this ceaseless pain.
"Canst thou bear the bitter anguish, All the wrong, and woe, and shame That the world hath heaped upon thee, Though it hath no cause for blame?
"True it is that thou dost give it Hate for hate, and scorn for scorn; True it is that thou would'st gladly Make it bear what thou hast borne.
"But does such a vengeful spirit Soothe thee, make thee calm and strong? No, thy lamest life it poisons, Makes the strife more fierce and long.
"Would'st thou live, oh, foolish dreamer? What to thee are life and joy? Know'st thou not the cruel future All thy visions shall destroy?
"Wouldn'st thou live, oh, homeless outcast, Tossed upon life's restless wave? Thou canst find a haven only In the quiet of the grave.
"There a sweet and soothing stillness From thee never shall depart; There the angel Peace shall fold thee Closely to her loving heart."
To the earnest voice I hearkened, And within my troubled breast Deeper, stronger grew the longing For the blessed boon of rest.
"Grant," I prayed, "O gracious Father! Grant the simple boon I crave, Let me leave this weary conflict, Let me rest within the grave!"
Deep the silence that succeeded; Gleamed the firelight warm and bright, But, for me, its warmth and brightness Gladdened not the cold, dark night.
But without, the dreary night-wind, With its wild and mournful moan, From the sad soul of the pine trees, Found an echo in my own.
Then another voice spoke to me, Spake in accents strong and clear; Like the proud notes of a trumpet Fell its tones upon my ear.
"Shame," it cried, "oh, weak repiner! Hast thou yielded to despair? Canst thou win the crown immortal If the cross thou wilt not bear?
"Hast thou nothing left to live for? Would'st thou leave the glorious strife? Know, the life that's passed in struggling Is the true, the only life.
"Canst thou see the souls around thee Bravely battling with the wrong, And not feel thy soul within thee In the cause of Truth grow strong?
"Art thou, then, the only wronged one? With thy sorrows will all cease? Thou forgettest other sufferers, In thy selfish prayer for peace.
"Live for others, work for others; Sharing, strive to soothe their woe, Till thy heart, no longer fainting, With an ardent zeal shall glow.
"Of thyself thou art unworthy To all thy early vows, If thy once unbending spirit Now beneath its burden bows.
"Prayest thou for death? pray, rather, For the strength to live, and bear All thy wrongs with brave endurance. Scorn to yield thee to despair;
"Knowing that to strive and suffer, With a purpose pure and high, In a holy cause, is nobler Than ingloriously to die.
"Sweet the grave's unbroken quiet To thy aching heart would be; But, believe, to live for others Is a higher destiny."
Ceased the voice; again, in silence, By the fire I mused alone; Darkly closed the night around me; But my soul had stronger grown.
And I said—"I thank Thee, Father, For the answer Thou hast given. Bravely will I bear earth's burdens, Ere I pray to rest in heaven."
In honor of our classic lit dnd game actually meeting the other week, please vote for our funniest streak of crit fails:
Current candidates are:
Sherlock Holmes, Alice Liddel, and Victor Frankenstein roll to investigate the box of animal bones we found. Back to back nat 1s made us all utterly convinced they could all be combined into some sort of creature (they could not)
The gay alligator wizard university sent us gumbo as an apology for the rainbow alligators showing up at Buckingham Palace (don’t worry about it). Whole party rolled for spice tolerance and Holmes and Watson crit failed so hard they took 4 and 3 points of damage, respectively (Alice and Penelope had A Bad Time but didn’t take damage, Esmeralda and somehow Victor were fine)
Pick one:
Holmes, Alice, and Victor assemble a Creature
Holmes and Watson can’t handle spicy food apparently
300 pages into Little Dorrit, and my #1 hill I'll die on is that Dickens better not make Harriet (Tattycoram) be "proven wrong" in the end. She got adopted just to be made a servant (possibly slave? Were they even paying her?) for the Meagles's biological daughter who they constantly fawned, spoiled, and fussed over in front of her. They showed Harriet off as a symbol of their generosity and never bothered to know her as a person. They got rid of her birth name, effectively erasing her identity, in favor of a ridiculous nickname and never thought to even feel out if she liked it or not (which she clearly didn't) because they thought it was cute and it made their guests laugh. Every time she's upset with this treatment, they act like she's wrong for feeling that way and they're being gracious to her by overlooking her passionate temper, completely blind to how condescending, belittling, and invalidating they're being. Even Arthur, who himself had a difficult childhood, feeds into this toxic dynamic, unable to see her experience as traumatic because it doesn't look like his own struggles. (Perhaps also because he's a man in a higher class and she's a woman of no status, though it is interesting that he's still able to empathize with Little Dorrit's circumstances. Ig that's probably because Amy's standing is so obviously pitiable, whereas the Meagles *seem* kind, which makes their treatment of Harriet not as easy to peg as wrongful. Plus Arthur's such a simp he can't imagine the family of the woman he likes could be perpetuating cruel behavior.)
All this to say, everyone better apologize to Harriet at the end of all this -- the narrative better paint her as the victim, not the unreasonable aggressor -- or I'm throwing this book into the wall
looking at 14yo me's drawings and then there's vaguely anime raskolnikov jumpscare
Verbringe meine Arbeitszeitbetrugszeit heute damit Bartleby, der Schreiber von Melville zu lesen, no notes, 10/10, kinda ironic and kinda iconic
the whole thing about Newland Archer is that he thinks he’s not like other girls
