a few words concerning Jeyne Westerling, Jeyne Poole and their importance in Robb and Theon’s storylines
Along with a nice epilogue about how much D&D could have gotten it a lot better when talking about the adaptation.
[this meta is dedicated to emiliosandoz - she said she’d post hers on Theon if I dusted this off from my drafts and actually finished and I’m upholding my part of the bargain]
with this, I mean how the fact that Jeyne Poole isn’t the show so far and that Jeyne Westerling was changed into a new character with a different name, are both imo pretty bad moves. Meaning: it probably doesn’t change *too much* in the big picture and it certainly isn’t as horrible as some of the book/show divergences until this point (I mean, the basic economy of the story and the basic outcomes didn’t change, but the way it went changes things a lot) it still shows that they missed one of the most interesting parallelisms going on with Robb and Theon’s storylines and that they also missed a good part of the entire point of both narratives.
(Disclaimer the first: obviously I have no clue if they’re still planning to introduce Jeyne Poole - I should hope - but even if they do and she’s everything she is in the book it still doesn’t work because of the changing-Jeyne-Westerling-to-Talisa deal.)
Dude, Peter Capaldi totally refused to flirt with Clara in the new series.
Damn, I’m so ready for this.
In that same article he states that he’s going to make the story line less confusing and over the top and focus on the plot. I think I’m in love.
bronchitis secret: sometimes I have vivid, filmic narrative dreams. I once dreamt what felt like an entire Stephen King novel about a man (played by Aaron Pedersen) returning to his childhood town in the mountains only to realise the entire town is possessed and maybe always was. last night’s dream was about the return of the messiah in some kind of 1930/1950’s pastiche of southern gothic america, complete with motorcycles, freedom rides, drug use and leather jackets - the main character was Johnny Baptist, a hard drinking dude who forgives everyone who wrongs him but can’t find forgiveness himself.
bronchitis secret: every diary I’ve ever kept has been in a kind of code - not a cipher or anything so complex, just a vague metaphorical system of symbols so I almost never make specific reference to a person or event. I’m not sure if this is because I read A.S. Byatt’s Possession at a tender age or because I started keeping diaries at boarding school. I’m also not sure who I thought was dedicated enough to doing me malice to attempt to unravel my appallingly cramped handwriting, let alone my lazy poetics.
jamiemacdonalds said: what sort of books do you think jamie would read for pleasure?
- he has been dragging the same copy of a theology of liberation around with him since circa 1980, it is probably very dirty and dog-eared and jealously guarded from everyone, including his nine million brothers and every other ordinand in the seminary. he lent it to malcolm around ‘84 or so, on the very specific promise that he has to get it back as soon as malcolm is finished with it. malcolm gave it back to him, exactly as it came to him, and unleashed a devastating critique on thatcher’s collusion with pinochet and the implications thereof of the suppression of liberation theology in chile, wasnae that why ye gave is this? jamie had already decided to follow the mad bastard anywhere, but it was still pretty great. (no one else has ever been allowed to so much as touch his copy.)
- irvine welsh pisses him off, because much as jamie is the most feral scot to ever scot, he doesn’t actually like it when you dismiss his country as full of lunatic workshy alcoholics. that said, he’s probably read every novel the man’s ever written, racked with paroxysms of fury the whole time.
- i should imagine that actually most political fiction and thrillers are deeply frustrating to jamie, as they do not in any sense depict the political world as he lives it, by turns mundane and terrifying, but never glamorous, and idealistic only in the very pragmatic sense. i can see him liking mid-20th century sci-fi of the type of john wyndham and j.g. ballard and michael moorcock, whose works deal with the hypocrisies and class strata of british society, rendered into hellscapes. he probably also quite likes michel faber’s under the skin.
- obviously, he has read all of orwell, although he doesn’t like him as much as some people, and is inherently suspicious of canonizing anyone who went to eton. he spends a lot of time having to clean up the messes of old etonians, and that’s just in his own party. both he and malcolm like david peace's red riding quartet because it makes them nostalgic for their old days of sniffing out corruption on a local, and the damned united is a shoo-in because brian clough was a footballer and a socialist, the jackpot. also, lbr, they like pat barker. he empathises quite a lot with billy prior.
"They call us now.
Before they drop the bombs.
The phone rings
and someone who knows my first name
calls and says in perfect Arabic
“This is David.”
And in my stupor of sonic booms and glass shattering symphonies
still smashing around in my head
I think “Do I know any Davids in Gaza?”
They call us now to say
You have 58 seconds from the end of this message.
Your house is next.
They think of it as some kind of war time courtesy.
It doesn’t matter that
there is nowhere to run to.
It means nothing that the borders are closed
and your papers are worthless
and mark you only for a life sentence
in this prison by the sea
and the alleyways are narrow
and there are more human lives
packed one against the other
more than any other place on earth
We aren’t trying to kill you.
It doesn’t matter that
you can’t call us back to tell us
the people we claim to want aren’t in your house
that there’s no one here
except you and your children
who were cheering for Argentina
sharing the last loaf of bread for this week
counting candles left in case the power goes out.
It doesn’t matter that you have children.
You live in the wrong place
and now is your chance to run
It doesn’t matter
that 58 seconds isn’t long enough
to find your wedding album
or your son’s favorite blanket
or your daughter’s almost completed college application
or your shoes
or to gather everyone in the house.
It doesn’t matter what you had planned.
It doesn’t matter who you are
Prove you’re human.
Prove you stand on two legs.