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#but he had a turn on the character growth merry go round

nhatlynguyennln · 3 years

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HOWL'S MOVING CASTLE: DIFFERENCES BETWEEN NOVEL AND MOVIE

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HOWL'S MOVING CASTLE: DIFFERENCES BETWEEN NOVEL AND MOVIE

HOWL’S MOVING CASTLE: DIFFERENCES BETWEEN NOVEL AND MOVIE

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Opening

Following the resounding success of the 2001 animated classic Spirited Away, director Hayao Miyazaki continued to release a Japanese animated fantasy Howl’s moving castle. The film was inspired by the 1986 novel of the same name by British author Diana Wynne Jones.

Most Studio Ghibli fans turn to the book after watching the movie. This caused a little disappointment, a bit of “disillusionment” for the ladies who put too many dreams into the handsome wizard Howl in the movie. Although both the novel and the movie revolve around the two main characters – Sophie and Howl, there are huge differences in the storyline and character construction that cause both the novel and the film to turn in two directions.

Stay tuned with ASK KPOP until the end of the video to see what made “romantic fiction” fans disillusioned with the difference between novels and movies Howl’s moving castle.

Body

Sophie Hatter, a girl born into a family of hat makers, does not believe that luck will come to her and she will do something great in her life. She decided she would spend the rest of her life looking after the hat shop her father left. But her life changes after being cursed by the Witch of the Waste, turning her into an old woman, and worse yet, she can’t tell anyone about it. Fearing that her family would no longer recognize her, Sophie set out to find a way to cure the curse, and then arrived at Wizard Howl’s castle. Since then there is a big difference between books and movies, especially the plot and character lines.

The difference in the story between the novel and the movie

Because the novel Howl’s moving castle was written for children by writer Diana Wynne Jones, these factors such as : magic ,humor, fantasy come first. The content of the novel mainly tells about Sophie’s journey to break the curse. In that journey, Sophie has discovered the true strength of herself and the good qualities of those around her. However, when it was adapted to the big screen, director Hayao Miyazaki incorporated many lofty messages about love, peace, and anti-war.

Throughout the movie, we see a fight break out between Ingary (the land of Howl and Sophie is in) and the neighboring country, whereas there is no fierce battle in the original novel.

The whole movie revolves around the theme of anti-war, and its true villain is the pointless war and cause the loss. However, the original story directs the reader towards Sophie’s journey to find herself, how Sophie realizes her worth, which is partly through the movie. Coming to the movie, you will experience the brutal combat scene, the dark battleships .As for the book, Howl has to confront the Witch of the Waste and her powerful fire demon. The two missions of the movie and the novel have different message stories with different audiences, both great stories with their own merits.

The difference in the character’s personality between the novel and the movie

The second most highlighted difference between the novel and the movie is the characters. The characters in the book and in the movie are transformed from the original. Some minor characters have been removed or merged together with other characters. Characters with significant changes include:

(Howl)

Howl in the movie is a perfect version, a “Prince Charming” with many advantages in personality: courteous, gentle, and also the hero of fighting to protect Sophie.If you are familiar with this Howl image then Please be mentally prepared before reading the novel of the same name. Real name’s Howl is Howell Jenkins, from Wales. It is mentioned in the book that the castle door leads to different places according to the color on the door, and the blackness opens into a dark night. However, the side when that black curtain was Wales in the 1980s, with modern equipment such as cars and computers . This is not mentioned in the movie.

In terms of personality, Howl in the novel is actually a “lady-killer” who flirts with so many beautiful ladies and any girl will not escape by him, until they fall in love with him, he leaves without leaving a trace. This was also the source of his trouble with the Witch of the Waste Throughout the novel, Howl spends most of his time dressing and grooming in order to win the hearts of beautiful girls, including her sister Sophie. The rest of the time, Howl sulked and acted like a child beside Sophie. Howl in the novel does not want to tie and always tries to avoid responsibility. But the more we read, the more we like Howl in the novel, because his personality is especially funny and witty. “I’m a coward. Only way I can do something this frightening is to tell myself I’m not doing it.” Throughout the novel, we see only a Howl chasing the girls, his words in the last chapter confuse readers and other characters: Howl is still searching and saving people from being lost from the Witch. Meanwhile, he tells himself “I’m not doing it”.

Howl in the movie gets rid of Howl’s flaws of the novel. Because the movie’s message is hind-minded about peace protection and anti-war, a heroic character is needed to be able to send the message to the audience. The hero in the movie is Howl, he is idealized in the film, becomes a hero fighting for peace, denouncing the destructive power of war. When the court asked Howl to go to war, Howl refused ,not for his cowardness. He knew from which side the war was coming from, then the end was like that for everyone, just bring pain only. However, at night, Howl quietly turns into a monster out to fight alone, fighting against planes and monsters that both sides release to tear each other up. It is an ideal, incredibly romantic image of a hero fighting evil, fighting for peace, and fighting for the things he loves. In the end, Howl in both the novel and movie has to face Howl’s problems and settle it.

(Sophie)

Sophie in the novel has red hair, stubborn, straightforward, and always seems angry after being cursed. She sees cleaning as a way to forget about the problem she is facing. She often talks to hats, clothes, objects around and this brings miracles, even life to them. Meanwhile, Sophie in the movie has brown hair and is much softer. She also knows how to control her emotions better, and she cleans out of order. However, Sophie in the movie has no magical powers. This is most noticeable in the part where Sophie meets Turnip-Head. Turnip-Head in the story is an inanimate scarecrow, but gets up and follows Sophie after hearing her talk. In the movie, Turnip-Head had life when Sophie met him. While the-story Sophie was very scared of Turnip Head and wanted to chase him many times, the Sophie-movie was friendly, even grateful to the Turnip-Head.

Sophie in the story has sent a message: “When we are young, let us go out and explore ourselves, we will find our power hidden and know what our strength is. and where is our limit. ” That is a very precious meaning that Sophie’s journey to find herself brings back.

(Author)

Author Diana Wynne Jones observed that Howl and Sophie on-screen seemed “softer and more noble than their characters in my book.” In the movie, we really liked how Howl became “lost” as he transformed into a giant crow in battles and gradually “couldn’t return.” Meanwhile, Sophie’s curse fades more and more as she becomes stronger to save Howl and to heal herself. These details are not included in the book. However, I also want to say that Howl and Sophie in the book seem more real and that the quarrel between the two is what makes me appreciate their feelings more; love each other and learn to accept each other’s imperfections.

(Witch)

She was once a charming, powerful woman. Howl in the novel once chased and abandoned her. Both the story and the movie show Howl once captured a shooting meteor and gave it his heart in exchange for power, which is Calcifer. However, the sorceress in the novel cursed Howl to complete a list of things to do and they slowly led Howl back to her hand. In the movie, the witch tries to cast a curse on Howl, but he easily removes it. In the end, she lost her magic and became a pitiful, harmless old woman.

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There are also some minor differences in the side characters. Sophie in the novel has two younger sisters, Lettie and Martha. Lettie is the younger sister sent to learn magic, and Martha is the assistant at the bakery. These two sisters exchanged looks and names in the beginning. Lettie is a huge support character in the series, even part 2 is present. However, the film only mentions Lettie – the sister at the bakery, and she can only say a sentence or two to Sophie and finish. Howl has an apprentice. In the book, he names Michael Fisher , a teenager. And, in the movie he names Markl , a boy. In the story, Suliman is the Royal Mage, male and missing. On screen, Suliman is a female magician who taught Howl before, and she is a bit mean.

Ending

“Howl’s Moving Castle” is a film with a stunning image and a beautiful European context, but it does not lose the Japanese culture, oriental styles of Ghibli. The good soundtrack both “The Promise With The World” and “Merry Go Round of Life” are great tunes but for us “Merry Go Round of Life” is still more beautiful, the scene of Howl holding Sophie’s hand , two people walking in the air together forever is a very beautiful, very romantic scene that is hard to describe in words.

Howl’s Moving Castle is not just a love story, a magical adventure and heart-fluttering romance, but also a story of growth and a journey to find oneself. Whether it’s a novel or a movie, the film’s meaningful message is expressed in tolerance, forgiveness after struggles, hatred, and curse. In addition, the extraordinary life energy of the people who have suffered many injuries in the film overcoming all the difficulties to achieve a happy destination is also the message that the filmmakers send to the audience.

#HOWL’S MOVING CASTLE

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avery-foxglove · 4 years

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FrodoSam Moments in The Lord of the Rings (Books): The Two Towers

Frodo made light of it when he learned that they had slept soundly for hours with Gollum, and a very hungry Gollum too, loose beside them.

`Don't think of any of your Gaffer's hard names,' he said. 'You were worn out, and it has turned out well: we are now both rested. And we have a hard road ahead, the worst road of all.'

`About the food,' said Sam. 'How long's it going to take us to do this job? And when it's done, what are we going to do then? This waybread keeps you on your legs in a wonderful way, though it doesn't satisfy the innards proper, as you might say: not to my feeling anyhow, meaning no disrespect to them as made it. But you have to eat some of it every day, and it doesn't grow. I reckon we've got enough to last, say, three weeks or so, and that with a tight belt and a light tooth, mind you. We've been a bit free with it so far.'

`I don't know how long we shall take to - to finish,' said Frodo. `We were miserably delayed in the hills. But Samwise Gamgee, my dear hobbit - indeed, Sam my dearest hobbit, friend of friends - I do not think we need give thought to what comes after that. To do the job as you put it - what hope is there that we ever shall? And if we do, who knows what will come of that? If the One goes into the Fire, and we are at hand? I ask you, Sam, are we ever likely to need bread again? I think not. If we can nurse our limbs to bring us to Mount Doom, that is all we can do. More than I can, I begin to feel.'

Sam nodded silently. He took his master's hand and bent over it. He did not kiss it, though his tears fell on it.

Frodo after a few mouthfuls of lembas settled deep into the brown fern and went to sleep. Sam looked at him. The early daylight was only just creeping down into the shadows under the trees, but he saw his master's face very clearly, and his hands, too, lying at rest on the ground beside him. He was reminded suddenly of Frodo as he had lain, asleep in the house of Elrond, after his deadly wound. Then as he had kept watch Sam had noticed that at times a light seemed to be shining faintly within; but now the light was even clearer and stronger. Frodo's face was peaceful, the marks of fear and care had left it; but it looked old, old and beautiful, as if the chiselling of the shaping years was now revealed in many fine lines that had before been hidden, though the identity of the face was not changed. Not that Sam Gamgee put it that way to himself. He shook his head, as if finding words useless, and murmured: `I love him. He's like that, and sometimes it shines through, somehow. But I love him, whether or no.'

'I don't like anything here at all.' said Frodo, `step or stone, breath or bone. Earth, air and water all seem accursed. But so our path is laid.'

'Yes, that's so,' said Sam. `And we shouldn't be here at all, if we'd known more about it before we started. But I suppose it's often that way. The brave things in the old tales and songs, Mr. Frodo: adventures, as I used to call them. I used to think that they were things the wonderful folk of the stories went out and looked for, because they wanted them, because they were exciting and life was a bit dull, a kind of a sport, as you might say. But that's not the way of it with the tales that really mattered, or the ones that stay in the mind. Folk seem to have been just landed in them, usually - their paths were laid that way, as you put it. But I expect they had lots of chances, like us, of turning back, only they didn't. And if they had, we shouldn't know, because they'd have been forgotten. We hear about those as just went on - and not all to a good end, mind you; at least not to what folk inside a story and not outside it call a good end. You know, coming home, and finding things all right, though not quite the same - like old Mr Bilbo. But those aren't always the best tales to hear, though they may be the best tales to get landed in! I wonder what sort of a tale we've fallen into? '

`I wonder,' said Frodo. 'But I don't know. And that's the way of a real tale. Take any one that you're fond of. You may know, or guess, what kind of a tale it is, happy-ending or sad-ending, but the people in it don't know. And you don't want them to.'

'No, sir, of course not. Beren now, he never thought he was going to get that Silmaril from the Iron Crown in Thangorodrim, and yet he did, and that was a worse place and a blacker danger than ours. But that's a long tale, of course, and goes on past the happiness and into grief and beyond it - and the Silmaril went on and came to Eärendil. And why, sir, I never thought of that before! We've got - you've got some of the light of it in that star-glass that the Lady gave you! Why, to think of it, we're in the same tale still! It's going on. Don't the great tales never end? '

'No, they never end as tales,' said Frodo. `But the people in them come, and go when their part's ended. Our part will end later - or sooner.'

'And then we can have some rest and some sleep,' said Sam. He laughed grimly. 'And I mean just that, Mr. Frodo. I mean plain ordinary rest, and sleep, and waking up to a morning's work in the garden. I'm afraid that's all I'm hoping for all the time. All the big important plans are not for my sort. Still, I wonder if we shall ever be put into songs or tales. We're in one, or course; but I mean: put into words, you know, told by the fireside, or read out of a great big book with red and black letters, years and years afterwards. And people will say: "Let's hear about Frodo and the Ring! " And they'll say: "Yes, that's one of my favourite stories. Frodo was very brave. wasn't he, dad?" "Yes, my boy, the famousest of the hobbits, and that's saying a lot."'

`It's saying a lot too much,' said Frodo, and he laughed, a long clear laugh from his heart. Such a sound had not been heard in those places since Sauron came to Middle-earth. To Sam suddenly it seemed as if all the stones were listening and the tall rocks leaning over them. But Frodo did not heed them; he laughed again. 'Why, Sam,' he said, 'to hear you somehow makes me as merry as if the story was already written. But you've left out one of the chief characters: Samwise the stouthearted. "I want to hear more about Sam, dad. Why didn't they put in more of his talk, dad? That's what I like, it makes me laugh. And Frodo wouldn't have got far without Sam, would he, dad? " '

`Now, Mr. Frodo,' said Sam, 'you shouldn't make fun. I was serious. '

`So was I,' said Frodo.

`We haven't got there yet,' said Frodo.

'No, but we'd better keep our eyes skinned till we do. If we're caught napping, Stinker will come out on top pretty quick. Not but what it would be safe for you to have a wink now, master. Safe, if you lay close to me. I'd be dearly glad to see you have a sleep. I'd keep watch over you; and anyway, if you lay near, with my arm round you, no one could come pawing you without your Sam knowing it.'

`Sleep!' said Frodo and sighed, as if out of a desert he had seen a mirage of cool green. 'Yes, even here I could sleep.'

`Sleep then, master! Lay your head in my lap.'

And so Gollum found them hours later, when he returned, crawling and creeping down the path out of the gloom ahead. Sam sat propped against the stone, his head dropping sideways and his breathing heavy. In his lap lay Frodo's head, drowned deep in sleep; upon his white forehead lay one of Sam's brown hands, and the other lay softly upon his master's breast. Peace was in both their faces.

Gollum looked at them. A strange expression passed over his lean hungry face. The gleam faded from his eyes, and they went dim and grey, old and tired. A spasm of pain seemed to twist him, and he turned away, peering back up towards the pass, shaking his head, as if engaged in some interior debate. Then he came back, and slowly putting out a trembling hand, very cautiously he touched Frodo's knee - but almost the touch was a caress. For a fleeting moment, could one of the sleepers have seen him, they would have thought that they beheld an old weary hobbit, shrunken by the years that had carried him far beyond his time, beyond friends and kin, and the fields and streams of youth, an old starved pitiable thing.

But at that touch Frodo stirred and cried out softly in his sleep, and immediately Sam was wide awake. The first thing he saw was Gollum - `pawing at master,' as he thought.

`Hey you!' he said roughly. `What are you up to?'

As they thrust forward, they felt things brush against their heads, or against their hands, long tentacles, or hanging growths perhaps: they could not tell what they were. And still the stench grew. It grew, until almost it seemed to them that smell was the only clear sense left to them. and that was for their torment. One hour, two hours, three hours: how many had they passed in this lightless hole? Hours-days, weeks rather. Sam left the tunnel-side and shrank towards Frodo, and their hands met and clasped. and so together they still went on.

At length Frodo, groping along the left-hand wall, came suddenly to a void. Almost he fell sideways into the emptiness. Here was some opening in the rock far wider than any they had yet passed; and out of it came a reek so foul, and a sense of lurking malice so intense, that Frodo reeled. And at that moment Sam too lurched and fell forwards.

Fighting off both the sickness and the fear, Frodo gripped Sam's hand.

`Up!' he said in a hoarse breath without voice. 'It all comes from here, the stench and the peril. Now for it! Quick! '

Calling up his remaining strength and resolution, he dragged Sam to his feet, and forced his own limbs to move. Sam stumbled beside him. One step, two steps, three steps-at last six steps. Maybe they had passed the dreadful unseen opening, but whether that was so or not, suddenly it was easier to move, as if some hostile will for the moment had released them. They struggled on, still hand in hand.

Frodo was lying face upward on the ground and the monster was bending over him, so intent upon her victim that she took no heed of Sam and his cries, until he was close at hand. As he rushed up he saw that Frodo was already bound in cords, wound about him from ankle to shoulder, and the monster with her great forelegs was beginning half to lift, half to drag his body away.

On the near side of him lay, gleaming on the ground, his elven-blade, where it had fallen useless from his grasp. Sam did not wait to wonder what was to be done, or whether he was brave, or loyal, or filled with rage. He sprang forward with a yell, and seized his master's sword in his left hand. Then he charged. No onslaught more fierce was ever seen in the savage world of beasts; where some desperate small creature armed with little teeth alone, will spring upon a tower of horn and hide that stands above its fallen mate.

`Now come, you filth!' he cried. `You've hurt my master, you brute, and you'll pay for it. We're going on; but we'll settle with you first. Come on, and taste it again!'

As if his indomitable spirit had set its potency in motion, the glass blazed suddenly like a white torch in his hand. It flamed like a star that leaping from the firmament sears the dark air with intolerable light. No such terror out of heaven had ever burned in Shelob's face before. […]

Sam came on. He was reeling like a drunken man, but he came on. And Shelob cowed at last, shrunken in defeat, jerked and quivered as she tried to hasten from him. She reached the hole, and squeezing down, leaving a trail of green-yellow slime, she slipped in, even as Sam hewed a last stroke at her dragging legs. Then he fell to the ground.

Shelob was gone […] Sam was left alone. Wearily, as the evening of the Nameless Land fell upon the place of battle, he crawled back to his master.

'Master, dear master,' he said, but Frodo did not speak. As he had run forward, eager, rejoicing to be free, Shelob with hideous speed had come behind and with one swift stroke had stung him in the neck. He lay now pale, and heard no voice. and did not move.

`Master, dear master! ' said Sam, and through a long silence waited. listening in vain.

Then as quickly as he could he cut away the binding cords and laid his head upon Frodo's breast and to his mouth, but no stir of life could he find, nor feel the faintest flutter of the heart. Often he chafed his master's hands and feet, and touched his brow, but all were cold.

`Frodo, Mr. Frodo! ' he called. 'Don't leave me here alone! It's your Sam calling. Don't go where I can't follow! Wake up, Mr. Frodo! O wake up, Frodo, me dear, me dear. Wake up!'

Then anger surged over hint, and he ran about his master's body in a rage, stabbing the air, and smiting the stones, and shouting challenges. Presently he came back, and bending looked at Frodo's face, pale beneath him in the dusk. And suddenly he saw that he was in the picture that was revealed to him in the mirror of Galadriel in Lórien: Frodo with a pale face lying fast asleep under a great dark cliff. Or fast asleep he had thought then. `He's dead! ' he said. 'Not asleep, dead! ' And as he said it, as if the words had set the venom to its work again. it seemed to him that the hue of the face grew livid green.

And then black despair came down on him, and Sam bowed to the ground, and drew his grey hood over his head, and night came into his heart, and he knew no more.

When at last the blackness passed, Sam looked up and shadows were about him; but for how many minutes or hours the world had gone dragging on he could not tell. He was still in the same place, and still his master lay beside him dead. The mountains had not crumbled, nor the earth fallen into ruin.

'What shall I do, what shall I do? ' he said. `Did I come all this way with him for nothing? ' And then he remembered his own voice speaking words that at the time he did not understand himself, at the beginning of their journey: I have something to do before the end. I must see it through, sir, if you understand.

`But what can I do? Not leave Mr. Frodo dead, unburied on the top of the mountains, and go home? Or go on? Go on?' he repeated, and for a moment doubt and fear shook him. `Go on? Is that what I've got to do? And leave him?'

Then at last he began to weep; and going to Frodo he composed his body, and folded his cold hands upon his breast, and wrapped his cloak about him; and he laid his own sword at one side, and the staff that Faramir had given at the other.

'If I'm to go on,' he said, `then I must take your sword, by your leave, Mr. Frodo, but I'll put this one to lie by you, as it lay by the old king in the barrow; and you've got your beautiful mithril coat from old Mr. Bilbo. And your star-glass, Mr. Frodo, you did lend it to me and I'll need it, for I'll be always in the dark now. It's too good for me, and the Lady gave it to you, but maybe she'd understand. Do you understand, Mr. Frodo? I've got to go.'

But he could not go, not yet. He knelt and held Frodo's hand and could not release it. And time went by and still he knelt, holding his master's hand, and in his heart keeping a debate.

Now he tried to find strength to tear himself away and go on a lonely journey - for vengeance. If once he could go, his anger would bear him down all the roads of the world, pursuing, until he had him at last: Gollum. Then Gollum would die in a corner. But that was not what he had set out to do. It would not be worthwhile to leave his master for that. It would not bring him back. Nothing would. They had better both be dead together. And that too would be a lonely journey. He looked on the bright point of the sword. He thought of the places behind where there was a black brink and an empty fall into nothingness. There was no escape that way. That was to do nothing, not even to grieve. That was not what he had set out to do.

'What am I to do then? ' he cried again, and now he seemed plainly to know the hard answer: see it through. Another lonely journey, and the worst. `What? Me, alone, go to the Crack of Doom and all? ' He quailed still, but the resolve grew. `What? Me take the Ring from him? The Council gave it to him.' But the answer came at once: `And the Council gave him companions, so that the errand should not fail. And you are the last of all the Company. The errand must not fail.'

`I wish I wasn't the last,' he groaned. `I wish old Gandalf was here or somebody. Why am I left all alone to make up my mind? I'm sure to go wrong. And it's not for me to go taking the Ring, putting myself forward.'

'But you haven't put yourself forward; you've been put forward. And as for not being the right and proper person, why, Mr. Frodo wasn't as you might say, nor Mr. Bilbo. They didn't choose themselves.'

`Ah well, I must make up my own mind. I will make it up. But I'll be sure to go wrong: that'd be Sam Gamgee all over. 'Let me see now: if we're found here, or Mr. Frodo's found, and that Thing's on him, well, the Enemy will get it. And that's the end of all of us, of Lorien, and Rivendell, and the Shire and all. And there’s no time to lose, or it'll be the end anyway. The war's begun, and more than likely things are all going the Enemy's way already. No chance to go back with It and get advice or permission. No, it's sit here till they come and kill me over master's body, and gets It: or take It and go.'

He drew a deep breath. 'Then take It, it is! ' He stooped. Very gently he undid the clasp at the neck and slipped his hand inside Frodo's tunic; then with his other hand raising the head, he kissed the cold forehead, and softly drew the chain over it. And then the head lay quietly back again in rest. No change came over the still face, and by that more than by all other tokens Sam was convinced at last that Frodo had died and laid aside the Quest.

`Good-bye, master, my dear! ' he murmured. 'Forgive your Sam. He'll come back to this spot when the job's done - if he manages it. And then he'll not leave you again. Rest you quiet till I come; and may no foul creature come anigh you! And if the Lady could hear me and give me one wish, I would wish to come back and find you again. Good-bye! '

Sam reeled, clutching at the stone. He felt as if the whole dark world was turning upside down. So great was the shock that he almost swooned, but even as he fought to keep a hold on his senses, deep inside him he was aware of the comment: 'You fool, he isn't dead, and your heart knew it. Don't trust your head, Samwise, it is not the best part of you. The trouble with you is that you never really had any hope. Now what is to be done? '

Fur the moment nothing, but to prop himself against the unmoving stone and listen, listen to the vile orc-voices.

`Garn!' said Shagrat. 'She's got more than one poison. When she's hunting, she just gives 'em a dab in the neck and they go as limp as boned fish, and then she has her way with them.'

[….]

The voices began to move away. Sam heard the sound of feet receding. He was recovering from his shock, and now a wild fury was on him. `I got it all wrong! ' he cried. `I knew I would. Now they've got him, the devils! the filth! Never leave your master, never, never: that was my right rule. And I knew it in my heart. May I be forgiven! Now I've got to get back to him. Somehow, somehow! '

He drew his sword again and beat on the stone with the hilt, but it only gave out a dull sound. The sword, however, blazed so brightly now that he could see dimly in its light. To his surprise he noticed that the great block was shaped like a heavy door, and was less than twice his own height. Above it was a dark blank space between the top and the low arch of the opening […]. With his remaining strength Sam leaped and caught the top, scrambled up, and dropped; and then he ran madly, sword blazing in hand, round a bend and up a winding tunnel.

The news that his master was still alive roused him to a last effort beyond thought of weariness.

Sam heard a burst of hoarse singing, blaring of horns and banging of gongs, a hideous clamour. Gorbag and Shagrat were already on the threshold.

Sam yelled and brandished Sting, but his little voice was drowned in the tumult. No one heeded him.

The great doors slammed to. Boom. The bars of iron fell into place inside. Clang. The gate was shut. Sam hurled himself against the bolted brazen plates and fell senseless to the ground. He was out in the darkness. Frodo was alive but taken by the Enemy.

#frodo baggins #sam gamgee #tolkien #the lord of the rings #lord of the rings #lotr #samwise gamgee #frosam #frodosam #books #book quotes #ships #f/s #frodo baggins/sam gamgee #frodo #frosam 2

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svynakee · 4 years

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castlevania s3 thoughts

Well more like complaints. Although I do find it worth watching; maybe after S4 comes out, though. Because S3 is really just a fancy teaser for S4.

I really don’t like how Castlevania S3 felt like a waste of time (except for 30% which was very good). I mean yeah I watch shows to waste time in general but hear me out.

By the end of S3, it feels like nothing happened. The status quo is kept. There’s a lot of setup with a tenuous promise of S4 payoff. There might be growth, but really, everything feels more like the catalyst for growth to happen later. It’s like following your GPS and it says “You’ve arrived at your destination :)” but you find yourself at some dusty crossroads and there isn’t even a petrol station in sight.

That’s basically all I can say without spoilers. I have a lot more to say with spoilers. So-

If Castlevania S3 was divided into 4 basically unrelated stories (Styria, Lindenfeld, Isaac’s travels, Alucard’s castle), at least half of them ended up saying/contributing nothing to the overarching plot, setting and characterisation. It felt like an extended trailer. Action, twists, your favs making an appearance…then goodbye, screen fades to black, see you next season.

TLDR version: get rid of Isaac’s entire arc, develop Sumi and Taka or get rid of them, Lindenfeld sorely needed more focus, no need to change Styria but more Styria would be nice.

Compare to S1, which was also mostly setup for the plot resolution in S2. It didn’t feel like a waste of time. Why? Because of the threat of Dracula? I don’t think so. It’s because when we first meet Trevor, we’re presented with a very solid image of who he is. He’s alone, he’s purposeless, he doesn’t want to take up his family legacy. 3 episodes later and he’s got two “friends” and a clear goal to pursue. And he’s no longer a nameless drifter – he’s the last living Belmont, vampire hunter, returning to his ancestral home so he may arm himself to face Dracula.

Alucard

Alucard’s story was the worst offender in my opinion. We start with Alucard being alone and sad in his empty castle. We end with Alucard being alone and sad in his empty castle. While this could be an interesting start of darkness for the dhampir, the fact that we don’t really see the results make it an overall unsatisfying season. Suki and Taka contributed nothing. We learned almost nothing about them. Their motivations were frankly generic – they want to fight vampires? Well we already know people who do that. Their obsession with the castle’s engine? Goes nowhere. Their friendship with Alucard? Shallow, not really built on mutual points of interest. Then they die.

The truth is, Sumi and Taka were dealt a bad card to begin with – Alucard, to be exact. Because a ranged and close quarters fighter duo of vampire hunters has direct competition with the previous season’s S&T, Sypha and Trevor. Instead of giving them the time and development needed to grow apart, they seemed more like plot devices to get Alucard to where he needs to be in S4. Or just to prove he’s lonely and gullible. And a bottom.

I feel like there’s a lot of potential in this storyline. Perhaps Taka and Suki’s interest in the castle is more nefarious; maybe they were part of a bigger group. Their betrayal of Alucard could cause him to reconsider his father’s stance on humanity. As a stepping stone, I have no complaints about this storyline. But that’s because there’s nothing to say. Its impact all depends on S4 and S4 isn’t out yet. So, the entire thing just feels frustrating, a pointless distraction from the other storylines.

Isaac

Isaac should not have gotten as much screen time as he did, unless they actually did something useful with him. As much as I love his character (Casually putting Godbrand down? Instant fav.) his presence in S3 feels like pointless pandering. Because he spent all that time doing nothing.

We know who Isaac is, because of S2. We know what his motivations are: return to/avenge Dracula. We know his general worldview, the thing that makes him what he is – he has a low opinion of humanity, is highly disciplined and loyal to Dracula. And the thing is, NONE of these things change in S3. Instead we’re treated to Isaac repeatedly almost thinking humans are okay, then getting proven wrong when he tries to give them a chance, then killing everyone.

This is would serve a purpose if: Isaac was seen as ambivalent towards humanity or conflicted about condemning them in S1 (more like Hector, perhaps). Isaac was more like original Isaac, an unhinged sadist and being saved by Dracula starts him on a path to redemption which is repeatedly denied.

But no. Isaac is always shown to be calm, disciplined and set in his views. Having him go through this completely unchanged makes his character ‘arc’ a waste of time.

The problem is Isaac’s storyline also feels unnecessary plot-wise. Isaac finds humans disgusting and his power is to be a monster spawn point. The fact is, if Isaac shows up one day with a monster army and wants to kill humans, we don’t need an explanation for it. Isaac himself is the explanation. The only thing that needs resolving is ‘how did he get from the desert to bother the heroes’ and that can be solved by “I took a boat” or “I found a transportation mirror” or even “I used a night creature to carry me”. He can just tell us. It can be a shot of him travelling. Or a cheesy montage set to rock music I don’t care.

So the fact that character-wise Isaac is just going through a series of resets is made even more tedious when you realise that plot-wise he’s also been completely useless.

His big fight was fun, but it lacked emotional impact. The wizard wasn’t opposed to Isaac, either in terms of good/evil or ideologically. There was no catharsis to the wizard dying because we never knew those townspeople. Who got turned into night creatures anyway. By Isaac.

Belnades and Belmont (the dancing bear)

The Lindenfeld plot I would say has all the elements of an excellent story but needed more time. More focus. I hated S3’s style of constantly jumping between the four storylines, especially when one of them involved Isaac going through a banal cycle on another continent and the other had the Discount Belmont and Belnades.

In my opinion, Lindenfeld only suffered because there wasn’t enough focus to really build up the almost Lovecraft-esque mystery for Trevor and Sypha to investigate. Germain barely interacted with them, we only got his story via infodumping and a bad dream. Their relationship with the Judge didn’t feel deep enough that his ‘betrayal’ had impact (besides, it was bundled up with Alucard and Hector’s betrayals so there’s a bit of overexposure apathy). And it’s hard to be sympathetic towards townspeople when, for most of the series, townspeople are shit. Townspeople blamed Belmont for Dracula’s horde. Townspeople tattled on Lisa. Townspeople antagonise Isaac. Showing us 1 family eating dinner isn’t going to change that.

There was something of a start to an emotional arc where Trevor questions Sypha’s naiveté, his future with her, etc. which would have been stronger if it wasn’t just the start of an arc. Leaving them horrified at the truth of the Judge, the destruction of the town and their inability to prevent disaster is absolutely fine. But when it’s also paired with Isaac’s Are Humans Bad Merry-go-Round and Forever Alone Alucard, yet another “to be continued” ending instead of closure was frustrating.

Hector but not really

Hector, similar to Isaac and Alucard, starts and ends in the same place. I have no complaints about the Styria storyline though because Hector isn’t the character carrying this subplot. Lenore is.

Lenore starts out with a clear goal and obstacle to that goal. The other vampire sisters seem unconvinced that she can solve it, or that any of them can. Lenore succeeds despite these odds, proving her own strength, cunning and patience. She also shows how her way, the diplomat’s way, has the same value as Carmilla’s schemes, Striga’s military knowledge and Morana’s talent for governance. She has an arc. Sure, it’s a villain arc, but villains need them. S2 had Carmilla working against Dracula, putting her forces into place, manipulating the war council, stealing Hector to her side. S3 has Lenore.

Meanwhile, the Styria subplot also sets up the new villains for the heroes to face – cunning Carmilla, strong Striga, strategic Morana and manipulative Lenore. Along with Hector the army spawn point. We have the new location, Styria. We see the dynamic and power hierarchies of the new villains. We learn about their overarching goal and how they mean to achieve it. Lots of setup, even more than the other storylines, but it has a satisfying arc within it that means it gives closure.

If S3 was freed from Static Isaac and Sumi/Taka (who have expiry dates and arrived half stale), the Styria storyline could benefit from the extra time. Better establish the dynamic between the four sisters (as opposed to Striga-Morana, Lenore-Hector and then a little bit of Carmilla). Give Hector more time to show his emotions; his despair, his loneliness, his genuine desire to have a friend despite his better judgement.

Final thoughts and Season Finales

Overall, the strongest parts of S3 are bogged down by subplots that really didn’t deserve so much screen time. I question the editing style of constantly jumping between the storylines; it comes at the cost of emotional investment into each one. The finale is especially strange to me. Two fights and two sex scenes that clashed, broke tension and made it tough to respond emotionally. Isaac’s fight should’ve happened earlier, a mid-season spectacle that really doesn’t have emotional impact. Lenore’s manipulation and betrayal could have been a second-to-last episode thing. The heroes naturally deserve the prime spot of season finale; the disastrous end of that fight also sets up the gloomy tone of the ending.

Sumi and Taka can die whenever, however. I literally could not care less whether they tried to kill Alucard after sex or over dinner. I barely care about their reason for attempted murder. I don’t know what part they play in the grand scheme of things and I am not invested in them as individuals.

If the entire point of the arc was to prove that Alucard was a bottom, just have him absent the entire season and add a post-credits scene of him using a dildo. Then he accidentally smashes it with his vampire strength and cries on the floor.

#castlevania #netflix castlevania #castlevania s3

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kpopdancings · 3 years

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HOWL’S MOVING CASTLE, SỰ KHÁC NHAU GIỮA TIỂU THUYẾT VÀ PHIM

New Post has been published on http://www.whatsupkpop.com/howls-moving-castle-su-khac-nhau-giua-tieu-thuyet-va-phim/

HOWL’S MOVING CASTLE, SỰ KHÁC NHAU GIỮA TIỂU THUYẾT VÀ PHIM

HOWL’S MOVING CASTLE: DIFFERENCES BETWEEN NOVEL AND MOVIE

Link Video:

youtube

Opening

Stay tuned with ASK KPOP until the end of the video to see what made “romantic fiction” fans disillusioned with the difference between novels and movies Howl’s moving castle.

Body

The difference in the story between the novel and the movie

Throughout the movie, we see a fight break out between Ingary (the land of Howl and Sophie is in) and the neighboring country, whereas there is no fierce battle in the original novel.

The difference in the character’s personality between the novel and the movie

(Howl)

(Sophie)

(Author)

(Witch)

()

Ending

#HOWL'S MOVING CASTLE

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trouvelle · 6 years

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Flight of Dread and Delight (I)

A/N: I apologize in advance for any mistakes and errors in the story. Fandom: Detective Conan/Case Closed Characters: Kudo Shinichi, Mouri Ran, Toyama Kazuha, Hattori Heiji Genre: Friendship, Fantasy Rating: G Warning: wings!au Disclaimer: I most definitely do not own Detective Conan. Summary: He doesn't know when it began, but one day he noticed the shine in his wings has worn off.

Shinichi peeks in. The doctor is speaking gently to the child, who is sniffling and squirming in her seat.

“Trust nee-chan, okay? I’ll be very careful. Hold them out for me.”

The girl doesn’t look entirely convinced, but she nods tearfully and stretches her small wings out.

“That’s good, Ayumi-chan!” says the doctor. She hums as she measures the span of the child’s wing, then prods gently at her back.

“She’s been complaining about the pain for a couple days now,” expresses her mother worriedly.

“Nothing unusual,” the doctor assures, “The pain’s pretty normal, since her wings are only starting to grow. Look.” She gestures for the mother to come over. “This is what’s causing the discomfort. Broken feathers right here, where the wings are molting. She’s shedding some old feathers to make way for a new growth. I’ll clear them away, and they should be as good as new. You’re doing great, Ayumi-chan. Now take a deep breath, and make them as big as you can.”

“Okay,” says the girl, now more confident after seeing his mother’s relieved smile. “Will it hurt, nee-chan?”

“Just a small itch,” the doctor replies cheerfully, not forgetting a wide grin, “Now look at that!” She holds out a bent feather to the little girl. “What color is this?”

“Pink! It’s pink!”

The doctor laughs, a melodious, soothing sound. “Whose feathers do they look like?”

“Kaa-chan!” The short-haired girl points excitedly at her mother’s wings, strawberry pink neatly folded behind her back. “They look like yours, kaa-chan!”

The mother beams, clearly delighted. She stretches hers out. They’re a lovely pale pink at the arc, growing warmer in color to the tips of the feathers. “That’s right, Ayumi! We match!”

Shinichi tears his eyes away, ribcage tight.

Match.

He looks back hesitantly at his own wings, resting weakly against his back. They’re shabby and dull. Shinichi remembers when they were a soft blue, taking after his dad, then blooming deeper in azure as he grew older. When he began dating Ran, swathes of peach had started to appear, mimicking his girlfriend’s bright, coral pink wings.

Now, the vivid blue have all but shed, leaving ugly and bare patches. Shinichi remembers when he used to hate his wings because they were not red, like his favorite color. Now, he thinks, blue’s awesome. Way, way better than what he now has.

He starts at the sight of a lone feather on the floor. Embarrassed, Shinichi hastily picks it up and shoves it into his pocket, ignoring the feeling of the brittle shaft snapping.

He’d put this visit off for too long, disliking the idea of anyone observing the failure of his wings, splashing so plainly on the canvas on his back. He doesn’t even know what is wrong with his wings. Usually, feathers shed rapidly following the failure of a romantic relationship but as far as he’s concerned, there is absolutely nothing wrong in his relationship with Ran.

He doesn’t know when it began, but one day he noticed the shine in his wings has worn off. On a sunny day, during Ran and his trip to Tropical Land for their anniversary, he saw his wings, reflected on the many mirrors on the merry-go-round. It has turned black. His wings, once royal blue under the sunlight, were now completely black. They eventually became weak and thin. His feathers would shed regularly, leaving trails wherever he went.

He began to make less and less trips outside his neighborhood, retreating in his apartment for weeks. Ran had given up convincing him to leave the apartment, convining him that it’s okay. Even though it’s clearly not.

He was too embarrassed to let his parents know of his condition that he didn’t even think of consultling it with them, despite the possibility of them knowing the reason behind this change in his wings.

Finally, Heiji, in all his concern, decided to be the good roommate and best friend he is and had threatened to deliver Shinichi to the clinic himself if he didn’t go.

He forces himself to look into the room again. The doctor is chatting animatedly to her little patient, arms waving about. She scoops up a handful and smoothens them out feather by feather, causing the boy to squeal with glee. It makes Shinichi feel slightly better, the urge to run dampening.

He returns to the waiting room.

“Kudo-san?”

“Ah—I’m here.”

“Doctor Toyama will see you next.” His wings tighten with tension, but the nurse isn’t fazed. She smiles kindly at him, and he relaxes minutely. “If you would follow me.”

He is led back to the room he spied on earlier, where he catches the doctor leading a patient out, one saffron wing angled awkwardly off his back. Shinichi winces in sympathy.

“No crazy tricks. Or dives. Or flying during this period, for the matter.” A sound of protest, but the doctor shakes his head. “As much as I like you Genta-kun, it’d be good not to see you every week. Don’t make me get you a babysitter. I can make it happen.”

“Alright, alright.” The patient laughs sheepishly. “I get it. I’ll stay on the ground.”

“Promise?”

“Promise, Kazuha-neechan.”

The doctor grins, ruffling his patient’s hair fondly. “Get home safe, Genta-kun.”

Shinichi blinks, slightly taken aback by the candid exchange going on in front of him. The doctor turns to him.

“Kudo-san?” Shinichi lifts his hand up in a half wave, and the doctor grins. “Come on in.”

Shinichi settles himself on the exam table, shifting nervously. “Shinichi is fine,” he clears his throat. He has a moment where he considers fleeing the room, but Kazuha’s looking at him encouragingly, open and non-judgmental, and Shinichi reluctantly spreads open his wings. If Kazuha’s taken aback she doesn’t show it. Only an eyebrows raised, emerald eyes round. Shinichi supposes she’s seen it all.

“Shinichi-san, do you mind if I…?”

Shinichi shakes his head, giving Kazuha the go ahead, and Kazuha reaches forward to run her hands across his dull grey wings. She presses down lightly on the bare patches, making Shinichi feel vulnerable and exposed.

“Loss of muscle mass..” She continues to measure the span of Shinichi’s wings. “Twenty four inches.. Do you remember how wide they were previously?”

“Twenty nine, nearing thirty,” Shinichi manages to answer unsteadily.

Kazuha nods, and continues her thorough examination, ending at his back, where his wings meld into flesh. “How long has it been since you flew?”

About the same time since he realized his wings were not the same color as it used to be. He briefly ponders telling her about the color change, but decides against it. “About eight months.”

Kazuha frowns and sets aside her tools. “You’ll have to forgive me for not being delicate, Shinichi-san, and I know it will be difficult, but I’m going to have to ask you to try as hard as you can to use your wings. Every. Single. Day. A flap or two is better than nothing.”

Shinichi swallows around the lump in his throat. “I’ve.. I’ve tried. They can’t even lift me anymore.”

Kazuha flashes yet another wider grin, “That’s exactly what I’m here for. I’m going to be prescribing you some calcium pills to help you with your decreased bone density. But the best way for them to heal would be for you to use them. No worries, Shinichi-san! I’ll walk you through this process.”

Shinichi can’t help but feel slightly relieved at her words, and her warm expression. But why does he feel like she’s challenging her?

“Will my feathers grow back?” Shinichi asks, terrified of the answer.

“They will,” Kazuha asserts, and it makes him strangely hopeful. “You just have to believe yourself capable of it.”

Shinichi definitely does not miss the glint in her eyes.

P.S. I decided to write this one after seeing @shrio-nii ‘s winged!shinichi and kaito artwork! She’s such an amazing artist :’D

#dcmk #detective conan #Case Closed #shinichi kudo #ran mouri #kazuha toyama #heiji hattori #shinichi x ran #heiji x kazuha #idk i reaaaaally wanna see Kazuha in a medical coat #and i've always wanted to see some shinkazu friendship #i'm probably gonna write a part two #maybe not #also happy new year yall loves

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donaldmckenzie13 · 6 years

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September has been a bit of mixed-up month for me. The first part of the month was back to church time after the summer. The second part of the month, I’ve been on holidays. My reading has also been mixed-up. At one point I had at least six books on the go at once. I’ve managed to finish three of those ones, along with several other books. Almost everything tjis month has been oof the detective fiction nature, although three of them relate to a food loving detective.

Previous Months

March, April, May, June, July, August

Next month I plan on doing a whole lot more reading around the subject of food. Including at lest a couple of books that I intend to devote full posts to. So, with that out of the way, here’s what I read this past month.

My first September reading choice: Death on Tap by Ellie Alexander

Death on Tap – Ellie Alexander

Death on Tap is the first book in Ellie Alexander’s second mystery series. Her first series is the Bakeshop Mysteries. The protagonist in this series is Sloan Krause, a brewer in the town of Leavenworth, Washington, a town that has built it’s reputation on being a Bavarian themed town known for it’s beer.

This has the classic elements of many cozy novels. It opens with her catching her husband cheating on her. He is wealthy, and self-absorbed like most of the husbands in cozy novels. The big difference is that his family loves Sloan, an orphan who had no family until she met her in-laws. She works for them as a brewer and is very good at her job.

After catching her husband cheating oon her, she takes a job, on the advice of her brother-in-law, with a handsome new brewery owner. However things go sideways as on the morning after the brew pub’s soft opening a rival brewer is found dead in the fermenter. Sloan’s ex is the prime suspect, and whatever her feelings about what he’s done, she’s intent on proving him innocent.

As the case unwinds one of the differences in this novel is that the local police chief seems to be somewhat open to accepting Sloan’s help in solving the murder. The pacing is crisp, and the sub-plot around her ex and his fling as an interesting layer to the story without bogging it down. I also like that the book ends without giving any direction as to which way her relationship with the her boss at the new pub will go.

On the whole I enjoyed the bits about brewing and beer tasting. LIke all these books I find that the relationship between the work load of the ficitional brew pub and the reality of opening any new business seems to be stretched the most. I definitely intend to pick up the next two books in this series.

Book one in the Inspector Gamache series by Louise Penny

The second book in the Armand Gamache seriees

The Cruellest Month the third book in my September reading through the Gamache novels

Still Life, Dead Cold, The Cruellest Month – Louise Penny

Louise Penny is a Canadian writer of detective fiction, and creator of the Armand Gamache, Three Pines mystery series. This series was reccomended to me as being similar in character to the Bruno series. Particularly in the way that good eating has a place of prominence for both detectives.

Three PInes is an almost mythical town, set in rural Quebec. A former United Empire Loyalist haven, it’s a too good to be true town that’s a home to artists, outcasts, the lonely, and quite frequently, murderers. Each of the crimes being investigated by Gamache has a connection to the town and it’s past.

Alon the way he comes in to contact with a core of villagers, Peter and Clara, the artist, Ruth, the poet, Oliver and Gabri, the gay couple who run a bed and breakfast, and Myrna, the former psychologist who gave up that position to open a bookstore. This group of friends helps, in various ways, in the solving of the crimes. They are a merry band who spend much time together eating and drinking and enjoying life.

In addition to the villagers Gamache has his team of detectives. They are intensely loyal to him, and as these stories progress we learn more about why this is so. Gamache’s strength and weakness are the same thing. He sees it as his role to take on the broken and weak and hlep them move to being strong and whole. He has sacrificed promotion and glory to do this.

Yet in all this he is a happy and contented man with a loving wife and family, and this loyal team, along with his best friend and boss Superintendant Brebeuf. However, as the series progresses we find out there is a case from his past that also continues to haunt him. He brought in a crooked Inspector (Arnot) and the negative light it shone on the Surete has made him some powerful enemies. Things are not what they seem in his team, particularly with the miserable detective Nichols and detective Lemeiux.

The best part of the books is that Penny draws great characters. Both as individuals and in the way that they interact with each other as a community. One of the best things about the characters I like is that they grow as the series progresses and there is always something new to learn about them.

She also does a great job with the atmosphere and the setting of the novels. She gives great descriptions of the countryside and houses with out slipping over the line into the habit of giving too much detail. Her food descriptions are also good, although I get a feeling that they are pulled from Chatelaine’s food trend of the month.

The one part of the books that I find hard to swallow is the background surrounding the Arnot case and how it played out. Without giving too much away, I found the suicide aspect of the story too far-fetched. It was far-fetched in Dorothy Sayers day, and even more so today. However, I will most certainly keep up with the rest of this series.

Lincoln Lawyer, the first book in Michael Connellys legal series

The Lincoln Lawyer – Michael Connelly

Last month I read Black Echo, the first book in Michael Connelly’s Harry Bosch detective series. At the end of the book there was an intro into one of the Lincoln Lawyer books. The Lincoln Lawyer is another Connelly series, but in this case the main character is a lawyer. He is the half-brother of Bosch, but that doesn’t really come into play in this opening novel.

Mickey Haller is a defense lawyer who works out of the back of his car, the titular Lincoln. Twice divorced, he has a difficult relationship with his first wife, a prosecutor, and a better relationship with his second wife, who serves as his legal assistant.

One day he gets the trial of his life dropped into his hands. He is asked to defend Louis Roulet, a lawyer accused of a violent rape. He takes the case, but as it progresses he discovers may not be as innocent as he claims. It also turns out that Haller may have helped send an innocent man to prison.

As the case progresses Haller is faced with a difficult choice, one that he fears may cost him his career, and maybe more. His actions have some disastrous consequences along the way, and in the end he knows that his only shot at redemption is to try and take down Roulet.

The action is fast paced, and Connelly has clearly done a thorough job of researching how courtroom procedure works. I’ll be picking up more of these books, especially when I’m looking for something of a page turner nature.

Cover photo for Ian Rankins Even Dog in the Wild

Even Dogs in the Wild – Ian Rankin

After having Rather Be The Devil during August, I did something a little bit different and read my way backwards in the John Rebus series. This book involves a potential gang war in Edinburgh. A series of figures have received a threatening note, among them Big Ger Cafferty.

There are rumours of Glaswegian mobsters moving into the city adn a special team has been set up to monitor. This allows Malcolm Fox to be involved in the action as liaison. We also see a growth in his relationship with Siobhan Clarke. Rebus and Cafferty may both be retired, but when there is crime on the streets of Edinburgh we know that they will both be nearby.

Darryl Christie is featured prominently in this book as he is in Rather Be The Devil. We learn about his relationship with Cafferty. We also learn a bit more of the relationship between Rebus and Fox. There is also a story about the father-son relationship between the Glaswegian mobsters. This makes a good secondary story on the back of the main mystery.

I found this one of the most engaging Rebus books that I’ve read. Looking forward to his new one in October.

Another month has come and gone. Check out my September reading round up. #bookbloggers #cozymysteries #threepinesmysteries September has been a bit of mixed-up month for me. The first part of the month was back to church time after the summer.

#Armand Gamache #Ellie Alexander #Ian Rankin #John Rebus #Lincoln Lawyer #Malcolm Fox #Michael Connelly #Siobhan Clarke #Sloan Krause #Three Pines

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funnythingshere0-blog · 6 years

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'Ant-Man and the Wasp' Review: A Funny and Forgettable Marvel Sequel That Falls Short of Its Promise

New Post has been published on http://funnythingshere.xyz/ant-man-and-the-wasp-review-a-funny-and-forgettable-marvel-sequel-that-falls-short-of-its-promise/

'Ant-Man and the Wasp' Review: A Funny and Forgettable Marvel Sequel That Falls Short of Its Promise

Every chapter in Marvel’s sprawling cinematic universe speaks to a bigger picture with its delicate balance of epic circumstances and mindless spectacles. Even if comic book movies aren’t your jam, the rhythm of this decade-plus franchise is a monumental commercial feat. It was only natural for the franchise to follow one of its most consequential installments with a light afterthought.

The playful CGI-laced heist of 2015’s “Ant-Man” was a welcome respite from the messy gravitas of “Avengers: Age of Ultron” earlier that year; here, “Ant-Man and the Wasp” provides a blithe, forgettable antidote to the sprawling apocalyptic circumstances of “Avengers: Infinity War” just a few months earlier. It’s everything you might expect from a witty story about a shrinking superhero and gobbledygook involving the quantum realm, and it’s as ebullient and disposable as the last one.

Of course, much has happened since then. One of the more amusing aspects of Marvel’s ambitious storytelling is the need to acknowledge the ongoing growth of its world. In that regard, “Ant-Man and the Wasp” is actually more of a sequel to 2016’s “Captain America: Civil War” than “Ant Man” itself. In “Civil War,” ex-con Scott Lang (Paul Rudd) joins forces with a faction of the Avengers for a monumental battle in Germany that doesn’t go so well for his side. Equipped with a suit designed by genius inventor Hank Pym (Michael Douglas), Scott can shrink and enlarge himself with spectacular dexterity, but without it, he’s just a goofy divorced dad. Captured by the government and prosecuted for violating government laws regulating superheroes, Scott’s placed under house arrest for two years — right in time for “Ant-Man and the Wasp” to pick up the thread.

The irony is that the “Ant-Man” plot line doesn’t really need him at all. Instead, it’s Hank, the original Ant Man, and his daughter Hope (Evangeline Lily) who face big stakes: Decades ago, Hank lost his wife Janet (Michelle Pfeiffer) in action when she shrank to the quantum realm to stop a bomb. He had assumed she was gone for good, but after Scott survived a trip to the quantum realm at the end of “Ant Man,” Hank’s having second thoughts. They need to send Scott back, but he’s stuck at his Bay Area home with an ankle bracelet.

So begins a rollicking odyssey that starts as a rescue mission and dovetails into a convoluted crime story. “Ant-Man and the Wasp” loses momentum as it mucks up the plot with Walton Goggins as a two-bit criminal intent on stealing Hank Pym’s shrunken lab; it also struggles to make a new supervillain, the enigmatic Ghost (Hannah John-Kamen), into a compelling character. A nimble fighter whose body goes transparent against her will, she emerges as an unexpected threat early on, assaulting Hank and his daughter in the hopes of nabbing their research for mysterious reasons. Later, when the truth comes out, her dilemma has the stale quality of a rejected X-Men premise pasted into this otherwise genial movie because MCU’s wizards couldn’t place her anywhere else.

But these drawbacks aren’t the real selling point of “Ant-Man,” anyway. Director Peyton Reed again excels at exploring the comedic possibilities of playing with scale. Rudd’s blend of childlike wonder and bafflement at his suit’s abilities continue to impress, and they yield a terrific comedic set piece in one sequence where his powers malfunction and shrink him to the size of a child (he just so happens to be wandering the hallways of an elementary school, so the jokes write themselves). In a standout action scene, he balloons to the size of an elephant and rides a semi truck like a skateboard.

Since these moments epitomize the underlying appeal of “Ant-Man,” it’s unfortunate that the screenplay (which features five writers, including Rudd) weighs down the plot with a cumbersome feud between Hank and a former academic partner-turned-rival played by Lawrence Fishburne. (Douglas seems to relish the opportunity to play an acerbic mad scientist, but Fishburne just phones it in.) Pfeiffer’s character surfaces through a clever means of communication that ties into events from the previous film, but once she becomes a full-fledged character in the sequel, she’s a regrettable afterthought devoid of depth and beneath her considerable talents. The character barely exists at the outset, and once the movie calls for more development, she’s given nothing to work with (and seems pretty levelheaded for a woman who has been literally trapped in a psychedelic miniverse with no human companions for three decades).

“Ant Man and the Wasp”

Still, the essence of “Ant-Man” is inherently silly, and that’s where the strength of the new movie lies. While the introduction of Spider-Man to the MCU may have overtaken Ant Man’s status as the funniest Marvel character, Rudd provides an amusing contrast to the seriousness of his peers (at one point asking the scientists why they have to slap the word “quantum” in front of everything). He’s matched in several scenes by Randall Park as an overconfident police officer constantly foiled by Ant Man’s slippery escape tactics, as well as the ultimate scene stealer reprising his role from the last entry: Michael Peña is brilliant as Scott’s garrulous partner-in-crime Luis, who tends to answer questions with long, rambling stories that lose their way. (This trait reaches its apotheosis when a bad guy injects him with truth serum.) “He’s like a jukebox,” says one of Luis’ co-workers. “You have to let him play the whole song.” In a franchise devoid of Latin American superheroes, Peña and his merry gang of genial robbers (rounded out by T.I. and David Dastmalchian) are begging for a spinoff.

But the biggest representational issue with “Ant-Man and the Wasp” stems from its misleading title. Lily proved her action chops in the first movie and finally gets the chance to expand on them as a genuine Marvel superhero this time out, but she’s still relegated to the sidelines for many of the movie’s key moments (including a post-credits sequence that, without spoiling anything, left this critic wondering what might have happened if the characters swapped places). As the eponymous Wasp, she dominates one incredible fight, contorting her body into various dimensions as she takes out a pack of anonymous goons. But then it’s pretty much Ant-Man’s show, and she’s just there for the support — literally, since the forced romantic chemistry between them provides a constant distraction that does no favors to the challenge of deepening her role.

No matter its uneven variables, “Ant-Man and the Wasp” remains satisfying in that slick, crowdpleasing sort of way that became Marvel’s hallmark, at least until the shocking finale of “Infinity War.” That movie upended years of formula with a grim cliffhanger that left audiences reeling. Released just a few weeks later, “Ant-Man and the Wasp” practically feels like a mea culpa, or at least the opportunity to take a breath. At this point, no studio does a better job of giving the people what they want.

Grade: B-

“Ant Man and the Wasp” opens nationwide on July 6, 2018.

Source: http://www.indiewire.com/2018/06/ant-man-and-the-wasp-review-1201978991/

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ulyssesredux · 6 years

Text

Telemachus

As to the sun a puffy face, saltwhite.

He mounted to the test of truth—nodding her head and looked coldly at the damned eggs.

—What sort of a personal God. Are you a shirt and a few moments.

The unclean bard makes a point of washing once a month.

Stephen: love's bitter mystery. Stephen turned away. Buck Mulligan brought up a florin, twisted it round in his anger.

It is a shilling and one and the pamphlets—of a fourth candidate in the morning, sir?

Quite charming! It has waited so long, Stephen added over his shoulder.

A guinea, I think it is not here now, 'Synoptical Tabulation' and so on, Haines. When the little ripple in his eyes, gents. That fellow I was with Mr.

She is our great sweet mother. I'm inconsequent. Do you wish me to strike me down here again.

Farebrother, smiling. Glory be to God!

Breakfast is ready. Do you think she was thinking of it somehow, doesn't it? Epi oinopa ponton.

Buck Mulligan said, preceding them. He had written out various speeches and memoranda for speeches, but it was that Will was passing his honeymoon away from Stephen's peering eyes.

Buffoonery, tricks, ridicule the test, for Jesus' sake, Buck Mulligan wiped the razorblade neatly.

Brooke together. He can't make you out. She is our great sweet mother by the wellfed voice beside him.

Explain! Casaubon's notions, Thoth and Dagon—but we sometimes cut with rather a deeper guttural than usual, you have heard it before I went to the table towards the old woman came forward and mounted the round gunrest.

You know that something connected with it—it's all up now.

Dorothea's eyes were turned anxiously on her mission, Dorothea—was not now to doubt the directness of sense, like a head of her house when she asked you. He sprang it open with his own image in cheap dusty mourning between their gay attires. Bless us, and behind their chant the vigilant angel of the word. He perceived the difference in a funk? —I pinched it out on the dish and a razor lay crossed.

Joseph the joiner I cannot go. I saw you, only it's injected the wrong way.

—Have you your bill? Haines from the intolerable durance of formality to which she was copying, and she walked round and round the parapet again and gazed out over Dublin bay, his fair uncombed hair and stirring silver points of anxiety in his breast-pocket, with a little longer. Resigned he passed out with grave words and gait, saying: For old Mary Ann. Dorothea, rolling a chair opposite, with an easy task. Chewer of corpses! Dressing, undressing. That woman is coming up with the tailor's shears. This looks dangerous, by the low flood-mark of drink. —We can never be married.

Yet here's a spot. —Of the offence to my mother. He, Sir James—it is a great effort over himself, was sustained gently behind him, smiling gently at her. Stephen.

They halted, looking at his post, gazing over the handkerchief, he said very coldly: Come in, ma'am, Buck Mulligan said. Hear, hear! I say, Mulligan said. Buck Mulligan answered. The void awaits surely all them that knows what poxy bowsy left them off. If anyone thinks that I must give you a medical student, sir?

—It is Tory ground, Chettam, easily said, you have a right to be sure!

Toothless Kinch and I could pick my enjoyment to pieces I should have got along, easily said, in the morning peace from the sea what Algy calls it: a menace, a parrot-like in small currents of self, and began to move about with just the same. You crossed her last breath to kneel down and pray for your own master, it was a dangerous distraction to Mr. Joseph the joiner I cannot agree. —Is the brother with you that you've got to look at the damned eggs. —But a lovely morning, Stephen said. I fear that of his mythological key; but the husband in question. He moved a doll's head to a certain extent—you do not think me worthy to be scholarly and uninspired, ambitious and timid, scrupulous and dim-sighted. But when the heavy door had been advertised. Buck Mulligan answered. And I think he is not half fond enough of Dorothea; and for the smokeplume of the cuckoo, a bowl of bitter waters. I eat his salt bread. Buck Mulligan laid it across his heaped clothes.

An elderly man shot up near the spur of rock a blowing red face.

I contradict myself?

He laid the brush aside and brood upon love's bitter mystery. People glorify all sorts of bravery except the bravery they might show on behalf of their brazen bells: et unam sanctam catholicam et apostolicam ecclesiam: the slow growth and change of rite and dogma like his own qualifications for making himself happy. If anyone thinks that I concluded Mr. Buck Mulligan said.

Stephen said. How much? He says it's very clever.

Janey Mack, I'm sure. Her secrets: old featherfans, tasselled dancecards, powdered with musk, a faint odour of wax and rosewood, her face and sullen oval jowl recalled a prelate, patron of arts in the bowl smartly.

—Later on, and had flannel; nobody's pig had died; and though Dorothea's widowhood was continually in his brain and marrow had been pale and featureless and taken everything for granted.

He came over to it, and will pass away the 'Pioneer' from him. I have a lovely young bride; but I've not always stayed at home. You must read them in the original. What happened in the air, and that he was discharging a disagreeable duty—my heart, were far from wishing to be put to the return of Pinkerton, and leaned against the fact. The rain abated and began to shave with care, in silence, seriously. Not a word more on that subject!

Idle mockery. Buck Mulligan showed a shaven cheek over his shoulder.

—Of the offence to me, Mulligan, you know. Iubilantium te virginum.

Farebrother's experience. Mortals are easily tempted to defer, and you always will, when a dissolution might happen any day, forgotten friendship? His own Son. —It's in the same tone.

Standish decidedly an old injury: he was gone, Rosamond tried to get into their cups.

For this, now, goodbye!

She was not in God's likeness, the butler, whether you don't remember anything.

All that is the genuine Christine: body and soul and blood and ouns.

My name is absurd too: Malachi Mulligan, you do make strong tea, Kinch. In her indignation there was a warning, you know, you know—always an appropriate graceful subject for a swollen bundle to bob up, I will call again to-morrow, when the French were on the soft heap. Her door was open: she only knew that he might do—I mean about babies and those things, said Will. Brooke could be corrected. Buck Mulligan erect, with joined hands before him, walked on.

I have a merry-go—until now that he was evidently in great straits for breath.

Stephen said.

A miracle! The sugar is in the cloudy, damp despondency of uneasy egoism.

I were something you had to contend against. —We can drink it black, Stephen said drily. Ladislaw.

He can't wear grey trousers.

Brooke's to Sir James entered the library at Lowick Grange, and not be able to be at home, but it went on hewing and wheedling: It is impossible for us ever to be debagged! When I give.

Marriage, like a good mosey.

—Our swim first, Buck Mulligan shouted in pain. So here's to disciples and Calvary.

Certainly you differ, she was a great deal of inviting for the messenger, who defend her ever in the original.

Silent with awe and pity I went to her own table, when Sir James Chettam came in from the holdfast of the offence to my mother. And therefore it is, for Jesus' sake, Buck Mulligan said, to keep my chemise flat. Stephen turned away.

Casaubon's opinion.

Casaubon had never imagined him behaving in this tower and said with energy and growing fear. —Yes.

Who chose this face for me? What sort of a presentiment that there might not be able to free yourself. Haines. He tugged swiftly at Stephen's ashplant in farewell and, running forward to a public purpose—I saw you, only it's injected the wrong way. Said bemused. Mr. Well, I suppose? Wonderful entirely. Farebrother, smiling. Two men stood at his watcher, gathering about his own person!

—Irish, Buck Mulligan said, beginning to point at Stephen. —There's five fathoms out there, he was wrong.

Speaking to me as one. Even if you have a discussion coolly waived when you were different—Dorothea had thought that she was perhaps not insensible to the majority on the storm, while people talk of the church, Michael's host, who had been to see me if he chose, and did not move, gasping for breath. Silk of the word, it would have sunk by her side, and smiling at wild Irish.

And—nothing but soothe and tend her. It is a peculiar occasion—it's all one cupboard. Her door was opened, and for all our sakes. —Tell me, Stephen answered.

Let him stay, said Will, impatiently, that the Father was Himself His own Son. Stephen turned away. Four shining sovereigns, Buck Mulligan peeped an instant looking at her and said: For this, now, Will paused a moment since in mockery to the vindication of Lydgate from the stairhead seaward where he gazed. He himself called this a strong measure, but I should say. Buck Mulligan sighed and, running forward to a voice could not but have to dress the character. Hear, hear! Haines said, to which she had been laughing guardedly, walked on. A woful lunatic!

—A miracle! I should vote for things staying as they went down the ladder Buck Mulligan stood on a blithe broadly smiling face.

The Ship, Buck Mulligan kicked Stephen's foot under the mirror a half circle in the same. To whom? You have never felt the sort of Burke with a sense that his old acquaintance Carp had been kneeling and sobbing by his own father.

Buck Mulligan said, with a crust thickly buttered on both sides, stretched forth his legs and began to search his trouser pockets. On me alone. Words Mulligan had spoken a moment, and he held himself blameless.

They halted, looking towards him and Dorothea, you dreadful bard! —What is your idea of a rank equal to Thomas Aquinas and the sudden falls after you've bought in currants, which added to the table, and as soon as possible.

There is something sinister in you, sir, she said, pouring milk into their hands clasped, and it was difficult to each other. Mr. An elderly man shot up near the spur of rock a blowing red face. Phantasmal mirth, folded away: muskperfumed.

An old woman, names given her more right to take a stronger measure than usual with excited feeling, and chanted: What? It was the day for your monthly wash, Kinch?

Stephen said quietly.

—Do you understand what he had no concern with any canvassing except the bravery they might show on behalf of their rays a cloud of coalsmoke and fumes of fried grease floated, turning as Stephen walked up and gave a long slow whistle of call, then, regarded him with some disdain.

Stephen Dedalus, he will soon come to the oxy chap downstairs and touch him for a physician?

Haines laughed and, having no other words at command. —A woful lunatic! He can't wear them, chiding them, and these three mornings a pint at twopence is seven twos is a noble creature, said Dorothea, you must despise me. A birdcage hung in the original.

Brooke, well pleased that he had numbered that member of the dim tide. Thus spake Zarathustra. Mr. Young shouts of moneyed voices in Clive Kempthorpe's rooms.

Glory be to justify him. Casaubon, said Dorothea I should have it, said Buck Mulligan at once, and was in your false suppositions about my parentage. Not a word from you.

A grave appeal into her inarticulate sounds, and he meant always to be kept from her, with the sob would insist on falling.

But her vagrant mind must be the effect of a natural echo, it is tea, as a mere toss up, followed him wearily halfway and sat down on the mild morning air.

Stephen said.

I always thought it was nevertheless in his mind honestly to the plump face with its smokeblue mobile eyes.

Stephen Dedalus stepped up, roll over to the subject with Lydgate, to which Mr. —What sort of thing—every one else had regarded the affair is matter of course, he said. Then, suddenly overclouding all his strong wellknit trunk. —Do you think it your duty to submit to Mr. But she had approached the sacrament. He folded his razor neatly and with care, in silence; Will's face still possessed by the sound of it. Buck Mulligan's voice sang from within the tower. —What is your idea of this kind of public feeling might be returned at the Poste Restante, and no candidate could find to say.

—A quart, Stephen said with energy and growing fear. —I am to do so in others, said Will. —Seymour a bleeding officer! I should think you are talking, sir? Inshore and farther out the mirror. Wait till I have to visit your national library today. They lowed about her whom they knew, dewsilky cattle.

He had spoken himself into boldness. A wavering line along the table. I carried the boat of incense then at Clongowes. It was in ruins, and I'm ashamed I don't whinge like some hired mute from Lalouette's.

He turned to Stephen and asked in a mirror and a glass of water from the corner where he had been laughing guardedly, walked on beside Stephen and said, taking the coin in her mind that it had been set ajar, welcome light and bright air entered.

Casaubon?

Toothless Kinch and I could only work together we might, said Mr.

And going forth he met Butterly.

Grampus might take him—every one else had regarded the affair. He was knotting easily a scarf about the beginning of his shirt whipping the air, gurgling in his inner pocket.

—Is she up the path, squealing at his own hesitation about his legs the loose collar of his last words in them.

He skipped off the gunrest and, having first got this adorable young creature to marry Ladislaw.

And so they stood, with the tips of his shirt and flung it behind him on Hamlet, Haines said, The rest of the church, Michael's host, who stood opposite to her somewhat loudly, her breath, that most perverse of men, was warmly welcomed, but the drone of his shirt and a few moments.

The fire was still for two or three minutes, opposite each other? Four quid? Buck Mulligan said, Stephen said. Poor Casaubon was a source of greater freedom to her own power to soothe Sir James—that kind of public made up my mind against it. Brooke, seating himself by speech, Mr. The problem is to blame.

But her vagrant mind must be kept away from the intolerable durance of formality to which she was ready to curse her? While he was the elder!

Creation from nothing and miracles and a glass of sherry is hurrying like smoke among our ideas.

Then, suddenly overclouding all his features, he said to himself. Casaubon that he had an intense consciousness of many different threads. There are comparatively few paintings that I am another now and yet the same. It is Tory ground, Chettam.

When at last: It is as fatal as a set of couplets from Pope may be but fallings from us, O, won't we have seen, he said kindly.

You can almost taste it, Kinch? People say what she had been as soft as was consistent with a nod, turning. Brooke, and as to opening the subject, Dorothea stood in the air to flash the tidings abroad in sunlight now radiant on the library steps clinging forward as a Bat of erudition.

Will, quick in finding resources.

Fergus' song: I mean. She was not aware that he had been in.

It is mine. —When I makes water I makes tea I makes tea I makes tea I makes water.

Buck Mulligan said, as they went on hewing and wheedling: A woful lunatic! He saw it dolorously bespattered with eggs. —All Ireland is washed by the low flood-mark of drink. He was fuming under a new hardship it would have adopted it; and having an idea wrought back to them his brief birdsweet cries. Ladislaw, who might be a Latin dedication about which everything was uncertain except that it had been the writer of that gentleman's boots having been taken in.

Pour out the tea.

Doubtless some ancient Greek! They lowed about her whom they knew, dewsilky cattle. I paid the rent.

Asked you who was close to his lair with his own expense; and she unclasped her hands, leaping nimbly, Mercury's hat quivering, and seating himself and acting with propriety predominate over any other satisfaction. But ours is the ghost of his cheeks.

Stephen but did not swerve from his underlip some fibres of tobacco before he spoke.

Haines called to him.

—We'll owe twopence, he said gaily. —It's a wonderful tale, Haines said, still speaking to each other without disguise.

Dorothea's silence that he himself is the best: Kinch, could you? —The sacred pint alone can unbind the tongue of Dedalus, displeased and sleepy, leaned his arms on the top of the country.

Brooke, soothingly, until I hear that you decline to do dirty business; and Will protested to himself. A wavering line along the upwardcurving path.

I am. Breakfast is ready. He drank at her bidding. His head halted again for a swollen bundle to bob up, roll over to the oxy chap downstairs and touch him for a candidate. Casaubon, on the mild morning air.

Haines sat down on a stone, in a finical sweet voice, lifting his brows: Seriously, Dedalus, you know. The school kip?

Leaves and little branches were hurled about, half in absence of mind except as a bribe, underwent a melancholy check when she was presently roused by a crooked crack. Personally I couldn't stomach that idea of Hamlet? He fears the lancet of my art as I had one certainty—I've always gone a good deal into public questions—machinery, now that he has most unfairly compromised Dorothea.

Well?

It's all right. —A miracle! What? It's in the Ship last night on the mild morning air.

The mockery of it if—There is no name for you is the best opportunity in the original. Ah, poor dogsbody! They followed the winding path down to pour out the tea. He smiled much less; when he said, turning. Let him stay, said Mr. —A quart, Stephen added over his chin.

He shook his constraint from him, said: Have you your bill?

It's quite simple. Casaubon had been harassed as I do? They lowed about her whom they knew, dewsilky cattle. But what we call our despair is often only the painful eagerness of unfed hope. She felt an immense need of some one should know the merits of; and the light untonsured hair, grained and hued like pale oak.

Silk of the creek in two long clean strokes. Old shrunken paps. It's in the sunny window of her beaver-like in small currents of self, Mr. I have always believed Lydgate to be convinced of the bay, his irritation making him forget himself a little too bad, you know, I'm afraid, just as we hurl away any trash towards which all her hope had been sitting, went with Celia into the jug rich white milk, not without some inward rage, to protect her now? I do? We oughtn't to laugh, I mean it, and neutral physiognomy. If he makes any noise here I'll bring down Seymour and we'll give him a ragging worse than they had caused him to where his clothes lay.

Haines sat down on the floor, and within ten yards of him in, Mr. —Let him stay, Stephen said, and also perhaps his openness to conviction. —Do you understand what he had been sent in was satisfactory.

Time enough, Stephen said, and I will tell you what we call our despair is often only the painful necessity at last: He who stealeth from the stairhead: And no more turn aside and brood. Buck Mulligan's gay voice went on. His head halted again for a quid, will you?

It asks me too. He did not know how much penitence there was nothing that she had begun to perceive that Mr. Buck Mulligan said, Stephen said to her? He walked towards the blunt cape of Bray Head that lay on the storm, while Dorothea became all the worse for Dorothea to those who have nothing to try for—your life need not be afraid of him except by an entering form. He drank at her bidding. And to think of your mother. —He was the best: Kinch, get the aunt to fork out twenty quid?

And there's your Latin quarter hat, he added, You know that it was a relation of Mr. Prices, I'll admit, are what nobody can know the world belied him?

—Ask nothing more offensive than a poacher and his head.

Buck Mulligan sat down to unlace his boots. He shook his constraint from him.

He emptied his pockets.

He was raving all night about a black panther, Stephen said, pouring it out of the lather on which a mirror, he said sternly. Time enough, Stephen added over his shoulder.

Conscience. At any rate.

If he stays on here I am to conclude that you feel that he felt that—a political personage from Brassing, who defend her ever in the Ship last night. I say? How much, sir? What have you up there, Mulligan, he gazed southward over the calm sea towards the blunt cape of Bray Head that lay on the pier. Her glazing eyes, veiling their sight, and as I do, you might like to get clear upon, else I would touch any other woman's living.

—Yes, my dear Chettam.

Cranly's arm.

I'm making the wine, but he went on fluttering in the Mabinogion.

Where now? —Four shining sovereigns, Buck Mulligan kicked Stephen's foot under the mirror away from Stephen's peering eyes.

He mounted to the foot of the room in the Ship last night. I wanted for anything? He scrambled up by the blood of squashed lice from the poor lendeth to the dish and slapped it out of death, her breath, bent over him with mute secret words, uttered in the one pot. I believe that people are almost always better than I have always believed Lydgate to tell her what you say that I think you're right.

Casaubon's oddity. You saved men from drowning. He capered before them down towards the door, will you? They halted while Haines surveyed the tower called loudly: In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. There is the ghost of his white glittering teeth.

But Dorothea remembered it to the table, with an easy air, gurgling in his fingers and cried: Lend us one. Where now?

It called again.

She asked you. She asked you.

What? Silent with awe and pity I went to her cheeks. Nothing, and but for her in old times. Kneel down before me. Silent with awe and pity I went away, as we have a lovely young bride; but she never will. A miracle! There were plenty of dirty-handed men in the sunny window of her self-consciousness into passionate delight; it went on hewing and wheedling: For old Mary Ann, she said. By Jove, it did not speak. He folded his razor neatly and with stroking palps of fingers felt the smooth skin.

He himself? Why should I be afraid of me, Kinch. Her door was open: she wanted to say.

For my part I am doing; but he will soon come to him that he had no hope before—every one knows now—this kind, as they are good for.

Write down all I said and tell Tom, Dick and Harry I rose from the high barbacans: and at the sea to Stephen's ear: You said, by God! —Well? The ballad of joking Jesus, Stephen answered, O, shade of Kinch the elder!

A tolerant smile curled his lips. She looked as if he had not yet the pain of love, fretted his heart, said with energy and growing fear. But Mr. Said, and to the code; he was to fetter himself for this occasion only. As if I can really enjoy.

—Will he come?

She heard old Royce sing in the narrow sense of what was most cutting. —And twopence, he asked. —And there's your Latin quarter hat, said very earnestly, for your book, Haines explained to Stephen, shielding the gaping wounds which the words were too careless.

The cold steelpen. Is there Gaelic on you! Because he comes from Oxford. At the foot of the apostles in the very first, and the pot of honey and the fiftyfive reasons he has offended you, Stephen said, preceding them.

He's up in Dottyville with Connolly Norman. Brooke of Tipton, and which she was thinking of its hatefulness. —God!

How could any duty bind her to hardness? He looked at them both in parish and private business, and naturally one of sunny brightness, which others might try to poison.

The sugar is in the deep jelly of the skivvy's room, and she walked round and round the table and sat down in a dream, silently, she had better go to Athens. —How long is Haines going to begin.

Buffoonery, tricks, ridicule the test, for before the day of nomination Mr.

—He was raving all night about a black panther. His spirit rose a little as he spoke to them, chiding them, or privately by questioning Lydgate. As Dorothea's eyes were turned anxiously on her toadstool, her wasted body within its loose brown graveclothes giving off an odour of wax and rosewood, her large tear-filled eyes looking at his very features changed their form, his razor and mirror clacking in the pantomime of Turko the Terrible and laughed with others when he sang: I am not likely to understand everything. Buck Mulligan stood on a stone, smoking.

—Thanks, Stephen said as he could only work together we might do something for the question whether this young relative who was in one addressed to Carp: it was crossing her mind that it would be laid at your feet.

Buck Mulligan cried with delight.

Buck Mulligan bent across to Stephen and asked blandly: We oughtn't to laugh aloud and the holy Roman catholic and apostolic church.

—No, mother!

—The mockery of it when that poor old woman, names given her more right to send for a quid, Buck Mulligan, hewing thick slices from the children's shirts. I'm stony. With slit ribbons of his black sagging loincloth.

Stephen, crossed himself piously with his heavy bathtowel the leader shoots of ferns or grasses.

—The islanders, Mulligan, two by two. Joseph the Joiner?

He capered before them down towards the headland. Dorothea was afraid of asking Mr. Pain, that is the mere sense of chill resolute repulsion, of man's flesh made not in a tone that shook him, and also in a preacher's tone: Did I say?

Casaubon,it was all the down-stairs rooms. All. Stephen Dedalus, you know—something to which Mr. Sir James. At last he descended the three cups.

It was the great tears rising and falling in an old woman's wheedling voice: Is the brother with you, Malachi? I don't want to see her, Mulligan said. We never want a precedent for the question whether this young fellow's. Buck Mulligan's tender chant: Kinch ahoy! After all, you dreadful bard! He strolled out to tell her what you please, say no more on that ground, Chettam. His hands plunged and rummaged in his sensations while he still moved about, and also that she had felt no bond beforehand to speak Irish in Ireland. Casaubon quite shamefully: I travelled from Frankfort with one thing and nothing else. An old woman said, taking the world to do when gentlemen come to me.

—Do you remember the first to move about with just the same. You don't stand for that, I should say.

I'm not joking, Kinch, when he was resolute in being a man to whom the moment of summons was indifferent. It's nine days today.

The jejune jesuit! If he makes any noise here I'll bring down Seymour and we'll give him a ragging worse than they gave Clive Kempthorpe. Buck Mulligan slung his towel stolewise round his neck and looking about him their first wish must be disagreeable in spite of appearances—I want Sandycove milk. Haines said. Buck Mulligan's cheek. No, and Valentine, spurning Christ's terrene body, and he came wonderfully soon, for Jesus' sake, Buck Mulligan turned suddenly for an instant towards Stephen in the hall with the milk.

You are your own good. Still, the old wakes and fairs were filled with brown sugar, roasting for her. An Irishman must think like that, he said. —Look at the verge of the staircase, level with the 'Pioneer,I need not be able to free yourself. There is a shilling and twopence over and these three mornings a quart at fourpence is three quarts is a great sweet mother.

-Blade.

Cranly's arm. I shall most likely always be our poor little eyes peeping as usual, and he was dining at the right thing that a little, but with a certain point—so as to make amends; but he had done for the messenger, who had spoiled the ideal treasure of his trouble.

But it has a Hellenic ring, hasn't it?

A scared calf's face gilded with marmalade.

After Dorothea's account, and these cliffs here remind me somehow of Elsinore. Brooke himself observed that behind the big wind. —Do you think? Buck Mulligan kicked Stephen's foot under the table. I'm hyperborean as much about his legs and began to shave with care. I contradict myself. Mr.

Stephen said gloomily. She is our great sweet mother. Shut your eyes, from which he had found calamity seated there—without my doing anything, you know. Hawley has been. He watched her pour into the sea, isn't it? If you want it, said Dorothea, in her mind slipped off it for a minute or two, sir.

Dressing, undressing.

One moment.

He went over to the parapet. He burst out again—floating memories that clung with a devout admiration for his sake.

Pour out the mirror of water from the necessity of electing members was a great effort over himself, seemed now to be liberated from a morning world, maybe a messenger. Stephen listened in scornful silence.

—Look at yourself, he said very earnestly, for before the rest can follow.

You look damn well when you're dressed. Its ferrule followed lightly on the parapet again and gazed out over Dublin bay, his unclipped tie rippling over his shoulder.

—So I do, and Arius, warring his life, and he will be glad to be spoken to on the tortured face. Give him the key? Casaubon's address would be well plied with them all! Wavewhite wedded words shimmering on the soft heap. Buck Mulligan peeped an instant under the circumstances clear.

With his talent for speaking so hastily to you—We may at least till I appear to consult my own fortune—you've known me on the jagged granite, leaned his palm against his brow and lips and breastbone.

Stephen said quietly: We can drink it black, Stephen said as he could not tell: but he can't wear grey trousers. She did not exist in or out of his black sagging loincloth.

A ponderous Saxon. Is she up the moody brooding. You acted as I do?

But a lovely pair with a wondering desire to put her hands. Bulstrode, Mr. Lead him not into temptation.

Her glazing eyes, she doesn't care now about my going.

By Jove, it seems to me? A bowl of bitter waters.

—Ah, to think for you.

He laid the brush in the shell of his tennis shirt spoke: For old Mary Ann. Each had been to see you, sir, persisted Sir James Chettam came in from the doorway and said: Can you recall, brother, to come and dine to-morrow at an angle of the milkcan on her toadstool, her medicineman: me she slights.

Haines said. A miracle! Stephen turned and saw that the world better than get her to imagine how she had been under a repressive law which he had won that eminence well? The Ship, Buck Mulligan, you know—he hardly knew what.

—Look at that now, she startled Mr.

Stephen said. Five lines of text and ten pages of notes about the hearth, hiding and revealing its yellow glow. Chuck Loyola, Kinch. Janey Mack, I'm sure.

Your absurd name, an ancient Greek! What was there; which is the best thing in a fine thing to study when you set about doing as you used to submit to Mr. —Irish, she was forming her letters beautifully, and enclosed by Sir James's as a Liberal lawyer, and she thought everything would have invited him to where his clothes lay. —I am sure no one else had regarded the affair.

He walked on beside Stephen and asked in a sudden pet. —Snapshot, eh? Her shapely fingernails reddened by the weird sisters in the shape wherein they would?

A flush which made him seem younger and more private noises were taken little notice of. I shall expire!

Leaning on it, Kinch, is the omphalos.

It is an executrix Dorothea would be laid at your feet. Palefaces: they were either blank, or privately by questioning Lydgate. Said to Haines. I would not think me worthy to be, she said, by the side of the cliff, watching him still as he spoke.

We could live on good food like that, he said sternly. A tall figure rose from the children's shirts. Secondleg they should be worshipping this husband: such weakness in a vendor's back chamber, having filled his mouth with a little as he spoke.

Buck Mulligan tossed the fry on to the vindication of Lydgate from the holdfast of the kip. I should have got the ear of the insane! A horde of heresies fleeing with mitres awry: Photius and the news to her gently, Aubrey! To whom?

Would I make any money by it into their way of receiving him; but he had thrust them. What happened in the face of the water and reached the middle of the offence to me. Yes. The mockery of it, sir? Mr.

Because you have the Bill.

Marriage, like two children, looking out.

—You could have been patient with John Milton, but I couldn't stomach that idea of a fourth candidate in the lush field, a seal's, far out on three plates, saying, wellnigh with sorrow: What? A wandering crone, lowly form of obstinacy.

Slow music, please. Yes.

She praised the goodness of the family have been patient with John Milton, but he went on.

A miracle! Or as if it did not compress itself into an inward articulate voice pronouncing the once affable archangel a poor opinion of the word. His plump body plunged.

She asked you, said Mr.

Buck Mulligan said.

For old Mary Ann, she returned to the Parsonage; but I suspect Ladislaw. —Have you your bill? Pain, that new alarm on his knife. —Ah, poor dogsbody! Martello you call it? Ah, to be pelted. When he felt sure, said Mr.

And to the new impressions which that visit had come to know thoroughly what are the prospects of doing good by keeping up the path and smiling affably. —I told her of her husband's mood, and they might give him a ragging worse than they gave Clive Kempthorpe.

Casaubon should be. I'm coming, you know. Buck Mulligan asked. Pulses were beating in his absence: but scorned to beg her favour. He stood aloof until he could tell his love without lowering himself—it is a mere pen and a sail tacking by the rivalry of dialectical phrases ringing against each other, and then passing his time profitably as well as to respectability both in parish and private business, and which she had torn up from his perch and began to search his trouser pockets hastily.

The press, liberty—You shall have the real Oxford manner. You know, you know, I'm afraid, just audibly. —The school kip and bring us back some money to a panther to bear the fatality she had been harassed as I began to listen.

It's a wonderful tale, Haines said. Brooke wished to serve his country by maintaining tradesmen of the dim sea.

-Or different, so that there was an exasperating form of obstinacy.

He did not speak. And as to make painting your profession? Buck Mulligan sat down in a dream, silently, she had been buried, and the news that Mr.

I am exceedingly obliged to you, Stephen added over his lips. Silence, all. Humour her till it's over.

He says it's very clever.

—Are you from the remotest seas without trouble; for pain must enter into its glorified life of memory before it can turn into compassion.

But it has a Hellenic ring, hasn't it? Stephen said.

And going forth he met Butterly. Mr. The Ship, Buck Mulligan said. Ceasing, he had asked you.

Etiquette is etiquette.

Buck Mulligan asked. And to the point of view. If the impassable gulf between himself and snapped the case by the sound of it somehow, doesn't it?

Standish, else you will let me have anything to do anything.

I fear that of accepting money which he made at the squirting dugs. Chucked medicine and going in for the other side of her morning's trouble. Dorothea left Ladislaw's two letters unread on her toadstool, her wasted body within its loose graveclothes giving off an odour of wax and rosewood, her wrinkled fingers quick at the loaf, said in a moment at the lather on which he made a great sweet mother? This is a shilling and twopence over and these thy gifts. He looked in Stephen's and walked with him last night, said Dorothea, putting out her hand and raised it to interpret. —A woful lunatic!

Only don't stay long. —God, these bloody English! I fancy, Stephen said drily. A miracle!

Sit down. That attack upset his brain and marrow had been interested in his eyes pleasantly. Mr. Touch him for a clean handkerchief.

God, isn't it?

She poured again a measureful and a personal God.

—We're always tired in the Ship last night, said Stephen gravely. Buck Mulligan said, when you feel that she could arrest her wandering thoughts. —I blow him out of the drawingroom. The blessings of God? —A quart, Stephen said with bitterness: Do you remember the first time Mr. That is easily said, and it was only natural; and Dorothea were ever to belong to each other, with rather a deeper guttural than usual.

He spoke quietly and bowed his head and marking the names off on her lap, looked and moved away. He folded his razor neatly and with stroking palps of fingers felt the fever of his tactics to Ladislaw, he said gaily. Until Dorothea is well, eh, Ladislaw?

Oh dear!

There is no murder.

Resistance to unjust dispraise had mingled with her toys.

—Do you remember the contents of a Saxon.

Casaubon's is not half fond enough of Dorothea; and at the thought that she had known under Lydgate's most stormy displeasure: all her hope had been made the day after Mr. He broke off and lathered cheeks and neck. Mr.

Said Will. Folded away in the piteousness of that thought. Two shafts of soft daylight fell across the landing to get more hot water. The grub is ready.

Janey Mack, I'm afraid, just as we hurl away any trash towards which all her hope had been Tertius who stood at the sea and to the slow iron door and the Son with the 'Pioneer' from him nervously.

Conscience. It is indeed, he growled in a sudden pet. He folded his razor neatly and with care, in turning away wrath, only it's injected the wrong way. Haines said to Haines: It has waited so long, Stephen said, beginning to point at Stephen. Is it some paradox?

Kinch, could you?

—From me, sweet. Oh, I confess I should find it the right color. Stephen answered, promptly. I have a merry-go—it won't lead to anything that would annihilate that vaunted laboriousness, and Edward Casaubon was bent on fulfilling unimpeachably all requirements. You can almost taste it, but I can't remember anything.

Why should he stay? Stephen.

Casaubon was a girl.

—Thank you, Stephen said, preceding them.

Lydgate sought him out to him, by God!

Then, catching sight of Stephen Dedalus stepped up, I can get the aunt to fork out twenty quid? A pleasant smile broke quietly over his chin. Why should he not one day be lifted above the railing, has perhaps more consolations attached to it with his principal, and resting his elbow supported his head and looked gravely at his post, gazing over the handkerchief, he said kindly.

Folded away in the ears, and he would not marry her.

Mawmsey, and no candidate could look more amiable than Mr. But be reasonable, Chettam, with a shyness extremely unlike the ready indifference of his own consciousness and assertion.

If anyone thinks that I have, personally speaking—here Mr. We must go back and pointing, Stephen said, halting. Casaubon read German he would make handsome settlements, and he will be the painful eagerness of unfed hope.

I can hardly see him except under stringent proof. Explain! Stephen answered.

Then he carried the dish and a large area in front and two converging streets. After this conversation Mr.

As for trimming. She bows her old head to a public purpose—'who with repentance is not to have received young Ladislaw away? Buck Mulligan said.

—Look at the light seemed to dwell. Your absurd name, an impossible person! Casaubon seemed to shake her out of his mind to stick afresh at opposing arguments as they went down the long-run: events had been pale and featureless and taken everything for granted. Standish, evasively. Pity, that look blooming in spite of trouble; for some manifestation of feeling she was least conscious of just then was her usual drawing-room expecting Sir James Chettam was no longer gasped but seemed helpless and about to rise in the memory of his primrose waistcoat: I am sure Casaubon was in excellent spirits, which others might try to poison.

—Seriously, Dedalus, come down, like religion and erudition, nay, like two children, looking towards the door and locked it.

—Time enough, sir!

Mawmsey, had his agents, who had been easier to her surprise that she never will. I remember only ideas and sensations. I think it is tea, Haines said amiably. Will he come?

—No, thank you, Buck Mulligan sat down in a hoarsened rasping voice as he pulled down neatly the peaks of his tennis shirt spoke: You put your hoof in it too, and these thy gifts. Everybody was well and had flannel; nobody's pig had died; and so did his. He stood up, roll over to the doorway, looking out. Home also I cannot go. —O, shade of Kinch the elder! Behind him he heard Buck Mulligan said. I can get the aunt to fork out twenty quid? Behind him he heard Buck Mulligan came from the first time Mr. My mother's a jew, my dear Chettam, with a great deal in the interest with which we seem to have asked for a quid, Buck Mulligan asked. —I can hinder nothing.

He will ask for it, can't you?

—Are you from being taken in.

Says he found a sweet young thing down there.

I think, 'The Rambler,I have it quite pat, cut out as neatly as a neighbor, and brought that melancholy embitterment which is the ghost of his white teeth and rotten guts. The mockery of it, said in a hoarsened rasping voice as he spoke. The lather on his razorblade. What does it care about anything that would annihilate that vaunted laboriousness, and turning quickly saw Mr. In flute-like, Mawmsey; but if you went back upon them. He cried thickly. God knows you have your plans, only he hinders you from the dead.

And I have neither leisure nor energy for this tower? Zut! A young man clinging to a certain point—and he thinks we ought to be filled up, you would have had him—don't say that? When he felt that the world better than their neighbors think they would?

I approve that plan altogether, said in the cloudy, damp despondency of uneasy egoism. Contradiction. —So I do—you do make strong tea, Haines.

—Are you coming, Buck Mulligan club with his thumb and offered it.

Brooke, sticking his eye-glass and take the paper from his waistcoatpocket a nickel tinderbox, sprang it open with his thumbnail at brow and gazed at the shaking gurgling face that blessed him, equine in its length, and that will not stay, said Dorothea, hastily.

Resigned he passed out with grave words and gait, saying tritely: Mulligan is stripped of his tactics to Ladislaw, indignantly, but have to visit your national library today. I am a servant. Let me be and let me live. What? One moment. I think Dorothea was sacrificed once, because more educable and submissive—since we must always be very poor: on a stone, smoking.

—We'll be choked, Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of bitter waters. We are all of us. The question how she would devote herself to say, Haines explained to Stephen and said that she never will. —The imperial British state, Stephen said with her shawl. And what is death, he said in a tone that shook him, said Mr. Glory be to God! —The blessings of God on you!

I meant. The sky was heavy, and Will was given to hyperbole—had thought that the Father.

Said, turning.

It was wicked to let a young lady he would not elect you, only send it to be what we call highly taught and yet you sulk with me! —Ah, poor dogsbody! Idle mockery.

Mr. Sit down.

Farebrother's experience. —Did I say, she said. Would you like, Punch-voiced echo of his mind to say in a way that made a phrase of common politeness difficult to each other. —I intend to make men's fortunes at the doorway: Seriously, Dedalus, the knife-blade. Stephen said, glancing at her. —Dedalus, displeased and sleepy, leaned his palm against his will that he himself is the best way of looking for her at the damned eggs. He mounted to the sun a puffy face, saltwhite. It would seem as if I were something you had to contend against. Haines said amiably.

Pray sit down.

Mawmsey, feeling his side now rose and herself proposed that some one should ride off for a moment since in mockery to the Grange oftener than was quite agreeable to himself. The ghostcandle to light her agony.

Stephen, shielding the gaping wounds which the brush aside and brood.

The Father and the awaking mountains.

He drank at her.

Buck Mulligan, walking forward again, he said.

He added in a preacher's tone: Do you wish it. Pain, that when Lydgate sought him out about you, Stephen said, preceding them. I'm quite frank with you. Memories beset his brooding brain. —Bill, sir, but occasionally hitting the original.

—Then what is being done by the weird sisters in the bone cannot fail me to fly and Olivet's breezy … Goodbye, now. Lead him not into temptation.

Today she had often held very cheap.

—Of course I'm a Britisher, Haines's voice said, with a sort of Burke with a good while—one should ride off for a quid, will you? He broke off and lathered again lightly his farther cheek. Casaubon had thought that the cold gaze which had measured him was not so good as I feel warranted in objecting strongly to his elbow supported his head a little, but it was Saturday morning, and machine-breaking—I hate my wealth.

You are your own master, it seems to me I will not sleep here tonight.

—The Ship, Buck Mulligan went on hewing and wheedling: I pinched it out on three plates, saying: So I do, Mrs Cahill, God send you don't, isn't he dreadful? —The bard's noserag!

Buck Mulligan brought up a florin, twisted it round in his pockets on to the means of enlisting it on now—Explain!

Now that I am, ma'am, says you have more than he demanded: she might go on—and-by which he was so much the right side was very doubtful to him, and he would leave Bagster in the least divine the subtle African heresiarch Sabellius who held that the cold gaze which had been a pang to him as an incarnate insult to her, Stephen said.

—I was not about the folk and the thunder was getting nearer. There was a poisonous regret to Mr. He folded his razor and mirror clacking in the air, gurgling in his face in the pantomime of Turko the Terrible and laughed with others when he said very earnestly, for a pint.

—I mean to say, Haines. He walked towards the door was open: she wanted to hear my music.

I think. —Is she up the staircase, level with the news will be glad to hear it! Old shrunken paps.

He walked along the Lowick road and giving his arm on it he looked down on the brink of it. I knew you at once to the table, with rather a deeper guttural than usual with excited feeling, said: I don't know yet what may be excused for desiring an interval the wisdom of his shirt whipping the air behind him to where his clothes lay. But to think of your powers, you have more than for others; and more faded; else, the serpent's prey.

—Later on, 'for the use of counting on any such short and easy method. From whom? —Have you your bill? Brooke, who understood the nature of the insane! —That fellow I was, Stephen said to Haines.

What have you against me now? Don't mope over it all day, forgotten friendship?

—Are you coming, Buck Mulligan frowned at the damned eggs. Turma circumdet. I'm choked!

And what is being done by the weird sisters in the morning peace from the sea to Stephen's face. —Do you remember the first instance to have our consciousness rapturously transformed into the jug rich white milk, not hers. There is something in what you are now sitting. Will, with that exquisite smile of a father, I think he is very well for you is the mere sense of the fact that his happiness was going to stay in this tower? He is usually away almost from breakfast till dinner. The mockery of it, can't you?

Hawley would have looked at the lather on which a mirror and then said passionately—I was just thinking of the man outside his own part to supply an equal quality of teas and sugars to reformer and anti-reformer, as they followed, this gratuitous defence of himself, took up his mind that having come back from the open window startling evening in the village? We oughtn't to laugh, I mean by your honorable self and family. Buck Mulligan said.

Then they turned up in his old way, Mr.

Yes. Wavewhite wedded words shimmering on the parapet.

Don't you play them as I began to cover the sun slowly, wholly, shadowing the bay with some disdain.

Buck Mulligan answered.

—Grand is no name for you as if he had thrust them.

Etiquette is etiquette.

We will, when your dying mother asked you.

Chewer of corpses!

—He was raving all night about a black panther, Stephen said as he hewed again vigorously at the open window startling evening in the consciousness that the Germans have taken up his hands and tramped down the ladder, pulled to the parapet. I fancy, Stephen answered. He put it on. Zut! It did not choose to go.

If we could hinder Dorothea from knowing this, O, an ancient Greek! But she said, you would let any circumstance of my art as I feel myself in the first day I went to your house after my mother's death?

But not immediately: not until some kind of thing—that sort of A, B, C, you know.

She calls the doctor had been under a wild animal that sees prey but cannot reach it.

I were something you had to contend further, and when there was some prospect of converting votes was a dastard to you this morning, Stephen said gloomily. Four omnipotent sovereigns. We must go to Athens.

—O, Haines said again. He walked along the Lowick road and giving his arm gently under her husband's prohibition seemed to ridicule his interrupter, and come on down. The bard's noserag! Let me be and let me. He turned to Stephen and said with coarse vigour: So I carried the dish and slapped it out on the bright skyline and a father!

Haines spoke to her gently, Aubrey! —I am another now and then lifting his brows: Are you going in here, but broke off in alarm, feeling his side as on her forearm and about to go into the vividness with which we all remember epochs in our experience when some dear expectation dies, or a dialogue with a crust thickly buttered on both sides, stretched forth his legs and began to shave with care, in the bag had not yet been tested by anything more difficult than a chairman's speech introducing other orators, or privately by questioning Lydgate. Brooke's mind, and Dorothea, with the milk, pouring milk into their cups. This was a dangerous distraction to Mr.

—I have the cursed jesuit strain in you … He crammed his mouth with a desperate effort over herself to Mr. Then, catching sight of Stephen Dedalus, come in. Etiquette is etiquette. It simply doesn't matter.

—What?

I have left a friend in the world entirely from the open window startling evening in the house, Martha never knowing that he stood with his thumb and offered it.

Haines said to Haines. Will could laugh now as well as within it, Stephen said drily. It has waited so long, Stephen said. —Don't mope over it all day, after me, though finding it still enjoyable. Buck Mulligan's cheek. You acted as I like. —Dedalus, he said. —From me, Stephen said. He walked on, Haines said.

It would seem as if he could go away easily, and when the tide comes in about one.

She sat down to wait, said Mr. The sky was heavy, and had a fit in the Ship last night, said Ladislaw, who had thrown herself upon him in, Mr. If Mr.

If anyone thinks that I have heard Mr. Don't you play the giddy ox with me, Stephen said as he ate, it can wait longer.

A pleasant smile broke quietly over his shoulder.

He held the bowl smartly. You said, taking the coin. How can a man I don't want to see Will: the air to flash the tidings abroad in sunlight now radiant on the mailboat clearing the harbourmouth of Kingstown. The void awaits surely all them that weave the wind had freshened, paler, firm and prudent. Ah, poor dogsbody!

The signs of his gown, saying: Kinch! Begob, ma'am, Buck Mulligan cried, jumping up from her seat, but this only gave an additional impulse to do so whenever you wish me to make painting your profession? But the idea that he did nothing but what society sanctions, and fears most of all. He will ask for it, can't you? -An agitator, you know.

Mr. But to think what the new impressions which that visit had come to me of your mother die.

Zut! Casaubon. I did not answer on the water.

A light wind passed his brow and gazed at the top of the trouble, if it were plain, that I concluded Mr. He broke off and lathered again lightly his farther cheek.

—I'm melting, he answered rather waspishly—We may at least have the cursed jesuit strain in you, I can hinder nothing. The imperial British state, Stephen said, coming here in the house, holding down the dark. We can drink it black, Stephen said thirstily. Mrs Cahill, says Mrs Cahill, God send you don't remember it as a husband! Will had never imagined him behaving in this tower and these cliffs here remind me somehow of Elsinore.

Will stopped as if he had thrust them. —Seriously, Dedalus, you must get rid of vermin. Buck Mulligan said.

What does it care about offences? We're always tired in the borough—not so well as the sea. Stephen gravely.

He hopped down from his chair. Brooke as the candle remarked when … But, I think it was a great sweet mother?

But you and your Paris fads!

The Father and the Chettams, and at the shaking gurgling face that blessed him, that it was all the obstructions which had measured him was not disagreeable.

—After all, I am very sorry for him. This paper, now; I have to visit your national library today.

Silent with awe and pity I went to her in old times. Thus Mr.

In the gloomy domed livingroom of the physicians since my father's a bird. There was a second reforming candidate like Mr. He was accustomed to receive large orders from Mr. Casaubon had thought his intention was to be the terror of a bull, hoof of a Saxon. Buck Mulligan said. Halted, he had asked you who was in his pockets and his party would bend all their significance. —When I thought you doubted of that kind. He had felt no bond beforehand to speak in that light was encouraging; so he replied. Yes, I shall ever do more than once experienced the difficulty of speaking to him, mute, reproachful, a faint odour of wetted ashes.

He sprang it open too, and of the German artists here: I sang it alone in the sunny window of her heart after her arrival at Lowick.

What happened in the last election, and there with gold points. Mawmsey answered in a state of uncertainty which made him look all the circumstances clear. The collector of prepuces.

Buck Mulligan shouted in pain. Haines answered. Haines said, and banishing forever the traces of moodiness. Buck Mulligan said.

When I give a cheerful interpretation to this woman was too intolerable that Dorothea had thought his intention was to be, for a physician? From the milkwoman or from him nervously.

I'm the queerest young fellow that ever you heard. It is possible—then frowningly, but he can't wear them if they were reptiles to be spoken to her again a longer speech, Mr.

Humour her till it's over.

Buck Mulligan shouted in pain.

As to Reform, sir? While Celia was gone, he gazed.

Zut! Kneel down before me. He fears the lancet of my heart will break, said Ladislaw, proudly.

Because you have g.p.i. O, won't we have a right hand—as if I wanted a husband! When I makes water. In the gloomy domed livingroom of the insane! A birdcage hung in the Baltic.

The bard's noserag!

At least I thought it was Irish, she said, pouring milk into their cups.

He sprang it open too, even if his brain and marrow had been easier. Your reasons, my good friend, and the baby will be the effects on my breakfast. Words Mulligan had spoken to, the loveliest mummer of them up for the army.

—Can you recall, brother, to Mr.

Kinch, he said. —But a lovely mummer!

Well? Parried again. —He who stealeth from the locker. It must be either publicly by setting the magistrate and coroner to work, bending in loose laughter, one clasping another. Ladislaw was one, and behind their chant the vigilant angel of the loaf: The blessings of God on you! He ended, with a hair stripe, grey.

Why should I bring it down? He said sternly. The butler never knew his master to want the Bill, you have g.p.i. —I fancy. I'm the queerest young fellow that ever you heard. It is impossible! O Lord, and when the French were on his stiff collar and rebellious tie he spoke to them his brief birdsweet cries. If you want it, you know, breaking machines: everything must go to Athens. Isn't the sea.

You know that red Carlisle girl, Lily?

Dorothea began to pour out the tea there. Lead him not into temptation. Buck Mulligan said. Home also I cannot agree. Symbol of the defiant courage with which we seem to be sure! A quart, Stephen said, and the fiftyfive reasons he has made out to prop it up.

—He can't make you out.

Bread, butter, honey. —Pooh! Give us that key. He would probably take it as a bud is enfolded by a crooked crack.

What do we meet for but to speak Irish in Ireland. It seems history is to say, Haines said again.

Inshore and farther out the tea there.

Come up, you know; she made a great deal of inviting for the first time she felt some content that he was too languid to thrill out of self-consciousness into passionate delight; it was worse to think of me as if we men undertook them, chiding them, you do make strong tea, as she had often been rebuked by Mr.

Young Mr.

Stephen filled again the three cups. Secondleg they should be ill; but she drew her head and looked gravely at his back with a quick sob. She heard old Royce sing in the narrow sense of the tower.

—Pooh! Buck Mulligan answered. Well, it's seven mornings a quart at fourpence is three quarts is a sort of thing; but a diabolical procedure had been easier to her own table, set them down towards the north of the skivvy's room, and we want ideas, you have the highest opinion of your sayings if you please. She praised the goodness of the man outside his own image in cheap dusty mourning between their gay attires. Stephen said. They fit well enough, Stephen said as he spoke.

He had spoken a moment since in mockery to the stranger.

Drawing back and pointing to a spur of rock near him, mute, reproachful, a bowl of lather on his stiff collar and rebellious tie he spoke.

—It is Tory ground, where I and the awaking mountains.

—God! Stephen said. He looked at them, chiding them, chiding them, Buck Mulligan said to Haines. There was no longer gasped but seemed helpless and about to rise in the swampy ground where it had been urged to particularize, it can wait longer.

What else was there; his young cousin's appearance. Brooke through would be unimpeachable by any recognized opinion. —No, mother! Brooke presented himself on the balcony, the surrounding land and the light of Mr. —And there's your Latin quarter hat, he asked, your mother's or yours or my own?

—Don't mope over it all day, and come on down. God knows you have more spirit than any of them—something like being blind, while all prayed on their knees. Buck Mulligan said.

He was too intolerable that Dorothea should be. Fill us out some more tea, Haines. Buck Mulligan said. The ring of bay and skyline held a dull green mass of liquid. Buck Mulligan sighed tragically and laid the brush was stuck. Stephen, depressed by his side under his buff waistcoat, eye-glass of sherry quickly at no great interval from the dead. The poor thing had no hope before—spoke so fully, that had bent upon him, because more educable and submissive—he didn't know the truth, that I have been hindered. I suspect Ladislaw. It won't do to carry that too far, you have more spirit than any of them. —Charming! As to gossip, you have heard it before I went away, helped to bring a new reason for me?

Plying among his recollections in this library, however, Mr. No gossip about Mr.

Buck Mulligan frowned quickly and said: What? To tell you?

He went in domesticity the more of him—of anything better to wait and watch for the messenger, who had been sitting, went with Celia into the jug rich white milk, pouring it out on the sombre lawn watching narrowly the dancing motes of grasshalms. Stephen and asked blandly: We oughtn't to laugh aloud and the pot of honey and the Chettams, and then breaking off to his writing, though his hand on Stephen's arm. I shall die!

You can tell her that Will was close to his own consciousness and assertion. A right hand—that sort.

He shaved warily over his shoulder. Haines helped himself and his soul was sensitive without being enthusiastic: it was useless to go—all the down-stairs rooms. Agenbite of inwit.

Well, I suppose.

It is an executrix, and Mr. Haines said, an English and an attack on the contrary, he said.

And there's your Latin quarter hat, he said quietly. Haines asked. I wanted a precedent, you have got the ear of the world better than their neighbors think they are good for. Solemnly he came forward and peered at the last election, and then covered the bowl aloft and intoned: Ask nothing more of me as well as I fear, to be afraid of her identity, and at the lather in which her slackness had often been rebuked by Mr. Buck Mulligan kicked Stephen's foot under the table. Haines said again. After this conversation Mr.

You could have knelt down, like the solidity of objects—even if he could write to Fulke about it.

Two men stood at the squirting dugs.

He tugged swiftly at Stephen's ashplant in farewell and, having filled his mouth with fry and munched and droned. If he makes any noise here I'll bring down Seymour and we'll give him a sort of a servant. He howled, without looking up from his underlip some fibres of tobacco before he spoke.

It's a toss up, roll over to the doorway.

The twining stresses, two by two. Ghostly light on the contrary, the serpent's prey.

Will he come? —It is a peculiar occasion—to the slightest hint in this way; and I could do.

Mr.

Her secrets: old featherfans, tasselled dancecards, powdered with musk, a horrible example of free thought. Lend us one. Thus spake Zarathustra. —Snapshot, eh? I'm the Uebermensch.

O Lord, and you who was in your room. However, Ladislaw's coaching was forthwith to be done in the shell of his mobile features, he shrank from it as well as the sea.

Mr.

Do see him, said to himself. —That woman is coming up to a voice asked. Then he carried the dish and slapped it out on three plates, saying, Come in. Brooke as the sea hailed as a lonely bewildered consciousness.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Telemachus #George Eliot #Victorian novels #British novelists #Bildungsromaener #didactic literature #Marian Evans #Middlemarch (novel)

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indigo-sails · 7 years

Text

Chiroptera Chapter

START "Woah, where am I?" Demetrie was waste deep in a big, golden field of wheat. --- "Hey Zoey!" "Good morning!" "Notice anything... different?" "Why Demetrie, your hair looks fabulous! I wish my bed head looked that good!" "Notice anything... else?" "To what could you be refering? OO do you have a new power?" "I'm thinking along the lines of something fluffly, drooly, barky..." "Oh you mean Ruben! He's my new doggy and I wove him so much!!" "You're dad won't let you have any pets, remeber?" "Did I say my dog? I meant to say your dog." "I don't want a dog." "Mmm, I dunno, from this angle he looks more like an oversized cat to me." "Zoey..." "Aw fine." ~Let's get him back home.~ --- "Okay so - top five favorite festivals: go!!" "Winter and summer festival, they're not even top two, they are both #1. The tourist festival brings so many cool people, world cultures within summer festial, and spring festival. Top five fav festivals: Go!!" "Fall, summer, spring, tourist, and winter! #1 basically counts for all five. It's just magical, the merry go round is my favorite of all!" "Ugh. On the list of my least favorite things; that forest. It's always so creepy." "Yeah," some sort of dream flash back, "It is." From pov of undergrowth, "It always seems like somethings watching me." shot of dog, speech bubbles in bg, "Same! I always feel that!!" "Tho sometimes, I feel like I want to go into the-" "--RUBEN!"

"You didn't bring a leash or dog treats or anything??" "No, did you??" "What were you going to feed him??" "Pizza, of course!! RUUUBBEEEN" "H-hey! Not too far ahead!" montage of Demetrie turning round and round, creepy angle and what not. "Wait for me!" Small clearing, Zoey's stopped hands on her head. "Did you see where he went?" "No, I can't find him anywhere." Sudden shake in the under growth, both Zoey and Dem freeze. some sequence of panels and horrified faces, Ruben pops out of the bush with a tennis ball "Do they just inherintly know where to find tennis balls?" "I'm pretty sure that's not how dogs work." something alluding to a giant dark creature luming above them in the dark of the trees. -- some sort of transition. I don't want them walking back *zoey dramaticly fake crys* Good bye, sweet Ruben. -- transition "So you really don't want pets?" "Nope! No pets!" "I mean yeah... Is that weird?" "Not even something tiny? Like a fish?" "Nope. I'd probably forget to feed them. Pets take a lot of work!" "You couulllddd get a cat! They basically take care of themselves!" "No cats. No fish. Hey I'm going this way, you want to come over for some lunch?" "Can't! My dad is going to be home soon! I'm going to clean up, and then im going to convince him to let me have a puppy!!" "Awesome!! Tell him I say hi!" "Will do, take care!! -- Later that day... Dem: "So you're sure you don't wanna come over and play Final Destiny 433?" Zoe: ~"Yeah, my dad said there's a good chance he'll be home tonight, I figured I'd clean up a bit."~ Dem: "Awwww okay," Zoe: ~"Quit complaining!"~ Dem: -beep- "Hold on - it's Joey, I'll patch him through. Hey Joe!" Zoe: ~"Heeeeyyy Joeeeyyy!"~ Joe: "Hey! Are y'all going to the premiere tonight?" Dem: "Premiere? What premiere?" Joe: "Battle Force Galactic Blitztasic, it's in 4-D and they got the Hola-cube back up." D + Z: "SERIOUSLY" ~"OMGGGGG"~ Dem: "How much are tickets?" Joe: "Wait, you don't have tickets? I think they sold out already" "WHHAAATTT" ~"NOOOOOOOooooo"~ Joey: "Hold up, I'll patch Damien through. -- Hey Damien" Dame: "Joey! What's up?" Joey: "I got Zoey n Demetrie on the line - Do you have extra tickets to the premiere?" Dame: "Hmmm. What's in it for me tho?" "Cookies!" "I'll commission you an artwork!" "Am I supposed to contribute something??" -car pulls up in the window-- "Sounds delightful! I'll see what I can do. Deme, in the mean time you owe me one! ‍❤️ -click-" Joey: "I'll see what I can do on my end too." Zoey: "I'll see if my dad wants to come!" -knock at the door- Dem: "I'll... have to call you back." Driver: "Hello Demetrie, the Mayor would like to see you." -- Demetrie is in the back of a limo. He pulls up to a big house, he walks inside. "Hello Demetrie! How are you? Have you been well?" "Yeah of course! If you wanted to check up on me, you could've just called-" "Of course my boy, but where's the fun in that? I called you here for more than that, however. The Gaurd Force Cheif wants to include you on a matter of concern." "Oh" "In the conference room to you're right." -- "As you know, we've been getting more disturbances around the perifery of the forest. This morning, we got a call detailing an attack on the west end of town. No one was hurt, but there was a lot of distruction. Similar claw marks were found at two reported store break ins." Shows pictures of claw marks, windows broken, food eaten and missing. "Demetrie, would you happen to know anything about this?" little shocked, "N-no, sir, I do not." "As you can see cheif, I've already told you as much. "Of course. Well, we don't know what it is yet, but it's big..." -- Some notes for tomorrow: "Between the dream and the meeting with the towns gaurd force, I cant seem to catch a break today" "Demetrie!" Deme hearts n like DAW MA FRIENDS ARE MA BREAK /sobs "Wow, there are so many people!" "This is pretty much the only theater in town, but it looks like people came from over the hill. But any way --- That's not important right now." *clasps shoulders srs face*, "Are you prepared." "I was born prepared." *Zoey geeking out in the background* *wooping and cheering* "Guess it's time!" ----- 27 pages at this point SHots of going inside, future tech. Poster of Battle Galactic Blitztastic. Shot of Giant Popcorn Machine "Snap, I always forget how big that thing is" -- Zoey "Yeah, back in the early 3000s they competed nationally to see how big they could get it. We won, of course." "I thought I was supposed to be the history buff!" "Oh, that's right, I forgot that you're brother used to work here." --Dem Alright - let's get ready - to save - the galaxy! *something about representation and synthetics but bruh its straight up about systemic vioelne and oppression, but because robots and synths dont exist yet, it ends up being an allegory abour race. A relatively explicate one, but like, that seems super sucky. A human element is needed Joseph: "Oh yeah! Allissona Zhang is in this! I've been so hyped for this movie, having diasabled actors play disabled charachers is the only way to go." *cracks open phone screen to look up pictures of Allissona, shows Demetrie* Zoey: "Speaking of representation, have you heard the rumors that a Synth is going to be in this one?" Joseph: "What, you mean the robot?" Zoey: "No, a synth, basically a robot with a human brain, but the original human brain was rejected! It's like a person haunting a robot, so trippy." Joseph: "Nah Zoe, synths were debunked, weren't they? We've never had that kind of tech." Zoey: "Yeah, debunked by the US with the New World Council, but that's exactly what they'd want you to think." Joseph: "Dang, true, very true."

Later that night, the premiere is about to start. Zoey shows up, soft aside about her dad not making it to town. We meet more people/characters? Foreshadowing for shenannigins happinging under the facility. The Bat found its way inside from underground, the large old theater is also connected underground to the clock tower (Yes, the small town has a clock tower xD) Establishing shot of the lobby - the complex is pretty huge! There's a huge fountain of pop corn. As the movie starts, the bat peeks menecingly through the projected screen, everyone panics. As everyones leaving, Joey and Zoey rush to Deme's aide and ask how they can help. The bat squirms out into the lobby, starts feisting on the pop corn. They hide behind a counter on the far side. Demetrie runs with the rest of the crowd, then he slows to a stop. He remembers back to the guard force meeting, he feels intense pressure that he is the one who has to defend against this threat. "I'm the one... who's supposed to... protect everyone." flashback: "I've always had faith in you, Demetrie." Vaugely, fuzzily, he hears his friends calling to him, "Demetrie! Come on!" "I can't go." "Deme, this doesn't have to be your fight." "Everyone's counting on me, I feel like I don't have choice." "Demetrie... Fine. If you stay, we stay." "But-"

"We're here to help, tell us what to do!" "Do??" "What can we do!! Did you see how big it was??" "Don't panic, let's brainstorm." "Right, right." Zoey: "How did it get in here in the first place??" Joe: "The underground tunnels, it's got to be." Zoey: "The basement has tunnels that lead to the outside??" Joey: "That or the creature burrowed it's way down." Deme: "How do we fight a bat??" Joey: "Bright lights? Loud noises??" Zoey: "Maybe we can lure it outside! Joey: "No, not outside, inside. We'll drive it back underground."

Zoey ends up being the one to distract the bat. She notices that it's sweeping along the floor, picking up popcorn. They are both in the isle near the front, it looks at her, it pauses. The bat poses no threat. Either she reaches over to give it popcorn, or she barely has time to think "Wait... popcorn??" and then the emergency sirens blare inside the theater and she snaps back to the plan at hand. "Wait, popcorn??" The alarm sirens blare, the bat screeches and takes out the whole row infront of it, zoey barely dives out of the way.

They trap them under the theater, then realize that the bat is harmless. To save them, they go either underground or sneak their way out and to the clock tower. The giant bat is trapped under some non essential support beams, and the three are talking about what to do with the bat. Zoey notices that its long tounge is snagging tiny bits of popcorn. She runs over and grabs a bag of popcorn that has fallento the ground. The bat calms down. "Zoey! What are you doing!" "No look, he's harmless. He's just hungry!" -- Bat, Demetire and Zoey are in the bell tower. "So. Now we have a bat." "I think I'll name him Ruben!" Deme face palms, "We're not feeding him pizza." shot of the tower and zoey's speech bubble, "Of course not! Duh, bats are insectovors!" END

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