sometimes we just need someone to pay enough attention.
for the longest time i had been trying to read The Lord of The Rings. everyone had sung the praises for it, over and over. i'd seen clips of the movie and it seemed like it could be fun, but actually reading it was fucking horrible.
my parents had the omnibus - all the books squished into one big tome - and in the 4th grade i started sort of an annual tradition: i would start trying to read TLR and get frustrated after about a month and put it back down. at first i figured i was just too young for it, and that it would eventually make sense.
but every time i came back to it, i would find myself having the exact same experience: it was confusing, weird, and dry as a fucking bone. i couldn't figure it out. how had everyone else on earth read this book and enjoyed it? how had they made movies out of this thing? it was, like, barely coherent. i would see it on "classics" list and on every fantasy/sci-fi list and everyone said i should read it; but i figured that it was like my opinion of great expectations - just because it's a classic doesn't mean i'm going to like experiencing it.
at 20, i began the process of forcing myself through it. if i had to treat the experience like a self-inflicted textbook, i would - but i was going to read it.
my mom came across me taking notes at our kitchen table. i was on the last few pages of the first book in the omnibus, and i was dreading moving on to the next. she smiled down at me. only you would take notes on creative writing. then she sat down and her brow wrinkled. wait. why are you taking notes on this?
i said the thing i always said - it's boring, and i forget what's happening in it because it's so weird, and dense. and strange.
she nodded a little, and started to stand up. and then sat back down and said - wait, will you show me the book?
i was happy to hand it over, annoyed with the fact i'd barely made a dent in the monster of a thing. she pulled it to herself, pushing her glasses up so she could read the tiny writing. for a moment, she was silent, and then she let out a cackle. she wouldn't stop laughing. oh my god. i cannot wait to tell your father.
i was immediately defensive. okay, maybe i'm stupid but i've been trying to read this since the 4th grade and -
she shook her head. raquel, this is the Silmarillion. you've been reading the Silmarillion, not the lord of the rings.
anyway, it turns out that the hobbit and lord of the rings series are all super good and i understand why they're recommended reading. but good lord (of the rings), i wish somebody had just asked - wait. this kind of thing is right up your alley. you love fantasy. it sounds like something might be wrong. why do you think it's so boring?
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I have read Fellowship of the Ring more times than I have cared to keep count and every time I read Boromir’s, well, possession for lack of a better word, I have read it in fear, in discomfort, in horror, indifferently.
This was, I think, the first time I read it in pity. I looked at all the plans Boromir was making, how he would save his beloved city, how obstinate he was in his belief that the men of Minas Tirith would not be corrupted when wielding the Ring against Sauron —and I felt sad. He’s waving his hands and hollering and part of him is desperate just for the Ring, of course he is, he’s been traveling beside it with no hope for months, but he’s also desperate for hope. He’s desperate for a chance to save his people, save his brother, save his city.
Moreover, every time he calls out the Elves or the Wizards, you have to remember that he doesn’t know them. All he knows is that he traveled almost a full year to get their advice and they send him on, in his eyes, a hopeless venture. The one hope they give him is Aragorn, who promises to return and help save Minas Tirith with him, but even that all changes once Gandalf dies. They come to Lothlorien and of course it’s a welcome break, but they cannot, or maybe in Boromir’s eyes will not, help his people. And once they leave, Aragorn assumes his role as leader of the Fellowship in Gandalf’s stead more permanently and suddenly even that one, brief, uncertain hope of his is gone. Aragorn will follow Frodo. And it’s almost certain that Frodo will not go to Minas Tirith.
So is it any wonder, really, that tired, desperate, hopeless Boromir, out of his realm, out of his depth, already hanging by a thread when he joins the Fellowship and having been gnawed on by the Ring for months upon months afterwards, finally snaps once it’s clear that he will have to return home empty-handed and almost certain that somewhere far away Sauron is capturing the Ring and killing the companions that he had bonded with? Of course part of the Ring is making him lust for power, but it’s also his only “reliable” (in his mind) source of hope left to save his city.
And so I read Boromir’s (intelligent and thought out, mind you) raving and I don’t feel scared for Frodo, not after reading it so many times and knowing what ultimately happens, but sorrow for Boromir.
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so about the header that proceeded today's statement:
Viability as agent: Low
Viability as subject: None
Viability as catalyst: Medium
i didn't know what to think of this part of the entry at first, but the longer the statement went on... was the institute in this universe trying to manufacture avatars?
the dice can't do anything without someone to use them, they can't be an "agent" by themselves, but might be capable of manipulation, so in that aspect their viability is "low."
the dice could be a "subject" in the sense that they could use further studying, but the statement itself was a very thorough investigation of their workings, so in that aspect their viability is "none."
the dice seem to influence their holder to roll them, or at least find more victims to roll them, and could therefore be described as a "catalyst" for someone's becoming. but, as seen in the statement, their owner can give the dice to someone else (albeit not without consequences), so in that aspect their viability is only "medium."
so what about the line following all this, what does "Recommend referral to Catalytics for Enrichment applicability assessment" mean? if we go by this interpretation, i'd say it could mean the institute wanted to find a way to make the dice even more potent as an artifact, maybe even remove that pesky ability for their owner to reject them.
imho all of this this brings a whole new level of context to the events of episode seven, of unknown violent agents going after an influx of objects that seemed straight out of artifact storage. was that the nature of the titular "magnus protocol" first mentioned in episode four, the one that involved the starkwall group? containing or destroying potential artifacts before the institute could get their hands on them?
it also makes their "gifted kids program," and sam's link to it as one of the kids being studied, all the more horrifying to think about. was it not just avatars in general they were after, but child avatars specifically? no wonder gertrude got so defensive over the possibility of sam and celia dragging gerry back into the institute's business last episode, we all picked up on her clearly knowing more than she's letting on but now we might know the shape of that information a bit better.
and one final bit of food for thought... this statement had a lot of familiar themes, didn't it? free will or the illusion of it, gambling and not-so-random chance, the statement giver being done in by one final hit from what feels like a bit of an addition... all hallmarks of a certain mother of puppets. doesn't it seem fitting that "chester" would use this kind of statement to warn sam about what harm pursuing the magnus institute could bring to him, considering the one his voice might draw from? and doesn't it seem so painfully ironic that his warning seems to have only driven sam further into that web?
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