to some extent the drama did erase the gray morality of the novel (making the wens more fantastically evil, making wwx not responsible for nightless, etc.) but what they did with jc was so much more interesting and I think it more than made up for the loss. novel jc is well-written and plays his role perfectly - the general plot threads are the same, but it seemed like in the novel he had always been crueler and more dismissive of wwx, criticizing him without any of the warmth of reconciliation and physical affection that would come immediately afterwards in the drama. the disintegration of their relationship with wwx was something I legitimately felt relief over because it truly did not feel right for wwx to be in that situation and I never felt like they were on the same page even in the best of times. even with the reveal at the very end and a few short paragraphs of jc being anguished in the finale, it wasn’t enough to really shake my perception of him as a dude who was whatever in his youth and then became really shitty. there wasn’t as much complexity to him compared to the drama
drama jc has issues, obviously, but due to some changes in the plot, some very sympathetic directing and acting choices, and the willingness to let him be very emotional onscreen, rather than disinterest over a guy who became shitty I more feel that he’s a deeply emotional person who underwent great loss in a truly unmanageable situation and handled it the best he was able to. and he was...bad. he was bad at it. he didn’t cope well. he failed. he turned his back on the people who had saved him. he stood by, however uncomfortably, as they were burned to death. he sunk into his anger and bitterness and became his worst self
but on the other hand...he never went as far as actually murdering the wens like in the novel, and the drama also emphasized how he clearly still cares deeply for his nephew in his own awkward, forceful way, and the grief of everything he’s lost just drives his actions and his emotions so much it’s hard not be moved by it even when he’s doing horrible things. but his actions don’t need to be excused to be understandable, and I don’t even think they need to be excused for him to be sympathetic - which is where both a lot of fans and haters I think go a little far in either direction - but it’s easy to see how directly they stem from influences that he had no control over or that weren’t his fault (his parents’ abuse/neglect, the manipulation of the sect leaders, his extreme youth, the war). and the drama just brings that pathos to the forefront much more effectively than I think the novel did, and I find him a much more interesting character with more complex relationships because of this core of hurt and misery so obvious within him. but the things he did to a miserable and powerless wwx were so damning and so extreme and and his personal flaws* are so numerous and so seemingly intractable that I just can’t help coming back to them time and again. he really does contain multitudes.
novel jc is just...even more extreme of a version, less nuanced, far more violent and vengeful, too far gone into his grief and anger. not showing nearly the closeness with wwx or the open vulnerability or the grief or the longing for family and for love that was so obvious in the drama. to me novel jc not someone who’s worth feeling sorry for, not really worth examining, and not someone who I would want anyone to rekindle a relationship with. he’s just...there. he serves a role and then leaves and he is not missed. he’s barely worth pitying, though it he is pitiful
I don’t actually dislike novel jc because I don’t feel very strongly about most novel characters, but if there’s one person who’s presented with more nuance in the drama than in the novel, it’s him
*immaturity, pride, aggression, cruelty, inability to control his anger, willingness to inflict suffering on his brother to satisfy his own feelings, a belief he has the right to torture his brother, general disrespect for others, very few ethical principles beyond protecting his own
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sc / @ct1369.
“ you’re ... you’re really ... alive ... “ she presses down on the wound at the palm - the same exact wound he had patched up a few days earlier. she didn’t think she’d ever see him again after he told her how to escape out of the clinic. and rey was so positive that she wouldn’t. she decided to stick around the town, just to see if she could see him again. they didn’t need to speak to him, rey only wanted to see him with her own eyes and make sure he was ... okay. safe. she was the one putting them both in danger by not continuing on her way -- it was selfish of her, really. she was putting her emotions and love first instead of the people that could potentially get hurt. the empire could find him and kill him, the inquisitors could be watching her right now and plan to target him, anything was possible nowadays.
she never stopped thinking about him or worrying about him -- she thought about all the clones she fought beside, wondered what happened to them, if they realized the empire wasn’t to be trusted or ... didn’t. jabber must have left, somehow. “ i wanted to find you b-but i ... “ eyes shut tightly for a moment, memories of that day come crashing to the forefront of her memories like a tsunami.
she opens her eyes again, her cheeks wet from her own tears. “ i’m sorry, i only wanted to make sure you were safe ... “ rey clarified.
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We had one of Steff's comedian friends staying with us on the weekend, lovely lad called Sam from Singapore. He had never been to Wales before, and he requested that we take him to a Welsh restaurant so he could try Welsh food
That's surprisingly difficult, actually. Like a lot of Welsh culture, our culinary traditions have not exactly been applauded over the years, so you don't really see them. But a lucky Google search revealed a brand new one has just opened in SA1 called the Welsh House, so great! Away we went.
Fuck me, they went all in.
It wasn't just the menu (though fuck me, what a menu - one of their 'for the table to share' options was little mini leek and cheddar Welsh cakes with salted butter and they were paralysingly good). It wasn't just that every alcohol was Welsh, even including the wine (surprisingly good btw, called 'Naturiol'.)
The table centerpieces were daffodils. All signs for the toilets were Welsh only. The walls had photos of Wales, modern and historical; the windows had the fleur de lis; the specials board (pork belly in Welsh cider and damson sauce with honey and wild garlic glazed carrots) had dragons on. I realise this is probably normal for country-themed restaurants, but I've never been to one for Wales before.
But the best bit, see, was the music
I clocked, when we walked in, that they were playing If You Tolerate This Then Your Children Will Be Next by the Manic Street Preachers (you always clock the Manics). Ah, I thought. A Welsh song! In a Welsh restaurant! Ho ho ho.
As they seated us, it became What's New Pussycat. Ah! I thought. Another Welsh song! Fu fu fu.
Then they played Monster by the Automatic and I was like my god are they only playing Welsh music?? That's so cool! What an eclectic mix that's going to be. We should suggest to them they should look into Welsh language music too, really mix it up.
And then they played Anrheoli by Yws Gwynedd and lads, Steff and I lost our shit. We lost our fucking shit. Sam's sitting there, utterly bewildered. The staff are nervously edging away from us. We don't care. It's the first time I have ever heard a Welsh language song played outside of a Welsh language setting. We're so excited.
"They're playing Welsh music!!!" says Steff. "Holy shit!!!"
"Imagine if they played Sebona Fi!" I say, humorously.
"Nah," says Steff. "You can't in a restaurant. There'd be a riot, it's faerie music."
"...what?" says Sam
We explain the cultural phenomenon that is Sebona Fi. The song changes: Primadonna Girl, by Marina and the Diamonds.
"She's Welsh??" says Sam.
"She's from Abergavenny!" we beam.
"I don't know what that means," nods Sam, who is from Singapore.
Next: The Bartender and the Thief, by the Stereophonics. We're in high spirits. The extraordinarily Welsh wine arrives, as does the rarebit on sourdough starter. Sam, a gay man, delightedly orders the faggots and peas.
They play Ben Rhys by Gwilym Bowen Rhys, and we lose our shit again. Sam is now used to this, because comedians are adaptable. "They even have daffodils!" I say, misty eyed. "Is that relevant?" Sam asks, fascinated.
They play Hiraeth, by PLU. Hard to explain that one. Very hard to explain the effect it has when it's played in a restaurant, but Sam looks around the suddenly muted room and whispers "Are we in church?"
"It's about Hiraeth," whispers Steff. "So kind of."
Next: the Masses Against the Classes, by the Manics. Utter tonal whiplash. This playlist is not remotely restaurant appropriate. It's perfect.
"You'd think they'd pick like... a genre," Sam says dreamily. "We just went from church to the barricades."
The faggots arrive. "I forgot it would be a western sized portion," Sam says morosely, of what to me is a normal sized plate of food. He tries one, and brightens.
They play Sebona Fi.
The place erupts.
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Speaking of therapy, I say, as though we're old friends, and you're not a stranger trapped in this metaphorical elevator with me and you can hear the suspension wires starting to fray.
I've been doing a lot of work recently that's focused on imposter syndrome and the feeling that no matter how well or how much I do, I'm not good enough. That I'm somehow tricking everyone into thinking my work is actually good.
Some days it's a minor niggle in my head that I can gentle and soothe with logic and affirmations. Or smother, depending on the mood. Other times it's loud and all-consuming and the mental anguish it causes me is so real I can feel it twitching in my muscles. This desperate fight-or-flight instinct with nowhere to go and nothing to fight but myself.
Anyway, because I'm several types of Mentally Unwell™, I was switching between workshop sheets ahead of next week. Filling in different forms. (Trying to get a good grade in therapy) And I got my "recognize your harmful ADHD coping mechanisms" worksheet mixed in with the "you're not actually lying to people, you just feel like you are because your brain is full of weasels" worksheet, and seeing them side by side made something go topsy turvy in my head, and I just had to sit and breathe for a couple of minutes until the urge to scream passed. Because it clicked, it all suddenly clicked.
The reason the imposter syndrome workshops and therapy sessions aren't sticking was because I do routinely trick people into thinking I'm someone I'm not.
Because I'm masking my ADHD for their convenience.
I've always known there was something wrong with me. My neurotypical peers made it abundantly clear I didn't fit in or was failing in some way I couldn't see nor remedy, no matter how hard I tried.
So I compressed myself into a workaholic box of hyper-competence in the hopes they'd stop noticing the flaws and exploit like me instead. And then subsequently lived with the daily fear that if they looked too close, they'd realize I'm a monumental fuck up with enough personal baggage to block the Suez Canal.
If you ever need someone to burn themselves to ashes for your comfort and convenience, I'm your gal.
Or I used to. Until I had a bit of a breakdown, and the rubber band holding my brain together snapped and pinged off into the stratosphere, never to be seen again.
Unfortunately, the trauma of living like that didn't also fuck off and instead left a gaping maw where my personality ought to be, so now I get to deal with that aftermath.
And it's that aftermath that's affecting the imposter syndrome shit. Because yes, I am hyper-competent and good at what I do-- but it doesn't feel real because that is how I mask.
And the truly frustrating thing is I am good at what I do. I am not pretending. I worked hard to be good at this. It just feels like I'm dicking around because 90% of my personality turns out to be trauma masquerading as humor in a trenchcoat, and having people genuinely like something weird I'm doing is so foreign my brain has decided it's just another form of masking.
I'm pretending to be a good author so people will think I'm a good author, and my brain thinks we are in Danger of being found out. We are in Danger, and writing is Dangerous because then people will know I'm Weird and not whatever palatable version I've presented myself as for their NT sensibilities.
Like the neurotic vampire with a raging praise kink wasn't an obvious giveaway.
Anyway. I got nothing else. Thanks for listening.
I'm going to go be very normal in another room and not stare into the abyss of my own soul for a bit.
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