|
Post by James on May 3, 2015 3:57:57 GMT -5
We Need to Talk About Susan On each weekday, when early worms are not yet awake she stands in front of the mirror, lip stick in hand and readies her pale armour for another perforated day. Marcus is still in bed, the man a muscular specimen of good humour and gentle, gracious brain. Their friends have already thought of chapels and rings but the couple are content cohabitants of a cherished blissful home. She kisses him, and then slips to the kitchen armed for the day with an amorous dress and nylon stockings.
Her clients at work are varied, cheery criminals and down-trodden divorcees, desperately wishing to keep a family home devoid of familiarity. One she suggests mediation, another should search for a good, crisp, criminal lawyer. The rumours are hard to disregard swirling around the office, suggesting in seductive whispers she will be made the successor of Mr Daniels, a partner in the firm.
It is obvious after all, her overfilling career crammed with victories, vast successes and a humour and personality that papers over all people's hurt. There are even murmurs about Her Majesty appointing her a judge, for this just and gentle queen is perfect for the job. Mr Daniels's only annoyance, daft as it may be is her pro bono work, bound tightly in her spare time, sharing her skills to help those too hindered to otherwise afford it.
The first attack comes, awful and without warning. They care little for consent or good manners coming into her life, demanding concern and attention. She sees the bodies, soft tissue rend by steel and for a second she is some little child left to deal with devastating adulthood alone. She does not falter, for frankly life does not care and with a great, gasping lungful of air she returns to work, well-applied make-up hiding the grey paleness of her grieving pallor.
By evening, the ensuing attacks have come and gone, and with great effort she pulls herself to some pulsating party where people sing and prance. Most important of all, it makes her smile and who can harbour such hatred and vile at laughter and light-filled happiness. Marcus arrives, his mouth soon on hers and with booming voice, bores anyone with stories of his glorious “god-damn sexy not-quite wife”. She laughs and blushes, and because it makes her happy she plays her role, purring and prancing to the joy of the room.
Her goddaughter is awoken by the great festivities and Susan sends herself to help the girl to sleep. The girl is so sad and Susan tells stories of menacing witches and meaner lions, and the girl screams, stamps her feet, loving every second of the very special story.
She hugs her godmother, giving her a wide smile, showing wonderful white teeth, but refuses to let go, restricting Susan's arms as the girl begins to sob. Laughing kindly, kissing her on the forehead, Susan asks what is wrong, wishing to nurse any pain from the poor girl. She tells her the wardrobe makes certain noises and Susan is more scared, more scarred than ever she thought she could be. Taking a chair, then taking another she stacks them tight, removing the temptation to ever opening the door. “There, little one,” she lightly smiles, “no one can hurt you now”.
When Marcus and her meanders back to their house she pauses at the pewter door-knocker a lion, that looks like some limp little mouse. It was her choice to choose such an ornament just like how her life is hers to live. And it reminds her, roaring every day, that what lies behind her door is beautiful and perfect because it is hers, because she is free, and not at the mercy of some capricious lion who is just but a mouse.
|
|
|
Post by Kaez on May 5, 2015 12:16:33 GMT -5
I loved the writing. The quality of the writing, the word-choice, the pacing, the flow... all spot-on. In fact, I read it twice because I enjoyed the way it sounded so much.
That being said, I definitely don't understand entirely what happened. Was the attack an actual attack? A panic attack? And why the fear when her goddaughter explains the wardrobe?
Something definitely went totally over my head even having read it twice.
But that only minimally distracted from my enjoyment of it for what it was, which is a quite nice piece of writing.
|
|
|
Post by James on May 5, 2015 15:27:26 GMT -5
I loved the writing. The quality of the writing, the word-choice, the pacing, the flow... all spot-on. In fact, I read it twice because I enjoyed the way it sounded so much. That's actually really gratifying to hear because the poem isn't as free verse as it first looks. I actually wrote it as an Anglo-Saxon/Old English alliterative poem where each line is split in half, and then the main stresses on both sides have to be alliterative. It's a style I like writing. However, I thought the line halving might put a modern reader off, so I've kept the alliteration, but condensed the lines, smoothed over the halving and sort of ended up with something different. Someone's probably done it multiple times before me, but I haven't come across it before. I think it flows a lot better than the old form, though, so it was really great to hear you thought everything was spot-on. Narnia happened. Beware all who reads below, for the author is returning from the grave to talk about the idea... I know you've said in the past you don't care for the books, so that's probably why you were a little lost. Essentially, by the last book, Susan can't come into Narnia anymore because she's a silly little girl who's too concerned with nylon stockings and lipstick (and not believing in Narnia and Lion Jesus). And I've been aware for the past few years that some writers have a huge problem with this, such as Pullman and J.K Rowling (who awesomely summarised it as essentially saying once a girl finds sex and enjoys it, she can't be religious anymore). There's also this kind of weird disconnect where Lewis calls her a silly, conceited girl, while also having killed her entire family in a train accident and left her as the sole survivor. Fictional characters are fictional characters, but it's not exactly sympathetic. Neil Gaiman went one step further and wrote "The Problem of Susan". It's in the short story collection I'm reading at the moment, and I loved the principle of it. But the actual delivery left me unsatisfied. It's about how Susan has to handle identifying the bodies of her family, and how unfair Narnia really is if you think about it. Which to me still puts Susan as a tool to discuss the wider place of Narnia. What I wanted to do was write something which wasn't about how unfair it was for Susan to be left behind, but to celebrate the fact that she lived her life, free of the will at someone who forget about "once a queen, always a queen" because a young woman acts like a young woman. Basically I wanted to show that a woman could care about lip sticks and nylon stockings, be intelligent and kind, and has to deal with the painful memory of her family's death, while also not needing to believe in Wardrobe Heaven. And in fact, suggesting Wardrobe Heaven may not be the best place in the world after all.
|
|
|
Post by Kaez on May 5, 2015 17:40:43 GMT -5
Well holy shit.
After reading -that-, it's 5x better than before, and I liked it a lot before.
Seriously, that's kind of amazing. Not just sympathizing with Susan, but -celebrating- the life she has (even if she still remembers the dark bits)? That's amazing.
Well done. Really.
|
|
|
Post by James on May 5, 2015 17:46:57 GMT -5
Aww, shucks.
Thanks!
|
|