February 10th, 2012

quick, desperate rec

Oh God. Oh God. I have been waiting with keen anticipation and something almost akin to dread, but positive, electric, for a particular entry at [livejournal.com profile] snapecase, for The Lost World to be precise, knowing it would spell a new chapter in my life, knowing it would eat me alive just as I devoured it, knowing it would be cleansing, redefining, humbling, devastating -- and above all combine a savage with an angelical beauty in such a way that would pierce my heart and string it up to the wall for all to see.

It's here, finally, and oh fuck I am lost. This story is fucking incredible, I am sorry to resort to the profane, but I am so overwhelmed that I have to. At this point, I have only read through once, and will need to read through several times before I can comment coherently, and I fear that won't happen before Sunday, as things are crazy here. But I want you to go read this before the [livejournal.com profile] snapecase reveal tomorrow, because I want to talk to you about it. I think most of you will recognise the author and the intertextuality, the relationship to her other work, and in particular how this relates, in a fascinatingly inverse way, to her [livejournal.com profile] snapecase entry of last year.

Right now I am thinking this: martyred saints, the death of Orpheus, the tragedy of Cupid and Psyche, Paradise Lost, Heart of Darkness, and for some reason, Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold. Because the author is experimenting here with dissolution, with falling apart, with decentredness in a way. The decentredness of the self -- our many unrelated masks. Externalisation of inner fragmentation. I think. Here, at least, there is no outsider point of view, no camera lens giving us objective, distanced access to the characters. We are to stay close to Harry (a Harry that is grounded, fittingly enough, unable to fly), to that murky, unreliable, untrustworthy narrator, and oh how untrustworthy and mercurial he proves to be!

Now I am recalling the motif of electric blue. Of ozone. Of dragonflies and how I need to go back and think about this more. Oh am I lost.

Read this, please. And don't just tell me what you think -- tell the author herself.

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