Roll Up The Clouds

... have... have we considered that perhaps the average reader just, like, knows what they like in a book? I mean... first sentences are famous for establishing things like *checks notes*... genre, tone, POV, pacing, character, voice, uhhh... writing style...

The average reader is putting your book down because they discovered it's in first person (or not in first person). The average reader put your book down because they wanted a cozy read, or they're sick of cozy reads, or romance, or grimdark, or assassin princesses, or vampires, or or or. The average reader put your book down because they just didn't like your writing style—no, not because it was boring... they just, get this, didn't like it.

The average critical reader put your book down because it had six grammatical mistakes in the first two sentences.

The average reader will read quite a ways if the premise intrigues them, they like the genre, the writing style doesn't get on their nerves, and the characters pop off the page. In fact, they'll probably read the whole book, so long as it delivers on its plot promises and doesn't drag in the middle section.

Source: I worked with a guy who turned out to be heavily involved in an international, multi-state sex-slavery/trafficking ring.

He was really nice.

Yeah.

It hits like a dumptruck of shit. You don't feel stable in your world anymore. How could someone you interacted with, liked, also be a truly horrible person? How could your judgement be that bad? How can real people, not stylized cartoon bogeymen, be actually doing this shit?

You have to sit with the fact that you couldn't, or probably couldn't, have known. You should have no guilt as part of this horror — but guilt is almost certainly part of that mess you're feeling, because our brains do this associative thing, and somehow "I liked [the version of] the guy [that I knew]", or his creations, becomes "I made a horrible mistake and should feel guilty."

You didn't, loves, you didn't.

We're human, and we can only go by the information we have. And the information we have is only the smallest glimpse into someone else's life.

I didn't work closely with the guy I knew at work, but we chatted. He wasn't just nice; he was one of the only people outside my tiny department who seemed genuinely nice in a workplace that was rapidly becoming incredibly toxic. He loaned me a bike trainer. Occasionally he'd see me at the bus stop and give me a lift home.

Yup. I was a young woman in my twenties and rode in this guy's car. More than once.

When I tell this story that part usually makes people gasp. "You must feel so scared about what could have happened to you!" "You're so lucky nothing happened!"

No, that's not how it worked. I was never in danger. This guy targeted Korean women with little-to-no English who were coerced and powerless. A white, fluent, US citizen coworker wasn't a potential victim. I got to be a person, not prey.

Y'know that little warning bell that goes off, when you're around someone who might be a danger to you? That animal sense that says "Something is off here, watch out"?

Yeah, that doesn't ping if the preferred prey isn't around.

That's what rattled me the most about this. I liked to think of myself as willing to stand up for people with less power than me. I worked with Japanese exchange students in college and put myself bodily between them and creeps, and I sure as hell got that little alarm when some asian-schoolgirl fetishist schmoozed on them. But we were all there.

I had to learn that the alarm won't go off when the hunter isn't hunting. That it's not the solid indicator I might've thought it was. That sometimes this is what the privilege of not being prey does; it completely masks your ability to detect the horrors that are going on.

A lot of people point out that 'people like that' have amazing charisma and ability to lie and manipulate, and that's true. Anyone who's gotten away with this shit for decades is going to be way smoother than the pathetic little hangers-on I dealt with in university. But it's not just that. I seriously, deeply believe that he saw me as a person, and he did not extend personhood to his victims. We didn't have a fake coworker relationship. We had a real one. And just like I don't know the ins-and-outs of most of my coworkers lives, I had no idea that what he did on his down time was perpetrate horrors.

I know this is getting off the topic, but it's so very important. Especially as a message to cis guys: please understand that you won't recognize a creep the way you might think you will. If you're not the preferred prey, the hind-brain alarm won't go off. You have to listen to victims, not your gut feeling that the person seems perfectly nice and normal. It doesn't mean there's never a false accusation, but face the fact that it's usually real, and you don't have enough information to say otherwise.

So, yeah. It fucking sucks. Writing about this twists my insides into tense knots, and it was almost a decade ago. I was never in danger. No one I knew was hurt!

Just countless, powerless women, horrifically abused by someone who was nice to me.

You don't trust your own judgement quite the same way, after. And as utterly shitty as it is, as twisted up and unstead-in-the-world as I felt the day I found out — I don't actually think that's a bad thing.

I think we all need to question our own judgement. It makes us better people.

I don't see villains around every corner just because I knew one, once. But I do own the fact that I can't know, really know, about anyone except those closest to me. They have their own full lives. They'll go from the pinnacles of kindness to the depths of depravity — and I won't know.

It's not a failing. It's just being human. Something to remember before you slap labels on people, before you condemn them or idolize them. Think about how much you can't know, and how flawed our judgement always is.

Like a lady 🌼✨

a commission for an anonymous patron!

it has never been about "he's the good guy™ we the bad guys™ have to kill for the sake of killing the good guy™", but about sexism, forcedly imposed pronatalism and eugenism, but what even are these fancy words anyways right?

For real, the double page spread of Gero with the marriage candidates in the harem scenario concocted for him, chilled me. The ladies all look lovely and glowing, but the undertone of this image! Nasu's words overlaying this vision. All of them. No choice.

Gero learned all the way back from Ch. 1, from Kinosaki, that you cannot force your desired future partner into marriage. There must be consent. And more than that. He has spent 100+ chapters learning to spend time with his potential partners, become friends, hang out on activity dates, before love or marriage even comes up. And because this is shonen manga, they have to save each other's lives a couple times too, which allows them to really see the values that motivates or drives each other in life-or-death situations.

Not to manipulate them into catching feelings, putting people in danger deliberately to drive up the stakes (Nasu's way 🙂‍↔️). But to have Gero be naturally helpful in dangerous situations, thus displaying Gero's dashing qualities in a natural way, and only where the ladies have initiated the request for help from deep within their own worlds, thereby also displaying their own charms to Gero (Kinosaki's way 🙂‍↕️).

the french images above ↑ (a woman facing away from her two children; two women), get 'edited' (or rather like. recomposed) into the american ones below ↓ (two images of women facing their children).

from the article (Americanizing French Fashion Plates: "Godey's" and "Peterson's" Cultural and Socio-Economic Translation of "Les Modes Parisiennes" by Karin J. Bohleke):

In contrast, French mothers in Les Modes Parisiennes are frequently completely disengaged from the children depicted with them: they look elsewhere and even turn their backs (see Figures 1-2). Again, this is a function of the contrived poses necessary to depict certain key stylistic features of garments. However, this is one aspect of French fashion plates that American editors found unacceptable: when the French mother is looking at her children, Peterson's frequently re-engraved the plate in its entirety (see Figures 3-6). But when the mother's pose has her ignoring the very objects that give her life its meaning. Peterson's was more likely to re-engrave the children without this unacceptable mother, or another French fashion plate woman whose gaze was basically in the right direction was substituted (see Figures 7-8). Concerned that French plates might send the wrong message regarding a woman's ultimate role, American editors eliminated the unacceptable depiction. There are consequences to this substitution: French plates depicted appropriate garments in a suitable setting, thereby instructing their readers in the social etiquette of dress through context; American substitutions resulted at times in socially absurd juxtapositions, such as a ball gown on a clifftop boardwalk (see Figures 9-10).