#terez

Jezal sat in a haze of awkwardness, in a dreamlike silence, startling from time to time like a sick rabbit as a powdered footman blindsided him with vegetables.

I love how far Abercrombie has come from his representation of queer characters in the original trilogy. Having been a big fan of the Dresden Files and seeing Jim Butcher fail to deliver convincing queerness in his books and be scornful of the criticism, seeing Abercrombie make actual effort to get better with his representation of both female characters and queer characters* - and succeed - is wonderful.

To go from Terez & Shalere - described by Abercrombie as "ultra one-dimensional icy bitchy beautiful caricatures and also, looked at in hindsight, conforming to nasty lesbians put in their places stereotypes that I can hardly believe I didn’t notice at the time," to the woefully underdeveloped villain Ganmark, to the cringeworthy Shevedieh who can't stop thinking with her quim even in ridiculous circumstances and who is involved in one of the least satisfying endings to a romantic arc even by Abercrombie standards... to the Age of Madness, where suddenly all the queer characters (of which there are several!) are interesting and complex, with interiority and whose queerness is essential and meaningful, and shown in both good and bad light, who make me cry and laugh and shout at them, sometimes separately, sometimes all at once. He didn't get it right the first time, but he tried again, and again, and that effort has paid off!

I have only two qualms about Leo's representation. Firstly, the lack of gay sex scenes in TWOC when we had several kinda unnecessary scenes between heterosexual couples, all of which were deeply uncomfortable! I feel he could've rounded it out a little and given us Leo masturbating to Jurand or something.

Second, the fact that Leo's queerness might have been an afterthought? Though I'm not sure how much this matters per se, because the end result is so impressive, but it does make me wonder whether Abercrombie succeeded with Leo precisely because he wasn't specifically written to Be Queer (unlike Shev), and so he isn't written self-consciously, or whether Leo's queer arc would have been even better, had Abercrombie set out to do more with it from the start.

The important thing IMO that really makes Leo stand out and gives him the space to breathe and say his problematic little opinions is the fact that there are plenty of other gay characters in the story and he doesn't have to shoulder the burden alone. Jappo, Terez, Glaward, and Jurand are all comfortable in their sexualities, and their relationships are likewise good - and probably a deal healthier than the majority of heterosexual romances depicted. None of the other characters ever express confusion or disgust at the thought of homosexuality - indeed, Rikke encourages it, Orso & Savine are distinctly unbothered. It means that when Leo is homophobic, he's an exception to the rule, and that makes such a huge difference. His beliefs are obviously wrong, he's kinda dumb for being the only one who cares. If the world were shown as more homophobic, I think fans would claim that it makes sense for Leo to be homophobic, and the whole thing would have a more hostile vibe, whereas without that it's literally just him thinking his out-dated views and torturing himself. Anyone else in the trilogy could say "your bedroom, your business" and I would 100% believe them, but when Leo says it it's clear that he cares, and why does he care? Because he's queer and hates himself for it.

So yeah, amping up the background queerness was a great choice, and especially with AOM, which I think is full of pretty sophisticated modern characters who defy stereotypes and aren't as archetypal as guys like Logen and Jezal had to be, it works so very well.

One thing I just cannot get over is how Abercrombie has woven homosexuality into the war hero band of brothers theme, which is a move so fucking good I just want to shove this trilogy at everyone who's ever enjoyed that aspect of any war novel or movie. I hate, hate, hate how rare it is for writers to make the blood brothers canonically gay. Like fine, OK, normalise men being affectionate with male friends, hide behind your "historical accuracy" all you like, but y'know sometimes it's also good to see soldiers grapple with their romantic/sexual feelings for one another amidst that culture of deepest shame, to explore the hypocrisy, the misogyny, and the harm homophobia causes to absolutely everyone. I've never seen it done before, and certainly not this well, but it makes so much sense for Abercrombie, who has always been interested in those kind of questions about the problems of toxic masculinity. The fact that almost all of Leo's friends are queer, none of them are capable of expressing themselves, and despite all that closeness and fighting and dying beside one another, it's like they never really knew each other at all. It's fucking tragic, and so, so good.

And like, maybe you could level the argument that it's boring that the queer guy turns out to be the Worst, but a) Leo's homosexuality is the best part about him and the only thing keeping him in touch with his humanity, and b) the Worst is debateable, and c) he is motivated by the shame of internalised homophobia, a desire for glory that is rooted in the shame he felt as a child and the need for validation and love. His villain origin story isn't that he was overtly abused, it was pretty mundane: he pissed in a cupboard, and his father was embarrassed. It's a really pathetically inconsequential moment on which to base your entire identity, but that's how people are sometimes, and the humanity of that is heartbreaking.

Rep Room | Pittsburgh, PA | August 7, 2018

Thanks @wnderlxnd!

Terez ‘Slashed Shoulder Tee’ - $48.00

Tay has been loving black lately. Here, she goes monochrome, wearing the colour head to toe including this cold shoulder tee by Teres. 

Worn with: Ksubi shorts

Get the look:

On your first day at Elsewhere, you tell them to call you Sun, after the girls you love. It’s ill-fitting, and it burns the roof of your mouth when you form the syllable of it. You suppose that makes it safer, but you still don’t like it. When you set foot on campus for the first time, the stone at your neck and the iron band on your pinky finger warm and grow cold, respectively. You smile, teeth poking into your bottom lip. You can’t see from this angle, but the blood that wells up there is a tad greener than it ought to be.

In your first year, you dorm in Greenwood Hall, on the fourth floor. It is uneventful, except for your weekly meeting with the crows. You tell them jokes and call them “cousins,” let your eyes fade from shifting hazel to raven-black when you speak with them. When you register for your Gods & Monsters class, you get an error message in place of a room number. When you try to visit the English building, you see why, but it doesn’t stop you from entering. Something inhuman at the back of your mind drives you forward and down—the human part is bucking wildly, screaming for you to go. As you have done most of your life, you ignore it.

The Wyrm does not recognize you right away (you’ve never met it, not this you), and you’re saddened, inexplicably. But after a few minutes, its eyes snap open.

It calls you by a name you recognize in a language you’ve yet to learn to speak, and you startle. It isn’t one you’ve used in lifetimes. It asks what you are, now, and you tell it to call you Sun.

It says, Not that. Which of the twelve.