ESCAPIST DREAM - MAGICAL GIRL TRANSFORMATION

 In Otaku Academy in Escapist Dream, it looks like a U-shaped Japanese highschool, full of students in improbable hairstyle and improbable hair colour, in uniform (whether more modern blazers or 90s sailor fuku, and Prussian-style gakurans for the young men), and catgirls, delinquents in pompadours (think Josuke), etc. And of course there is at least one magical girl warrior:

Aika’s body began glowing in a colorful shining aura. He could not believe his eyes when Aika began having a magical girl transformation. She was naked save for all the blinding lights and colours. As a teenage boy, Charlie had a weird feeling from what he was seeing.

However, Aika did not wore any ribbons or wands. Instead, her hair became long and pink and horns sprouted from her head. She wore nothing but white bandages all around. Somehow, she hovered from the ground and Charlie could see transparent arms coming from her back that attacked the literary geeks. The appendages grabbed, sliced, aand mutilated the geeks without mercy.

TV TROPES: Aika can transform into a Magical Girl, but when she do so, she transforms into frigging Lucy from Elfen Lied instead.

PRAGERU IS WRONG ABOUT SHAKESPEARE (AND MUCH MORE)

Due to the new right-wing US government, PBS (with memorable, progressive edutainment shows like Sesame Street or Arthur) will maybe be replaced by right-wing juggernaut PragerU, who have given me serious pet peeves:

PragerU says Columbus was "neither a hero nor a villain, but a person;" and that we should NOT judge a Renaissance person by our twenty-first century standards... at the same time they praise Columbus for spreading civilisation and Catholicism among the barbarian natives, some of whom regarded a human baby as a toothsome morsel (but they don't give the whole story: were these babies those of the tribe itself, or child prisoners of war? And was that an everyday meal or a festive delight (like Christmas turkey or Easter eggs)? I think it was a festive delight, and that those babies were prisoners of war!).

But that is nothing compared to PragerU's perception of Shakespeare, the Bard of Avon! Not only do they put the Bard ON A PEDESTAL (they rank Hamlet up there with the King James Bible, Newton's Laws of Physics, and Plato's Myth of the Cave, and they say Shakespeare inverted the modern world/existentialism); they ONLY ALLOW us to read or watch certain of his plays:

Hamlet

King Lear

The Scottish Play

Julius Caesar

The Henriad

And that's it. No Romeo and Juliet, though it is about young love (love so young that in our days they'd be doing Maths tests and chasing Pokémon). No Othello, my favourite (though it stars the first Sub-Saharan and/or Muslim hero in Western literature, and depicts him in a loving interracial marriage --until that scoundrel Iago ruins everything). No Merchant of Venice (mostly for Shylock / Shiloh: "Hath not a Jew eyes?" sounds too controversial, but also Portia crossdressing and becoming a lawyer). No Midsummer's Night Dream (whose potions can be read as drugs), no Taming of the Shrew (which deals with gender roles and expectations), no Coriolanus (our Roman generals would never rebel against the Res Publica!), and last of all no Tempest (with a character like Caliban, anagram of "cannibal," and a plot about colonialism).

BTW, Shylock is actually Shiloh, Fluellen is actually Llewellyn, and Imogen is actually Innogen.

The only Shakespearean plays that PragerU approves of are royalist, patriarchal, and with an all-white cast. In all of these plays, a usurper assassinates the ruler and takes over the throne, but is in turn defeated by the rightful heir, ready to claim his place. No plays about social or identity issues (like gender, race, queerness, drugs, or colonialism). They're missing out on a lot of Shakespeare!

Moreover, PragerU states that Shakespeare COINED expressions like "breaking the ice," "wild goose chase," "all that glitters is not gold," and many others; when obviously these idioms existed before the Bard, they were spread by word of mouth, and it's in his plays that we first find them printed and published, as words that sit in black on a white page (or screen, nowadays). Saying that Shakespeare coined, for instance, "breaking the ice," is as ridicuulous as saying that Andersen wrote "The Princess on the Pea" or "The Emperor's New Clothes," or that the Grimms wrote "Snow White" or "Hansel and Gretel." These fairytales already existed as oral tales, and the Grimms and Andersen only wrote and published their own versions, and those versions became canon. The same goes for Rafael Pombo and "Rinrín Renacuajo" ("Froggy Would a-Courting Go"), "Simón el Bobito" ("Simple Simon"), and "Pastorcita perdió sus ovejas" ("Little Bo-Peep"); like PragerU's saying that Shakespeare coined expressions like "breaking the ice," "wild goose chase," "all that glitters is not gold," and many others is like when many Latin Americans say Pombo wrote these nursery rhymes, which had existed many centuries before in (especially British) oral tradition.

The most glaring things PragerU has said is that leftish millennials (like me) are ruining high culture. That some universities have replaced the portrait of Shakespeare in their hallowed halls with that of a black lesbian poet (NOTA BENE: "Shakespeare" has a proper name here, while the "black lesbian poet" remains unnamed, only identified by identity markers!). That visual art has gone from excellence, beauty, and the sublime to scatological and sexual themes: URINE AND FAECES (as Dennis Prager puts it). As examples, he criticizes artworks like a fresh banana duck-taped to a wall, or a golden toilet, in which museum visitors could relieve themselves and flush it (but readymades from Dadaism and Surrealism could also fit Prager's critique: Duchamp's urinal fountain; his L.H.O.O.Q. --elle a chaud au cul, she has a hot bottom, ie she is turned on-- a Mona Lisa card on which he drew a moustache, a goatee, and glasses; and Merde d'Artiste --Artist's Shit--, which was sold in tiny pots at huge expense, and happened to be the faeces of author Piero Manzoni).

I think that at least music (urban music, like reggaeton and trap) and TV, especially reality shows and superhero films, have gotten FAR worse in the present day; but I have nothing negative to say about readymades, no matter how scatological or erotic they might be. I am proud of being a literary geek (especially when it comes to fantasy and historical fiction) and a connoiseuse of opera and of fine art, and a queer (aroace) person but I don't think the evergreen classics are going away anytime, and anyone can enjoy them - I enjoy works that, like Othello (the Shakespeare and Verdi versions), Les Misérables (the book, the 2012 film, the BBC miniseries, and the stage musical), and the Wizarding World (as a book, on stage and screen), that spark conversations about identity, otherness, and related issues. I am also worried that this snuffbumble (about Shakespeare, about Columbus, about gender, about race, etc). will spread through Gen Alpha and the subsequent generations; that we will become Fascist... and both Othello and Sesame Street, both women going to university and gays and lesbians getting married, will be punished by death penalty.

De Prageris fanaticibus,

libera nos, Domine!

PS. The Book-Club video calls Shakespeare working-class, but he was more like lower-middle-class (petit bourgeois; his dad was not only a master glover, but also the F-ing Mayor of Stratford). If he didn't go to university, and only had a primary education, it was only because universities were closed off to commoners, and nearly all uni students in the Renaissance were lordlings - no chance that a mayor's son from the provinces would have an Oxbridge education, but still, though he knew "little Latin and less Greek," he knew some French as well (just read or watch the Henriad!). He was lower-middle-class, petit bourgeois, but he at least had read some books and had a primary education. 

This reminds me of Menocchio (Domenico Scandella) in The Cheese and the Worms, who also was lower-middle-class / petit bourgeois (a master miller), lived during the Renaissance, and had a primary education and read his own books, aside from those he borrowed from the local priest / librarian. Menocchio loved to read, and among his reads were the Quran in Italian, the Travels of Sir John de Mandeville (a British noble who travelled through Asia and the East) in Italian, The Dream of Caravia (a satirical poem), Ovid's Metamorphoses, the Golden Legend (lives of the saints), the Decameron, and lunaries (calendars with the phases of the Moon, the life cycles of plants, etc.). The title comes from his cosmovision; influenced by his reads, he rejected the Creation account in the Book of Genesis and had his own creation account, influenced by Ovid in particular:

"All the elements (water, fire, earth, and air) were jumbled together in a chaotic mixture, until finally they coagulated and took their proper places, like curds becoming a cheese; in that cosmic cheese, something like worms / maggots arose spontaneously (in the Renaissance, before Francesco Redi, people thought that maggots generated spontaneously in cheese or rotting flesh - the fly eggs could not be seen by the naked eye), and these maggots became, depending of their degree of development, animals, people, angels, or G*d. G*d was the biggest and most developed maggot, and he was created at the same time at all the other living things."

Menocchio also claimed that Jesus was fully a human, that he had not died to redeem our sins, that Mary was not a Virgin, and that the Pope had no heavenly power, among other things that angered the Catholic Church.

This cosmovision was seen as heresy by the Inquisition, and Menocchio and his family had to move from town to town until, finally, since he didn't retract from his beliefs, he was burned at the stake. If he were illiterate, he maybe would have never come up with his own cosmovision. The Menocchio case illustrates the results of literacy among the Renaissance middle classes, just like that of Shakespeare itself.

Ginzburg argues that Menocchio's beliefs and actions, like those of Shakespeare, were made possible by the advent of print in Europe and by the Protestant Reformation. The printing revolution made books accessible to both Menocchio and Shakespeare, which facilitated the interaction between the oral/popular culture in which the petit-bourgeois were rooted and the literary/highbrow culture of the books, and gave them the words to express their own ideas. Observing that considerable differences exist between Menocchio's references to the books he read and the actual content of those works, Ginzburg argues that Menocchio did not merely adopt ideas that he read in books but rather used elements from those works to articulate his own ideas. The same can be said about the Bard of Avon.

A LITERARY PARADISE (THE LIBRARY, ESCAPIST DREAM)

I am currently reading Escapist Dream, a novel about a VR universe divided into paradises for geeks, otakus, gamers, etc. to roleplay their fantasies; each paradise based on a particular genre/medium, for instance the anime paradise, Otaku Academy, has lots of catgirls and magical girls, a replica of Mt. Fuji, etc. But my favourite of these paradises is the Library, meant for literary fans:

"And lastly, the Library, a place specifically tailored for fans of classic literary works from many countries.” 

Anthropomorphic Personification: The Librarian, a Hogwarts dweeb, represents the negative aspects of literary geeks, in that they think that old-fashioned books are better than comics and video games. He's pretty much written as a criticism against high-culture. 

Religion of Evil: The Librarian's cult is one. They are basically literary geeks who believed that old-fashioned books are better than comics, manga, and all other forms of mediums. They're basically the negative aspects of high-culture personified.

The Library which is the home of literary geeks and fans of Classical (Mostly British) literature,

The Library is a place in the Escapist Dream where bookworms AKA literary geeks reside. It is described as being similar to a European village, but with a large library in the center.

The Library isn’t just a home for literature. In fact, it housed every form of “classical” and influential media, such as films like The Seventh Seal. In the first novel, the place is under the control of The Librarian. By the second novel, it became a dilapidated village similar to Gotham, Massachussets, and is now controlled by the rogue AI, The Professor.

Literary Geeks, are fans of classical literature and other influential media. Prominent examples include The Librarian and Calamum Nomen. 

It turns out to be the ideal world for me; characters in Hogwarts uniforms rub elbows with Westerosis in silk brocades or suits of armour and with Alices in pinafores and Victorian or Steampunk gentlemen in top hats and coattails. The ambience is very old-world or country-esque, Ruritanian, with riders on horses and unicorns and carriages on the street, and dragon riders, pegasus riders, Quidditch players on broomsticks, et al in the skies above, cozy cafés like the Musain and hobbit-holes and Gothic castles in the woods. 

And then there’s the Library which is where the book nerds hang out. The geeks here are able to use the powers of their favorite fictional characters and role-play as actual superhero comic, anime, video game, and literary protagonists.

Another wacky character whom I also laughed about is someone who calls himself “The Librarian”. As a fan of classical novels, he is portrayed as this pompous stick-in-the-mud who believes novels are better than superhero comics, anime, and video games. I kind of see Louis Bulaong (the author) writing this character as a shot at real fans of “high culture” who thinks old stuff back then is superior to what is being sold now. They are basically this master race who forces people to read Lord of the Flies than manga because they think it’s smarter.

People from more "mainstream" worlds like Otaku Academy are at war with: "Then there’s also the skirmishes with those insane idiots from the Library."

[...]

If Jim was not mistaken, the Library was supposed to house fans of classic literature and the like.

They arrived at the Library, landing on both their feet in an awesome superhero landing. The place was normal as far as Charlie and Jim were concerned. This was somethingthe latter was hoping for, as the place was like any ordinary library albeit a large one which was five times the size of Buckingham Palace, complete with a giant courtyard and surrounded by forest everywhere. Dotted around the place were some Lord of the Rings-style hobbit-holes, ordinary coffee shops, a large tube-like spaceship floating above similar to the ones in Ender’s Game, and rows of apartments on one street which said “Baker Street.” There were some people flying above on broomsticks and some riding on horseback or on horse carriages. People were wearing all sorts of costumes from Victorian-era fashion to medieval and ancient Greek armour. But so far nothing was wacky or crazy.

“What’s inside of this place,” Jim replied. “Are the people who read the good stuff. The classics. And most of these classical literature are British. My cup of tea.”

When they went inside the Library, they were surprised that it was even bigger than what they expected. In front of them was a large 10-foot-tall cylindrical marble fountain divided into three rows – Heaven filled with angels, Purgatory which was filled with souls, and Hell which was filled with devils, like out of Hieronymus Bosch. Jim recognized what the religious motif was. The fountain was a homage to Dante Alighieri’s works. The Divine Comedy trilogy.

And around them were gigantic golden statues of other famous characters from both classic and serious literature. There was a statue of King Arthur in his historically-accurate attire of lorica hamata and spatha sword. There was also a statue of the great Sherlock Holmes wearing his iconic deerstalker hat, cane, and pipe. On another corner was a woman wearing the clothes of a 16th-century (Elizabethan) gentleman complete with the ruff collar around her neck, tight pants and large brown boots, which Jim recognized as Orlando, created by Virginia Woolf. There was also a statue of Gandalf the Grey with his staff and awesome longsword Glamdring. There was even a statue of a man wearing a black Puritan hat, cape, and a Guy Fawkes mask, which Jim recognized as V (for Vendetta), his most favourite graphic novel character. He was right in saying most of the statues here were famous British characters. And it was nice for the Escapist Dream to have a place for British media and its fans the same way the Japanese or other nations do.

The place where they were at was the entrance hall. But as they continued walking forward and going down the stairs, they finally arrived at the actual library filled with shelves and books. It was a large grand place with the room’s size stretching unendingly. There were also many balconies

on the top as well as cafés on the sides. The place was also bustling with people, and Jim appreciated that there were still some people who were reading the classics.

Charlie himself was amazed, mostly on the collection of books and films. They had everything from the Iliad, Beowulf, Ramayana, Mahabharata, the Eddas, and other classic mythologies. They even had North American literary classics like Dune, To Kill a Mockingbird, and his personal favorite, The Catcher in the Rye. Japanese works like those of Hayao Miyazaki, and European ones like Valerian and Laureline and The Seventh Seal, were also present.

They walked for some time without any direction but they didn’t mind since they were too busy admiring the place. Soon, they arrived at a desk with a tag that said “Librarian”, but the chair was empty and no one was there.

As an annoyed Jim slapped the bell in anger, a large flash of light suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Like Gandalf the White greeting the Fellowship with a magical flashbang, Jim and Charlie closed their eyes to prevent themselves from going blind. When they opened their eyes, they were soon greeted by a young man in his early 20s, the same age as Kaichou. He had a brown complexion and wore what appeared to be a British schoolboy uniform, complete with a red and gold tie (SO SAD THE ONLY ONE FOREMOST POTTERHEAD HERE IS A GRYFFINDOR AND NOT A RAVENCLAW! But then Rowling was biased towards Gryffindor for the first four installments, before introducing Luna in OOTP...), grey waistcoat, round glasses, and black slacks with leather shoes. What was odd though was that he too wore a black cape on his back.

Charlie noticed the red and gold tie of his, and smiled in excitement since the guy was cosplaying as a Gryffindor student.

“‘Ello visitors,” the boy said, with a butchered British accent Jim himself reviled. This was obviously some foreign boy who was certainly not British, trying to imitate a horrible Queen's English accent.

“You must be the admin of the place,” Charlie said. “I’m Charlie and this is Jim, the programmer sent here to fix the bugs. We’re friends of Launa and we came here on her behalf after you messaged us about a recent glitchin’. We came as fast as we could to investigate.”

“Ah!” the young man said. “Well, you two. As you both know, I am whom they call the Librarian! I’m the headmaster of this wonderful place for great minds who only consume serious forms of art.”

“Ah a fellow Englishman I see,” the Librarian said. “Top-top my good man. I hope you find this place to your fancy.”

“It was,” Jim said. Right before you came along mocking my language.

“Well, gentlemen, let us not dilly-dally then,” the Librarian said before pulling out what appeared to be a black stick from under the table. Like a magic wand he started swinging it in the air and shouted, “Immobulus!”

Something strange happened to Jim and Charlie’s bodies. They could not move them at all. 

“What the hell is happenin’ Jim?” Charlie said as he tried to squirm and move

his body.

“What is this?!” Jim asked the Librarian in rage.

A group of twenty little NPC men wearing funny elf costumes, obviously inspired by the munchkins and the oompa-loompas, came out of nowhere and started marching towards them. 

“Alright boys! Take them away!” the Librarian commanded as dusty burlap sacks were put over Jim and Charlie’s heads. The group of little men then started carrying them away to who knows where.

When the bags over their heads were removed, Charlie and Jim were still paralyzed from head to toe. They ended up in some large basement, probably under the Library, and like the latter, this place also stretched out forever. It was far different from the magnificent Library, as the place was dark and haunting like an abandoned building. Cracked columns and support beams held the floor above, and there were a few torches in those columns to serve as illumination.

What made this place even more inauspicious were the occult pentacles and magic circles drawn on the floor, with candles strewn all over them. The torches and the candles were the only sources of light in this place, but even with those it was still mostly covered in darkness.

Both Charlie and Jim’s reactions to the place were different. Jim for the most part was disgusted. All in his mind was anger at what those dumb nerds did. Putting a spell on them and carrying them into this stinking basement. What were those dorks planning? Charlie meanwhile, was nervous as chills crawled up his spine. The place was eerie and scary, and for the kid, it’s not far from those serial killer hideouts or deranged occult dens. For him, the atmosphere of this place made the lighthouse in Gamer’s Den appear like an amusement park.

“Oi!” Jim yelled at the darkness. “I know you’re in there. I can sense you through me dickless-piece-of-shit detector!”

A figure came out of the darkness, soon to be followed by a crowd who formed a circle around the two. The first figure who came forward to them, revealed himself to be the Librarian. As his face was illuminated with nothing but candlelight, he appeared more horrifying in the darkness with his evil eyes and grin.

“Top o’ the mornin to ya, gents,” the Librarian greeted them with his usual horrible accent. 

The guy then started to laugh, and he was soon followed by the other figures who laughed as well. They were like a destructive cult, not like the hilarious dark metal wannabes, but the actual stereotypical human-sacrificing squad. Did the place start accepting these kinds of religious zealots or pentacle-loving peeps? And Launa didn’t bother to tell them?

Jim had no qualms or discrimination with anyone, including these people. But he was surely pissed they locked him up like this. Charlie however, saw nothing but a mysterious and scary group, and he prayed they were not the ones who mass murder people.

The Brit was approached by the Librarian, and the latter smiled the proudest grin, saying, “I know who you are, Mr. Jim the Programmer, and we appreciate you coming here to visit us. Thank the goddess Fortuna that Launa is not with you today, because it made the whole kidnapping-thing much easier.”

He continued to laugh psychotically and the rest of his entourage again followed. This guy was a grade-A lunatic, and what he was doing wasn’t a joke or a prank. He was not pretending or cosplaying to be crazy, the guy was pretty much out of his head. Unlike Jim who thought of his craziness as nothing but pathetic, Charlie was fearful of what was happening. He was a young boy after all, and a guy laughing like he was the Joker or Light Yagami, was scary to him.

“Alright, I’ll give you some praise for devising such a plan to abduct us, you weiner coat,” Jim said. “But now can you stop sniveling and tell us why you captured us?”

“You’re a programmer, and you came here to fix the glitching,” the Librarian said. “But we won’t allow you to do that. Not now when the bug is doing us so many favours.”

Oh great. Another group using my creations for their own sickness. This is terrific. Much terrific.

“And what plan is it, may I ask?” Jim said.

“Normally, I follow the words of Ozymandias in saying ‘I’m no republican serial villain’. But I don’t think you’ll be doing anything with my spell affecting you, so I’ll tell you anyways. First things first though, I appreciate being able to converse with an actual Englishman. Tell me, mate. What do you think of me marvellous Queen's English accent?”

“Tell you what, you’re as good as making a Queen's English accent as Nicholas Cage was good with his Italian accent.”

“Ouch.”

“If you wanna do an English accent, you do it in style. First thing you should know is that there is no such thing as English accents. It’s the US Americans and the Canadians who have the funny accent. But you’re too dumb, are you?”

“Oh shut your gob. But anyways, let me introduce ourselves. We are the ‘Company of Righteous Artists’. We’re the type of geeks who read the serious, philosophical, and artistic works of literature. None of those silly childish media which all the other geeks consume. We don’t watch those stupid superhero fictions or perverted Japanese anime and manga. We don’t indulge ourselves 12 hours-a-day playing the latest microtransaction-filled video games. We stay away from companies who make the laziest form of art. We are the people who only consume high-class media created with love and effort.”

Jim was both stunned and impressed. The Librarian and his gang were not far off from what he also believed in. Throughout his adventures here in the Escapist Dream he had done nothing but hate and mock all the stupid superhero geeks, weird Japanese otakus, and those toxic gamers from all across the globe. Sadly though, these people were nuttier, and they even created their own fanatical group to back it up.

“So some geeks who buy shite annoy you,” said Jim. “Kind of a crappy reason to kidnap a programmer now, innit?”

“For you it’s the case but not for us,” the Librarian explained. “You are a programmer, and you’ve seen how these geeks always turn for the worst every single day. I heard an idiot in Otaku Academy created a virtual girlfriend using a bug. Can you believe that?! Such a disgusting thing that should be punishable by castration. We at the Company vomit at such things. Marvel and DC superheroes with their underwear on the outside. Japanese lolicons, shotacons (lolicon: sexual arousal by female Mini-Moe; shotacon: arousal by male Mini-Moe; basically anime jailbait), twincest, and all other disgusting weebshit. And the gamers... Gosh, the gamers and their violent conservative sexist beliefs and consumerist practices.”

“Again,” Jim interrupted. “Stop bloody harping and tell us why you did this!”

“Simple. The Escapist Dream is the biggest hub for geeks in the whole world. But these superhero fans, otakus, and gamers have infected this place with their rubbish. We, the Company, would like you to help us throw these geeks out. We want to create a society back to a simpler time where the only superheroes were the mythical warriors of ancient Greece and medieval Europe, and the only weird tentacle things are those from Lovecraft’s creations. All of these will only be possible with the help of a master programmer.”

“And pray, tell me. Why would you think I would help you?”

“You’re a programmer, aren’t you? I know you Mr. Jim, you are one of those who developed the Escapist Dream. I’ve been watching you and I know how you hated this place and the geeks, otakus, and gamers in here. You and I are not so different. We are the ones who consume only the finest media.”

“If you are going to do that,” Jim interrupted. “You might as well throw Harry Potter in the same dungeon.”

When Jim said this, the Librarian stopped his cheering. He turned towards the Brit, confused and insulted

from what he said. “Why? Harry Potter is a serious fiction, and it will remain here in the Escapist Dream as an artform,” the Librarian said, defending the honor of his beloved franchise.

“Art? Hah!” Jim said laughing. “You call Harry Potter an art? And you dare to put that series of novels in the same category as Lord of the Rings, V for Vendetta, and all the others?”

“Of course I will,” the Librarian said in defiance.

“Harry Potter is a beloved series of books which had themes of friendship, family love, and pure magical fantasy! It is as serious and artistic as–”

“A pile of dogshite is what it is. And you should be ashamed to call yourself a fan of literary arts while liking such a book and even dressing in such garbage.”

The Librarian was getting angrier as he continued debating with Jim. The rest of the figures started talking to each other with what this Brit meant. The Librarian looked around at the commotion Jim was causing, and was now even more enraged than ever. He approached the still paralyzed Jim and aimed the dagger at his right eye.

“You bloody shut your mouth!”

“Listen here, mate. Harry Potter is a load of bollocks. It’s childish and stupid, and hell it’s even more pathetic than Marvel superheroes for God’s sake. We’re talking about a lame-ass chosen one protagonist defeating another stupid lame-ass bald villain with the power of fucking love. Bloody… fucking… love!”

“Shut up!”

But Jim was not done yet slandering the Librarian’s favourite series. “What’s worse is that the series is fascist. The muggles are inferior and pretty useless compared to the wizards (but what about the Death Eaters being the villains; pure-blood supremacists opposed to "mudbloods" like Harry and Hermione, and to pure-blood Muggle sympathizers like the Weasleys?). And worse? It’s a plagiarized kiddie version of the Timothy Hunter books! I mean look at the two; young boys with round glasses finding their destiny? Fighting against evil who wants to take over the world because of supremacist beliefs! They even have the same owls!” 

(Previously, Jim had explained that his Harry-Potter-like cosplay, long trenchcoat, short dark hair and John Lennon spectacles / glasses, was of Timothy Hunter:

CHARLIE: "Are you cosplayin’ as John Constantine and Harry Potter?”

JIM: “Not Harry Potter, but Timothy Hunter. The glasses can be misleading since both characters came out the same time and wore the same glasses.”

JIM, LATER: “When I arrived here in the Escapist Dream, I chose to add things from my favorite magical character, Timothy Hunter. He is this young child who is destined to become this powerful mage. The boy Hunter has spells which can create Tunguska events on a whim, but I’ve always been more impressed with his practical spells like–”)

“That’s a fucking lie!”

“And we’re not even getting to the controversial part yet…”

As Jim said that, the whole room became deathly silent. People in the crowd bit their lips with tension at what the programmer was about to say next. Charlie himself averted his gaze as if someone was actively committing suicide beside him. Jim was about to get them both killed.

“Please don’t,” pleaded Charlie. “Don’t do this Jim…”

“Stop!” the Librarian warned. 

“Face it, mate. Your precious little series does not deserve to be considered a ‘serious form of art’. Especially with an author who wants to look so progressive but too lazy to invent new gay characters. (What about Sirius and Remus? And when it comes to Rowling's queerphobia, don't confuse the author with the work!)”

“Damn you!” the Librarian yelled as he raised the dagger to stab his knife right at Jim’s eye.

Jim then yelled to Charlie, “Now lad!”

That was the signal Charlie has all been waiting for. Although with his leg still burning in pain, he still had the mental strength to use the Force to lift the Librarian and slam his head on the ceiling. The attack stunned the Librarian enough to make him lose his magical grip on the two. He also let go of the dagger and it fell and bounced off into the darkness.

Jim and Charlie were freed from their paralysis spell, and the former quickly drew his lawmaker pistol and shot a few rounds at the crowd, scattering and panicking them.

These people turned out to be the geeks in the Library the two had met when they first arrived. There were some armed with medieval longswords and historical weapons. Many of them wore knightly armour, Renaissance capes, and some with Victorian top hats and deerstalkers. Others had futuristic ray guns and jumpsuits from all the classic science fiction stories of the 1960s. And some were portraying themselves as fantasy tropes, with enchanted staffs and wands, as well as flying broomsticks and carpets.

Jim and Charlie prepared themselves for another battle. Outnumbered, they probably would get massacred but at least they would put up one hell of a fight. Jim grabbed his longsword together with his futuristic lawmaker pistol, while Charlie turned on his lightsaber and struck a Jedi fighting stance. “How’s your leg?” Jim asked. “Sorry if it took so long. I wanted to see what they did with the bug and I didn’t expect it could do such a thing.”

“It hurts like hell,” Charlie honestly replied. “But I’ll be fine once the bastard pays for what he did. Would you believe if I told you the shoutin’, the cryin’ and the panickin’ were all part of the act? That I was just... actin’ all of those?”

“Sure you are, mate,” said Jim.

“Although he was kinda right and you’re wrong,”

Charlie continued. “Harry Potter is a good book. The whole part about the muggles being useless, well they were the ones who were keepin’ the wizard species alive. Also, didn’t Neil Gaiman already said in an interview that there was no plagiarism involved? And both unintentionally used the same references from previous fantasy books? (Charlie is right; all fantasy draws from a "Cauldron of Story" containing the archetypes, etc) Rowling herself has the right to do whatever she wants with her–” (In fact, every year her candidature for the Nobel Prize is renewed; she has not only written the Wizarding World books, but also other fantasies like The Ickabog and The Christmas Pig, and even crime fiction under the moustache de plume Robert Galbraith -- since everyone now associates her name with juvenile fantasy, no one would believe she has written crime fiction for adults!)

“Shush now, lad,” Jim said to stop this kid’s tangent. But he admitted that it made him smile whenever the kid started geeking out like this. “I don’t hate those books. I was just saying those things to get this idiot to lose his mind.”

The rest of the literary geeks finally regrouped and surrounded the two. As Charlie readied his lightsaber the moment these fools try to attack, the song "Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood" by Santa Esmeralda played in his head. They were like the Bride going up against the Crazy 88. But unlike Charlie’s previous battles, he was not as excited as he was like before. They need to be more careful since pain was now real in the Escapist Dream and the dagger was out there.

The gang of literary geeks started throwing themselves at the two. A guy wearing a Greek hoplite suit, complete with a bronze cuirass, red cape, and a large hoplon shield with a capital Lambda, tried to stab Jim with a spear. But Jim parried it with his longsword, before pinning the spear on the ground with said sword. As the guy tried to get the spear off the ground, the Brit shot him in the head. Another guy, dressed up in riveted chainmail and bearing the banner of King Arthur himself, slashed at Jim with a large spatha sword. But Jim managed to lean back and dodge his attack, before kicking him away and shooting him multiple times in the chest. As several other literary dweebs swarmed at Jim from all sides, he whispered to his pistol “Rapid Fire” and it transformed from a semi-automatic to a fully-automatic machine pistol.

He then started shooting everyone around him. Charlie on the other hand, was up against a frontiersman wearing buckskin and coon hat, like that Bumppo character his English teacher tried to make him read in middle school. The frontiersman fired at him with a Kentucky long rifle, and the kid narrowly dodged it, ducking below his line of sight. Charlie then charged at him and buried his lightsaber into his chest. Another dude wearing a traditional Japanese dress hit Charlie on the back with what appeared to be a cart with a baby doll inside. As Charlie fell back to the floor, the guy climbed over his cart and jumped in the air while drawing his katana. Before he struck Charlie down, the teenage geek unleashed his heat vision and incinerated him to ashes. “You doing alright?” Jim said as he continued shooting.

“Yeah I’m doin’ fine,” Charlie said as he picked himself up. 

A girl dressed in Victorian clothing, complete with an umbrella skirt, attacked Charlie with a parasol, but the young geek sliced her and her parasol with one fell swoop.

Another geek, this time cosplaying as some sort of albino cowboy spouting nonsense about war, started shooting his twin six-shooters at Charlie. But the kid used his Force powers to lift him up and drag him towards Jim. 

“Heads up!” Charlie said as the poor sod flew towards Jim, whom the Brit sliced in two.

“Nice. But hey watch this,” Jim said as he summoned a magical wooden stick on his hand, and a large grey wizard hat on his head. He raised the staff in the air, yelled “You cannot pass!” and slammed it back on the ground. It created a huge shockwave which threw everyone across the room, taking out a lot of those geeks in the process.

“I think you got Gandalf’s quote wrong,” Charlie said as he chopped one thug who tried to sneak behind him.

Jim continued shooting his gun at some who were trying to get up, and replied, “Don’t you know? That’s what Gandalf the Grey actually said in the book. Or something like that. They changed it in the movies.”

As the fight was going on, the Librarian was finally getting back to his senses. He was witnessing his army getting torn apart by these two guys and it infuriated him. He couldn’t possibly conquer the Escapist Dream if all of his troops were wrecked and humiliated like that. Angered, the Librarian yelled at the two, “You fools! First my favorite series and now my army! You’ll both pay!”

“Not before you pay me for what you did to my leg!” cried Charlie.

The Librarian raised his hand in the air, summoned his magical broomstick, and got on it. He then started flying all over the large basement like an actual witch. Jim tried to shoot at him but as he aimed, the guy disappeared into the darkness. Appearing from behind, the Librarian started spamming magical spells at them with his wand, screaming every dark spells, torture jinx, and deadly curses.

“Here comes that lunatic,” Charlie bantered. As the Librarian’s spells came rushing towards them, Charlie summoned a Green Lantern power ring and used it to create a giant green brick wall to block the Librarian’s attack. To stop the guy flying all across the room, Jim thought of using another Timothy Hunter spell. As he waved his hand to unleash Hunter’s iconic Stop Bugging Me spell, time suddenly froze around them, leaving their enemy open and defenseless.

Now with the Librarian immobilized, Charlie unleashed his heat vision and vaporized his broomstick, making the Librarian crash to the ground. Wanting to pour all his anger towards this literary geek, Charlie got on top of him and started to ground-and-pound the guy with his fists, unleashing all his rage on his meek face. As they watched their leader getting mercilessly beat up by this kid, the rest of the literary geeks began falling back in retreat.

“This is for stabbin’ me in the leg you freak!” Charlie yelled.

Jim caught up to them and pulled the kid off the Librarian, saying, “That’s enough, mate.”

As Charlie got up, the now battered Librarian laid there with a broken bleeding mug. Jim approached the Librarian, eyed him face-to-face and jeered, “You spoke of Ozymandias once but failed to learn from the character. If you’re going to tell someone your master plan you should have done it thirty-five minutes after doing it.”

“By the way,” Charlie asked. “Did you just friggin’ freeze time?!”

Jim then looked at the excited kid and said, “Yeah. But for some reason I can’t do it again.”

Charlie nodded, and without nothing else to say and a face still overflowing with anger, he stabbed his lightsaber right at the literary geek’s chest. The jerk’s digital body disappeared, and afterwards Jim grabbed the boy and turned him around. He said with a worried expression on his face,

“Seriously, how’s your leg?”

“I’m not sure. It’s still bleedin’ but the adrenaline got rid of the pain. It still feels kind of heavy though, so I need to check out my actual leg if it’s okay.”

Before Charlie left, they stayed for a while to admire the carnage they had done. The torches were still burning strong even after the fight, and laid down on the ground were a lot of fallen weapons and ripped pieces of costumes. They were also some literary geeks still on the ground winded and some limping away in defeat. It would have been nice to mop up everything and chase these guys down, but they had enough fighting for today. What’s important was he and Charlie won this fight. They literally defeated a whole army even though they were alone, trapped and surrounded. But now it was time for them to rest.

When Charlie got back to his senses, one literary geek dressed in a peg-legged pirate costume and crutch, came rushing in with an old-timey blunderbuss.

... as he spotted a lone literary geek trying to sneak away from the side of the hill. He was wearing an 18th century costume consisting of a light brown woolen coat, embroidered frills on his sleeves, white tight-fitting stockings, and a dark tricorn hat. He also wore a black domino mask on his face and a red flower, specifically a scarlet pimpernel, pinned on his right breast.

What caught Charlie’s attention was a dagger that was strapped to his belt, similar to the one the Librarian stabbed him with. Fearing the others were too distracted and the guy was nearly succeeding in his escape, Charlie chose to chase the geek down himself. As the kid went in pursuit, the literary geek glanced back and saw the former running towards him. He grabbed a flintlock pistol and fired at the boy in the hopes of either killing him or driving him away. It was an unusual pistol, since even if it had a single-shot mechanism, it fired bullets at a rapid semi-automatic pace.

THE BBC CENSORS FAWLTY TOWERS

 I have said before how books like Tintin in the Congo or elements like Santa's pipe have been removed due to political correctness. 

The same has happened with Puffin Books' sensitivity readers to Roald Dahl, where Matilda's reading of Rudyard Kipling has become Jane Austen, "hopping like a dervish" became "hopping like a frog," "fat" became "enormous," "ugly old cow" became "nasty old shrew" and "gay" and "queer" were completely excised, even if they mean "happy" and "strange" respectively.

James Bond and Agatha Christie (Ten Little Soldier Boys, anyone?) have also been given the PC treatment, but what shocked me the most was that they did it to FAWLTY TOWERS :O !

But the billboard anagrams are not the only issue in translating FT. How to translate cultural references...? "At the Oval" becomes "en el críquet", but "Wogs?" (British slur for South Asians, very offensive to them!) And Manuel's funny mistakes, based on the Anglo-Spanish language barrier?

Mr. Fawlty: Manuel, there is too much butter on those trays.

Manuel: ¡No, no, no, señor Folty! ¡Not "on, dous, treis"! ¡"Un, dos, tres"! (counting to three with fingers)

This fragment is simply cut out. Just because most Spaniards, due to the lack of long vowels and other features of their mother tongue, prove as ineffectual when it comes to foreign languages as Manuel in the dialogue above.

I grew up with this scene, where Mr. Fawlty and the Major are discussing ethnic groups. The Major, a veteran of both World Wars, thinks (obviously) that Germans are the enemy but that German women are very attractive... then the conversation turns to (pardon my French) Injuns and Niggers, and Wogs. He recalls having taken his ladylove to see England vs. India at The Oval, the most important cricket ground in the UK and maybe in the world. The Major and his girlfriend got into an argument - she kept referring to the South Asian cricketers as "niggers," while the Major said niggers were the West Indians, from the Caribbean, and these cricketers were "Wogs" instead:

• Major Gowen: I must have been keen on her because I took her to see India.
• Basil Fawlty: India?
• Maj. Gowen: At The Oval.
• [...]
• Maj. Gowen: The strange thing was that throughout the morning, she kept referring to the Indians ("Injuns") as niggers. 'No, no, I said'. 'Niggers are the West Indians, these people are Wogs!' 'No, no', she said, all cricketers are niggers.'
• [...]
• Maj. Gowen: I hate Germans! I love women.
• Polly Sherman (the maid): What about German women?
• Maj. Gowen: Good card players.

++++++++

The term "Wog" comes most probably from "pollywog," an amphibian larva, but also metaphorically a novice sailor in the Royal Navy, one that is young and inexperienced, and has not crossed the Equator yet (compare Spanish "renacuajo"). It could also be an initialism for Westernised Oriental Gentleman.

And now the BBC has taken out these scenes where the Major discusses niggers and Wogs...

The BBC deleted this scene in 2013 and this was met with collective outrage.

After all, the point of the scene was to present Major Gowen as arrogant, aloof and out-of-touch. But Brits love him warts and all, with his antiquated racism, and I am not the only one who has grown up with this series, or Monty Python, or 'Allo 'Allo!, or Blackadder, or Hyacinth "Bouquet..."

The major tells Mr. Fawlty about the time he took a woman to see India play cricket at the Oval. He then says: ‘The strange thing was, throughout the morning she kept referring to the Indians as niggers. “No, no, no,” I said, “the niggers are the West Indians. These people are wogs”.’

Several years ago there were concerns that the episode would never be shown again because of the offensive words. However, recent editions of The Complete Fawlty Towers DVD, distributed by BBC Worldwide, have not been edited and included the segment that was cut by the BBC.

Some fans took to the BBC’s Points of View message board to say they ‘despaired’ at the ‘unnecessary’ editing.

One wrote: ‘You can’t airbrush history away and I doubt if anyone but the terminally thin-skinned could be offended by the Major, a character we’re clearly supposed to laugh at rather than with.’

Another posted: ‘The point is that the Major is a racist old bigot, incongruous with modern society – even in the Seventies. The audience isn’t supposed to agree with him, they’re supposed to laugh at him. The whole episode is about xenophobia in various forms – it’s social satire. I instinctively dislike the airbrushing of history.’

A third viewer wrote: ‘So how sad BBC you have finally succumbed and lost the guts to transmit the episode of Fawlty Towers “The Germans” in its original form. The major’s speech of his experience of going out with a woman to the Oval is one of the funniest things ever.

‘You edited it because it includes the W-word and the N-word. Let’s face it, the whole episode and much of Fawlty Towers is racist by today’s standards and misogynistic, but above all it is hilarious.

‘We are all grown up, you know. We, the vast majority of us, can laugh at this without being racists.

‘It’s about time you grew up BBC, and trusted your audience. We know what is acceptable and what is not and what is funny and why, and the fact it is of a time which is now long past. We understand context, the major is a figure of fun, he doesn’t whip up hatred.’

Fawlty Towers was written by and starred John Cleese and his then wife Connie Booth as Mr. and Mrs. Fawlty. "The Germans" was the sixth episode of the 12 that were made and was voted number 11 in Channel 4’s One Hundred Greatest TV Moments in 1999.

The series has continued to entertain families since being made in the 1970s and was in 2000 voted by industry professionals to be the best British series of all time.

A BBC spokesman said: ‘We are very proud of Fawlty Towers and its contribution to British television comedy.

‘But public attitudes have changed significantly since it was made and it was decided to make some minor changes, with the consent of John Cleese’s management, to allow the episode to transmit to a family audience at 7.30 pm on BBC2.’

The BBC has cut from a repeat of the episode The Germans (screened many times since it was first seen in 1975) a speech in which the blimpish hotel resident Major Gowen uses two outlawed racial insults while reporting on a trip to see an England v India cricket match at the Oval.

It is impossible to discuss properly the censored dialogue without quoting the line. Very sensitive readers should stop now and it should not be assumed that I, the Guardian – or, indeed, John Cleese and Connie Booth, the show's writers and co-stars – endorse the general or casual use of such terms. In his anecdote, the Major tells Mr. Fawlty that he went to the cricket match with a woman who "kept referring to the Indians as niggers. 'No, no, no,' I said, 'the niggers are the West Indians. These people are wogs.'"

The objection to those shows is that the assumptions behind the characterisation and writing date from an era of different attitudes to race and therefore risk causing offence now. In contrast, Cleese and Booth, when they wrote the character of Major Gowen, were clearly not being unthinkingly racist; rather, they were satirising an English upper-class bigot. The joke depends on the audience first thinking that, when the Major rebukes his companion "No, no, no", he is condemning her for inflammatory language, when it turns out that he is simply a particularly pedantic racist. A liberal pedant might object that it was odd of the BBC to cut just that one line from the episode in question as the entire premise of "The Germans" is English post-WW2 humour and hostility towards the country. But, while the show will never win a prize for encouraging Anglo-German cultural understanding, Cleese is comically depicting – rather than politically promoting – fear of "Fritz".

 The same defence can be made of Major Gowen's speech and so there may be pressure for the entire episode to be shown at a later date, with an appropriate note about its content. Major Gowen is racist; Fawlty Towers isn't.

I am not the only one who has grown up with this series, or Monty Python, or 'Allo 'Allo!, or Blackadder, or Hyacinth "Bouquet..." Before I watched this episode as a tween, I knew nothing about cricket, I didn't know what the Oval was or what "Wogs" meant. Now in my thirties, I am very sad that the BBC has removed this conversation between Mr. Fawlty and the Major. I can tolerate that Tintin in the Congo is no longer in Swedish libraries, that Santa no longer smokes a pipe, that Roald Dahl has been edited by Puffin Books - BUT PLEASE DON'T TOUCH MY MAJOR OR HIS WOGS!!!

THE FINISHING STROKE, by ELLERY QUEEN: REVIEW

My last posts, on the Pagan Copycat theory, made me recall this crime novel, written in the '50s but set during the Roaring Twenties...

I first got to know The Finishing Stroke during a summer in Sweden, as a teen; it was referenced in a linguistics book borrowed from my friend Stefan Olsson. The plot has much in common with Agatha Christie novels: the Closed Circle trope (an isolated location), the diverse rag-tag crew of suspects, the use of a folk song (nursery rhymes in Christie, a Christmas carol in Queen) as foreshadowing, etc.

Twelve people, all of them of different professions and zodiac signs: a detective/mystery writer (Ellery Queen, Gemini), a composer, a poet (Sebastian, Capricorn, a teenage heir who will inherit the family fortune on Twelfth Night), a thespian actress (Valentina, Sagittarius), a fashion designer (Rusty, Leo, Sebastian's fiancée), a college student (Ellen, Aries, Sebastian's guardian's orphan niece), a psychic/astrologer (the fashion designer's mother), a printer, a publisher (Samson Craig, a Pisces), a lawyer, a doctor, and an old vicar. A party that will last all twelve days of Christmas, from Christmas Eve to Twelfth Night (I should have posted this on Christmas!). On an estate in the countryside, isolated by a blizzard and then snowed in (the Closed Circle trope in full effect!)

On Christmas Eve, suddenly a Santa Claus in full Santa getup (red suit, white beard, Santa hat) appears, suddenly ex nihilo, and delivers zodiac jewellery to each of the guests, cufflinks for the gents and brooches for the ladies, to each person their own sign. This Santa can't have come from outside; there are no footprints in the snow and the mansion is cut off from the outside world. But of course it's a Gothic-style Victorian estate, full of secret passageways...

"You’re Aries, Ellen (the student), so you get the lamb. Valentina (the thespian), you’re Sagittarius, so of course you get the archer. And so on. It was my inspiration, Sebastian (Capricorn), wasn’t it?”

“It certainly was. Rusty (the fashion designer, Leo) designed them, [...]"

On Christmas Day, the mystery thickens; Sebastian (but no one else) receives mysterious presents: an OX made of sandalwood, a doll-HOUSE without windows or door, and a wooden CAMEL with enamel coating, accompanied by a typewritten note (typewritten to be more anonymous, handwriting would give the sender away), parodying the classic Christmas carol The 12 Days of Christmas:

On the first day of Christmas your True Love sends to you:

A sandalwood OX in a holiday box,

an unfinished HOUSE for a soon-to-be spouse,

a gray and white CAMEL with skin of enamel.

As the days go by, each morning Sebastian receives more and more bizarre and ostensibly random gifts: toy animals, both plushies and wooden figurines, including a FISH and a SNAKE; missing parts of the doll-HOUSE (a DOOR, WINDOWS, and a FENCE); and body parts of a baby doll (the HEAD without eyes or mouth, an EYEBALL, a MOUTH full of TEETH, and both hands: an OPEN PALM and a CLOSED FIST), accompanied by typewritten 12 Days of Christmas parodies that grow more sinister for each day. The last gift, a KNIFE with a jewelled hilt and pommel, is found buried in Sebastian's back, on his lifeless body, on his birthday on Twelfth Night, and the typewritten message reads:

On the Twelfth Night of Christmas your True Love sends to you:

this final DAGGER, this jewelled KNIFE,

this finishing stroke to end your life.

(Very cliché to rhyme "knife" with "life," but very appropriate for a murder!)

But are there two Sebastians? Right after the body is discovered, another Sebastian comes downstairs and asks what the matter is. This one is the real Sebastian; the murder victim is his secret identical twin brother, concealed from the outside world à la Man in the Iron Mask.

But what struck me the most was the pattern - like Agatha Christie's nursery rhyme murders, the carol serves as a foreshadowing and also follows a pattern, like the victims of Themed Serial Killers (think Se7en or Theatre of Blood!  A Theme Serial Killer, according to TV Tropes, has to pattern his kills after a famous set, like the seven deadly sins, or a work of fiction. The killer will choose victims who match up with the set and/or he will kill them in manners befitting the set. Note that the killer will avoid repeating methods of murder: each death will represent, in some way, another portion of the set or story). Except that here it's not the murders but the WARNINGS to the victim that follow the pattern. And that pattern/theme are the LETTERS OF THE HEBREW ALEFBET (which I knew from Tarot - the Crowley-Thoth and Papus Tarots -, Kabbalah, and the Spanish fairytale fantasy En busca de las voces perdidas) in alphabetical order: the OX is ALEPH, the HOUSE is BETH, the CAMEL is GIMEL, the DOOR is DALETH, the WINDOWS are HE, [...] the OPEN PALM is YOD, the CLOSED FIST is KAPH, etc. 

My only gripe is that QOF, which became the Latin letter Q, was here represented by a MONKEY (which Sebastian received as a plushie), when it was actually a LASSO (the book was written in the 1950s and set during the Roaring 20s). Both Qof and Q look like a primate with a round body and a long tail, but this interpretation is actually wrong; there were and are no wild monkeys in Israel, while ancient Israelites used lassos to lasso horses and cows, and Q and Qof also look like a lasso. En busca de las voces perdidas suggests a lasso as the interpretation for the letter's origin, while Wikipedia suggests (the eye of) a sewing needle, or the nape of a neck.

Wikipedia on Qof:

The origin of the glyph shape of qōph () is uncertain. It is usually suggested to have originally depicted either a sewing needle, specifically the eye of a needle (Hebrew קוף quf and Aramaic קופא qopɑʔ both refer to the eye of a needle), or the back of a head and neck (qāf in Arabic meant "nape").

But I adored the theme of twelves: twelve days of Christmas (chronologically and in the carol), twelve guests, and nearly all of them connected to the number in some way or another:

"Think, Mr. Payn, hard. Does the number twelve in any context—strike fire anywhere in your personal experience?”

“Of course not!” Payn replied, not with grace.

”Your professional life? You’re a lawyer. Lawyer . . . Of course!” Ellery said, beaming. “What could be clearer? Lawyer, jury. Twelve good men and true. You see?”

“My God,” the lawyer groaned. “Arthur, never mind!”

“The title of it, of course,” Craig chuckled, with a side glance at Sebastian, was Lex XII. Tabularum—I have a copy of it around somewhere. The Law of the Twelve Tables, by Roland Payn.”

“So there we are,” Ellery said cheerfully. “Mr. Payn, you at least have now been connected with twelveness. In fact, come to think of it, you’re also a douzeper.”

“I’m a what?” Roland Payn gasped.

“Douzeper,” Ellery assured him. “The douze pers, the Twelve Peers, were the twelve paladins of Charlemagne. Surely you can’t have forgotten the most famous paladin of them all? Doesn’t Chanson de Roland ring a bell for you, Mr. Payn? ‘A Roland for an Oliver’? Childe Rowland? My dear sir, you’re up to your quiddities in twelves. Now, who’s next? Dr. Dark? Doctor, we’re waiting,” Ellery said in a chiding tone. “What does twelve mean to you?”

“The hour when I’m usually wakened from a sound sleep by a patient who’s positive she has the Australian pip,” the fat man said. “However, I could refer you to the twelve cranial nerves, an inescapable part of the anatomy, which terminate in the twelfth, or hypoglossal, nerve (On Old Olympus' Towering Top, A Finn And German Viewed Some Hawks; mnemonic)—”

“Remote, remote,” Ellery said with a frown.

“Think, Samson,” Craig chuckled.

“Samson! Did you say Samson, Mr. Craig?” Ellery cried.

“Certainly I said Samson. That’s his first name.”

“And I thought it was Samuel! (Mr. Craig goes by Sam) Well, that makes all the difference,”

Ellery said with satisfaction. “You see that, of course.”

“Frankly,” Ellen said, “no.”

“What do they teach you at Wellesley? Samson is the Biblical equivalent of the Greek Hercules. And what does Hercules suggest?”

“The Twelve Labours!” Freeman said, smiling broadly.

After that it was easy. Marius Carlo (the composer) qualified as a musical disciple of Schönberg’s, with his 12-tone system; Mr. Gardiner (the vicar) was linked with the 12 Apostles, one of whose names—Andrew—he actually bore; Mrs. Brown (Rusty's mother, the astrologer) and the twelveness of the zodiac were natural affinities; Arthur Craig was accepted through one of the annual staples of his press, the famous Craig Calendars (the twelve months); Valentina, denying that she had ever played Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, nevertheless insisted on inclusion because she was Sagittarius, the archer centaur, and her birthday was December, on the 12th—the 12th day of the 12th month! Rusty (the fashion designer) was a problem until Ellery ferreted from her the information that her baptismal name was not Rusty at all, but Yolanda; which, having seven letters, combined with the five letters of her surname to add up YOLANDA BROWN to the magic 12; and Dan Z. Freeman (the publisher), who was ofthe Jewish faith, was unanimously voted—by John’s nomination—Grand Twelveness, since his Jewishness not only suggested the 12 Tribes of Israel and their leaders, the 12 Sons of Jacob, but his first name, Dan, was the name of one of the 12 and his middle name, Zebulon—”after my maternal grandfather, olav hasholem,” Freeman assured them gravely—was the name of another.

The effect was rather spoiled when it was discovered that neither Sebastian (the poet, recipient of the gifts) nor Ellen (the student) could join the club. In spite of the best efforts of Ellen, she could think of no 12 in her life, nor could her uncle. As for Sebastian, if anyone thought of bringing up the 12 nightly gifts he was being threatened with, the thinker thought better of it.

“What about you, Mr. Queen?” Craig smiled. “You mustn’t leave yourself out.”

“Me? I’m in Sebastian’s and Ellen’s boat, Mr. Craig. I can’t think of a twelve that applies to me.”

“Your full name, ELLERY QUEEN,” Freeman suggested. “It has eleven letters. If you had a middle initial—”

“Unfortunately, I don’t.”

“Books!” Craig slapped his thigh. “You’re in this club on the basis of your association with books! You're a mystery writer! One of the technical book sizes is duodecimo, what we call 12mo. You see?”

This theme of twelve is fascinating, especially when you consider subsets that have ONE LEADER AND TWELVE FOLLOWERS, one of whom is often a TRAITOR: 

• Charlemagne and his twelve peers (including traitor Ganelon), 
• King Arthur and his twelve knights (including traitor Mordred), 
• Odin and his twelve Asgardians (including traitor Loki), 
• Jesus and his twelve disciples/apostles (including Judas Iscariot), 
• Jacob and his twelve sons/tribes (including traitor Judah), 
• Napoleon and his twelve field marshals (including traitor Bernadotte, then King of Sweden), 
• etc.

This pattern, from all I know, may represent the Sun (leader) and the twelve zodiac signs, as the Pagan Copycat theory (to which I subscribe) states.

PS. Ellery Queen has another nursery rhyme novel, far closer to Agatha Christie (the nursery rhyme is the base for a Theme Serial Killer's murder victims): Double Double, with a Shakespearean title but based upon "Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor," something between nursery rhyme and superstition (like the magpie-counting rhyme "One for Sorrow, Two for Joy"): young girls counted the buttons on each other's jackets to divine their future husbands; the first button was "tinker," the second one "tailor," the third one "soldier," etc. (This rhyme inspired a song in the Radiohead album A Moon-Shaped Pool!)

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor,

Rich man, Poor man, Beggar, Thief,

Doctor, Lawyer, Police Chief

In Double Double, the killer starts at "rich man" in a rural area: 

• first the village hermit, who hoarded a large fortune (ostensibly poor, actually rich), dies of what appears to be a heart condition
• then the village "billionaire," actually destitute (ostensibly rich, actually poor), dies of what appears to be a suicide
• then the local homeless drunk (the beggar) disappears like into thin air, leaving only his hat and overcoat behind
• The next victim is a thief, then the doctor, then the lawyer... And Ellery is fearing for his life because now he is the local Police Chief, who will be the final victim!

Ten Days' Wonder, also by Ellery Queen, has the Ten Commandments as a theme:

• Howard the sculptor made sculptures of Greek gods - II. NO GRAVEN IMAGES / I. THERE IS NO OTHER GOD
• His signature is H. H. Waye - III. DO NOT TAKE THE NAME OF THE LORD IN VAIN (H. H. Waye is an anagram of Yahweh!)
• He desecrated the graves of his parents - V. HONOUR YOUR PARENTS
• The desecration of those graves took place on Sunday morning - IV. HONOUR THE SABBATH (Sunday is the Christian Sabbath, while Saturday is the Jewish Sabbath; the words for Saturday in Romance languages mean literally Sabbath)
• He had an affair with a married woman - VII. DO NOT COMMIT ADULTERY / X. DO NOT COVET OTHERS' WIVES
• He denied having given Ellery this woman's necklace - IX. DO NOT LIE OR BREAK OATHS
• He robbed a bank - VIII. DO NOT STEAL
• The only Commandment Howard hadn't broken yet was the Sixth - VI. DO NOT KILL - but he planned to murder his stepmother...

And in Agatha Christie's novels, the theme is nursery rhymes. And Then Then Were None has obviously "Ten Little Soldier Boys" (with a more racist title in the original): There are 10 victims, eight guests and two servants, trapped by a tempest on Soldier Island, shaped like a soldier's head (the Closed Circle trope again!); a phonograph that plays the nursery rhyme in a loop; the Dwindling Party of ten characters are picked off one by one in ways that suggest the soldier boys' deaths in the rhyme; and at the start there are ten soldier nutcrackers on the mantlepiece, and after each victim dies, one nutcracker disappears - until the sole survivor commits suicide and the last nutcracker is gone: and then there were none, as the title foreshadowed:

Ten little soldier boys went out to dine; 

one choked his little self and then there were nine.
Nine little soldier boys stood up very late; 

one overslept and then there were eight.
Eight little soldier boys travelling in Devon; 

one said he'd stay there and then there were seven.
Seven little soldier boys chopping up sticks; 

one chopped himself in half and then there were six.
Six little soldier boys playing with a hive; 

the bumblebees stung one and then there were five.
Five little soldier boys going in for law; 

one got in Chancery and then there were four.
Four little soldier boys going out to sea; 

a sea monster swallowed one and then there were three.
Three little soldier boys walking in the zoo; 

a polar bear hugged one and then there were two.
Two little soldier boys sitting in the sun; 

one got frizzled up and then there was one.
One little soldier boy left all alone; 

he went out and hanged himself and then there were none.

1. In A Pocket Full of Rye, also by Christie, the nursery rhyme is "Sing a Song of Sixpence," in turn inspired by Henry VIII and his wives (Catherine of Aragon and Anne Boleyn to be more precise); first the businessman and mansion owner Rex ("king") dies in his study, where he was counting money (poisoned with yew extract in his orange marmalade); then his wife Elvira dies in the parlour while eating bread and honey (but the cyanide was in her cup of tea); then Gladys, the maid and Rex's lover, dies in the garden, strangled with the clothesline, with a clothespin on her nose. The pockets of all three victims were filled with rye grain... 

The Twelve Labours of Hercules, also by Christie, has Hercule Poirot solve twelve cases inspired by his demigod namesake's twelve famous tasks, in the same order:

1. Nemean Lion - save a dognapped Pekingese, a very lion-like pet
2. Lernaean Hydra - stop a rumour and a stream of poison-pen letters
3. Arcadian (Cerynean) Deer - the culprit is a beautiful golden-haired ballerina, lithe as a fawn
4. Erymanthian Boar - the culprit is a pig-like thug, the crime occurs in the Austrian Alps (the real Erymanthian Boar was trapped in a snowdrift)
5. Augean Stables - clean the corrupt British Prime Minister's public image
6. Stymphalian Birds - the culprits appear to be two crowlike Polish women
7. Cretan Bull - a bull-like young man goes berserk at night and has to be trapped in the estate maze
8. Mares of Diomedes - stop a general's quadruplet daughters, who party every night with orgies and cocaine
9. Girdle of Hippolyta - save a British teenage girl who was kidnapped on the train to her girls' boarding school in Paris
10. Flock of Geryon - stop a Nazi cult leader ("Geryon") who drugs his "flock" into compliance
11. Golden Apples of the Hesperides - retrieve, from a convent in Ireland, a chalice made by Cellini for Rodrigo Borgia: the chalice is of solid gold, shaped like a tree with emerald apples at the top and the Serpent of Eden coiled around the trunk (it has also got a secret compartment for poison)
12. Capture of Cerberus - dognap the creepy guard dog of an underworld-themed nightclub, the HQ of a drug ring.

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PS 2: The Die Toten Hosen song "Zehn kleine Jägermeister" is a parody of "Ten Little Soldier Boys" and its versions across cultures. Here is my translation:

Ten little Jägermeisters were smoking joints;

one of them overdosed and then there were nine.

Nine little Jägermeisters wanted so much to inherit;

but for them to inherit, one of them had to die.

Eight little Jägermeisters were driving at top speed;

seven went to Düsseldorf and one went to Cologne.

Seven little Jägermeisters were having affairs;

one of them and his lover were surprised by her husband.

Six little Jägermeisters wanted to evade taxes;

one of them was imprisoned, the other five had to pay.

Five little Jägermeisters in a police control;

the police shot down one of them, the other four survived.

Four little Jägermeisters in the military;

they had a drinking contest, the winner is no more.

Three little Jägermeisters went to a restaurant;

there were two steaks with green beans and one with mad cow disease.

Two little Jägermeisters asked for asylum;

one was let into the country, the other one was too much.

Surprisingly, this version has a happy ending:

One little Jägermeister felt oh so alone,

thus, he invited nine more Jägermeisters to an Easter party...

StrixAlluka's Monster Blood Tattoo AU A Light to Their Path has "Ten Little Lantern-sticks," a folk song from the Half-Continent inspired by both the nursery rhymes and the Die Toten Hosen song; the author said that "upon listening to Zehn kleine Jägermeister, I realized that the Friends of the ABC die one by one as a Dwindling Party, and I wanted to work that into one of my AUs; since the Half-Continent is a world full of wars, monsters, disease... where anyone can die, the song creates a foreboding of death here, that neither Hogwarts nor Aritsar nor Panem (unless you're a tribute) nor any other universe can offer. 'Ten Little Lantern-sticks,' basically a filk song, was mainly a tribute to Agatha Christie and all her nursery rhyme murders, especially And Then There Were None." 

Ten little lantern-sticks,
marching in a straight line;
one of them was left behind,
and then there were...

Nine little lantern-sticks,
hastening not to be late;
the gates closed in on one of them,
and then there were...

Eight little lantern-sticks,
four their records given  (Every second lighter is issued a small book called a record to note down any lamps in need of repair for the seltzermen to attend to.);
...,
and then there were...

Seven little lantern-sticks,
still but lantern-sticks;
...
and then there were...

Six little lantern-sticks
left so far alive;
...
and then there were...

Five little lantern-sticks
bolting the cothouse door;
...
and then there were...

Four little lantern-sticks,
struggling to break free;
...
and then there were...

Three little lantern-sticks,
few, yet hardy few;
...
and then there were...

Two little lantern-sticks
stood right before a gun;
one took a bullet to the chest,
and then there was...

One little lantern-stick
thought he would be a hero;
he looked his death straight in the eye,
and then there were zero.

Or (bowdlerised version, the one Aunt Gillenormand 'the Old Maid' used to tell)

One little lantern-stick
took his ladylove to wife;
they cared for one another
and soon brought forth new life.

 

The "lantern-sticks" die (well, the first victim, Jehan Prouvaire, went missing in action as a lantern-stick, was left for dead, but changed his gender and joined the Right of the Pacific Dove; the others die as young adults but the rhyme, sung by Marius, calls them "lantern-sticks" to emphasize their innocence) one by one, their death wounds like those in canon but also like those in the nursery rhyme/filk song: Enjolras is the last one in the tragic version ("and then there were zero"), Marius the sole survivor in the bowdlerised, happy version his aunt told him ("they cared for one another and soon brought forth new life;" he obviously marries Cosette and here they have eight children, hinted to be the reincarnations of his brothers in arms... in bowdlerised versions of "Ten Little Soldier Boys" and its versions, in real life, the sole survivor doesn't commit suicide, but either gets nine new friends or a partner and eight children; there are ten people again, either a family or a group of friends)