TARADIDDLE

THOMAS MCGREGOR: Wait, "taradiddle" isn't a word.
BEATRIX POTTER: Yes, it is. It means "fib," "pretentious nonsense."
THOMAS: That is exactly the sort of definition you'd make up for a made-up word.
BEA: Mr. McGregor, are you accusing me of taradiddling?

From the Peter Rabbit 2010s film

RALLYING AND RODENTS

Healin' Good Pretty Cure - Episode 12
My Own Review
RALLYING AND RODENTS

https://www.angryanimebitches.com/2020/04/healin-good-precure-episode-12/
https://rorymuses.wordpress.com/2020/04/19/healin-good-%e2%99%a1-precure-episode-12-boot-camp/

MY OWN HUMBLE OPINION:
Will there be more pathogerm-infected evolved animals as cadres and not only this rodent thing called Batetemouda (who keeps up with the cadres' symptom theme naming)? Remember that feral cat from last episode? Maybe they'll be all vector species (in the case of Batetemouda: black rats and their fleas brought the black death from east to west), which are generally wild or feral mammals or vampiric insects, and that is only a good guess. Feral housecats host toxoplasma, while bats and foxes among other wild mammals can transmit rabies (Cujo got it from a cloud of bats biting him in the muzzle, right?). Only time and Toei will tell --as long as they don't put Healin' Good on ice as they have done with the Pokémon anime?--

PS. The anime IS put on ice since this week. All we have to do is wait for it to de-frost
UPDATE 1: Q_____Q Prettycure is the latest series to be post-poned. DAMN IT PATHOGERMS!!!!!!!!

UPDATE 2: There appears to be a lot of confusion of whether Ep 13 is set to air or not. I don’t know if they updated their notice, but based on what I’m reading, it looks like Episode 13 is NOT going to air. Their website says as of April 26th they will be running selected reruns of the episodes up to this point. (Frankly I’m just as confused, so I’m just gonna wait see if the episode pops up next week or not. This is making my head spin).

PROYECTO REVO - DRAMATIS PERSONAE

Ladrones de libros prohibidos. Revoluciones, contrarrevoluciones, guerras y represiones. Marginados de toda clase. Steampunk. Poderes especiales. Un mundo donde existen las criaturas de la noche y donde todos los animales son de especies imaginarias. Una fugitiva (hasta hace poco, una joven provinciana muy normal) que, tras escapar del gobierno, se hace con tres inusuales "mosqueteros": un excéntrico estudiante errante tuerto y buscón, un glacial militar licenciado con dextrocardia y un forajido proscrito, el único superviviente de la banda que le crió, que no recuerda que es hijo de la difunta reina destronada del país enemigo.
Añade que les persigue un grupo de siete villanos de lo más ecléctico (entre la herbolaria vuelta dominátrix que ha sido demi-mondaine, la niña incapaz de crecer, el militar lisiado irascible y de pasado trágico, los gemelos siameses de la compañía de rarezas, el ser volador sin sexo que resulta ser artificial, el psicópata de las más de mil caras [da muchísimo de qué hablar] y la mismísima nueva gobernante de todo el territorio [una mujer hermosa pero altiva y siniestra, con una infancia difícil]...).
Después de escapar de ese zepelín con esos zapatos puestos, la vida de Estelle no volverá a ser la misma...
Reescritura de mitos nórdicos y celtas, historia moderna, Otelo, La Reina de las Nieves, El pescador y su sombra, El Conde de Montecristo, La Odisea, Alicia, El Mago de Oz, Viaje a Occidente y otras muchas más obras... también muestra la pasión de la autora por la fisiología y las criaturas mágicas.

Recomendado para los amantes de la saga Daaé, pues está situado en el reino de Valois de la misma saga, pero en otra continuidad histórica: en esta nueva saga también salen una Gerda y un Kai, amigos y casi hermanos, además de personajes femeninos que recuerdan a Karen, Skadi, Tycho y Federica, Asha...
El tono se va poniendo cada vez más y más siniestro, a diferencia de lo que pasa en la saga Daaé que es siniestra desde el principio (aunque aligera la trama a veces)
Y sí, el principio tiene bastante más acción que "La condesa de los pies de madera"...

Los cuatro protagonistas
Estelle (Lacie) Sturmdrang: (Dorothy+Alicia+Wendy)
Odin Caldecott: (Odín+el discípulo de "Apolonio"+los estudiantes trickster del folklore)
Kai Rightheart: (Kai+el soldadito de plomo+Julian Ross/Jun Misugi)
Louis "Wiske" (de Valois), Rey de los Desfiladeros/Rey Cobarde: (Luis XVII/Anastasia+Kaspar Hauser+León Cobarde+Aang+Robin Hood+Peter Pan)

El Círculo Barroco (Baroque Cadre)
Dubhe (Regina de Arum/Stella de Bâcle/Lyanna Trey/Galinda/Erzébeth/Satine [entre otras identidades]; nacida Lynesse de Winter-Hairflame): (herbalista/Sansa Stark/mujer fatal/Liebre de Marzo/Milady de Winter)
APARIENCIA
Forma física: forma de ocho prominente, talle esbelto, senos pronunciados, las piernas largas y firmes
Color y corte de pelo: entre cobrizo y dorado (depende de la luz), largo, suave
Ojos: castaños suaves, tsurime
Otras particularidades: flor de lis marcada a fuego en el hombro izquierdo, escarpines rojos (hasta que Estelle se los quitó)
Talentos: se le da bien reconocer plantas curativas, fue curandera del orfanato hasta los 16/18 años (también puede preparar venenos, drogas...). Es muy sexy y toda una vampiresa y una maestra del disfraz.
Experiencias traumáticas: perder el virgo, recibir terapia de electroshock, que la marcaran con la flor de lis.
Personalidad: mujer coqueta, fuerte, confiada-segura de sí misma, camaleónica (tiene muchas identidades, entre ellas como Regina, dama de compañía de Alkaid/Christina; Mme. de Bâcle, semimundana amante del margrave von Sacher; Lyanna, una mujer soldado; Galinda, una estudiante universitaria...). Su verdadero ser, que oculta con sus muchos disfraces, es el de una loca desesperada. Antes de perder el virgo, era una joven amable e inteligente, además de inocente en lo que respecta al mundo exterior (creía que el margrave quería que ella le curara físicamente su "mal incurable"...).


Merak ("Lottie"; nacida Euphemia "Euphie" Shortcake, Proyecto/Experimento 664): (Baby Doll/Gretel/Ricitos de Oro-la Pequeña Cerillera):

Phecda (Johan Treuwort/"Beau Pompon"/Ehud Sturmdrang/Joffré Sturmdrang/Dunstan Duncan [entre otras identidades]; nacido Loki d'Hautecour-Löfvö): (Yago/Loki/Sombrerero Loco/ Robespierre/Wallenstein/Varrick/el Joker):
Igual que Dubhe, este es un personaje muy camaleónico, así que detallaremos cada uno de sus avatares y las personas a las que hizo caer en su ascenso:
 1) Loki Löfvö: criado en un orfanato como hijo semihumano de una yókai-gata muerta al traerle al mundo, sirvió de cabeza de turco para sus hermanos adoptivos más indefensos y ayudó mucho a sus compañeras Lynesse y Euphemia. Como cabeza de turco sobre todo para esta última, estaba acostumbrado a ofrecerse en su lugar para que doña Sargento no pegara a la niña si esta volvía con las manos vacías como cerillera o florista, y a recibir los duros castigos físicos que tendrían que haber recibido Euphie. Un día, decide escapar junto con Lynesse y Euphie, a buscarse la vida los tres. Al encontrarles los guardias del Hogar en un brezal, Loki huye y deja atrás a las dos niñas: ellas, rezagadas y devueltas al orfanato, le verán como a un traidor hasta su reencuentro.
 2) Loki d'Hautecour: adoptado por un acomodado cincuentón sin descendencia de las altas esferas (Tycho Freyrich d'Hautecour), que le encontró tumbado en la cuneta tras haber huido en solitario (ut supra), Loki recibe la educación y el estilo de vida propios de un heredero de su nuevo rango. En su nuevo rango, antes de su educación universitaria, conoce al margrave de Sacher y a la compañía de los Irisados, a quienes, al enterarse de lo que buscan, el chico propone que adopten a Lynesse y a Euphie, respectivamente. Después, durante su etapa universitaria, es un estudiante aplicado y taciturno, víctima frecuente de sus compañeros más extrovertidos. Un verano, regresa a su Hogar natal y conoce a Odín, un chico nuevo del orfanato (entonces de la edad que tenía Loki al ser adoptado), a quien convence para que robe libros prohibidos de una quema en público, y que se repartan el botín. Loki inspirará muchísimo a Odín desde entonces.
 3) "Beau Pompon": como joven cortesano y miembro de la alta sociedad, el advenedizo eligió como apodo el nombre de la rosa pompón de los jardines de la mansión Hautecour.
 4) Johan Treuwort: durante esta etapa, su vida castrense, fue sargento y ayudante de cirujano (hasta perder la mano diestra de una septicemia por error), más tarde aspirante a edecán del coronel Azusa, que le dejó para elegir a Elliot de Caersay.
 5) Ehud/Joffré Sturmdrang: en esta etapa de su vida, durante la revolución, fingió interpretar a hermanos gemelos de la gentry advenediza, siendo "Ehud" de izquierdas y "Joffré" de derechas. Llega a fingir la muerte de ambos para infundir valor en los dos partidos y llevarles a un estado en que no puedan continuar el conflicto.
 6) Dunstan Duncan: durante el gobierno de Cristina, llega a ser el brazo izquierdo de la gobernante, siendo Enjolras su brazo derecho. La tensión entre ambos llega a estallar cuando la joven dictadora le explica al advenedizo que ha sido acosada sexualmente por su tutor.



Megrez (Proyecto/Experimento 665): (Pegaojos/mariquita/Lirón/Pinocho/Frankenstein):



Alioth (Elliott de Caersay, de Rive-Droite): (Cassio+Richmond[10 Negritos]+Achab+Capitán Garfio+Edmundo Dantés+príncipe inteligente):



Mizar+Alcor (Escila/Scylla+Caribdis/Caribdis, Proyecto/Experimento 663): (gemelos unidos por la cadera+el vizconde demediado+la sombra y el pescador/escritor+Escila y Caribdis):



Alkaid Benetnasch (Isadora Christina/Cristina Astrid Saphire I von Hohen-Zossen): (Cristina Vasa+Reina de las Nieves+princesa inteligente+Catalina la Grande)


Otros personajes
Sophie Sturmdrang: ("hna mayor" de Estelle, es su madre en realidad)
Gerda Freckles: (amiga de Kai)
Mireille Ladouce: (sucesora de Schlichting al frente del Hogar, actualmente una anciana, sabe muchas cosas relevantes)
Kyrill "Kostya" Konstantin: (tutor de Gerda, cirujano itinerante)
Scheinhold Schlichting: (1er director corrupto del Hogar donde vivieron Loki, Euphie y Lynesse)
Las esbirras de Schlichting: (doña Escoba, la portera; doña Cazuela, la cocinera; doña Sargento, la encargada de los castigos...)
Margrave Rainer Alois von Sacher: (1er amante y violador de Lynesse)
Tycho Freyrich d'Hautecour: (tutor de Loki, estadista de renombre)
William Charles de Caersay, de Rive-Droite:
Sophie-Anne de Caersay, de Rive-Droite: (padres de Elliott, si no es bastardo: muy de dchas)

Renée Azusa Enjolras, de Rive-Gauche: (Desdémona+princesa inteligente+Leslie [10 Negritos])
Forma física: forma de ocho prominente, talle esbelto, senos pronunciados, las piernas largas y firmes
Color y corte de pelo: entre cobrizo y dorado (depende de la luz), largo, suave
Ojos: castaños suaves, tsurime
(En resumen: se parece mucho a Dubhe/Lynesse, salvo por la marca de fuego)

Kaito Azusa (Azusa Kaito, siendo "Azusa" el apellido): (Otelo+McArthur [10 Negritos])
Joffré Enjolras, de Rive-Gauche:
Éponine Enjolras, de Rive-Gauche: (padres de Renée, más liberales)
Kurvenal Ottokar Enjolras, de Rive-Gauche: (hno mayor de Joffré, tutor pervertido de Cristina)
Catherina Eleonora Aphrodita XIV de Valois: (Reina de Corazones+María Antonieta+Alexandra)
Winifred la Viudona de Oro/"la Dragona": (1a esposa de Wallenstein) (1a tutora de Gerda):
Astrid Eyvor Kvällbera Saphire von Hohen-Zossen: (Ma Eleonora)
Regulus Antares von Hohen-Zossen: (Gustavo Adolfo)
Löfvö:

Cinder. A Warped Fairy Tale

Cinder. A Warped Fairy Tale

Draco is forced to live as a house-elf in his own family manor, but there is still hope: The Chosen One might rescue him with true love's first kiss.

There was once a rich gentleman who made the Dark Lord his enemy. When he felt his end drawing near one autumn evening, he called to his only son to come near his bed, and said, "Dear child, be cunning and use any means, and you will always achieve your ends." And then he closed his eyes and expired, to join his lady in the grave and in the undiscovered country. The son went every day to his parents' grave and mourned, but was determined to always stay cunning and use any means to achieve his ends. When the winter came the snow covered the grave with a white covering, and when the sun came in the early spring and melted it away, the Dark Lord lived in the manor and ruled over the countryside.

The Dark Lord brought his Death Eaters home with him, and they were evil and powerful in appearance, and at heart were black and ugly. And then began very evil times for the poor boy. "Is the stupid creature to sit in the same room with us?" said they; "those who eat food must earn it. Out upon him for a house-elf!" They snapped his wand, took away his pretty robes, and put on him an old grey cloth.

"Just look now at the proud Malfoy heir, how he is decked out!" cried they laughing, and then they sent him into the kitchen. There he was obliged to do heavy work from morning to night, get up early in the morning, draw water, make the fires, cook, and wash. Besides that, the Death Eaters did their utmost to torment him, mocking him, and strewing peas and lentils among the ashes, and setting him to pick them up. In the evenings, when he was quite tired out with his hard day's work, he had no bed to lie on, but was transfigured into a ferret and obliged to rest on the hearth among the cinders. And as he always looked dusty and dirty, they named him Cinder and soon he forgot his real name.

It happened one day that the Dark Lord went out, and he asked his Death Eaters what he should bring back for them. "Gold!" said one. "Silver, and gemstones!" said another. "But what will you have, Cinder?" said he.

"The first twig is what I should like you to bring me", the boy said, cunningly thinking it might make a new wand one day.

So the Dark Lord brought treasures for his Death Eaters, gold, silver and gemstones, and he broke off a hazel-twig, and carried it home with him. And when he reached the manor, he gave to the Death Eaters what they had wished for, and to Cinder he gave the hazel-twig. He thanked him, and went to his parents' grave, and planted this twig there, sobbing so bitterly that the tears fell upon it and watered it, and it flourished and became a fine tree. Cinder went to see it three times a day, and cried to water the tree, and each time a house-elf sat hidden in the branches of the tree and if he uttered any wish the house-elf brought him whatever he had wished for.

Now it came to pass that the Minister of Magic ordained a festival that should last for three days, and to which all the beautiful young witches of that country were bidden, so that the pure-blood wizards might choose a bride from among them. When the Death Eaters heard about it, they felt very pleased, and they called Cinder, and said, "Wash our robes, brush our shoes, and make our buckles fast, we are going to the ball at the ministry."

Cinder, when he heard this, thought this might be a chance for escape, and he begged the Dark Lord to allow him to go to the ball. "What, you Cinder!" said he, "in all your dust and dirt, you want to go to the festival! You that have no dress-code robe and no shoes! You want to dance!" But as he persisted in asking, at last the Dark Lord said, "I have strewed a dish-full of beetle eyes in the ashes, and if you can pick them all up again in two hours you may go with us." Then Cinder went to the backdoor that led into the garden, and called out, "O all gentle house-elves that be, the beetle eyes in ashes lie, come and pick up for me! The good must be put in the dish, the bad you may eat if you wish."

Then there came to the kitchen-door all the house-elves of the manor. They alighted among the ashes; and the elves nodded with their heads, and began to pick, peck, pick, peck, and put all the good eyes into the dish. Before an hour was over, all was done, and they ran away. Then Cinder brought the dish to the Dark Lord, feeling joyful, and thinking that now he should go to the feast and escape the manor; but the Dark Lord said, "No, Cinder, you have no proper robes, and you do not know how to dance, and you would be laughed at!" And when Cinder cried for disappointment, the Dark Lord added, "If you can pick two dishes full of beetle eyes out of the ashes, nice and clean, you shall go with us," thinking to himself, "for that is not possible." When he had strewed two dishes full of beetle eyes among the ashes, Cinder went through the backdoor into the garden, and cried,

"O all gentle house-elves that be,
the beetle eyes in ashes lie,
come and pick up for me!
The good must be put in the dish,
the bad you may eat if you wish."

So there came to the kitchen-door a crowd of all the house-elves of the manor, whispering and chattering, and they alighted among the ashes, and the elves nodded with their heads and began to pick, peck, pick, peck, and put all the good eyes into the dish. And before half-an-hour was over it was all done, and they ran away. Then Cinder took the dishes to the Dark Lord, feeling joyful, and thinking that now he should go with them to the feast and escape; but the Dark Lord said "All this is of no good to you; you cannot come with us, for you have no proper robes, and cannot dance; you would put us to shame." Then he turned his back on poor Cinder, and made haste to set out with his proud Death Eaters.

And as there was no one left in the house, Cinder went to his parents' grave, under the hazel bush, and cried,

"Little tree, little tree, shake over me,
That silver and gold and glass may come down and cover me."

Then the hidden house-elf threw down a robe of green inlaid with white gold and silver, and a pair of silk slippers embroidered with glass and silver. And in all haste the young man put on the robes and went to the festival. But the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters did not know him, and thought he must be a foreign warlock, he looked so handsome in his golden robes. Of Cinder they never thought at all, and supposed that he was sitting at home, arid picking the beetle eyes out of the ashes.

A young wizard with dark hair and spectacles came to meet him, and took him by the hand and danced with him, and he refused to stand up with anyone else, so that he might not be obliged to let go his hand; and when any one came to claim it, the young wizard answered, "He is my partner."

But under his breath, the young wizard revealed that he was the Chosen One, looking for a way to defeat the Dark Lord, for he had recognized the young man by his pale grey eyes.

And when the evening came, the young man did not want to go home, but the Chosen One said he needed him to, for he wanted a spy in the Dark Lord’s manor.

So when the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters entered the house, there sat Cinder in his dirty cloth among the cinders, and a little oil-lamp burnt dimly in the chimney; for Cinder had been very quick, and had run to the hazel bush; and there he had taken off his beautiful robes and slippers and had laid them on the grave, and the house-elf had carried it away again, and then Cinder had put on his little gray kirtle cloth, and had sat down in the kitchen among the cinders waiting to be transfigured.

The next day, when the festival began anew, and the Dark Lord and Death Eaters had gone to it, Cinder went to the hazel bush and cried,

"Little tree, little tree, shake over me,
That silver and gold and glass may come down and cover me."

Then the house-elf cast down a still more splendid dress-code robe and slippers than on the day before. And when the young man appeared in it among the guests, everyone was astonished at his beauty. The Chosen One had been waiting until he came, and he took Cinder’s hand and danced with him alone. And when anyone else came to invite the young man, the Chosen One said, "He is my partner." And under disguise of their dance, they plotted the Dark Lord’s demise.

But when a Death Eater came too close to them, Cinder broke away from the Chosen One, and ran into the garden at the back of the house. There stood a fine large tree, and he leapt as lightly as a squirrel among the branches, and he hid there until the Death Eater was gone.

And when the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters returned to the manor and went into the kitchen to transfigure him for the night, there sat Cinder among the cinders, as usual, for he had gotten down the other side of the tree, and had taken back his beautiful robes to the elf on the hazel bush, and had put on his old grey cloth again.

On the third day, when the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters had set off, Cinder went again to his parents' grave, and said to the tree,

"Little tree, little tree, shake over me,
That silver and gold and glass may come down and cover me."

Then the house-elf cast down an emerald silk robe, the like of which had never been seen for splendour and brilliancy, and slippers that were inlaid in glass and white gold. And when he appeared in this robe at the feast nobody knew what to say for wonderment. The Chosen One danced with him alone, and if anyone else asked Cinder he answered, "He is my partner." And under disguise of their dance, they plotted the Dark Lord’s demise.

And when it was evening, Cinder needed to go home, and the Chosen One wanted to go with him and kill the Dark Lord on the spot, but Cinder ran past him so quickly that the Chosen One could not follow him. But the Chosen One was tired of waiting and plotting for he was a Gryffindor and the bravery of a lion blazed in his heart. So the next morning he went to the manor and he killed the Dark Lord with a mighty spell.

The Death Eaters were thunderstruck and grew pale with anger for their master was dead; but the Chosen One put Cinder before him on his broom and flew off.

And when Cinder’s wedding with the Chosen One was appointed to be held, the Death Eaters came, hoping to revenge their master. So as the grooms shared true love’s first kiss, the Death Eaters ran towards them, but the house-elves attacked and killed them all because of their wickedness and falsehood. And the Chosen One, Cinder, and their house-elves lived happily ever after and never touched beetle eyes ever again.

Notes:

I hope you enjoyed this!

"Reputation is an idle and most false imposition"

"Reputation is an idle and most false imposition"

Play: Othello
“Reputation is an idle and most false imposition, oft got without merit and lost without deserving” (2.3.257-259)

Iago’s statement to Cassio has two meanings:
1) Reputation is unimportant and does not reflect an individual’s character; it is awarded to those who do not deserve it and is taken without reason- Iago pretends to try comforting Cassio by telling him that reputation isn’t everything and that he did not deserve to lose his reputation

2) Iago is referring to himself- his reputation is a “false imposition” which refers to an artificial burden. On one hand, Iago goes through the trouble of pretending to be helpful; yet his helpfulness is false. Iago’s reputation is also “without merit” because he only uses words to deceive others into believing his character to be honest, caring and trustworthy. Iago mentions the “loss of reputation” which refers to his losing the title of lieutenant to Cassio. Reputation is “idle” because it does not show one’s true character (Iago’s real self)

THE SEEDS OF AN ERA

Healin' Good Pretty Cure Episode 11 (Springtime Cour/Arc Finale)
My Own Review
THE SEEDS OF AN ERA

https://rorymuses.wordpress.com/2020/04/12/healin-good-%e2%99%a1-precure-episode-11-healing-oasis/#more-73518
https://www.angryanimebitches.com/2020/04/healin-good-precure-ep-11/

MY OWN HUMBLE OPINION
Wow wow wow wow that chocolate-point cat...

ALISON LURIE ON HOGWARTS

THE PERILS OF HARRY POTTER

Like many famous children’s authors, J. K. (Joanne Kathleen) Rowling, author of the brilliant and phenomenally successful Harry Potter books, remains in close touch with her own childhood. “I really can, with no difficulty at all, think myself back to 11 years old,” she has told Time  magazine. Rowling is also clearly on the side of children. She has created a world in which her young heroic trio have special abilities, while conventional adults are either clueless or cruel or both. Her heroes’ secret power takes traditional folktale forms (flying brooms, ghosts, transformation, speaking animals, spells, and potions). But it can also be seen as a metaphor for the special powers of childhood: imagination, creativity, and especially humor—as well as being exciting, her books are often very funny.

The Harry Potter stories belong to an ongoing tradition of Anglo-Saxon youth fantasy that begins with Tolkien and T. H. White, and has been continued splendidly by writers like Lloyd Alexander, Susan Cooper, Alan Garner, Philip Pullman, and Diana Wynne Jones. (Jones’s excellent Charmed Life, like the Potter books, takes place in a school for juvenile witches and wizards located in an enchanted castle.) What sets Rowling’s books apart from their predecessors is partly a lighthearted fertility of invention that recalls L. Frank Baum’s Oz books. Even more important is the fact that hers, like Baum’s, is a fully imagined world, to which she has a deep, ongoing commitment. For six years, even before she began the first book in the series, Rowling was imagining and elaborating its fantasy universe. She has already planned seven Harry Potter novels, one for each year Harry will spend at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, an institution that seems to be located (like J. K. Rowling herself) somewhere in Scotland.

Harry, Rowling’s hero, is a natural-born wizard, but at first he doesn’t know it. When we meet him he is ten years old and in the classic Cinderlad situation: a poor, lonely orphan, despised and abused. Harry lives with his deeply unpleasant aunt and uncle, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, in a country that much resembles Britain in the 1960s or 1970s, before the Internet, digital phones, and interactive video.

The Dursleys live in a village (actually a London suburb; one of Lurie's mistakes here) called Little Whinging (a joke that most readers may not get: the mainstream, untrained in dialects, would call such a place Little Whining) and, like most of the locals, are Muggles—people who have no magic powers. They hate the very mention of the supernatural, and refuse to give Harry any information about his dead parents. (“They were weirdos, no denying it, and the world’s better off without them in my opinion,” Vernon declares.) Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia are as cruel to Harry as any fairy-tale stepparent: they feed him poorly and clothe him shabbily; they make him sleep in a dark, spider-infested cupboard under the stairs; and they destroy his mail. Even worse is their son, Dudley, a spoiled, overweight, greedy bully who, with the help of his large and hateful bully friends, makes Harry’s school and home life actively miserable.

From the point of view of an imaginative child, the world is full of Muggles: people who don’t understand you, make stupid rules, and want nothing to do with the unexpected or the unseen. Harry’s story also embodies the common childhood fantasy that the dreary adults and siblings you live with are not your real family; that you have more exciting parents, and are somehow special and gifted. Harry has an outward manifestation of his gift: a scar in the shape of a lightning bolt on his forehead, the sign that even as a baby he could not be killed by the evil offstage Dark Lord Voldemort, whose very name most people fear to utter.

As in many folktales, you can often tell a character’s character from his or her name, and “Voldemort” neatly combines the ideas of theft, mold, and death. Harry Potter, on the other hand, has a name that suggests not only craftsmanship but both English literature—Shakespeare’s Prince Hal and Harry Hotspur, the brave, charming, impulsive heroes of Henry IV —and Beatrix Potter, who created that other charming and impulsive classic hero, Peter Rabbit.

At the start of each story Harry Potter is living in exile at the Dursleys’. But presently, with the help of magic, he is rescued and enters an alternate world in which imagination and adventurousness are rewarded. A comic cockney (actually West Country; Lurie does not bother with the accent shibboleths) half-giant named Hagrid introduces him to a parallel magical Britain, one entrance to which is through the back door of a scruffy London pub called The Leaky Cauldron. After a shopping trip in which Harry visits a bank run by goblins and purchases unusual school supplies, including “one plain pointed hat (black) for day wear” and the Standard Book of Spells  (Grade 1), he takes a special train to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry from Track Nine and Three-Quarters at King’s Cross Station—a train and track that are invisible to Muggles.

Hogwarts School, it turns out, is located in a huge ancient castle, well equipped with towers, dungeons, ghosts, secret passages, and enchanted paintings and mirrors. The subjects taught there include Divination, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Care of Magical Creatures. But in other ways Hogwarts resembles a classic English boarding school—one that, in keeping with the times, is co-ed and multiracial. There are four houses, which compete intensely in the school sport of Quidditch, a sort of combination cricket, basketball, European football, and hockey played on flying broomsticks, in which Harry turns out to excel. The teachers wear black gowns and dine at a head table, and there are prefects and a Head Boy and a Head Girl.

Just as in many schools, however, the student population is roughly divided into jocks, brains, nice guys, and dangerous Goths. Harry, Ron, and Hermione are in the jock house, Gryffindor, where, according to tradition, “dwell the brave at heart.” Ravenclaw House emphasizes “wit and learning,” while the kids in Hufflepuff are described as “just and loyal . . . And unafraid of toil.” The bad characters live in Slytherin House, where they “use any means / to achieve their ends.”

Even before he arrives at Hogwarts, Harry acquires an enemy in Slytherin House, the mean, snobbish, unscrupulous Draco Malfoy, whose name translates readily into “Dragon Bad-Faith.” Draco has a couple of goons (these are surnamed Crabbe and Goyle) to back up his constant sneering and bullying. As a hero and local sports star, Harry also attracts fans; naturally modest, he finds their intense admiration and constant attention as embarrassing as J. K. Rowling reportedly does.

But Harry has more serious problems. The plot of each book essentially centers on the attempts of dark forces to destroy him. As is customary in modern fantasies, from Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings  to Star Wars, lurking in the background is an evil, powerful figure (almost always male) who wants to rule the world. Often these characters at first they seem impressive and even glamorous. There is something admirable in their desire for knowledge and power, whereas their followers, motivated mainly by fear, greed, and revenge, are wholly repulsive.

Harry, of course, always escapes his enemies, but this gets harder with each book. Rowling has said that as time passes the stories will turn darker. “There will be deaths,” she informed Time magazine (in . Already in volumes 3 and 4 it is not so easy to tell which side anyone is on. Characters who at first seem friends may be foes, or vice versa; and good but weak people may be seduced into doing evil because of their own fear or folly. In the third volume, Prisoner of Azkaban, for instance, a scruffy but harmless-looking pet rat called Scabbers turns out to be a wicked traitor who, even in human form, has a pointed nose, prominent ears and incisors, and small watery eyes.

Rowling describes her characters with a psychological subtlety rare in children’s books and even in much adult fiction. In Chamber of Secrets  a ragged, oppressed house-elf named Dobby is constantly torn between loyalty to his evil masters the Malfoys and his wish to save Harry’s life. Whenever he is on the edge of revealing their plots, Dobby hits himself over the head with the nearest blunt object, repeating “Bad Dobby!”

Another attraction of the Potter books is that the good characters are not perfect. Harry excels at Quidditch, but he is only an average student, unlike  Hermione, who studies for the fun of it and is a bit of a prig. Hagrid, the lovable half-giant gamekeeper, has a weakness for dangerous magical creatures: he sees his vicious pet dragon Norbert and the acromantulas (huge spiders) that live in the Forbidden Forest as cute and cuddly. The British, of course, are fanatic animal-lovers; and it may be that this is Rowling’s comment on the peculiar or even dangerous but beloved pets that visitors to England sometimes encounter.

Though Rowling’s child heroes are imperfect, they are usually smarter and braver than adults. Some of the nicest teachers at Hogwarts, though friendly and knowledgeable, often don’t have a clue as to what’s going on around them. Others are weak and incompetent, or complete phonies like the handsome media-intoxicated Professor Lockhart, who claims to have performed the magical exploits of other, less photogenic wizards. A few have even sold out to the Dark Powers or their representatives.

The headmaster of Hogwarts, the elderly silver-haired Professor Dumbledore (like Tolkien’s Gandalf, whom he much resembles), maintains a kind of benign detachment from events except in moments of great crisis. A. O. Scott, writing in the online magazine Slate, has perceptively remarked that “Dumbledore’s benevolent but strict theology, involving the operations of free will in a supernaturally determined world, is classically Miltonian.”

The appeal of the Harry Potter books, to judge by the flood of reviews and essays that greeted their appearance, is wide and varied. They can be enjoyed, for instance, as the celebration of a pre-industrial world: Hogwarts Castle is lit by torches and heated by fireplaces, and mail is carried by owls of different sizes, including tiny little scops owls (“Local Deliveries Only”). As with most first-rate children’s and young adult books, there is something here for everyone. Pico Iyer sees the stories as only half-fantastic accounts of life in an English public school (in his case, Eton), “designed to train the elite in a system that other mortals cannot follow.” There, as at Hogwarts, he claims, “we were in an alternative reality where none of the usual rules applied.” A. O. Scott, on the other hand, thinks that “being a wizard is very much like being gay: you grow up in a hostile world governed by codes and norms that seem nonsensical to you, and you discover at a certain age that there are people like you.” (It seems unlikely that Harry Potter is gay; in the third volume he shows romantic interest in an extremely pretty Ravenclaw Quidditch player called Cho Chang, and in volume 4 he and Ron proudly take twin students called Padme and Parvati Patil, dressed in saris, to the Yule Ball.)

Any wildly successful work of art attracts detractors as well as admirers of all sorts. The most famous liberal scholar of the folktale, Jack Zipes, has called the books overrated, and criticized them for promoting a conventional, patriarchal view of the world. On the other hand, the sort of conservatives who object to the teaching of evolution and the big bang theory of creation have complained that the stories portray witchcraft in a favorable light. This is not a new idea: from time to time the same accusation has been made against the Oz books, which in some cases have then been removed from schools and libraries along with all other representations of cute or friendly wizards and witches.

In my favorite local bookshop the other day, I saw what at first seemed to be two new Harry Potter books displayed on the counter. One was called Pokémon and Harry Potter , the other Harry Potter and the Bible. But instead of additions to the series, they turned out to be warnings. In the first, by Phil Arms, I read that “the dark occultic nature of Harry Potter . . . is opening the lives and homes of countless millions of parents and children to satanic influences.” The second went even further, suggesting that “an unseen spiritual force of darkness” may be driving the Potter phenomenon.

According to Richard Abanes, the Hogwarts books are “filled with potentially harmful messages exalting occultism and moral relativism.” Abanes is dismayed by the many parallels between the authors of the magical textbooks Harry studies and the names of historical occultists, and hints that J. K. Rowling may be more involved in contemporary witchcraft than she admits. He speaks of “the very tangible possibility that many children will become so enthralled with magic and wizardry that they will seek out the paganism that is available in the real world.”

Abanes also complains that Harry Potter, Ron, and Hermione are not model children. They break rules, disobey orders, and sometimes conceal their rebellious behavior by lying. Moreover, “they are often rather proud of themselves and their misdeeds.” The books contain what he calls “countless examples of behavior that parents would deem less than admirable, ....” This is quite true, and is probably one of the reasons for Harry Potter’s popularity with kids; it is also in the great tradition of children’s literature. Tom Sawyer and his friends drink, smoke tobacco, swear, and play truant from school. In The Wizard of Oz Dorothy refuses to do housework for the Wicked Witch of the West, and Mary Lennox in The Secret Garden  disobeys and deceives adults, finding her way not only into the forbidden garden but into the room of her invalid cousin Colin, whose bedridden existence has been concealed from her. Books like these do not present their child characters as perfect and obedient, but as curious, independent, and enterprising.

The world of Narnia is simple and eternal: goodness, peace, and beauty will eventually triumph. The world of Harry Potter is complex and ambiguous and fluid. And in this, of course, it is far more like our own world, in which it is not always easy to tell the ogres from the gentle giants. When we choose books for our children, do we want them to teach obedience to authority or skepticism, acceptance of the status quo or a determination to change what needs to be changed?

Joanne Rowling’s own story, like Harry’s, is in the classic European folklore tradition. As almost everyone now knows, when she was working on Philosopher’s Stone, she was a young single mother with long red hair, living on public assistance in Edinburgh. Because her flat was unheated, she would put her small daughter into a stroller and push her about the streets until the child fell asleep. Then she would go to a cafe, order a cup of coffee, and write.

Rowling’s fairy goodmother was the Scottish Arts Council, which gave her a grant that made it possible for her to finish the first volume. But even then she had trouble getting transportation to the ball. Nine English publishers rejected Philosopher’s Stone before Bloomsbury took it, and her editors had no idea it would be a success. At first they made no special attempt to promote the book, and printed only a small number of copies.

Now, of course, all that is history. At one point the first three volumes of the series were number one, two, and three on best-seller lists. This annoyed publishers of adult fiction so much, and their protests were so vociferous, that the editors of the paper finally agreed to begin listing juvenile bestsellers separately. The first volume has been translated into (at last count) twenty-eight languages. A plain-cover edition has also appeared in England, for adults who are embarrassed to be seen reading a children’s book. Though this edition costs two pounds more than the original, it very soon sold twenty thousand copies.

In the fall of 2001 the Warner Brothers film of Sorcerer’s Stone (US title) opened to generally good reviews and crowds of fans. To accompany the release there were Harry Potter T-shirts, lunch boxes, video games, and action figures. There were also even more interviews with J. K. Rowling, and more intrusive articles about her life.

For Rowling herself this was clearly not an unmixed blessing. In the fourth volume of the series, Goblet of Fire, Harry and Hermione are persecuted by the repellent Rita Skeeter, a scandal-sniffing female reporter for the tabloid Daily Prophet, who does her best to persuade their friends to betray personal secrets, and nearly causes a disaster.

Whatever she feels about all this attention and success, the folktale heroine J. K. Rowling, once a welfare mother, has clearly now become a fabulously rich princess. Will she now find true love and live happily ever after? Will she be destroyed by the curses of religious fundamentalists, or fall under the spell of wicked merchandisers and publicists? Her story promises to be almost as interesting as the future adventures of Harry Potter himself.

Not all classic children’s books, of course, present nature as wholly benevolent or even manageable. In the tales of J. R. R. Tolkien, for instance, some trees, like Treebeard, are wise and good; others are malevolent. I love willows, which here in Ithaca are the first to put out leaves in the spring and the last to lose them in the fall. But in English folk tradition, as Tolkien knew, the willow plays an ambiguous role, and his willows are dangerous. This is also true in J. K. Rowling’s Harry Potter books, where the Whomping Willows delight in slapping and hitting anyone who gets too close to them.

Iago’s “Dream” 3.3.468-482

Iago’s “Dream” 3.3.468-482

The scene surrounding this passage is Othello’s transformation from a reasonable person to being totally taken in by Iago’s lies and losing all trust in Desdemona. In his lie, Iago attempts to give Othello “a living reason” (3.3.466). After Iago’s tale, Othello is completely convinced. This scene brings into question reasonable sources of evidence. Is sleep talking evidence? Is someone’s account of an event reliable evidence? The play answers definitively no. Also ironic is Iago’s ability to seduce Othello with a tale whereas earlier in the play Othello was renowned for his story telling abilities. As Iago becomes more convincing with his words, Othello loses his voice.

Furthermore how does this scene bring homosociality to a crisis when the homoerotic comes into play? Here Iago describes a scene of homoerotic behavior, including kissing and mounting, without hesitation. Moreover the scene ends with the infamous “marriage” between Othello and Iago as they each exchange vows of devotion and loyalty. Is Othello jealous of Cassio because he is with Desdemona, or because Cassio is with Iago? Furthermore, this changes how we read Iago’s character and his motives; perhaps he is jealous of Desdemona.

Finally, Iago begins his tale saying he is “pricked to [tell it] by foolish honesty and love” (3.3.469). It is ironic because Othello is the one that is foolish in where he gives his trust and love. Also it is interesting to notice that even Iago describes himself as "honest," the one word most often and ironically attached to his name.

TRIPLE THREATS

Healin' Good Pretty Cure

Episode 10 (Spring Cour Finale) - My Own Review

https://rorymuses.wordpress.com/2020/04/05/healin-good-%e2%99%a1-precure-episode-10-glass-museum/

https://www.angryanimebitches.com/2020/04/healin-good-precure-episode-10/

MY OWN HUMBLE OPINION:

Whoa whoa whoa, we got a threefold summon and our first multiple villains of the week! Maybe this has to do with the fact that the finale is here...

ECLIPSE TOTAL DE CORAZÓN

ECLIPSE TOTAL DE CORAZÓN
traducción de Sandra Dermark
3 de abril, MMXX

Gírate...
Una y otra vez me siento un poco sola y entonces nunca apareces...
Gírate...
Una y otra vez me siento un poco hastiada de oírme a mí misma llorar...
Gírate...
Una y otra vez me siento un poco nerviosa, que el pasado fue tiempo mejor...
Gírate...
Una y otra vez me siento un poco asustada y la mirada de tus ojos veo yo...
Date la vuelta...
Una y otra vez me romperé...
Date la vuelta...
Una y otra vez me romperé...

Y te necesito ya,
más que nunca esta noche...
y sólo si me agarras fuerte,
estamos juntos sin reproche...
De tener razón tendremos suerte;
nunca será un error...
Podemos llegar juntos al final de la luz,
pues todo el rato para mí tu amor es mi cruz...
Siempre en la oscuridad, no sé ni qué decir:
echamos chispas al vivir en un polvorín...
Te necesito a ti ya,
la eternidad comienza ya,
la eternidad comienza ya...

Érase una vez que yo me enamoré,
mucho antes de una oscura traición...
No hay más que decir,
eclipse total de corazón...
Érase una vez que en mi vida había luz,
y ahora nuestro amor se eclipsó...
No hay más que decir,
eclipse total de corazón...

Date la vuelta...
Una y otra vez me romperé...
Date la vuelta...
Una y otra vez me romperé...

Y te necesito ya,
más que nunca esta noche...
y sólo si me agarras fuerte,
estamos juntos sin reproche...
De tener razón tendremos suerte;
nunca será un error...
Podemos llegar juntos al final de la luz,
pues todo el rato para mí tu amor es mi cruz...
Siempre en la oscuridad, no sé ni qué decir:
echamos chispas al vivir en un polvorín...
Te necesito a ti ya,
la eternidad comienza ya,
la eternidad comienza ya...

Érase una vez que yo me enamoré,
mucho antes de una oscura traición...
No hay más que decir,
eclipse total de corazón...
Érase una vez que en mi vida había luz,
y ahora nuestro amor se eclipsó...
No hay más que decir,
eclipse total de corazón...

THE SNOW QUEEN CAT (CATS AU)

All right, this is my first Cats AU, written for World Children's and YA Literature Day as a homage to Andersen - the source material for this retelling is the Snow Queen from the Usborne Andersen for a change - but also with some details from Old Possum's Book and the musical; the characters stay true to whom and what they are in the musical and the poems, but their roles adapt to those of their parts in the fairytale. I had the plot bunny since a month ago and now, since both Andersen and Old Possum are kidlit, it is finally time to release this fusion:

THE SNOW QUEEN CAT

A Jellicle Adventure in Seven Stories

Story the First - The First Time They Ever Heard of the Snow Queen

All right, let us begin, and, when this tale comes to an end, we shall know much more than we know already. The first time the two of them ever heard of the Snow Queen was around after the local production of the Nutcracker that winter when both of them were about to come of age. The waltz of the flowers and the Spanish dance had stood out for both theatre kittens, but it was the human ballerina who starred in that part of the snowflake waltz that really took their breath away.
Backstage there were a lot of stage props, and behind the little district theatre, in one of those vacant lots so hard to find in the cramped Soho, there was a little vacant lot full of wildflowers; a real little garden with a rose bush, tassel hyacinths, primroses, pansies, dandelions -- as lush as any village green, where Mistoffelees and Victoria play-fought, chased insects, and staged their little stories (both those they'd seen on the stage from behind and those they made up themselves) all springtime and summer long. There, they had been Bottom and Titania, Marius and Cosette, or even the sorcerer Quaxo and his ladylove Lily-la-Rose in the story Victoria herself had dreamed up. She was a cheerful and hyperactive white Bengal who loved to make up new games and tales full of adventure. He was a kind and friendly tux, always ready to help others, though reserved and shy, and always reluctant to fight.
In winter, however, it was far cozier to curl up in the warmth of the quinquet ghost-light, once the theatre was empty, and listen to the tales of their guardian Asparagus, or Gus for short, a rake-thin and shabby old thespian tomcat, about his glory days and the stellar parts he had played decades ago, as well as the plots of the shows he had starred in. It was thanks to the old theatre cat taking both orphans in that they learned to dream, to imagine, to think up other realities. And on that December night, when they were praising the human Snow Queen ballerina, he worriedly told them that there was a real Snow Queen Cat out there, in an icy fortelesque palace far to the north. "She can fly, for of course she is a Jellicle like we are, but immensely more powerful, being far more in touch with nature than we Londoners have ever been." He necked down another sip of gin before resuming. "In winter, she brings the cold down south, through woods and streets alike; she strokes the windowpanes with her cold whiskers and the glass is soon blooming with frost flowers." The windows of the Egyptian Theatre were frosted in that very evening, and thus the kittens supposed that a real Snow Queen, a Jellicle cat like they were, existed. "If she could always have her way, she would freeze everything to ice... even your warm hearts," he put the gin bottle to his lips once more, looking worried at both youngsters.
"Let her try if she dares!" Misto defiantly challenged her, in a fit of unlikely pluck, though at heart he was exceedingly frightened,
"Worry not, my lad," Gus reassured him in a far more slurred tone. "She is only able to conquer your heart if you allow her."
That very same night, when Mistoffelees retired to his nestlike bed of old theatre curtains, a gentle winter snow began to sift down, and the tux kitten peered through a frosted window, to watch the flakes fall. All of a sudden, the flakes began to merge and take the shape of a beautiful adult queen-cat, who appeared to be of ice, with frost for fur and icy blue chips of ice for eyes, head decked with a crown of icicles; far whiter and far colder than Victoria. She gazed down at Misto with a piercing blue look.
The Snow Queen! he thought as he stared back in awe. With eager haste, he flung the skylight window wide open, letting in a gale as cutting as a blade.
The Snow Queen reached out a paw and stroked Mistoffelees' incipient whiskers. An icy shudder, or shiver, ran down his spine. Without breathing a word, the winter cat disappeared becoming a whirl of dazzling snowflakes once more. All he could do was stare back as he swaddled himself in the curtain covers once more.
Misto never told his female friend that he had seen the Snow Queen that night. He even came to think that it had all been just a dream. Winter passed by, and he gradually forgot her. Springtime came, the roses bloomed, the pansies and primroses shot up, and the two kittens began to play as usual in the theatre backlot.


Story the Second - Estrangement Leading to a Wintry Enticement

However, Mistoffelees was no longer his former self. He no longer enjoyed the warm sun and wished for winter to return once more. He also had a change of heart for something completely different, and for each and every day he became colder, more aloof, more detached.
One day, when they were chasing white cabbage butterflies, Misto suddenly winced in pain: "Ow, my eyes!" Then, he stopped and put his right paw to his chest, left paw hanging slack by his side, breathing heavily in more intense pain: "In... my... chest... don't know... what I've... got..."
"Misto! MISTO! What's going on with you?" Victoria asked him with utmost concern. She came closer and peered into his clear blue eyes, but saw nothing strange; his breathing had also returned to normal.
What had happened was that, when Mistoffelees had opened the window to see the Snow Queen from up closer, tiny shards of ice from her whiskers had lodged in his eye lenses, and he had breathed in a third one, that had entered his heart. The magical ice was increasing more and more in power. The shards in the eyes were already warping everything he saw for the worse; the one in his heart was freezing and hardening it, without any cure.
"Twattery to chase such creepy bugs, isn't it?" he grumbled, sauntering back into the theatre.
"Let's ask good old Gus to tell us a Shakespeare story instead," Victoria chimed in.
"Bo-ring!" Misto replied. "I don't want to see you again. I'm going out on the town, for a drink or two with some real tomcats!"
Victoria was so stunned that she couldn't find the right words. She just stood there stunned, staring with wide honey eyes at Misto climb up the fence of the backlot. He was no longer the kitten that she knew.
Spring and summer went by, autumn as well, and winter came once more, but Mistoffelees remained discontented. He had become more aloof and rude than ever, and nothing could now make him happy.
One day, when he left the local pub reeling and about to collapse, a large white sleigh pulled by winged reindeer appeared. It was the Snow Queen herself, as both driver and passenger. The queen smiled upon seeing the little one and her eyes shone icy blue. Misto was out of his wits.
Sobering up and mustering all his strength, he ran in pursuit of the sleigh until it finally stopped. The Snow Queen flicked a paw at him and told him: "Come with me..."
The young tux leapt up into the sleigh, without thinking twice. The Snow Queen wrapped an arm lined with frosty fur coat around his shoulders, and Misto felt as if he were sinking into a snowdrift. Then, the queen kissed him on the lips, and the inside of his chest froze completely. Her second kiss completely froze the skin under his shorthair coat; Misto was left unable to feel anything, and he forgot everything he had been through, his mind a blank slate.
The sleigh left London town avoiding railway tracks, leaving a trail of powdered snow. The older Jellicle toms at the pub kept on drinking and playing darts, as if they had never noticed anything strange.
Seeing that Misto had not come home yet, little Victoria asked the patrons at the pub if they had seen him, but not one of them was able to recall anything.
Oh, dear, Victoria thought. He liked to hang out on the banks of the Thames. Hope he hasn't frozen to death in a watery grave...
Victoria and her thespian guardian spent winter weeks without end, mourning the poor lost tux kitten.


Story the Third - A Whimsical Teacher and her Society Fiancé

Springtime came and no Mistoffelees was to be seen. Victoria looked through the window out into the green flowering backlot and missed him very much.
Everyone else thought that Misto had fallen into the icy Thames and frozen to death, but Victoria, in the bottom of her heart, knew that he was still alive somewhere. She could hear his voice, or at least hear him purr, from the theatre roof above, all winter and springtime long. One day, when the swallows had returned, she went out for a walk about the riverbank. She hopped onto a small empty coracle that was moored on the bank, when... suddenly the rope mooring slipped and the current carried the rowboat further downstream.
"Oh, Father Thames, are you taking me to see Misto?" Victoria asked.
The Thames didn't bother to ask her and took Victoria further away, through vast flowerbeds and lush forested English gardens, further away than she had ever travelled before.
At the end, she came to a bend of the river, where there was a little flowering country garden in front of a quaint thatched cottage, in the middle of a blossoming cherry orchard. The coracle approached the riverbank, and Victoria hopped onto the shore. She was still without knowing where to find Mistoffelees when she suddenly crossed paths with a large green jewel beetle bombinating right in front of her.
"Buzz, buzz," the bug hummed.
"Good morning to you, Sir Beetle," Victoria politely replied.
To her astonishment, her new six-footed acquaintance began to speak in her language. "Since it appears that you can't speak Bugspeak, I'll try to speak Jellicle instead, like you do. Anyway, whither are you heading, so alone in this whole wide world?"
Victoria told her whole tale, from the stage props at the Egyptian Theatre and the primroses in its backlot to her search for young Mistoffelees. She also told him of that she had to make haste in order to find her missing friend.
The beetle cocked an antenna. "You Jellicle cats are all equal, but it is possible that I might have seen your friend. You see, I learned your language and many a useful fact and skill in a grand mansion, not far from here, along with many other rodents and insects in this district as fellow students. Our teacher, a Jellicle tabby queen-cat, was however worn-out by giving lecture after lecture on military drilling, sailor knots, music, crochet, tatting... so to find some respite she looked for a husband; yet all the toms she had met were good-looking but empty-headed, until one day a dapper young tux from another district stepped into her classroom, intrigued by her new style of bloodless pest control. He wore white spats, was cocky but nevertheless bright and well-read and knew the finer things in life, and the teacher fell head over heels for him! Now she lives part-time with him at the same gentry's clubs..."
"It could be Misto!" Victoria squealed with elation. "He wears white spats and he's very clever and knows a lot about the performing arts! Couldn't you please take me to the club?"
The jewel beetle kept on showing her the way through the forest-like English garden, until they reached a cobbled street of white neoclassical townhouses that looked like temples for gods.
The green bug approached a pedimented threshold with a loud buzz and a pair of cockroaches came out the front entrance to receive them. All three kept on buzzing for a while first; then the jewel beetle turned to Victoria to explain the situation to her:
"You won't be allowed through the front gate of the club the way you are," the green beetle commented at last. "Only aristocats are allowed to enter. But I can take you to see this tux."
Night fell, and all the windows on the street and in the whole district were lit up; the sound of dancing streamed in through the windows as waltzes, gavottes, csárdás... The jewel beetle flew over the garden wall, while Victoria found a hole wide enough to crawl through it. They kept on waiting in the shade of hydrangeas, listening to the dance tunes, until the lights were put out one after the other, and then the beetle buzzed: "Follow me!"
They entered the club through the kitchen door. With catlike tread, never better said, they kept on climbing, in the dark, up stairs that led to a hall carpeted in red velvet. Victoria's bare cold paws were thankful for how warm and fuzzy the carpets were.
The beetle showed Victoria to a carved mahogany door. Upon opening it, they saw a drawing room lined with portraits of Jellicle cats in cavalier and eighteenth-century clothes, with a large chaise-longue in the middle. With their backs turned to the white kitten and her bug friend, there sat on the chaise-longue two Jellicles; a ginger tabby, doubtless the teacher, and a tux whose head was hidden by her arm, in her embrace.
Without thinking twice, Victoria approached and prepared to lay a paw on his shoulder. "Misto? Mistoffelees? It's me, Victoria," she whispered close to his ear.
The tux tomcat bounded up, astounded, and looked at Victoria without understanding a thing. "Victoria? Who are you?" he asked.
Victoria could not restrain a stifled sob. This tomcat was not Misto, but an older perfect stranger, his whiskers waxed on point, his ribcage remarkably stouter, his waistline remarkably rounder.
"Pardon me very much indeed. I was convinced you were someone else..." she said, looking down.
The chubby tabby teacher was equally surprised. "Whom are you looking for?" she asked. "Maybe we can help."
Victoria told the newlyweds her whole tale, from the stage props at the Egyptian Theatre and the primroses in its backlot to her search for young Mistoffelees; and also how the jewel beetle had helped her.
Jenny Anydots, the tabby teacher, looked at the jewel beetle with warm golden eyes. "As a reward for helping this young kitten," she said, "you will get promoted to Lieutenant Colonel of our Beetle Tattoo for the rest of your lifetime."
"Buzz!" the green beetle buzzed most contentedly.
Then, Jenny Anydots addressed Victoria:
"Tomorrow morning you will be escorted to King's Cross; we will put at our disposition a railway ticket for the Northern Mail train with the best service on board and a charming Jellicle conductor of my close acquaintance. We hope that this will make your search far easier."
Victoria was beside herself with elation and she didn't know how to thank or repay that much kindness.
The next morning, after a full English breakfast, her generous hosts showed her the way to the station, Victoria swaddled in a warm velvet cape lined with otter fur. Jenny Anydots and Bustopher Jones themselves helped her into the railway carriage, taking her leave of her, but before the train left there was a little delay all over the track: "Where is Skimble? Where is Skimble?"
In the end, a slender Jellicle tomcat with waxed curly whiskers, a ginger tabby wearing a conductor's flat cap and waistcoat, appeared like out of the blue and sauntered into the carriage. He and Jenny were elated to see each other, and, along with the leave-taking, Victoria was introduced by the female tabby to the one into whose care the trip up north, and Victoria's own safety, would proceed. Skimbleshanks was, indeed, as charming at first impression as Jenny Anydots had said, and he proved so dutiful that there was no better Jellicle train conductor to entrust any passengers or staff on board to.
Whistles blew and signal flags waved. As the train left the station and Victoria kept on waving Jenny and Bustopher goodbye, the lieutenant colonel beetle accompanied her on board the railway carriage for a long while, very often perched on Skimble's cap or on his shoulder. Then, when the train entered the northern region full of redbrick towns and sooty industrial mills, the jewel-like bug had flown out of sight.


Story the Fourth - The Attack on the Railway Train and its Aftermath

The steam train glistened among the shadows of the sooty factories, its whistle piercing the foggy northern air. It drew so much attention that, no sooner than it had entered the mills, some robber Jellicles leapt onto the rails and latched onto the carriages.
"This train is ours! Off with the driver, and the guards, but first of all with the conductor!" commanded in a cockney accent their leader, a dark ginger who was the tallest, thinnest tomcat Victoria or Skimbleshanks had ever seen, his right eye green as absinthe and his left eye icy blue.
"Macavity!" Skimble gasped, but no sooner had the name passed his lips that he was struck in the back of the head, knocked out like a light, and promptly paw-tied by twin young calicos.
"Now what are we going to do with li'l missy?" Macavity asked, peering into the other end of the railway carriage where Victoria was huddled, as the twin calicos led Skimbleshanks away.
A young dark tabby tom with a wild mane and frill of fur streaked in gold and black, and lustful golden eyes, now peered into the railway carriage as well and said: "I'll keep 'er as a mate!"
He opened wide the door to the railway carriage and forced Victoria to get out. Then, he tore the cloak from her shoulder and seized her at the wrist, pulling her forwards.
The gang returned as fast as they could, prisoners in tow, to their lair, a rundown and sooty steel mill half-claimed by the adjacent heather moors.
The Rum Tum Tugger, for that was how Victoria's captor styled himself, showed her around the dark corner that was his usual living quarters, when he wasn't out and about. Then, he leaned closer to a fenced patch of the very corner and produced poor Skimbleshanks, who was paw-tied to a ring on the wall with a sturdy rope.
"There you 'ave yer Skimble," he scoffed. "'E's tied up like this so 'e can't get out."
Victoria was lost in afterthought, wondering how the two of them would escape and make it back to the train on time, for the conductor knew the schedule of the Northern line by heart, professional trainspotter as he was.
Suddenly the Tugger cast a lustful look on Victoria and, producing long, sharp claw-nails from his left paw, he warned her:
"If you try to get out or free 'im, I scar that pretty face ov yours." Then he smiled. "Now tell me a tale. Make it a good one. If not, I may scar yer face..."
"Well, well, well," Victoria doubted. "The truth is that I don't know if this is a good tale, but it's a true story after all." Then, she told the Tugger her whole tale, from the stage props at the Egyptian Theatre and the primroses in its backlot to her search for young Mistoffelees; and also about the jewel beetle, the tabby teacher, and her aristocat husband who had helped her.
All of a sudden, she heard a faint wince and a familiar tenor voice at the nape of her neck: Skimbleshanks was coming to. The twin calicos had, in the meantime, climbed up to the rafters and were also chatting:
"I've seen that young tux she spoke ov, 'Teazer. Wosn't he with de Snow Queen? But I don't know where they went."
The twin sister replied to her brother with a lilting laugh:
"Iknow where. This Snow Queen lives up north in the icy Far North, 'Jerrie, 'aven't you forgott'n?"
"SHUDDUP!" the Tugger suddenly yelled, so loudly that it frightened them all. After looking at Skimble and Victoria for a while, he suddenly said: "Yer tale woz a luvly one. And the twins seemed ready to 'elp; guess I must do the same as well..." He untied Skimbleshanks and asked him: "D'ya know de way to de Far North, Mr. Conducter?"
The conductor looked back at the young brigand with piercing green eyes, then nodded solemnly.
"Well, then get li'l Vic 'ere on the train and take 'er there till she finds 'er friend," the Tugger said. "Quick, 'fore I get a change o' heart!"
Then, when the next Northern Mail train was about to arrive, he escorted Victoria (whom he had already untied) and Skimble to the railway tracks, helped them to get on board the train, and gave them a pair of red herring kippers. "Wish you could find 'im," the Tugger brusquely said.
"Thanks..." Victoria replied. Without further delay and with a shrill whistle, the train picked up steam and kept on rolling northwards.


Story the Fifth - The Wise Old Matriarch in the Far North

For each and every hour, they were heading further and further up north, past Hadrian's Wall, past the heather moors, further up north where the ravens croaked and the gale slashed their faces through fur and skin. Suddenly, they saw mysterious emerald, coral, golden lights streaking the night sky.
"The aurora, or northern lights," Skimbleshanks told Victoria over their cups of tea laced with Scotch; "this means that we are about to reach the final station."
As Skimble helped her to get out of the train there at the little isolated railway station, the air was icy crisp and even brittle. Now there was nothing but an endless white wasteland in sight. After a short stop to share their now rock-hard kippers, they kept on trudging through snow and frost. Victoria was numb with cold, leaning on Skimble's back for warmth and support, clinging to his waistcoat with frozen paws for dear life.
In the end they reached a little cave, similar to a rabbit hole. Skimbleshanks waved a numb paw in front of the round entrance and a very old queen cat with a thick grey fur coat let them in, bowing low.
Inside the cozy den that had once been a rabbit-hole, a tea kettle whistled cheerily. Old Deuteronomy, the dowager matriarch most Jellicles revered as a living goddess for having lived nearly over a century and being their common ancestor, poured out cups of hot tea for both young cats to warm their paws and, as all three of them sipped, Skimbleshanks kept on telling the whole story.
"I know you are as wise as you are old, my lady," the conductor said in a velvety voice. "You have lived all the way since before the French Revolution, outlived ninety-nine husbands through the ages, and we your numerous progeny still thrive across this United Kingdom. Thus, would it matter to help this poor, lonely little thing?"
"But how?" old Deuteronomy asked.
"You could cast a spell that gives her the strength of twelve sabertooth tigers," Skimble suggested. "Thus, she could have a chance to defeat the Snow Queen."
The matriarch slowly shook her heavy head. "Twelve sabertooth tigers would not be able to defeat the Snow Queen, but this sweet little kitten can, just the way she is. Have you not realised what immense power she has? Beetles speak to her, high society welcomes her, even outlaws step in to help her. Her power is in her warm and noble heart, and, as long as she has that, no one will be able to conquer her."
Then, she told Skimbleshanks to escort Victoria further up north, where the barren frost-garden of the Snow Queen grew, and then leave her there and return to Deuteronomy's rabbit hole.
"But then... she will freeze to..." Skimble's words caught in his throat.
Victoria patted him on the back. "At least I will try."
And, having said those words, she took the conductor by the paw and left.
The walls of the Snow Queen's garden were made of enormous blocks of blue ice. In that yard, nothing green ever grew, and it was snowing so heavily that there scarcely was any air to breathe in between snowflakes.
Victoria put her paws on Skimble's waist, in a reassuring embrace, and told him:
"Dear Skimbleshanks, hope we can see one another quite soon. Now, I must go save Mistoffelees."
Turning around, Victoria eagerly scaled the ice wall and entered the frozen garden.
At first, she saw nothing but snowflakes, each one larger than the previous. Then she realised that those flakes moved by themselves and tried to surround her with enormous swirls that took the forms of terrible beasts. Some were huge polar bears of ice; others, many-headed glacial serpents that could freeze the blood in the veins of the stoutest warrior.
"Please spare... my life..." a frightened Victoria pleaded.
Suddenly, the little white puffs that her breath condensed into clouds began to drift towards the ice monsters, causing their fangs to drip liquid and making them retreat, for fear of warmth, while the young queen-cat kept on advancing, always at the verge of collapse.


Story the Sixth - What Happened at the Snow Queen's Palace

Victoria arrived at the imposing, fortelesque blue palace with icicle towers, and crossed the huge icy front doors. Inside, walls and floors and windows were all of polished blue ice, and the ceilings were decorated with huge chandeliers made from thousands of icicles, but there was no other decoration to be seen. Never had there been any amusements in there, not even a little tea party or game of cards, so stern and serious was the royal ruler of this domain.
Victoria crossed cold empty hall after cold empty hall, the inside of the austere keep seemingly endless, until she reached a vast throne room in whose centre there was an enormous frozen lake with a cracked surface. On an island in the centre of the frozen lake stood the throne of the Snow Queen.
The throne was empty because, luckily, the Queen was absent. Ere she left to bring the winter down south once more, she had given Mistoffelees a task to keep them busy. "Spell out the words for what you miss the most with the runes on these blocks of ice," thus was her command. "If you are able, you will be your own lord and master of yourself. You will be able to go wherever you please, and I will also give you an icicle crown and throne by my side."
Ever since, Misto had been pushing puzzle pieces of ice from one place to another across the throne room, trying to spell out those runes. But he was nearly unable to think free, and did not know how to do. When Victoria entered the great throne room, she found him sitting on a block of ice, apparently a footstool, on the feet of the throne, completely still and despondent.
Victoria let out a scream of elation upon seeing him: "Misto, I've found you! I'VE FOUND YOU!" she yelled, running towards him, a trail of blood on the frozen-lake floor in her wake.
But Mistoffelees did not pay the slightest attention. The power of the Snow Queen had frozen his heart through and through; he sat there with that fixed expression, casting doubt on all she had to say. The look in his eyes, as he stared at Victoria, was completely lost and emotionless.
She clasped him as tight as she could, pressing him to her chest with all her strength. "I have crossed the whole of this kingdom to take you home, Misto..." she said in a broken voice. "I love you more than anything else..."
All of a sudden, a tiny sparkle contrived to light up the young tux's eyes. Victoria kissed him, and her body warmth seeped into him, through fur and skin and flesh. Another kiss of hers and his mind was clear once more, his limbs once more able to perform their functions.
All of a sudden, Misto remembered everything and recognised his very best friend. "Vic... how could I forget you?" he muttered in the same broken tone.
With warmth coursing through his whole self, the crystals he had in his eye lenses dissolved at last. The love his heart felt was also able to thaw the ice that lined his hardened heart, now warm and soft and throbbing once more. Now Mistoffelees had really returned to his old self.
Misto gave Victoria the strongest of hugs, and she replied with an equal one. The two burst into laughter, full of elation. Their laughs echoed through the entire throne room and made a precious melody chime among the icicles on the chandeliers.
Then, all of a sudden, something very strange occurred. All the rune-written blocks of ice in the vast room began to move. They're spelling out something, both young Jellicle cats thought.
"I can't believe it..." Misto whispered upon seeing that the ice blocks spelled out the three words that gave him his freedom: TRUE FREE LOVE.
"Vic, I'm free!" he exclaimed.
"Then, what are we waiting for?" Victoria replied, getting up. "Let's go home! Quick!" The two friends scrambled to get out of the throne room.
Suddenly, an icy whisper left them paralysed. "Who goes there, as silent as a phantom in the night?"
said a mezzo voice, that advanced quickly through endless corridors just like a long-clawed paw of ice.
Dread overtook both young hearts as they saw the Snow Queen Cat herself approach. She was running through hall after hall with all her composed, enormous coldness.
"Return to the throne room," she coldly commanded, with a look in her eyes so cold that it burned through flesh and bone.
"Nevermore, Your Grace," Mistoffelees valiantly denied. "The blocks of ice have spelled out the words TRUE FREE LOVE. Head for the throne, Your Grace, and see it with your very own eyes. Your power can no longer retain me here."
"Still, there is a certain... quid pro quo to be made here," her voice, for the first time in forever, sounded surprisingly warm.
"And what would you want in exchange?" Victoria asked, fixing a curious, intrigued look on the queen.
"Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown," the latter replied, taking off her crown of icicles and putting it on Victoria's head. "Now that you have passed my test of character, with flying colours, it is time for you to share this royal burden, of which you are more than worthy."
All Mistoffeles could do was stare in awe at his crowned kittenhood friend. There was a regal air about her, one that made even the old Snow Queen pale in comparison.
"Give me but a year and a day down south to take my leave of those I love," the new young Snow Queen Victoria bowed her head as she made her honest plea.
"Permission conceded," the reply sounded equally earnest and honourable.
Thanking the old Snow Queen for her kindness, both friends bowed low and crossed at last the palace gates. They passed by ferocious beasts that were melting into fountains and roaring to salute their new queen.
Now nothing could stop Mistoffelees or Victoria, except for her new-found royal duties.


Story the Seventh - Long Live Snow Queen Victoria

Within a blink of an eye, they were once more at old Deuteronomy's, where Skimbleshanks had been waiting for Victoria for a while. 
She and Misto told the whole story together, their cups of tea lending sparkle to their eyes and warmth to their faces. Then, Skimble showed the two youngsters the way to the little isolated station, and helped them to get on the train; all three began the journey back to London.
The train sped by so quickly that landscapes were blurred and the wheels hardly touched the rails. Little by little, white winter began disappearing from the countryside. Without stopping for an instant, they made it all the way to King's Cross, where they discovered they had picked up a stowaway, a fluffy yet fierce one whose disobliging ways were a matter of habit.
"'Ere you are, Mr. Mistoffelees, a fine fella to go gaddin' about!" the Tugger said as Skimbleshanks helped him to get out. "Wonder wot 'e's got that I've not, for Vic to go t' such lengths to find 'im at the ends ov the frickin' Earth!"
Once all three young Jellicles had gotten off the train, the time came for Victoria to thank the railway cat: "We know the way home from here... and, dear Skimble, you don't know how thankful we all three are for what you have done for us. Now the time has come for you to go home and be happy."
"Home is on the rails for yours truly; nevertheless I shall never forget any one of you," the conductor softly replied, lowering his head for the Tugger to take off his flat cap and mess with his head for a while.
At the end of the day, as the Tugger took to exploring the Soho all by himself, Gus the old thespian came out of the Egyptian Theatre to receive his adoptive grandchildren once more, unable to restrain his joy at seeing both of them safe and sound. "Now you are the ones who have stories to tell me!" he explained.
The two kittens had passed so much time away from home that springtime had returned, and they were now young adult cats. When Mistoffelees and Victoria climbed up to the skylight window, they watched their longed-for backlot and rose bush, which where now once more packed with flowers.
Of course that winter the old Snow Queen would come to fetch her successor, both Vic and Misto wistfully thought as they looked one another in the eye, honey locked with sapphire. Yet this was ages, worlds away, and, no matter the royal obligations that Snow Queen Victoria would have every winter in the tutelage of her predecessor, the two young lovers would still have one another, and a warm glorious springtime day, forever within their thoughts and their hearts.

***THE END***