|Reviews for Straw Spun From Gold|
| skeleton.gold chapter 1 . 3/27/2009
Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous :) I would be too afraid to write a Gormenghast fic because there's a sort of twisted luxury about it that I don't think I could capture; however, your writing is exquisite and I got completely lost in your fic.
You captured Fucshia so well, especially in the opening, and Steerpike was just perfect! I could completely imagine the scene with him re-enacting their first meeting, it was deliciously like him. (I am slightly biased as he's my favourite character, repulsive but enchanting.)
Reading this makes so many other things I've read on here just pale in comparison!
| TheMadPuppy chapter 1 . 2/13/2009
HA! Now I know why you were so busy the last few days. Happily for us, might I add, because this one-shot has little pearls of beautiful, poetic and yet so insightful and true descriptions. My favs:
"Now, Fuchsia still runs. Never self-possessed enough [...]and the figures edging at and sharing her solitude."
This whole paragraph is one, BIG fav for me. I think it's my favourite part of the fic. It was just...brilliant. "Unheard by friends" "simply decayed over time and been forgotten" "crimson deep and sombre as a dying rose" "look up or ahead into dream-worlds" "bravery and fear" "away from the clouds and increasingly towards the walls...sharing her solitude"...It's like, a super combo to describe the adult Fuschia. And damn it, I'm so envious of how you portray things perfectly with such pretty metaphors. You'll say it's because of your Lit background, but I say it's natural.
Anyway, moving forward:
The shawl that is a shell, preventing her from spilling out, spying traces of herself in her aunts (mad, stupid and very lost), a horrible frustration grips and wrings her, the boy from nowhere, she wants very much to try; just to try, Steerpike tries not to show her this, and so when she sees, it's more terrible than ever, he recovers, or fails to, and kisses her hand, and, Fuchsia realizes, so is she...Just wonderful, Thyme. If you fic is a field, I was happily hopping throught it while singing "it's raining greatness!" (M, the mental picture.)
My fav part about Steerpike:
"Fuchsia watches him now, whenever her eyes can get away with it and keep up with him, and she sees how he maneuvers his way through, across, and always up Gormenghast like an untethered shadow, and sometimes she wonders where he might be going. He's still so very fearless, and still startles her in both the best ways and the worst. His skin is pale, and in the dim lights of the stone lanes, it gleams like exposed bone, and Fuchsia thinks of sad secrets she'll never dare ask about. His eyes have an odd shimmer to them when he looks at her."
I mean, how...chilly. Especially the "exposed bone" comparison. Somebody not familiar with Gormenghast reading this would surely scream "My God, this guy is Death". And Fuschia fascinated by it. It almost reminds me of the Death and the Maiden essay you sent me. Something tearfully beautiful and horrific at the same time.
"Not quite above him, but definitely better than anything else Gormenghast had to offe"
We're so twisted to find this fluffy. The guy considers her below him, she doesn't have enough self-esteem to contradict that, but the mere mention that she's above the rest is enough for us, and for her, to find him so sweet. *hugs you in dark twisted romance fanlove*.
And the most tender sentences of the fic IMHO:
"She used to wish away her days thinking up brilliant and beautiful adventures for herself, but now she uses them up reliving the events of previous evenings spent with him"
"and when she dreams of escape, she also dreams of setting him free"
| poetikat chapter 1 . 2/13/2009
Oh, wow. This is beautiful. You've truly done Mervyn Peake justice here. I'm blown away!