So much for helping Cinderelly.

My life? You really don’t want to know about my life… Jesus, me throat’s dry. I need a fucking drink. Ah, thank you. Well, I do say it meself, as true as me name’s Charlie. You must think I’m taking in too much, but let me tell you, I never even asked to become a bloody horse. There I was, minding me own fucking business, in the house. Buttons, the family’s aging manservant, had laid out the traps as usual and me and me mates were trying to avoid the bloody things. Anyways, before we knew it we wuz caught in one of them traps. Believe me, I wouldn’t be here before you if we hadn’t been caught in that fucking trap.

Anyways, as I was saying, I saw her coming down the stairs and brushing the steps, with a chain around her ankles. It had a padlock on it, I fink. I mean, she’s rather odd, but she talks like Pallas Athena in the stage plays. She’s just… nice… But if I were human, she could try on my galoshes anytime. She was beautiful, bloofer like you wouldn’t believe, what with her golden hair falling down her back and her thin white nose. Me mouth waters at the thought of thinkin’ about her, believe me, guv’nor. Believe me, she was miserable in that shabby dress and shit and that headdress, um, babushka-think. I just cared about the traps. She notices me and she lets me loose from that trap, and we heard summat outside. We got outside and I saw her, a half-naked Welsh tart with wings… Bugger me, am I boring youse?

Then I’ll go on. I sees the Welsh tart, I does, and she notices me, and then she points her hand at me. If you think this is a fairy tale, you can think again, pal. It’s a horror novel. Can you even imagine the pain that that transformation caused me? Well, just imagine the horror of knowing you’re being transformed, followed by the unbearable, indescribable pain as your body’s molecular structure is warped beyond what should normally be possible. It’s almost like a human turning into a werewolf, except much worse.

When the transformation was done, we tried practicing our limbs, which was very painful, ‘cos we hadn’t been fucking introduced to them before. We’re mice, not fucking horses! Then the transformation of the pumpkin begins. I’ve heard reports that she had a magic tree, or the power of the birds at her disposal. Utter bollocks, if you ask me. The pumpkin grows really fucking big, beyond what should even be possible, until it’s turned into some kind of rotund carriage with bloody great golden wheels. You can bleedin’ tell it used to be a vegetable, because of the way it’s shaped, and there’s something fuckin’ unnatural about the whole thing. How’s anyone going to fail to notice anything suspicious, I hears you ask? I dunno, and I don’t fucking care.

If I recall correctly, they even ‘ad some bloody lizard on the premises that got turned into a footman. I have no soddin’ idea why he wuz even there to be honest, since this climate isn’t one where you’d normally expect to find lizards. I suspect he was some sort of family pet. I also remember there was a rat that got turned into a coachman, but I’m not even fucking sure because I can barely remember that damned fucking event. Even if there was a rat, I have no idea why he was even there, but I suppose it don’t bloody matter anyway.

So anyways, the scantily-clad slag then produces another dress for the girl, a pretty white one, which leaves her titties exposed to the elements (well, the upper ‘alf of ‘em, anyways) with shoes made not of glass but of fur (which makes it so fucking worse – for us but not for them bloody fucking humans. I mean can you even imagine the pain of seein’ shoes made of the fur of our own fucking kind?) and I can still hears her voice in me head to this day:

“It’s whimsy!” She does a little twirl in the garish new skirt she’s now clad in, sparing absolutely no thought whatsoever for the absolute horror we’ve just found ourselves in. Like all them young human maidens, she’s so taken in by the joy of the moment that she’s just stuck in her own little world. She has on some long white gloves, covering the lower-half of her arms. I dunno why human females even dress like that, but whatever it is I thinks she looks absolutely ridiculous. I can barely see due to the pain and discomfort of the whole entire thing.

Then the half-naked Welsh tart responds in her Welshy voice: “Yes, but like all whimsies, I’m afraid this can’t last forever. Go off in your silly frock, but be back home by twelve o’clock.”

And that’s that. Afterwards, we gets harnessed to the carriage, and it’s hard for me. I try to fight but the magic’s too strong, and the excruciatin’ pain is hampering me legs. So the pumpkin and its footman, we goes on to this bloody great castle, with walls so finely polished you’d think it were made of polished marble, where we waits, in the unimaginable torment of the night for what feels like fucking hours. I champ me bit, feeling the cold metal around me mouth, and I crane me new neck, which is very painful, towards the left, to look at me friends, who are all waiting for summat. You can’t even begin to imagine it.

Gimme another fucking drink, there’s a good lad. Thank’ee. Anyways, as I was saying, we waits and waits and waits, all feeling the pain, wonderin’ when it’s gonna end, and then all of a sudden, we ‘ears the bell. Dong. Dong. Dong. The chimes o’ midnight. And there she comes, the naïve little bitch who let us be transformed without giving so much as two shits about what we’d feel, without our consent. She’s still dressed in the same gown as when she went up them stairs, yes, but she’s missing a bloody shoe. Then the coachman whips our backs, which makes the pain so much worse and then, before I knows it, we’s racing down the lane for some bloody reason, trying to keep up and me legs are fucking killing me.

But the worst is yet to come, ‘cos I’m in for a bigger world of pain, because I feel meself shrinking back to me original form, and it’s even more painful than the transformation into the horse. Me mates were all as shocked as me, and our figures shrank back, and then the pumpkin kicks her out and then shrinks back, and then she’s left standing, in her normal dress.

Me friends all died from the trauma, except for me. I was all that was left and I let the horror sink over me. If that tart could inflict such a painful transformation onto me, what else could she do? So now, I’m here, in this ‘ere pub, drinkin’ away me every last mouse-sized coin, drowning me sorrows in beer and smokin’ me fagpoles. After that incident, I joined the Anti-Magic League, the activists that are dedicated to nobly stamping out the cause of magic. Causing the end of fairy godparents, of whimsical maidens, all of it. What thanks do we get for it? Nummat. Zilch. Nada. Anyways, I hopes you never encounters any of them. If you understand, you can maybe joins us too. Now, I’ll fucking drink: to the end of all fairytale fantasies, including the Tooth Faerie.

 

Nixvir animation

 

Nixvir was featured here

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Why the Umbrella Academy Will Never Be a Literary Classic

 When it was first published in 2006, The Umbrella Academy I: Apocalypse Suite, caused a sensation with readers and critics. Written by Gerard Way and illustrated by Gabriel Ba, it was even positively reviewed by Grant Morrison. I, on the other hand, did not hear of it until the TV series came out, and even then it was only because my younger sister informed me of it at a family wedding. I watched the series, and then read the comics, and I can safely say with certainty that the comics do not even deserve even remotely half of the attention they did receive. Without further ado, I shall elaborate on my reasons to believe that the Umbrella Academy will never be considered a literary classic in the same way that Watchmen is considered a literary classic.

The writing is terrible, for one thing. It is barely devoid of anything beneath the surface of what is occurring in the narrative of the comic itself - no subtlety, no symbolism, and nothing. Despite being a musician, Mr Way, Esq, displays absolutely no poetical skill or talent at all. His writing is basic, flat and deliberately devoid of flowery language that might stick in the mind, which is perhaps one factor to the reason that the comics will not be as widely remembered as the television series. We do not have to look hard to find an example of an author whose writing skill is far superior to Way’s, and that example is William Shakespeare. Lest there should be any readers who believe that I have neglected to take medication and am now indulging in the throes of insanity, here is a direct quote from the beginning of Apocalypse Suite:

It was the same year Tusslin’ Tom Gurney punched out the space squid from Rigel X-9. It happened at 9:38 PM. It came from an atomic flying elbow. (pg.1)

A comparison is needed, and what better way to provide a contrast to Way’s bland, featureless writing than the entire prologue to William Shakespeare’s classic Romeo and Juliet?

Two households, both alike in dignity

In fair Verona, where we lay our scene

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

From forth the fatal loins of these two foes

A pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life

Whose misadventured piteous overthrows

Do with their death bury their parents' strife.

The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,

And the continuance of their parents' rage,

Which, but their children's end, nought could remove,

Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;

The which if you with patient ears attend,

What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend. (l.1-14)

One does not need to have the entire thing explained to understand why Shakespeare’s work is superior to Way’s but it is exigent to do so anyway: the rhyme scheme of ABAB, the sibilance used in “misadventured piteous overthrows”, the contrast between “civil blood” and “civil hands”, and miscellaneous other literary devices used in Shakespeare’s narrative are all effective in drawing the reader’s attention, using language and pathos. Way’s writing, by contrast, is bland and boring, with none of the vivid use of metaphor or allusion that Shakespeare would use. How, are we to speculate, would Shakespeare have written The Umbrella Academy differently were he writing it? Since he is over four-centuries deceased, we cannot be too certain of such a thing, but what I personally believe is that were he writing comics today, he would obviously do a far better job than his successors and certainly a better job than Way. He would probably make the narrative more poetic, and cram in more classical allusions than would be necessary. 

He would have Spaceboy deliver a florid, beautiful monologue about the agonies of being a man whose head was grafted onto a gorilla body. He would include a proper Classical influence, such as having the deity Hekate appear and rebuke the Rumour for not endeavouring to use her abilities, or tie all these abilities back to the Classical deities by stating that they were granted their abilities by said divinities in some capacity. He would probably set the series in England or in ancient Rome (not enough American media endeavour to do such a thing). He would certainly enable the Seance to deliver something more poetic and meaningful than “happy face eggs” - a phrase which is itself devoid of any kind of depth or symbolism whatsoever. What do the “happy face eggs” (a phrase the character obviously mumbles in the depths of insanity) represent for him? Why does such random babbling need to be so non sequitur? Even in the television show, the writing is bland - a prominent example is the inebriated Vanya shrieking “YOU DESTROYED MY FARM!” in her semi-intelligible Ulster accent - a phrase which pales in comparison to “Cry ‘Havoc!’ and let slip the dogs of war!”. Even Shakespeare would have turned that into a verbose rant about the vitriolic nature of humanity, including a few Classical images on the side. A few moronic adolescents would complain of his verbosity, but I, for one, would proclaim: “tough cookies”. Adolescents are unintelligent and unappreciative of literature of the past, and if they cannot appreciate it, then it must be shoved down their throat. Which brings me to another issue I dislike concerning the Umbrella Academy.

The comics have nothing - or almost nothing - to connect them to the literature of the past. Does Way include an allusion to Shakespeare in his comics? Does he include references to his own country’s national literature - Dickinson, Twain, Beecher Stowe, Fitzgerald, Lewis (by which we do not refer to the Christian apologist), Martin, Alexander, Barnes, Bradbury, Dos Passos, Vidal? While acknowledging that I am about to demolish the likelihood of the usage of any rhetorical device, my answer is that he most certainly does not accomplish either action. This is why one should never let a rock musician or personage with less than a proper education write a novel: they cannot write proper, thought-provoking works or novels or plays for toffee. The classics of world literature have always been written by proper, educated, corporally-healthy people, not by rock musicians, not by celebrities, and certainly not by “emos”! Did the Brontes write music? Did Goethe write music? Did D.H. Lawrence write music? Did Bram Stoker write music? The fact that these professionals chose only to work with literature and still developed their craft to the best of their ability is clear enough evidence that if anyone deserves to receive fame in the literary world, it is chiefly one who understands the medium of literature, not some uneducated young neophyte. Tolkien studied mediaeval literature when he was at Oxford, as did his friend C.S. Lewis. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe was interested in Shakespeare and Homer and he enjoyed reading them. I have read his work, as well as Tolkien’s and Lewis’ but I have also read Shakespeare, Homer, Dickens, Dickinson, and even others still like Hans Christian Andersen, Jakob and Wilhelm Grimm, George Eliot and Charlotte Bronte. Gerard Way has not, to my knowledge, read or ever expressed any interest in reading such works and yet his own work is lauded - unfairly! Unwisely! Uncaringly! THIS, reader, is proof enough of the anti-intellectualism at the heart of the American psyche, a psyche that despises any form of human intelligence and so has created a word to segregate anyone who displays such a quality: “nerd”. A hateful word created by decades of bullying and intolerance towards smart people in academic institutions - as though there shouldn’t be any. 

William Shakespeare’s work is full of allusions to the literature of the past - to quote a website, “There are 53 classical allusions in Titus Andronicus, 39 in Antony and Cleopatra, 38 in Love's Labour Lost, 37 in A Midsummer Night's Dream, 31 in Cymbeline, 26 in Coriolanus, 25 in Romeo and Juliet, 25 in All's Well that Ends Well, 25 in Pericles, 19 in Hamlet, 11 in Othello, 8 in Macbeth and 8 in King Lear.” Way’s work, in terms of Classical allusions, features only two - only two! - and the subtlety is practically non-existent. The Icarus Theatre, the Perseus Corporation - both are references to Classical literature and mythology, yes, but they are the only ones that are received, and even then, Way’s allusions appear as if anyone could make such references, rather than someone who actually read more mythology than is usually read in a children’s book of mythology, which, while a good introduction to any body of mythology, does not include everything that one should know about such a subject. A child will not, say, know who Ate is by reading a retelling of mythology, nor will they receive a retelling of Euripides’ Bacchae. Way has nothing more than a child’s understanding of mythology, but is also possessed of a common layman’s understanding of mythology - one that is not fully-versed in it. Therefore, Way caters to the interests of the common man, which is not what literature should do - it should also cater to the intellectual class. What better modern example than The Sandman when illustrating this example? Neil Gaiman’s non-human writing is poetic and beautiful when it wants to be, and he actually includes several references in the comic to Classical mythology and history (Augustus Caesar, Calliope and Orpheus being prominent examples of this). Gaiman is thus another example who is superior to Way in terms of writing - whereas Way is nothing but an uneducated, uninspired, unread hack. Even his Latin is grammatically suspect: the Academy’s famous motto is “ut malum pluvia” which is intended to translate as “when evil rains”. As someone who has studied Latin for a very long time, I can inform the reader that this is highly incorrect. “Ut” should instead be “cum”, and “pluvia” should be a verb. Way cannot write good Latin to save his life, nor indeed is there any evidence that he consulted with an expert in Latin prior to the conception of such a motto. Nor is he the only writer culpable of such a thing: Eoin Colfer of Artemis Fowl fame had the Fowl family motto originally be aurum est potestas, even though Latin is a subject-object-verb language.

The Kraken himself would probably beat me up in the street for this deprecation of his creator, but I can safely assure the reader that I am quite justified in writing this polemic against Mr Way and his idiotic creations, because someone needs to. Needless to say, another reason against Mr Way’s work is that he portrays characters who do not impart morals to the readers. Dr Terminal’s moral - what could that be? “If you are afflicted with a terminal condition, go insane and massacre everyone?” I think not. The Seance’s moral? “Indulging in drugs is absolutely fine as long as you are possessed of the ability to levitate?” Highly questionable. Older literature always had something to teach its audience - whether it be the revelation of some undefined area of human nature that they would not have otherwise considered, or imparting some moral concerning how they should live their lives. Let us compare the epilogue of Sophocles’ Oedipus the King with the conclusion of Apocalypse Suite to see which one is better:

He started by making himself a sandwich. (Way, p. 146)

Therefore, while our eyes wait to see the destined final day, we must call no one happy who is of mortal race, until he hath crossed life's border, free from pain. (Soph. l.1529-30)

The translation I am using is an older one, published towards the conclusion of the First World War, but the point is still to be held into perspective: at least Sophocles’ work was more instructive to its readers and to its audience. Gerard Way’s work is uninstructive and boorish. His characters, in contrast to the three-dimensional characters of Shakespeare or his predecessors or successors, are bland and one-dimensional; they are not affectionate towards each other and certainly not interested in showing it. Another work of literature in America which prospered despite not deserving it would be Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight, and while I have admittedly not read any of the novels, I have examined enough of the films and heard enough about them to say with certainty that Meyer has certainly never read any Bram Stoker, or read any Shakespeare, since, if she had, she would have referenced him. She also does not impart good morals to her adolescent readership - “there is no shame in entering into conjugal union with a horrible, horrible individual, who is a member of an inaccurately-portrayed undead species”, “throw a temper tantrum and endanger yourself if your significant other refuses to acknowledge your presence”. So it is with Way: his characters are less concerned with imparting morals to the audience and more with indulging in reckless actions without any concern for any actual human life. 

This, reader, and more, is why I refuse to believe that the Umbrella Academy comics, nor any part of the intellectual property for that matter, will ever be considered a classic in any medium, not just literature. That the Americans idiotically showered him with attention is unsurprising - they are Americans, what else could one expect from them? Nevertheless, it does present a recurring problem present within American society: that they reward the moronic while they punish the intelligent. American society is not a society one should emulate, nor is it one that should be idolised. Because if they shower the likes of Way and Meyer with attention, and if they despise the Classics, then they are horrible people and they should read better novels or works. 

  

Written Rap Battles of Literature: Pinocchio vs Noddy

 PINOCCHIO

Scusi, I’ve got a rip-off to diss

This taxi driver is taking the piss

Your creator led her husband to the marital slaughter

And then inflicted her pain upon her own daughters!

What kind of coward lets goblins use him for their own gain?

If you were a farmer, you wouldn't glean any grain.

In the age of woke, your popularity is dying

To think it all started 'cos you were scared of a lion.

NODDY

I'll run you over with my little yellow car

Even your Disney cartoon was utterly subpar.

Your anti-learning stance was completely unacceptable

You can't even lie, and you still were deceptable.

I'm a far more likeable char than you will ever be

I've never seen a possessed toy who acts so bratty

If he had any sense, Gepetto would've given up long ago

Because he really doesn't deserve you, as much you know.

PINOCCHIO

Shut up-a your face, won't make no difference

Okay girls and boyyeeees, pardon my indifference.

You insult-a my father, but your horn is a fart.

Of course you're not a toy, call you Slong-art

Once I've mopped the floor, Plod'll drag you to prison

I won't be a good boy, and I think I'll cause the schism.

You abandoned your creator, and got it on with Big-Ears (Oi!)

Look in the mirror - it'll help you notice your Tubby Rear.

NODDY

OI, IT'S NOD THE NOD, I POP ME BUGGERS

ON THIS BLOODY KOFFEE-POT, TALK TO UM

I MAKE YOU TELL 13 LIES, BREAK YOUR NECK

I'LL LEAVE YOU STUCK LOOKING NICE ON A DESK!

I'LL FUCK YOUR MUM, AND THEN BEAT UP YOUR DAD

SHTUPID PUPPET, FUCK YOU, THE DOGFISH'LL BE GLAD

ABANDONED YOUR SIS, THEN GOT LOCKED UP

KILLED A SNAKE, THEN TRIED TO GET MADE INTO A DRUM

I SHALL CRUCIFY YOU ON A TREE, YOU DAMN STUPID SOD

MR PLOD

HALT IN THE NAME OF PLOD!

NODDY

Uh oh.

WHO WON?

WHO'S NEXT?

WE'LL SEE!

Written Rap Battles of Literature: Frankenstein’s Creature vs Shrike

 THE CREATURE

I'm the real deal, not this undead freak

Ought to be an Adam - tell that to any geek!

Felled by the power of love, you dropped like a stone!

Then you woke up, with only children, and all alone.

Remembering machine? I'm dismembering mechs

If this were a card game, I'd be dealing the decks.

SHRIKE

WHO LET THIS POSER ANYWHERE NEAR ME?

ALL YOUR WANTED WAS YOUR CREATOR'S LOVE, BUT HE HATED YE

YOU THREW A HISSY FIT AND YOU MURDERED ALL HIS FRIENDS

YOUR UGLINESS WAS A THING YOU JUST COULDN'T COMPREHEND

LET'S FACE IT, NOBODY WOULD PLAY GOD FOR THIS FREAK

HESTER WOULD RATHER DEFECATE ON YOU THAN ACCEPT YOUR MYSTIQUE

JUST COULDN'T WORK OUT HOW TO COHABIT WITH HUMANS

BUT EVEN I WOULDN'T FEEL SORRY FOR YOU, MAN

THE CREATURE

You're a mere curiosity, Orianna would quite agree

At least this MC's more of a semblance of humanity

I'm Olimpia's consort, and King of the Toylands

And I absolutely have never lost my hands.

My book challenged Regency thinking and science

Wantonly bestowed with life, yes, but by no means inept

I murdered at least three or four people and the secret was kept.

SHRIKE

YOU WANTED YOUR CREATOR TO MAKE YOU A BRIDE

I AT LEAST WOULDN'T WANT TO MAKE PEOPLE RUN AND HIDE

AT ANY RATE, IT WAS AN OFFENCE TO THINK YOU COULD REPLACE ME

YOUR BORIS KARLOFF DEPICTION JUST SCREWED YOU UP UTTERLY!

YOU DEBUTED IN A BOOK THAT PEOPLE DON'T READ ANYMORE

I'M SURE BYRONIC ANGST WOULD COME KNOCKING AT YOUR DOOR

LOOK, I CAN CONDONE AT LEAST SOME OF YOUR BEHAVIOUR

BUT EVEN I CAN'T FORGIVE YOUR CAMEO IN HOTEL TRANSYLVANIA

Written Rap Battles of Literature: Calcifer vs Crowley

CALCIFER

In this battle, your outcome's looking pretty dismal.

I'm shining like a gemstone, you can call me Billy Crystal.

I refuse to be exploited, but I've got this single hitch,

Spawning T-shirts and merchandise up your arse, bitch!

The scary and powerful fire demon is scorching your raps

My contract allows me to incinerate your turgid angel chap.

Is fomenting discord all you know? You're a nuisance.

You're so utterly inept even Mandrake would think you useless.

CROWLEY

Had you not eaten Howl's heart, you'd have been minced.

All you do is sit around the castle doling out hints

I saved the world from the Apocalypse, you elf.

I even designed London's very motorway itself.

Adam would agree that you're not exactly Daryan

We won't forget the time you fought the Librarian.

I'll pour holy water on you while I'm on the go

Your creator was an antiquated hazbin hoe!

Let's face it, you weren't exactly a beauty

But Ghibli came along and made you a cute little cutie!

CALCIFER

Right, now that you've bruised my ego, let's dance.

I mean, what is it with you and your obsession with plants?

I'm hinting disapprovingly, just call me James Frownwoods

'Cos I fell from the sky, you just 'sauntered vaguely downwards'.

In terms of who’s a better demon, there’s really no contest

I’m a well-rounded character and that makes me the best.

Your creators named you after a notorious occultist

They couldn't have possibly gotten any more pissed.

Me! Lubbock-killing MC, meanie blue-and-greeny

You, adviser to Shakespeare, turncoat, gang member

Might as well have been a djinn or genie!

CROWLEY

You’re just Sophie’s bitch, and you’re vulnerable to water

Led a fellow daemon like a lamb to the slaughter

I'm practically the hero, you're just a hanger-on

Practically bullied by an old biddy to cook on.

I'm an MC brimming with brimstone and fire

I'll throw water on you to douse you out of ire

I drove through my handiwork, hated the flood

You're just a mere flame of a dud.

The Grand Council would prefer to brand you a nutter

But they all say - SO LONG SUCKER!