They say the *next* stage of brain development is getting *less* susceptible to peer pressure. What the hell is *that* gonna be like?
I have some guesses, I think. Maybe you get so used to full-grown impulse control that you start taking it for granted, go so long without ever being at real risk of snapping that you start projecting your non-violence onto others the same way you once projected your violence onto them. “What will happen if I make this person angry” calculates (as it always did) as “what would I do if I were them and someone made me angry”, and since “I would hurt them” is no longer a serious possibility, you stop taking that possibility seriously in others (at least by default), and so the stakes are lower.
#oh look an original post #is the blue I see the same as the blue you see #violence cw #abuse cw?
Is it just me, or does adolescent brain development feel from the inside like getting better at *fear*?
They told me I’d get better impulse control in my early twenties, and in a way I suppose I did. But what it felt like was that I’d finally cultivated fear to the point that it could consistently outweigh anger, that even in the midst of rage I was still paralysed by the terror of what people would do to me if I lashed out.
They told me I’d get more susceptible to peer pressure in my teens, and in a way I suppose I did. But what it felt like was an acute awareness that literally anyone could hurt me (deprive me of resources, beat me up, potentially in extreme cases kill me) if crossed; I would not be able to stop them until it was too late, and in many cases I would not be able to stop them at all. There’s no such thing as peer pressure because there’s no such thing as *peers*: everyone is potentially dangerous, and everyone must be appeased.
(Ever since puberty, I have never had a relationship† between equals. The closest I’ve come is relationships where each person believes themself to be of inferior rank to the other.
I used to worry what it said about me that my closest friendships are always with people who are scared of me, but perhaps it’s just that *I’m* going to be scared of *them* regardless, and so them being scared too is the only way to even things out enough.)
†in the broad sense
#oh look an original post #is the blue I see the same as the blue you see #violence cw #abuse cw?
I could try, but I don’t know how to explain it to someone who doesn’t want to be famous. Not being famous is just painful – like, it makes me feel sad and small and unimportant whenever I think about it so mostly I try not to think about it. If you don’t experience that then I’d guess you probably wouldn’t want to be famous, but I can’t necessarily explain why I experience that to someone whose mind is different enough that they don’t get it. Most of the time I assume everyone desperately wants to be famous but some of us are doing better/worse jobs of processing and dealing with the fact we’re unlikely to make it?
I think it’s partly a sense that things can’t be important if they’re not witnessed and remembered. If I do something really cool but nobody knows about it, then what was the point? It’s the sense of emptiness when you make a funny joke and then realise that yeah, that was clever and cool and you were terribly witty, but there’s only one person around to hear the joke so it’s kind of wasted.
Humans are like, the only important thing in this world. Making people happy and making them laugh and improving their lives is the only thing worth doing. That means ‘did humans like the thing’ is the only worthwhile measure of ‘was the thing good’. And I know that, say, donating money to charity is doing better on that metric than writing popular songs, because the recipients of charity like Being Alive more than the average human likes good music. If you measure by happiness caused, Bill Gates is way way more famous/popular than any singer. But my monkey brain is not very good at directly measuring happiness created, and therefore measures by number of fans and loudness of appreciation, and my monkey brain is basically never going to let me be happy unless I achieve at least some of that.
Being famous often involves also being rich. If you’re not rich already by the time you’re famous, you can rake in money by charging people to come to stadiums and listen to you talk. And being rich is really important to me. Partly so I can donate lots of money and make the world better. Partly just… I know in an abstract sense that, across the population, money doesn’t increase quality of life beyond a certain point, but I do think that varies a lot person by person. I have a ridiculous amount of financial anxiety that often means I don’t buy things that would improve my quality of life even if I can afford them, because I’m like “omg if I buy too many things I will RUN OUT OF MONEY AND STARVE AND DIE”. And I also have an annoying tendency to develop expensive taste in things, extreme executive function issues which would be really improved with the application of Enough Money That I Don’t Have To Do Things, and some amount of trauma that causes me to equate money with safety. So I end up really caring about money, even though I feel like this is deeply unvirtuous and I’m a bad person for caring about mere things and bank accounts and I should be a better socialist and etc etc.
Sometimes it’s about feeling powerless. A lot of people seem to think that the limiting factor on “speaking up about things that are wrong” is courage – like, if you’re brave enough to speak out, you’ll fix everything. Well, sometimes I speak out against things I think are wrong even though it’s scary, and …. nothing happens. Like literally I can submit articles but they won’t get published, my social media posts won’t get any meaningful number of notes / likes / responses / whatever, and there’s a limited number of people I can reach with face to face conversations. I can view things happening in society and want to be like “hey don’t go there” and I’m just…. completely voiceless in things that are so much bigger than I am. I do not understand people who do not get a sense of Lovecraftian horror from this.
I’ve had small followings in the past. One time I was in an RPG group that got a bit out of hand and there were 40-odd kids who considered me their leader and conducted ‘warfare’ at my command (where ‘warfare’ meant ‘invade other people’s threads and shout about how great we are’, yes I know this is stupid and embarrassing and bad, we all had that 13 year old phase), another time I ran some clubs in my sixth form and I had 30-odd students who went to all the different clubs I ran and jokingly called themselves my cult, another time I was writing a fanfic and had a decent amount of fans (which I subsequently abandoned and I think the site got taken down). And it’s incredibly good and I miss it and I want it back. Like, yeah, partly it’s just a self-confidence boost and it’s nice to have people who pay attention to you. But there’s also other things, like, I always have lots of ideas for projects and it’s nice to be able to give other people quests rather than trying to do everything myself and overloading myself. It makes me a better person when I think I have to be a good role model, and when nobody’s paying attention to me it’s huge how much I slip into being bad because I feel like it doesn’t matter. Always having fans around means you can always get someone to lend a hand with your project, give you feedback on some work you’re doing, compliment you when you need it. Maybe being large scale famous is nothing like that, but I definitely want… that.
I guess I just want to matter on a bigger scale than I currently do.
I strongly relate to most of these reasons. But actually, if someone were to ask me why I want to be famous, the first thing that comes to my mind is a one-sentence response: Having only one life to live, I just want to achieve greatness in some sense, and becoming famous would somehow be confirmation of that.
But when I write that “out loud”, it doesn’t sound nearly as reasonable as winged-light’s explanation.
I think the third paragraph is basically that, yeah.
This is super interesting. One of my favorite things is to read a good explication of some feeling or desire I can’t relate to. I realize now that I had been typical-minding and assuming that people who said they wanted to be “rich and famous” were just saying that because everyone else said it, because it was the Thing to say… because no one could actually want that, since I don’t want that.
See, I have the desire to be significant and accomplished and whatnot, but I don’t intuitively connect that to fame. Being on the front page of a tabloid sounds like an unpleasant experience, and I’d rather just see my name at the top of the Giant Cosmic Leaderboard, even if few people know who I am.
I’m mostly with wirehead-wannabe and PDV on this. “Did humans like the thing” is the only measure that matters, but for a lot of things my own liking it counts for more than a hundred randos liking it. But I’m not gonna deny that my heart warms a bit when kids ask my coworkers and I how they can be like us when they grow up. It’s less wanting to be noticed and more wanting to be aspired to, the tangible reminder that what I’ve got is by the standards of the current world something worth striving for. I wouldn’t want to be noticed by *lots* of people, though, because it would lead to stuff like people making up rumors about me and scrutinizing everything I said.
#interesting #is the blue I see the same as the blue you see #I’m not sure about my own feelings on the matter #except for a sense that fame is so *dangerous* that any positive aspects it has can’t possibly be worth it #better to be a peasant and have nobody care whether you live or die #than to be a monarch and have lots of people actively *trying* to kill you #and that this mostly generalises to other lower-stakes hierarchies #I’m not sure to what extent I endorse that sense #at least somewhat #I guess that probably puts me in the same category as the people later in the reblog chain #(edit: I definitely understand the miser issues though) #(and while I am not *especially* prone to developing expensive taste) #(I have occasionally been known to avoid trying expensive food specifically because I was worried I would like it and want to buy it again)
Before we continue, I want to add the usual caveat that I actually don’t want to be right about these fandoms being dead. I like enthusiasm and energy and it’s a shame to see it vanish.
Mists of Avalon
Remember that period of time of about 15 years, where absolutely everybody read this book and was obsessed with it? It could not have been bigger, and the fandom was Anne Rice huge, overlapping for several years with USENET and the early World Wide Web…but it’s since petered out.
Mists of Avalon’s popularity may be due to the most excellent case of hitting a demographic sweet spot ever. The book was a feminist retelling of the Arthurian Mythos where Morgan Le Fay is the main character, a pagan from matriarchal goddess religions who is fighting against encroaching Christianity and patriarchal forms of society coming in with it. Also, it made Lancelot bisexual and his conflict is how torn he is about his attraction to both Arthur and Guinevere.
Remember, this novel came out in 1983 – talk about being ahead of your time! If it came out today, the reaction from a certain corner would be something like “it is with a heavy heart that I inform you that tumblr is at it again.”
Man, demographically speaking, that’s called “nailing it.” It used to be one of the favorite books of the kind of person who’s bookshelf is dominated by fantasy novels about outspoken, fiery-tongued redheaded women, who dream of someday moving to Scotland, who love Enya music and Kate Bush, who sell homemade needlepoint stuff on etsy, who consider their religious beliefs neo-pagan or wicca, and who have like 15 cats, three of which are named Isis, Hypatia, and Morrigan.
This type of person is still with us, so why did this novel fade in popularity? There’s actually a single hideous reason: after her death around 2001, facts came out that Marion Zimmer Bradley abused her daughters sexually. Even when she was alive, she was known for defending and enabling a known child abuser, her husband, Walter Breen. To say people see your work differently after something like this is an understatement – especially if your identity is built around being a progressive and feminist author.
I try to break up my sections on dead fandoms into three parts: first, I explain the property, then explain why it found a devoted audience, and finally, I explain why that fan devotion and community went away. Well, in the case of Robotech, I can do all three with a single sentence: it was the first boy pilot/giant robot Japanimation series that shot for an older, teenage audience to be widely released in the West. Robotech found an audience when it was the only true anime to be widely available, and lost it when became just another import anime show. In the days of Crunchyroll, it’s really hard to explain what made Robotech so special, because it means describing a different world.
Try to imagine what it was like in 1986 for Japanime fans: there were barely any video imports, and if you wanted a series, you usually had to trade tapes at your local basement club (they were so precious they couldn’t even be sold, only traded). If you were lucky, you were given a script to translate what you were watching. Robotech though, was on every day, usually after school. You want an action figure? Well, you could buy a Robotech Valkyrie or a Minmei figure at your local corner FAO Schwartz.
However, the very strategy that led to it getting syndicated is the very reason it was later vilified by the purists who emerged when anime became a widespread cultural force: strictly speaking, there actually is no show called “Robotech.” Since Japanese shows tend to be short run, say, 50-60 episodes, it fell well under the 80-100 episode mark needed for syndication in the US. The producer of Harmony Gold, Carl Macek, had a solution: he’d cut three unrelated but similar looking series together into one, called “Robotech.” The shows looked very similar, had similar love triangles, used similar tropes, and even had little references to each other, so the fit was natural. It led to Robotech becoming a weekday afternoon staple with a strong fandom who called themselves “Protoculture Addicts.” There were conventions entirely devoted to Robotech. The supposed shower scene where Minmei was bare-breasted was the barely whispered stuff of pervert legend in pre-internet days. And the tie in novels, written with the entirely western/Harmony Gold conception of the series and which continued the story, were actually surprisingly readable.
The final nail in the coffin of Robotech fandom was the rise of Sailor Moon, Toonami, Dragonball, and yes, Pokemon (like MC Hammer’s role in popularizing hip hop, Pokemon is often written out of its role in creating an audience for the next wave of cartoon imports out of insecurity). Anime popularity in the West can be defined as not a continuing unbroken chain like scifi book fandom is, but as an unrelated series of waves, like multiple ancient ruins buried on top of each other (Robotech was the vanguard of the third wave, as Anime historians reckon); Robotech’s wave was subsumed by the next, which had different priorities and different “core texts.” Pikachu did what the Zentraedi and Invid couldn’t do: they destroyed the SDF-1.
Legion of Super-Heroes
Legion of Superheroes was comic set in the distant future that combined superheroes with space opera, with a visual aesthetic that can best be described as “Star Trek: the Motion Picture, if it was set in a disco.”
I’ve heard wrestling described as “a soap opera for men.” If that’s the case, then Legion of Super-Heroes was a soap opera fornerds. The book is about attractive 20-somethings who seem to hook up all the time. As a result, it had a large female fanbase, which, I cannot stress enough, is incredibly unusual for this era in comics history. And if you have female fans, you get a lot of shipping and slashfic, and lots of speculation over which of the boy characters in the series is gay. The fanon answer is Element Lad, because he wore magenta-pink and never had a girlfriend. (Can’t argue with bulletproof logic like that.) In other words, it was a 1970s-80s fandom that felt much more “modern” than the more right-brained, bloodless, often anal scifi fandoms that existed around the same time, where letters pages were just nitpicking science errors by model train and elevator enthusiasts.
Legion Headquarters seemed to be a rabbit fuck den built around a supercomputer and Danger Room. Cosmic Boy dressed like Tim Curry in Rocky Horror. There’s one member, Duo Damsel, who can turn into two people, a power that, in the words of Legion writer Jim Shooter, was “useful for weird sex…and not much else.”
LSH was popular because the fans were insanely horny.
This is, beyond the shadow of a doubt, the thirstiestfandom of all time.
You might think I’m overselling this, but I really think that’s an under-analyzed part of how some kinds of fiction build a devoted fanbase.
For example, a big reason for the success of Mass Effect is that everyone has a favorite girl or boy, and you have the option to romance them. Likewise, everyone who was a fan of Legion remembers having a crush. Sardonic Ultra Boy for some reason was a favorite among gay male nerds (aka the Robert Conrad Effect). Tall, blonde, amazonian telepath Saturn Girl, maybe the first female team leader in comics history, is for the guys with backbone who prefer Veronica over Betty. Shrinking Violet was a cute Audrey Hepburn type. And don’t forget Shadow Lass, who was a blue skinned alien babe with pointed ears and is heavily implied to have an accent (she was Aayla Secura before Aayla Secura was Aayla Secura). Light Lass was commonly believed to be “coded lesbian” because of a short haircut and her relationships with men didn’t work out. The point is, it’s one thing to read about the adventures of a superteam, and it implies a totally different level of mental and emotional involvement to read the adventures of your imaginary girlfriend/boyfriend.
Now, I should point out that of all the fandoms I’ve examined here, LSH was maybe the smallest. Legion was never a top seller, but it was a favorite of the most devoted of fans who kept it alive all through the seventies and eighties with an energy and intensity disproportionate to their actual numbers. My gosh, were LSH fans devoted! Interlac and Legion Outpost were two Legion fanzines that are some of the most famous fanzines in comics history.
If nerd culture fandoms were drugs, Star Wars would be alcohol, Doctor Who would be weed, but Legion of Super-Heroes would be injecting heroin directly into your eyeballs. Maybe it is because the Legionnaires were nerdy, too: they played Dungeons and Dragons in their off time (an escape, no doubt, from their humdrum, mundane lives as galaxy-rescuing superheroes). There were sometimes call outs to Monty Python. Basically, the whole thing had a feel like the dorkily earnest skits or filk-singing at a con. Legion felt like it’s own fan series, guest starring Patton Oswalt and Felicia Day.
It helped that the boundary between fandom and professional was incredibly porous. For instance, pro-artist Dave Cockrum did covers for Legion fanzines. Former Legion APA members Todd and Mary Biernbaum got a chance to actually write Legion, where, with the gusto of former slashfic writers given the keys to canon, their major contribution was a subplot that explicitly made Element Lad gay. Mike Grell, a professional artist who got paid to work on the series, did vaguely porno-ish fan art. Again, it’s hard to tell where the pros started and the fandom ended; the inmates were running the asylum.
Mostly, Legion earned this devotion because it could reward it in a way no other comic could. Because Legion was not a wide market comic but was bought by a core audience, after a point, there were no self-contained one-and-done Legion stories. In fact, there weren’t even really arcs as we know it, which is why Legion always has problems getting reprinted in trade form. Legion was plotted like a daytime soap opera: there were always five different stories going on in every issue, and a comic involved cutting between them. Sure, like daytime soap operas, there’s never a beginning, just endless middles, so it was totally impossible for a newbie to jump on board…but soap operas know what they are doing: long term storytelling rewards a long term reader.
This brings me to today, where Legion is no longer being published by DC. There is no discussion about a movie or TV revival. This isamazing. Comics are a world where the tiniest nerd groups get pandered to: Micronauts, Weirdworld, Seeker 3000, and Rom have had revival series, for pete’s sake. It’s incredible there’s no discussion of a film or TV treatment, either; friggin Cyborg from New Teen Titans is getting a solo movie.
Why did Legion stop being such a big deal? Where did the fandom that supported it dissolve to? One word: X-Men. Legion was incredibly ahead of its time. In the 60s and 70s, there were barely any “fan” comics, since superhero comics were like animation is today: mostly aimed at kids, with a minority of discerning adult/teen fans, and it was success among kids, not fans, that led to something being a top seller (hence, “fan favorites” in the 1970s, as surprising as it is to us today, often did not get a lot of work, like Don MacGregor or Barry Smith). But as newsstands started to push comics out, the fan audience started to get bigger and more important…everyone else started to catch up to the things that made Legion unique: most comics started to have attractive people who paired up into couples and/or love triangles, and featured extremely byzantine long term storytelling. If Legion of Super-Heroes is going to be remembered for anything, it’s for being the smaller scale “John the Baptist” to the phenomenon of X-Men, the ultimate “fan” comic.
The other thing that killed Legion, apart from Marvel’s Merry Mutants, that is, was the r-word: reboots. A reboot only works for some properties, but not others. You reboot something when you want to find something for a mass audience to respond to, like with Zorro, Batman, or Godzilla.
Legion, though, was not a comic for everybody, it was a fanboy/girl comic beloved by a niche who read it for continuing stories and minutiae (and tojack off, and in some cases, jill off). Rebooting a comic like that is a bad idea. You do not reboot something where the main way you engage with the property, the greatest strength, is the accumulated lore and history. Rebooting a property like that means losing the reason people like it, and unless it’s something with a wide audience, you only lose fans and won’t get anything in return for it. So for something like Legion (small fandom obsessed with long form plots and details, but unlike Trek, no name recognition) a reboot is the ultimate Achilles heel that shatters everything, a self-destruct button they kept hitting over and over and over until there was nothing at all left.
E. E. Smith’s Lensman Novels
The Lensman series is like Gil Evans’s jazz: it’s your grandparents’ favorite thing that you’ve never heard of.
I mean, have you ever wondered exactly what scifi fandom talked about before the rise of the major core texts and cultural objects (Star Trek, Asimov, etc)? Well, it was this. Lensmen was the subject of fanfiction mailed in manilla envelopes during the 30s, 40s, and 50s (some of which are still around). If you’re from Boston, you might recognize that the two biggest and oldest scifi cons there going back to the 1940s, Boskone (Boscon, get it?) and Arisia, are references to the Lensman series. This series not only created space opera as we know it, but contributed two of the biggest visuals in scifi, the interstellar police drawn from different alien species, and space marines in power armor.
My favorite sign of how big this series was and how fans responded to it, was a great wedding held at Worldcon that duplicated Kimball Kinnison and Clarissa’s wedding on Klovia. This is adorable:
The basic story is pure good vs. evil: galactic civilization faces a crime and piracy wave of unprecedented proportions from technologically advanced pirates (the memory of Prohibition, where criminals had superior firearms and faster cars than the cops, was strong by the mid-1930s). A young officer, Kimball Kinnison (who speaks in a Stan Lee esque style of dialogue known as “mid-century American wiseass”), graduates the academy and is granted a Lens, an object from an ancient mystery civilization, who’s true purpose is unknown.
Lensman Kinnison discovers that the “crime wave” is actually a hostile invasion and assault by a totally alien culture that is based on hierarchy, intolerant of failure, and at the highest level, is ruled by horrifying nightmare things that breathe freezing poison gases. Along the way, he picks up allies, like van Buskirk, a variant human space marine from a heavy gravity planet who can do a standing jump of 20 feet in full space armor, Worsel, a telepathic dragon warrior scientist with the technical improvisation skills of MacGyver (who reads like the most sadistically minmaxed munchkinized RPG character of all time), and Nandreck, a psychologist from a Pluto-like planet of selfish cowards.
The scale of the conflict starts small, just skirmishes with pirates, but explodes to near apocalyptic dimensions. This series has space battles with millions of starships emerging from hyperspacial tubes to attack the ultragood Arisians, homeworld of the first intelligent race in the cosmos. By the end of the fourth book, there are mind battles where the reflected and parried mental beams leave hundreds of innocent bystanders dead. In the meantime we get evil Black Lensmen, the Hell Hole in Space, and superweapons like the Negasphere and the Sunbeam, where an entire solar system was turned into a vacuum tube.
It’s not hard to understand why Lensmen faded in importance. While the alien Lensmen had lively psychologies, Lensman Kimball Kinnison was not an interesting person, and that’s a problem when scifi starts to become more about characterization. The Lensman books, with their love of police and their sexism (it is an explicit plot point that the Lens is incompatible with female minds – in canon there are no female Lensmen) led to it being judged harshly by the New Wave writers of the 1960s, who viewed it all as borderline fascist military-scifi establishment hokum, and the reputation of the series never recovered from the spirit of that decade.
Prisoner of Zenda
Prisoner of Zenda is a novel about a roguish con-man who visits a postage-stamp, charmingly picturesque Central European kingdom with storybook castles, where he finds he looks just like the local king and is forced to pose as him in palace intrigues. It’s a swashbuckling story about mistaken identity, swordfighting, and intrigue, one part swashbuckler and one part dark political thriller.
The popularity of this book predates organized fandom as we know it, so I wonder if “fandom” is even the right word to use. All the same, it inspired fanatical dedication from readers. There was such a popular hunger for it that an entire library could be filled with nothing but rip-offs of Prisoner of Zenda. If you have a favorite writer who was active between 1900-1950, I guarantee he probably wrote at least one Prisoner of Zenda rip-off (which is nearly always the least-read book in his oeuvre). The only novel in the 20th Century that inspired more imitators was Sherlock Holmes. Robert Heinlein and Edmond “Planet Smasher” Hamilton wrote scifi updates of Prisoner of Zenda. Doctor Who lifted the plot wholesale for the Tom Baker era episode, “Androids of Tara,” Futurama did this exact plot too, and even Marvel Comics has its own copy of Ruritania, Doctor Doom’s Kingdom of Latveria. Even as late as the 1980s, every kids’ cartoon did a “Prisoner of Zenda” episode, one of the stock plots alongside “everyone gets hit by a shrink ray” and the Christmas Carol episode.
Prisoner of Zenda imitators were so numerous, that they even have their own Library of Congress sub-heading, of “Ruritanian Romance.”
One major reason that Prisoner of Zenda fandom died off is that, between World War I and World War II, there was a brutal lack of sympathy for anything that seemed slightly German, and it seems the incredibly Central European Prisoner of Zenda was a casualty of this. Far and away, the largest immigrant group in the United States through the entire 19th Century were Germans, who were more numerous than Irish or Italians. There were entire cities in the Midwest that were two-thirds German-born or German-descent, who met in Biergartens and German community centers that now no longer exist.
Kurt Vonnegut wrote a lot about how the German-American world he grew up in vanished because of the prejudice of the World Wars, and that disappearance was so extensive that it was retroactive, like someone did a DC comic-style continuity reboot where it all never happened: Germans, despite being the largest immigrant group in US history, are left out of the immigrant story. The “Little Bohemias” and “Little Berlins” that were once everywhere no longer exist. There is no holiday dedicated to people of German ancestry in the US, the way the Irish have St. Patrick’s Day or Italians have Columbus Day (there is Von Steuben’s Day, dedicated to a general who fought with George Washington, but it’s a strictly Midwest thing most people outside the region have never heard of, like Sweetest Day). If you’re reading this and you’re an academic, and you’re not sure what to do your dissertation on, try writing about the German-American immigrant world of the 19th and 20th Centuries, because it’s a criminally under-researched topic.
Pop quiz: who was the most popular and influential fantasy author during the 1930s and 40s?
If you answered Tolkien or Robert E. Howard, you’re wrong – it was actually Abraham Merritt. He was the most popular writer of his age of the kind of fiction he did, and he’s since been mostly forgotten. Gary Gygax, creator of Dungeons and Dragons, has said that A. Merritt was his favorite fantasy and horror novelist.
Why did A. Merritt and his fandom go away, when at one point, he was THE fantasy author? Well, obviously one big answer was the 1960s counterculture, which brought different writers like Tolkien and Lovecraft to the forefront (by modern standards Lovecraft isn’t a fantasy author, but he was produced by the same early century genre-fluid effluvium that produced Merritt and the rest). The other answer is that A. Merritt was so totally a product of the weird occult speculation of his age that it’s hard to even imagine him clicking with audiences in other eras. His work is based on fringe weirdness that appealed to early 20th Century spiritualism and made sense at the time: reincarnation, racial memory, an obsession with lost race stories and the stone age, and weirdness like the 1920s belief that the Polar Arctic is the ancestral home of the Caucasian race. In other words, it’s impossible to explain Merritt without a ton of sentences that start with “well, people in the 1920s thought that…” That’s not a good sign when it comes to his universality.
That’s it for now. Do you have any suggestions on a dead fandom, or do you keep one of these “dead” fandoms alive in your heart?
I’m still in the Lensman fandom! It’s trash, but it’s *my* trash.
#interesting #long post #history #the more you know #(I’d vaguely heard of Mists of Avalon and I’d heard the name of Lensman but that was about it) #I recommend the other posts in the series too #there is probably some warning tag I should put on this but I am not sure what
Finished introductory accounting. (Yay spring break!) Will be taking the next accounting course next semester.
I can *technically* put the next accounting course towards a CS degree (I have some open non-introductory-level elective slots left), and I haven’t *officially* changed my major, but I suspect I know how this is going to go.
(I had tons of anxiety *before* the exam (and some aftershocks), but there were times *during* it (most noticeably while preparing financial statements) when I noticed that, even then, I was actually enjoying myself.)
I’ve barely posted anything this week (was still reading, though) because I was busy studying, so expect extra posts over the next day or two while I catch up on my drafts and my open Tumblr tabs (the ones I left open to remind me to consider whether to reblog them).
#Mom heard at a job-hunting-assistance place that you don’t need a degree to do seasonal work at H&R Block #maybe I’ll apply for next spring #get some industry-adjacent work experience #(I’d say ”and get more comfortable with our own taxes” but tbh our taxes are out of a seasonal-worker’s league) #(we’ve got freelancing shit and dual-citizenship shit and so on) #(and on those occasions that we have gotten other people to do our taxes† we have needed at *least* one specialist) #(†usually Dad deals with the taxes with me as his assistant) #oh look an original post #adventures in University Land #oh look an update