Witch Trials of 1612 - Writing History Fiction

The reason why I haven't been posting a lot lately is because I have so much work on right now. I have four deadlines in the next two weeks. And boy, am I panicking. My biggest reason for stress right now is the bloody Writing History Fiction module. I have two assignments due within a week of each other; one creative piece (2500 words) and an essay on why the Tudors are so popular in literature (2000 words). All together I have about 300 words written so far...it's going slow. My lecturer is so picky, and it makes me scared to write anything because she is going to analyse every single word. I really want to get another first this year but it doesn't seem likely. Every time I get back an assignment I'm with someone who does get a first and it makes me sad.
Woe.
Anyway. No time for being sad, I'm being stressed right now! So here's what I have on my creative piece at the moment, which is about the witch trials of 1612.

Lancaster

20^th August 1612

     The wind blew violently through the trees as Isabel caught her first glimpse of the gallows. She stood as straight as her bonds would allow her. It did not matter what they said. She knew she was innocent.

*

    Fire crackled in the hearth. Warm light licked the sides of the stone walls and chased the shadows away. Isabel savoured the warmth on her legs; the weather had been particularly harsh that winter and the cold aggravated her aching bones. Even her herbal remedies had not been able to help. She relaxed onto the wooden chair as Mary fretted around her.

      ‘You know you should not be here, Isabel.’ Her voice was high with panic.

      Isabel looked over her shoulder at her goddaughter. Her slight figure and silken hair were reason for the many admirers in Wendel. But to Isabel it was the beauty of her face that made her so alluring. Dark eyes and full lips never ceased to trap men of all ages under her spell. Now, however, her brows met in the middle and her eyes darted to and from the door. She sat down in her chair, then stood, paced around the room, and then sat down again. She repeated this motion four times when Isabel finally spoke.

      ‘My dear, he won’t be back until nightfall. Cease your worry.’ Isabel rose and rested her hands on   Mary’s tense shoulders. Mary held her body rigid for a moment before letting herself to curl into her godmother’s comforting arms.

     ‘He’ll be back soon, and then it shall start once more.’ 

Batman: The Dark Knight Returns

Because I haven't posted anything in a while and because everyone loves Batman, here's my essay on The Dark Knight Rises. I could have done a parody of Batman for my Comic Books & Graphic Novels assignment but I figured I hadn't done an essay in a while, so what the heck? It got 66% which isn't too bad for an essay, let's hope my comic book creative piece is better. What I've gathered, though, is that I need to work more on my conclusions. I have another essay due in a couple of weeks and I'm going to try really hard on that one, although I'm already feeling frustrated by it and I haven't even started!

Is Batman: The Dark Knight Returns a successful novel?

With the release of the final instalment of Christopher Nolen’s Batman trilogy it is clear to see that Batman has never been so popular. It has been over 20 years since Frank Miller wrote Batman: The Dark Knight Returns and yet a highly respected animated version has recently been released. Before Miller, dark and gritty protagonists fighting in a violent world were the exception not the norm. So does this shadowy way of storytelling make the Dark Knight Returns a successful novel?

                                             

Bruce Wayne has been retired from the superhero business for ten years but with the arrival of the Mutants he dons the cape once more. Gone is the campness and humour of the sixties and instead there is a dark anti-hero in a despairing city. Batman has always been a crime fighter ever since his creation in 1939 but The Dark Knight Returns involves more extreme violence, as well as plenty of blood and gore. The Dark Knight Returns made the New York Times bestseller list, and the Times critic called it ‘jazzy, offbeat, grim, shocking, nonlinear.’[1] It also received praise in reviews from Rolling Stone and Atlantic Monthly. However, not everyone was ready to accept this new style of comic book. Bob Kane, creator of Batman, was puzzled many things in the comic, including the masculine woman Bruno who has swastikas on her breasts and buttocks; ‘I don’t understand it fully,’ he says. ‘It’s beyond my early naïve Batman drawings, I guess.’ [2] The Village Voice, a New York paper, attacked the comic saying that it was ‘neoconservative propaganda’[3] based on the fact that the Dark Knight Returns did not offer a ‘didactic left-wing perspective’[4]. Miller found these comments ‘pretty silly’[5] and states that he ‘couldn’t have done Batman and have been politically correct at the same time, because the politically correct contingent won’t allow for any character with a larger-than-life status’[6] and that ‘violence was out’[7].  This however did not stop comics of a similar art form being produced. Dave Gibbon’s Watchmen and Art Spiegelman’s Maus were two comic books, as well as The Dark Knight Returns, that would usher in the ‘modern age of mainstream comics’.[8] This genre is characterised by darker, more psychologically driven stories and by anti-hero protagonists that blur the line between hero and villain.

Miller’s use of the literary device ‘internal monologue’[9] captures Bruce’s every thought and with this the reader can understand the choices he makes. The reader understands why Bruce wants to go back to crime fighting; they know that Batman misses Dick Grayson, the original Robin; and  they know why he will never stop.  Not only that, it helps to describe what is going on in what might be otherwise unclear artwork. For example, the scene in which Batman fights the Mutant leader, this device lets the reader know what is happening specifically. ‘I make him eat some garbage. Then I help him swallow it…Then his claws dig into my back. His filed teeth like razors in my trapezius.’[10] This is especially unclear in the book, and the reader certainly would not know that Batman’s trapezius was hurt from the drawings alone. Batman is not the only character with this interior monologue; most of the main characters have them too.

The colourist, Lynn Varley, cleverly distinguishes between these many thoughts by using different colours that represent the character. Batman’s is grey, which matches Gotham’s dull and gloomy atmosphere as well as his psychological state. Robin’s is a bright yellow, conveying her optimistic innocence, a brightness that contrasts completely with Batman. Superman’s is a bright blue that pales when he is in a weakened state during the nuclear attack. The Joker’s is a toxic green, signifying his evil personality.

However, not everyone appreciated the artistic talents. Mordecai Richler, writer for the New York Times, was not enthralled by Miller’s work, saying that ‘the drawings offer a grotesquely muscle-bound Batman and Superman, not the lovable champions of old.’[11] He added that ‘the stories are convoluted, difficult to follow and crammed with far too much text.’[12] While it could be argued that there is a lot of text and many smaller panels, there are no official conventions for comic books. The Art of Comics discusses the ‘Image-Text Complex in Comics’[13] and says that there are sometimes cases in which there are no words in panels and that, although more rarely, there are instances in which the panel is not filled with any image at all.[14] Miller and Klaus Janson were in their right to use as much image and text as they wanted.

Miller uses many characters to highlight Batman’s own character. There are scores of people who think he is a villain, like the civilians of Gotham city and Police Commissioner Yindel. Not only that, Miller uses Batman’s worst enemies, Two-Face and the Joker, against him, as well as his superhero friend, Superman.

Harvey Dent and Batman have essentially the same ideal – to make Gotham a better place. Unfortunately that changed for Dent when his face was disfigured by acid. Two-Face has spent the last 12 years in Arkham Asylum but has been released with a clean bill of health and a plastic surgery repaired face. He is however still Two-Face and he terrorises Gotham city swathed in bandages. Two-Face is a representation of what Bruce Wayne could become if he lets his crime fighting obsession overwhelm him. Miller stated that ‘Two-Face is identical to Batman in that he’s controlled by savage urges…he’s very much like Batman’[15]. At the end of their struggles Batman admits that looking at Dent is like looking at a mirror; ‘I see him. I see… “I see…a reflection, Harvey. A reflection”’[16]

Miller uses Two-Face like the warm up for the main event - the Joker. He is Batman’s most prolific enemy. The same Doctor who releases Two-Face allows the Joker to be free and claims that Batman is the menace who would harass him. When the Joker appears on the David Endochrine Show he is striking a powerful pose, almost resembling Superman’s a few pages earlier. He has strong, broad shoulders, and the way the curtain is positioned around him is similar to the movement of a cape. This is not the clownish Joker of the Batman TV series. This is Batman’s serious rival. Miller says that Joker is ‘a force of chaos’[17] and that he represents the ‘chaos Batman despises, the chaos that killed his parents.’[18]  In using the Joker Miller is also appealing to the many Batman fans. It would not be a true Batman comic without him.

The Dark Knight Returns is not necessarily canonical and statements have been issued regarding the continuity: ‘BATMAN: THE DARK KNIGHT RETURNS is also NOT considered to be part of the normal continuity. It is a POSSIBLE future for Batman, and one which may or may not happen…it would be a shame to limit the Batman’s future to this one story.’[19] So while Batman and the Joker have their final showdown, it is not necessarily how the Joker truly dies. Yet it is a fitting way to end it, with the Joker laughing to his death beside an aged Batman. This refined handling of such an important death is what makes The Dark Knight successful, as readers would not be satisfied with an ‘easy’ death. As the Joker was such a notorious villain he needed a fitting death. Even after he is dead he is still able to hurt Batman as the madness the Joker causes at the fairground is blamed on Batman: ‘By attacking Gotham’s police, Batman has revealed himself as an unqualified menace…the Joker’s body found mutilated and burned…murder is added to the charges against the Batman.’[20] None the less, the Joker is not the toughest challenge. Batman still has to face Superman. This again refers back to the modern age comics and how the lines between hero and villain are blurred.

Superman and Batman are polar opposites. Superman uses Clark Kent as his secret identity, he is not from this world, has super powers and cannot die. Bruce Wayne, a billionaire playboy, uses Batman as his secret identity. He has no super powers, only gadgets and strength, and he can die. Although the biggest difference is that Superman is a well-liked and respected superhero whereas Batman is seen as a menace and vigilante. Having Superman in this comic only proves how different the two are. While Bruce Wayne has been retired, Superman is now a pawn for the US government, who have asked him to stop Batman’s violent ways. The battle between Superman and Batman at the end of the novel is a satisfying climax; Batman may have beaten his enemies but now he must face his friend. Despite the fact that Miller uses internal monologue throughout this final showdown the audience does not know what the outcome will be, Batman never gives away his plan, even to Robin. Then, it seems like Batman has been killed. Yet the reader finds out that Bruce Wayne has left Gotham to create an army that will finally ‘bring sense to a world plagued by worse than thieves and murderers’.[21] This is more rewarding for a reader than if he had just died, as they know that Batman can never truly be stopped.

The Dark Knight Returns may not have been received well by everyone at the time of its release but for die-hard fans it was a hit. Like with any beloved character some people do not like it when they are changed or reimagined. But this was a much needed change for Batman. Miller’s gritty style has outlived the fun of the sixties and the fandom has been growing ever since. The Dark Knight Returns was inspiration for both Tim Burton and Christopher Nolan’s Batman films. It has been ranked number two on IGN’s list of the 25 greatest Batman graphic novels, second only to Batman: Year One.[22] It appears that while fans of the comic are torn, it cannot be denied that Batman: The Dark Knight Returns was definitely a success.

---

[1] Bob Kane, Batman and Me (USA: Eclipse Books, 1989) p. 155

[2] Bob Kane, Batman and Me p. 155

[3] C. Carr, ‘Batman: The Dark Knight Returns’, Village Voice, June 1986

[4] The Many Lives of Batman: Critical Approaches to a Superhero and his Media, ed. by Roberta E. Pearson & William Uricchio (New York: Routledge, 1991) p. 38

[5] The Many Lives of Batman, ed. by Roberta E. Pearson & William Uricchio p. 38

[6] The Many Lives of Batman, ed. by Roberta E. Pearson & William Uricchio p. 38

[7] The Many Lives of Batman, ed. by Roberta E. Pearson & William Uricchio p. 38

[8] The Art of Comics: A Philosophical Approach ed. by Aaron Meskin and Roy T. Cook (UK: Blackwell Publishing Ltd. 2012) p.xxiv

[9] Will Brooker, Batman Unmasked: Analysing a Cultural Icon (London: Continuum, 2000) p. 267

[10] Frank Miller, Batman: The Dark Knight Returns (London: Titan Books, 1997) p. 78

[11] Mordecia Richler, ‘Paperbacks: Batman at Midlife: Or the Funnies Grow Up’, New York Times, May 03 1987. http://www.nytimes.com/1987/05/03/books/paperbacks-batman-at-midlife-or-the-funnies-grow-up.html [accessed 22 Oct. 12]

[12] Mordecia Richler, ‘Paperbacks: Batman at Midlife: Or the Funnies Grow Up’, New York Times, May 03 1987. http://www.nytimes.com/1987/05/03/books/paperbacks-batman-at-midlife-or-the-funnies-grow-up.html [accessed 22 Oct. 12]

[13] The Art of Comics ed. by Aaron Meskin and Roy T. Cook p.93

[14] The Art of Comics ed. by Aaron Meskin and Roy T. Cook p.96

[15] The Many Lives of Batman, ed. by Roberta E. Pearson & William Uricchio p. 36

[16] Frank Miller, Batman: The Dark Knight Returns p. 55

[17] The Many Lives of Batman, ed. by Roberta E. Pearson & William Uricchio p. 36

[18] The Many Lives of Batman, ed. by Roberta E. Pearson & William Uricchio p. 36

[19] The Many Lives of Batman, ed. by Roberta E. Pearson & William Uricchio p. 192

[20] Frank Miller, Batman: The Dark Knight Returns pp. 157-158

[21] Frank Miller, Batman: The Dark Knight Returns p. 199

[22] Goldstein, Hilary, ‘The 25 Greatest Batman Graphic Novels’, IGN, October 25 2011 http://uk.ign.com/articles/2011/10/25/the-25-greatest-batman-graphic-novels [accessed 23 Oct. 12]

Writing History Fiction - Little Snippets

The module I'm find least inspiring this term is Writing History Fiction. I'm not sure whether it's because the subject is boring, the set texts are boring, the lecturer is boring, or I'm just awful at history, but the whole thing is just tiresome. Right now I should be writing my creative piece as well as researching for my essay, both of which make me feel bored. I go to the lecture and just want to fall asleep (although that might have something to do with the fact that I always go out the night before). However, we have done a few interesting writing tasks during lectures. 

The first one was writing an opening sentence that would hook a reader as well as letting them know that it was a historical piece. Here was mine:

Andrew Walker knew that a decent woman would not have known how to do that. 

Surprisingly, I got a few laughs for this. It's not too historical but because I used the phrase 'decent woman' it sounds a little old fashioned.

The second task was to write a short piece that began with speech which is later on repeated. This was in relation to Wolf Hall, as that begins with Thomas Cromwell's dad beating him and saying 'So now get up.' which he says again later. It also had to be in historic present, which basically means present tense, but because it happens in the past it's historic, if that makes sense? 

'You're dead.'

Frank stumbles through the door of the Anderson shelter and falls onto the damp cot. His breath comes in short, sharp bursts, his heart is pounding in his chest. 

'If this was a real air raid, you'd be dead,' his dad tells him. 'You have to be in here in less than a minute. None of this dawdling business.'

Frank finally catches his breath and opens his mouth to reply but his dad is already walking away, making sure the shelter door is securely locked. 

He doesn't mind if his dad thinks he is a dawdler, he was slow for a reason. Opening his jacket, Frank peers in. The little kitten nestled inside stares back at him and meows weakly. 

I thought that story was quite cute. Whether it full fills the brief is another matter. It's hard to write well in the ten minutes or so they give you in lecture. 

The last task was to write a piece where someone walks in someone who is upset. These task are all pretty random, but this one was inspired by Wolf Hall yet again. There is a scene when someone walks in on Thomas Cromwell when he is all teary eyed over a book his dead daughter used to own. It would be emotional, but I really hate the book.

Gillian pushed on the kitchen door, it swung open easily. James was already sat at the table, his head lowered, narrow shoulders shaking. Gillian stepped into the room, unsure whether to let him know she was there or not. The longer she waited the more pronounced the silence grew. She padded quietly over to him and it was only once she was stood behind him did she see the tear-stained letter in his hands. Her soft gasp finally alerted James to her presence. He started and crumpled the letter in his fist. His eyes, red from crying, darted guiltily. 

'I'm sorry,' he sniffled.

Gillian cast her eyes over the table. Torn apart roughly, was the letter addressed to her. The return address made her heart stop.

She held out her hand, 'Give it to me.'

James gently unfolded the letter, smoothing it out on the table, before passing it to her with trembling hands.

'Mother...' he sobbed. Tears streamed down his cheeks and a glistening trail ran from his nose.

Gillian scanned the letter. The first line was enough to make her knees buckle. 

Mrs Stanely, we regret to inform you that your husband, Howard Stanely, has died in combat...

She couldn't read any more. She dropped the letter to the floor and collapsed into a kitchen chair. She opened her arms and welcomed James's embrace. 

They mourned in the kitchen together.

Obviously, when doing historical writing a lot of research is needed. I'm not sure what the condolence letters would have said, so for this task I just made it up. I think out of the three tasks my favourite is the second, only because it features a kitten. 

For two of these tasks I wrote about war time, as it's the only sort of history I partially know. Yet for my final creative piece I'm writing about the 1600's and witches. God knows that's going to require a tonne of research! Hopefully I will be more inspired by the time I write because I am really not feeling it at the moment and the creative piece is due in three weeks. Aaaaah!

The Tell-Tale Heart Intervention

I am working diligently on the third draft of my ECP ( go and read the Second Draft too) and I am now over 8,000 words. Which means it's technically completed.

Whoa!

But they may not be 8,000 amazing words thus the work continues. One my supervisor's criticisms was that some parts weren't developed enough. So I thought I'd post a section that I've been working on and see if you think it's developed enough. It is also a reworking of The Tell-Tale Heart, by Edgar Allan Poe, of course! I've always had an affinity with this story, I did my A-Level Art course work on it. I illustrated the whole story on one canvas, and believe me that took a while. Here are parts of it:

The Eye

The Old Man

Part of the Final Piece 

Anyway, here's the story of Greg and his granddad. Tell me what you think!

Greg and the Eye

Greg Sullivan had never liked his granddad. Although he would never admit it. Every time his mum told him that his granddad would be visiting he felt the dread settle in his stomach. His granddad wasn't like ordinary granddads. He never told funny stories, or gave him money, or even commented on how big he was getting. He would bang on the front door, demand Greg get his bags from the taxi, collapse into the red armchair, and order Greg's mum around. Even when she tried to talk to him all he would do was moan.

   ‘Put on the heating, woman. This place is freezing.’

   ‘You call that tea, more like piss.’

   ‘I suppose you’ve never heard of a duster then.’

But the complaining wasn't the worst part. The worst part was his eye. He had been blind in one eye ever since Greg could remember. No one had ever explained why he was blind and Greg never dared to ask. It was a taboo subject in their house.

So when Greg's mum said that his granddad would be staying for an entire week Greg seriously considered running away. Same as usual his granddad collapsed into the red armchair and ordered Greg's mum to get him a tea: no milk, no sugar. Greg sat on the sofa on the other side of the room watching his granddad and thinking of the blank eye; how did he get it? And why did nobody want to talk about it? His granddad sharply looked at him, as if he knew exactly what he was thinking. Greg immediately stared back at the TV.

   ‘Got something you want to say, boy?’

   ‘No, Sir,’ Greg mumbled.

His granddad grunted in reply. Greg didn’t stick around long after that, he ran upstairs to his room and shut the door with a snap. A week was definitely too long.

*

The eye plagued his mind more than usual. That night while he lay on the sofa - his granddad always got his room, another reason to hate his visits - his thoughts kept returning to the eye. White and milky, like a full moon in a cloudless sky, but as sharp as a greedy vulture stalking it’s pray. Such a gross thing. So repulsive. He should wear a patch or glasses, Greg thought. Hide it. Get rid of it. Gouge it out. Destroy it. Kill it. Greg flinched. His heart was pounding and his body was moist with sweat. Where had that come from? He shook his head and tried to think of something else, like the new computer game he had bought. But when he closed his eyes and finally drifted off it a fitful sleep he could still see the eyeball. It watched him in his dreams.

Even at school he could see it. It was the circle equation during maths, the petri dish during science, and the football during lunchtime. His mind would wander during class and when he finally snapped back to reality he found eyeballs staring at him from his notebooks. He had covered every page in drawings of eyeballs. His chemistry teacher Mr Waldman had written a note in his dangerous red pen.

See me after class. We need to talk about this

Greg had torn the page from the book and hurled it in the bin, his breathing ragged. As soon as the bell rang he legged it from class. He even ignored Mr Waldman calling after him. He knew he’d be in big trouble the next day.

That Thursday he was relieved to think that in twenty-four hours his granddad would be gone. No more staring vulture eye. But when he walked into the living room and saw his granddad sat in the same red armchair his usual sneer upon his face and the staring milky white eye, the relief vanished and anger seared through his veins. Vile eye. Grotesque eye. Have to get rid of it, Greg thought. Have to destroy it. Have to kill it. Have to kill him! Greg faltered. Kill him? Surprised at his rage, he ran upstairs to his room. He collapsed against the door and forced himself to calm down.  His breathing slowed and his pounding heart returned to normal but that voice in his head continued. Greg clamped his hands to his ears and forced it to go away. He put on his music and turned it up to the highest volume and didn’t turn it down even when his mum yelled at him.

At dinner he avoided looking at his granddad but he could still feel the eye upon him and the throbbing rage in his head grew. The voice screamed at him. Kill it. Kill it now! His hand clenched around his knife.

   ‘I’m not feeling well. May I be excused,’ he burst out. His mum most have noticed his pale, sweaty face and let him go without questioning him.

It wasn’t until he closed his bedroom door that he realised he was still holding the knife.

*

Greg hid in his room until it was time for bed, then he slunk down the stairs without a glimpse at his granddad. He tossed and turned on the sofa for hours but the feeling that he was being watched never left him. The eye, it was there. Through ceilings and walls it could see him. Disgusting eye. Revolting eye. Had to stop it staring. Had to stop it living. Had to…to kill it. He leapt from the sofa as if under a spell, mind and body focused on only one thing. He crept to the kitchen and picked the largest knife from his mum’s knife rack. It would be quick. It would be gone. It would be dead. He had to do it. Had to kill it.

Careful of the creaky ones, Greg took the stairs two at a time. The door was ajar and he was sure that the eye knew he was just outside. Hateful eye. With the knife thrust out in front of him, Greg pushed the door aside slowly and entered the room. His granddad was asleep and yet the eye was still open, Greg could see it gleaming in the darkness. He was pulled towards it. Kill it…Kill him. The voice urged him. He lifted the knife up high above his head, the sharp tip pointing directly at the offensive eyeball. Loathsome eye. Nasty eye. Kill it. Kill it now! Greg plunged the knife downwards into the socket just as his granddad's other eye popped open.