Confessions of a Thranduil Fan

Confession 1: When I read The Lord of the Rings for the first time, I did so without reading The Hobbit. As a result, I had no idea of Bilbo’s journeys, no clue who the hell Gollum was, or get any of the allusions the characters made (especially in The Fellowship of the Ring) to the adventures chronicled in that book. Nonetheless, I enjoyed my first brush with Tolkien immensely, and closed the covers quite satisfied with my foray into Middle Earth.

Didn't get half of that, but i liked it!

Didn’t get half of that, but I liked it!

Confession 2: That first journey into Middle Earth was not entirely without some annoyances. The number of songs in the book threw me off a bit. I didn’t understand why these people, who were supposedly going off on a dangerous quest, spent their energy singing ridiculous songs about leaving home or, even worse, sometimes singing in another language. The Elves particularly irritated me in this regard.

Confession 3: Being someone brought up on tales of tiny elves, like those that helped the shoemaker, I was meandering through LOTR picturing tiny people whenever ‘elven’ characters showed up. This may account for my confusion when presented with descriptions of Legolas the Elf ‘standing tall above’ Frodo and shooting down a Nazgul, or even trying to figure out how on Middle Earth Arwen could be seen as a likely candidate for the hand of the human, Aragorn. I confess that this might have made them look more irritating to me.

Seriously, do you ever stop singing?

Seriously, do you ever stop singing?

Confession 4: This sort of fits into the earlier point, but it stands out so clearly in my literary memory that I just had to allow it its own space. Remember that part where they’re all struggling up Caradhras in Fellowship, getting snowed under by a terrible storm, and Legolas is the only one jumping around and making sly digs at their unfortunate inability to walk on snow? And then he runs off to ‘fetch the sun’? I thought he was such a b*tch. If I were in the Fellowship, drowning like the hobbits in all that snow, or toiling under the weight of packs and weaponry like the others, I would have hated him so much right then, rubbing his privilege in my face.

Plus, he was a total know-it-all sometimes.

Plus, he was a total know-it-all sometimes.

The point of all these confessions is to set the stage for this, the ultimate one: When I read The Lord of the Rings I had a very definite image and impression of the Elves. They were weird, not very likeable people, and I thought they tended to lord it over the others with their unfair advantages. Obviously perceptions changed as I read on, and once I had seen the movie adaptations. I became an ardent Elf-fan–possibly spurred on, like most girls my age and older by Orlando Bloom’s undeniable gorgeousness. I learned Sindarin and attempted Tengwar, and The Silmarillion became, and remains, my favourite Tolkien book.

But the impression lingered, only fostered by the The Silmarillion. I thought the movies were not entirely true to text in their presentation of the Elves. All of them were depicted as beautiful, gracious, skilled in some particular way. But none of them reeked of the raw danger and slight unhinged-ness that was my overriding impression of them. Come on, are you really telling me that immortal beings with a crazy past have no sort of otherworldly neuroses that make them seem downright weird to those less in tune with the music of the spheres?

Enter Thranduil

I'm so fancy.

I’m so fancy.

And so I was pleasantly surprised by Lee Pace’s Thranduil. I thought that, unlike all the other Elves, he came loaded with a sense of dark charisma. With a sense of history, of the woes of Middle Earth that the Elves, especially the older Sindarin and High Elves, have been witness to.

The Silmarillion is a history mainly of the Feanorian and High Elves, but it does make brief allusions to the Sindar. Before the Noldor returned to Middle Earth, the Sindar dealt with the ‘darkness’ of Morgoth all on their own, in the days before ‘days’, before the moon and the sun were set in their place in the sky. They have always had to fend for themselves, never had the Valar to shelter behind. As a result, they have a certain defiance and pride that is missing in the Noldorin, or manifested differently. They are known to be more secretive, less trusting of outsiders, especially non-Elven folk, and act first and ask questions later. Certainly, that’s what happens many times in The Silmarillion, with characters like Eol and even Thingol being great examples. Defend your boundaries before you help others—that is their logic.

Thranduil perfectly personifies this brand of Elf in The Hobbit movies. He is twisted by his time in Middle Earth, has learned a lot by living through the early wars of Beleriand, and is probably one of the few remaining Elves who can remember an Age before men. He even mentions having faced ‘the great serpents of the North’, no doubt a reference to the wars around Angband—Morgoth’s northern fortress, where he unleashed his dragons.thranduil snow

Thranduil, more than any of the other Elves, came layered with history and a sense of remotenesss from the present. Galadriel too has lived through a lot, and played a great role in the shaping of Elven history, but somehow, this wasn’t communicated to me over the course of the movie. But a few minutes with Thranduil acting weird and unpredictable and I was convinced that this was someone who had dealt with more sh*t than Thorin could ever imagine. ‘Do not talk to me of dragon fire!’ indeed.

And the weirdness, the flouncy hand gestures and rather ‘androgynous’ behaviour that he displays: perfect. The Elves are not human. They are a completely different species. They don’t subscribe to the codes of behaviour and ‘manliness’ that we do. Just look at the fact that it’s completely normal for them, in the movie-verse at least, to have a female head of the Palace guard. Besides, all these weird gestures and eye-rolling and utter disgust he displays for the lowly, dwarven folk just fits in with the image I had of the Elves as, sometimes, being downright annoying and rubbing their superiority (both physical and ‘cultural’) in others’ faces. Hence the whole ‘A hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an Elf. I can wait.’

hehe gif

Thranduil freaked me out; he came with a sense of raw power and charisma that only Galadriel overtly displays. Thranduil thrilled me because he was undeniably beautiful, but in a way that was remote, unreachable, utterly inhuman. He was deadly, he was devoid, seemingly, of emotion and compassion, reacting to protect his own before extending his arm to shield others, and overall, layered with an aura of loss and history that, I think, Tolkien describes best after all. The following lines were used by him to describe Frodo’s impression of the Lady of Lothlorien, but I think they work as well for Lee Pace’s Thranduil:

‘Already she seemed to him, as by men of later days Elves still at times are seen: present and yet remote, a living vision of that which has already been left far behind by the flowing streams of Time.’

with retinue

Advertisements

Sirius Black and the Dangers of Loyalty

Great plans in fantasy literature have a tendency to go wrong. This is not really through any fault of the heroes’—to give them their due credit, they slog on even when things go really, steeply downhill. Great plans go wrong in fantasy because, well, that’s how things often turn out (or don’t) in real life, and say what you will, a lot of fantasy’s power as a genre comes from its ability to spin out amazingly ‘real’ and true-sounding stories in universes and settings nothing like our own.

But in fantasy, people, or events tend to show up and, sometimes, make the bad things go away, or salvage the situation before it is completely beyond repair. If done convincingly, this looks nothing like a deus-ex-machina, and instead segues smoothly into the narrative. Rowling is a master of this, and the character who perhaps best depicts this ability to just show up when needed is Sirius Black.

azkabanThe plotting of any novel requires precision, and I don’t think anything exemplifies this better than Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. In my review of the book for Fantasy Book Critic, I stated that what really impressed me about this novel was the sheer intricacy of its plotting—how each character, each event and seeming coincidence had a function to play in the larger scheme. To me this is still the most tightly plotted of the Potter books, and a real treasure of the mystery genre. Given that Sirius found his way onto the stage proper in this book, it seems fitting that it be the most well constructed and (pun not intended) well-‘timed’ of its fellows.

In an earlier post, I had celebrated Sirius’s unparalleled ability to love, and how I believe his unwavering, unconditional loyalty really defines his character. In that same post, I alluded to how his ability to just show up when needed, with no questions asked, is one of the greatest markers of said love for Harry. Sirius’s drive to drop all and be there for his godson is, to a large extent, simply a function of who he is—he is a dog, loyal, unquestioning, bound by feelings deeper than most around him would understand to someone he barely really knows. I think, however, that this tendency in him was probably exacerbated by ‘mistakes’ made early on in life, including that most crucial one of all: the decision to trust Peter over Remus in the first war against Voldemort.

Enough and more fan fiction has been written speculating on why Sirius chose to trust Sirius-sirius-black-7016619-937-1024Peter. The most compelling reading, for me at least, is that Sirius, always so hopped up on his own beliefs and loyalties, would never have considered for a second that the same didn’t apply to one of those he had chosen to protect, unless he had, at some point in his life, betrayed that other person. Sirius’s childhood, whatever little we know of it, seems far from a warm and nourishing experience. When Sirius turned his back on his family, he appears to have done it without any intention of ever going back, asking forgiveness, or even giving them a chance to change and come around to understanding his point of view. In the case of the Blacks this was probably a judicious decision, given how most of them turned out, but it also cut out any prospect of reconciling with those who did—such as Regulus.

Given this, I think there are two character traits that, if taken together, could explain Sirius’s lack of trust in Remus and resulting decision to turn to Peter:

(i) Sirius values loyalty above all else, and seems to believe, to a great extent, that others should do the same. ‘Then you should have died,’ he tells Peter in the Shack, ‘died rather than betrayed your friends, as we would have done for you.’ There is no other option for a ‘true friend’, in his mind. The only reason anyone might not remain incredibly, steadfastly loyal to someone they ‘should’ stick with is if they have been badly treated by those same people, as he was by his family. The infamous ‘prank’ involving Snape and the exposure of Remus’s secret could, in all fairness, constitute such a betrayal of trust and friendship, and thereby expose Sirius and his pack to the same sort of betrayal from Remus’s side.

(ii) Sirius does not have great faith in people’s ability to change. This could be put down to the fact that he is the only adult character to have been actively disallowed from ‘growing up’, instead being frozen into an emotional mess at the age of 21-22. Sirius does not have the same sort of maturity and mellowness that most of the other adult characters (with the exception of Snape) seem to possess. It’s ironic that the two characters who seem to snape siriusdetest each other the most are actually in many ways the most similar—fiercely loyal to those they have sworn to protect and/or love and unable, very often, to contain their interactions and emotions in a mature fashion. They just have different ways of expressing that chosen loyalty. I also think this lack of ability to believe in change is a result of Sirius’s own unwavering nature. He perceives any sort of shift in his preconceived notions of how a person should be as some sort of betrayal—such as when Harry decides that the ‘fun’ of Sirius coming up to Hogwarts in Order of Phoenix is not worth the risk. At this point, Sirius coolly tells him that he is ‘less like James than [he] thought’, and its evident to Harry that he is, for the first time ever, upset with him. Peter, who had never been betrayed (as far as Sirius could tell), and had always remained faithful, could not possibly change—at least until he went and proved Sirius dramatically wrong.

Rowling gives her characters amazing strengths—but she also does a very clever thing wherein she makes these strengths function as their weaknesses as well. Dumbledore’s cleverness and skill and consequent pride proved his youthful undoing; Harry’s selfless ability to throw all aside and play the hero leads to the death of his godfather, Sirius’s stubborn and unwavering nature played a decisive role in the tragedy that marked his, and his godson’s, life. Loyalty has a price, and one slip exacts demands from Sirius, drives him to push himself ever more to be there for his godson.

But hey, if it weren’t for that slip, we might not have had a series at all.

Slashing the Text

I finished a long, wonderfully well written Harry/Draco fic last night, and caught myself wondering why, in the mad bad world of HP fanfiction, with its multitude of pairings, I read mostly slash.

And not just any slash. My favourite, as mentioned before, is Remus/Sirius slash. I have read the hell out of this pairing, and despaired for a time, thinking that I had read it ALL, but luckily the internet reminded me that it is a bottomless pit of time-wasting-but-super-entertaining literature, and threw a couple of gems my way. These have been bookmarked and categorized for a later time.

Apart from Sirius/Remus, I read Harry/Draco. I suppose this is because a) there is so much out there for this pairing, and again, you are unlikely to ever feel the crunch and lack of fics; b) one of my favourite fan fic SERIES, the Sacrifices Arc, revolves around this pairing and c) because it can be done so beautifully, requiring barely a flex of imaginative muscle for you to buy the premise, the mid-bits and indeed, the (usually) heart warming and knee-weakening conclusion.

When I read about Sirius’ confusion over his unanticipated feelings for Remus, about Draco’s nervous tingles when Harry’s fingers brush his arm, the lack of coordination and comprehension that haunts the characters as they fumble their way through the story, I’m not so much titillated as I am reminded of what it felt like to be a teenager and in love for the first time. I can recall the heady feelings that accompanied the eternal questions: ‘does he like me?’ ‘how will I know?’ ‘do I tell him?’ ‘am I too obvious?’. Yes, the non-slash romance fics also ask these questions, but given the social situation of most slash fics, the trepidation and anxiety is much more pressing.

Image

While the world around us ensures that coming out as homosexual is a much more fraught and (apparently) political act than to declare heterosexual desire, I cannot, with a clean conscience, stand up and say that yes, I understand the anxiety of these boys in fan-written literature, that I know what it is they feel and struggle with when they admit to desire for their male friends. I do not know, I cannot and possibly never will be in that situation, but I can sympathize as best I might. I am of the firm opinion that first ‘love’, or crush or whatever you want to call it is the same, or should be the same, no matter who the object of that desire is. In an ideal world, that would be the case.

Slash fics, often enough, create that ideal world. In the ‘Sacrifices Arc’ for instance, there are a multitude of gay pairings (both male and female), homosexuality being an accepted and institutionalized aspect of wizarding society. From what I’ve read (admittedly limited, given the ocean out there), Harry/Draco fics seem to have a more permissive feel to them than the Remus/Sirius ones, often because, I would assume, Harry and Draco have so much more than social homophobia to deal with. Adding this to the  mix would just be cruel, don’t you think?

Aw. Bookworm Harry is so endearing.

Aw. Bookworm Harry is so endearing.

 

But in Sirius/Remus fics, I see a lot more of the ‘real world’. Given that the two are already friends  (if the writers are following canon, however loosely), how does one introduce drama and tension into their (new) relationship? It often comes in the form of disapproval, of disowning (for Sirius), of a new layer of insecurity and self-hatred (for Remus). This delays the utterance of feelings, leading to more mind-games, more doubt and finally, more emotion for a truly spectacular catharsis at the close. Trust me, it can be done spectacularly. Reference the Shoebox Project if you have any doubts on that score.

I read slash fiction because it is eternally new, celebrating aspects of relationship and romance that transcend sexual orientation and pooh-poohing all those who call homosexuality ‘unnatural’. I read it because it is, quite simply, hot.  I read it because there are amazing writers out there who have seen fit to celebrate friendships that, in the book, formed naught more than a background to a larger battle. There is a definite statement in the creation of this fiction, yes, reminding authors that the commercial profits of their creations are theirs alone, but the world they created is the fans’ to rove in and plunder. Given the current fraught condition of that word–‘homosexuality’–the reading of it into a mass-market children’s series is certainly a political act. It’s a reminder that there’s nothing unwholesome about these relationships, that they can exist (we insist sometimes, quite vociferously that they exist) in a magical, ‘child-friendly’ world.

 

 

 

 

 

Don’t call me Nymphadora!

First off, apologies for the delay and the silence and the lack of updates on awesome female fantasy characters. Travel and work have prevented me from hacking away at my laptop in the cause of literary immortality. Alas, I can only hope to make up for lost time with an extended celebration (spilling past Women’s Day), but since I doubt the virtual world will really mind it, no worries!

Today I take up the cause of a character I believe was let down by her creator. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE the Harry Potter series (as anyone who has glanced cursorily through this blog would know), but that same love does not blind me to its (perceived) faults. One of those, I think, is the use or misuse of Nymphadora Tonks, the young Auror who trips her way into the series in my favourite book, The Order of the Phoenix.

Image

Nymphadora^, or Tonks as she prefers to be called, is not your everyday girl next door, though she could possibly look like one when needed. Not only is her job an action-heavy, dangerous one that is notoriously difficult to qualify for, but her Metamorphmagus abilities also make her a great asset for the ‘Light’ side*. Besides all this, she also has an interesting family background. Her mother, Andromeda Tonks nee Black, is the sister of Bellatrix Lestrange and Narcissa Malfoy, the former being a leading Death Eater and Voldemort’s ‘lieutenant’, the latter the wife of one of the (arguably) most attractive and valued Death Eaters and mother of fanon’s darling, Draco. Andromeda, we are told, broke with tradition (much like Sirius would do after her), and married a Muggleborn, Ted Tonks. Tonks is the product of a ‘blood traitor’s’ attraction to a ‘Mudblood’.

Tonks represents, in a manner, the beauty and potential of a society united, and not divided along lines drawn by blood and upbringing. She is similar, in this manner, to Harry, also a child of pureblood-Muggleborn parentage and possessor of unique talents (not as unique as Tonks’s, but what the hell). Her body thus comes to signify the aspirations of the side that fights against Voldemort and his eugenics theories, and with its ever changing, ever shifting form, it highlights the many directions that this society’s future could take.

We don’t even have to delve too deeply into these ‘symbolic’ aspects to know that Tonks is awesome and atypical as a female character. She is spunky, clumsy, and not afraid to wear her hair loud (when Harry meets her, she has bubblegum pink hair in spikes). Not only this, but she seems to exude enthusiasm and energy, winking, joking and generally breathing a spirit of life into an otherwise dreary and danger-ridden Order mission. She provides the perfect counterweight to Moody’s paranoia, her humour lightening the atmosphere and reminding us that yes, we are in a universe where the hero will eventually save the day.

Given her unconventionality (nowhere does Tonks come across as a damsel in distress), it is really a pity that Rowling, for all practical purposes, dropped the ball on this one. I fail to understand WHY she had to make Tonks a lovelorn, power-losing weakling in ‘The Half Blood Prince’. Surely we didn’t need another love story in a book that was already bursting at the seams with unfulfilled teenage lust and hormones? As far I can tell, the Remus Lupin- Nymphadora Tonks pairing did little but produce a child with inherited Metamorphmagus abilities (and this after we had been told how very rare those abilities are).

If there is one thing J K Rowling has taught me through Tonks, it is what NOT to do with a promising character. There doesn’t seem to be much point in creating what appears to be a wonderful and unique character, consciously breaking stereotypes, and then forcing her back into those stereotypes in order to make one male character (not) very happy for the duration of half a book. If the Lupin-Tonks pairing had been written better, if it had been made clear that it was a relationship of equals rather than the whining of one character and the hardpressed do-gooder-ness of the other, I might have less trouble buying it. Unfortunately, I have to turn to fanfiction to provide me versions of Tonks that I can admire (post and pre OoTP), such as the wonderful version of her created by SnorkackCatcher in ‘Nymphadora Tonks and the Liquor of Jacmel’. 

Read it, I promise you won’t be disappointed.

Seriously, it’s at moments and with characters like this that I’m exceedingly grateful for fanfiction. Tonks might have been let down in canon, but in fanon, she battles, transforms and shines on, destroying stereotypes and teaching girls that they can be just whoever they want to be.

*The ‘side’ that Harry is part of, that fights against the Death Eaters, is never specifically hailed as the ‘Light’, but this seems to be an accepted term in fanon. Hence my use of it here.

^It’s really no wonder that this woman dislikes her first name, as nymphs in Greek mythology are ‘minor deities which appear in the form of young, pretty girls’. We have her asserting right away that she is NOT to be confused with one of those delicate seeming creatures.

Kicking off the lead up to Women’s Day, fantasy style

So in a grand comeback gesture, I’ve decided to post every day (a bit ambitious, I know, and there are going to be hurdles, like travel and friends in the way) about a different female fantasy character who I see as being a ‘worthy’ model for a modern woman. There I go, stepping into dangerous territory, by dragging in categories worth debating like ‘modern’, ‘woman’and ‘worthy’. There’s no way to de-politicize this however, and I’ve sort of made my peace with that (I think). Besides, why SHOULD I de-politicize and de-radicalize my stance in a world where EVERY THIRD woman is raped and/or sexually abused, and most are subjected, no matter what their race, caste, colour or class background, to verbal and physical sexual harrassment nearly every day of their lives. Yes, living in a city like Delhi in India has served to make this disgusting reality much more immediate than it has been for the past 20 years of my life, and yes, the recent incidents have served to underline the horror and sheer banality of these happenings, but here, in my blog, I want to remind myself of WHAT reading fantasy literature has taught me, how its women have shone as beacons in what often seems a lightless world, and given me the courage to not despair and just give up on humanity.

Though sometimes it seems so, so tempting.

Anyway to turn from darker thoughts. Let me start with my oldest fantasy love, the Ur-text of my musings and writerly daydreams, The Lord of the Rings. Here, I shall shamelessly plagiarize from one of my own old essays, and wax poetic on the Lady of Light herself, Galadriel of Lothlorien.

Fitting, really, given that she is the oldest on my list by, oh, millenia.

 ‘The Lady of Lothlorien’, Galadriel is presented to the reader as ‘no less tall than [her husband]…grave and beautiful.’ She is ‘clad wholly in white…[with] hair of deep gold.’ She bears ‘no sign of age’ (being, in fact, immortal) but for the ‘depths of [her] eyes, for these were as keen as lances in the starlight, and yet profound, the wells of deep memory.’

 

In the creation of this character, Tolkien drew upon sources both literary and religious in nature. Galadriel embodies the ‘missing mother figure’ that is a common icon in many fairy tales. She provides guidance and hospitality to the Fellowship: feeding, clothing and lading them with gifts before sending them on their way. She is, in this way, reminiscent of the Biblical figure said to be her source: the Virgin Mary.

 

 The parallels between the two are obvious when TLOTR is compared to a late nineteenth-early twentieth century ballad by Chesterton: ‘The Ballad of the White Horse’. The hero in this poem is called Alfred, a dispossessed king on a quest to win back his rightful kingdom from the usurping Danes. Chesterton’s poem begins with Alfred’s vision of the Virgin, who counsels him to fight on against the Danes, but refuses to ‘read the future’ for him:

 

 

But if he fail or if he win

To no good man is told…

 

I tell you naught for your comfort

Yea, naught for your desire

Save that the sky grows darker yet

And the sea rises higher.

 Galadriel’s Mirror, which Frodo looks into during his stay in Lothlorien, shows the viewer many images, but there is no knowing whether they are set in the past, the present, or the future. When Frodo asks whether she advises him to look into it, Galadriel responds:

 ‘I do not counsel you one way or the other. I am not a counselor. You may learn something, and whether what you see be fair or evil, that may be profitable, and yet it may not. Seeing is both good and perilous. Yet I think, Frodo, that you have courage and wisdom enough for the venture, or I would not have brought you here. Do as you will!’

 Galadriel urges the Fellowship to continue on their Quest, but refuses to ‘read the future’ for them. Like the conventional mother figure, she offers a refuge for the weary travelers, and is a provider of miraculous gifts and articles that will help them overcome obstacles and achieve their aim. Even the Ring she wears- Nenya- is the Ring of preservation with the power to save and nurture- gifts traditionally ascribed to the mother.

 The Elven Queen also bears traces of another Biblical figure by the name of Mary, but this one is a far cry from the Virgin Mother. Mary Magdalene, the fallen woman who is redeemed by Christ, is also a source for Galadriel. Like Magdalene, she too once sinned. She rebels against the Valar (the great spirits who created the world) and leaves their kingdom (Valinor) to come to Middle Earth and ‘be free’. Once there, she rises to great power, becoming one of the holders of the Three Elven Rings, and Queen of her own realm, but barred from entering Valinor. Her great test comes in the form of the One Ring. When Frodo offers it to her she is momentarily tempted (or so it seems) by the desire for more power. The Hobbit sees her standing before him:

 ”…tall beyond measurement, and beautiful beyond enduring, terrible and worshipful. Then she let her hand fall , and suddenly she laughed again and lo! She was shrunken: a slender elf woman, clad in simple  white, whose gentle voice was soft and sad.

“I pass the test,” she said, “I will diminish, and go into the West, and remain Galadriel.” ‘

By giving up her chance instead of swooping upon and seizing the One Ring when it is offered to her ‘freely’, Galadriel redeems herself and the ban on her is lifted. She is allowed to sail away to Valinor at the end of the book.

 How well does Galadriel conform to any fairy tale type? As far as being a good powerful woman goes, Galadriel defeats the general run of the group members by being quite capable of exciting admiration among men. Yet, like other good powerful fairy tale figures, she is detached from the action in a sense, appearing only to aid the Fellowship, then slipping back into the green shadows of her land. Frodo sees her as ‘present and yet remote; a living vision of that which has already been left far behind by the flowing streams of Time.’ Samwise Gamgee attempts to capture the Lady of Lorien with words:

“Beautiful she is…! Lovely! Sometimes like a great tree in flower, sometimes like a white daffadowndilly, small and slender like. Hard as di’monds, soft as moonlight. Warm as sunlight, cold as frost in the stars. Proud and far off as a snow mountain, and as merry as any lass I ever saw with daisies in her hair in springtime. But that’s a lot o’ nonsense, and all wide of my mark.”

 Galadriel seems to defeat all definition, instead remaining a curious blend of conflicting qualities- both nurturer and redeemed, immediate and remote, gentle and imperious. Rigidly delineated categories seem to stutter and fall before her- all rendered a ‘lot o’ nonsense’ and ‘wide’ (perhaps in this case too narrow!) ‘of the mark’.

Image