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RECCED WITH EXTREME PREJUDICE
Weep, Little Lion Man by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
zeitheist
Supernatural/American Gods crossover. Author says it's NC17, I say R. Gen, but it's got some decidedly unsexy sexytimes. Set sometime before 5x16.
Castiel looks for God, and finds Gods.
OMG. It's like Angels We Have Heard with MOAR PANTHEONS and an extra 30,000 words. Did you know stories about Castiel's God search are my FAVORITE? This is what I wish 'Hammer of the Gods' tried harder to be. I have hearts in my eyes. Raindrops on roses, guys. MOTHERFUCKING WHISKERS ON SOME GODDAMN KITTENS.
...aaaaand somewhere along the way, this rec turned into a teal deer on immigrant identities and narratives.
Fandom projects a lot of narratives on Castiel, and one of the narratives I would love to see projected more is that of Castiel as an immigrant, an exile, expatriate. You probably know of Lola's vid with the Lhasa de Sala song that is about just that. The first lines hit the nail on the head: "i live in this country now / i'm called by this name / i speak this language". Despite the proximity and immediacy implied by the word 'this', it is still Other to the narrator. It is not MY country, it is not MY name.
So we got the two nations in Castiel: Heaven and earth, angels and humans. Sure, angels and humans aren't even the same species, but considering how often we essentialize cultural identity and take a reductionist view of the nation (whether we mean to or not), it is an apt metaphor. All the times I was ever told, "This is not the Indonesian way of doing things", like that means to me what they want it to mean. All the times I was put in the theoretically false but emotionally true position of having to choose between two worlds. Sure, identity is fluid, it can be anything, but it is not created in a vacuum. For those of you who can shrug off one identity for another as easily as changing jackets, you must be one lucky duck (or a cursed one). Also, if it really is that easy, then you're probably wearing the same jacket, just a different color. And that's fine! It really is. Just don't try to tell me that your jacket is a vest.
...ANYWAY. This fic gets into all those heartbreaking dichotomies. The immigrant songs in this fic are the songs of thousands. It's all in the conjunction. Take Gabe for example, as the fic does, and look at the difference in these sentences: 1) I am an angel, AND I am a trickster. 2) I am an angel, BUT I am a trickster. 3) I am an angel, OR I am a trickster. (I don't usually have strong feelings about Gabriel one way or another, but this fic had me going ";___; GAAAAABE <333" like so hard omg.) And what is YOUR conjunction? Each results in (or stems from?) very different worldviews.
One wants to think, "Why should we need these conjunctions at all?" I think this is the crux of what a lot of transcultural kids struggle with: to be defined not as the disparate parts of something else, but as an encompassing whole. It's fucking difficult, transcultural or not. We cling to adjectives and modifiers. The more words that it takes to describe you, the farther away you are from home. Names are unimportant, but they are meaningful. Gabriel is at ease containing multitudes. Castiel is terrified of it. Both experiences are suuuuuuch typical immigrant narratives, I cannot even.
WARNING THE REST OF THIS POST CONTAINS 5x22 SPOILERS are we still warning for that?
WWWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAARRRRRNNNNNIIIIIIINNNNNNNNGGGGGGG
This is part of why I didn't want the reset of Cas becoming an angel and going back to heaven. The story of the immigrant is not one of restoration; it is one of discovery and loss. There are no quick fixes, and you can never go home again, at least not as it appears in your romanticized memories. I want the story of the exile, who sees everything through the filter of absence, but then learns (or doesn't?) to put one foot in front of the other again. You are ever the two-headed Janus, simultaneously looking forward and back. Maybe you will never lose your accent, but you can still sing. Maybe you will forget what 'blue' or 'mouth' is in your old language, but you will remember it suddenly six months later, waiting for the kettle to boil in the middle of the night.
Maybe I speak too soon though. It's always important to go back to where you come from, to reassess. It's just... You don't have to go home to be happy, to be whole. You don't have to be happy or whole all the time. And home, what is home? I just want the recognition that peace and loss are not mutually exclusive things.
[originally posted at http://whynot.dreamwidth.org/24108.html |
comments]
zeitheistSupernatural/American Gods crossover. Author says it's NC17, I say R. Gen, but it's got some decidedly unsexy sexytimes. Set sometime before 5x16.
Castiel looks for God, and finds Gods.
OMG. It's like Angels We Have Heard with MOAR PANTHEONS and an extra 30,000 words. Did you know stories about Castiel's God search are my FAVORITE? This is what I wish 'Hammer of the Gods' tried harder to be. I have hearts in my eyes. Raindrops on roses, guys. MOTHERFUCKING WHISKERS ON SOME GODDAMN KITTENS.
...aaaaand somewhere along the way, this rec turned into a teal deer on immigrant identities and narratives.
Fandom projects a lot of narratives on Castiel, and one of the narratives I would love to see projected more is that of Castiel as an immigrant, an exile, expatriate. You probably know of Lola's vid with the Lhasa de Sala song that is about just that. The first lines hit the nail on the head: "i live in this country now / i'm called by this name / i speak this language". Despite the proximity and immediacy implied by the word 'this', it is still Other to the narrator. It is not MY country, it is not MY name.
So we got the two nations in Castiel: Heaven and earth, angels and humans. Sure, angels and humans aren't even the same species, but considering how often we essentialize cultural identity and take a reductionist view of the nation (whether we mean to or not), it is an apt metaphor. All the times I was ever told, "This is not the Indonesian way of doing things", like that means to me what they want it to mean. All the times I was put in the theoretically false but emotionally true position of having to choose between two worlds. Sure, identity is fluid, it can be anything, but it is not created in a vacuum. For those of you who can shrug off one identity for another as easily as changing jackets, you must be one lucky duck (or a cursed one). Also, if it really is that easy, then you're probably wearing the same jacket, just a different color. And that's fine! It really is. Just don't try to tell me that your jacket is a vest.
...ANYWAY. This fic gets into all those heartbreaking dichotomies. The immigrant songs in this fic are the songs of thousands. It's all in the conjunction. Take Gabe for example, as the fic does, and look at the difference in these sentences: 1) I am an angel, AND I am a trickster. 2) I am an angel, BUT I am a trickster. 3) I am an angel, OR I am a trickster. (I don't usually have strong feelings about Gabriel one way or another, but this fic had me going ";___; GAAAAABE <333" like so hard omg.) And what is YOUR conjunction? Each results in (or stems from?) very different worldviews.
One wants to think, "Why should we need these conjunctions at all?" I think this is the crux of what a lot of transcultural kids struggle with: to be defined not as the disparate parts of something else, but as an encompassing whole. It's fucking difficult, transcultural or not. We cling to adjectives and modifiers. The more words that it takes to describe you, the farther away you are from home. Names are unimportant, but they are meaningful. Gabriel is at ease containing multitudes. Castiel is terrified of it. Both experiences are suuuuuuch typical immigrant narratives, I cannot even.
WARNING THE REST OF THIS POST CONTAINS 5x22 SPOILERS are we still warning for that?
WWWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAARRRRRNNNNNIIIIIIINNNNNNNNGGGGGGG
This is part of why I didn't want the reset of Cas becoming an angel and going back to heaven. The story of the immigrant is not one of restoration; it is one of discovery and loss. There are no quick fixes, and you can never go home again, at least not as it appears in your romanticized memories. I want the story of the exile, who sees everything through the filter of absence, but then learns (or doesn't?) to put one foot in front of the other again. You are ever the two-headed Janus, simultaneously looking forward and back. Maybe you will never lose your accent, but you can still sing. Maybe you will forget what 'blue' or 'mouth' is in your old language, but you will remember it suddenly six months later, waiting for the kettle to boil in the middle of the night.
Maybe I speak too soon though. It's always important to go back to where you come from, to reassess. It's just... You don't have to go home to be happy, to be whole. You don't have to be happy or whole all the time. And home, what is home? I just want the recognition that peace and loss are not mutually exclusive things.
[originally posted at http://whynot.dreamwidth.org/24108.html |
PREPARE FOR OVERSHARE
A note, though, on You don't have to go home to be happy, to be whole and the rest. I'd venture, I'm hoping, that isn't where Castiel's story is going. That it will not at all be an easy or welcoming or fulfilling homecoming.
And now here is the overshare from this transcultural kid. Briefly: my mother & siblings immigrated to the US as adults, my dad's from an old Mississippi family. So, I was born in the States, and we all started moving around and being expats when I was around age 8. When I was about 17, we came back and I finished high school in the US, went to college (mainly) in the US, still live there now. No part of being in the US is comfortable for me. I'm not quite an immigrant, I suppose I can't be an ex-pat if I'm in my passport-holding country, and yet. It's weird. I'm weird. It feels weird. It's not home.
All of this is to say, no, you can't go home. You change, home changes, you learn how to work with it. That's my hope for Cas, going forward. Finding a way to be okay with being neither here nor there.
...I think I just said I want Cas to be sad. I DO NOT MEAN IT LIKE THAT. I want him to find the power in it, you know? I want him to look both heaven and earth straight in the eyes and not flinch at whatever part of himself he sees reflected.
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I want him to look both heaven and earth straight in the eyes and not flinch at whatever part of himself he sees reflected.
THIS. Exactly. The ability to call a spade a spade and stop trying to figure out whether this limbo is a blessing or a curse. I don't know where I would call 'home'. Where my immediately family is? Or what my passport says? Both feel like oversimplification. It's not a specific enough question. Flying back and forth across the Pacific for summers and Christmas, I used to joke that no matter which direction I'm flying, I'm always going home. It wasn't really a joke. The homes thing is kind of like the names thing. Through roundabout circumstances, I have more than my fair share of both, and consequentially am not overly attached to any one above others, except for practical uses like "this name is easiest to pronounce" and "this home would enable free shipping". I hate questions on official forms that are like, "Are you a resident of ___?" Do they mean am I staying here long-term, or where do I pay taxes? Questions like, "What is your mother tongue?" Do they mean what is the first language I ever learned, or what is the language I know best?
It's like, identity is not an end result. You break it for parts and use them as tools.
these are the only thoughts i can muster with my caffeine-starved brain
2) "this home would enable free shipping" - I have made so many decisions based on this. This, and "I will get less hassle going through immigration using this home's passport."
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"Abandon" and "The Lady and the Monk" on the other hand are fiction. The latter is a deft and nuanced explication of cross-cultural romance. The former is about Castiel:
"All religious verse speaks to us in a language we can understand. To those with the eyes and ears the poems are a kind of holy come-on; to those without, they appear as love songs, emblems of profanity."
"You do not come to the Sufi way through your mind. The mind is a knife, useful only for cutting apart. You do not come to our path through your heart. The heart is a shield, for defending yourself against truth. You come to it through grief. Through the shock that breaks you open. In your tradition, you speak of loving the one who is the source of all your joy. In ours, we speak of loving the one who is the cause of all our sorrow. Our word for this is bala. Bala in our language means 'affliction'. Bala also means 'yes'."
Actually it's just about some sad guy and a sad girl falling in and out of love, but the numerous excerpts from the sad guy's thesis, articles, and academic presentations about Sufism are TO DIE FOR. To diiiiiieeee for, omg.