Site Post » Reviews! Round 38 · 5:55am Mar 2nd, 2014
Seattle's Angels is a group that promotes good stories with low views. You can find us here.
The blistering sun cracked the dry earth, robbing the landscape of water and forbidding the clouds from giving it any more. This desert seemed to stretch on infinitely, with nothing but weeds and the occasional cow skull laying around. But through this land cut a single, straight narrow stretch of road, and down its length the roar of an engine sounded.
A red sports car rocketed along the road at incredible speed. Its driver had his seat reclined to an absurd angle, his sunhat tipped forward so he saw nothing but the road ahead. His passenger sat hunched over the console, a map in his hands that he desperately tried to read over the wind rushing into the cabin.
“Can’t we roll the windows up?” Razgriz complained, doing his best to keep the map level. “And turn on the AC, for D’s sake!”
Burraku just put on a pair of sunglasses and kept on driving. “If you’re too hot, that’s because you don’t know how to be cool,” he said, a stalk of asparagus sticking out of his mouth like a cigar.
Razgriz groaned and turned back to his map. “I can’t figure out where we are with the wind blowing in my face. Roll up those stupid windows or we’re going to overshoot and be late—again—and I will not be taking the blame this time.”
“Taking blame is uncool,” Burraku muttered and frowned. Grudgingly, he pushed a little button on his door and the windows rolled up.
Razgriz sighed and sat back in his seat. “Thank you,” he said, flicking the map taut. After a minute’s silence he pointed to a spot on the map and said, “Alright, this says there’s a small oasis that’s supposed to be just past the thousand-view mark. Look out for anything that vaguely resembles false hopes and unfulfilled dreams.”
“Like that?” Burraku said, pointing out the windshield.
Not far ahead of their car was a depression in the ground right beside the road. A sign had sunken partway into it, leaning over the road in a desperate bid to not be forever lost to the wastes. As they neared, the sign’s words clarified.
“‘This is my first story, please be gentle,’” Razgriz read as they passed it.
“This is it,” Burraku muttered, and they continued on their way.
The road gradually became more uneven and potholes more numerous. The yellow-brown of the desert darkened with the rising sun, turning into a disturbing shade of orange and red. As they drove deeper into the heart of this arid wasteland, more and more ruined structures began to appear along the worsening landscape. A house, destroyed as its roof had caved in on itself long ago. A van, left alone to decay in abandonment. Dilapidated charcoal, all that remained of some structure that nobody would ever remember.
“We’re supposed to see some green,” Razgriz murmured. He gulped. “Somewhere.”
“We got two bags of pipe mold, seventy-five bags of pretzels, five bottles of Dr Pepper, a salt shaker half-full of salt, and a whole website full of uppers, downers, screamers, and laughers...” Burraku said. “Not that we needed all that for the trip, but once you get locked into a serious job as a reviewer, the tendency is to try and stay sane for as long as possible.”
“You’re quoting a movie,” Razgriz said. “Poorly.”
“I’m too cool to care,” Burraku said.
Razgriz was about to retort when he saw something glimmering out of the corner of his eye. He dropped the map and shot upright, staring through his side window into the desert. There, just beyond the rusted remains of a typewriter, a patch of vegetation showed through the red.
“There!” he yelled, pointing at it. “There’s some stories over there for us to review!”
“We can’t stop now,” Burraku whispered. “This is badfic country.”
“Will you stop that?” Razgriz remarked. “The desert’s flat enough for us to go off-road, you know.”
Burraku sighed. “Off-road’s cool, too. I guess,” he said, then slammed on the brakes. Tires squealed as a cloud of smoke erupted behind the car, and it sharply turned off the road towards the oasis.
ROUND 38
STORY 1
Dream, by Cascadejackal
Sometimes, dreams are all we have. Sometimes, that's enough.
Hidden deep within a maze, well away from prying eyes, there is a statue. The last great work of an artist long forgotten, her time-worn visage watches the raising and setting of the sun and the moon as though enraptured.
Who created such a marvel, this sculpture of copper and brass, of crystal and cog, and why, is unknown, lost to the mists of time.... until now.
This is the tale of a painter and a clockmaker, and the love they shared.
This is the tale of a dreamer, who knew only her dream.
Dream is a difficult sort of story to talk about. At its core, it’s a highly stylized fable centered around concepts like beauty and life and journeying and purpose. There are morals to take from it and thoughts to think about it, and the plot is little more than a vehicle for them. Its short length and the importance of the experience of reading this story mean that there’s not much to be said without risking ruining it.
Dream’s style is part of what matters most, I think. It’s mirrored at times, a duality coming into play that seems rooted in the ups and downs of what it means to dream. Repetition abounds. Everything is vague and detached from the reader—dreamlike, one might say—with emotions rising and falling but generally being skirted over as little more than plot elements. Seasons pass like seconds, the pace slowing at times but never stopping on one moment for more than a few sentences. Repetition abounds. There were few technical issues in Dream that weren’t a result of its style—which, of course, does a lot to disqualify them as issues.
If you are able to handle stories for which the point is not the plot but the experience of reading and the meaning of it all, then there isn’t much standing in the way of Dream being worthy of your time. There’s a lot to take from it for such a neat little tale. Enjoy.
A quote from Blaise Pascal reads: “I would have written a shorter letter, but I did not have the time.” In other words, this is what’s known as brevity: To get as much across in as few words as possible. This can be done by simply using fewer words instead of more (ie: I’m feeling very sad / I’m remorseful), but this can be difficult for some with less than superfluous vocabularies, and oftentimes not even consulting a thesaurus can help; doing so can even be counterproductive. Another way to do this is to simply start cutting words and leave a sentence at its most bare, where everything not quintessential is trashed. Dream takes the latter approach to brevity, and the imagery it’s able to present makes for one beautiful story.
This story has two only two chapters but they play more like two parts of a whole. Birth and then death. We’re given a married couple, and they have a dream. Then we’re given that dream, and it lives. I’m finding it difficult to say what this story’s about without spoiling because, hey, brevity!
One thing to note about this story is its theme about beauty, and what defines beauty and where it can be found. There are many different opinions about this, and most if not all of them are perfectly valid. But this story isn’t so much about what beauty is, but rather, it’s a journey about coming to realize what beauty is and experience it. This story is very simple, but the concepts behind it aren’t. Dream also takes advantage of the “death of the author” technique, which leaves its ending open wide enough for a reader to take away their own understandings, and then some.
My only real complaint with this story is that it claims to be sad, but in a way it isn’t. Don’t be fooled: There are certainly some disheartening sequences here, but they aren’t exactly tear-jerkers. If I wanted to nitpick, I’d say the story’s use of repetition can be a bit much, which is a bit ironic considering all that I said about how it’s written. But I understand the necessity of these parts. That aside, there’s a few spotty issues involving grammar and the occasional formatting error, but these are minor.
In total, this a pretty story. Anyone who likes brevity or open-endedness will enjoy this, as will anyone looking for a small, quiet adventure.
Three drifters spend the summer working for the Apples, and nopony's life is the same again.
Raise your hand if you’re read Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath.
Good for you, champ. Now lower it again, because I’m going to have to explain the similarities either way.
In case you weren’t made to read that in school, here’s a summary: It’s about a Great Depression–era family that’s forced from its home in search of the means to eke out a living. It deals with themes like futility, the perspective of second-class citizens, perseverance, survival, and et cetera. In this humble reviewer’s opinion from however many years ago, The Grapes of Wrath is also very, very dull.
Now let’s talk about Property of West Wind, a similar tale, but one that I actually loved the hell out of. This is a story about an older stallion named West Wind who’s lived most of his life homeless, and though he has a place to stay as the story opens, it doesn’t last. Much like the Joad family in Grapes, West is forced from relative comfort, having to search for some new means of survival. The Joads shot for California, and West’s promise of warm-weather work comes in the form of Sweet Apple Acres, where he sets off to alongside old friend Doc and new jerk Shorty. Once there, tensions start running high right off the bat and keep building as the story goes, the ever-present sour reality that contends with West’s increasingly optimistic impression of his future.
Something beautiful about this story is that it’s a real tragedy, a rare thing on this website. Moreover, you know vaguely what happens to West by the end of the prologue, but this tragedy is multithreaded, so there is still this incredible sense of suspense as you go. That praise would be enough to get me interested in a story were I hearing it instead of telling it, but there’s loads more that this story does right. The characterization of everyone—from the Apples to the homeless to the one-off strangers mentioned in passing—was excellent, equal parts real and true to the show. The format—alternating between diary entries from West and (mostly) third-person focused on other characters—really serves the story, giving us both West’s perspective and everyone else’s perspective of him; if I could draw a parallel to The Grapes of Wrath one last time, that convention reminded me of how Grape’s alternate chapters zoomed out from the main characters and focused instead on showing what life is like in general, which was one of the few things I really liked about that book.
So yeah, this story is like a mix of The Grapes of Wrath, The Emperor of the North, and MLP, executed wonderfully. It was at least six breaths of fresh air, and you need to go read it.
There are different ways to tell a story, though often only one—whichever it may be—is considered the most ideal, so that’s why any given story is written the the way it is. But then there’s ways to tell a story in more than one way. For example: Two different perspectives being used to tell a story as it linearly progresses without having either perspective overwrite the other. Property of West Wind is one such story, and its unique stylistic and perspective shifts offer intriguing views of its characters. But they contrast each other, and because of this, this story takes a nice view of differing ways of life, and turns it into a brilliant, brilliant tragedy.
This story follows the protagonist, West Wind, and what’s interesting is that one could say the story is hardly about him, and instead being about those he acquaints himself with. He’s a homeless pony, drifting from city to city, constantly looking for a place to stay in exchange for hard work he hardly expects to be paid for. One day, following his recent stay with a clocksmith, he’s given a journal. Half the story is the thoughts he puts into this journal, wherein he divulges on his past life, the often unforgiving present, and an optimistic future. While this part of the story is great, the complimentary other half truly makes it shine. These chapters are played out as full scenes, scenes which West Wind is hardly even a part of. Here, we learn about what others think of him, along with other interactions and opinions being made. The contrast between these two halves of the story not only highlight each other, but present the story itself in such a way that could not have easily been achieved otherwise.
And Property of West Wind is tragic. While everything is presented to us early on, we only gradually come to understand it all as the story progresses, and that just makes it hurt all the more. Each character serves their roles, even if they aren’t around for more than a single chapter. The main three (West Wind and his two companions) evolve of its course, and in the end once everything falls into place, only then do we really see how much they have all changed. That’s what struck me as being the best thing about this story—it doesn’t even try to show you its characters. It just does, and then again at the end with a slap to the face for good measure.
Now, this story does have its faults, and they’re all about its technical quality. The dialogue formatting is not the best, especially when it can leave one unsure who’s speaking—I certainly found myself having to reread parts because I thought actions were associated to characters they were not. Grammar, while good, does have issues on occasion. Syntax, notably in the dialogue when trying to pin a character’s accent, can be iffy at times. I can forgive the diary segments, but the chapters that are not are where most of these problems lie. Not to say these issues are glaring, but they can distract, and it’s nothing a thorough editing sweep can’t take care of.
This story is not for the faint of heart. It is a tragedy and it rightfully earns that story tag. But if one’s like me and really loves being punched in the emotions, then I recommend giving this a read. There’s some really great characters and interactions to boot.
STORY 3
We Apples, Three, by 8686
When Big Macintosh saves Applejack from a broken promise on the last day of harvest, she starts to worry she's been taking him for granted. Intent on fixing it, she takes him and Apple Bloom on a camping trip into Whitetail Wood, determined that they all have a good time together, as a family.
A simple story about a brother, his two sisters, and how much they mean to each other.
Seems I was on a real Apples kick this round. They lend themselves so excellently to Slices of Life, don’t they?
We Apples, Three is, in a word, charming. It follows Big Mac, Applejack, and Apple Bloom just being a family. They compete, they support one another, they reminisce, they argue, they rib one another, they learn from one another, and they love one another. There’s nothing groundbreaking here (most of the story is just a camping trip), but I don’t think “family time” has ever had to depend on originality. There are some new concepts introduced, to be sure—author 8686 has done an admirable job inventing backstory to fill the blanks in the Apples’ home life and past—but the important thing is the characterization, and We Apples, Three was far from lacking in that regard. The Apples feel plenty real, here, and each has a moment of uncertainty to overcome, thoughts and feelings crystallizing afterwards to allow them to knit more closely as a unit; that’s the real plot of the story, this re-strengthening of the bonds that hold the Apple siblings together.
As far as issues go, a lot of them have to do with a lack of necessary commas and a bit of weirdness with the placement of dialogue. The telling got a bit excessive, too—for the most part it was utilized well enough, integrated into the third-person limited perspective, but imperfections were there. Still, there were no issues I’d label as major. A solid piece.
Really, We Apples, Three is just a well-handled, definitive Slice of Life—the sort that’s hard to argue with. If you’re down with the genre, there’s no reason not to give this story a try.
I know a lot of authors in this community strive for a “show-like” quality in their writing, like what they’re writing could easily be seen as an actual episode. Regardless of whether or not this is achieved, I’ve noticed a trend. By and large, nearly all of the stories that try for this are nothing more than slices of life (considering the show itself, this makes obvious sense), and they also get the closest to the heart of this story tag. Makes me wish we could get a [Normal] tag added to the website. While not necessarily trying to be show-like in quality, We Apples, Three is a great example of a real slice of life.
The description to this story sums it up perfectly. It’s all about interaction between Applejack, Big Macintosh, and Apple Bloom. And what’s more, it’s about their completely platonic feelings for one another and their relationship as a whole. This story is all about family and these three act like one. It’s nothing short of heartwarming.
One thing I especially liked, aside from all the super amazing characters, was the backstory and new elements the author was able to establish that not are not only believable, but they feel real. In We Apples, Three we get deep into the livelihoods of the Apple family, perhaps deeper than the show itself has gone, and their keen awareness for each other is exemplary.
But I do have a complaint with this story. There are quite a few times when it shows something happening, and the reader is left being able to understand the messages behind the actions, but then the author proceeds to tell the reader these things or, what’s worse, bring up some extraneous thought that had no reason to be there other than to reinforce what was just said. The prose is a light shade of purple but it gets dark in some areas—something I personally had no problem with, but it’s worth minding.
Aside from those complaints, this is a really solid story. A really good example of a slice of life for sure. Anyone who loves that story tag should be right at home here, and if one happens to have a great likeness towards the Apple family, then this story is a must.
What does it mean to be immortal? Celestia has lived for too long. Her memories are old. She has seen many ponies, and many places, and many times, and many stars, and many dreams. She wakes one night to find she does not know the ponies and the stars of today from the ponies and the stars of any other day she has lived. She no longer knows what was real and what was only dreamed.
She desperately searches for the one pony she knows could not have been a dream.
Takes on alicorn immortality are a dime a dozen, from friends passing away to the changes society undergoes to the rifts that crop up between alicorns and normal ponies, and everything in between. It takes some really novel theorycrafting to make an alicorn story stand out nowadays, and Where Have the Stars Gone? brings up some really brilliant, nebulous what-ifs.
What if alicorns’ minds travel back and forward through timelines the way we remember our memories? What if alicorns aren’t locked into just one timeline, instead experiencing some or all of the infinite outcomes of every moment? What if alicorns don’t have minds capable of keeping all of that straight?
We wind up with something a little like this, actually.
The plot of this short piece mostly deals with Celestia running about her castle—but then not, but then again, but then not again, etc.—searching for Luna, who is her only anchor whenever she gets into the lost, temporally confused state she’s in. It begs the question of what might happen during those times—during the millenium—when Luna wasn’t there to be found. The implications of it all are beautiful.
The piece is very nicely executed, with no errors of note. It’s got a very cool style: the narrative ask piles and piles of questions as Celestia tries to cement herself in “reality”, all of them speculating potential presents or touching on Celestia and Luna’s past, each building up a picture of Celestia’s increasingly frenzied mental state. Sentences are short, staccato things—a powerful but fleeting image of the past, a quick pull of the heartstrings, an indistinct glimpse at a reality that wasn’t. No room for breathing or stopping to think. It works very, very well.
Where Have the Stars Gone? is under three thousand words, and the knife’s-edge pacing makes the story feel even shorter. You won’t lose much time at all by giving it a shot.
We often hear the saying “show don’t tell” around here, and for good reason. Stories that tell what happens instead of showing can make their text feel simpleton and unmotivated. There is certainly a story there to be had, but that threatens to be overlooked when an author spoon-feeds a reader their text. Readers shouldn’t be thought of as idiots, because if an author doesn’t trust their audience to understand what their story is about, there’s no reason for a reader to trust the author can actually present their story. However, there are certainly exceptions to this common thought. It’s not impossible to tell a good story without having it show itself, and sometimes such well-played telliness can show something that would have otherwise been overlooked. Where Have the Stars Gone? is a shining example of what can be accomplished with an excellent telling narrative.
To be completely honest, I was taken aback when I first read this story but how different it reads compared to a lot of other stories. Its sentences are very bare and simple in nature. In fact, most of them are under ten words long. Hardly any go over twenty. They are direct, punctual, and say all that they need to, like little arrows that hardly know where they’ve been and are at times unsure of where they actually point to. But once strung together, they create this one solid line of jagged thought that is absolutely beautiful. The pacing and the narrative style are all outstanding. The characters and their interactions are simply stunning. Princess Celestia in particular, being the protagonist, is amazing. We see a side of Celestia that I don’t think I’ve seen before: She’s afraid and uncertain, but not like a leader caught in a dilemma, but rather a little kid in a supermarket who’s lost and can’t find their mother. And for this personality we’re given, she’s played off masterfully.
One thing I particularly liked about this story is how it’s dark. When one thinks of the [Dark] tag, macabre things usually come to mind. Blood, death, gratuitous fight scenes, scary monsters, desolate wastelands, horror; all that fun stuff. However, there is another aspect to darkness, and that’s the borderline tragedy that comes with the grim, nightmarish implications a story presents which just break the heart. Where Have the Stars Gone? is not dark by any means, insofar as actual macabre elements. Rather, there’s a really great, unsettling atmosphere just beneath the surface that doesn’t hesitate to bubble to the top. It’s refreshing to see a story that’s frightening not because it’s horrific, but because it’s tormential*.
I usually reserve this fourth paragraph for faults I’ve found within the story. This is the first time I’ve found none. Either my editor’s psyche is deteriorating, or this story is really just that good.
For anyone who wants to see a story that tells instead of shows, and pulls it off, look no further. Likewise, if one’s a fan of Princess Celestia and wants an interesting, unique take on her, this story shou Know what? I’m just going to say that everyone should read this. I wholly recommend it.
*Turns out “tormential” is not an actual, recognized form of the word “torment”. Here’s me claiming otherwise and making it so.
Razgriz slammed the trunk of their sports car and quickly hopped back inside. “That was easier than I thought it would be!” he exclaimed. “These stories should be a fine addition to the Angels’ repository.”
“I hate to say this, but this place is getting to me,” Burraku mumbled as he revved the engine. “I think I’m getting the Fear.”
“Stop that,” Razgriz said. “I just wish we had more room in the trunk to save some more from this... this place...”
“There’s always next round.”
“Yeah, well, this could at least be easier, y’know. Finding the stories and things.”
“If your squirrely friend hadn’t sunk the space station again, we could have used our GPS,” Burraku remarked, putting the car in motion back towards the road. “But easy things are never cool.”
Razgriz sighed heavily.
Feel free to visit our group for more information and events, and to offer some recommendations for future rounds. See you all next time!
38 = 2 + 4 + 32
Nice to see "We Apples, Three" getting put in here. It really was a pleasant read.
I fuckin' loved Grapes of Wrath, even if it was boring at times.
If this story is better than that, then I may very well love West Wind.
How do you decide which stories you review? Do you just pick some fics at random or are they submitted?
Just curious
Good to see OleGrayMane finally getting the attention he deserves.
1887711
(Hides under blanket)
I hope you guys get a chance to check out the oasis for more fics, because I hear it feeds into the river of regret, and paddling down that with a canoe is always a blast. Till you loose your oar.
1887597 Thing to note is you can't submit your own story.