Review of "Gloomy Every Day"

Greetings, citizen, and welcome to yet another review. Up for criticism today is a fic that beareth the “tragedy”, “dark”, “sad”, and “slice of life” tags, featuring the pegasus Lightning Dust. Let us get right into it, shall we? Behold, dear reader—Gloomy Every Day, written by the parasprite.

I shan’t parse words—the fic’s tags leave me feeling just the slightest bit apprehensive, as tragedies and sad fics have never been a favorite of mine. From experience, I have found them to either be poorly written, in which case I grow irritated at the author's attempts to yank my feelings in a certain direction with neither tact nor subtlety, or well written, in which case I require a tub of ice cream and a long bath in order to make myself feel better. However, ‘tis important to keep an open mind, so I shall strive to do just that.

In regards to the long description, ‘tis not bad, but at the same time, I have seen better. I appreciate the intended placement of the word “really” at the description's end, which would give it far more importance in relation to the rest of the passage. However, with the way the text wrappeth around the cover image, the effect is almost completely lost. Even further, the entire description seemeth a bit too informal in mine eyes, to the point where I wonder how seriously the author taketh the story. Mayhaps this concern is more subjective than not, but a more formal description serveth to better catch thy readers’ attentions.

Regardless, the description is serviceable and fulfilleth the bare minimum of its requirements, so let us move on to the fic’s only chapter, “Where do you think you’re going?”

High above the earth, a ball made of tightly packed clouds spun through the air and into the hooves of a skinny green pegasus colt.

I enjoyed this first sentence, as it accomplisheth that which opening lines are meant to do—ground the reader in the scene whilst simultaneously catching her attention. The use of the active verb “spun”, one which is not terribly common, aideth in keeping the sentence dynamic, and the narrative sufficiently describeth the setting, the action, and even one of the characters.

At least, it would seem so at first glance, but after reading a few paragraphs into the story, I found that the information in this sentence is misleading. Author, thou statest in thy opening line that the scene taketh place “high above the earth”, which suggesteth the image of the ground sprawling out below. However, the truth of the matter is we are in the pegasus city of Cloudsdale. Thou liest not when thou writest that ‘tis “high above the earth”, but thou leavest out the important detail that we are not a dizzying height above the “ground” (in this case, the street of Cloudsdale).

I know this complaint seemeth petty, but ‘tis important that thy opening sentence not mislead the reader, lest they conjure the wrong image that is later contradicted.

So a number of pegasi play a game of cloud ball in the streets of Cloudsdale, which teem with the afternoon’s activity. I must admit, thy narrative here is gorgeous; thou makest use of uncommon, evocative verbs that do an excellent job of describing the scene without seeming as though they were pulled from a thesaurus.

Up and down the 'street', other young colts and fillies buzzed around on tiny wings, laughing and enjoying themselves atop the roofs of cloud houses in the afternoon sunlight.

Made of fluffy, well-kept cumulus clouds and oozing rainbows from every fountain, the neighborhood itself seemed both safe and inviting…

Thy skill in word-choice is admirable. I did notice a number of uses of the verb “to be” in a variety of different conjugations, and while these verbs should not be avoided altogether, they are just the slightest bit too prevalent in thy prose. “Was”, “is”, and the like are generally uninteresting verbs, and if thou canst easily use another verb in their place or reword a passage to make them unnecessary, then ‘tis often a good idea to do so.

Anyway, despite all of the activity in Cloudsdale, there existeth one house that standeth apart from the rest due to its less-than-pristine appearance. ‘Tis this house and its occupant—Lightning Dust—upon which the story placeth its focus.

We join Lightning Dust as she lieth in bed, and the story adopteth the atmosphere that it shall maintain until the end. Lightning is depicted as both surrounded by and covered in filth, having cleaned neither her house nor her body within at least the past few days. Just as before, the narrative is especially potent, making it abundantly clear to the reader how bleak her existence truly is.

She blinked a few times, then laboriously reached up to wipe at her face with her hoof and get the crusty buildup out of her red-rimmed eyes.

Some awful, rotten smell permeated throughout the whole house, though Lightning suspected most of it was coming from the kitchen and not the greasy trash scattered around.

As she made her way across the worst part of the decaying floor, Lightning made a mental note to repack the clouds.

Author, thou mayest consider thy prose as “beautifully disgusting”. Do keep in mind that the excessive use of “to be” verbs is still there, and continueth to be a problem throughout the whole of thy story.

Further compounding Lightning’s miserable condition, she lacketh the energy to take care of what most would consider life’s necessities, such as bathing and keeping her house from falling apart beneath her. Even the motivation necessary to climb from her bed nearly eludeth her, and ‘tis frequently mentioned how she hath oft laid there crying to herself. Then, there is this motif of procrastination expressed through the following passage:

Today.

In a few hours.

Or maybe tomorrow.

Later.

The story followeth her as she maketh her way through a “normal” day, which consisteth of leaving her bed (a more involved event than it seemeth), using the bathroom, and generally sitting around listlessly. The portion in which she taketh her afternoon meal is particularly visceral, a bit of narration that leaveth me wondering how long it will be before I can stomach a piece of toast without thinking of Lightning drenching it in mustard.

Lightning attendeth to her mail in the same manner as usual, which is to toss it on her kitchen counter mostly unopened. However, she taketh the time to read a letter from a friend of hers, who inviteth her to a birthday party. Poor Lightning cannot even finish reading the letter, such is the stress she experienceth.

Almost the entire fic followeth this formula, displaying how miserable she is in the wake of her expulsion from the Wonderbolts Academy (the event which sent her spiraling into her current depression). She wandereth from room to disheveled room, each of which is described in wonderful, gritty detail. The author is successful in placing the reader in Lightning Dust’s position, a level of empathy that I simultaneously enjoyed for its immersiveness and detested for how contagious the depression is.

The climax of the story occurreth when she decideth, in a sudden burst of willpower, to take one of the most basic steps in lifting the pall from her—leaving the house. However, as the paragraphs roll by and her determination fadeth in the face of her depression, she faileth at even managing to open her front door.

The shadows grew darker, and the demented feelings that followed her through them coalesced into something monstrous that blocked her path; a symbol of everything her life had become since she'd left the Wonderbolts Academy. By the time she actually reached the door, Lightning had been reduced to little more than a cowering roach before the intangible, all-pervading darkness that sat in the sunlight, leering at her as if to say, "Where do you think you’re going?"

And just like that, Lightning stopped, staring blankly at the door with her hoof resting on the doorknob.

From there to the end of the fic, Lightning walloweth in self-pity until ‘tis finally time for her to return to bed, and the author leaveth us on the following note:

That cold void inside her had undeniably won out this time—but maybe, Lightning thought, it would go away tomorrow instead.

Another day.

Some other time.

Later.

But, deep down, she knew it wouldn't.

In terms of plot, the story is short, with a relative minimum of the narrative devoted to describing actions and almost no dialogue at all. In fact, the only dialogue to be found is Lightning’s internal dialogue, but this is far from a bad thing. What the fic lacketh in action, it more than maketh up in description and introspection. The reader is given a very, very, very in depth look at one of the ugliest stages of depression, and ‘tis more than likely that this story shall hit uncomfortably close to home for many.

That is not to say that the fic is without flaw. While a great deal of the content admirably showeth the details of Lightning’s feelings and thoughts, I found myself distracted by a number of instances that simply told me that information instead. Take, for instance:

Though she really wanted to go block out the sunlight beaming in onto her through the window, she simply never had the energy to go get the blackout curtains she kept in the attic

I would rather see some sort of evidence to this end, rather than be told that she wisheth to block the sun.

Further, I felt that the author tried just the slightest bit too hard to drive home to the reader Lightning’s depression. While “less is more” often applieth not to a situation, the point would still be successfully delivered, even with less emphasis. There is a “sweet spot”, if thou shalt forgive the parlance, and this story overshooteth it.

Next I wish to discuss the tags. “Sad”, “dark”, and “slice of life” most certainly all fit, but I contest whether or not “tragedy” is appropriate. Author, thou mayest term Lightning’s situation as a metaphorical tragedy, but ‘tis not truly a literal one.

Then there were a few places here and there where the prose floweth not as well as it could, but this is the most minor of complaints. To be honest, all of these complaints are minor, a testament to the quality of the author’s writing.

This story is incredibly well written, of a quality that I rarely see outside of professionally published fiction. Despite all of the issues I noted above, any reader who enjoyeth sad or dark fics would be remiss to willingly pass over this one. Now I away to devour a pint of peanut butter swirl, because I require a pick-me-up.

Fare thee well, dear reader, and author, I wish thee the best of luck in thy writing endeavors.

Comments

[nodamnbrakes]

Thanks for the review!

[The Fetish Unicorn]

The best review I have come across with this story and enjoyed. Nice.^^