[video]
[video]
I bring to you the concept of:
Narrativium.
Quoth the Pratchett: Narrativium is powerful stuff. We have always had a drive to paint stories on to the Universe. When humans first looked at the stars, which are great flaming suns an unimaginable distance away, they saw in amongst them giant bulls, dragons, and local heroes. This human trait doesn’t affect what the rules say — not much, anyway — but it does determine which rules we are willing to contemplate in the first place. Moreover, the rules of the universe have to be able to produce everything that we humans observe, which introduce a kind of narrative imperative into science, too. Humans think in stories….
We tell stories. This is what we do. More compellingly, this is what we are.
Bow to the story teller. He makes the world real in his fiction.
His stories are fun.
They’re problematic in places and suffer from too much purple prose. And they kind of escape his control in the middle, where the plot muddies and wallows its way towards a climax.
But don’t get me wrong: His stories are still great, rousing, heart-breaking fun.
And, in the end, isn’t that all that really matters in a story? That you’re excited and agitated and your emotions are engaged and in some crazy way you’re just plain having fun?
Romance/horror film of the year. I think it’s the look on Joffrey’s face that really sells it.
(Source: cafeobliquo, via clandorsegane)
Oh shit…
I think the best theory about Sandor I’ve ever heard is that he was once like Sansa, he had dreams of becoming a gallant knight, saving damsels in distress from evil monsters, filling his head with legends of heroes and songs. Then he got disillusioned, pretty gruesomely, when his brother shoved…
You know what they say: scratch a cynic and underneath you’ll find a wounded idealist. Sandor’s turned so viscerally against the idea that there’s any honor or kindness in the world because he dreamed of a world where honor and kindness rule, and he’s furious that it doesn’t. He feels betrayed. The way the world is destroyed his dream of the way the world should be. In pain, he lashes out…but beneath the rage and hurt and cynicism, some part of him can still remember dreaming.
What an adorable pair of murder buddies.
Can we all just take a moment to admire Sandor’s choice of headwear here?
We think: Is that a cloak? Why is he wearing a cloak on his head? Why isn’t he wearing the rest of the cloak?
We think: How is wearing a cloak on his head but not covering his face going to accomplish anything? People don’t recognize him by his hair. They recognize him by his hideous facial scars and the fact that he’s seven feet tall. Now he’s just huge, scarred, and makes strange choices in fashion.
We think: I think that’s a wimple. Is that a wimple? Is Sandor a nun now?
We think: Sandor, honey…we love you dearly, but you really need to work on this whole ‘subterfuge’ thing.
(Picture from http://cripples-bastards-broken-things.tumblr.com/.)
