The weekend had arrived and Clark couldn’t be happier for it was this weekend that his plans with Sloane would be in motion. Earlier he had sent an owl to her upon the date they were to leave for their date and where they would meet up as well as the necessities for a two-day trip. Clark had already stuffed his necessary belongings in a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, walking through the corridors of Hogwarts and toward the outskirts of the school. Swimming trunks, a tank top and shades on the boy. Along the way, he even encountered a few discouraging looks from those he had gotten into a few fights or pranked. Most of them originating from the Slytherin house and some in Ravenclaw. He was given a few comments and threats hurled his way, however Clark was too focused on the trip at hand to care much about it. It was then his sister’s name was dropped amidst the whispers. Elise. He froze for a moment, turning around to shoot them a look behind the shades, knowing they wanted to provoke a reaction from him. With closed fists, he pivoted and made his way to the outskirts. There was no way he’d be dragged by those snobs. Yet he needed to get out before he did something rash. A haven.
‘One of main, striking things about A Body Made of Seeing is its themes of deconstruction and self-assembly. It’s about the struggle for identity- largely gender identity, and the tumultuous mindscape of a person navigating a process of realisation, change, and acceptance. Taking apart and then putting together to assert control: control over your body, your mind, your narrative. Rarely is a full person or body depicted (if one is, they are faceless or featureless, or with their back presented to the reader); instead body parts are portrayed as alien and separate, dismembered, stretched beyond recognition, piled on top of one another, guts hanging in air. There’s an inadequacy of the physical to represent or manifest what is felt; moulting and shifting in an act of becoming but being very much tied to the corporeal. Flesh twists and bends, skin melts, scales and old identities are shed as transformation slowly, painfully occurs.’