Captain, he says, again and again, with the practiced
cocksure grin and just the faintest of threats, flickering around the
edges of his voice. It is nearly second-nature at this point. It’s Captain.
His father named him ‘John’ after a crewsman he had loved, once, and long ago. Her mother had given him ‘Sparrow’ because there
was so little else to give. (A certain softness to the mouth, the
texture of his hair, and the laugh that had snared the heart of Captain
Edward Teague—this was all his maternal inheritance.) He had chosen
‘Jack’ for himself, because of the way it fit in his mouth, the hard
bite of it, how easy it was to shout during a storm. How sweetly it
sounded, fitted between ‘Captain’ and ‘Sparrow’.
Once upon a time when Jack Sparrow was young and beautiful and in the
employ of the East India Company, Cutler Beckett was also young and in
the employ of the East India Company—if less beautiful and significantly
more ambitious, desirous. Beckett liked to own things.
Jack thought it was love. (He never made that mistake again.)
a justaucorps a size too large and a battered coat that he cuffed
several times to keep it off his hands, he can pass as a man, instead of a beardless runaway. The
trinkets help, beads in his hair and a length of cloth tied about his waist, bandolier and head wrap and kohl around his eyes—he is too much
to look at, and so no one looks.
He sells his soul to Davy Jones for the ship of his dreaming, and gives all else to Calypso for the skill to sail her. Clever boy, Calypso croons, helping Jack out of his shirt. My witty Jack.
(She tastes like the sea, and Jack quite washes the worship of it from his mouth. There’s not enough rum in the world to drown the ocean.)
He hadn’t ever trusted Barbossa.
Not really. But he was crooked and cunning and Jack had liked the idea
of him, that he was equal to the grizzled first mate, whose mind he
could hear ticking over like some terrible and perverse mechanism.
(Jack Sparrow fucked Barbossa once, back on a smoggy night when the
whores left before he’d had his fill, and it had been only the two of
them, dreaming madly as the Pearl rocked beneath them)
His fatal flaw, he explained to the rum runners who saved him from that godforsaken island, wasthat he was never enough. Nothing was ever enough.
Captain, he says, again and again, with the cocksure
grin that is wearing thin at the edges. It’s Captain.
Swan is dangerous. Jack knows this the moment he slices through the
strange, drowning girl’s corset, the moment the girl chokes, and Jack
can’t look away from the warm rise and fall of her breast, like the sea.
Elizabeth Swan is a cursed gold piece given flesh and eyes dark as a
starless night, and that voice, that canny little voice in the back of
Jack’s head is whispering don’t touch don’t touch don’t touch–
might have had tried his hand at Will—he’s very pretty, with a sweet mouth and doe’s eyes, and the closest
thing to a good man Jack’s met for some time. Will looks him as though
still deciding if he is brilliant or mad, which is gratifying. But
first and foremost, Will Turner is the thing Elizabeth Swann wants, and Jackrespects a prior claim.)
was indeed that thing with sending him to Davy Jones as payment of Jack’s
debt—which Jack feels very bad about! He does. Very guilty. Especially
when he catches Lizzie looking at him slantwise and heated, when the
compass keeps pointing in Jack’s direction and Jack has to pretend he
doesn’t notice, doesn’t imagine—
Oh so very, very guilty.
One day, Elizabeth Swann says to him, her mouth near enough to present an immediate and terrible temptation. You won’t be able to resist.
(Jack’s not entirely sure why he still is.)
Swann is dangerous. Elizabeth Swann is a cursed gold piece given flesh
and Jack knows this the moment her mouth opens under Jack’s, the moment
she presses herself flush against him. That voice, that canny little
voice in the back of
Jack’s head is screaming don’t touch don’t touch don’t touch–
……………Jack has never been particularly good at listening to that voice.
Hello is it true that Elizabeth called Richard her "only joy in the world?"
I believe that is a line out of The Buck Letter. The Buck Letter is considered a document which cannot be relied upon, because it’s origins and the circumstances of it’s writing cannot be verified.
The Buck Letter was a supposed copy of a letter from Elizabeth of York to the Duke of Norfolk. The original letter itself has long since been lost, but George Buck, an antiquarian of King James 1 claims to have seen the letter in the private collection of the Earl of Arundel (probably sometime around 1600). Buck copied down the letter from memory, which doesn’t seem all that reliable.
George Buck’s copy of the letter survived long after the original was gone, however Buck’s letter sustained major damage from a fire during the 18th C, and parts of it are missing or illegible.
Here is what we have left of George Buck’s copy from memory of Elizabeth of York’s letter:
“…st she thanked him for his many Curtesies and friendly …as before… in the cause of… and then she prayed him to be a mediator for her to the K… ge who (as she wrote) was her onely joy and maker in… Worlde, and that she was his…harte, in thoughts, in…and in all, and then she intimated that the better halfe of Ffe…was paste, and that she feared the Queene would neu.…”
Not exactly the evidence you want to be relying on to support the widely discredited theory that Elizabeth of York had romantic feelings for her uncle, eh?
From this George Buck’s great nephew (also, confusingly, called George Buck) attempted to reconstruct his great uncle’s copy of the letter. We aren’t sure what enabled him to make this reconstruction of the letter, had he seen or copied his great uncle’s letter prior to the fire damage? That’s not able to be answered.
In short, my answer to your question is, I don’t know if Elizabeth of York ever referred to her uncle that way, but the evidence we have that she did is extremely unreliable.
This makes me mad, somebody made a table touch screen further Dungeons & Dragons game, claiming it’s their original idea. Clearly for people who have seen Stargate Atlantis know that it isn’t. You can clearly see that it is made to look like the console in Stargate Atlantis season 4, the game. I do believe that Stargate Atlantis and its creators should get some credit for this guy’s idea. Which obviously is based off of that console from the episode.
And for the rest of you, what do you need? Did you get your cookies yet? Are you nourished by a couple of dollars given to a good cause in exchange for some sugary treats? Do you feel you have done enough to help young women – a specific young woman with helicopter skills – to achieve great things in a town that needs, now more than ever, great things achieved?
Did you do enough with your cookie purchase to actualize what you believe in? To empower kids who will one day rise up and speak a great truth while waving tear-stained copies of Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s Sonnets from the Portuguese?
If you follow a lot of book people (publishers, authors, librarians) on Twitter, you probably already know what’s going on, but I want to talk about this ARC issue here because 1) I want to express myself in more than 140 characters and 2) I have yet to see the conversation anywhere on tumblr (or very far beyond Twitter). Because I know there are lots of non-librarians who follow this blog, I’m going to break this down as simply as I can and try to explain some of our jargon along the way.
Cutting for length, but basically, I’ll explain what an ARC is, who they’re intended for, the controversy over who gets ARCs, the controversy over people selling ARCs, and proper ARC etiquette. This is important not just for librarians and booksellers, but bloggers and readers, too.
As Henry’s brother, Prince Arthur, was first in line for the throne, Henry spent most of his time out of the spotlight. He was given many titles and offices only as a toddler, but it is suggested that before his brothers death he was intended to have a job in the Church. Henry’s mother, Elizabeth of York, was involved greatly in Henry’s upbringing which was unusual during this time period. This is proved as Henry’s unusual handwriting, is almost an exact copy of Elizabeth of York’s handwriting.
How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count the Ways - an analysis of Episode 44: Cookies
WOW okay, so much happened in this episode that I’m personally thrilled about and my brain feels like it’s scattering in a million directions at once, because this is one of those wonderful episodes that poses as many questions as it develops answers (at least, answers to the extent that we receive them in Night Vale, where existence is questionable).
I’m going to try to focus this analysis as follows: Cecil Palmer’s Role, or his purpose as the Voice; how things are starting to happen very rapidly in the Strexcorp arc; and finally, Dana the Intern: experience and motion. Lots of talk about communities, and roles within communities, and authorial purposes with communications.
Did you get your cookies yet? Are you nourished by a couple of dollars given to a good cause in exchange for some sugary treats? Do you feel you have done enough to help young women – a specific young woman with helicopter skills – to achieve great things in a town that needs now more than ever great things achieved? Did you do enough with your cookie purchase to actualize what you believe in? To empower kids who will one day rise up and speak a great truth while waving tear-stained copies of Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s ‘Sonnets from the Portuguese’?