kintsugi
golden scars | pfp by sun
Hi. I read this fic in 2011/2012 when I was much younger than I am now. I'd never considered pokecentric as a concept, in part because my mother thought that Pokemon was satanic + videogames caused school shootings, so I barely even knew PMD even existed and the idea of pokemon having thoughts was a big ?!?!? for me. I actually read this fic on a rec from an online friend, who meticulously crossposted all the chapters to a (private, and since purged) proboards forum for me since I couldn't even access the Serebii version due to the internet blockers my parents had put on my computer ... All this to say that when I read this as a kid my sheltered mind was considerably blown.
I find myself in a weird position ten years later, where I'm questioning the validity/point of saying thoughts on a fic that's been done and shelved like this, and specifically my thoughts on it, for reasons that are muddled but hopefully become more clear over the course of this review. I don't know. The best time to write a review is ten years ago; the second best time is now, I guess. This review has zero structuretruly I don't think I've ever successfully structured a review, less than zero attempts at crit, and is, per the author's note, mostly just a bunch of my thoughts on how this story spoke to me.
Reading this again, I'm able to appreciate a lot of the gameification elements a lot more. I remembered mostly just Tefiren's avoidance mechanisms since they're so prevalent to the plot and he's constantly in a position (via Forsira) to have someone question him on them. But things like Karsa smiling proudly and saying "that's why we're winning", Zanthern rationalizing Tharann/Azma's confrontation as a game to see who can raise him to be good, Forsira latching onto the idea that life doesn't have to stop being fun even after pesky events like your parents dying in a genocide and your realization that you need to kill to survive--thematically things landed on me more easily this time, probably because I'm not literally a child reading this by metaphorical flashlight. Coping mechanisms are a helluva drug. This is the kind of game that you can never really master because the rules will keep changing until everyone's in the ground.
I think the more subtle lies hit a lot harder this time as well. Karsa's speech about how forgetting is a survival mechanism is a little on-the-nose for me in this readthrough, but in general I think I only feel that way because I was able to pick up on the more nuanced lies/forgetting/erasure that's happening in the background (which, while I don't have good notes, I think more or less went over kid!me's head pretty hard). From the opening scene with Leathra saying that Forsira will have a great life, to Draern telling his mate that yeah, he totally cared for Forsira even though he spends most of their convo giving her the verbal/archopy equivalent of a middle finger, culminating in the big lies like Tefiren Totally Not Caring About Anyone and Zanthern convincing himself that it's better this way. Tefiren's the most obvious about it, but it's everywhere, and honestly the beauty of characters lying to themselves is as a reader I never really know the extent to which they're even doing it--maybe Leathra really does believe that things will be different for Forsira, maybe Draern actually changed his mind later, maybe a different Zanthern wouldn't have killed. Maybe Zanthern remembering will be enough. But ultimately we don't know their intents. We just know what happened.
And there's the central lie that I think is inherent whenever you've got characters doing murder happening left and right--that it somehow is more tragic when it happens to you specifically. Karsa saying she killed three kids as if the pain of the kid-killing guilt is somehow on the tier of the pain of being a dead kid. Zanthern's breakdown when he sees Karsa dead on the ground. It isn't real until it happens here; it couldn't happen here; until it does. And of course the premise of hunting is a lot different than the premise of genocide because you biologically need to do one to survive and not the other--but I'm always hit hard by the idea that the real you wouldn't be such a bad person, that you can attribute all the guilt and ugliness to some fictional version of yourself that you keep locked away from your intimate moments. In a fic about characters closing themselves off from caring for one another for fear of hurting when that's taken from them, the dark mirror of characters closing themselves off from caring so that they can hurt one another lands really heavily here.
Things that hit me really hard, to the point that I'm not really sure if I learned them from this story or liked this story because they were here--the idea of restructuring stories to have a foregone conclusion, so that the why takes a more prominent space than the what; different characters having different nicknames for one character so when it's Forse/Sira it literally feels like she's in two halves being torn between these two people; environmental effects reflecting the reality of the situation (the dramatic storm at the end, the temporary warmth of the bellossom's sunny day fading after Forsira evolves into an archopy and realizes what will inevitably happen to her). Structurally this story still hits hard and everything rhymes, so to speak. It's good, it's sad, it makes me think and feel.
Part of why I was hesitant to return to this fic is specifically the emotional weight that it imparted on me--I'm not going to say that reading this single-handedly changed my outlook on the world, but it was a lot more of a factor than I think the average person would say is reasonable for fanfic. The fic holds up to time and the prose is still really solid; I don't doubt that you've progressed as a writer in the past decade but you had a really good spot to progress from. The characters and the setup hit hard the first time, and they still do this time. The insidious cruelty of Forsira's world slowly builds across the course of the story, and it's to me very much been about growing up and realizing your world is irreparably broken--something that hit hard as a kid, but that still hits hard today. I found myself hesitating on the sidelines more from the marketing side of things--where this fic is advertised as apolitical, about being focused on the characters and not the genocide, about explicitly not being a fic about capital-letter Social Commentary. It's an interesting reminder for me that art doesn't have to have a reason to exist, and it certainly doesn't have to justify itself to me personally, but also that the story I read and the story the author intended to write can be quite different. As an author I find that sort of dichotomy fascinating but also terrifying; as a reviewer I found myself not really knowing what I wanted to say here instead.
Because to me this fic was incredibly political, in a way that I needed to hear at the time and in a way that changed my outlook on life and fanfic for the better. Azma making rallying speeches about how it's necessary to fight back for the future of their children, how the urge to defend the future will outweigh meaningless prejudice in the end--this is probably more political than any other book I've read about genocide, since the ugly reality of those situations is that it strips away the ability for people to even attempt those big dramatic changes, and those speeches never get made because there's never the chance for them. And that's totally fine; this is a situation that's different from our world's genocides for many reasons, but books that exist solely to explain and record and demonstrate the mechanical reasons behind why genocide is bad are just history books.
We read stories for the characters, and I think the reason we find stories effective is because they briefly make us feel like we're experiencing things that we've never actually experienced. And it's true that this is a story about individuals unsuccessfully "dealing" with genocide, in the sense that genocide isn't fixed/dealt with on an individual level and all you can really do is try to cope--but that's kind of what all stories still are, at the end of the day, with varying levels of successfully eliciting sympathy for those characters. Characters don't sit around having somber speeches about how genocide is baduntil things boil over and they do, Azma because people don't really do that; there are some disasters that are so much larger than you that you can only quantify them in the sense that they impact you. But that doesn't mean that describing how they impact you specifically somehow makes the disaster no longer exist, or unimportant, or not central to what you're doing. I'm drawn back to the idea that fiction is about making people feel things they've never experienced; while we don't have to live through this, we can imagine what it's like to be an archopy constantly looking over your shoulder. And we as the not-archopy get to close the page at the end of the day because this isn't our reality and we have the luxury of being able to debate if this is sufficiently removed from politics enough or whatever to really be about the genocide or just happening next to the genocide--but ultimately to me the venn diagram of [contains characters a reader can relate to] and [is a functional story] and [is about a world] is basically three overlapping circles, and not the implied dichotomy of [being about characters feeling the effects of genocide] not [being about genocide]. There are other elements at play, of course, but organized racial genocide is one of those things that's ugly enough that the people who aren't forced to experience it don't really want to think about it, and the (fictional or otherwise) people who are forced to experience it end up having it permeate literally every aspect of their lives. They're suffering because of the genocide. Genocide makes people suffer. This is an instance of plot/world shaping the characters, specifically because they're in a situation where they're powerless to shape the world.
I don't really know if there's a way to write a fic about organized racial genocide that doesn't make some sort of commentary on society or politics, even if the politics of genocide usually boils down to "it has happened many times and every time it is terrible". We don't go around waving copies of The Diary of Anne Frank saying that it's not really about politics, it's about the people. Not every story is going to be Animal Farm on the scale of explicit commentary, but good stories say something, and good stories that show a world inherently say something about their worlds--which is to say, plot/character/world are often intertwined and I don't really know if there's a way to have characters suffering from the effects of organized racial genocide without inadvertently making relevant commentary on the society that conducts the organized racial genocide. So I keep returning to this idea that I really appreciated the message that I got from this story, and then getting stuck because it seems like you didn't really intend for that message to be at the forefront at all.
And I guess ultimately I don't think it's worth your/my time to watch me try to quibble over definitions here, to try to say what a word like "political" isn't--instead I'd much rather spend the words talking about what this story means/meant to me, and perhaps try to approach my thoughts from that direction instead.
I think maybe there's an argument that this story isn't asking you to do anything but read it and watch the characters suffer; there's no onus on you to go out into the world and stop the sceptile from murdering the archopy since they don't exist, and even if they did, this happened so long ago that there's no undoing it. There's something almost reassuring in a foregone conclusion because your actions inherently stop mattering and you can tell yourself that all you need to do is live in the present, because your future's been stolen from you. But then there's that voice in the back of your mind that sounds like Azma realizing what it means when they start killing the children, that sounds like Forsira begging Tefiren to come to the clearing to see what the archopy are planning--the climax of this story is Tefiren making a choice. I admit I forgot that Forsira flew off to the northern horizon and not the sunset one, but I never forgot the image of Tefiren glowing so brightly that you can't see his face, desperately falling. "Tefiren was the most afraid of them all", Forsira realizing that her father didn't want to die but still leapt forward to protect Leathra--to me this was a story that acknowledged from the very first scene that you can (and are often circumstantially forced to be) passive/afraid/powerless your entire life, but that there are moments in which you can still choose to be brave, that courage is a choice. And maybe it does matter; it probably doesn't; the world is bigger and uglier and crueler than one person can ever hope to be. But there are those moments where the choice to matter is offered to you, where living for the present and living for the future are one and the same--because you can't change the entire world, but you can change someone's entire world.
So, I suppose to conclude on the notion of changing someone's entire world: the most interesting character for me is probably firmly in the list of "nobody's favorite, probably ranks below several characters who participated in racial genocide". And while I still adore Tefiren and pity Zanthern and feel my heart break with Forsira--I've never really forgotten Germane.
To go full circle on the circumstances in which I first found this story: I read this story in a school district that was fielding requests to remove To Kill a Mockingbird from our curriculum on the grounds that it contained the n-word. The same year that I read Foregone Conclusion, my social studies class had an unironic debate on whether or not the confederate flag--which we'd proudly driven across our football field at home games as recently as ten years prior--was a hate symbol or a sign of cultural heritage. I was carefully peeling off the library book jackets to swap The Golden Compass and one of the randomly enormous Warrior Cats standalone books because the former was banned in my house and the latter wasn't, and because I was only barely beginning to question the idea that stories shouldn't intend to make a point about the world or imply to children that some parts might need fixing. When I saw Germane for the first time, I honestly thought his approach was reasonable, that it wasn't such a bad idea to be "one of the good ones", that there had to be a reason that the sceptile were conducting this genocide, and that the reason was simply that only the bad ones were being killed, that it was just being an archopy that was the perceived crime here. Despite all physical evidence to the contrary, I thought (and wanted) to be white-passing in the school environment I described above, and while this wasn't so much a conscious line of thought to me at the time because I was more or less a child, I believed that as long as I acted the part I'd be one of the good ones as well, safe while the Azmas of the world got all uppity asking for things like "stop killing us, and definitely don't kill our children".
Then they fucking slit his throat.
When it finally happened to me and I realized that you can't be good enough for the people who see you as other, I thought about a lot of real people/events/things, but I thought a lot more about what it means to be the first dead grovyle at the beginning of the end than I think anyone else would've in that moment. "I don't want to die" / "None of them ever do" hit particularly hard in a story that inherently works on the premise of characters selectively refusing to see certain people as people--it's hard but expected when Zanthern learns how to do it, it's cruel but realistic when Tharann/Skorrhen explain it so callously, but it's ugly and painful to realize that Germane's been doing the same thing the entire time. This was a sentiment that lingered with me for so long, because ultimately it's true in a way that I'd never thought fanfiction would be.
I wrestle a lot with the idea of what we take away from stories, and what we were meant to take away from stories--if there's a correct way to enjoy art, if I was just being childish when I drew greater inspiration from what it means to choose what kind of lizard you die as + applied those lessons to my world. I'd read books that spoke to me about deeper concepts before, but I'd never really experienced that specifically in fanfic. Death of the author is a lot harder to think about when I'm in a community that facilitates direct communication with the author. At the end of the day I'm left in the awkward position of feeling like I fell in love with a story that might've been different from the one you intended to write, even if it's the one I read--which is fine, and I think a natural part of reading and writing in a world that's bigger than ourselves--but it leaves me awkwardly kicking a lot of thoughts around when it comes to thanking you directly for writing this. I think sometimes "social commentary" gets conflated with "saying things I don't want to hear", and I think in that light I can see how this fic would be interpreted as not making much social commentary for most readers--but I keep returning to that sickening feeling when I first read Germane crying out like he was special for not wanting to die, how reading that was definitely something that kid!me didn't want to hear, but needed to. Regardless of your intents here, of my misinterpretations, of whatever middle ground actually exists between, I do want to close with thanks. This was and is a story that shaped a weirdly large portion of me, and I'm glad both to revisit it and to hear that you're still chugging away and doing neat things in your life.
I find myself in a weird position ten years later, where I'm questioning the validity/point of saying thoughts on a fic that's been done and shelved like this, and specifically my thoughts on it, for reasons that are muddled but hopefully become more clear over the course of this review. I don't know. The best time to write a review is ten years ago; the second best time is now, I guess. This review has zero structure
Reading this again, I'm able to appreciate a lot of the gameification elements a lot more. I remembered mostly just Tefiren's avoidance mechanisms since they're so prevalent to the plot and he's constantly in a position (via Forsira) to have someone question him on them. But things like Karsa smiling proudly and saying "that's why we're winning", Zanthern rationalizing Tharann/Azma's confrontation as a game to see who can raise him to be good, Forsira latching onto the idea that life doesn't have to stop being fun even after pesky events like your parents dying in a genocide and your realization that you need to kill to survive--thematically things landed on me more easily this time, probably because I'm not literally a child reading this by metaphorical flashlight. Coping mechanisms are a helluva drug. This is the kind of game that you can never really master because the rules will keep changing until everyone's in the ground.
I think the more subtle lies hit a lot harder this time as well. Karsa's speech about how forgetting is a survival mechanism is a little on-the-nose for me in this readthrough, but in general I think I only feel that way because I was able to pick up on the more nuanced lies/forgetting/erasure that's happening in the background (which, while I don't have good notes, I think more or less went over kid!me's head pretty hard). From the opening scene with Leathra saying that Forsira will have a great life, to Draern telling his mate that yeah, he totally cared for Forsira even though he spends most of their convo giving her the verbal/archopy equivalent of a middle finger, culminating in the big lies like Tefiren Totally Not Caring About Anyone and Zanthern convincing himself that it's better this way. Tefiren's the most obvious about it, but it's everywhere, and honestly the beauty of characters lying to themselves is as a reader I never really know the extent to which they're even doing it--maybe Leathra really does believe that things will be different for Forsira, maybe Draern actually changed his mind later, maybe a different Zanthern wouldn't have killed. Maybe Zanthern remembering will be enough. But ultimately we don't know their intents. We just know what happened.
And there's the central lie that I think is inherent whenever you've got characters doing murder happening left and right--that it somehow is more tragic when it happens to you specifically. Karsa saying she killed three kids as if the pain of the kid-killing guilt is somehow on the tier of the pain of being a dead kid. Zanthern's breakdown when he sees Karsa dead on the ground. It isn't real until it happens here; it couldn't happen here; until it does. And of course the premise of hunting is a lot different than the premise of genocide because you biologically need to do one to survive and not the other--but I'm always hit hard by the idea that the real you wouldn't be such a bad person, that you can attribute all the guilt and ugliness to some fictional version of yourself that you keep locked away from your intimate moments. In a fic about characters closing themselves off from caring for one another for fear of hurting when that's taken from them, the dark mirror of characters closing themselves off from caring so that they can hurt one another lands really heavily here.
Things that hit me really hard, to the point that I'm not really sure if I learned them from this story or liked this story because they were here--the idea of restructuring stories to have a foregone conclusion, so that the why takes a more prominent space than the what; different characters having different nicknames for one character so when it's Forse/Sira it literally feels like she's in two halves being torn between these two people; environmental effects reflecting the reality of the situation (the dramatic storm at the end, the temporary warmth of the bellossom's sunny day fading after Forsira evolves into an archopy and realizes what will inevitably happen to her). Structurally this story still hits hard and everything rhymes, so to speak. It's good, it's sad, it makes me think and feel.
Part of why I was hesitant to return to this fic is specifically the emotional weight that it imparted on me--I'm not going to say that reading this single-handedly changed my outlook on the world, but it was a lot more of a factor than I think the average person would say is reasonable for fanfic. The fic holds up to time and the prose is still really solid; I don't doubt that you've progressed as a writer in the past decade but you had a really good spot to progress from. The characters and the setup hit hard the first time, and they still do this time. The insidious cruelty of Forsira's world slowly builds across the course of the story, and it's to me very much been about growing up and realizing your world is irreparably broken--something that hit hard as a kid, but that still hits hard today. I found myself hesitating on the sidelines more from the marketing side of things--where this fic is advertised as apolitical, about being focused on the characters and not the genocide, about explicitly not being a fic about capital-letter Social Commentary. It's an interesting reminder for me that art doesn't have to have a reason to exist, and it certainly doesn't have to justify itself to me personally, but also that the story I read and the story the author intended to write can be quite different. As an author I find that sort of dichotomy fascinating but also terrifying; as a reviewer I found myself not really knowing what I wanted to say here instead.
Because to me this fic was incredibly political, in a way that I needed to hear at the time and in a way that changed my outlook on life and fanfic for the better. Azma making rallying speeches about how it's necessary to fight back for the future of their children, how the urge to defend the future will outweigh meaningless prejudice in the end--this is probably more political than any other book I've read about genocide, since the ugly reality of those situations is that it strips away the ability for people to even attempt those big dramatic changes, and those speeches never get made because there's never the chance for them. And that's totally fine; this is a situation that's different from our world's genocides for many reasons, but books that exist solely to explain and record and demonstrate the mechanical reasons behind why genocide is bad are just history books.
We read stories for the characters, and I think the reason we find stories effective is because they briefly make us feel like we're experiencing things that we've never actually experienced. And it's true that this is a story about individuals unsuccessfully "dealing" with genocide, in the sense that genocide isn't fixed/dealt with on an individual level and all you can really do is try to cope--but that's kind of what all stories still are, at the end of the day, with varying levels of successfully eliciting sympathy for those characters. Characters don't sit around having somber speeches about how genocide is bad
I don't really know if there's a way to write a fic about organized racial genocide that doesn't make some sort of commentary on society or politics, even if the politics of genocide usually boils down to "it has happened many times and every time it is terrible". We don't go around waving copies of The Diary of Anne Frank saying that it's not really about politics, it's about the people. Not every story is going to be Animal Farm on the scale of explicit commentary, but good stories say something, and good stories that show a world inherently say something about their worlds--which is to say, plot/character/world are often intertwined and I don't really know if there's a way to have characters suffering from the effects of organized racial genocide without inadvertently making relevant commentary on the society that conducts the organized racial genocide. So I keep returning to this idea that I really appreciated the message that I got from this story, and then getting stuck because it seems like you didn't really intend for that message to be at the forefront at all.
And I guess ultimately I don't think it's worth your/my time to watch me try to quibble over definitions here, to try to say what a word like "political" isn't--instead I'd much rather spend the words talking about what this story means/meant to me, and perhaps try to approach my thoughts from that direction instead.
I think maybe there's an argument that this story isn't asking you to do anything but read it and watch the characters suffer; there's no onus on you to go out into the world and stop the sceptile from murdering the archopy since they don't exist, and even if they did, this happened so long ago that there's no undoing it. There's something almost reassuring in a foregone conclusion because your actions inherently stop mattering and you can tell yourself that all you need to do is live in the present, because your future's been stolen from you. But then there's that voice in the back of your mind that sounds like Azma realizing what it means when they start killing the children, that sounds like Forsira begging Tefiren to come to the clearing to see what the archopy are planning--the climax of this story is Tefiren making a choice. I admit I forgot that Forsira flew off to the northern horizon and not the sunset one, but I never forgot the image of Tefiren glowing so brightly that you can't see his face, desperately falling. "Tefiren was the most afraid of them all", Forsira realizing that her father didn't want to die but still leapt forward to protect Leathra--to me this was a story that acknowledged from the very first scene that you can (and are often circumstantially forced to be) passive/afraid/powerless your entire life, but that there are moments in which you can still choose to be brave, that courage is a choice. And maybe it does matter; it probably doesn't; the world is bigger and uglier and crueler than one person can ever hope to be. But there are those moments where the choice to matter is offered to you, where living for the present and living for the future are one and the same--because you can't change the entire world, but you can change someone's entire world.
So, I suppose to conclude on the notion of changing someone's entire world: the most interesting character for me is probably firmly in the list of "nobody's favorite, probably ranks below several characters who participated in racial genocide". And while I still adore Tefiren and pity Zanthern and feel my heart break with Forsira--I've never really forgotten Germane.
To go full circle on the circumstances in which I first found this story: I read this story in a school district that was fielding requests to remove To Kill a Mockingbird from our curriculum on the grounds that it contained the n-word. The same year that I read Foregone Conclusion, my social studies class had an unironic debate on whether or not the confederate flag--which we'd proudly driven across our football field at home games as recently as ten years prior--was a hate symbol or a sign of cultural heritage. I was carefully peeling off the library book jackets to swap The Golden Compass and one of the randomly enormous Warrior Cats standalone books because the former was banned in my house and the latter wasn't, and because I was only barely beginning to question the idea that stories shouldn't intend to make a point about the world or imply to children that some parts might need fixing. When I saw Germane for the first time, I honestly thought his approach was reasonable, that it wasn't such a bad idea to be "one of the good ones", that there had to be a reason that the sceptile were conducting this genocide, and that the reason was simply that only the bad ones were being killed, that it was just being an archopy that was the perceived crime here. Despite all physical evidence to the contrary, I thought (and wanted) to be white-passing in the school environment I described above, and while this wasn't so much a conscious line of thought to me at the time because I was more or less a child, I believed that as long as I acted the part I'd be one of the good ones as well, safe while the Azmas of the world got all uppity asking for things like "stop killing us, and definitely don't kill our children".
Then they fucking slit his throat.
When it finally happened to me and I realized that you can't be good enough for the people who see you as other, I thought about a lot of real people/events/things, but I thought a lot more about what it means to be the first dead grovyle at the beginning of the end than I think anyone else would've in that moment. "I don't want to die" / "None of them ever do" hit particularly hard in a story that inherently works on the premise of characters selectively refusing to see certain people as people--it's hard but expected when Zanthern learns how to do it, it's cruel but realistic when Tharann/Skorrhen explain it so callously, but it's ugly and painful to realize that Germane's been doing the same thing the entire time. This was a sentiment that lingered with me for so long, because ultimately it's true in a way that I'd never thought fanfiction would be.
I wrestle a lot with the idea of what we take away from stories, and what we were meant to take away from stories--if there's a correct way to enjoy art, if I was just being childish when I drew greater inspiration from what it means to choose what kind of lizard you die as + applied those lessons to my world. I'd read books that spoke to me about deeper concepts before, but I'd never really experienced that specifically in fanfic. Death of the author is a lot harder to think about when I'm in a community that facilitates direct communication with the author. At the end of the day I'm left in the awkward position of feeling like I fell in love with a story that might've been different from the one you intended to write, even if it's the one I read--which is fine, and I think a natural part of reading and writing in a world that's bigger than ourselves--but it leaves me awkwardly kicking a lot of thoughts around when it comes to thanking you directly for writing this. I think sometimes "social commentary" gets conflated with "saying things I don't want to hear", and I think in that light I can see how this fic would be interpreted as not making much social commentary for most readers--but I keep returning to that sickening feeling when I first read Germane crying out like he was special for not wanting to die, how reading that was definitely something that kid!me didn't want to hear, but needed to. Regardless of your intents here, of my misinterpretations, of whatever middle ground actually exists between, I do want to close with thanks. This was and is a story that shaped a weirdly large portion of me, and I'm glad both to revisit it and to hear that you're still chugging away and doing neat things in your life.
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