lovesrain44 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lovesrain44) wrote2010-09-28 07:57 pm
lovesrain44) wrote2010-09-28 07:57 pm
Entry tags:
Review: Missing Persons
I just finished reading Missing Persons for, like, the millionth time. I know you think I'm kidding, but I'm not.
I talked about it a great deal in my author's notes for my 2009 big bang for SPN, how it inspired me, ruined me, rocked my world.
I even talked to the author about it, and she was very patient with me and let me ramble on for quite some time. After I wrote Blue Skies, I felt I was done with the story, having absorbed every morsel of it, having absorbed it into my DNA. I don't often run across stories like that, that become part of who I am.
And, because I wanted to read something I could be sure about, I went back and read it again. I think it's been about a year since I read it last. It was just as good as it always was.
Here's what I wrote to Dira, that pretty much sums up my squee about Missing Persons:
***
Dear You,
I normally read fanfiction for the fandom I am in at the time, and while I might read a story or two from ex-fandoms, it's rather like having lunch with an old flame, it's nice, but never means as much as it once did. And certainly I do not read fanficion outside of that very narrow range, except for now. My friend Amothea has this rec list that's terrific, and she has my exact taste, she has excellent taste, in fanfiction. I tried denying her once, refusing to read something she'd instant rec'd, only to regret having waited so long, once I'd read it. Which means that since she'd instant rec'd "Missing Persons" I was obligated by trust to read it. Which I did.
If you can believe it, in two nights, my eyes drying up from lack of sleep, tasks gone undone, work neglected as I struggled to stay awake, completely swept up in this story as so seldom happens, wanting to hear more about Charlie and Don than I ever would have thought possible. Enjoying it enough to acutally watch Numbers this week, to giggle to myself whenever the brothers would interact, as if I was in on some cool secret. I had never reallyl watched the show, maybe one or two times, and certainly never felt a vibe between them, but I can see it now, thanks to you!
Your story was amazing, simply amazing. It contained every perfect element of every perfect thing, from the claustrophobic setup (a basement shared 23 hours a day, no escape, WITH witnesses watching their every move), to C's amnesia, to the torture sessions, to Don's dilemma - everything. I loved your description of C's interpretation of what "Mac" was doing, even as he was hitting him, - the dilemma there was that Don had to make it believable and cause pain, but no permanent damage. That C got that spoke very strongly how he interpreted the heat in Don's eyes, I loved the way you developed that because for the story to work, there had to be a connection between C and a relative stranger, the "heat" he saw in Mac's eyes could be interpreted in any number of ways, and C took it in a way that helped him to trust Don.
I also thought you did a marvelous job with Don's dilemma, of course C would remember some day, and his "please remember, I never meant to hurt you" just about broke my heart. His love for Charlie, man, it filled him with purpose, and when he finally gave in to Charlie, I believed why he was doing it. That's sometimes missing from slash fanfic, the belivability factor. I believed everything you wrote.
One of my favorite scenes, oddly, was the torture scene where Roger is erasing C's chalkboards with C himself - it's not physical, but it's got Charlie screaming because he's freaking out. It was so cruel and yet so perfect, find out what someone's room 101 is, and exploit that. I also liked, um, the torture scenes in the bathtub, how whacked is that? I loved how the reprocussions from that lasted and lasted, because they would. I also loved the aftercare, where Don would help Charlie into something warm and dry. Also very satisfying was the little bits you had about no towels for them to dry their hands on and how they would have to use their shirts, and how that continued even when Charlie was free. The realism you applied here was amazing.
As is the fact that you maintained it for the entire story, never dropped a single ball, took the logical, longer course to Charlie's recovery and then flipped the whole thing when you had Charlie go looking for Don. Perfect. It's a wonderful story that I have rec'd on my LJ, the most perfect kidnap/rescue story EVER. Thank you for writing it!
***
I still stand by all of that...although. I do have one beef with this story. One beef that whether I'm in the midst of reading it or haven't read it for a year, comes to the front of my brain and insists on being difficult. It's not anything to do with Dira, or the story, or the plot, or the structure or anything. It has to do with me.
Here's the scene. Don and Charlie have escaped. They've made to a little cafe called Janet's, where they stumble inside, use the bathroom, and sit by themselves. It's Christmas Eve and the place is empty. Janet tells them the kitchen's closed, but she can make them a few sandwiches if they want. Charlie wants sugar, he wants the chocolate cake with green and red sprinkles that he sees on the counter. He orders that and chocolate milk, and Don has coffee, and they have ice cream, and Charlie has pie (cherry? strawberry?), and finally, when they leave, Janet packs a bag with leftovers for them, including a box of sugar cookies.
Now all of this fits in completely well with the setting, and the time, and with Charlie. The boy seems to have a sweet tooth, and after being so long in captivity, I'd say he deserves all the chocolate he can get his hands on.
But my desire for them to eat some real food is so strong...if you've read any of my stories, you'll know I'm a foodie. It kills me, what they're eating. All that sugar....and no protein, no carbs.
While Charlie and Don are in the basement, they live off of energy bars and coffee, pizza and coke, sandwiches...no milk, no butter, no salads, no chicken fried steak, nothing. My stomach is growling by the time I get to the scene at Janet's...and then Don tips a dose of Charlie's chocolate milk into his coffee; he is COMPLICIT in all of this! I want to feed them both so desperately. I get that Janet's would be closed for any real cookiing, it's perfect for the story. Later, Dira mentions another diner that the boys stop at (one with shabby decorations), and never mentions what they eat.
In my mind, they are starving...not just for food, but for what the food represents. A good hot meal would go a long way towards letting them know that they are really finally free. Of course, even after this point, Charlie and Don have a long way to go to get out of the basement, metaphorically speaking, so I get it, I do.
But man, how about beef stew and dumplings...or chili with cornbread...even a nice steak with a baked potato...and sour cream and butter. And THEN a piece of pie, to round things off. Charlie and Don need to be fed, in my book. I wish I could feed them.
I talked about it a great deal in my author's notes for my 2009 big bang for SPN, how it inspired me, ruined me, rocked my world.
I even talked to the author about it, and she was very patient with me and let me ramble on for quite some time. After I wrote Blue Skies, I felt I was done with the story, having absorbed every morsel of it, having absorbed it into my DNA. I don't often run across stories like that, that become part of who I am.
And, because I wanted to read something I could be sure about, I went back and read it again. I think it's been about a year since I read it last. It was just as good as it always was.
Here's what I wrote to Dira, that pretty much sums up my squee about Missing Persons:
***
Dear You,
I normally read fanfiction for the fandom I am in at the time, and while I might read a story or two from ex-fandoms, it's rather like having lunch with an old flame, it's nice, but never means as much as it once did. And certainly I do not read fanficion outside of that very narrow range, except for now. My friend Amothea has this rec list that's terrific, and she has my exact taste, she has excellent taste, in fanfiction. I tried denying her once, refusing to read something she'd instant rec'd, only to regret having waited so long, once I'd read it. Which means that since she'd instant rec'd "Missing Persons" I was obligated by trust to read it. Which I did.
If you can believe it, in two nights, my eyes drying up from lack of sleep, tasks gone undone, work neglected as I struggled to stay awake, completely swept up in this story as so seldom happens, wanting to hear more about Charlie and Don than I ever would have thought possible. Enjoying it enough to acutally watch Numbers this week, to giggle to myself whenever the brothers would interact, as if I was in on some cool secret. I had never reallyl watched the show, maybe one or two times, and certainly never felt a vibe between them, but I can see it now, thanks to you!
Your story was amazing, simply amazing. It contained every perfect element of every perfect thing, from the claustrophobic setup (a basement shared 23 hours a day, no escape, WITH witnesses watching their every move), to C's amnesia, to the torture sessions, to Don's dilemma - everything. I loved your description of C's interpretation of what "Mac" was doing, even as he was hitting him, - the dilemma there was that Don had to make it believable and cause pain, but no permanent damage. That C got that spoke very strongly how he interpreted the heat in Don's eyes, I loved the way you developed that because for the story to work, there had to be a connection between C and a relative stranger, the "heat" he saw in Mac's eyes could be interpreted in any number of ways, and C took it in a way that helped him to trust Don.
I also thought you did a marvelous job with Don's dilemma, of course C would remember some day, and his "please remember, I never meant to hurt you" just about broke my heart. His love for Charlie, man, it filled him with purpose, and when he finally gave in to Charlie, I believed why he was doing it. That's sometimes missing from slash fanfic, the belivability factor. I believed everything you wrote.
One of my favorite scenes, oddly, was the torture scene where Roger is erasing C's chalkboards with C himself - it's not physical, but it's got Charlie screaming because he's freaking out. It was so cruel and yet so perfect, find out what someone's room 101 is, and exploit that. I also liked, um, the torture scenes in the bathtub, how whacked is that? I loved how the reprocussions from that lasted and lasted, because they would. I also loved the aftercare, where Don would help Charlie into something warm and dry. Also very satisfying was the little bits you had about no towels for them to dry their hands on and how they would have to use their shirts, and how that continued even when Charlie was free. The realism you applied here was amazing.
As is the fact that you maintained it for the entire story, never dropped a single ball, took the logical, longer course to Charlie's recovery and then flipped the whole thing when you had Charlie go looking for Don. Perfect. It's a wonderful story that I have rec'd on my LJ, the most perfect kidnap/rescue story EVER. Thank you for writing it!
***
I still stand by all of that...although. I do have one beef with this story. One beef that whether I'm in the midst of reading it or haven't read it for a year, comes to the front of my brain and insists on being difficult. It's not anything to do with Dira, or the story, or the plot, or the structure or anything. It has to do with me.
Here's the scene. Don and Charlie have escaped. They've made to a little cafe called Janet's, where they stumble inside, use the bathroom, and sit by themselves. It's Christmas Eve and the place is empty. Janet tells them the kitchen's closed, but she can make them a few sandwiches if they want. Charlie wants sugar, he wants the chocolate cake with green and red sprinkles that he sees on the counter. He orders that and chocolate milk, and Don has coffee, and they have ice cream, and Charlie has pie (cherry? strawberry?), and finally, when they leave, Janet packs a bag with leftovers for them, including a box of sugar cookies.
Now all of this fits in completely well with the setting, and the time, and with Charlie. The boy seems to have a sweet tooth, and after being so long in captivity, I'd say he deserves all the chocolate he can get his hands on.
But my desire for them to eat some real food is so strong...if you've read any of my stories, you'll know I'm a foodie. It kills me, what they're eating. All that sugar....and no protein, no carbs.
While Charlie and Don are in the basement, they live off of energy bars and coffee, pizza and coke, sandwiches...no milk, no butter, no salads, no chicken fried steak, nothing. My stomach is growling by the time I get to the scene at Janet's...and then Don tips a dose of Charlie's chocolate milk into his coffee; he is COMPLICIT in all of this! I want to feed them both so desperately. I get that Janet's would be closed for any real cookiing, it's perfect for the story. Later, Dira mentions another diner that the boys stop at (one with shabby decorations), and never mentions what they eat.
In my mind, they are starving...not just for food, but for what the food represents. A good hot meal would go a long way towards letting them know that they are really finally free. Of course, even after this point, Charlie and Don have a long way to go to get out of the basement, metaphorically speaking, so I get it, I do.
But man, how about beef stew and dumplings...or chili with cornbread...even a nice steak with a baked potato...and sour cream and butter. And THEN a piece of pie, to round things off. Charlie and Don need to be fed, in my book. I wish I could feed them.
no subject
--
Once they reached a larger street, twinkling with Christmas lights and here and there an actual open business, Don was watching for a motel, scanning blocks ahead for likely looking signs. A door opened beside them, and Don reached for Charlie's arm, stepping sideways to make room for the people coming out, even as a burst of warm air and the smell of sweet and sour hit him.
Charlie stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk, looking longingly through the windows of the Chinese restaurant, and for a moment Don stared at him. He only looked cold and hungry, but Don found himself wanting to be inside--where he belonged, where they both belonged--with a shocking intensity. He tried to fight it down, but the emotion was suddenly nearly swamping him, memories of a lifetime of December 25ths, kneeling on his seat while his mother molded his hand around a set of chopsticks, feeling cool and superior five years later when she did the same for Charlie. Even the miserable Christmas right after his mother's death, when he and his father and Charlie had sat in grim silence over their meals. They'd been together, they'd been family.
Don had to look away, across the street, fighting to get his face under control, and Charlie said, "Don?"
"Yeah," Don said, turning back, pushing him gently toward the door, as if he were only hungry. "Let's get some dinner."
The waitress's smile wasn't knowing, Don told himself, just... recognizing. He smiled back, but Charlie was looking around in wonder, at the red walls and gold dragons. They were seated in a booth toward the back, and Charlie immediately became fascinated by the Chinese zodiac on the placemat. "How old do you think I am?" he asked, without looking up, and Don's throat went tight.
He picked up his water glass and took a sip, actually looking at Charlie for a moment, as if he didn't know. Charlie had always looked young to him, but he didn't now, not when Don looked at his face, instead of just looking at him and seeing Charlie. His face wasn't quite gaunt, but his cheekbones stood out sharply, and his cheeks had faint hollows, shadowed now with stubble. He was looking at Don wide eyed, curious, patient, but there were lines around his eyes faint, but visible to an eye that still superimposed Charlie as a toddler over every subsequent Charlie. And his eyes... Even now, bright and calm, there was something in Charlie's eyes that had never been there before, something that was far from young.
Don looked down and shrugged, and the motion felt tight and strained. "I dunno," he said. "Maybe thirty?"
"Thirty," Charlie repeated, sounding pleased with the number, then glanced down at the placemat. "That makes me a Rabbit. Pleasant, affectionate, cautious. You think?"
Don smiled a little. They'd always said cautious was all wrong for Charlie, but now it fit better than anything. "Yeah, maybe."
Charlie grinned. "What about you?"
Don glanced down at the placemat, though he didn't need to. "Dog," he said, and took another sip of water.
"Loyal, faithful, demanding," Charlie read off. "1970? You're thirty-five?"
"Yeah," Don said, though the number sounded foreign. He tried to remember his last birthday, and couldn't. It was lost somewhere in the awful blur of the first week. He hadn't even thought about it until now.
And wasn't thinking about it now, either. Their waitress walked up and asked if they were ready to order, and Charlie grabbed a menu and looked instantly overwhelmed. Don was about to take mercy and order for both of them when Charlie abruptly snapped the menu shut, smiled brightly at the waitress, and said, "I'll have a thirty."
Don stared. Charlie had always done that when he was feeling adventurous--named an arbitrary number without even looking. Their waitress took their menus and walked away, and Don realized he'd ordered something and had no idea what. Probably something he'd eaten a thousand times. Charlie had gone back to staring around them in delight, watching the other customers, the waitresses coming and going from the kitchen. It was his first time in a restaurant, that was all--but he'd been just as voraciously curious as a little kid, and when Charlie wasn't looking at Don his eyes didn't look old anymore. Don kept his own eyes on the door, trying not to think of it as an escape route.
When their food arrived, Charlie took one shrewd glance at the chopsticks in Don's hand and picked up his own; after a moment of clumsiness--Don could see him thinking too hard about what his fingers were doing--the knack of it came back to him. He grinned at Don, and Don smiled helplessly back and started eating--sweet and sour chicken, like he was five years old again. He didn't know what Charlie had, but it involved pineapple; Charlie was experimenting with spearing the pieces on the ends of his chopsticks.
They were nearly finished when the waitress brought the check, laying it down with a couple of fortune cookies. "Happy Hanukkah," she said brightly, and walked away even as Charlie said an offhanded, "Happy Hanukkah," back.
no subject
Avoiding writing? Yeah, I hear you. I read this somewhere, someone else wrote it, something, writing is my favorite thing in the world to do, and I hate writing.
no subject
On the bright side, I did manage to stop stalling and write the thing, and I hope you're able to do the same!
no subject
I think years ago I read this book called "The Mirror" by Marlys Millhiser
http://www.ruemorguepress.com/catalog/millhiser_mirror.html
and in it, one of the characters took a bite of egg and then followed this by a bite of toast and a bite of coffee, and then just sat there savoring it, and it was so well done I could almost taste it in my own mouth. Thus began my own little obsession because I can't get the impact that the scene had on me out of my head.
So I wanted to ask, but tried not to bug you, but why did you use Janet's Diner instead of the Chinese restaurant? (There. I asked!)
no subject
It wasn't a matter of swapping one for another--Janet's diner was the fulfillment of something I half-jokingly outlined very early on, which was that they got out of their captivity and Charlie got CHOCOLATE CAKE. (AND BALLOONS, AND A PONY, AND ANYTHING ELSE HE WANTED THAT DON COULD GET FOR HIM WITHOUT KILLING PEOPLE.) I had not really considered his actual nutritional needs (possibly because, uh--for a while there while writing Missing Persons I was, myself, living in a frigid basement, sleeping on a mattress on the floor, and eating energy bars for two meals a day. uh. I hadn't really thought about that part.) so much as a general state of CHARLIE GETS COMFORT THINGS.
The Chinese restaurant thing--Chapter 16 underwent a lot of false starts and changes, and I think one thing I was struggling with throughout the chapter was how much I wanted to engage Don and Charlie's Jewishness (canon ... doesn't). So I think the way that the scene is very culturally specific wound up intimidating me, and I went another way with it partly because of that, and partly because... I honestly don't know, it was four years ago. I guess I wound up wanting the whole sequence on the El instead, so they got a two-sentence diner moment and then we moved on. *g*
no subject
Well no WONDER the scenes in the basement were so vivid! I kept thinking, how can they manage day after day on coffee and energy bars? Well, they can, apparently, sadly. When needed. : (
And I totally understand now, about the Chinese restaurant....because if you took it that direction, where canon hinted at, then the story might have become about something else. So. : D