Serenitatis

Creative pursuits. Oddments. Nattering.

Burn your idols.

In some ways, reading The Ocean at the End of the Lane was similar to other Neil Gaiman works I read before and after—that sensation of being held in thrall, dreamlike or drunkenness, of racing along and being slightly out of control. At the end of a book, I would shake it off and think, wow, that was a great read. But not so with Ocean. I distinctly recall finishing it, the light elation of completion washed away by a deeper disturbance. I remember holding the paperback, unsure if I should put it on a shelf with others I mean to reread, or fling it at the wall in disgust. I couldn’t really define what about it set so many alarm bells ringing in my head—just that it had.

I look back in my catalog of books I’ve read, dated and rated for how much I like them*, and see it listed in 2014, no stars. A neutral rating. That tracks.

I, like so many others, viewed Gaiman as a lovable, floppy-haired, modern wizard of words. At least half-fae, most likely. What else could explain it? I bought multiple audiobooks of his works to hear his melodious elocution breathing life into those words, lulling me into that dreamlike state. Holding me in thrall. And so much of what I’ve just written made so much more sense upon reading the damning article that came out this week. (I can’t in good conscience recommend ANYONE read it, because it is so dark and vile, but if you, like me, feel you really need to know, here you go. CW: graphic depictions of sexual assault, manipulation, and it will be seared into your brain forever.)

All I can say about the article, having read it, is that all of my deeper, somewhat-inexplicable feelings about his works fell into place, and fit a broader pattern of behavior and intent. I haven’t read some of his stories others have cited that show even more blatantly his true nature, but what I read was enough to be wary when the first allegations dropped last summer, and happily I had sold nearly all of his books two days before the article hit. (Missed one; off the shelf it goes.)

The lesson is old but stays true: don’t idolize authors, or artists, or really any person. Everyone has human failings—granted, some are vastly more disappointing than others. (See also: JK Rowling.) I don’t necessarily agree with “don’t meet your heroes” because sometimes people really are as they present themselves to be (and thank goodness! there has to be something GOOD and TRUE in this world still, jfc.) The moment you put someone on a pedestal, they start to wobble. Cherish the creative works that gave you something new in yourself, but don’t worship the creators.

Burn your idols.

*What, you don’t like to know when you read something and whether or not you liked it?

On Sailor Moon

Almost 30 years ago1, I sat with my kid sister in our uncle’s garage-turned-spare-room in San Jose, California, watching cartoons. Growing up rural2 in the 1980s, “watching cartoons” meant specifically Saturday mornings, as that’s when most/all cartoons were broadcast. Down in the city, with the magic of cable, there were multiple channels playing cartoons every day of the week! To a child, this was downright amazing. (I mean, let’s face it, to me as a teen: still amazing.)

As I said, we were watching cable tv.3 We had stumbled upon something I’d never seen before—anime—and not just any anime, but the first female-protagonist cartoon series I’d watched since She-Ra. Now, please know, I am no DiC lover, I detest the dub, I don’t care that it was “my first” Sailor Moon experience. The initial dub episodes were horribly cut-up, censored and edited, they gave poor Naru a hideous Brooklyn accent4 , and in true American fashion, they forced a morality lesson into each one, in the form of the “Sailor Moon Says” segment.5

Be that as it may, it was a wholly profound experience for me. I’d never seen Japanese animation, with such different aesthetics. I’d never heard of—never dreamed it existed—the magical girl genre, that there were whole series of comics and shows for girls. All the cartoons I grew up on were episodic, with virtually no continuation of plot threads or any sort of character growth.6 Nobody actually died in cartoons. Wile E. Coyote could lift up the 10-ton weight, un-accordion his body somehow, and walk the whole thing off. Gargamel and Azrael would carry on to torment the Smurfs another week.

We sat transfixed in front of Sailor Moon, DiC episode 20 (original Japanese episode 24), “A Friend in Wolf’s Clothing” (“Naru’s Tears: Nephrite Dies for Love”).7 Nephrite’s death scene remains as fresh in my memory as that first watching. Naru’s howls of anguish haunted me for months. The show hooked me in one episode!

As I started navigating the very primitive internet of 1996, I searched for Sailor Moon, found a plethora of fansites, started collecting images, bought the Japanese manga, discovered the wonderful world of fan-subs. By January 1997, I learned enough HTML to start planning my own site, a Sailor Moon gallery to end all galleries, focused on my favorite characters: Usagi and Mamoru. On September 19, 1997, I launched Gallery of the Silver Millennium, which I later renamed Serenitatis8 in 1999 when I bought my first domain name.9

By the time the site launched, I was very much in love with someone whom I saw as the Mamoru to my Usagi.10 My real-life romance inspired multiple site layouts, but my love for the characters predated it, and survived it. I raised the site up to a ripe adult age of 18 years, then shut it down in 2015.11 Despite this, my love for Sailor Moon burned on. (And on and on, as it turns out. 30 years!) Yes, Usagi is quite silly, and selfish, and immature, and conniving. But when it matters most, she will put herself between harm and a friend—or a stranger—without a moment’s hesitation. Sailor Moon is the kind of person I can only strive to be.

In a happy-ending epilogue sort of way, having found my ACTUAL Mamoru, who encourages me in all passions, I now have my collection of Sailor Moon toys and figures in a display case. In our living room.12 He doesn’t even tease me about it. (Honestly there’s so many nerdy things in our house, who’s going to notice a display of Sailor Moon figures? Have you seen my LEGO House Atreides Royal Ornithopter? It’s sitting on top of our petrified wood display, part of our giant rock collection. NERDS.)

There’s more I’d like to write about the Japanese manga/anime aesthetic and its influence on my art, but I’ll save it for another post. Until then:

Tsuki no hikari wa ai no message.13

  1. I wish I had an exact date, best guess is somewhere in 1995, possibly early 1996. ↩︎
  2. By which I mean, 3.5 broadcast TV channels and a large antenna on the roof. ↩︎
  3. Trying to determine which channel it was sent me down a Wikipedia rabbit-hole. I remember it being USA Network, but I can’t find a firm date of episodes airing before 1997, and by then I had gone down a manga-importing rabbit-hole, owned most of the Japanese tankoubon and was busily downloading and watching the final episodes of Sailor Stars, in glorious 180×120 pixel resolution. No, not kidding. NEEDLESS TO SAY, it was pre-1997. ↩︎
  4. Not being Japanese, I really can’t speak to how representative that is of a “hideous” Osaka accent, but that’s the parallel they were going for. ↩︎
  5. Plus it made up for all the minutes they cut out of each episode. SIGH. ↩︎
  6. I don’t know what that says about Western entertainment at the time, but I suspect, nothing particularly good. ↩︎
  7. In long-hindsight, an odd point to come into the story at random, but an impactful episode. There was romance and mystery, actual stakes and consequences and motivations. Even death! ↩︎
  8. You are here. ↩︎
  9. Back then, you had to pay for two years of registration, at $35/year, from Network Solutions, and there were only three TLDs (com/net/org). A fansite with its own domain was almost guaranteed to be of quality in 1999-2000, because the owner was investing some serious money into not just registration, but also hosting. My first job paid for my hosting bill, among other things. ↩︎
  10. Narrator: He was not. ↩︎
  11. Time and website burnout aside, those real-life associations were the deeper reason I shut down the website, mere weeks before we made the decision to divorce. ↩︎
  12. Perpetually-insecure-and-19 me is soooooo uncomfortable with this still, but I enjoy seeing them lit up and arranged nicely so much. ↩︎
  13. “The moonlight carries the message of love.” ↩︎

A moment, a space.

I joke frequently about the caveats of adulting that newly-minted adults (and teens) don’t necessarily understand. Generally speaking, adulting is highly overrated. Today’s reflection:

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that an adult in possession of all necessary cleaning supplies will only tidy up when guests are coming over.

I kept gravitating back to sit on the couch the other night, in front of our (clean! not covered in stuff!) coffee table, looking at a fairly clean house. Probably because my art desk is completely covered in stuff, and I felt calm and peaceful sitting there looking at not a mess? (Concept.) I don’t have a separate studio space—I’m occupying a portion of the living room. I have some storage but it’s not very organized. (Story of my life.) Anyway, eventually I got up and started cleaning my “studio”, though it will definitely take more organization sessions to get it where I want it.

The past several days, I took some time intentionally and gave myself some space to decompress from a seven-month-long stressful situation that ended rather unexpectedly. (As has been par for the course with my life the past several years, things seem to be forever fixed and terrible, then suddenly improve dramatically, usually in a day or two.) 2023 was not kind in a lot of ways—and physiologically I’ve paid the price—but this year so far has been hindered by a cloud of uncertainty that is now lifting.

The weather is improving in southern Oregon and I’m also intentionally spending time outside and soaking up the vitamin D. There’s a whole garden to prep, a greenhouse to build, and a front yard to revamp this year! Even if it’s just in 15 minute bites, there’s plenty to achieve while I work on sun-burning off the funk of winter.