perverse-idyll (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
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crack_van2009-06-25 09:08 pm
perverse-idyll.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2009-06-25 09:08 pm
Entry tags:
Playing for Keeps by vissy (NC-17)
Fandom: HARRY POTTER
Pairing: Eileen Prince Snape/Severus Snape
Length: 5800
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
vissy
Author Website: Verism (This is a link to the HP part of her oeuvre, which isn't entirely up to date)
Why this must be read:
In the last six months, there are two fics that have enthralled me to the point of goosebumps. I love them beyond reason and am flabbergasted by the authors' respective talents, so I've saved them to rec together as June nears its end.
"Playing for Keeps" is the darker fic, and I'm putting it first so that my month of recs can finish on a more optimistic note. Really, though, it's hard for me to be coherent about this fic. After reading it, I babbled at the author like a crazy person, and it's become firmly established as part of my personal Snape canon, gut-wrenching though it is. The fic's misleading at first, a somewhat harsh but entirely believable glimpse of Severus' home life during his last year at Hogwarts. It uses his mother Eileen's POV, her idiomatic speech and her immersion in the minutiae of lower-class Muggle existence, to build a careful portrait of the suffocating dreariness of Severus' childhood. It's not that affection's lacking, but that there's a dreadful secret at the heart of Eileen's renunciation of magic; and Severus, by attempting to jolly his mum during their rare time together, inadvertently triggers a re-enactment of it. Magic and its consequences take their revenge. It's pitiful but also horrifying, and it explains so much about how Snape came to be the person we meet in canon. I can only imagine him fleeing the scene with the smoking, gaping hole of his innocence still smoldering inside him, condemned by his mum's original sin to loathe himself for the rest of his life.
One of the immense pleasures of this fic is the tart, almost crunchy language of it. Spinner's End is full of things, andvissy knows exactly what those things are. Her command of texture, detail, brusqueness, colorful turns of phrase, her gift for physical immediacy, for blending pinches of humor and poetry into the narrative, for turning domestic squalor and penny-pinching thrift into a mesmerizing tale of tragic proportions, is pure delight. I know that sounds contradictory, but trust me. It's also unexpectedly pleasing to see Snape presented as an ordinary teenager. And the portrait of Eileen is nothing short of breathtaking. Something muted and guilty lurks behind her dour surface, her plodding resignation, her denial of her own magic. Her voice is perfect. She's a sympathetic monster who never meant it to be this way. But it is this way, and Severus would not exist if she hadn't been so criminally selfish.
There are so many sly hints and subtleties and connections that I realized only in retrospect were weaving this narrative fabric together that - *flaps hands excitedly* In sum: I was blown the fuck away. The fic's heartbreaking, and I love it as I love few others. And I should shut up now and just point you in its direction, because I could probably write a treatise on its artistry and traumatize the author into never writing another word because of the scary fangirl.
~~~
Wiping her hands dry, she fetched out a saucepan and some castor sugar and vanilla essence for the glaze. He had started up his ritualistic teenaged rummagings once more, head down bum up in the lazy susan in the corner - the new trousers really were far too short, he must have shot up two inches since Christmas time - and she sighed in exasperation. "If you've nothing better to do, then see if you can't find the basting brush, would you? I daresay it's in one of those drawers by the window."
"All right, all right," he said, lurching to attention. The top drawer held utensils and the bottom held tea towels, but the middle overflowed with the random domestic detritus of her Muggle life: bottle openers and chopsticks, tea strainers and spatulas. His eyes were quick and his fingers nimble, and he soon pulled out a small basting brush from the hoard with a triumphant a-ha.
"Thank you kindly," she said, when he tossed it her way, but he was already nose-deep back in the drawer, hunting out treasure, so she left him to it.
She was stirring sugar into boiling water at the stove, working up a thick syrup and wondering what time Emmerdale Farm was on - they'd been playing ducks and drakes with the programming that year, and she couldn't keep it straight for the life of her - when he hooked his chin over her shoulder and said, "Are you up for a quick game then, mum?"
She flicked off the gas and raised an enquiring brow. He was wearing a coaxing smile - it seemed hesitant and almost grotesque on his drawn face - and it took her a moment to register the old corduroy Gobstones drawstring bag swinging like a pendulum before her eyes. "Where'd you dig up those relics?" she said, a queer pang piercing her belly. She didn't think she'd clapped eyes on the bag in years.
"They were in the drawer where you stashed them, I suppose," he said, rolling his eyes; he'd never thought much of her habit of hiding her magic away. "Come on, how about it? Dad's not the only one who can have a bit of fun, is he?"
She hadn't even known he was familiar with the game, although she supposed some things never went out of fashion. Before he was born, she had often played at Gobstones with Tobias, who had hooted every time he had lost a point only to be splashed with cream of horned slugs or worse. That his own winning shots couldn't effect the same punishment on her - Gobstones didn't work the same for Muggles - had never deterred him from crying "We lay, we lay!" and knuckling down for a round of Snake Pit in the backyard, never mind that there was no one else there to bags the hole anyhow. Somehow they had fallen out of the Gobstones habit once she'd caught pregnant, and they had never fallen back into it. He was too busy, and she was too tired, and they'd lost the way of it before long.
She shook the old thoughts away and found that her son's inviting smile was starting to slip; he was always braced for a knock-back, even from her. He said, almost defiantly, "It's spring now, isn't it? That means it's Gobstones season."
"I thought I'd thrown these things out years ago," she said, taking the bag from him. She couldn't remember how many Gobstones it held (and a serious player always knew precisely how many Gobstones she owned) but it had a satisfying heft to it. The material felt dry enough, so none of them had been leaking.
"Come on, you know you want to," he said. "It shouldn't take long. I'm rubbish at Gobstones, so you'll likely slaughter me."
"I'm out of practice," she said, although her fingers were already flexing with want. She rolled the bag familiarly in the palm of her hand, then looked up to catch a fleeting expression of pity on his face, and she understood that this was goodbye.
~~~
Don't forget to leave the author some love if you enjoy it!
Playing for Keeps
Pairing: Eileen Prince Snape/Severus Snape
Length: 5800
Author on LJ:
vissyAuthor Website: Verism (This is a link to the HP part of her oeuvre, which isn't entirely up to date)
Why this must be read:
In the last six months, there are two fics that have enthralled me to the point of goosebumps. I love them beyond reason and am flabbergasted by the authors' respective talents, so I've saved them to rec together as June nears its end.
"Playing for Keeps" is the darker fic, and I'm putting it first so that my month of recs can finish on a more optimistic note. Really, though, it's hard for me to be coherent about this fic. After reading it, I babbled at the author like a crazy person, and it's become firmly established as part of my personal Snape canon, gut-wrenching though it is. The fic's misleading at first, a somewhat harsh but entirely believable glimpse of Severus' home life during his last year at Hogwarts. It uses his mother Eileen's POV, her idiomatic speech and her immersion in the minutiae of lower-class Muggle existence, to build a careful portrait of the suffocating dreariness of Severus' childhood. It's not that affection's lacking, but that there's a dreadful secret at the heart of Eileen's renunciation of magic; and Severus, by attempting to jolly his mum during their rare time together, inadvertently triggers a re-enactment of it. Magic and its consequences take their revenge. It's pitiful but also horrifying, and it explains so much about how Snape came to be the person we meet in canon. I can only imagine him fleeing the scene with the smoking, gaping hole of his innocence still smoldering inside him, condemned by his mum's original sin to loathe himself for the rest of his life.
One of the immense pleasures of this fic is the tart, almost crunchy language of it. Spinner's End is full of things, and
vissy knows exactly what those things are. Her command of texture, detail, brusqueness, colorful turns of phrase, her gift for physical immediacy, for blending pinches of humor and poetry into the narrative, for turning domestic squalor and penny-pinching thrift into a mesmerizing tale of tragic proportions, is pure delight. I know that sounds contradictory, but trust me. It's also unexpectedly pleasing to see Snape presented as an ordinary teenager. And the portrait of Eileen is nothing short of breathtaking. Something muted and guilty lurks behind her dour surface, her plodding resignation, her denial of her own magic. Her voice is perfect. She's a sympathetic monster who never meant it to be this way. But it is this way, and Severus would not exist if she hadn't been so criminally selfish.There are so many sly hints and subtleties and connections that I realized only in retrospect were weaving this narrative fabric together that - *flaps hands excitedly* In sum: I was blown the fuck away. The fic's heartbreaking, and I love it as I love few others. And I should shut up now and just point you in its direction, because I could probably write a treatise on its artistry and traumatize the author into never writing another word because of the scary fangirl.
~~~
Wiping her hands dry, she fetched out a saucepan and some castor sugar and vanilla essence for the glaze. He had started up his ritualistic teenaged rummagings once more, head down bum up in the lazy susan in the corner - the new trousers really were far too short, he must have shot up two inches since Christmas time - and she sighed in exasperation. "If you've nothing better to do, then see if you can't find the basting brush, would you? I daresay it's in one of those drawers by the window."
"All right, all right," he said, lurching to attention. The top drawer held utensils and the bottom held tea towels, but the middle overflowed with the random domestic detritus of her Muggle life: bottle openers and chopsticks, tea strainers and spatulas. His eyes were quick and his fingers nimble, and he soon pulled out a small basting brush from the hoard with a triumphant a-ha.
"Thank you kindly," she said, when he tossed it her way, but he was already nose-deep back in the drawer, hunting out treasure, so she left him to it.
She was stirring sugar into boiling water at the stove, working up a thick syrup and wondering what time Emmerdale Farm was on - they'd been playing ducks and drakes with the programming that year, and she couldn't keep it straight for the life of her - when he hooked his chin over her shoulder and said, "Are you up for a quick game then, mum?"
She flicked off the gas and raised an enquiring brow. He was wearing a coaxing smile - it seemed hesitant and almost grotesque on his drawn face - and it took her a moment to register the old corduroy Gobstones drawstring bag swinging like a pendulum before her eyes. "Where'd you dig up those relics?" she said, a queer pang piercing her belly. She didn't think she'd clapped eyes on the bag in years.
"They were in the drawer where you stashed them, I suppose," he said, rolling his eyes; he'd never thought much of her habit of hiding her magic away. "Come on, how about it? Dad's not the only one who can have a bit of fun, is he?"
She hadn't even known he was familiar with the game, although she supposed some things never went out of fashion. Before he was born, she had often played at Gobstones with Tobias, who had hooted every time he had lost a point only to be splashed with cream of horned slugs or worse. That his own winning shots couldn't effect the same punishment on her - Gobstones didn't work the same for Muggles - had never deterred him from crying "We lay, we lay!" and knuckling down for a round of Snake Pit in the backyard, never mind that there was no one else there to bags the hole anyhow. Somehow they had fallen out of the Gobstones habit once she'd caught pregnant, and they had never fallen back into it. He was too busy, and she was too tired, and they'd lost the way of it before long.
She shook the old thoughts away and found that her son's inviting smile was starting to slip; he was always braced for a knock-back, even from her. He said, almost defiantly, "It's spring now, isn't it? That means it's Gobstones season."
"I thought I'd thrown these things out years ago," she said, taking the bag from him. She couldn't remember how many Gobstones it held (and a serious player always knew precisely how many Gobstones she owned) but it had a satisfying heft to it. The material felt dry enough, so none of them had been leaking.
"Come on, you know you want to," he said. "It shouldn't take long. I'm rubbish at Gobstones, so you'll likely slaughter me."
"I'm out of practice," she said, although her fingers were already flexing with want. She rolled the bag familiarly in the palm of her hand, then looked up to catch a fleeting expression of pity on his face, and she understood that this was goodbye.
~~~
Don't forget to leave the author some love if you enjoy it!
Playing for Keeps