Chapter 4:
The Literature of the Past
Renee developed a pounding headache during a COR debate. Thomas and Constance were at one another's throats in a debate. Andrew seemed five seconds away from disappearing as he shrank into his chair. Renee raised her head from the table as Thomas insisted very loudly that anarchy was the only possible outcome of violent action.
"And what's so terrible about anarchy?" Constance shouted, causing Renee to cringe. "We live in a structured society. Anarchy would mean the ruination of the Party, which is the objective of the COR!"
"Anarchy is not our objective! Violence can only lead to anarchy, and therefore we should not use it! Not to mention that lives could be at risk!" Thomas was leaning over the table, gesturing at Constance.
"Lives are at risk every day under the Party -"
"What is the use of this?" Renee asked, giving them both a tired stare. Thomas and Constance began simultaneously, but Renee shook her head. "I don't care. Whatever you were fighting about, I really don't give a shit. What will come will come. We can't stop it. We can try to control it, and meet it on our own terms, but we can deal with it as it is. The world is not going to change overnight. We will use the tools at our disposal." Thomas opened his mouth to start, but Renee continued. "We have to. Now, has this session proved any use? Andrew?" Andrew looked up at her and shook his head. "I think that settles it. We won't take any further action until we deem it timely. Any objections?" Silence. "Good. Until next time."
The three remaining occupants of the room stared after her as she strode from the room.
Shutting the door to her room, Renee flopped onto her bed and cradled her head in her hands. It had barely been a month since the opening of the Warehouse, as they all called the not-quite-legal dance club. Already the COR were clamouring very quietly, of course, for more action on the part of their leaders, and especially Phoenix. Sometimes, she felt as if her head would implode from the pressure.
Constance softly opened the door and peered around it at her.
"I thought you'd be trying to rip Thomas' throat out," Renee remarked. Constance grinned and closed the door.
"Tired?" she asked. Renee nodded. "I suppose that fellow I got to dance with you last night was too much, eh?" Renee laughed. The fellow from last night had been a young and very enthusiastic Party member slumming at the Warehouse. "What is it, Renee?" Renee blinked, caught offguard by the question.
"What makes you thing something's wrong?"
"You've been off for two weeks. I know something's up." Constance surveyed her roommate. Renee had certainly lost weight in the last month, and she seemed more guarded. The subject shrugged.
"It's nothing. Just the usual day-to-day problems of running a revolution. I suppose this is how Big Brother felt."
"What?"
"Big Brother. Back at the Revolution. If you remember your history, he did overthrow capitalism via revolution. I think the parallel is obvious." She said the last part to a look of confusion on Constance's face.
"Is that what's worrying you? That you've turned into Big Brother?"
"No. Just a thought." Constance still looked worried. "You want to know what's bothering me? I'm in the middle of a bloody revolution, running the fucking thing, and I feel like I have no control. I want to keep things going slowly, not change overnight, and yet everyone else seems to think the fight'll be over by winter. For a whole fucking month I've been trying to tell people that we have to be patient, and yet I can't think of a bloody thing to do when we're done waiting. Not to mention you and Thomas at each other's throats every single fucking meeting."
"I'm sorry. But you know I'm right."
"That's the bugger of it. I wish you weren't."
They sat in silence, each contemplating the coming darkness. Suddenly, Renee sat up.
"Stance, do you remember those books my mum would give us to read?"
"Of course. Do you know what happened to them?"
"Yeah. I've got some of them, and I think she still has some. When you think about it, do you think that made the difference?"
"What, between being a Ministry lackey and a prostitute, rather than a revolutionary and her loyal lieutenant?"
"Yeah."
"I don't know. Come to think of it, maybe."
"Just maybe?" A slow smile was spreading across Renee's features as a spark appeared in her eyes. "Stance, it might have changed us, but what about other people? Could it change them?"
"What do you want to do? Get presses and print books?" Constance paused. "We could probably manage that."
"Good on you. Tell Andrew we've got a new requisition for the black market. Oh, and I'll have to go to my mum and ask her for the books, won't I?" Constance laughed.
"She'll kill you if you damage them in any way, you do know that?"
"Who'd have thought that my own mother would help the Party?"
The COR responded happily to Phoenix's proposition. Black marketeers gave bargain prices to Andrew for the presses, ink and paper, and a general enthusiasm for action helped them conceal the supplies easily within COR members' houses, empty buildings and businesses. Requests for books produced a multitude of classic works banned by the Party. However, the necessity still remained that Renee ask her mother for some of her childhood favourites.
Mary and James Pearse lived on the other side of the proletarian district of Dublin, accessible by Tube. She lived in a small flat on a street of rowhouses that never seemed to lose their dingy, dusty look. Renee and Constance had grown up in this neighbourhood, playing games in the dirty street. The Edwards, Constance's family, were across the street from the Pearses. Renee waved a hello to Constance's seventeen-year-old brother Eamon, still living with his parents, as she descended to the basement door behind which her parents lived and knocked on it. It opened to reveal Mary, a little older than her daughter remembered, but still as vivacious as ever. Daughter embraced mother as she stood, struck silent by surprise.
Mary regained her composure and hugged her daughter back. She pulled away and held Renee at arm's length.
"Renee, dear, what are you doing here?"
"I can't visit my mother without reason?"
"You may, but I doubt there is no reason, love. Come in, come in." Mary ushered her daughter into the apartment, which was larger and much tidier than Renee's new home.
Mary herself bore as much resemblance to Renee as their homes were alike. Here or there, there was a shape of a nose, a characteristic posture, or a speech pattern that hinted at their blood relation, but only hints. Mary was taller than Renee, and bore the heaviness of age well. Her features suggested that she was once a beauty, far more classic than her daughter, and had only in recent years succumbed to age. A twinkle in her eyes displayed her general optimism and humour.
Renee seated herself at the table in the kitchen opposite her mother.
"So, what are you here for?" Mary's eyes sparkled with amusement.
"Well, I have something to tell you."
"Sounds serious, dear."
"It is. I've ... Mum, you have to promise not to tell anyone."
"Love, I would never betray your trust."
"I've ... become involved with ... the COR." Renee stopped as she passed the first hurdle. Mary's eyebrows rose.
"Really? That new one? I've heard a little, but do you really think that's worth the risk? They haven't done much by my books."
"No, Mum, I'm quite sure. In fact, we're beginning a new campaign. They want to print books, Mum. Old ones, or ones written nowadays. They want to start exposing people to real culture again, created by real people. They're asking members to give books to have them copied." Renee looked at her mother, apprehensive. Mary leaned back.
"I see. And you want some of mine? Renee, you know I can't let go of those. They were your grandfather's."
"Mum, I promise I won't let anything happen to them."
"Can you trust these people? They might be Thought Police, trying to find rebels."
"Mum, I trust them. Believe me. And the books will only be gone for a few days, at most. And I can pick them up a few at a time, just so that you know not all of them are in danger at once. Please, Mum, this is important." Renee's last plaintive entreaty seemed to meet with her mother's approval. Mary smiled, and Renee sighed with relief.
Mary left the room and returned with five treasures in her arms. She laid them on the table before her daughter. Renee grinned at the titles her mother had selected: "A Tale of Two Cities," "The Scarlet Pimpernel," "Richard III," "Agamemnon," and "Animal Farm".
"You're not going to support me on this one, are you, Mum?" Mary laughed.
"You people might as well know the consequences of what you're doing, love."
Renee gathered the precious books and placed them in the bag she carried. She carefully covered them with other items that she had bought on her way there. She headed for the door, but was stopped by her mother's arm, a quick embrace and a peck on the cheek.
"Good luck turning the world upside down, love. We need more of you." Renee smiled and disappeared up the stairs to the street.
Author's Note:
This chapter was partially inspired by Farenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury, so I'll put that thanks here. The works Mary gives to Renee are a joke because they all show the negative side of revolution and overthrow. "A Tale of Two Cities" is the most sympathetic to the revolutionaries, but the main revolutionary characters are the antagonists. "The Scarlet Pimpernel" depicts an English nobleman rescuing French aristocrats from the French Revolution. "Richard III" has an evil prince murdering his way to the throne, and then paying for it in blood. "Agamemnon" is the Greek mythological story of the Clytemnestra-Aegisthus plot against Agamemnon and Cassandra. Clytemnestra, the evil queen, kills King Agamemnon and his concubine Cassandra, and takes over the government with her lover Aegisthus. "Animal Farm" is, of course, an allegory of the Russian Revolution, which went terribly wrong. Let's just pretend that Orwell never wrote Nineteen Eighty-Four in this world. The answers to last chapter's quiz: Pheonix is appropriate for Renee because her name means "reborn". Artemis is a joke for Constance because Artemis was the Greek goddess of chastity.
Disclaimer:
Children of the Revolution is by Marc Bolan. You can find it on the album "The Blind Leading the Naked" by Violent Femmes, or on the Moulin Rouge soundtrack (this is the one I know) as sung by Bono.
Nineteen Eighty-Four is by George Orwell
A Tale of Two Cities is by Charles Dickens.
The Scarlet Pimpernel is by the Baroness Orczy.
Richard III is by William Shakespeare.
Agamemnon is by Aeschylus.
Animal Farm is by George Orwell.
The Literature of the Past
Renee developed a pounding headache during a COR debate. Thomas and Constance were at one another's throats in a debate. Andrew seemed five seconds away from disappearing as he shrank into his chair. Renee raised her head from the table as Thomas insisted very loudly that anarchy was the only possible outcome of violent action.
"And what's so terrible about anarchy?" Constance shouted, causing Renee to cringe. "We live in a structured society. Anarchy would mean the ruination of the Party, which is the objective of the COR!"
"Anarchy is not our objective! Violence can only lead to anarchy, and therefore we should not use it! Not to mention that lives could be at risk!" Thomas was leaning over the table, gesturing at Constance.
"Lives are at risk every day under the Party -"
"What is the use of this?" Renee asked, giving them both a tired stare. Thomas and Constance began simultaneously, but Renee shook her head. "I don't care. Whatever you were fighting about, I really don't give a shit. What will come will come. We can't stop it. We can try to control it, and meet it on our own terms, but we can deal with it as it is. The world is not going to change overnight. We will use the tools at our disposal." Thomas opened his mouth to start, but Renee continued. "We have to. Now, has this session proved any use? Andrew?" Andrew looked up at her and shook his head. "I think that settles it. We won't take any further action until we deem it timely. Any objections?" Silence. "Good. Until next time."
The three remaining occupants of the room stared after her as she strode from the room.
Shutting the door to her room, Renee flopped onto her bed and cradled her head in her hands. It had barely been a month since the opening of the Warehouse, as they all called the not-quite-legal dance club. Already the COR were clamouring very quietly, of course, for more action on the part of their leaders, and especially Phoenix. Sometimes, she felt as if her head would implode from the pressure.
Constance softly opened the door and peered around it at her.
"I thought you'd be trying to rip Thomas' throat out," Renee remarked. Constance grinned and closed the door.
"Tired?" she asked. Renee nodded. "I suppose that fellow I got to dance with you last night was too much, eh?" Renee laughed. The fellow from last night had been a young and very enthusiastic Party member slumming at the Warehouse. "What is it, Renee?" Renee blinked, caught offguard by the question.
"What makes you thing something's wrong?"
"You've been off for two weeks. I know something's up." Constance surveyed her roommate. Renee had certainly lost weight in the last month, and she seemed more guarded. The subject shrugged.
"It's nothing. Just the usual day-to-day problems of running a revolution. I suppose this is how Big Brother felt."
"What?"
"Big Brother. Back at the Revolution. If you remember your history, he did overthrow capitalism via revolution. I think the parallel is obvious." She said the last part to a look of confusion on Constance's face.
"Is that what's worrying you? That you've turned into Big Brother?"
"No. Just a thought." Constance still looked worried. "You want to know what's bothering me? I'm in the middle of a bloody revolution, running the fucking thing, and I feel like I have no control. I want to keep things going slowly, not change overnight, and yet everyone else seems to think the fight'll be over by winter. For a whole fucking month I've been trying to tell people that we have to be patient, and yet I can't think of a bloody thing to do when we're done waiting. Not to mention you and Thomas at each other's throats every single fucking meeting."
"I'm sorry. But you know I'm right."
"That's the bugger of it. I wish you weren't."
They sat in silence, each contemplating the coming darkness. Suddenly, Renee sat up.
"Stance, do you remember those books my mum would give us to read?"
"Of course. Do you know what happened to them?"
"Yeah. I've got some of them, and I think she still has some. When you think about it, do you think that made the difference?"
"What, between being a Ministry lackey and a prostitute, rather than a revolutionary and her loyal lieutenant?"
"Yeah."
"I don't know. Come to think of it, maybe."
"Just maybe?" A slow smile was spreading across Renee's features as a spark appeared in her eyes. "Stance, it might have changed us, but what about other people? Could it change them?"
"What do you want to do? Get presses and print books?" Constance paused. "We could probably manage that."
"Good on you. Tell Andrew we've got a new requisition for the black market. Oh, and I'll have to go to my mum and ask her for the books, won't I?" Constance laughed.
"She'll kill you if you damage them in any way, you do know that?"
"Who'd have thought that my own mother would help the Party?"
The COR responded happily to Phoenix's proposition. Black marketeers gave bargain prices to Andrew for the presses, ink and paper, and a general enthusiasm for action helped them conceal the supplies easily within COR members' houses, empty buildings and businesses. Requests for books produced a multitude of classic works banned by the Party. However, the necessity still remained that Renee ask her mother for some of her childhood favourites.
Mary and James Pearse lived on the other side of the proletarian district of Dublin, accessible by Tube. She lived in a small flat on a street of rowhouses that never seemed to lose their dingy, dusty look. Renee and Constance had grown up in this neighbourhood, playing games in the dirty street. The Edwards, Constance's family, were across the street from the Pearses. Renee waved a hello to Constance's seventeen-year-old brother Eamon, still living with his parents, as she descended to the basement door behind which her parents lived and knocked on it. It opened to reveal Mary, a little older than her daughter remembered, but still as vivacious as ever. Daughter embraced mother as she stood, struck silent by surprise.
Mary regained her composure and hugged her daughter back. She pulled away and held Renee at arm's length.
"Renee, dear, what are you doing here?"
"I can't visit my mother without reason?"
"You may, but I doubt there is no reason, love. Come in, come in." Mary ushered her daughter into the apartment, which was larger and much tidier than Renee's new home.
Mary herself bore as much resemblance to Renee as their homes were alike. Here or there, there was a shape of a nose, a characteristic posture, or a speech pattern that hinted at their blood relation, but only hints. Mary was taller than Renee, and bore the heaviness of age well. Her features suggested that she was once a beauty, far more classic than her daughter, and had only in recent years succumbed to age. A twinkle in her eyes displayed her general optimism and humour.
Renee seated herself at the table in the kitchen opposite her mother.
"So, what are you here for?" Mary's eyes sparkled with amusement.
"Well, I have something to tell you."
"Sounds serious, dear."
"It is. I've ... Mum, you have to promise not to tell anyone."
"Love, I would never betray your trust."
"I've ... become involved with ... the COR." Renee stopped as she passed the first hurdle. Mary's eyebrows rose.
"Really? That new one? I've heard a little, but do you really think that's worth the risk? They haven't done much by my books."
"No, Mum, I'm quite sure. In fact, we're beginning a new campaign. They want to print books, Mum. Old ones, or ones written nowadays. They want to start exposing people to real culture again, created by real people. They're asking members to give books to have them copied." Renee looked at her mother, apprehensive. Mary leaned back.
"I see. And you want some of mine? Renee, you know I can't let go of those. They were your grandfather's."
"Mum, I promise I won't let anything happen to them."
"Can you trust these people? They might be Thought Police, trying to find rebels."
"Mum, I trust them. Believe me. And the books will only be gone for a few days, at most. And I can pick them up a few at a time, just so that you know not all of them are in danger at once. Please, Mum, this is important." Renee's last plaintive entreaty seemed to meet with her mother's approval. Mary smiled, and Renee sighed with relief.
Mary left the room and returned with five treasures in her arms. She laid them on the table before her daughter. Renee grinned at the titles her mother had selected: "A Tale of Two Cities," "The Scarlet Pimpernel," "Richard III," "Agamemnon," and "Animal Farm".
"You're not going to support me on this one, are you, Mum?" Mary laughed.
"You people might as well know the consequences of what you're doing, love."
Renee gathered the precious books and placed them in the bag she carried. She carefully covered them with other items that she had bought on her way there. She headed for the door, but was stopped by her mother's arm, a quick embrace and a peck on the cheek.
"Good luck turning the world upside down, love. We need more of you." Renee smiled and disappeared up the stairs to the street.
Author's Note:
This chapter was partially inspired by Farenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury, so I'll put that thanks here. The works Mary gives to Renee are a joke because they all show the negative side of revolution and overthrow. "A Tale of Two Cities" is the most sympathetic to the revolutionaries, but the main revolutionary characters are the antagonists. "The Scarlet Pimpernel" depicts an English nobleman rescuing French aristocrats from the French Revolution. "Richard III" has an evil prince murdering his way to the throne, and then paying for it in blood. "Agamemnon" is the Greek mythological story of the Clytemnestra-Aegisthus plot against Agamemnon and Cassandra. Clytemnestra, the evil queen, kills King Agamemnon and his concubine Cassandra, and takes over the government with her lover Aegisthus. "Animal Farm" is, of course, an allegory of the Russian Revolution, which went terribly wrong. Let's just pretend that Orwell never wrote Nineteen Eighty-Four in this world. The answers to last chapter's quiz: Pheonix is appropriate for Renee because her name means "reborn". Artemis is a joke for Constance because Artemis was the Greek goddess of chastity.
Disclaimer:
Children of the Revolution is by Marc Bolan. You can find it on the album "The Blind Leading the Naked" by Violent Femmes, or on the Moulin Rouge soundtrack (this is the one I know) as sung by Bono.
Nineteen Eighty-Four is by George Orwell
A Tale of Two Cities is by Charles Dickens.
The Scarlet Pimpernel is by the Baroness Orczy.
Richard III is by William Shakespeare.
Agamemnon is by Aeschylus.
Animal Farm is by George Orwell.