Hola! I’ve got like three research papers I should be doing but I thought, ‘fuck it, why not do another blog entry?’
And here we are.
So we just left Luke’s weird, long, convoluted story behind and now we get to listen to Fairy talk again (joy upon joys!).
“Say something, Clary.”
“What do you want me to say?”
He sighed. “Maybe that you understand?”
I mean, I’m kind of on Fairy’s side here—if you just found out your whole life was a bit of a lie you’d need more than a few minutes to process it, I think.
“Did [my father] ever even exist?” Clary’s voice rose. “Was there ever a John Clark, or did my mother make him up too?”
“John Clark existed. But he wasn’t your father. He was the son of two of your mother’s neighbors when you lived in the East Village. He died in a car crash, just like your mother told you, but she never knew him. She had his photo because the neighbors commissioned her to paint a portrait of him in his Army uniform. She gave them the portrait but kept the photo, and pretended the man in it had been your father.”
Okay, not only did I think of that Friends episode where Pheobe finds out that her dad is one of those stock models that come in picture frames, but seriously who does that. How disrespectful to the person that actually died and the family who actually lost him. Why not just say “It’s too painful for me to have any photos of him around” and leave it at that. Or say you don’t have any? It’s not like Facebook was around at that point.
“Clary, please don’t get upset—”
“Don’t get upset? You’re telling me that my dad is a guy who’s basically an evil overlord, and you want me not to get upset?”
“He wasn’t evil to begin with,” Luke said, sounding almost apologetic.
You know, I’m totally on her side at this point. This is a lot to take in and would freak anyone out if they found out their father was a MANIAC PSYCHOPATH WHO WANTED TO PURIFY A RACE OF PEOPLE SHE DIDN’T KNOW EXISTED.
Moving on.
“I wasn’t the one talking about ‘slimy’ Downworlders just minutes ago,” Luke said quietly. “Or about how they couldn’t be trusted.”
OKAY I MEAN.... YES IT’S SORT OF COMPARABLE BUT ALSO... NOT....... I don’t know how to word this but I’m pretty sure Fairy wasn’t going to try and cleanse them off the face of this earth. I'm a little irritated that he's trying to compare the two.
They start healing Fairy’s bird attack wounds, and I’d actually forgotten that had happened until now, but I’ll chalk that up to the amount of time I leave between these chapters and not a loss in direction of the plot.
“Hugin,” Luke said softly. “Hugin and Munin were Valentine’s pet birds. Their names mean ‘Thought’ and ‘Memory.’”Fairy, not everyone is named like they’re a character from an 18th c. Novel—our names don’t have to mean exactly what we are as a character.
“Well, they should mean ‘Attack’ and ‘Kill,’” said Clary. “Hugo almost tore my eyes out.”
They start trying to plan an attack, and Fairy says this:
“Doesn’t Valentine have some kind of hideout? A secret lair?”
and I immediately started picturing Voldentine as Dr. Evil with a lair in the middle of a volcano and sharks with lasers, so you’re all welcome for that image.
But OF COURSE this happens and I’m still laughing about it editing this post for publishing like a day later:
“When I saw him at the Institute, he came through a Portal. Magnus said there are only two Portals in New York. One at Dorothea’s, and one at Renwick’s. The one at Dorothea’s was destroyed, and I can’t really see him hiding out there anyway, so—”
“Renwick’s?” Luke looked baffled. “Renwick isn’t a Shadowhunter name.”
“What if Renwick isn’t a person, though?” said Clary. “What if it’s a place? Renwick’s. Like a restaurant, or … or a hotel or something.”
Luke’s eyes went suddenly wide. He turned to Gretel, who was advancing on him with
the medical kit. “Get me a phone book,” he said.
ARE YOU KIDDING ME? When are novels going to address the fact that everyone (or at least one person in a group) has a smart phone? Hell, we all have phones bigger than our heads that can’t fit into the pockets of our jeans, now. You’re telling me that it would be too convenient for them to google that shit? Not even, “Siri, tell me where the nearest shadowhunter portals are”?
I can’t BELIEVE this! Do people still get phonebooks anymore? I thought they were shunned due to the gross amount of paper they take! This is worse than Bella ‘typing something into her favourite search engine’ and Ana not having a goddamn computer as a college student COMBINED.
Gretel returned with damp-looking yellow pages and thrust them at Luke.
There are so many things wrong here—SO MANY THINGS. Why isn’t that capitalised? Are they just yellow pages and not actually Yellow Pages? If they’re damp then doesn’t that kinda mean they’re old which could mean it would have incorrect info.
“Do you have a phone?” Clary interrupted.
“Not on me.” Luke, still holding the phone book, peered under it at Gretel. “Could you get the telephone?”
WHAT IS WRONG WITH EVERYONE.
I want the next fantasy series to have werewolves using technology, vampires on Instagram, faeries using Facebook, everyone on LinkedIn because the world is evolving and that’s just how people interact now?
“If we catch Valentine,” she asked abruptly, “can we kill him?”
Luke nearly dropped the bandages. “What?”
She fiddled with a stray thread poking out of the pocket of her jeans. “He killed my older brother. He killed my grandparents. Didn’t he?”
Luke set the bandages on the table and pulled his shirt down. “And you think killing him will what? Erase those things?”
Fairy is sixteen years old. Fairy has been raised in a sheltered, lovely apartment. Fairy has no reason to suggest that killing someone should even be an option for her, but of course we need her to want some sort of vengeance. I also almost feel like this is out of line with what kind of character she was meant to be? I thought she was loving and accepting (or at least, CC was trying to write her that way), but she’s suggesting more murder?
So Fairy calls Simon and asks him to Google something for her, which, THANK YOU, but also, if that was an option, why did you make me read a page and a half of them getting a fucking phonebook if it wasn’t even going to come to fruition.
“‘The most famous of the lunatic asylums, debtor’s prisons, and hospitals built on Roosevelt Island in the 1800s,’” Simon read dutifully. “‘Renwick Smallpox Hospital was designed by architect Jacob Renwick and intended to quarantine the poorest victims of Manhattan’s uncontrollable smallpox epidemic. During the next century the hospital was abandoned to disrepair. Public access to the ruin is forbidden.’”
Ta-da! It’s not an inactive volcano but it’s close enough!
They leave the police station and everything turns casual again, which is probably my biggest gripe with this fucking book. Just when I get comfortable and hopeful that the plot will pick up the pace, we fall back into funny quips and things that don’t fit the tone.
“Actually it looks like a Chinese restaurant from the outside,” Luke said. “Takeout only, no table service.”
“A Chinese restaurant?” Clary echoed in disbelief.
He shrugged. “Well, we are in Chinatown. This was the Second Precinct building once.”
“People must think it’s weird that there’s no phone number to call for orders.”
Luke grinned. “There is. We just don’t answer it much. Sometimes, if they’re bored, some of the cubs will deliver someone some mu shu pork.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Not at all. The tips come in handy.” He pushed the front door open, letting in a stream of sunlight.
Yes, thank you, even though about five minutes ago you told everyone to ready themselves for battle.
Clary ripped the bag open as they headed uptown, her stomach growling furiously. She tore a bun apart, savoring the rich savory-salt taste of the pork, the chewiness of the
white dough. She washed it down with a swig of black supersweet coffee, and offered a
bun to Luke. “Want one?”
WHY. DO. I. NEED. TO. READ. THIS. I don’t care. I literally could not care less about the food that Fairy is eating at this point. I don’t know what the ‘plan’ is, I don’t know how they’re going to attack Voldentine’s lair, I don’t know a single thing about whether Jace or Fairy’s mom are still alive, and I’m readying about Fairy eating pork buns. And while we're here-- since when is black coffee super-sweet?
It was almost like old times, she thought, as they swung onto Canal Street, when they had picked up bags of hot dumplings from the Golden Carriage Bakery and eaten half of them on the drive home over the Manhattan Bridge.
YEAH, JUST LIKE OLD TIMES, WHEN EVERYONE YOU LOVED WAS ABOUT TO MAYBE DIE AND YOU’RE ABOUT TO WALK INTO A BATTLE COMPLETELY UNPREPARED.
Luke asks about Jace, and I’m getting really worried about the direction this story might go, but I’m not gonna say it because there’s no way any author would ever go there with this.
Luke frowned into the setting sun. “I thought Jace was one of the Lightwood kids?”
“No.” Clary bit into a third bun. “His last name is Wayland. His father was—”
“Michael Wayland?”
She nodded. “And when Jace was ten years old, Valentine killed him. Michael, I mean.”
“That sounds like something he would do,” said Luke. His tone was neutral, but there was something in his voice that made Clary look at him sideways. Did he not believe her?
I finally get an explanation for why they can control their transformations, except it’s not an explanation at all:
Luke’s mouth twitched. “Not exactly. Only the young ones, the ones who’ve just Changed, can’t control their transformations. Most of the rest of us have learned how to, over the years. Only the moon at its fullest can force a Change on me now.”
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| I sort of feel like a 15 year old made this gif. |
Doesn’t really seem like a problem to me, honestly. I don’t like this cop-out. Remus Lupin is angrily flipping a table somewhere, probably.
“I knew I had little chance against him by myself and that I could expect no assistance from the Clave. It took me a day to track down the location of the nearest lycanthrope pack.”
“You killed the clan leader so you could take his place?”
OKAY BUT HEAR ME OUT, DIDN’T HE JUST SAY THAT THE OLDER WEREWOLVES CAN CONTROL THEIR TRANSFORMATIONS NOW? SO.... HE JUST KILLED ANOTHER HUMAN BASICALLY.
They arrive at the super secret lair that probably looks like this, honestly:
Her feet hit the dry-packed dirt, sending up puffs of dust.
Okay, again.... that makes no sense. If it was packed down, it wouldn’t send up—you know what, no. I’m so close I’m not doing this.
The werewolves walking behind him looked like completely ordinary people, Clary thought. [ ... ] But they looked nothing like monsters.
... I’m gonna just... not comment, because I don’t understand how we’re supposed to feel about werewolves in this novel. I don’t know why they would be considered monsters at all.
The lights seemed to fade, and now she was looking across an oak-dusted lawn to an ornate Gothic Revival structure that seemed to loom up above the trees like the bulwark of a great ship. The windows of the lower floors were dark and shuttered, but light poured through the mitered arches of the third-story windows, like a line of flame burning along the ridge
IT IS BOWSER’S CASTLE. I WAS RIGHT.
Luke, who had come up behind her with the padding grace of—well, a wolf.
This was Cassandra Clare’s writing, which had all the grace of, well, a bull in a china shop.
Luke makes Fairy promise to stick near him and not do anything on her own, but also, why are you bringing a 16 year old into a dangerous fight. I don’t understand why there isn’t even the usual argument that happens in YA fiction—you know, “I’M 16 I’M NOT A CHILD ANYMORE DAD”.
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| yes... yes you are Ariel. |
They approach the hospital all together, and the Forsaken just materialise out of thin air. And then the pack is able to jut shift into their wolf forms because they feel like it! I honestly cannot stand that as a plot device—werewolves have such a long history and to just take them and turn them into glorified shape-shifters? Just call them shape-shifters!
Still behind Luke, Clary didn’t even see the first of the Forsaken as they struck. She heard a wolf howl as if in pain. The howl went up and up, turning quickly into a snarl. There was a thudding sound, then a gurgling cry and a sound like ripping paper—Clary found herself wondering if the Forsaken were edible.
What... the fuck? If Fairy turns out to be a psychopath then this book will get a thousand times more interesting.
You know the novel is bad if I’m wishing for the main character to be a murderer.
Fairy finds herself in mortal danger from a Foresaken, which isn’t very surprising honestly. And then CC does describe a wolf hurtling past them like this:
Before she could shout at him to let go of her, a lick of slim silver fire hurtled between them.
I’m not gonna bother.
Something lifted Clary off her feet. She shouted, but it was Alaric, half in and half out of wolf-form, his hands taloned with sharp claws.
I am still so mad about this! What is the point of making being bit by a werewolf seem like an issue if all it does is take a few years until you can control your transformation?
Luke and Fairy break away from the battle and enter into the actual hospital. They go into a room with creepy runes and lots of Latin, so I’m sure nothing will possibly go wrong at all.
Basically they start going through the hospital and it’s kinda of like they’re going through Voldentine’s rooms? I know it’s meant to be eerie but I have the funniest image of them accidentally stumbling upon his game room or something.
The second room was full of weapons: swords, maces, and axes. Moonlight ran like silver water over row upon row of cold unsheathed steel. Luke whistled under his breath. “Quite a collection.”
“You think Valentine uses all these?”
“Unlikely. I suspect they’re for his army.” Luke turned away.
This is honestly supposed to be creepy but all I can think about is Fifty Shades of Grey and Christian’s playroom and now I can’t stop laughing.
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| I hope this is in this book. |
The third room was a bedroom. The hangings around the four-poster bed were blue,AND COVERED IN JUSTIN BIEBER POSTERS?
the Persian carpet patterned in blue, black, and gray, and the furniture was painted white, like the furnishings in a child’s room. A thin and ghostly layer of dust covered it all, glinting faintly in the moonlight.Ahw, damn. Sounds like a creepy old abandoned bedroom right? No one been there for a while obviously.
In the bed lay Jocelyn, asleep.
What? Sure? I guess? She’s just sleeping in a dusty old bed? That’s disgusting.
Silver manacles closed around Jocelyn’s wrists and feet, the ends of their chains sunk deep into the stone floor on either side of the bed. The table beside the bed was covered in a weird array of tubes and bottles, glass jars and long, wickedly tipped instruments glinting with surgical steel. A rubberized tube ran from one of the glass jars to a vein in Jocelyn’s left arm.
HOLY SHIT. Holy shit holy shit holy shit? Luke says she's most likely in some sort of magic-induced coma, which is terrifying.
Blackwell, that weird Death Eater-y type dude comes in and then he’s followed by Pangborn.
Luke, moving so swiftly that Clary almost did not see him do it, seized a scalpel from the bedside table and flung it. It flipped twice in the air and sank point-first into Blackwell’s throat, cutting off his growling retort.
So... Luke is just a straight-up murderer, right? Because I feel like a lot of murdering is happening right now.
Luke, taking Clary’s shoulder, whispered something in her ear. It meant nothing. Clary was aware only of a numb buzzing in her head. She remembered another poem from English class, something about how after the first death you saw, no other deaths mattered.
This is actually a really good point? Fairy is a 16 year old girl who is literally being thrust into a life-threatening and scarring situation, and I don’t trust that this will be handled well at all.
Luke starts fighting Pangborn (god these names are so cringe-worthy) and he changes into a wolf – I’m not calling them werewolves anymore that’s not what they are—and Fairy books it out of there into the weapons room.
Which is another interesting point—did no one ever get her alone for a second to train her in any sort of combat? Don’t you think that would have been more prudent than, I dunno, having her sit in her room drawing things idly? It would have made it a million times more believable if she’s about to do what I think she is.
She leaves the weapons room and runs to a hallways with stairs and suddenly becomes every annoying protagonist in a horror film ever.
Up or down?
DOWN FAIRY. DOWN. ALWAYS DOWN.
She went up.
She enters a room in which she can hear people, and I just want to scream at her because she is honestly the dumbest person ever.
“Jace,” she said. She heard her own voice as if from a distance: astonishment, gratitude, longing so sharp it was painful.
I mean, we knew that he was captured, so this isn’t a huge surprise. He won't leave with her and he chastises her for even following him in the first place.
“What, you kidnapped yourself?” She’d meant to sound teasing, but her voice was too thin. “Come on, Jace.”Oh God I don’t like where this is going oh God.
“Are those your clothes?” she asked, baffled. “And—you’re all bandaged up …” Her voice trailed off. “Valentine seems to be taking awfully good care of you.”
Please dear God no please don’t do this to me. I am a good person I don't deserve this.
He smiled at her with a weary affection. “If I told you the truth, you’d say I was crazy,” he said.
CASSANDRA I AM GIVING YOU ONE CHANCE PLEASE DON’T DO THIS I AM BEGGING YOU WE ARE NOT IN VICTORIAN ERA LITERARY TRADITIONS YOU ARE NOT OSCAR WILDE YOU CANNOT PULL THIS OFF.
“My father gave me these clothes,” he said.
PLEASE.
“My father—”
The door of the room, which Clary had shut behind her, opened with a creak, and a man walked into the room.
It was Valentine.
I’m gonna hurl.
“Clary,” he said firmly. “This is my father.”
I'm so glad you finally got to this part
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