by Zara » Sat Apr 25, 2015 8:20 pm
Father thinks that part of Vincent is a man...and that part of Vincent is not. To be specific.
Is Vincent mostly taking his cues from others? No. Vincent consistently sifts the cues that others try to give him, and defies many cues from many people, Father included, Catherine included, outsiders definitely included. Vincent listens carefully to what others believe about him, but he is highly aware and accepting of himself, even protective of himself, and confident about the reality of his own nature. He makes his own decisions about his own identity. Notice that whenever Vincent loses confidence in his own perceptions of himself, he is also simultaneously losing confidence in his perceptions of reality in general. Vincent most doubts himself when his sanity is in danger.
Is part of Vincent just waiting for someone to tell him he's a real boy? No. All of Vincent is waiting for someone to see him for who (and what) he is and to love him for being exactly who (and what) he is. He is waiting for a woman he can feel completely safe with, who feels completely safe with him. I think of
Vincent's "Terrible Savior" Letter to Catherine, to name only one of many examples in the canonical material, in which Vincent laments that Catherine did not know or trust him, although he believed for a while that she did. He so wanted to believe. He kept wanting to believe. But there came a point (I suspect that point comes at the end of "The Outsiders") when the possibility that she was capable of knowing or trusting him, as he exists in the world, stopped being believable.
Will Catherine's love slowly tell Vincent he's a real boy? Well, that's what Catherine and her way of relating to Vincent do indeed try to say to him throughout the series. But since that's not what Vincent is asking for, her message completely fails to meet Vincent's needs, and thus does not meet the requirements for mutual respect and love in their relationship.
Can Vincent convince Catherine their love is worth the effort it's going to take? I cannot answer this question because the question does not apply to Vincent's priorities. He never tries to convince Catherine their love is worth the effort; he only tries to help her understand what the actual cost will be, and then leaves her to decide for herself whether or not she is willing to pay the price. He has already "convinced" himself, that is, decided for himself that he will pay the price, make whatever sacrifice he must make, for their love. Yes, he believes the effort is worth the price, truly. Or he would never have come to Catherine's balcony in the first place, he would never have stayed when she asked him to, and he would never have kept coming back.
Vincent and Catherine have always been having a silent, implied argument. Sometimes, it's not even silent. Sometimes, it's quite explicit. But the argument is never about whether Vincent is a person. Vincent knows he is a person. Not a human person, but still a person. Vincent also knows that Catherine knows he is a person. Rather, the argument ever since "Terrible Savior" has been, "Within my personhood, I have a nonhuman aspect of myself that is extremely dangerous and terrifying, and I understand some of the reasons why you feel afraid, and I understand some of the reasons why I feel afraid, but I would like to understand more, so can we talk about it?" versus, "No, you don't have such an aspect of yourself, and no, I'm not afraid, and you don't need to be afraid either, and I already know everything I need to know about you, so we don't need to talk about it, ever."
Catherine consistently closes the subject. Vincent does not like her choice, but he abides by it, until the next time the issue arises in their relationship, and then he tries again to open the subject for discussion. But if she won't acknowledge Vincent's self-definitions, there's really nothing to talk about. If she won't talk about it, they can't talk about it.
I think your logic might be setting up a false dichotomy. Throughout the series, Vincent acts according to a set of practical "working answers" that allows him to navigate many questions about his identity. At times, he will also ask more theoretical questions about himself that result in more tentative conclusions, or that simply raise more questions that no one has been able to answer yet. There are some questions that don't really have objective answers, and there are some questions that yield answers that are helpful to Vincent's concept of himself. Some answers he likes, some answers he does not like, but he accepts as plausible whichever answers best fit the available facts. For a romantic character, Vincent is also an admirably rational one.
But to return to the original bestiality question.
Vincent to Catherine in "Once Upon a Time in the City of New York": "I know what I am."
Vincent to Catherine in "The Outsiders": "You don't know me."
Perhaps Catherine deals with the bestiality problem by denying, ignoring, or rejecting the bare fact that Vincent is not the same species as she is. She pretends that what she wants to believe about him is what is real. Catherine in essence says, "You're not a Beast. You're a human. You're the most human being that I've ever met. And I love you." And Vincent replies, "I am a Beast. I'm not entirely human, although I want to live as humanely as I can. And you can't possibly love me, Vincent-as-I-am, if you are loving only a non-Bestial figment of your imagination."
I'm also thinking also of what Vincent says to Charles in "Brothers" about being a mirror, "Where frightened me see the shape of their own fears, and small men see only ugliness..."
And frightened and/or small women? What do they see?
Finally, what does Vincent think of himself?
I'm never comfortable with plugging my fictions into conversations, but...in some cases, I don't know how else to proceed. So...
All of the stories I write address in some way the question of what Vincent thinks about himself. I've learned that it's impossible for me to try to answer that question outside of the in-world context of the fantasy. I relate deeply to Vincent's character. When I enter the fantasy, I *am* Vincent, first and foremost. And, just like Vincent, I cannot explain Vincentself very well because there comes a point when concrete communication simply fails.
So I offer snippets from one of my stories,
Nor Iron Bars a Cage:
In 'Nor Iron Bars a Cage' Zara wrote:
Their prisoner was not wholly Animal, and he was not wholly Man....
In truth, he was a beast-bodied self who had from birth endured the special mystery surrounding the number of hours, days, months, years, wherein he could expect to draw breath in health and comfort....
I am my body and I am more than my body, thought Vincent, working to reassemble his own definitions of himself. I am both my Darkness and my Light. For you, I am nothing but a murky mirror of yourselves. In me you see the best and the worst of your own natures unmasked. I feed your vanity. I challenge your faith that nightmares cannot touch you in the waking world. So few—
(if anyone at all)
—so very few people—can look into my face and see ME there. This is the burden I must carry, this my solitary fate. To be a person in my world, and not to be a person in yours—and to know that I am so. To know that my beginning is unknowable—
(unthinkable)
—and my ending a finality with no reprise beyond it.
...I am not what they believe I am, he insisted....
He wanted to know himself as his family knew him. To the Tunnelfolk and their Helpers he was protector and councilman, friend and scholar, stonemason and chess master, artist and architectural engineer, brother and teacher. And with Father, he was son.
...
“Vincent—” he began, and he stopped. How should he ask this? There was no polite way, really. So Hughes simply said it. “What are you?”
Vincent took a little while to think about the question. Then he answered, “I am only what I am.”
Hughes said nothing. Vincent continued very softly, speaking one phrase at a time.
“If you cut me, I will bleed. If you strike me, I will strike back.”
Hughes, stunned anew, recognized the essence of Shylock’s most famous soliloquy. Intelligent? Beyond all expectation! Exulting, Hughes thought, Not quoting Shakespeare, Mr. Gould, but certainly paraphrasing him!
“And. If you keep me in chains,” Vincent was saying now with slow emphasis, “I will die.”
I think failing or refusing to respect Vincent's understanding of himself is a way of keeping him in chains. A way of telling a disabled and disenfranchised person that what he knows about himself doesn't "count." That people who have never been considered a "freak" know better than he does who and what he is, what he thinks, how he feels, what his life means. Chaining him to someone else's expectations is, in fact, the very act that disables and disempowers him. And thus misunderstood, trapped and isolated, starved for the love only a true soulmate can give to him or receive from him, he dies of his aloneness.
The fairy tale's inter-species romance was supposed to offer a path of mutual liberation, love, and life for Beast and Beauty both.
Father thinks that part of Vincent is a man...and that part of Vincent is not. To be specific. :)
Is Vincent mostly taking his cues from others? No. Vincent consistently sifts the cues that others try to give him, and defies many cues from many people, Father included, Catherine included, outsiders definitely included. Vincent listens carefully to what others believe about him, but he is highly aware and accepting of himself, even protective of himself, and confident about the reality of his own nature. He makes his own decisions about his own identity. Notice that whenever Vincent loses confidence in his own perceptions of himself, he is also simultaneously losing confidence in his perceptions of reality in general. Vincent most doubts himself when his sanity is in danger.
Is part of Vincent just waiting for someone to tell him he's a real boy? No. All of Vincent is waiting for someone to see him for who (and what) he is and to love him for being exactly who (and what) he is. He is waiting for a woman he can feel completely safe with, who feels completely safe with him. I think of [url=http://www.batbforever.com/scripts/letters.html]Vincent's "Terrible Savior" Letter to Catherine[/url], to name only one of many examples in the canonical material, in which Vincent laments that Catherine did not know or trust him, although he believed for a while that she did. He so wanted to believe. He kept wanting to believe. But there came a point (I suspect that point comes at the end of "The Outsiders") when the possibility that she was capable of knowing or trusting him, as he exists in the world, stopped being believable.
Will Catherine's love slowly tell Vincent he's a real boy? Well, that's what Catherine and her way of relating to Vincent do indeed try to say to him throughout the series. But since that's not what Vincent is asking for, her message completely fails to meet Vincent's needs, and thus does not meet the requirements for mutual respect and love in their relationship.
Can Vincent convince Catherine their love is worth the effort it's going to take? I cannot answer this question because the question does not apply to Vincent's priorities. He never tries to convince Catherine their love is worth the effort; he only tries to help her understand what the actual cost will be, and then leaves her to decide for herself whether or not she is willing to pay the price. He has already "convinced" himself, that is, decided for himself that he will pay the price, make whatever sacrifice he must make, for their love. Yes, he believes the effort is worth the price, truly. Or he would never have come to Catherine's balcony in the first place, he would never have stayed when she asked him to, and he would never have kept coming back.
Vincent and Catherine have always been having a silent, implied argument. Sometimes, it's not even silent. Sometimes, it's quite explicit. But the argument is never about whether Vincent is a person. Vincent knows he is a person. Not a human person, but still a person. Vincent also knows that Catherine knows he is a person. Rather, the argument ever since "Terrible Savior" has been, "Within my personhood, I have a nonhuman aspect of myself that is extremely dangerous and terrifying, and I understand some of the reasons why you feel afraid, and I understand some of the reasons why I feel afraid, but I would like to understand more, so can we talk about it?" versus, "No, you don't have such an aspect of yourself, and no, I'm not afraid, and you don't need to be afraid either, and I already know everything I need to know about you, so we don't need to talk about it, ever."
Catherine consistently closes the subject. Vincent does not like her choice, but he abides by it, until the next time the issue arises in their relationship, and then he tries again to open the subject for discussion. But if she won't acknowledge Vincent's self-definitions, there's really nothing to talk about. If she won't talk about it, they can't talk about it.
I think your logic might be setting up a false dichotomy. Throughout the series, Vincent acts according to a set of practical "working answers" that allows him to navigate many questions about his identity. At times, he will also ask more theoretical questions about himself that result in more tentative conclusions, or that simply raise more questions that no one has been able to answer yet. There are some questions that don't really have objective answers, and there are some questions that yield answers that are helpful to Vincent's concept of himself. Some answers he likes, some answers he does not like, but he accepts as plausible whichever answers best fit the available facts. For a romantic character, Vincent is also an admirably rational one.
But to return to the original bestiality question.
Vincent to Catherine in "Once Upon a Time in the City of New York": "I know what I am."
Vincent to Catherine in "The Outsiders": "You don't know me."
Perhaps Catherine deals with the bestiality problem by denying, ignoring, or rejecting the bare fact that Vincent is not the same species as she is. She pretends that what she wants to believe about him is what is real. Catherine in essence says, "You're not a Beast. You're a human. You're the most human being that I've ever met. And I love you." And Vincent replies, "I am a Beast. I'm not entirely human, although I want to live as humanely as I can. And you can't possibly love me, Vincent-as-I-am, if you are loving only a non-Bestial figment of your imagination."
I'm also thinking also of what Vincent says to Charles in "Brothers" about being a mirror, "Where frightened me see the shape of their own fears, and small men see only ugliness..."
And frightened and/or small women? What do they see?
Finally, what does Vincent think of himself?
I'm never comfortable with plugging my fictions into conversations, but...in some cases, I don't know how else to proceed. So...
All of the stories I write address in some way the question of what Vincent thinks about himself. I've learned that it's impossible for me to try to answer that question outside of the in-world context of the fantasy. I relate deeply to Vincent's character. When I enter the fantasy, I *am* Vincent, first and foremost. And, just like Vincent, I cannot explain Vincentself very well because there comes a point when concrete communication simply fails.
So I offer snippets from one of my stories, [i]Nor Iron Bars a Cage[/i]:
[quote="In 'Nor Iron Bars a Cage' Zara"]
Their prisoner was not wholly Animal, and he was not wholly Man....
In truth, he was a beast-bodied self who had from birth endured the special mystery surrounding the number of hours, days, months, years, wherein he could expect to draw breath in health and comfort....
[i]I am my body and I am more than my body,[/i] thought Vincent, working to reassemble his own definitions of himself. [i]I am both my Darkness and my Light. For you, I am nothing but a murky mirror of yourselves. In me you see the best and the worst of your own natures unmasked. I feed your vanity. I challenge your faith that nightmares cannot touch you in the waking world. So few—
(if anyone at all)
—so very few people—can look into my face and see ME there. This is the burden I must carry, this my solitary fate. To be a person in my world, and not to be a person in yours—and to know that I am so. To know that my beginning is unknowable—
(unthinkable)
—and my ending a finality with no reprise beyond it.[/i]
...[i]I am not what they believe I am,[/i] he insisted....
He wanted to know himself as his family knew him. To the Tunnelfolk and their Helpers he was protector and councilman, friend and scholar, stonemason and chess master, artist and architectural engineer, brother and teacher. And with Father, he was son.
...
“Vincent—” he began, and he stopped. How should he ask [i]this[/i]? There was no polite way, really. So Hughes simply said it. “What [i]are[/i] you?”
Vincent took a little while to think about the question. Then he answered, “I am only what I am.”
Hughes said nothing. Vincent continued very softly, speaking one phrase at a time.
“If you cut me, I will bleed. If you strike me, I will strike back.”
Hughes, stunned anew, recognized the essence of Shylock’s most famous soliloquy. Intelligent? Beyond all expectation! Exulting, Hughes thought, [i]Not quoting Shakespeare, Mr. Gould, but certainly paraphrasing him![/i]
“And. If you keep me in chains,” Vincent was saying now with slow emphasis, “I will die.”[/quote]
I think failing or refusing to respect Vincent's understanding of himself is a way of keeping him in chains. A way of telling a disabled and disenfranchised person that what he knows about himself doesn't "count." That people who have never been considered a "freak" know better than he does who and what he is, what he thinks, how he feels, what his life means. Chaining him to someone else's expectations is, in fact, the very act that disables and disempowers him. And thus misunderstood, trapped and isolated, starved for the love only a true soulmate can give to him or receive from him, he dies of his aloneness.
The fairy tale's inter-species romance was supposed to offer a path of mutual liberation, love, and life for Beast and Beauty both.