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Please read this fic!
Mar. 2nd, 2008 11:16 pmI want to recommend to you a fanfic that you absolutely have to read. In fact, it's almost not a fanfic, it's such an immersive AU, so even if you don't know the fandom, you can read it and understand exactly what is going on.
The Eighth Day by Brooke Henson.
Jim Ellison is a deaf-blind man in a sighted-hearing world, trying to make sense of things and be as independent as he possibly can. But it's not easy - he's very lucky, really, all things considered. Enter Blair Sandburg, a seeing-hearing man who seems to genuinely care about Jim and wants to get to know him. The slow, gradual development of a relationship between them changes Jim's ordered, organised life in ways he would never have believed he could.
Brooke Henson's prose is lyrical and beautiful, fully immersive until I was even thinking in deaf-blind terms as I went to the kitchen for a brief break, poetic and perfect. I fell in love with this fic almost from the get-go, and I desperately want you to, too. I sat and read it for four hours until I reached the (current) end. It's not finished, and hasn't been updated in six months or so - but please, please, please don't let that stop you from reading it. It's too wonderful to miss out on.
The first paragraph:
Jim stood out of the way of people passing, with his hand on the collection of wood strips that made the doorframe. Lori was late. She often made him feel time slow down and press like a flat hand on his sternum. Impatience. Steven had explained many times that, for people with sight and hearing, there were lots of distractions, so much to look at and listen to. So many paths to walk down. Choices. This made them lose their direction and forget their promises. Jim understood distractions; often he felt his mind lift up on air-rushes full of smells or slide down into the texture of cloth or… or… or…But he fought these pushes and pulls. It was terrible to lose your direction, your knowledge of place and position. Lori, when she came, would be blithe and happy, late or not it didn‘t matter, bringing with her the smells of outside in her hair and winter-cold rising up from her coat. Her apologies always seemed like game-words to Jim. Riddle-words that did not match her posture or movement.
The Eighth Day by Brooke Henson.
Jim Ellison is a deaf-blind man in a sighted-hearing world, trying to make sense of things and be as independent as he possibly can. But it's not easy - he's very lucky, really, all things considered. Enter Blair Sandburg, a seeing-hearing man who seems to genuinely care about Jim and wants to get to know him. The slow, gradual development of a relationship between them changes Jim's ordered, organised life in ways he would never have believed he could.
Brooke Henson's prose is lyrical and beautiful, fully immersive until I was even thinking in deaf-blind terms as I went to the kitchen for a brief break, poetic and perfect. I fell in love with this fic almost from the get-go, and I desperately want you to, too. I sat and read it for four hours until I reached the (current) end. It's not finished, and hasn't been updated in six months or so - but please, please, please don't let that stop you from reading it. It's too wonderful to miss out on.
The first paragraph:
Jim stood out of the way of people passing, with his hand on the collection of wood strips that made the doorframe. Lori was late. She often made him feel time slow down and press like a flat hand on his sternum. Impatience. Steven had explained many times that, for people with sight and hearing, there were lots of distractions, so much to look at and listen to. So many paths to walk down. Choices. This made them lose their direction and forget their promises. Jim understood distractions; often he felt his mind lift up on air-rushes full of smells or slide down into the texture of cloth or… or… or…But he fought these pushes and pulls. It was terrible to lose your direction, your knowledge of place and position. Lori, when she came, would be blithe and happy, late or not it didn‘t matter, bringing with her the smells of outside in her hair and winter-cold rising up from her coat. Her apologies always seemed like game-words to Jim. Riddle-words that did not match her posture or movement.
