Venezia
By
Vivian Darkbloom
Vivian Darkbloom.
If I were to leave those two words as they are and add nothing more, it’d be enough. And really, I have difficulty imagining what I could tell you about Ms Darkbloom’s writing which you already haven’t experienced yourself. The one thing that stubbornly clings to mind is how haggard words seem when you’re trying to use them as a means of describing truly beautiful things.
This story is one of those beautiful things.
Really, I have not the language that would do justice to "Venezia". And yet, since I am (everybody now…) the Queen of Redundancy, I shall put up a valiant effort and do my best to tell you – not how good the writing is – but how awed I am by it.
And I am. I am so awed, the skin at the back of my neck is prickling. So awed, the corner of my left eye is a-twitch (if you ever have any doubt, check for such tell-tale signs). So awed, I am getting into the realm of truly stupid and downright not amusing and yet can’t help myself. ‘Cause the state of awed-ness into which that Darkbloom person has plunged me has stolen all capacity of lucid thought and expression. How much of it I possessed beforehand is arguable, but also beside the point.
This is a Mel story. Janice is dead. If you thought Gabrielle losing Xena is bad, read this one. And no, I am not trying to depress you. I try to avoid depressing stories in a way I try to avoid men attempting to woo me with their dancing skills in a crowded club – I pretty much run the other way. That said, if you do find yourself with a man as a dancing partner, at least make sure he’s a good one… The same should be done with any other such depressing matters, including the "one-heroine-gets-killed-while-the-other-one-survives" stories. And to take that horrible metaphor one step further, Vivian can dance better than most of them out there. Though she’s not a man, so the above mentioned example would not apply since I most likely would not try running away… from the dance floor... Er…
…
I am so confused right now. I think I gave myself a headache.
Go read the story. Yeah, Janice’s out of the picture, but not… quite. And the story’s not really depressing, if you can read between the lines. Trust me.