Ooh Suzie how wonderful! This is a fantastic look into Trelawney and her birth, and how she was first perceived by everyone. I really love it! I think you've managed to do a great job capturing her character!
Ah,once again I am drawn to a Trelawney centered story.I loved it! It was so good!Trelawney's childhood would've been intresting(that was a hint that I'd like a story about her childood!)
~Southern belles follow the son~
Author's Response: Thank you! I'm glad you like it! :)
*shakes head* I think I need to stop reading your stuff, Suzie. It depresses me because it's so good. Your prose has echoes of poetry in it – from the very first paragraph, you're painting pictures and implying that there is so much more than meets the eye.
I'm going to go ahead and get the few mistakes I spotted out of the way … The baby had not cried nor whimpered though a storm raged in its eyes. I'm not sure if those are the words you intended, but having just "no cried no whimpered" can't have been what you meant. Also, there are several places where you place the ending dialogue punctuation outside of the quotation marks – that's a no-no. ;) Always inside! And "great-great-grandmother" should be hyphenated, like so.
Okay, now that that's out of the way … I really like that the baby didn't cry until the grandmother pronounced that she would be a Seer. I also like the way she said it: "See before you See." The capitalisation gives it more meaning than it normally would. Really nice. And then, her tears! – pearly grey, and her eyes with the dark grey swirls within her pupils like heavy anvils weighing down on her mind, the burden of a thousand futures that were wanted and not-wanted, loaded but blessed with curiosity. I fangirl that line. It's beautiful. I also really like that you call it a cruel gift – because it so is. I can't imagine having that kind of knowledge, not being able to control it. And then the way you end it, with the characters not knowing the future of their new daughter, but we, the readers, do. How sad. I do wonder what Prof Trelawney might have been like had she not been a Seer – or if nobody had ever told her that she was a Seer. I also wonder if maybe she was an atypical kind of Seer, one who can't control what they See or when. It certainly seems that Prof McGonagall believes that a real Seer can See whenever they choose. But I digress.
Reading this, I want to see the banner that inspired it! Just from reading, I predict that it has some grey in it … LOL, I "See" that there will be grey in the banner … *cough* But really, Suzie, you are very talented, and I hope you keep writing even when life gets crazy. *hugs*
I like this a lot. Though it's short, it shows how our beloved Divination teacher didn't find out suddenly, or just make it up because her great-grandmother was a Seer. It was known since she was a baby, even though this would have made her embellish her gift a little. It's a very piece and I plan to read more of your work. :)
Order of the Ravenclaw House Elves
Oooh, I rather like this! I’ve not read many fics centered around any one of the Trelawneys, mostly because Sybil has never been a favorite of mine. But, I’m glad I clicked on this, because it was wonderful.
I love the description of the eyes. It’s so reminiscent of poetry, which is perfect because you write lovely, lovely poetry. The child’s pupils were dark; the irises, a softer grey on the outside, faded in gradually like fog on a mist-drenched moor. Oh, snap. Gives me a slight shiver, you know? It’s perfect for a Seer as well – to me, their personalities would be foggy and mysterious like that.
The baby had no cried no whimpered though a storm raged in its eyes. I’m thinking that should be ‘not cried nor whimpered.’ It’s a bit confusing to read two no’s like that so close together, but I did get the point. And of course, the juxtaposition of the silence and the storm is great. I love that it’s the grandmother to call the baby’s eyes ‘storm-eyes,’ but I was a bit thrown off when she then says ‘stormy eyes,’ which is the title of the fic. It sort of made me go, “Which is it?” I personally like ‘storm-eyes’ better, just because ‘stormy’ almost seems cliché. But I felt like it should either be ‘storm’ or ‘stormy’ and not both.
Ah! She cries when the grandmother calls her a Seer. Could that be any better? I don’t think so. In my head, I have this sort of movie scene in my head, the kind where the lightning strikes right then and the music gets all loud and creepy. A ‘dun dun dun!’ moment, if you will. But when I read it again, I get a very different feeling, one that’s calmer, quieter. It’s just a break in the silence, which I think is even creepier than a huge moment. It’s really great.
I enjoyed the background on the Trelawney family; I hadn’t really considered before that Seers were not necessarily well-liked (Sybil excluded since she did appear to be a fraud most of the time). But, I guess the uneasiness surrounding Seers is to be expected, really. Anybody who goes around predicting the future would attract some uneasiness. While the child was young, while it could not speak, they would perhaps, be safe for a short while. I’m not sure I like the comma after perhaps; it interrupt the sentence for me. But I love the sentence. The idea that the family could be ‘safe,’ that having a Seer was unsafe – it’s great. It’s rather chilling, actually.
Its large grey eyes opened revealing a world of their own where erupted a raging quiet, a reflection perhaps of days past and days-future, of wars that roared dormant and alive in distant years, along the jagged edge of time where the storm crept ahead to rest at its epicentre. I love, love, love that. Your writing is beautiful, and this fic is wonderful.
Um, pretty much guh. Is what I have to say. Guh.
Aren't I eloquent today?
So, yes. I happened by this story through the banner in your signature and the knowledge that I had promised you a review for the beautiful banner you made me for Defining Moments (for which I will be eternally grateful). I was shocked to see that this hasn't yet received any reviews, and so I plan to remedy that. Even if this is horribly late. *shifts guiltily* Let me say, to begin with, that this is a very strong case of less is more. It’s so beautifully written and so much emotion and mystery is captured in a piece that most definitely leaves me wanting more.
After nine months of agony, Anita Trelawney held a baby in her arms.
Your first line struck me as intensely interesting. Primarily, it told me that the subject of the story was Sybil Trelawney, which I thought was a wonderful idea -- I haven’t yet come across another that focuses on her and the idea certainly intrigued me. Your choice of words here is very enigmatic -- ‘agony’ suggests to me that perhaps Sybil was not wanted by her mother. Am I right in thinking that? Clearly she was by her father, but perhaps it was more a case of what he wanted than what his wife did? Or was the pain that Sybil caused her mother simply the fear that she would have the gift? Perhaps I’m jumping to conclusions, but I love this rich portrayal of the environment in which Sybil would have grown up -- it’s just wonderful. The different characters: her mother, father, siblings. And her grandmother, most of all. I do love a good eccentric. ;)
The eyes were the second thing she noticed — odd, it was, that a newly opened window into this world should already have so much stirred within it.
This line pretty much made me die. It’s so wonderfully phrased and beautifully poetic, arguably the best line in the story (I say ‘arguably’ because I cannot decide myself what is my favourite, there are so many to choose from). Your imagery in this is absolutely indescribable; I will say that. It really makes the story, my dear. And your style of writing is utterly captivating.
The unspoken question lingered in the air, a bitter taste like the musty stench of dry rot that crept at the foot of the house — like a gift that was both wanted and not-wanted, both awed and disgusted, so not a gift at all.
Oh, this is so indescribably gorgeous that I’m completely in love with it. The question lingering, and the idea of the gift being both attractive and repulsive to Sybil’s family. The one small thing I would change here is ‘not-wanted’, which I would either have as ‘not wanted’, without being hyphenated, or ‘unwanted’. (Apologies -- nitpicking is something of a compulsion for me.)
Those who were not acquainted with the Trelawney family (who despite three whole generations had still not rid themselves of suspicion) steered clear of the cottage where soon, wails and screams of new life and of old and of the bridging of the two cut the silence.
God, this is just so fascinating, really. I love these little details that you include that make the family seem all the more real (and all the more adorable for being slightly strange). I cannot help but feel sorry for Sybil, for it seems that had she been raised in a different way, she might not have been so convinced of her being special, and therefore been more accepted in society. And then there’s the whole concept of her bringing doom with her, and it just seems so sad and so terrible, it’s heartbreaking and awe-inspiring at the same time.
There was always that hope (which was really quite hopeless) that the grandmother had predicted wrong and that this child had merely been troubled at birth, but would grow up healthily and happy and laughing, living a long life with the usual burdens that life brought upon oneself, live a normal life and not (lest history repeated itself) end its days prematurely (tragically) on a hardship of guilt and dying promise.
Simply OUTSTANDING writing here. Really -- it just astounded me. I love the paradoxical ‘that hope (which was really quite hopeless)’, and the almost afterthoughts that the words in parentheses add. I actually had to read this several times over in order to enjoy the impact of it.
Your final paragraph blew me away. Even as I thought that you couldn’t really get any stronger with this, the wonderful vocabulary and power of the last two lines was extraordinary. And yes, I’m gushing, but I really can’t help it. I’m rather in awe of your writing now.
Honestly, I have no overall criticisms to make, only a few small grammar errors (I hope you don’t mind -- it’s the beta coming out in me):
The baby had no cried no whimpered though a storm raged in its eyes.
I believe it should be ‘the baby had not cried nor whimpered’.
“Storm-eyes”, she repeated softly.
“Yes. This child will be a Seer”.
“Stormy eyes, I see the soul stirring behind her lids, the future hidden in her dark pupils”, whispered the grandmother.
With these three lines, simply a case of misplaced comma and period -- they should be before the quotation marks.
(not-understood nor believed but not wholly unappreciated)
Again, just a case of ‘not understood’ being two words.
the tales of the grandmother who had died young — seeing perhaps, the foretold doom of her own future, that this child would face the same.
I think here the comma before ‘that this child’ should be a dash.
I have probably gone on for quite long enough, but I thought you should know just how much I enjoyed reading this. It certainly deserved a good long review, and will without doubt have a place reserved on my favourites.
Thank you again, Suzie.
Author's Response: ZOMG thank you so much for the awesome review Kate!! Sorry for the delay in replying!
I’m glad you picked up on the ‘agony’. I wanted the emphasis, not that her mother didn’t want her exactly, but that she had been a difficult child to carry to term and also, yes, about the fear that she would have this troubling gift. The title ‘Stormy Eyes’ was given to us already for this challenge, and the first thing that I thought of when I came to search for a bunny, was the image of troubled eyes that perhaps know too much, like a seer of some sort.
Thanks for the tip about hyphens. I tend to love poetry so much that my writing gets a bit carried away with odd punctuation and phrases. Heh.
Thanks for the lovely review! *huggles* <33