Ignatius Perrish, also known as Ig, is accused of murdering his long time girlfriend Merrin Williams by basically everyone in town. One day, after all the months of fighting for his innocence and being let go as a suspect for the lack of evidence, Ig wakes up with knobby little horns on his head. These horns aren’t a body modification by his own doing but instead the work of a higher (or lower) power. One by one, each person who sees the horns begin to reveal things about themselves. Whether it be a deep dark secret or something they just keep to themselves, he knows even when he doesn’t want to. Soon this “power” leads him to learn who the killer of his girlfriend was – his own best friend. In an act of revenge, and grief, Ig stops looking at the horns as a curse but instead a blessing.
A few weeks ago I got a new phone. In the midst of transferring data and reinstalling apps, I looked at the Goodreads download screen with my thumb hovering over ‘Install’ for quite a while. Every reader I know has a Goodreads account. Honestly, for the organized types, it’s a true blessing. Imagine a virtual existence of your bookshelf with each shelf as a category. There’s the ones you read, the ones you want to, and the ones you’re currently reading. This doesn’t even include the ones you can create for whatever purpose. It’s extremely handy and useful, except sometimes it’s pretty overwhelming for me.
There are only about 20+ posts on my blog and I feel as though that 70% of them include the words Fight Club. Most of them mention my love for it, or how great it was for me, or just how much I consider it to be a literary masterpiece. The things is, for a very long time I haven’t been able to properly articulate why and how it affected me. I say it’s Fight Club, but it’s a lot more than that.
I remember when the film premiered in the late 90s, when it came to HBO and all I understood was that there was some fighting and the name was carved into pink soap. This was before I was deeply in love with Brad Pitt and had to see all his films. This was also the time that my idea of a great film to occupy me was Spice World or Rugrats Go To Paris. I still had youth left in me, and with that in mind, I didn’t honestly have the attention span or intelligence for this movie.
In a way, I still don’t.
The Magicians came into my life and ravished me this past week. Honestly, the show so much didn’t do it but the fictional characterizations and mental improvements I added when the show lacked is what captured me. As much as I enjoyed it as is, as something to distract me from beating myself up over not finishing my story or being stuck in a show that made me cry all the time, it got the job done while also making me think about something important. What’s a hero? Truly, what makes a hero, well, heroic?
This is a talk of suicide, not attempts of my own but a talk of my journey. A story about the friend who left me too soon. We weren’t in love but we loved, and we accepted that love and accepted to let go on proper terms. We were friends, we were our own kind of special and I love it.
This is a conversation that is honest, raw, and emotional. The word alone cound trigger you or the thought could. I don’t know what you can tolerate, or accept, but please open your heart and eyes at your own tolerance.