![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
The Seance of the Xs
Nov. 27th, 2019 08:18 pmAs the clock struck midnight, we lit the candles on top of the skulls one by one. The skulls weren't actual skulls but plastic replicas. And there was no need to actually do the ritual at midnight, but for these things intent and ambiance helped almost as much as actually following the ritual. We were in a graveyard, above the grave of our target; the ritual required that much at least.
"Paul Fussell!" my boyfriend shouted. I giggled involuntarily. There are some names which no matter what the circumstances they are said, sound inherently funny.
Despite my giggling, I could feel the already chill autumn air become suddenly far colder.
A voice groaned out of the voice, "I am Paul Fussell. For what reason have you called my shade to the world of the living?" My boyfriend gave a startled look; clearly he had not expected the ritual to actually work.
I spoke up. "Well, you see Professor, we read your book Class on class in the United States and we had some questions. No one has written a really good update of the book since you died.
For example, you mention the New Yorker as an example of a middle class magazine, due its safe and not strongly political nature, but if you've been keeping track of the magazine since the 2016 election, that's clearly not the case. So we'll want an update there.
Similarly, you discussed food items in your book, but the rise of organic, vegan and other food preferences is complicated. We can't figure out which you would classify as signaling upper middle class and which you would see as signaling X."
I continued to list questions. And then when I was done, the spirit patiently replied. I had to write down the answers; spirit voices would not show up on digital recordings. But when we were done, it was almost dawn.
We carefully performed the ritual to return Fussell's spirit whence it came.
As the spirit left, its voice whispered out a last comment. "By the way, performing seances in a graveyard is clear X behavior, and plastic skulls is clear parody display. But doing this on Halloween night? That was clearly prole."
"Paul Fussell!" my boyfriend shouted. I giggled involuntarily. There are some names which no matter what the circumstances they are said, sound inherently funny.
Despite my giggling, I could feel the already chill autumn air become suddenly far colder.
A voice groaned out of the voice, "I am Paul Fussell. For what reason have you called my shade to the world of the living?" My boyfriend gave a startled look; clearly he had not expected the ritual to actually work.
I spoke up. "Well, you see Professor, we read your book Class on class in the United States and we had some questions. No one has written a really good update of the book since you died.
For example, you mention the New Yorker as an example of a middle class magazine, due its safe and not strongly political nature, but if you've been keeping track of the magazine since the 2016 election, that's clearly not the case. So we'll want an update there.
Similarly, you discussed food items in your book, but the rise of organic, vegan and other food preferences is complicated. We can't figure out which you would classify as signaling upper middle class and which you would see as signaling X."
I continued to list questions. And then when I was done, the spirit patiently replied. I had to write down the answers; spirit voices would not show up on digital recordings. But when we were done, it was almost dawn.
We carefully performed the ritual to return Fussell's spirit whence it came.
As the spirit left, its voice whispered out a last comment. "By the way, performing seances in a graveyard is clear X behavior, and plastic skulls is clear parody display. But doing this on Halloween night? That was clearly prole."
