The Cliffs of Insanity

That's what Clarice Starling says about Hannibal Lecter in the book and the movie "Hannibal." Words can't express how deeply I identify with Clarice and her connection to Hannibal. My Hannibal, of course, is Barry Andrews. He's also ridiculously brilliant, shockingly deft with the English language, keen on the best literature has to offer, and in possession of a worrisomely wry and dark sense of humour. The only difference is Hannibal speaks Italian and Barry speaks French, although it wouldn't surprise me if they each spoke the other language as well, and Barry isn't a cannibal...at least I don't think so.

I understand why Clarice got that knot in her stomach when she saw she'd gotten a letter from Hannibal. I could relate. I knew that feeling all to well, even though I had no reason to feel the same way. I only feel the same because I'm what one would call a dorkus maximus. I must admit that the notes I get now don't have the same effect the earlier ones did, mainly because they're written in a familiar language. Very friendly, short and to the point, no pomp and circumstance. The earlier letters were much like the songs, fraught with mystery, danger, and the promise of certain death from above. Even though they scared the living holy shit out of me, I much preferred those letters. Funny, eh?

Does that make me a deep roller pigeon? Am I rolling too deep, wanting to dab my toe in that pool of dread when I know it's the very thing I shouldn't be doing? My Hannibal is actually a decent soul and truly wouldn't harm a fly. He's touched those dark places and carries them with him for artistic purposes. He knows what he's doing. Sometimes I wonder if I do.

Sorry to disappoint, but it's not what you think!

( Barney and the Joker )

I'm afraid I'm gonna have to set aside any serious Cadmus-related projects for the duration I'm reading Hannibal. Some characters tend to overshadow my psyche to where I don't trust myself when I'm writing one of my own characters. Hannibal Lecter is one of these big no-no's for me. Another is John Doe from Se7en. It should be of note that I've always related both Hannibal and John Doe to Barry Andrews. In fact, the emotion that is communicated on screen by Clarice Starling when she receives the surprise letter from Hannibal in the movie of the same name is exactly how I felt when I found that unassuming note from B in my old AOL inbox almost a decade ago ~~ that ice water down the spine fright and excitement, tinged with curiosity and enthrallment. I grokked Clarice in that moment in time. Not to say that B is anything like Hannibal Lecter; rather, my phobia-driven impression of him is akin to the vision of Hannibal that Thomas Harris has conjured. Same goes for John Doe. Kevin Spacey, by the way, has been the primary choice to play Barry Andrews in an XTC biopic by members on the Chalkhills mailing list. Personally, I think this is because of his portrayal of John Doe. I could be wrong.

But, as I'm wont to do on this subject, I'm babbling, so I'll shut my virtual trap now.

In related news, I was thinking how cool it would be if the coterie of writers who've formed a loose alliance here on LJ collaborated on an impromptu Round Robin, each of us contributing one of our characters for a fun little story. Why? No reason why, really. Just for the hell of it. Something to keep our collective creative juices dripping. Think about it.... a story involving booraven22's Angelica and Jaden, morriganwind's Morrigan or any number of her Pagan Vampires, and Cadmus (or Orphaeus or Kelat, for that matter). Anyone else wanting to contribute would donate and write their own character and we'd see where the tale took us. It may be fun. Hell, it may develop into something beneficial to everyone involved ~ a LiveJournal novel written by friends and fellow literary sinners. Just a thought.

In the meantime, I'm going to take a break from developing The Blood Crown and editing The Chalice until I've completed and digested Hannibal. I'm about a third of the way through the book, so it won't be long before I'm sludging through the muck of my own twisted mind again.