A Eulogy for Very (830 Words)

[Glisterspeck]

So there's this. I've been playing with it for a while now. Started as a free writing exercise shortly after I read Grimus by Salman Rushdie. Not sure how that influenced it anymore, but I'm pretty sure it did.

Anyway, this is all of it. There's no more. I want it to be surreal and silly, but at the same time, make sense: I especially want to make sure the reader can guess what affliction Very had.

Anyway again, I welcome all feedback and look forward to your comments.

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A Eulogy for Very

Veresder Hyerhaunken was his name, though everyone called him Very, Very Hyerhaunken. That is, everyone except Murbelle, who never called Very Veresder or Very, but called him Darling. He was not darling, any one of us can tell you that, anyone but Murbelle. Or maybe he was darling, for Murbelle knew Very truly, more truly than any of us. Poor Murbelle.

That is not to say we did not truly know Very. Many of you knew Very well. Ralph from school, you knew Very better, before, and longer than any other. Cynthia, you knew him as only a first wife could. Randy, Joe, and Miami from the War, you once loved him. Very often said that war teaches, among other things, men to love men. As a boy, a soldier, a husband or a father, a government agent or old curmudgeon, we all knew Very, and Very unthunk us all.

Don’t feel sorry for Very. I meant to begin with that. It wouldn’t make Very happy. Little did.

It’s a minor magical act to unthink. Minor to perform once learned, I should say, for the learning is a major endeavor. I once thought to learn to unthink, and Very agreed to teach me. It’s difficult, and I just managed to forget before Very unthunk me, so I do not know how it works, but only how it is supposed to work and that it does work. To unthink is to forget so fully that those near the unthinker forget the forgotten. Some of you explain it better.

Very was no great unthinker. Had he been better, things might have been worse. He might have unthunk the world at the end but for Murbelle. Poor Murbelle. No, no other unthinker taught Very much. Magic itself taught Very, a thick, dark, sinking magic, a perfect evil, a pretender to good, a black art embodied in bodies bent on battle and machines set to clash. War taught Very to unthink, and it taught Very well--well, well enough.

During the war, he sent the first of us, Randy, to Nevermore, the wastes forgotten. Next came Joe in pieces, and then Miami from the War came from the war. They made Nevermore what it was when we others arrived, forming it from Olelo Atoll, site of the war’s greatest forgotten battle, a battle that continued evermore in Nevermore until Randy and the bits of Joe and Miami from the War and Major Shosa and his men lost interest in dying again and again and became fast friends. What stories they now tell of those days. Yes.

Some of you new to Nevermore never knew of Very’s work after the war. Others were targets of that work, government work, dirty business. There’s so much to forget when you’re the government. Murbelle wants those Very disappeared to know that doing so bothered Very greatly. It was a different time, a difficult time. Colonel Polkovnik, he particularly regretted your assignment; before he unthunk you, he told Murbelle of your kindness in Berlin.

I’ll not pretend Very loved all of us, or we all, him. Many he unthunk out of hatred, boredom, disgust. All you poor retirees who hated him, and those at the retirement home that didn’t think of him at all, know that no one thought Very cruel before the diagnosis, though no one thought Very kind, no one but Murbelle. Poor Murbelle. The man who unthunk you poor retirees was not Veresder Hyerhaunken, but a shell of that decent, if intolerable, man.

So much Very took from us. But remember, too, what he gave us. He brought us together, and together, we began anew in Nevermore. On the shores of Nevermore, there is no death or illness, no strife or discord. Sealed away in this place forgotten, we have thrived. Soon, when the shrinking veil of forgetfulness reveals Nevermore, returning all things here to the world, you may remember Very fondly.

Nevermore fades quickly. I meant to begin with this. This morning, when I stepped through the thinning veil of Nevermore, I arrived at Very’s funeral. I watched him lowered into the ground. I spoke with Murbelle. I listened as she told me how he died, the truth of it. I cried a little.

She had to do what she did. She knew the strength of his magic. She knew it better than any other. She knew the dangers of his disease: an unthinker must remember or risk the world. She asked me to write a letter to all of you, a eulogy, and to find some kind thing to say about Very. For her sake, I have, though the writing did not come easily. She is distraught, poor Murbelle, so those that know her, visit her when you leave Nevermore.

Nevermore cannot survive Very long. The magic is broken, the unthinking undone, the forgotten place unmade. I know this, because at the funeral, I remembered Nevermore, and so to Nevermore I’ve returned, to--

 

[Tecdavid]

Veresder Hyerhaunken was his name, though everyone called him Very, Very Hyerhaunken. That is, everyone except Murbelle, who never called Very Veresder or Very, but called him Darling. He was not darling, any one of us can tell you that, (I think a period would work better there than a comma, but that's just me) anyone but Murbelle. Or maybe he was darling, for Murbelle knew Very truly, more truly than any of us. Poor Murbelle.

That is not to say we did not truly know Very (This line seems a little cluttered, perhaps. There repetition of "not" tripped me. How about: "That isn't to say we did not truly know Very"?). Many of you knew Very well. Ralph from school, you knew Very better, before, and longer than any other. Cynthia, you knew him as only a first wife could. Randy, Joe, and Miami from the War, you once loved him. Very often said that war teaches, among other things, men to love men. As a boy, a soldier, a husband or a father, a government agent or old curmudgeon, we all knew Very, and Very unthunk us all. (I like the entirety of this paragraph. Pleasantly stirring! The placement of "before" in Ralph's line seems a bit out of place, though. Wouldn't the line read better without it?)

Don’t feel sorry for Very. I meant to begin with that. It wouldn’t make Very happy. Little did.

It’s a minor magical act to unthink. Minor to perform once learned, I should say, for the learning is a major endeavor. I once thought to learn to unthink, and Very agreed to teach me. It’s difficult, and I just managed to forget before Very unthunk me, so I do not know how it works, but only how it is supposed to work and that it does work. To unthink is to forget so fully that those near the unthinker forget the forgotten. Some of you explain it better. (I like this! You're right, it's a surreal and silly idea, but it's fun. It sounds complicated too, and you've captured that in the narrative well.)

Very was no great unthinker. Had he been better, things might have been worse. He might have unthunk the world at the end but for Murbelle. Poor Murbelle. No, no other unthinker taught Very much. Magic itself taught Very, a thick, dark, sinking (Sinking?) magic, a perfect evil, a pretender to good, a black art embodied in bodies bent on battle and machines set to clash. War taught Very to unthink, and it taught Very well--well, well enough.

During the war, he sent the first of us, (a period in place of the comma, I think) Randy, to Nevermore, the wastes forgotten. Next came Joe in pieces, and then Miami from the War came from the war. They made Nevermore what it was when we others arrived, forming it from Olelo Atoll, site of the war’s greatest forgotten battle, a battle that continued evermore in Nevermore until Randy and the bits of Joe and Miami from the War and Major Shosa and his men lost interest in dying again and again and became fast friends. What stories they now tell of those days. Yes. (I'd imagine so -- that sounded quite bizarre. Although I'm sure that was your intention.)

I don't have any criticisms to make about the rest of the piece. I enjoyed it! the narrative was done very well, I think. A piece like this could come across as dull without an interesting voice reading it (a eulogy's a eulogy, after all), and I think the voice you gave your character-narrator was engaging. He sounded real. The notion of unthinking is curious, too. It sounds like a magic that could in fact be used in a full-fledged story.

 

[ctg]

I’ll not pretend Very loved all of us, or we all, him. Many he unthunk out of hatred, boredom, disgust. All you poor retirees who hated him, and those at the retirement home that didn’t think of him at all, know that no one thought Very cruel before the diagnosis, though no one thought Very kind, no one but Murbelle. Poor Murbelle. The man who unthunk you poor retirees was not Veresder Hyerhaunken, but a shell of that decent, if intolerable, man.

​

I'm starting to get numb at this point. There's nothing I'd like to criticise in your prose but at this point, and it's not very far in, the reader in me starts to wonder what the hell is going on and where does real story start.

So much Very took from us. But remember, too, what he gave us. He brought us together, and together, we began anew in Nevermore. On the shores of Nevermore, there is no death or illness, no strife or discord. Sealed away in this place forgotten, we have thrived. Soon, when the shrinking veil of forgetfulness reveals Nevermore, returning all things here to the world, you may remember Very fondly.

​

Maybe it is pacing that is causing the confusion as you're speeding through this so fast. The reader in me wants to savour the details, but as I start doing that you're already speeding to another point.

Nevermore fades quickly. I meant to begin with this. This morning, when I stepped through the thinning veil of Nevermore, I arrived at Very’s funeral. I watched him lowered into the ground. I spoke with Murbelle. I listened as she told me how he died, the truth of it. I cried a little.

She had to do what she did. She knew the strength of his magic. She knew it better than any other. She knew the dangers of his disease: an unthinker must remember or risk the world. She asked me to write a letter to all of you, a eulogy, and to find some kind thing to say about Very. For her sake, I have, though the writing did not come easily. She is distraught, poor Murbelle, so those that know her, visit her when you leave Nevermore.

Nevermore cannot survive Very long. The magic is broken, the unthinking undone, the forgotten place unmade. I know this, because at the funeral, I remembered Nevermore, and so to Nevermore I’ve returned, to--

​

Is this the end or is there more?

 

[Glisterspeck]

Tecdavid, I meant sinking similarly to how it is used with a sinking feeling, but it doesn't work because it seems like I'm describing a type of magic as sinking, like this is Sinking Magic. The better and before bit is a good catch too. I tried to make the name Very jar whenever I could by placing it next to a word like often or happy, where it could act as an adjective or adverb if not capped. (I think the first impulse when I originally wrote it was in reaction to the overuse of the word very.)

CTG, that is the end. All she wrote. It's a piece of flash fiction. I should have put that at the top. So, from your feedback, it seems I'm getting half the reaction I'm after. I want the reader to struggle a little with the silly wordplays, almost like reading a nonsense poem. And the pace you've described is right. But!!! I also want the reader to crash into the realization of the disease Very suffered from and what it is that Murbelle's done to save the world. If that doesn't come across, then it's just a bunch of near tongue twisters.

 

[ctg]

So the world ended but I don't get the disease other the low selfesteem that made the world disappear through the magic of unthinking. Maybe the piece is a bit too poetic to me as I'm still struggling after third time.

 

[Phyrebrat]

Hello,

I just wanted to say I really liked it. I do love odd or surreal vignettes like this. There's no need to reduce it to some pedestrian attempt at exposition; some things are more interesting when the reader is wrong footed.

Just look at certain poems; they exist to give us a sense of something fleeting sometimes. This has a good beat and you can dance to it

pH

 

[JoanDrake]

Much lately I come to this, and agree mainly with phyrebrat. It's a surreal sort of little vignete that makes what sense you want to of it, or not. I also agree with TecDavid that the notion of unthinking could support a whole story. I may steal it someday.

 

[Bowler1]

You’re going to have a split audience on this one, some will love it and some will hate it – I don’t think there’ll be much of a middle ground. I found it clever in places and a little baffling in others, but I could with work pick up on what was happening. As a writing exercise, it was interesting. I suspect Very was losing his marbles (I like that the old folks home disappeared, a bit of a grumpty git, eh?) and could end up forgetting the world, which raises questions of what to do with Very, questions that were answered by the end. I liked the clever word play, but the section as a whole lacked clarity, and missed the mark with me because of that. It took me more than one read to fully get to grips with the section. I personally like to keep the reader with me and I work hard on flow and word choice to achieve just that. This does of course depend on the reader, and I suspect many Chron’s members will like this section, but not all readers willing be will to invest so much in working out individual word connections. A wonderful creative idea, that lost a lot of impact with me because of the level of work I had to put in. Then again, I can be a right lazy bugger!

As ever, mate – your posts are well worth a read, no two have been the same so far. I think your still playing and experimenting, mad scientist style, and who knows what the next bolt of your creativity will bring to life!

 

[Glisterspeck]

Thanks for the comments, folks. Bowler, you've got the pulse of it: Very developed Alzheimer's, or something close to it, and the world being at risk, Murbelle did what she did. Many of the the word choices can be described as antagonistic to the reader, and if I develop it further, I'd probably push it more so in that direction. I figure it's okay to do at this length, as long as there's something said at the end. For me, I'm not sure what's said is worth the rereading yet, but it's getting there. I've been slacking on the critique boards this month: too much of the paid sort of work equals not enough of the fun sort.