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Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Jul 12, 2011 9:07:24 GMT -5
I don't think the reasons for Mr. Poe's arrival at Briny Beach were stated in canon as far as I remember. Ah, all right. I wasn't sure, since I've only read the series and TBL. It's been a while since I've read either from cover to cover, so I thought there was a chance I may have missed some crucial detail. Yes, the two titles do have a striking connection to each other Except yours is much more Snicket-sounding - or should I say Olaf-sounding?
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Post by Hermes on Jul 12, 2011 14:15:00 GMT -5
I don't think the reasons for Mr. Poe's arrival at Briny Beach were stated in canon as far as I remember. Well, he says JS sent him to meet the Baudelaires - with striking absurdity, he thinks that 'JS' stands for Geraldine Julienne - but not what he was supposed to do with them. Your story continues to fascinate, Jacques. Is the L who is planning a refuge someone we are meant to know about?
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Post by Jacques Snicket on Jul 12, 2011 14:42:01 GMT -5
Yes. She is a real person.
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Post by Jacques Snicket on May 17, 2012 13:46:41 GMT -5
I have again returned after a long absence (again).
THE DAILY PUNCTILIO[/size] All the News in Paragraphs of Detail
NEW DECIMAL HOTEL COMPLETED By: Astor Julienne
Just this morning, The Daily Punctilio is pleased to report that the nine story hotel commissioned by the late Alain Pierre Denouement, with basement and sun-roof, has been finished on schedule. The building is located on the side of a very wide pond and is reflected in its entirety by the calm and placid waters. The Hotel was designed by revolutionary architect Warhola Nicostratus, whose works include detailed schematics of pneumatic vents inside the headquarters of the Mortmain Mountains volunteer fire department, a joint effort with C. Päffgen of Vintage Functional Design Bookbinders to discover a better binding glue, and various monogrammed wood tiles. The Denouement Hotel is the first ever lodging here in the City that will categoize both rooms and guests by the Dewey Decimal System created by Melvil Dewey——
The rest of this old article is missing due to it having been torn off at some past moment in time. I reflect upon the respectable air given off by the father of Geraldine Julienne in this article and the sad fact that this newspaper would never again read as intelligently as it did here. —E. R.
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To: T. Baudelaire
I have recently disembarked from the train which took me from the City Station to my current location of Schopenhauer Station in the city of Heisenberg from whence I have received a figure of most woeful news. Professor Casimir Mlodinow of the Paltryville Institution of Varnessian Technical Apologetics has been captured by ////////////////////////// and /////////////////////////////////, the couple who inspire fear and general calumny wherever they traipse. This is a trying time for our organization; many a volunteer has lost faith in what is noble and has turned increasingly to doubt and desperation. I especially worry for young Reed. He is a remarkable student, but his abilities could be used against us if he is ever convinced by our enemies. If ever there were an answer, there'd be one clear to find. Like a falling restful dancer, there's no use in keeping time.
The world is quiet here,
J. Cale
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FROM: PROFESSOR CASIMIR MLODINOW TO: BERTRAND DENOUEMENT
I AM SENDING OUT THIS TELEGRAM STOP. I AM ASTONISHED TO ANNOUNCE THAT YOU WILL BE A RECIPIENT OF THE DISTINGUISHED ASIMOV QUANTUM SCIENCE AWARD STOP. I HAVE PERSONALLY READ YOUR THESES CONCERNING REFLECTIVE MODES OF NON-BINARY FLUCTUATIONS OF SURFACES WITHIN THE PLANCK LENGTH STOP. YOU DO A CREDIT TO SCIENCE STOP.
It appears that this telegram from Professor Mlodinow had been sent before his capture by the parents of the man with a beard but no hair and the woman with hair but no beard. Bertrand Denouement, son of Alain Pierre and father of the Denouement triplets, did receive the Asimov award and began a tenured professorship at Prufrock Preparatory School long before Nero ever became Vice Principal. — E. R.
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Post by Hermes on May 17, 2012 16:54:00 GMT -5
This remains fascinating as always.
Let me see - Bertrand Baudelaire was presumably called after Bertrand Denouement. 'Astor' I guess points to the Astoria hotel, though the British branch of the Astors were also newspaper proprietors. 'Heisenberg' clearly represents uncertainty. Not sure about Schopenhauer - I mean, I know who Arthur Schopenhauer was, but I'm not sure what feature of him you are picking up here. I also like the Asimov reference.
I agree that the DP must have been a more respectable paper at some point in the past, given the relationship with VDF we know it had.
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Post by Jacques Snicket on May 17, 2012 20:36:18 GMT -5
What I am doing here is taking a glimpse of V.F.D. and the setting of the story as it was in "a far more....civilized age" as Ben Kenobi put it in A New Hope. This is my view of the zenith of the current iteration of V.F.D., before the dark times, before the fires, before the worsening of the schism, before "A Series of Unfortunate Events", and before "The Beatrice Letters" and "The UA." Everything that is going to happen, Olaf's parents killed, Baudelaire and Quagmire mansions burned and their respective heirs orphaned, this is a look at a time before those things happened, before everything changed for this generation (bigger picture wise), if you will. Here, in the past, there were safe places around the globe, far more than in the present time of the Snicket books. But already their goal of keeping the world "safe, secure, and smart" is already beginning to show strain, though it is still going strong.
I just used Schopenhauer because I thought the name would look nice. Same with Heisenberg, though I agree that uncertainty is beginning to rise within the fabric of the documentationery narrative.
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Post by Jacques Snicket on May 18, 2012 10:32:23 GMT -5
To my dear sister,
News has reached me of the impending birth of your son, and I wish you and your husband the best luck and future. I hear that you are going to name my nephew after me, for you had thought up the idea in the first place. Indeed, such tidings bode well upon my ailing conscience. The Headmaster of Prufrock Preparatory School, I have unfortunately found out, has been aiding the efforts of our enemies, but without a clear disposition against our organization. To go public with this information would be to doom the students of a full and comprehensive education here should the Headmaster be forced out. In the event of that, classes available will dwindle, as the Headmaster himself had agreed to expand the curriculum when he took up the office (my class is one of those extensions, as you very well know). Shall I leave the Headmaster in office, free to continue the shady dealings with the other side, and to possibly in the future act against us? Or do I reveal him? So much uncertainty. Smoke and mirrors obfuscating the truth. My dear sister, I wish to be done with this realm of secrecy! My students have a right to know who their Headmaster is. Knowledge should be given freely, not hoarded until it is too late. That is one of the reasons I went into the teaching profession. With enough knowledge, we can construct many libraries and safe places. We can keep the world safe, secure, and smart. Not by secret plots behind closed doors, but by open and public debate, with archives available to all.
The world is quiet here,
Bertrand Denouement
Bertrand Denouement was the youngest Professor ever employed by Prufrock Preparatory School, having been tenured at the age of twenty-four. His tenure-ship was, woefully, a short one. He indeed revealed the activities of his employer to the public, and due to the Headmaster's disgrace, all extra classes were indeed liquidated and their respective teachers fired. After nobody else in the school faculty was capable to undergo the aptitude trials to take the office of Headmaster, there was established another office to run the School in the absence of the Headmaster. That office was the Vice Principality, whose early occupants retained and cultivated the scholarly air of the School. The Vice Principality was eventually seized by an obnoxious rotund man who gives a bad name to all violinists everywhere. Bertrand Denouement's older sister to whom he wrote this letter had been married to Charles Baudelaire for a year, expecting the birth of their son, who was indeed named after Professor Denouement. Undoubtedly, the public family records were tampered with so as to obfuscate this relationship long before Arthur Poe became the manager of the Baudelaire estate. — E.R.
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TO: WARHOLA NICOSTRATUS FROM: J. SNICKET
IT HAS COME TO MY ATTENTION THAT YOU HAVE BEEN WORKING WITH C. PÄFFGEN OF VINTAGE FUNCTIONAL DESIGN BOOKBINDERS STOP. SHE IS IN TERRIBLE DANGER STOP. IT WOULD BE PRUDENT TO WARN HER STOP.
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To the offices of The Daily Punctilio,
I am writing to the editor-in-chief of this paper due to the snag I noticed in last week's issue. The headline read, and I quote: "NEW CITY PENTHOUSE APARTMENT BUILDING ON 667 DARK AVENUE OPEN FOR RESIDENCY!" I do not usually have scruples with the managing and printing of this paper, but I must confess that I am bewildered by the addition of the completely tedious and exhibitionistic exclamation point to the end of the headline. A reader would expect The Daily Punctilio to be more adhering to clean editorial punctuation standards as defined by Arouet and Rimbaud's Vernacularity's Formal Directory. Astor Julienne, what has gotten into you lately?
Very concerned,
Richard Nietzsche-Wagner
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Post by Jacques Snicket on Oct 29, 2013 10:30:38 GMT -5
I'm back again after a very very long absence. I was inspired by reading the YASOUE series by Tiago Squalor to continue this.
L.,
I have escaped at last, a phrase which here means "found a way to elude my enemies once more and left their dreary hideaway known as the Bach Cathedral in northern Europe towards an associate of mine with a motorboat down to the west end of the local river." I apologize greatly for my long absence as I had been caught by a band of several Finnish Pirates while on my way to retrieve an important piece of research pertaining to xxxxxxxxxx, but I have escaped the clutches of my ravenous enemies and am now with the aforementioned associate, S., aboard his motorboat. It is my utmost wish to inquire of you as to the state of the city from which a number of our fellow volunteers have had to leave following the xxxxxxxxxxxx, the day that changed everything. I am also curious as to the whereabouts of the Baudelaires and your niece, as I know you have been researching the unfortunate events that have befallen them ever since that terrible morning on Briny Beach. I feel, as you no doubt do, that their series of unfortunate events might have been prevented and B. would still be living, just as I have long felt that the unfortunate events that have happened to me would be reversed, and J. would never have died alone on that park bench after receiving a misleading message from one we supposed an ally. Just as B. has posthumously driven you onto your investigations, J. has posthumously driven me onto mine and out of my comfortable adolescence. It seems we are alike, each driven by our love to carry on. It is steadily nearing dusk here and with the approaching storm clouds I wish only that this missive finds its way to you, and that my many questions are answered.
The world is quiet here,
E. R.
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Dear Dairy,
It has come to my attention that E. and J. have begun a tryst, a phrase which here means "two of our fellow associates are in love even though it is unheard of in our organization for a young teenage boy to be with a woman old enough to nearly be his mother yet young enough to not be his grandmother." Regardless, it is fortunate in these dark times that love is still able to bring our dear comrades together, even if secrecy is their safe place away from prying eyes and deep frowns and biting reprimands. As I sit here drinking my root bear float in the Toscanini Café I notice that J. S. has left me a message detailing the floor plans for the Hotel Denouement he had acquired some time ago. If the legends are true, it means that the third Denouement triplet is alive and well, and not dead.
With all due respect,
B. B.
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FROM: J.S. TO: XXXXXXXX
I KNOW WHERE THE SUGAR BOWL IS STOP. IT IS AT XXX DARK AVENUE STOP. FRANÇOIS SQUALOR KNOWS SOMETHING STOP.
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Post by Dante on Oct 29, 2013 11:48:32 GMT -5
Lots of interesting snippets here, and I'm glad to see you still enthusiastic, Jacques. Welcome back. I like your style.
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Post by Jacques Snicket on Oct 29, 2013 12:01:43 GMT -5
Thank you, Dante.
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Post by Jacques Snicket on Oct 29, 2013 15:41:43 GMT -5
THE DAILY PUNCTILIO "All The News In Fits Of Print"
O B I T U A R Y
Vivacious Fxxxxx Deceased
By: Jacques Snicket
Early last afternoon near Dark Avenue, heiress and actress Jasmine Fxxxxx, aged 44, was found dead resting on a park bench due to what seems to have been an extremely severe heat stroke, along with a creased issue of yesterday morning's edition of this paper found sprawled upon the concrete under the bench. She is survived by her close friend Céline Beauséant who is also a dramatist at the Blanche DuBois Theatre based here in the City, and a group of well-read literary connoisseurs with whom she was greatly associated with in the past years. J////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
This past issue was already torn by the time I had discovered it inside a vase within an alcove of Veblen Hall, ripped in half like my heart. - E.R.
*Tear stains dot the document*
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To My Kind Editor,
I am writing you from within the abandoned shack in the Finite Forest where I once met with my associates many years ago, a phrase which here means "very long before the Baudelaire family was tragically and irrevocably rent apart by the fire that destroyed their home." Tomorrow at sunset there will be a taxi waiting for you at the crossroads of Rarely Ridden Road and Lousy Lane. Go into the taxi and give the cab driver the card I have inserted along with this letter. Once you have been driven to your destination, the driver shall hand you a package containing observations of the plight of Duncan, Isadora and Quigley Quagmire and their involvement with the Baudelaires which have been documented by myself while on their trail, compiled by one of my associates who has recently been taking to wearing various outfits relating to whichever historical eras he has been interested in.
With all due respect,
Lemony Snicket
Lemony Snicket
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From the commonplace book of V. Monteverdi
Day. Twelve o'clock in the aftermoon. Very humid. Not many people at the park. Woman in a coat walking to one of the benches, holding the newspaper in her hands. I am unsettled, for I feel that the one who gave her the paper is not who she thought he was, aiming to bring her harm. I recall the state that E. has been in the past few weeks, worried and concerned as if something dreadful were about to happen. No doubt he will be grieved to know of the inevitable sudden and suspicious death of his former chaperone and fellow volunteer. The world may be quiet, but the dark is just as menacing.
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Post by Dante on Oct 29, 2013 16:13:06 GMT -5
Incorporating a little ATWQ into the terminology, I see; I like it. And it's highly interesting getting all of these fragments of the same story from so many different voices framed in different ways.
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Post by Hermes on Oct 30, 2013 14:12:15 GMT -5
Welcome back, Jacques! There's so much interesting stuff here! I must have missed last year's last update, which reveals that the Baudelaires' grandmother was a Denouement, as well as being very illuminating about the history of Prufrock Prep. And the story of E and J is very sad. I can well imaging love developing between apprentice and chaperone in some cases (though I hope E was a bit older than Lemony is in ATWQ).
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Post by Jacques Snicket on Oct 30, 2013 14:52:20 GMT -5
@dante: Glad you find it interesting. Have you read the whole thread yet? Hermes: Don't worry. E is somewhere between 16 and 17 here.
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Post by Jacques Snicket on Oct 31, 2013 11:34:40 GMT -5
Dear Dairy,
There is nothing more thrilling than being with her. She is my mentor, my instructress, my guide, my comfort, my most dearest friend. She is the only one in whom I can confide myself, a phrase which here means "open my heart and soul to a woman whom I love very much." I realize that being in love with one's former chaperone is extremely rare in our organization with my being a mere sixteen years of age and her being old enough to be my aunt, but compared to the mysteries surrounding the Bombinating Beast and L.'s involvement thereof my circumstances are far more fathomable, and hence grounded in far more reasonable requisites. She is my lighthouse in the midst of a stormy sea, my safe place in the midst of an unsafe world, my only harmony that exists in the midst of the discord afflicting us all, my only good dream in a reality of nightmares, my only warmth in the midst of the cold, my only joy in a land of despair, my only reassurance in a quagmire of fear. Yet I am afraid, deathly afraid, a phrase which here means "very worried that unpleasant circumstances will swoop in and snatch away my happiness, my life." I am afraid that I will never again hear her absent-mindedly talk to me while in the middle of writing polished letters, rehearsing for her plays, trying on elegant clothes, coats and necklaces and various finery disguises for our missions together and apart, telling tales of her own experiences and recollections, gazing up at the stars together, decoding coded messages together, setting up Verbal Fridge Dialogues together, writing poetry together, researching unfortunate events together, among other things that two very much in love volunteers such as ourselves do together. I am afraid that I will never again be able to see her worn yet beautiful warm smile, hear her call me "darling", feel the touch of her hand, be the target of her welcome advice, or be the receiving end of her love. I am afraid that something terrible will happen to us, whether our separation will be one of brevity or eternity, I am very afraid. The crickets are unusually loud this evening.
The world is not as quiet here as I would like,
E.
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