Recompense Delight

[chainofclovers]

Title: Recompense Delight
Fandom: Doubt (film)
Pairing: Sister Aloysius/Sister James
Rating: M
Disclaimer: I have no rights where Doubt is concerned. John Patrick Shanley wrote Doubt and his words humble me.
Summary: Three things I know: Nun angst != angsty fanfic. Narrating is my favorite thing in the world. This story makes me nervous.
Author's Note: Some months ago, I participated in a drabble-prompting meme and discovered that I am incapable of writing drabble-length fic inspired by Doubt. After responding to the prompts indirectly with a short fic, I have finally written something with the specific prompts in mind. Please note: this story (in three sections, all complete and posted under the cut) is unrelated to the short fic. pin_drop prompted the first section, somniesperus prompted the second, and la_fono prompted the third. So, once again, it's with pleasure that I dedicate a Doubt story to the three of you. Many thanks for the excellent prompts.




I. (Quiet, Handwritten)

The Church is difficult, but it is good. It has a cleanliness that Sister James cannot attribute to other difficult things, like the loneliness of her school days, the damp weakness of her brother Samuel’s sickbed, the hollow place the war carved in her father.

The parish school employs a janitor, but everyday, when her last class ends, Sister James sponges the blackboard clean herself. She smiles as she works, thinking of the layers of knowledge that have accumulated there, and how tomorrow is a chance to fill the board again.

The Church is rigid, but she can stand up straight. Its mission is vast, but she knows she can be of service. Best of all, she is one of many: since joining the order she has not so much as eaten a meal alone. And even as she prays and sleeps, God is with her. He is gentle, she thinks. Steady. As essential to her life as her own heartbeat.

This afternoon, as she watches the last student file out of the classroom, she knows He will never leave her. Still, she has changed. In a matter of days, she has become a suspicious woman. Her heart is occupied with dark things.

She worries about Donald Miller, and prays for his well-being. She first mentioned her observations to Sister Aloysius because she wanted someone to take care of him, because she knew she would never forgive herself if something was wrong and she hadn’t spoken up. But now that she’s done so, her suspicions—no, her concerns—have become real. They’ve become the slight but unmistakable presence of tears in Sister Aloysius’ eyes, the firm set of her jaw. They’ve become Father Flynn’s indignant bluster. They taste like sugar cubes. They sound like a story. Like a lie.

She finds herself wondering in spite of herself what exactly has happened, and she knows she wonders this for reasons beyond the sake of Donald Miller’s safety. She is actively curious. At night, tense with fear, she imagines unspeakably awful things, and convinces herself in the morning that they are not real. She watches, rapt, as Sister Aloysius and Father Flynn interact, likening their conversations to—not to a tennis match, but something tougher. To wrestling.

Today is a Friday, and Sister James is exhausted. She does not immediately move to tidy her classroom, but slumps slightly in her chair and pulls out a book. Right now, she doesn’t feel like one of many at all, and is grateful for a few moments alone.

It comes as a surprise when Sister Aloysius walks into the classroom a few minutes later, takes a look at the book’s spine, and says, “You shouldn’t be reading that.”

The book is actually a play: The Importance of Being Earnest. Sister James half expects Aloysius to make a teasing comment next, maybe something about how she is far too earnest already, but she doesn’t.

Sister James shuts the book, taking a mental note of the page number. Sister Aloysius already has a say in how she conducts her classroom and disciplines her students, in how she prays, in what she talks about at dinner—if there is to be any talking at all. The sisters dine particularly early now that the days have shortened, leaving only a small window of time after classes for her to collect herself, and now Sister Aloysius is going to take issue with how she spends this time, too? “I’m sorry, Sister,” James says. “But why?”

“It’s Wilde,” Aloysius replies. “He was a—” She blushes, not all over her face but at the apples of her cheeks, and screws up her mouth in…not disgust, exactly, but displeasure.

Sister James remains surprised, but now she understands. She has no idea what to say, so she opens a desk drawer and sticks the book inside, catching the way Aloysius cranes her neck as if curious about the drawer’s other contents.

On Monday, minutes before her first class, James rummages in her desk for a pen and comes across the volume. She opens it guiltily, and realizes a mid-sized piece of plain white paper marks the exact page where she left off.

Romans 1: 26-27 -- For this cause God gave them up unto vile affections: for even their women did change the natural use into that which is against nature: And likewise also the men, leaving the natural use of the woman, burned in their lust one toward another; men with men working that which is unseemly, and receiving in themselves that recompense of their error which was meet, it says.

She instantly recognizes the spidery, inky script. It’s the same handwriting that appears on her teaching evaluations. She tries to put the passage out of her mind, but gets another note the next day.

1 Corinthians 6: 9-11 -- Know ye not that the unrighteous shall not inherit the kingdom of God? Be not deceived: neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor abusers of themselves with mankind, Nor thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor extortioners, shall inherit the kingdom of God.

And such were some of you: but ye are washed, but ye are sanctified, but ye are justified in the name of the Lord Jesus, and by the Spirit of our God.

This one is loose in the desk, because Sister James has taken the book and hidden it in her room. She grips the paper so tightly it shakes, and realizes she is very, very angry.

If this week is the same week Sister Aloysius starts staring at her with some frequency and intensity, she tells herself she doesn’t notice, and tries to meet her eye only when absolutely necessary.

She does notice, of course. She takes in the wise, almost taunting little smiles aimed in her direction. Other times, she senses that a quiet joke has been made for her benefit, but does not laugh, not when Leviticus 18:22 -- Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination has just shown up in her desk drawer that morning.

All the same, Sister James lacks objectivity, and deplores this quality in herself. She stacks Aloysius’ notes in a box her brother découpaged for her years ago, filing them away like love letters.

She watches the wrestling with wonder. She stands up to Sister Aloysius, finally saying all the things she’s wanted to say about fear and mistrust and the old ways, and finds that immediately after saying them, she is no longer sure if she still believes in them at all.


II. (Love)

After they make their cold way in from the courtyard, Sister James learns that Sister Aloysius’ room, unlike her own, has a sink. She watches as Aloysius splashes water onto her face without taking off her bonnet first. She presses a towel to her eyes and cheeks and then they stand, purposeless, in the middle of her spare white room. It occurs to James that even after bearing witness to Aloysius’ deepest doubts and being privy to confessions she’s certain no clergyman will ever hear, she has not been invited to stay.

Her instinct is to leave immediately, and perhaps to meekly wish Aloysius well on the way out. Her instinct, in other words, is to do something nice. In a burst of inspiration, she realizes she is having this thought because she is nice. Sister Aloysius can be kind, but she is not a nice person. Maybe, Sister James thinks, she would appreciate some harshness.

She moves to the closed door, and pauses before opening it. “I want something better from you,” she hears her voice say, nervous but clear. “From the scriptures. Something you actually like—or actually believe in.” This tactic is risky, hinging as it does on the truth of James’ belief that the scriptures, so far, have been a game. There’s a question in the pieces of paper, and she wants to know how best to answer. The most ruthless thing she can think of in this raw moment is to demand more of Aloysius’ heart.

Aloysius opens her mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. She looks angry, but this may be left over from the crying and all the years of having her own harsh things to say.

James gets Psalm 125 next, and for days after, more Psalms. She wonders if Sister Aloysius has chosen to share her favorites, or if she’s picked them with only Sister James’ spiritual benefit in mind. She starts arriving to her classroom a few minutes earlier than normal, so she can take time to read and ponder before she has to teach. She tells herself she is satisfied with this private introspection; the sisters all so are busy welcoming Father O’Malley to his new home that it would be impossible to expect additional spiritual engagement from anyone. She notices that dinnertimes pass without so much as a word from Aloysius as to the content of Father O’Malley’s sermons, and freezes up whenever she considers introducing a topic of her own.

A week and a half after their conversation in the courtyard, the Psalms stop and something new begins.

Song of Songs 8: 13 -- Thou that dwellest in the gardens, the companions hearken to thy voice: Cause me to hear it.

At the end of the page, cramped between bold brackets, Aloysius has added

[Read the rest.]

Sister James feels this one pulse in her stomach, and when work is over she rushes back to her room to read. She’s sure she must have at least glanced at the chapter before, but she doesn’t remember it like this. This chapter is all about breasts and sandals and pomegranates and sapphires and myrrh. Her stomach jumps again, and she catches herself thinking, But she only knows about my face. She gasps. It is obvious, now, as it should have been from the moment she finished studying Psalm 125, that all along she has believed that Sister Aloysius has chosen the texts as a means of speaking directly to her.

That evening, walking up a flight of stairs, she practically runs into Sister Aloysius, who is making her way in the opposite direction with a tea cozy. Aloysius looks annoyed, but says, “I’m taking this to Sister Veronica. She’s sick in bed. Will you come?”

They stand in silence and watch Veronica sleeping as night falls outside. The tea, which sits untouched on the nightstand, is less vital than her rest. After several minutes, Aloysius asks quietly, “You read it?” She continues to stare straight ahead.

“Yes,” Sister James replies, and she feels a finger steal inside her sleeve and run down her left arm. The fingernail swirls against the creases of her wrist and the palm of her hand, back and forth. She controls herself: she does not breathe more quickly, she does not take in more air, she keeps her arm perfectly still rather than jerking it away. Completely unexpectedly, the words “erogenous zone” leap into her mind. It’s a magazine phrase, cheap and far away, but it presses against her brain like a blackened rubber stamp. She cannot recall why she’s familiar with the concept. What magazine, if a publication is in fact the source of this knowledge? What year? Wherever the term comes from, it is disquieting that Aloysius seems to have found proof of one on her first try.

The touches continue—brief and always between wrists and fingers, in the handing off of a casserole dish or a document—but the scriptures stop for three days. On the morning of the fourth day, she tells herself not to hope as she pulls open the desk drawer, but inside rests a substantial stack of pages bound together with a piece of twine. It’s the entire book of Esther.

She thumbs the pages between each class; smiles at her troublemakers; teaches extremely well; and stays late to clean the blackboard, neaten the rows of desks, and think. Somehow, she knows to expect Sister Aloysius eventually, but still starts when she sees her figure standing at the door to her classroom.

Once inside, Aloysius takes a sharp breath, but James is first to speak. “Thank you,” she says. She is referring to Esther alone. The effort it must have taken to copy the ten chapters has made James sure, for the first time, that she’s been given the words that Aloysius loves. She sees now that the initial scriptures were tests, the Psalms were instructive, Song of Songs let Aloysius touch her without having to come up with an excuse, and that Esther was a personal gift. She also sees that Aloysius has wrists of her own, and before she can stop herself she strides toward her and encircles one with the fingers of her left hand, stroking it with her right. Sister Aloysius swallows. “Stop that.”

“No,” Sister James says slowly. “Not unless—not unless you really want me to.”

There is no way to prepare for what Aloysius says next. “Do you want to go to Hell with me?”

Finally, Sister James is ready to laugh at one of her jokes, but before the sound loosens itself from her throat she realizes that the question is legitimate. “Yes,” she whispers immediately. She is already burning up.

“Do you want to start tonight?”

“Yes,” Sister James says, almost certain, and almost is enough to get her to Aloysius’ room after everyone is asleep. It’s enough to put them in the same bed, frightened and unpracticed and in love.

“Do not confess this,” Aloysius says, emphatic even though the words are muffled by James’ still-clothed shoulder. “It’ll only ruin us sooner,” she adds, and sets off in search of James’ body.

Until this moment, Sister James has always thought of Confession as a sort of routing system to God, but now she envisions the Confessor stealing her thoughts and using them for harm, blocking them so they never go up to Him at all. “I won’t,” she mumbles, already lost and found.

Sister James has no idea how much time has passed when she opens her eyes and realizes the room is dark where before a lamp had glowed against more skin than she’d ever seen. She hears the squeal of a faucet.

As Aloysius washes James off her hands she says sharply, “See how messy this is?” As usual, she’s talking about two things at once.

All James can think of us is how much better she feels, how calm, afloat on foreign pleasures. Listening to Aloysius talk about the mess pinpricks some of her relief. But then Aloysius dries her hands and leans over the bed. Her face looms, barely visible in the dark, and her voice is much softer when she says, “Come on. You should wash.” Her hands find the hem of James’ nightgown, and she pulls gently at the fabric in order to cover her up.

James is sure she won’t be able to sleep well here, but finds herself wrong when she jerks awake hours later. Sister Aloysius, unused to an actual physical presence invading her unconsciousness, wakes up right away.

“I should go back,” Sister James whispers.

“No,” Aloysius says, and throws an arm around James’ waist. “Sneaking around is for people who are doing something wrong.”

James grins and stays, but in the morning—the real morning, the one that seems deafening with the noise of the other sisters stirring—they both seem to reconsider. James scrambles out of bed, adjusting and readjusting her nightgown a half dozen times. “How will I leave?”

Aloysius’ eyes dart around the room before settling on a bottle of cough syrup that looks like it has survived a decade or more thanks to seldom use. James grabs the bottle and thinks in a split-second of a lie. “Thank you for the medicine, Sister,” she cries in a loud voice as she opens the door. She doesn’t look at Aloysius as she leaves, staring instead at the bottle clutched to her chest as she attempts to walk rather than run down the hall. Halfway to her room, it occurs to her she should have tried to sound hoarse.

She sets the medicine down on her shelf and blushes every time she sees it, which is often. She cherishes it. Her life takes on a selfish joy and a selfish dread.


III. (Why)

The weeks stack up, and nothing ruins them. Still, there’s a silent “yet” at the end of that sentence, and they both feel its presence. They ration the amount of time they spend together, deliberately misinterpreting the laws of probability and hoping for the best. They decide it would be wise for James to start going back to her room earlier than she did on the first morning, and they quit talking about right and wrong and hell. They’re both reasonable women, but Sister James is surprised by how difficult it is to limit their nights to one per week or even less, to censor, calculate and plan. No quantity of fear can stop her from thinking she needs this.

She wants Sister Aloysius more strongly at certain points in the month. There’s a three or four day stretch that for years felt blank and hot and is now alarmingly particular, tied to one body. The specificity is distracting. She wonders if it’s the same for Aloysius or, really, for anyone, but suspects that it is not. Sometimes they sit side by side on one of the couches in the blue sitting room, reading quietly, by themselves or with two or three other nuns. In these moments, James remembers the idea of another word, the shape of it, the first letter, but not the word itself. The word is “sublimation,” and if she could remember it, it would be exactly right.

Even in the safety of the blue room with its big windows and lamplight, they don’t speak much of personal things that exist beyond the realm of the parish. They don’t talk about their families except briefly, for practical reasons—Samuel’s health, and whether or not she should make another visit to her former home. Aloysius never takes trips. Any friendships either had with people outside the parish have long fallen away. Their lives are here, and that focus—that deliberate, careful choosing—is what makes this vocation work.

As Sister James knows well by now, words are often divided into outside and inside. Their meaning changes depending on where one is. She never says “sex” out loud. No matter what she’s thinking, when it comes to this she tries to avoid using any nouns or verbs at all. Still, sex is from the outside, and now that it has crept in she finds herself staring at Sister Aloysius and wanting to use the vocabulary of family, of crossing state lines, of what she ate as a child, which movies she liked, the vacation in 1957 to see an aunt in Detroit. She wants to know things that shouldn’t matter, like how many years there are between them. If, when Sister Aloysius was married, she loved her husband more than God.

Once, on a cold night in early March, they plan for eleven but Sister James arrives at 10:50 and blurts, “Before I took my vows my mother sat me down and said she’d always had a wish for me. She wanted to know if I was certain of my decision to—” She cuts herself off abruptly and laughs almost hysterically, a little too loudly for the time of night. She wants to cry or jump or kiss, anything strange. Sister Aloysius, still wearing her habit, does not rise from her writing desk, but her head snaps up. Their eyes meet and catch the dim lamplight. “I realized just now, ah…you’re just about everything she hoped for me.” Another peal of laughter, one that threatens to break the rest of her sentences apart. “You’re a Democrat. You’ve got—a steady job. You’re—Catholic.”

Sister Aloysius looks incredulous, and Sister James braces herself for being sent away. She wishes that, just once, she could make Aloysius laugh. That Sister Aloysius, so adept at creating tension, could be the one to snap it in two. This does not happen, but she isn’t banished either. She stands behind the desk chair and kneads her fingers into Aloysius’ shoulders. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“Don’t be,” Aloysius says quickly, and later, in bed, keeps her eyes closed as they struggle to take off her heavy clothing. On an ordinary day, it’s easy to undress. Despite all the fabric, their garb is simple. Tonight it isn’t, and Aloysius trembles with every touch.

Sister James isn’t actually all that sorry. Guilty, maybe, but the sensation does not amaze her, or make her feel sick. This and all related guilt have become feelings she’d prefer not to live without.

Even as Father Flynn fades from James’ mind, she uses his departure as a way to mark their time. Four months after he leaves, she discovers the extent to which he does not feel gone to Sister Aloysius. It is April, and something about the sound of birds and the sharp sweet air makes James crave the night all day long. In the kitchen that morning, in the middle of the crowd of nuns bringing their breakfast dishes into the small white room, she raises her eyebrows at Aloysius, who nods. Suddenly and dangerously, the plan is in place. They don’t even have to talk about “what time” anymore, or “which room.” That night, on the dark walk from her room to Aloysius’, she’s only slightly embarrassed to realize that her nipples are already tight against her nightgown, that she’s a little wet. She wants to get Aloysius to the same place as quickly as possible, and pulls her close immediately, the door behind her and Aloysius before her.

She’s shocked when Aloysius backs away, and is ashamed to hear her say “Please, not yet.”

“There’s something I want to tell you,” she continues, and she proceeds to sit in her desk chair, gesturing for James to take the bed.

With her mouth angry and her eyes intent, she talks about the Church. She makes up phrases like “patriarchal immunity,” and explains in hushed tones about how Fathers look out for Fathers and no one else. For a long time, she speaks bitterly about Father Flynn and his promotion, but she does not cry. “You see, this is what we’re up against,” she says. “What we work to preserve, to instill in these children, is so close to the thing we must fight. I think you assume it’s over, now that he’s gone away. It isn’t.”

Finally, she crosses the short distance to the bed and sits next to Sister James, peering at her sharply. “Do you understand what I’ve told you?” She pauses. “I’m not asking if you agree with me. Only if you understand.”

Sister James nods. “I do. I understand.” She isn’t lying, though she decides not to mention how unnerving it is to watch Aloysius teeter on the edge of what sounds like unbelief.

“Good. Your mother would not be pleased, would she?” Sister Aloysius says wryly, and the outrageous understatement makes them grin at each other. “Will you touch me now?”

James’ heart thrills at the word “touch.” It’s a solid word, a real word, not vague at all when accompanied by that smile. It crosses outside and in. She complies by lying down, pulling Aloysius flush against her, kissing the back of her neck while she reaches under the stiff white fabric of her nightgown. She realizes with a start that Aloysius’ body has been ready for a while, perhaps for much of the conversation.

Tonight, Aloysius does not pretend that the sweat and the mess and their muffled voices are anything accidental. “More,” she says as a request to Sister James, and she says it again about the things she does, like an entreaty to herself.

It is a long time before they are spent. They always take themselves clear to that point; this pleasure is not a luxury, and there is no saving of anything for tomorrow night. When they are done, Sister Aloysius sits up, and Sister James moves too, scooting in directly behind her and reaching around her torso so they can hold hands. “Pray with me,” Aloysius says. James expects to hear a recited prayer, but for several minutes the only sound in the room is their breathing, like breeze from a gentle God.

She has only just settled into the imperfect silence when Aloysius says “Amen.”

Comments

[jintymac.livejournal.com]

Wow, this was awesome and incredibly powerful. You know these characters very well and I loved how you used chapters from the bible to illustrate Aloysius's feelings for sister James. Their light touches of the wrist and fingers are also extremely intense in this situation ;-)

This was wonderful, thanks for sharing!

[chainofclovers.livejournal.com]

Thank you for reading! I'm so glad you found it powerful. I always appreciate your comments.

[radak.livejournal.com]

amazing!

[chainofclovers.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

[abina2810.livejournal.com]

that was really really brilliant

[chainofclovers.livejournal.com]

Thanks very much for reading!

[wordhawk.livejournal.com]

This was sensitive and subtle, I think that's how to handle this sort of story line which could be problematic because of the religious theme. Utterly outstanding.

[chainofclovers.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much--I'm relieved to get a comment like this relatively soon after posting the story. As I mentioned in the A/N, this story made me very nervous. I'm sure plenty would find it problematic indeed (I might be one of them!) but I'm gratified to read words like "sensitive" and "subtle." Thank you!

[law_nerd]

I love the sense of carpe diem that is encompassed in these lines:

"It is a long time before they are spent. They always take themselves clear to that point; this pleasure is not a luxury, and there is no saving of anything for tomorrow night."

Altogether wonderful story, thank you.

[chainofclovers.livejournal.com]

Thanks so much! I hadn't thought of carpe diem, but it fits. I appreciate your reading very much.

[thanatopsis76.livejournal.com]

The formation of your phrases is utterly gorgeous. And I really like the way you talk about sex here. It's definitely present, but not too detailed, like something they can't/don't want to ignore, but still sort of wish they could.

Really, really excellent work.

[chainofclovers.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I struggled with how explicit to make the story, and finally decided to make the sex unambiguous but without a lot of anatomical detail. I figured that there would be a strange disconnect if I made it to the level of "what goes where"--their own reticence would not have been as believable. Thanks very much for reading and letting me know what you thought--and I was very happy to see that you posted a new story, too!

[flying-peanuts.livejournal.com]

Wow. This just commands attention in an incredibly powerful, exquisite way. There is such a sense of sophisticated suggestiveness in every gesture, every word between them: it's quite spectacular.

Thank you.

[chainofclovers.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much for reading, and for such a kind comment.

[ubiquitousmixie.livejournal.com]

wow. seriously...wow.

when i saw that you had posted, i decided to save it for when i'd have more time. i'd set little goals for myself so that i could feel like i "earned" it. i knew, without having to read it, that it would be exquisite simply because of its author. i was not wrong.

i don't even really have words to explain how much i loved this. this did everything a well- written story should - it envoked the feeling of its characters, it warmed and saddened, it made me uncomfortable (scripture always makes me uncomfortable). this is so utterly perfect.

thank you so much for this.

[chainofclovers.livejournal.com]

Thank you very much. You are so sweet, and I am really happy that you had this reaction to the story (and even a little bit glad that some of it made you uncomfortable)! Writing it was not exactly the most comfortable experience of my life, either. Thanks again--I always appreciate your letting me know what you thought.

[kitnkabootle.livejournal.com]

I have lost my ability to write a cohesive, intelligent comment. I am floored by how incredibly sensual, well-written and honestly touching this is. Thank you.

[chainofclovers.livejournal.com]

Sounds like you did a pretty good job to me. ;-)

Seriously though--thank you! You're very kind.

[somniesperus.livejournal.com]

As well-written as always! I loved the use of Scriptures, as well as Sister James's realization that God is not always gentle or comfortable. The understated sensuality was also a delight, as are the touches of humor (James realizing that she should have sounded hoarse when she took the cough syrup). Thanks for this!

[chainofclovers.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much! I'm especially glad the humor came through--I was worried it wouldn't (not for you in particular, but for readers in general).

[pin-drop.livejournal.com]

I read this yesterday and was too flabbergasted by it to comment. And now I've re-read it, and I feel exactly the same way, so I'm sorry if this is a little incoherent, or a lot.

It's the entire book of Esther.

I want you to know that I stopped breathing when I read this and actually forgot how to do so for a short time.

Think not with thyself that thou shalt escape in the king's house, more than all the Jews. (Of course, the happy ending is hopeful, but the message of Esther's powerlessness is clear, and the Scepter of Patriarchy just drives it home perfectly.)

The little touches that get me: the cough syrup, the line about "people who are doing something wrong." How unpractised James is at lying, and how she saves the scriptures Aloysius sends her "like love letters" long before it dawns on her that in a perverse way, that's sort of what they are. I love the cryptic nature of Psalm 125 in particular. Like the Book of Esther, the message is there, clear to us but something James can only guess at. And holy shit: Solomon 8? Perfection.

It's very in-character for James to be so trusting of the Church's authority (with the exception of Flynn), and to interpret Aloysius' criticisms of its policies as a weakening of her faith in God. You've written James with the right age, here, and the right amount of naivete. Her fears and confusion are very realistic. Also -- and this is the big one, for me -- it's wonderful that they don't entirely understand each other the way they think they do. That's often not the case in fiction that focuses on romance, and it's good that you've given them that complexity, that they're two separate people who interact instead of being simply a relationship ideal.

I really enjoyed her little speech to A about the man her mother wanted her to marry. The beginnings of the weird misery and happiness that characterize them are just visible behind her hysteria, and so delicately done. You're good at not saying too much, at leaving just enough open to interpretation.

Also, at the risk of rambling, you've gotten Aloysius' voice exactly right. Her dialogue is excellent, and I'm insanely jealous, because that's something I always find tricky. *Applauds you* Thank you so much for writing, and I'm tremendously flattered by the dedication (again!).

(Feel free to ignore this question if you prefer, but I'm curious: which version(s) of the Bible are you using? Just King James, or others as well?)

[chainofclovers.livejournal.com]

Thanks so, so much. I always love reading what you think of my writing, and I will especially treasure these comments.

I worked really hard to try to make them separate people, even after the romance picks up. I'm so glad that you felt that worked--it's not just a matter of the age gap or the fact that James is more innocent...theologically, and socially, they are very different people (and James isn't less of a person just because she's younger!), and they're bound to have at least a bit of trouble interpreting each other's ideas. Thank you so much for picking up on that and letting me know how you felt about it. I truly appreciate the amount of detail you provide in your feedback.

The simple answer to your question is that all the scriptures were from the King James version. The more complicated answer is--maybe--more fun. I'm planning on doing an LJ post about the process of choosing scriptures and what "my" Aloysius thinks of them. It was an interesting process, because the version of the Bible I own and am more familiar with came out after the year the movie is set.

[la-fono.livejournal.com]

GNAH. This is so beautiful and clear. It's like reading a cool drink of water.

I'm not familiar with the bible, and on my first read of this, I didn't want to break from what was happening to look them up. Which worked ok though, as you give us the feel of the passages, but I've just re-read with reading the passages as Sister James comes to them, and I have to say: How apropos that a nun would seduce another with the bible, and that Aloysius' opening note was a warning. "If this goes any further this is what awaits us." And then continues.

It's fascinating to see their relationship change shape and how the way they - or, at least James, and hints of Aloysius - feel about it changing with it.

In short: Cor. :)

[chainofclovers.livejournal.com]

It's like reading a cool drink of water.

Wow. What writer would be able to avoid blushing and grinning with absolute glee after receiving a comment like that? Thanks so much for reading and for sharing your thoughts.

I've been thinking a lot--both during and after the writing process--about Aloysius' actual relationship to the Bible passages she quotes, and I'm planning on doing an LJ post about it once I get my thoughts in order.

Be warned: you just found my secret squee spot.

[pin-drop.livejournal.com]

I'm planning on doing an LJ post about it

I'm hyperventilating a little bit right now in giddy anticipation. I have this (frankly dishonest, to the point of being nearly criminal) tendency to interpret A as being more like me than she actually is, and I'm really looking forward to hearing what you have to say about what makes her tick, because I get the feeling you have the capacity to better understand where she's coming from. And of course I squee over nerdy Biblical stuff.

[torie20md.livejournal.com]

Wow, that was great. Very emotionally powerful.

[chainofclovers.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

[baggers.livejournal.com]

HOW DID I MISS THIS?!

Oh my god! This is amazing. There is something so right about Aloysius testing James with the scriptures.

This in particular caught me:

She wants Sister Aloysius more strongly at certain points in the month. There’s a three or four day stretch that for years felt blank and hot and is now alarmingly particular, tied to one body.

The rawness of this is so jarringly honest, where all our higher ideas about various things can be stripped down to basic biological processes.

I really have not expressed very well how much I loved this. I did! I did, I did, I did!

[chainofclovers.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much! Hmm, maybe you missed it because you were too busy, you know, getting into an excellent law school to scour the internet for stories about nuns. Just a guess. ;-)

Thanks for letting me know what you liked in particular. I struggled to figure out how "biological" to make the whole piece. I basically decided that Sister James a) has hormones like anybody else and b) believes on some level that she is the only person who has them.

[akasarahsmom.livejournal.com]

“Do you want to go to Hell with me?”/"Yes"

That was awesome.

Very nice work.

[chainofclovers.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

[doesnt-go-away.livejournal.com]

Wow, I have no word to tell you how much I love this. It's beautiful, sad, painful and kind of hopeful. I don't know, I just really, really love this. Doubt is such a wonderful, difficult fandom and you write it so beautifully so I'm glad I found this.

[chainofclovers.livejournal.com]

Thank you for your kindness--I'm so glad that you found the story to be all of those things.

[lupinotuum.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much for pointing me in the direction of this fic. I'm trying not to do a line-by-line analysis of Why It's Amazing, but I might just do that, so bear with me, haha.

The first part of this story that I loved and enjoyed so much was not, actually, the Scripture letters (although it's an interesting method of communication). Rather, it was the small touches with the women's wrists. I thought it was beautifully realistic and deeply compelling--they both wear clothing that covers up a great deal, and it seems so natural that the first thing that makes them realize the physical reality of the other is their wrists, the only part of their bodies that's visible, besides their faces.

I also enjoyed and appreciated how you handled their physical relationship. A relationship between nuns is totally taboo and can be written very poorly or in a very cliche way, but you avoided that very neatly; I think it was a great choice to not be explicit with anything that happened between them. Aloysius' comment--"See how messy this is?"--completely summed up (at least for me) the practicalities of their relationship, and of any sort of forbidden relationship. And then, even with all that mess, they manage to become so perfectly in sync, developing a routine. James even has a 'time of the month' when she wants to be with Aloysius, and that is just such a true detail.

Also, their respective 'confessions' to each other--that was amazing. James saying to her that Aloysius was everything her mother had wanted for her, and Aloysius talking about the patriarchy of the Church and how men only look out for other men. It's so interesting to see the contrast of their values; James is thinking romance, love, happiness, family, and Aloysius is thinking oppression, prejudice, patriarchy, and it seems like they're both naive, in their own way, because James is blind to the bigger issues, and Aloysius is blind to the smaller ones.

Thank you for sharing this fic with us.

[chainofclovers.livejournal.com]

I am terribly rude--I practically beg you to come read my fic, you promptly leave some of the most amazing feedback ever, and then it takes me over a week to get back to you! Sorry about that...

and thank you so much for these thoughtful comments! I really like how you interpreted their confessions to each other as indicative of "the contrast of their values." That makes a ton of sense, and I find it really exciting when someone phrases some truth about my work in a way that feels totally new and absolutely right. Thanks!

[chilly-flame.livejournal.com]

I watched it! And then scurried here to read. Everyone had such lovely things to say--deep, insightful, detailed comments. I'm jealous, because all I can really think to say is how glad I am they have each other, when they are forced against a tide in the church that even now seems impossible to fight. Their room is a little island in the eye of the hurricane, not always peaceful and maybe not permanent, but a comfort nonetheless.

Can't wait for the new story. Hee.

[chainofclovers.livejournal.com]

Thanks so much!

because all I can really think to say is how glad I am they have each other, when they are forced against a tide in the church that even now seems impossible to fight

And actually, this feels incredibly insightful to me. I think most romantic relationships are about taking solace in some way, and the tide of abuse and destructiveness that you're talking about is certainly something worth both fighting against and taking solace from. I hadn't really thought about their relationship in those terms, even though I realize now that I wrote it so that that sort of comfort would be possible for them, at least in private.

Thanks for the kind words about the new story, too. It's been slow going, but having a deadline is going to help me. Man, if anybody had told me this time last year that I'd be working on my third story about nuns, I would have...laughed politely and looked skeptical.

So, now you've got to tell me what you thought of the movie itself! The performances, the story, the setting, anything. I really love discussing it with people.

[chilly-flame.livejournal.com]

To be honest, I really loved the movie. I didn't expect to in the least--some of the response to Meryl's performance was rather lukewarm as you know. Her accent, her choices, etc. I put off watching it for ages because of that. But I was really pleased with her interpretation of Sister Aloysius, other than being somewhat shocked by her breakdown in that last moment.

I've seen the play with Cherry Jones, and the film seemed enormously different for many reasons. Lots of those reasons are obvious--particularly adding the children and other nuns to the cast, and allowing us to see Aloysius interact with all of them, made her far more interesting. Broadening the scope of the play was a good decision on JPS's part in my opinion, because it truly placed the play in its time while still making it work as a modern story.

As a side note, people who criticized the accent and bearing were verbally flogged by Mrs. Chilly, who attended Catholic school in one of the five boroughs, and was adamant that Meryl had channeled multiple teachers from her childhood. Hee.

In any case, I felt strongly that the film tilted in one direction, unlike the play, which seemed more uncertain. I know folks have differing feelings about "did he do it or not," but in the movie, it didn't even seem like a question. He did it, far as I'm concerned, whether JPS ever says it or not. The play, on the other hand, seemed more even in its depiction of potential innocence, and felt dramatically more miserable than the end than the movie. That could have been due to performances rather than script, so I'll be interested in your thoughts.

[chainofclovers.livejournal.com]

I loved the movie too, as you probably guessed knew from my inability to shut up about it in any fan context for more than a few seconds. I've never seen the play performed, but I read the script after seeing the movie. Based on that reading experience your interpretation of the differences between the play and the film make a lot of sense.

I felt it was very important that the film skewed so heavily toward the suggestion that Father Flynn "did it," and equally important that JPS never explicitly says so.

That could have been due to performances rather than script, so I'll be interested in your thoughts.

I really, really wish I've seen the play, and I kind of wish I'd been able to see the play before seeing the film, though there's obviously no going back now. I did like Meryl's performance a lot--that scene with her and Viola Davis was stunning. I'm glad it worked for Mrs. Chilly. My dad attended Catholic school (far, far from New York, though) and he loved the film, too. I didn't pay attention to many of the (positive or negative) critical responses to the film or to Meryl Streep's performance, though I was aware that there was some controversy over her decision to break down emotionally in the final scene. I found it very jarring on my first viewing, but decided on my second and third viewings that I really respect the choice. That I felt firmly convinced of Flynn's guilt and simultaneously convinced of the genuineness of Aloysius' despair over her own loss of certainty (about the way of the Church, I think, and not about Flynn's actions) is true testament to four great performances.

So glad you've seen the film now!

[youreyesaregems.livejournal.com]

I really, really enjoyed and appreciated this. I don't know what else to say, it's late and I'm tired... but I thought this was wonderful and beautifully written and had to leave a comment saying so.

The touching of the wrists was the most perfect detail. After that, I was hooked and knew it was going to be good.