Effie Arbon
December 23, 2013 11:17 AM
In search of suitable reading material by Effie Arbon
Effie moved tentatively though the fiction section of the library. She needed a new book. She had not finished the novel that she had brought back from home at the end of Midterm but she was finding it... unsuitable. It followed the same format as many of the novels she'd read lately; the virtuous Pureblood heroine is followed through her progress in society, during which she makes a number of suitable, or seemingly suitable new acquaintances. Yet rumours fly and conflicting messages are given, with each of the parties with whom she becomes involved accusing the others of ill-conduct and deception. Effie had just got to the part where the young maiden is lured away by one of said acquaintances, whom – it transpires – is nothing but a dissembling Muggleborn or half-blood, bent not on courtship and marriage but on something much more base and unseemly. She had never quite found out what exactly it would be as, in all these novels, the true Pureblood hero always swept in, saved the girl and duly married her, but whatever the Muggleborn intended was definitely horrid. Or at least, it was supposed to be. That was the problem. The brush with a scandalous encounter itself was fine, as it happened so frequently in these novels. The trouble was that, dangerous as it evidently was, the books all made it sound like being lured away and 'ravaged' (whatever that meant - it seemed to involve getting one's hair and clothes into a state of disarray though) by a swarthy Muggleborn was somehow... well, more exciting than a genteel walk with the dashing hero. It was the fault of the prose, she was quite certain – that it was short and choppy in order to create a sense of drama and urgency. However, she was fairly sure that she should not find it thrilling. She was quite certain that Anthony Carey or Alan Raines would never do anything to her that involved her hair become dishevelled and that it was thus utterly inappropriate for her to find such passages almost exciting. Rupert Princeton, she thought, might be capable of 'ravaging,' (after all, he wore simply dreadful shoes) but she didn't approve of him.She had tucked the book very firmly under a rarely used textbook in the bottom of her trunk and placed several pairs of shoes on top of it. She was therefore scanning the shelves of the library for something more suitable but her confidence in her own ability to choose appropriate literature had been knocked. She dithered, not quite daring to pluck anything off the shelves and read the synopsis, lest it was full of lurid ideas and someone caught her looking at it. Not that there was necessarily anything wrong with the books she had been reading, just the way she was reacting to them. However, she felt exposed and vulnerable for even thinking such things. She wanted to form a good impression and be asked on accompanied walks by kind, genteel young men. Not lured off by inappropriate ones. Luckily it was easier at Sonora, as there was no one pretending to be something they were not but you still had to seem appropriate, and not like someone who derived enjoyment from scandalous liaisons, or who knew what might happen to your reputation? She still hadn't made a firm decision on anything when a voice attracted her attention...
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In search of suitable reading material
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