Sunshine Challenge Day Three
Jul. 13th, 2022 10:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)

For moonstone, I decided to focus on the Wilkie Collins' novel The Moonstone [1868]. This novel is one of the pioneering works in detective fiction in the English-speaking world. It's an epistolary work, told from diaries and accounts of different persons involved, so the reader gets to play detective, figuring out from all the perspective what is going on. Very nice plot work. Very intricate, which I love. Ironically, the moonstone is a diamond, not a moonstone. It's a gem looted from India by colonizers and brings misfortune to an English countryhouse. I listened to audiobook version [narrated by James Langton, who does an excellent job with so many voices]. I also watched two TV versions one from the 1970s and one more recent (which makes Betteridge and his daughter POC, which was nice). The solution (or part of it) is about as credible as Edgar Allan Poe's solution to "The Murders in the Rue Morgue," but, hey, it's Victorian sensationalism and They Did It First. There is a character named Drucilla Clack, who is a Christian zealot, spinster, who has the unendearing habit of hiding, scattering, and thrusting her evangelizing pamphlets all about. Like many zealots, she's a funny caricature until she isn't and I was painfully reminded that people like Clack are many and in very high places.
So, I did a moodboard and a double drabble (for the Drabble Zone prompt of Angels and Demons) of Clack crossing over with Crowley and Aziraphale of Good Omens [rating: Gen].
1.

2.
“There you are,” cried Aziraphale, setting a carpet bag on the desk.
“Here I am,” agreed Crowley, smirking. “It’s been a while.”
“Yes, but for future reference, if you want my attention, visit the bookshop.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“Miss Drucilla Clack visited my bookstore, and when I told her I was not interested in her literature, she proceeded to hide these,” Aziraphale flung open the carpet bag, sunk his hands in its cavity, and lifted a host of paper pamphlets, “tracts!”
Crowley hummed.
Aziraphale plucked them one-by-one and read, ignoring Crowley as the latter mouthed along and feigned conducting a choir:
“‘Satan in the Hair Brush,’ ‘Satan behind the Looking Glass,’ Satan Under the Tea Table,’ ‘Satan out of the Window.”
“Don’t forget ‘Satan Among the Sofa Cushions.’ I worked very hard on that one!”
“And last but not least ‘A Word with You on Your Cap-Ribbons.’”
“That’s a classic, that is!”
Aziraphale sighed. “After a collecting all of these and locating their progenitor, I am sorely in need of a glass of something.”
“Captial! Let’s go!” Crowley sprang to his feet, scattering the tracts to the floor like snow. “Poor Clack, she thinks she’s one of yours.”
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