Mejhiren Drops a New Chapter of “When the Moon Fell In Love With the Sun”

Take out the names Katniss and Peeta and this could be anything: a fairy tale that adheres to its magical conventions but has such a complexity of description and symbol that it seems to be operating on a level that is completely meta. Maybe this is a hallucination: there is no large wooden house by a lake, there is no lone victor who dresses himself in bearskin when he comes to fetch Katniss from her childhood home and brings her to his house as a servant. It’s all a dream. It’s like Memento, all jagged pieces. It’s about fragmentation. Literally.

The author updates about once a year.

Yes.

Every year we have a chapter that tells us what happens when Katniss wakes up each morning: the mysterious companion of her night-time disappears. She doesn’t know if it’s Peeta or someone else. If it’s Peeta, why the heck doesn’t he just tell Katniss, Yes it’s me that comes and sleeps next to you every night? For the reader it’s been five years (Admittedly, in the story it’s only five nights, but anyhoo) of tension, confusion and speculation. (Who is Mejhiren? She has a tumblr called Porchwood. That’s all self knows)

If this is serialization, it’s also torture. All the author is willing to give are crumbs, carefully doled out. You must be a masochist.

Yes, yes, self will admit, she is a masochist. So are hundreds of thousands of other fan fiction enthusiasts. We’re all masochists, we all exist in a state of suspended animation. Thank you, Mejhiren, for updating right after the news broke of George Michael’s death.

Anyhoo, this chapter begins with Katniss waking up in bed alone (naturally). Nothing is different. She keeps trying to piece together clues. And this morning there is a new one: a feather.

What does this mean?

Scooting out of bed, I press a kiss to the feather and tuck it away in my drawer of precious things alongside the wintergreen sprig and the orange, which I decide to split with my companion tonight, peel and all. Perhaps my visitor is a bird himself, I think, a little madly, wooed by my newfound gentleness in the woods, and the feather is his own. Oranges are very precious, of course, but many birds love fruit, peels and rinds and all, and I resolve to ask Peeta if he’s found one that prefers oranges yet. There’s no doubt in my mind that he’s tried it already.

“We’d make a fine pair,” I tell my absent companion as I collect the nest from his pillow and carry it to my dresser-top to await this evening’s treat.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.

7 Comments

  1. December 26, 2016 at 3:40 am

    The book East, by Edith Pattou, has a similar story adapted from a Norwegian folk tale.

    • December 26, 2016 at 3:42 am

      Ooh, thank you for this! I’ll get a copy. It’s funny because, there is actually an Everlark writer who pulled her fic to turn into an original, I saw she did it on Amazon as self-published, but it has a higher ranking than many authors with mainstream publishers. She’s the only one I was able to track though, since everyone else just pulls their fic when they’re ready to publish as an original, and we have no warning.

      • December 26, 2016 at 3:43 am

        Let me know what you think when you can!

      • December 26, 2016 at 3:46 am

        What’s funny is, the artwork on the book cover is very similar to the artwork that Mejhiren posts on “When the . . . ” (Could they be one and the same person? Just wondering)

      • December 26, 2016 at 3:49 am

        So many mysteries… That is crazy-cruel, though, to update only once a year!

      • December 26, 2016 at 3:55 am

        I know, right? One of the funniest election stories I ever read, though, was on tumblr: this author said she hoped Joe Biden would leave behind copies of multi-chapter fan fics in the White House so that Pence would become fully vested in a story before realizing what he was reading was gay literature. lol

    • December 26, 2016 at 3:45 am

      And now, come to think of it, do you know anything about a Swedish ghost named Glam, who terrorized a farming family. I’ve been trying to find the original story, I read it long long ago when I was a child. But the fact that it’s stuck with me this long — actually, it’s one of the scariest stories I’ve ever read. Glam would ride on the roof of the farmhouse, and basically he took over the farm and the farmer was at wit’s end. I’m just hoping I can find it in a book of folktales.


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