If you think of any worthwhile novel—its intersecting arcs, its intertwined themes and metaphors—no one is clever enough to do it. When you have crammed your head with data, you have to take your hands off and see what shapes the story forms. You must trust the process, and that can be difficult, because you have to quell anxiety; the task is to get out of your own way. I think this is true for all worthwhile fiction, not just historical fiction. At the centre of your work is an act of faith in the novel form. You employ what Keats called “negative capability"—you must endure doubt and follow paths without signposts.
Having rewatched Pirates of the Carribean several times, I have noticed something interesting. Will Turner is often the only survivor of massive shipwrecks, like the one that killed his mother or the one with the kraken. Other times even when hes alone he survives drowning in ways he really has no right to, like the destruction of the Interceptor. He just often conveniently finds a perfect sized piece of driftwood or something. Remember what Calypso said? About him having a “touch of destiny?” I think that the sea could never kill him, will always cradle him and protect him, because all along he was destined to be the captain of the Flying Dutchman. The sea could no more kill him than a human could cut off their own arm.
There’s another thing that Elizabeth does that absolutely is because she’s the Ocean’s Psychopomp - when they’re bringing Jack back from the land of the dead and the Black Pearl is sailing through the sea with all the ghosts in the boats, the crew is warned to not try to talk to or rescue them because they can’t even see the Pearl anyways (”we are naught but ghosts to them"). But when Elizabeth sees her father she calls to him, snd then COMMANDS him to hear her and he responds. Shes the only one who interacts with the ghosts who aren’t supposed to be able to perceive them.
I refuse to believe that the writers weren’t doing this on purpose, I think they absolutely were writing Elizabeth with this in mind.
Yet such is oft the course of deeds that move the wheels of the world: small hands do them because they must, while the eyes of the great are elsewhere.
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On April 9, 1481, she joined her husband, who was now Fernando II of Aragón, in Calatayud to open the Corts of that kingdom. Although no woman could succeed to Aragón’s crown, Fernando had ensured that Isabel be recognized as co-regent, governor, and general administrator there. She was designated by its new king as an “otro yo”—“another I”—whether he was present or absent. He had, after all, parental precedent. And on May 19 Isabel saw her son sworn heir to Aragón’s crown. That same month, presaging events and policies to come, there arrived at court some leading and ostensibly converted Canary islanders, guanches, captured and converted to Christianity in the current Castilian campaign spoken of as pacifying those islands. Isabel declared them to be under royal protection, free from enslavement, and parallel in privilege to her Castilian subjects. In June, the royal family solemnly entered Zaragoza, the venerable capital of Aragón; then, while Fernando progressed through his new realm, Isabel remained in Zaragoza’s splendid mudéjar palacio de la Aljafería, which was of special importance to her. It was the birthplace of her ancestor, Santa Isabel, the infanta of Aragón and queen of Portugal who was first in the long line of royal Isabels. Isabel and Fernando would attend to restoring that palace so evocative of their ancient, honorable, and intertwined heritage. She rejoined him in Barcelona on June 28, her presence during the next three months helping to finally bring that most recalcitrant of cities to obedience and even affection.
The fact that Father Wicks died because he was so consumed by the need to punish his daughter for her “sins” that he literally swallowed ‘Eve’s Apple’ is maddening to me, literally named it for original sin but was so caught up in attaching that sin to femininity that he killed himself over it. Literally named his daughter Grace and never gave her a single spec of it. Literally ate the apple too. Literally.
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