Alex Eviscerates The Bourne Legacy: Chapter One

[chatvert]

I was going to stop for the night, but more Malbec has been acquired. So. LET'S DO THIS.

Well, we're into it now. We have met our David Webb impersonator, Blavid Blebb, because this is certainly not the canon character. Ugh, (I'm just going to have to call him David, it's easier.) And already there's stuff Wrong with this not even two paragraphs in.

There was a part of him that fought against serenity, the part that thought of his former life in the clandestine service of the U.S. government, the part that kept him friends with his former handler, Alexander Conklin.

Look. LOOK. It's pretty fucking clear at the end of Ultimatum that David is all Fuck This Shit I'm Out about the whole rotten business, and DC in general (why the piss is he teaching at Georgetown? For The Plot, of course), so this is...just. Incorrect.

And on that note, it's time for two new counts!

Gratuitous Violations of Canon: 1
Because The Plot Says So: 1

Because him being in Georgetown makes no goddamned sense unless it is Because The Plot Says So.

He was about to round a corner when he heard harsh voices raised and mocking laughter and saw ominous-seeming shadows playing along the wall.

"Muthfucka, we gonna make your gook tongue come out the back of your head!"

Oh nooooo.

I'm remembering things I forgot on purpose. And the things my memory scabbed over are mostly the racism. Dear god, the racism. The anti-black racism in particular. also who even says that?? that's a very vietnam-war-era slur

And...I'm sorry........this is more than a page.............but this all has to be seen to be believed.

Bourne dropped the stack of papers he had been carrying and sprinted around the corner. As he did so, he saw three young black men in coats down to their ankles arrayed in a menacing semicircle around an Asian, trapping him against a corridor wall. They had a way of standing, their knees slightly bent, their upper limbs loose and swinging slightly that made their entire bodies seem like blunt and ugly aspects of weapons, cocked and ready. With a start, he recognized their prey was Rongsey Siv, a favorite student of his.

"Muthafucka," snarled one, wiry, with a strung-out, reckless look on his defiant face, "we come in here, gather up the goods to trade for the bling-bling."

"Can't ever have enough bling-bling," said another with an eagle tattoo on his cheek.

He rolled a huge gold square-cut ring, one of many on the fingers of his right hand, back and forth. "Or don't you know the bling-bling, gook?"

"Yah, gook," the strung-out one said, goggle-eyed. "You don't look like you know shit."

"He wants to stop us," the one with the tattooed cheek said, leaning in toward Rongsey.

"Yah, gook, whatcha gonna do, kung-fuckin-fu us to death?" They laughed raucously, making stylized kicking gestures toward Rongsey, who shrank back even farther against the wall as they closed in.

The third black man, thick-muscled, heavyset, drew a baseball bat from underneath the voluminous folds of his long coat. "That right. Put your hands up, gook. We gonna break your knuckles good." He slapped the bat against his cupped palm. "You want it all at once or one at a time?"

"Yo," the strung-out one cried, "he don't get to choose." He pulled out his own baseball bat and advanced menacingly on Rongsey.

As the strung-out kid brandished his bat, Webb came at them. So silent was his approach, so intent were they on the damage they were about to inflict that they did not become aware of him until he was upon them.

He grabbed the strung-out kid's bat in his left hand as it was coming down toward Rongsey's head. Tattoo-cheek, on Webb's right, cursed mightily, swung his balled fist, knuckles bristling with sharp-edged rings, aiming for Webb's ribs.

In that instant, from the veiled and shadowed place inside Webb's head, the Bourne persona took firm control. Webb deflected the blow from tattoo-cheek with his biceps, stepped forward and slammed his elbow into tattoo-cheek's sternum. He went down, clawing at his chest.

The third thug, bigger than the other two, cursed and, dropping his bat, pulled a switchblade. He lunged at Webb, who stepped into the attack, delivering a short, sharp blow to the inside of the assailant's wrist. The switchblade fell to the corridor floor, skittering away. Webb hooked his left foot behind the other's ankle and lifted up. The big thug fell on his back, turned over and scrambled away.

Bourne yanked the baseball bat out of the strung-out thug's grip. "Muthafuckin' Five-O," the thug muttered. His pupils were dilated, unfocused by the effects of whatever drugs he'd taken. He pulled a gun—a cheap Saturday-night special—and aimed it at Webb.

With deadly accuracy, Webb flung the bat, striking the strung-out thug between the eyes. He staggered back, crying out, and his gun went flying.

Alerted by the noise of the struggle, a pair of campus security guards appeared, rounding the corner at a run. They brushed past Webb, pounding after the thugs, who fled without a backward glance, the two helping the strung-out one. They burst through the rear door to the building, out into the bright sunshine of the afternoon, with the guards hot on their heels.

Right. Before I get to the meat of this, a nitpick (well, not a nitpick - proof this fucker hasn't even read his own writing or the canon he's ficcing from); he's supposed to be "Bourne" in this scene. And yet "Bourne" is used interchangeably with "Webb" in this section.

Gratuitous Violations of Canon: 2

I'm going to give you one, because I'm not feeling generous.

Now, to the rest, and oy, what a rest:

• "Coats down to their ankles". Menacing! And then he even says "menacing" like. three words later.
  
• Their entire bodies are like blunt, ugly weapons, and their upper limbs are "loose and swinging slightly". #unfortunateimplications?
  
• One of them is clearly strung out on drugs. And that's mentioned. A lot.
  
• "Bling-bling" is said twice THREE TIMES and each time makes me want to injure someone considerably.
  
• One of them has "an eagle tattooed on his cheek". Look, I have been around people with ink, and I asked my roommate if she has ever seen anyone with a cheek tattoo, and she said "Yeah, five-year-old girls at amusement parks."
  
• I'm just going to say the Funetik Aksent (TV Tropes again!). Nuff said. Just about every black character in these books has one. RACISM WHERE??
  
• Where the fuck did he get a baseball bat?!
  
• They're just doing this so we can see what a Badass Bourne is and what a Compassionate Professor Webb is. I hate you.
  
• Of course there's a switchblade. Of course. Of c o u r s e.
  
• Five-O? Five-O?!?! This isn't a TV show, and the only time I've ever heard someone else say that without prefacing it with "Hawaii" was when Andy dived into the bushes in Parks and Rec, and since that's a sitcom, him saying that was played for comedy.
  
• ....................I had literally never heard anyone use the term "Saturday-night special" before when I first read this and I had to look up what the fuck aside from a gun. WHO ARE YOU?!
  
• He'd have killed that guy by flinging the bat, I think.

Let's do a count, then, shall we? Since I'm counting every instance of "bling-bling" separately, we have twelve counts of astonishing racism from that passage alone.

Are we doing this? We're doing this.

How Are You This Racist?!: 12

WE'RE OFF TO A GREAT START. /takes a large swallow of wine

Anyway, the kid is a Cambodian refugee and Webb's speshul fave and they speak gratuitous Cambodian because I hate this author. Then, "[Webb] picked up the switchblade and the gun. As he checked the gun's mechanism, the firing pin broke. He threw the useless gun in a trash bin but pocketed the switchblade."

Good job getting your fingerprints all over the gun, jagweed. Also, GEE WILLIKERS, I WONDER IF THAT SWITCHBLADE WILL COME IN HANDY LATER?!

...also, why are these thugs on the Georgetown campus? I'd grudgingly accept GW because it's closer to the heart of the city, but Georgetown is further removed. Like, there's-no-Metrorail-service-and-the-buses-are-a-pain-in-the-dick removed. So this is literally......

Because The Plot Says So: 2

I hate you.

Webb stood looking at Rongsey for a moment, and he was swept by sudden emotion that caused his eyes to sting. He wanted to take the boy in his arms, hold him close, promise him that nothing else bad would ever happen to him. But he knew that Rongsey's Buddhist training would not allow him to accept the gesture. Who could say what was going on beneath that fortresslike exterior. Webb had seen many others like Rongsey, forced by the exigencies of war and cultural hatred to bear witness to death, the collapse of a civilization, the kinds of tragedies most Americans could not understand. He felt a powerful kinship with Rongsey, an emotional bond that was tinged with a terrible sadness, recognition of the wound inside him that could never truly be healed.

All this emotion stood between them, silently acknowledged perhaps but never articulated. With a small, almost sad smile, Rongsey formally thanked Webb again and they said their good-byes.

A Composition in Heliotrope: 3



I'm not sure if I even have it in me to articulate why this is so purple it's urple. Suffice it to say: It's bad.

Let's have some backstory! If you read the original books, you already know all of what's encapsulated here; if you haven't, throw this in the trash and read some quality writing, for the love of Arceus. Webb's first wife, Dao, was killed during the Vietnam War, as were their two children, Joshua and Alyssa, when a plane strafed the river they were playing in. This is when he volunteered to become Delta, the ghostlike brutal killer of Medusa, and later, Jason Bourne, the hunter of Carlos the Jackal.

Spoiler Alert: This has nothing to do with Carlos the Jackal, as that overarching plot, the entire reason for these books, was neatly tied off in the final book. So these books are superfluous, and thus do not exist.

Years later, when they had both returned to Washington, Conklin had given him a long-term assignment. He had become what amounted to a sleeper agent, taking the name of Jason Bourne, a man long dead, forgotten by everyone. For three years Webb was Bourne, turned himself into an international assassin of great repute in order to hunt down an elusive terrorist.

Yo EVL I'm really happy for you and imma let you finish but that's not actually what happened it was David Abbott the Silent Monk of Covert Operations who did that Conklin didn't have the authority to do that byeeeeeeeeeeeeeee go fuck yourself

Bourne had a way of asserting himself that was beyond Webb's control, despite all the work he and Panov had done.

The. End. Of. The. Third. Book. Proves. Webb. And. Panov. Figured. Out. How. To. Control. And. Destroy. The. Bourne. Personality. You. Used. Tampon.

(For those of you who are new: Alex Conklin and Dr. Mo Panov are two of the best characters in this entire series, they are integral to the plot, and deeply important to Webb as they are part of his found family and two of the people who keep him sane. Put a pin in that. It's on the test.)

You get two Gratuitous Violations of Canon for that.

Gratuitous Violations of Canon: 3

Khan shows up, there's more authorial wanking about what kind of rifle he's using, and he tries to shoot Webb in the head. YAY BOOK OVER

...as if we had it that easy. /mutter

Also, I don't think music can "waft".

I Do Not Think It Means What You Think It Means: 3

Oh no ohhh noooo oh look ohhh he was shot at ohhh here comes the Bourne personality here it comes he's shot at again and Khan is like noooo how am I not hitting him what the fuuuuckckckckc why is he not behaving like I expect why is he heading towards the building I'm in oh shit run rEAL FAST OUT

Bourne/Webb tries to investigate the scene and finds nothing, and decides to see Conklin for advice.

/takes several large gulps of wine

I know what's coming next. Pray that I don't punch a hole through my laptop. I'm so angry and I haven't reread this scene since high school. And the worst part is, I remember every word of it, I'm that horrified/annoyed/shocked/disbelieving.

Alex Conklin lived on a rural estate in Manassas, Virginia. Once Webb reached the outskirts of Georgetown, the sky took on a deeper radiance; an eerie kind of stillness had taken root, as if the passing countryside was holding its breath.

...broham you sure you live around here? Manassas is about an hour away from DC, sure, but it's not exactly the sticks these days. In 1990, when Ultimatum was written, sure, but...???

Also, point of order: why is Conklin not living in his DC apartment???? This sounds like Norman Swayne's estate from Ultimatum. In fact, it explicitly is. That does not make sense. None of this makes sense. Know why it's here?

Because The Plot Says So: 3

/rubs temples

As with the Bourne personality, Webb both loved and loathed Conklin. He was father, confessor, coconspirator, exploiter. Alex Conklin was the keeper of the keys to Bourne's past. It was imperative he talk to Conklin now because Alex was the only one who would know how someone stalking Jason Bourne could find David Webb on campus at Georgetown University.

Literally none of this is true. Conklin's the one who still beats himself up about nearly killing David, and what the fuck is up with that 'father' thing anyway?? He's ten years older than you. Hush your dick.

Additionally: ONLY SOMEONE WHO HELD A FOUR-ZERO CLEARANCE COULD GET INFO ABOUT ANYONE CONNECTED TO THE JACKAL THING INCLUDING BOURNE'S REAL IDENTITY THIS IS LITERALLY THE INCITING INCIDENT IN ULTIMATUM CONKLIN WOULD HAVE LITERALLY AS MUCH CONTROL OVER THIS AS WEBB I HATE YOU YOU FUCKING HACK.

Let's add a couple more to the count.

Gratuitous Violations of Canon: 5

Lots and lots of Subtle Foreshadowing™ going on here about "Gee, I wonder why I'm thinking about Mo. Gee, I wonder why I'm thinking about silence. Gee, I wonder why I'm thinking about all of this all of the sudden this sure is weird!!!"

As he pulled up, he saw not only Conklin's BMW 7-series but Mo Panov's Jaguar parked side by side. As he walked across the bluestone gravel, his heart felt suddenly lighter. The two best friends he had in the world—both in their own ways the keepers of his past—were inside. Together, they would solve this mystery as they had all the others before. He climbed onto the front portico, rang the bell. There was no answer. Pressing his ear to the polished teak door, he could hear voices from within. He tried the handle, found the door unlocked.

Abandon hope, all ye who motherfucking enter.

Also, nitpick, but how would two older men on government salaries - and Alex is retired - have such expensive cars? Also, MO IS NOT THE TYPE TO SHOWBOAT IN A JAGUAR.


Gonna add two more there for being an idiot about Alex and Mo's characters.

Gratuitous Violations of Canon: 7

The chandeliered foyer gave out onto a wide sweep of polished wood stairs leading up to an open gallery that ran the width of the foyer. To the right was the formal living room, to the left the denlike media room with its wet bar--

Wet bar.
Wet bar.
Wet bar.
Wet bar.
Wet bar.
WET. BAR.

DID THIS BAGEL-FUCKING CUMRAG FORGET THE ENTIRE SUBPLOT IN SUPREMACY WHERE CONKLIN IS SUCH AN ALCOHOLIC THAT HE'S BEING QUIETLY PHASED OUT OF THE CIA AND MO IS CONCERNED THAT HE'S GOING TO FUCKING DRINK HIMSELF TO DEATH?!?!?!??!?!???!?!??!??!

/breathes into a paper bag and takes another few gulps of wine

Gratuitous Violations of Canon: 10

Because fuck you, that's why.

We haven't even hit the part where my vision whites out with rage. Buckle up, buttercup.

We get some telegraphed exposition with my least-favorite trope, "having the news on at just the right time", about an upcoming terrorism summit in Reykjavik in five days GEE WILLIKERS WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN IN THE CLIMAX I WONDER i hate you so very much and a mysterious notepad with indentations reading "NX 20". WILL THIS BE A PLOT POINT?!?!????!?!?!?!

No one was in the room, but there were two old-fashioned glasses on the cocktail table. Bourne picked one up, sniffed. Speyside single-malt, aged in sherry casks. The complex aroma of Conklin's favorite Scotch--

HE! IS! AN! ALCOHOLIC!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MO WOULD NEVER!!!!!!!!!! EVER!!!!!!!!!!! EVER!!!!!!!!!!!!! ENABLE THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Gratuitous Violations of Canon: 15

I'm adding five more, because it pisses me off more and more every time I see it.

Webb/Bourne pokes around, apparently Conklin does not make his bed, apparently he keeps a framed photo of his """lover""" (as we later learn) around, which I call LE BULLSHIT, because WHY WOULD HE DO THAT PHOTO KEEP A PICTURE OF SOMEONE HE LOVES COULD HURT SOMEONE I ANGER SUCH LOUD ANGER HE CLEARLY IN LOVE WITH MO SUCH ANGER...

Alex had a bum leg, the result of a particularly violent encounter overseas; he would never have gone out on the grounds without the stick.

That's a lovely euphemism for "lost a foot to a landmine during the Vietnam War". I hate you. Go tell any disabled vet that they had a "particularly violent encounter overseas". Tell Tammy Duckworth. I'll bring the popcorn.

And here it comes. Here it comes. I see the paragraph but I'm not reading it as I'm copy-pasting, I'm going to save that for here. I know what's happening and I hate it and it's not true and I can tell you exactly why it's happening and I'm angry.

He was never so aware of the dichotomy inside himself, for part of him had become detached, an objective observer. This purely analytic section of his brain noted that Alex Conklin and Mo Panov lay on the richly dyed Persian carpet. Blood had flowed out of their head wounds, soaked into the carpet, in some places overflowing it, pooling on the polished wood floor. Fresh blood, still glistening. Conklin was staring up at the ceiling, his eyes filmed over. His face was flushed and angry, as if all the bile he had been holding deep inside had been forced to the surface. Mo's head was turned as if he had been trying to look behind him when he was felled. An unmistakable expression of fear was etched on his face. In the last instant, he had seen his death coming.

And now I am the detached, objective observer, because of the wine, and because this didn't blindside me like it did the first time I read this. But first, let me indulge.








Okay, I think...I think I'm okay. I think my 17-year-old self is okay.

More wine, though.



See, the reason they're dead? Is because they got in the way. No, no, not of Spalko's plot - of EVL's. He can't be bothered to write them, you see, because they have heart and emotion and provide multiple aspects to the story that help Bourne out, because he's not perfect. Except Bourne-Sue - his version - is Perfect and needs no help at all. So, off they go. Why?

Because The Plot Says So: 4

And I'm gonna slap you with five more points.

Gratuitous Violations of Canon: 20

Christ on skates, let this chapter end soon.

Oh thank God. There's some hand-wringing from Webb, Bourne CSI-ing all over the crime scene and noticing it's a pro hit (three guesses who did it, first two don't count), and now there are sirens. Virginia State Police! Whoa noes!



And on that cliffhanger, we mercifully end. Good thing, because the house is now officially out of wine.



EVL = Jerry Jenkins: 2
I Do Not Think It Means What You Think It Means: 3
A Composition in Heliotrope: 3
Physics? What Physics?: 1
Gratuitous Violations of Canon: 20
Because The Plot Says So: 4
How Are You This Racist?!: 12