Other, more adequate reviewers (see here and here) have touched on the show’s complicated, problematic, and deeply triggering explorations of rape and how sexual trauma can shape a life. It’s as though the computer system knows, and judges me.īy all that’s holy and good, though, I wish I hadn’t watched the last couple of episodes. So I watched the first season of The Magicians, at first because it was kind of cool, and then because it suited my mood, and finally because I hate returning unfinished books and movies to the library. How did it get in at all in the first place, I always wonder. I ordered the first season on DVD through the library, though, because magic deserves to be warped by the giant vacuum tubes lurking in the monolithic entertainment center previous renters left behind in my living room, presumably because they couldn’t fit it back out through the door. There was bound to be some bleed-over of interest when the ads for both shows-one I knew nothing about, and one I love a great deal-are constantly bound up together. That I don’t actually have access to the SyFy channel doesn’t actually matter that’s what streaming on-demand apps are for, and the iTunes store. The show got to me first because SyFy runs it concurrently with The Expanse, which remains, probably and despite the advent of solid performer Star Trek Discovery, the best science fiction show on television in America.
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My endless, piteous wallowing found a good complement in the first season of the television show adapted from Lev Grossman’s books. I won’t call it a relationship, because it wasn’t one, and it lacked all the relevant markers of real intimacy which make a something into something real. I first heard of The Magicians when it most suited my mood that is, in the deep swishy gravity well of self-loathing I’d created in the aftermath of a failed.