DEATH IS ETERNAL #417

3,500 words

It’s funny how things are. Despite my feelings of burnout and inability to tap my creativity as I once did, the last DEATH IS ETERNAL ended up gigantic—100 words short of 4,000 words. What does that say about me? I feel like I can’t write, like I’m not at my peak, and yet, I wrote more than I used to do when I was feeling great. Again, it’s funny how things are.

Contents

1. THE ABSENCE OF KINGS

2. Writing: NANOWRIMO

3. Bye!

4. Life (from September 2 to 15, 2024)

5. Reviews #319, #320, #321, and #322: THE JINX, THE ONE HAND by Ram V., Laurence Campbell, Lee Loughridge, Aditya Bidikar, and others, THE GOLDEN AGE by James Robinson, Paul Smith, Richard Ory, John Costanza, and others, and SOCIALISM: UTOPIAN AND SCIENTIFIC by Frederick Engels

6. The end

1. THE ABSENCE OF KINGS

The sun dipped below the horizon on a cool evening in early March of 1914, casting long shadows over the port city of Durrës. A chill lingered in the air, but it did little to dampen the spirits of the crowd gathered to greet their new ruler. Flags of red and black fluttered against the wind, the double-headed eagle emblem glowing in the twilight. The people had waited long for a sovereign to call their own, and now, here he was, Prince William of Wied, their new Mbret, or king, by the grace of the Great Powers and the will of the people.

William, a tall figure with a composed demeanour, stood on the deck of his ship, peering at the city that stretched before him. His wife, Princess Sophie, stood beside him, her hand resting lightly on his arm. He knew this would be no easy task. Albania was a land fraught with division, a patchwork of religions, loyalties, and languages. But William was determined. He had accepted the throne to bring order and progress to a place that had known too little of both.

As the ship docked, William descended the gangplank to the cheers of the assembled crowd. At his side was Essad Pasha Toptani, his Chief Minister, a man of powerful build and sharp eyes, who had pledged his loyalty to the new king. The irony did not escape William that the man responsible for his welcome was also the most likely to plot against him. Essad Pasha had influence, ambition, and a network of supporters. But for now, he was a necessary ally.

“Welcome, Your Majesty,” Essad Pasha said, bowing slightly, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Albania is honoured to have you. Your reign marks the beginning of a new era for our people.”

William nodded, forcing a smile. “Thank you, Essad Pasha. With your guidance and the support of the people, I hope to bring prosperity and peace to this land.”

Essad’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. “Of course, Your Majesty. We all desire the same.”

In the following weeks, William organized his government, appointed ministers, and formed alliances. Turhan Pasha Përmeti was named to lead the cabinet, with other posts going to the noble families of Albania. The country needed stability and a central authority. However, William soon realized that his presence had stirred more unrest than unity.

Revolts broke out in the heart of the country, led by Muslim factions who saw William as a foreign ruler imposed by Christian Europe. They had fought for centuries to maintain their faith and way of life against the encroachments of empires, and now they would not bow to a prince from a distant land. Word reached William that in North Epirus, a region with a large Greek population, Greece encouraged separatists to form their own provisional government. The land he sought to unify was fracturing before his very eyes.

In his office, William voiced his frustrations to Princess Sophie. “How am I to rule a country that doesn’t want to be ruled? A place divided by every line imaginable—faith, language, loyalty?”

Sophie placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You knew this would not be easy, William. But remember, they wanted a king. They wanted you. Change takes time. You must give them that.”

William sighed, rubbing his temples. “And what of Essad Pasha? The rumours of his dealings with Italy? I can’t ignore them forever. He’s becoming a danger.”

“You must be careful,” Sophie advised. “If you move against him without proof, you may lose what little support you have. Watch him closely, but act wisely.”

In the capital, whispers of betrayal filled the air. William received reports that Essad Pasha was conspiring with Italy, accepting bribes to foment a coup against him. The treachery cut deep. William had known Essad’s loyalty was tenuous, but he had hoped to win him over. Now, it was clear that Essad’s ambitions could not be contained.

One evening, William confronted Essad Pasha in the royal palace. “I hear disturbing news, Pasha,” William said, his voice cold. “Rumours that you’ve been accepting funds from Italy, plotting against me.”

Essad feigned surprise, his expression unchanging. “Your Majesty, these are lies spread by those who wish to see us divided. I have always served Albania’s interests.”

“Do not take me for a fool, Pasha. I know enough to act. Consider this your warning,” William said, stepping closer, his eyes locked on Essad’s. “Betray me again, and there will be no mercy.”

Essad bowed, his eyes narrowing slightly. “As you wish, Your Majesty. I live to serve.”

On a humid morning in May, William had Essad Pasha arrested and brought to trial. The charge was treason. As the evidence was laid out, there was no mistaking the betrayal. Essad was sentenced to death, but intervention from the Italian government spared his life. Exile in Italy became his fate.

“I warned you,” William said quietly, watching Essad being led away in chains. “And now you’ll have to live with the consequences of your ambition.”

Yet, even with his chief adversary gone, William’s grip on power was precarious. The Great War was a storm on the horizon, and the rumblings of conflict reached Albania. Austria-Hungary, a backer of William’s rule, demanded that he send Albanian troops to fight alongside them. William refused, citing the neutrality promised by the Treaty of London. It was a noble decision but a costly one. The financial support that kept his fledgling kingdom afloat was cut off, leaving William with fewer resources to quell the unrest.

By September, as the drums of war grew louder, William’s position was untenable. His advisors warned that without external support, the throne was lost. Reluctantly, he made the painful decision to leave Albania, declaring that his absence would be temporary. In his proclamation to the people, William stated, “I deem it necessary to absent myself temporarily, for the sake of the nation and the hope of a future return.”

The ship that carried him away from Durrës was the same that had brought him there, only now, a solemn silence replaced the cheers of the crowd. Princess Sophie held his hand tightly, sensing the weight of the decision. As the coastline of Albania faded into the mist, William’s heart ached for a country that had never truly been his own.

In Germany, William adopted the title “Count of Kruja,” a nod to the Albanian city known for its resistance against the Ottoman Empire under the legendary Skanderbeg. It reminded him of the dream he still harboured—a dream of returning to Albania, not as a foreign ruler but as a king beloved by his people. However, the Great War unfolded with ferocity, shattering nations and redrawing maps. When the Austro-Hungarians pushed Serbian and Montenegrin forces out of Northern Albania in 1916, William’s hopes rose momentarily, but they were soon dashed as the reality of war’s devastation became apparent.

Years passed, and the world changed. In 1925, Albania declared itself a republic, ending William’s reign in absentia. He remained in Germany, watching from afar as the country he had once ruled struggled to find its own identity. When whispers of a restored monarchy surfaced, with Ahmet Zogu eyeing the throne, William reaffirmed his claim. Yet his voice was distant, a relic of a past era that few now remembered or cared for.

In his final years, William lived quietly, harbouring dreams of a kingdom that had slipped through his fingers. On a cold day in April 1945, he died in the town of Predeal, far from the land he had once hoped to unite. His son, Carol Victor, inherited the claim to the Albanian throne, but it was little more than a title, a memory of a brief and turbulent reign.

William was buried in Bucharest, his grave marked simply, without the grandeur of a king’s tomb. The man who had been proclaimed Mbret of Albania rested far from the land he had sought to rule. In the end, he was a king without a kingdom or a ruler without a realm. His story, like that of many others, was swept away by the tides of history, leaving behind only the faint echo of a king who had once, however briefly, worn a crown.

The end

2. Writing: NANOWRIMO

Photo by Brooke Cagle on Unsplash

I had a different plan for today’s writing, but with NANOWRIMO suddenly trending, I felt compelled to shift gears. First, because I have strong opinions on the subject, and second because it’s an opportunity to give more visibility to DEATH IS ETERNAL. After all, with all the work I poured into that project, I’d love for it to reach a wider audience.

To provide some context, NANOWRIMO recently faced criticism for its stance on AI and writing—they’re not against it. While I can see some merit in their arguments—especially the idea that not everyone can afford editing services or feels comfortable sharing their work with others—I find myself at odds with their position. Sure, using AI for feedback might seem like a practical solution for those reasons, but whether that feedback is genuinely valuable or ethically sound is a whole other debate. My issue with their stance is simpler: NANOWRIMO is supposed to be a challenge.

I participated in NANOWRIMO once, back in 2022, for one reason and one reason only: to see if I had it in me. Not to write a book—by then, I’d already written eight (or was it seven?)—but to discover if I could churn out 50,000 words in a single month. And I did it. The book is terrible. Sure, there are some good bits here and there, but overall, it’s terrible. And you know what? That doesn’t matter. Not one bit. What matters is that I set myself the goal of writing 50,000 words in a month, and I achieved it.

Even more significant, it was the first time I wrote outside the comfort of my own home, surrounded by others. NANOWRIMO isn’t just a solitary endeavour; it’s a community-wide challenge, with people coming together to write. They share stories, struggles, and slices of life, creating a sense of belonging—a collective “we’re in this together” mindset. I didn’t particularly enjoy the communal writing experience, but knowing that others were out there, grappling with the same challenge and that I could reach out for help from those who understood the grind—that was a confidence boost. That’s what NANOWRIMO should be about: pushing yourself to complete a challenge.

The trouble with accepting AI into this mix is that it undermines the very essence of the challenge. If you have the safety net of AI, the fear of not finishing fades away, much like a celebrity doesn’t fret about completing their memoir because a ghostwriter is handling it. The book will get written, one way or another. By endorsing AI, NANOWRIMO is effectively giving a nod to ghostwriting, and that feels like a betrayal to the community.

NANOWRIMO should be about testing your limits, and with any real challenge, there’s the possibility of failure. If you’re not prepared to face that, if you believe that finishing at all costs is more important than the effort of trying, then perhaps you’re not quite ready to take on challenges at all.

3. Bye!

Here’s where we say our farewell to the free subscribers. If you want to read the rest of DEATH IS ETERNAL, consider becoming a paying subscriber. If you already are a paying subscriber, first of all, thank you very, very much! And second, I’ll see you on the other side of the paywall.