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Succession, 2018 Antigone, Sophocles Martyre de Saint Denis (1874-1888), Léon Bonnat
Maeve Roy exists on silver linings. She is many things—private, selfish, often rumored to be a cunt—but she is nothing if not an opportune mistake.
There is no other explanation for her existence, if not this. The last born heiress to a snake pit of wealth and paradoxic neglectful control, Maeve understands the consequences of her nature. Poor little depraved rich girl... She has heard the mantra over and over again from many mouths; it's pointless to regard. Ignorance is bliss, Maeve has figured out with ease. She's better off taking the easy route. She's better off under the thumb. She's better off surrendering. She's better off.
These truths boil down to one thing: Maeve is a Roy, through and through. No degree of adversary self-awareness can erase this fact.
She's an independent clause, sure. Sure. Maeve takes care of herself. Her business is hers, her identity is hers. Sure. Maeve doesn't need anybody but herself. Surely. Still, she is the ugly result of her predecessors. Her mothers selfish daughter, her fathers namesake. Her siblings, Connor and Kendall and Siobhan and Roman, their hereditary mutations. Knowing this information makes it all the more dangerous. It's comfortable, in an addictive sort of sense. It makes her stomach churn when she looks in the mirror, but it's the shame she cannot live without. What else is Maeve Roy if not Maeve Roy? Not a person. Surely.
