Newton Pulsifer is the smartest character in Good Omens. Change my mind.
I don’t think I can change your mind???
Out of all the characters, Newt is the one who is both book smarts (very good and quick at researching, able to draw correct conclusions with very little data, can think outside the box), and has some common sense (can be very practical if nothing else). He’s just very shy and awkward, possibly a bit spineless, and plagued by a curse that was funny in 1990 but actually quite upsetting in 2019 UK (just think how much is done online nowadays! Jobs, degrees, even healthcare).
Tracy is a woman of common sense but not exactly brilliant, Anathema is brilliant but limited by the narrow path set by her family, and Aziraphale and Crowley are incredibly intelligent and also incredibly dumb at the same time.
Newt is a smart cookie and deserves more love.
Newt compensates for being cursed in the 21st century by having the most actual practical intelligence of anyone in the story.
Now, obviously the celestial/infernal beings have some cognitive advantages over humans, if you’re going into what ‘smart’ means. If we were measuring breadth of knowledge and ability to bring it all together to solve complex problems, we’d be talking Aziraphale. If we’re talking creativity - especially as regards causing trouble, and then getting out of it - that’s Crowley. But both of them are also very used to relying on miracles, and so they’re prone to making very basic mistakes about how the world works.
Newt does not have that advantage. Newt is at a serious disadvantage when it comes to how the world works. So Newt makes the sensible decisions. Newt spots the obvious flaws. Newt knows when it’s time to Get The Hell Out. These are skills no one else in the story seems to have mastered. Newt is 1000% the only thing resembling a Voice Of Reason in Good Omens and I love him.
And he doesn’t even realize it! To be fair, I’m not sure if most of other characters are properly aware of their own brands of brilliance… Aziraphale doesn’t think highly of himself and his abilities because heaven messed with him for 6000 years, Crowley improvises so much, so it might feel to him more like he’s winging it… Anathema thinks she’s smart, but she also doesn’t trust herself to make actual decisions for herself.
Newt though! Newt looks like he’s bumbling about, but he’s really making the best of his less than ideal situations whenever we see him.
He also has the benefit of coming into the whole Armageddon thing as an outsider. Anathema studied the book her entire life, Aziraphale and Crowley are deeply involved in it as well, and they’re all stuck in their own perspective. Newt stumbles into it and first of all starts asking the right questions. He doesn’t go and discard any of what Anathema tell him as nonsense (which is what a lot of people would have done). No, he looks at what he’s dealing with and makes sensible deductions. “You can pick a card! Any card!” Anathema had based her whole life on following the book, but she didn’t consider something like that.
And even when he believes in the truthfulness of the prophecies, he doesn’t loose his critical head. He gets himself quite calmly worried about being shot, while Anathema is all “nah, Agnes would’ve told me if that were to happen” (when really Agnes is known to leave a lot of things out!). Anathema trusts the book. Newt trusts his own gut.
The idea of Newt Pulsifer’s unironic anti device curse being passed down through the family is just something that I’d like to read.
The combo of Newt’s curse and anathema being an environmentally aware anti-governmental witch would make their kids like these Huge leaders in the movement to get back to the earth and work along with nature. Oh gosh now I really gotta think about this because the would would be even more tech advanced for their kids and they would just go along frying everything.
I was thinking it came about from Adultery Pulsifer downwards in parallel with the rise of the Devices, but your line of thought is cool too!
So, no one really notices it until the Industrial Revolution.
Richard Pulsifer had a run of bad luck with employment through the cotton industry. Machines would seize or jam for no apparent reason. He knew that the future lay in this automation of labour, so he kept trying to overcome this bizarre affect right up until his death. He was crushed by a loom.
John Pulsifer, scarred by his father’s demise, abhorred the textile industry and took the small settlement offered by the mill owner to purchase a farm. He worked hard and turned a profit from the land, keeping his young wife and widow mother comfortable. He kept things simple right up until his son, Joseph Pulsifer, suggested investing in a traction engine to ease the work load. John was getting older and finding that the work was starting to take its toll. They bought a shiny Burrell engine with the intent to lease it to neighbouring farms for a bit of extra income. It never worked.
By the time that Joseph took over the farm, it was clear that they couldn’t compete with the increased efficiency and productivity of their neighbours. Machinery refused to work on the Pulsifer land. He sold the farm and moved his family south, hoping for opportunities in the cities. Having been accustomed to horses, he made a fine living as a hackney cab driver.
When his son, another John, came of age, he expanded his business to two carriages and three horses. This good fortune wasn’t to last much longer, as the introduction of electric cabs heralded a new age for transportation.
Ever possessed by that Pulsifer need to embrace new technology, John Pulsifer learned all he could about the electric motor in preparation for investing in one. Three days after he signed the paperwork, the first internal combustion powered cab took to the road. Undeterred, John ran his electric cab around London, frequently breaking down and losing his customers to passing cabs of both horse and combustion power.
Daniel Pulsifer was largely unaffected by the family curse, except for the time it saved his life. In a trench along the western front, tired and miserable, he saw a grenade bounce at his feet. In a panic, he stamped on it as one might a spider or mouse, and the internal mechanism seized completely. He survived the war and married his sweetheart back home.
Stanley Pulsifer was a postman. Exempt from military service, he avoided the worst of the second world war. He was content with life and enjoyed his route. It wasn’t until he got too slow on his feet that he was moved to a position in the sorting office. The mail sorting machine was installed just six months before his retirement but it didn’t work property until after he’d left. Until the day it was replaced, people swore that it had a mind of its own.
Andrew Pulsifer joined the navy at 16. He was almost immediately discharged from the navy and asked, very politely, to never step foot on a British vessel again. Every year or so, a black car would pull up to his house, take him to a dockyard, and deposit him alongside a ship with the instruction to “fix it”. He wouldn’t comprehend the implications of his actions until the end of the cold war, but they paid him very well to do very little.
Charles Pulsifer was tragically killed whilst trying to program his VCR. He left a widow and a young son.
A conclusive proof that the “ineffable husbands” are asexual.
In most allosexual parings you can clearly spot who is the top or who’s the bottom. Examples:
Tsoa: Patroclus has the top energy, Achilles is a bottom
Tsh: Francis is a top with Richard and a bottom with Charles
Merlin: Arthur thinks he’s a top but is a bottom
Hp: Sirius is a bottom, Remus is a top (although he feels like he shouldn’t)
GO: Anathema is a top, Newton is a bottom
You can’t tell who is which in case of Anthony Walking Anxiety Crowley and mr. Aziraphale Zira Fall. They are neither top nor bottom, their energy don’t match with it. Why? Because they are asexual.
“What do you think the stakes are?” Newt asked, peering over the piles of books.
Anathema followed his gaze. “No idea, but it’s getting pretty intense,” she said, squinting.
Crowley and Aziraphale sat either side of a rickety old table, refusing to break eye contact. It was hard to tell if that was part of the game, or the sexual tension. They had insisted that they carry out their usual games night, regardless of Newt and Anathema’s surprise visit, because there was apparently a score to settle.
The rules of their game were utterly incomprehensible to an outsider. Three decks of cards sat on the table, split into seven piles of equal height and three of differing heights. There were coins on all the cards, and half a jenga tower dangerously close to the edge of the wobbly old table. Four upturned cups sat over the top of a selection of jelly beans from a multipack (three liquorice, one watermelon). Every now and then, the angel would move a card and smirk triumphantly, or the demon would move a cup and wink. The jenga tower trembled with every motion.
“Is it best of three tonight?” Aziraphale asked, eyeing the table. He was apparently nervous about the progress of their ineffable game.
“Oh, no. All or nothing, angel,” he replied smugly. “Winner takes it all.”
He huffed, taking a poker chip from his breast pocket and trading it for a coin. Crowley hummed appreciatively of the move, nodding.
“Your move,” said the angel.
Anathema wondered what they were betting. Her best idea was human souls, but where would they be getting them from? Her next idea was just money, plain and simple, but it seemed so banal. Newt was more worried about trying to figure out the game. Every time he thought he’d started to understand, they’d introduce another bizarre manoeuvre, or a whole new game piece. Half a chess set had been involved at one point, though he had no idea what had happened to it at this stage.
Crowley was doing his best not to laugh. He turned over one of the stacks of playing cards, flipping the coin which had been sat on top.
“Tails!” he cried triumphantly.
Aziraphale whined. “Oh, bugger,” he said.
Games night had been a favourite pastime of theirs since the fifteenth century. They only had one once every few hundred years, and it was usually one of the highlights of any given century. It worked best in the modern day, with plenty of eclectic games to stitch together, but the rules had always been the same:
Rule 1: At least two humans must be present to witness the “game”; preferably mutual friends.
Rule 2: The “game” must be played using as many different game pieces as possible.
Rule 3: Be as cryptic as possible. Play along with what the other is doing (remember, it doesn’t matter who appears to be winning).
Rule 4: Bets must be placed before the game starts on how the humans will react to their absolute nonsense (because yes, there is no game, no rules and no real point to any of their antics). Closest guess wins, loser has to buy the next bottle of wine.
(Unspoken Rule 5: If any human dares to directly ask about the rules of their game, they must immediately collaborate to build the most incomprehensibly complicated, pointless, stupid and irritating list of rules known to man.)
“Hmm.” Aziraphale scanned the Tube map. “Not the best start, but we’ll catch up, my dear, don’t worry. Right. Newton, your roll.”
Newt looked at Crowley nervously, but Crowley and Aziraphale were pointing their fingers at each other, fingertips an inch apart.
“Go on, roll!” Crowley snapped. Aziraphale was frowning.
“Three.”
“Yes! Aha!” Newt and Anathema’s ears popped as Aziraphale groaned, and something snapped in the air between them. “Okay. We’re going to start at Archway.”
“Not allowed,” Aziraphale instantly countered. “You can’t start on the Northern Line, don’t be completely absurd.”
“Fine. Blackhorse Road.”
“You have to start at a station with wheelchair access.”
“Then you have to start at one of the inaccessible ones.”
“No.”
“Fair’s fair, angel. If I have to abide by Heaven’s rules you have to abide by Hell’s.”
“Fine,” Aziraphale gritted out. “We’ll take Cockfosters.”
“I fucking bet you will,” said Crowley with a sleazy grin. “Right. We’ll take Tottenham Hale.”
“What are the rules of this again?” Anathema asked.
Crowley sighed theatrically. “We start out at two different Tube stations at noon. You can only start when the BBC’s pips are over.”
“But Crowley’s not allowed to go through any station that has the letters s and t together in them.”
“Street? Or Saint?”
“Saint,” Crowley said. “But back in 1979 Aziraphale argued that one station was named after ‘St. Anmore’ and so now it’s any station with an ‘st’. And he’s not allowed to go on the Central line-”
“Because it’s red. And Crowley obviously can’t go through Angel.”
“While if Aziraphale goes through Angel or any station named after a Saint whom he met, Aziraphale, he can send me to a station of his choosing as long as it’s in the same zone I started in.”
“Now, Crowley can go through Blackfriars, because of his commendation.”
Anathema was trying to keep notes. “Commendation?”
“For the Spanish Inquisition. Blackfriars are Dominicans, and the Dominicans ran the Inquisition.”
Anathema was looking at Crowley with fury. “You did the Spanish Inquisition?”
“No!” Crowley looked offended. “I just got a commendation for it. So, yeah, if I go through Blackfriars, I’m allowed to send Aziraphale to the final stop of my choosing.”
“If we’re both on the Piccadilly Line at the same time we have to go to Knightsbridge and duel. Whoever loses has to go to Heathrow, round the Terminals, and then come back. Oh, and Crowley can’t go through Temple, obviously. Ditto Bow Church, Westminster, and Whitechapel.”
“And Aziraphale isn’t allowed to get on or off a train which doesn’t have wheelchair access, unless it’s marked on the map with a red cross, and unless he has to start under Hell’s Rules when the starting station only is exempt.”
“Oh, and Crowley has advantage at any station to do with the monarchy or money, like Bank or East India, so if he gets off in one of those stations and I’m on the same line, he can send me to a station on a connecting line, as long as he puts me down in the same zone.”
“What about Montague’s 2nd revision, eh?” Newt was grinning. “And, er, green rules, in light of the general election? Pedestrian precincts count double and bus lanes are wild?”
Crowley stared at him. “… what the fuck are you on about?”
“Oh, come on,” Newt said. “It’s Mornington Crescent. From I’m Sorry I Haven’t a Clue. Radio 4? Pretending you have to get to Mornington Crescent first, wind up the American by making up stupid rules.”
The angel and the demon were silent for a long moment. “Our rules aren’t stupid,” Aziraphale said. His voice was soft with hurt.
“Oh, great! Great, we invite you to Games Day, and you hurt the angel’s feelings!” Crowley shouted. “The aim’s to get back to the bookshop, youmoron!”
“Don’t, my dear, it’s all right. I suppose… I suppose when you say them all at once like that it does all sound a bit silly.”
“No, no,” Newt said. “No, shit, no, sorry! I thought it was- There’s a game on Radio 4, I thought you were- No, I mean, we’d love to play. It’s really kind of you. Sorry, right, let me write down all the rules and then we’ll set off for the starting points…”
Aziraphale sniffed and reached for a biscuit. Crowley rubbed his back, glaring daggers at Newt as he and Anathema tried to find a pen between them. “Beautifully done,” he whispered.
Next entry in my Bird Omens series, we’ve got our resident witch and witchfinder — Anathema and Newton.
I knew out the gate I’d want to make Anathema a crow when I started this series, friendly familiars to witches and all, but it also meant I could get this wonderful dichotomy going with Newt being an albino raven. Figured the one poor soul who wants to be a computer programmer but always blows computers up would be a pretty special bird!
Given they’re both non-celestials we’ve got no halos, so I opted to do a starry sky with some nebulae using a technique of spraying ink and layering pigment with copic markers over the top. Even broke out the coloured inks for Newt to soften off his lines given his colouration. Anathema’s feathers were built up like Beelzebub — no black used on her at all, only in the background circle, because colour theory is hella cool.
Lots of new tech in this given I’m still re-learning after a few years and very fun to do.
Then Bird Omens came to be a thing for me, and it swept me away for a month and a half. Nine mixed-media illustrations in total, made with Copic markers and specially pigmented metallic and pearlescent inks on 300gsm watercolour (rough, rendering on smooth side) paper to allow me to use a wet-on-wet technique for colour layering to mix, shade, highlight, or straight up perform witchcraft.
I feel like you can watch my art level up going through each one - all of them used new techniques or mediums for me, and I pushed myself to try whatever I felt I could make work.
I cannot thank my own ineffable dear Kyu enough for helping me with bird choices, and all of you seeing people comment along with retweet/reblog with fun tags has been really wonderful.
This particular series might be done but I have plans for a lot more illustration work, Good Omens inspired and otherwise. I hope everyone can enjoy me sharing more work in the future. It’s nice doing full illustrations again after 5 years of hiatus.
Part of our Good Omens Christmas tree this year. Dave drew and I colored some shrinky dink ornaments using sharpies and the (very) limited color pencils we have. Sorry for the pics. Every camera we own sucks.
I originally tried using our daughter’s markers, but the colors didn’t come out as good as with the pencils.
I’m making more ornaments (and hopefully a plush Crowley snake) to put on the tree. I’ll post pics when I’m done :)
i’m in good company as hubby was already a fan of both
he bought me the show so i may make gifs idk
**********************************
Have you read the Good Omens book?
No, I haven’t. I haven’t had the desire to read an actual book since my daughter was born 5 years ago. However, I read a lot of fanfiction. Maybe I’ll pick it up when I get more than half an hour at a time to myself.
**********************************
Nice and Accurate GO bitmojis
Our dumb Crowley and Aziraphale bitmojis from Snapchat
Given this, let’s draw a line between these figures and their descendents.
On Heaven’s side, we have God and the angels, and specifically Aziraphale. For Angnes, obviously, we have Anathema.
On Hell’s side, we have Lucifer and his demons, in particular Crowley. For Witchfinder Major Pulsifer, we have Newt.
I feel like if I were to compare these couples outside of this context, I would’ve drawn a line between Anathema-Crowley and Newt-Aziraphale because of their general disposition, but if you dig a little deeper, you can see the connections.
ALT
ALT
ALT
ALT
ALT
ALT
ALT
ALT
ALT
ALT
