Kristin Cashore's Blog, page 65

These Are the People in Your Neighborhood

According to the literature that came with my 2012 parking pass, my city, Cambridge, Massachusetts, has the highest percentage of people who walk or bike to work in the nation. (I wonder if I count in that statistic? It's about a 30-foot walk from my bed to my couch.)

I'm not a native of Cambridge -- I grew up in Pennsylvania -- but I was fond of Cambridge from my very first visit. I'm very, very happy to live here, and I hope I'll continue to do so for a long time.

Unfortunately, at the moment, I am a heartbroken Cambridge resident. Why? Because Bob Slate is closing. :( :( :(

Bob Slate's Stationer is the independent store where I buy my Edward Gorey notecards. And my Where the Wild Things Are notecards. And all my other notecards. And my pens and pencils and erasers. And my pirate stickers. And my jousting knight stickers. And my shark temporary tattoos. And my Post-it notes. Most importantly, and I'm actually getting a little teary here, Bob Slate is where I buy my writing notebooks. Ever since I started writing, I've bought my notebook there. Even when I lived in London, Texas, Pennsylvania, and Florida, Bob Slate was where I got my notebooks, because I have never been able to find another store like them. Bob Slate is on speed dial on both of my phones and if you knew how much I hate telephones you would appreciate the significance of that.

Behold Graceling, Fire, Bitterblue, and my sadness.
Those of us who love Bob Slate (and there are many of us) are suffering from melancholy these days. (BTW, a note to the wise: if you are waiting until the big close-out sale to stock up on Bob Slate supplies, I would stop doing that. I was in the Mass Ave Harvard Square store recently, and the shelves were practically empty. Cambridge is panicking, people! Get to the stores quick if you want anything at all!)

So, I thought I'd use this post to highlight a few of my favorite Cambridge indies. I'll tell you a few words about why I love them and hope it'll get you thinking about the independent stores where you live. Try to support them when you can.

Brattle Square Florist, 31 Brattle St, Cambridge, MA 02138.
This is actually my favorite store in the world. If you're ever in Harvard Square, just walk in, stop, and look. You'll understand why I love it so. For those of you who can't visit the store: it's this tiny, beautiful, perfect little corner of the earth, all green and full of flowers and plants from front to back. It is SO CALMING in there. I also love the people who work there. Never go away, Brattle Square Florist!

The Swiss Watchmaker, 58 Church St, Cambridge, MA 02138.
I walked into the Switch Watchmaker the other day (in the company of codename: Apocalyptica the Flimflammer) and said to the man behind the counter, "I want a simple watch with no colors, no sparkly crap, and definitely numbers." About half an hour later, I walked out with a watch that had a pink face and sparkly crap *instead of* numbers. What can I say? I fell in love with the watch. I'm going to wear it every day for the rest of my life. And I *can* wear it every day, because it's a brand that's virtually indestructible. Here's what the man behind the counter said: "It's pink and it sparkles, but it's a TANK." Hello. Seriously, did someone who knows me tell him I was coming and give him a profile? Is there anything he could have possibly said to make me more likely to buy the watch?

Petsi Pies, 31 Putnam Ave, Cambridge, MA 02139 and 285 Beacon St, Somerville, MA 02143.
This is my favorite place to run to get a sandwich in the middle of a workday. Their sandwiches are SO YUMMY, as are their tarts, plus, it's never a bad idea to pick up a cookie or a cupcake for later. The people are great, too. Once I came in and discovered I hadn't brought quite enough cash. They let me have my food anyway, because they recognized me as a regular. :o) AND I was there once on the day before Thanksgiving, and the place was practically filled, from floor to ceiling, with boxed pies. It was adorable.

Dado Tea and Coffee, 955 Massachusetts Ave, Cambridge, MA 02139 and 50 Church St, Cambridge, MA 02139.
Notice how "tea" comes first? I love a good teahouse. And this one has YUMMY food as well. I bring work here sometimes; there are very few places I'm able to do that. Actually, I'm suddenly remembering a funny stream of days about a year ago when I kept trying to bring work to Dado, but as soon as I'd sat down with my rooibos chai and my tofu ginger salad, my agent called with some kind of emergency and I had to go running home again. Three days in a row, I came in, ordered the same thing, sat down, spread out my work, then asked for a take-out box and left in a mad rush. Ha! Anyway. The fact that I kept trying suggests how much I was looking forward to a peaceful workday there.

Skenderian Apothecary, 1613 Cambridge St, Cambridge, MA 02138.
When I told a friend I wanted to mention Skenderian Apothecary in this post, she provided me with a list of the reasons why she adores this pharmacy. Here are just a few: if you're a regular, the three Skenderian brothers welcome you by name. They're open to specialized circumstances. They can do pet meds if you want them to. They will help you solve and understand insurance issues. They are EXTREMELY knowledgeable and helpful with questions about meds that your doc may be too rushed to bother telling you. They have excellent stocks of medical and disability supplies. They deliver. Basically, they are awesome.

I could keep going, but *ahem* I'm on a blog break, so that's it for now.

Support independent businesses when you can!

And How about Some Two-Minute Blogging?

I really like Adrienne K.'s most recent post at her blog, Native Appropriations. The post is called "Full Blood, Verifiable Native American: A Weird Experience at Trivia Night." Go check it out.

15-Minute Blogging

I'm giving myself 15 minutes to write this blog post. If I'm not done in 15 minutes, then it's not posting. Because, you know, I'm on a blog break here.

Here's the thing about being on a blog break: what am I to do when people around me keep doing super-cool things that I want to blog about? Now, you may or may not have heard about the brouhaha over at Bitch Magazine when the magazine did what was, um, kind of a shoddy job of assembling a list of "100 Young Adult Books for the Feminist Reader." Here's the good news: Amy Stern has decided to use Bitch's list as a starting point and has created a new forum for talking about intersectionality in YA novels. It's called The YA Subscription and here's what it's all about. I think this'll be a very cool place for discussion; check it out! Amy has already posted her thoughts on A Wrinkle in Time as a feminist text.

(Yikes, 8 minutes left!)

I've found the news from Egypt to be so stirring that I just can't not acknowledge it somehow on my blog. I decided to do this with something easy: I would link you to a picture slideshow, because there are so many amazing pictures going around right now. But the more I tried to find the right slideshow, the more annoyed I became at how the slideshows presented by the American media show hundreds and hundreds and sometimes THOUSANDS of men protesting, and maybe two women. If I really believed there were only two women protesting in Egypt, then these slideshows would be fine, but I don't believe that. So, I asked some friends for help. Thank you, Michelle, for pointing me to the slideshow at the Big Picture, which shows more women than most of the others. And thank you, Lance, for pointing me to this article about the lack of visibility of women in the media coverage of Egypt's protests, because it's nice to get some affirmation when you're getting the eerie feeling that something isn't quiet right. FWIW, I found the comments in that article to be more substantive than the article itself.

With 30 seconds to go: happy Interplanetary Be Who You Are Day, everyone!

O______,

Hello everyone. This is your friendly author Kristin here. I wanted to let you all know that I have lost my mind. Here is an emoticon of me standing next to my disembodied head. I am thinking of using it as a soccer ball.

/|\
/\ O


Here is an emoticon of me bravely using my laser vision to vanquish a flying apple while balanced on a yoga ball. When you've lost your mind, you think it's normal to do things like this.

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Here is an emoticon of me on the flying trapeze. This is actually a sane thing I like to do from time to time, though my mother might argue otherwise.

|__|
|o|
8
/\


Ah, those were carefree days. Not like now. Here is an emoticon of me dead from too much work, in profile.

O_____,


Wait, she stirs!

O\/___,


Again, she stirs!

O__\__,


Is there hope?

O_____,


No.

O_____,


There is no hope.

O_____,


Diagnosis: DEAD.

O_____,


So, this is what we've been reduced to on the blog. Here's the deal: I am not actually dead. However, I don't have a lot of time or energy right now for anything but the basics, so I might be taking a break from the blog for a couple of weeks. Unless, of course, my publisher contacts me to tell me that I cannot possibly leave this emoticon-death post up for weeks and weeks as the main page of my blog, frightening newcomers away. Newcomers: I swear I am a completely normal and fascinating person and you should read my books. Here is an emoticon of me successfully dodging the manure left behind by a short cow.

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Could a not-normal person do that? AND while wearing a fetching hat? Confident of your answer, I leave it to you to decide.

Anyway, this does tragically mean that I won't be around on February 14 to celebrate Interplanetary Be Who You Are Day, as I have been wont to in the past. So I'll just have to link you to to my past celebrations. Here is my original post about Interplanetary Be Who You Are Day. And here is my post from last year. I notice that Spike is still winning the "Whom Do You Love" poll, which is, incidentally, still open. Don't let Valentine's Day make you feel bad, people!

Well, I guess that's it for today. Maybe I'll close with an emoticon of Spike.

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(You would run, too, if you were a vampire being chased through a field of manure by a tiny crucifix.)

This Post Is Dedicated to Six Seconds in a Song

I am reaching but I fall
and the stars are black and cold
as I stare into the void
of a world that cannot hold.
I'll escape now from that world,
from the world of Jean Valjean.
There is nowhere I can turn.
There is no way to go on --

I suppose I should warn y'all that this post contains spoilers to the plot of Les Misérables (though nothing you wouldn't be able to figure out by looking at the song list). So. Bear that in mind.

I currently have a favorite six seconds in Les Mis. It's in the song "Javert's Suicide," the version I've been listening to is the original London cast recording with Roger Allam playing Javert, and the six seconds is the final "on" in the lyrics above. Javert is singing a melody we've heard before. It's the same melody Valjean sang during his own identity crisis in "What Have I Done?" The lyrics are also parallel. But here, when Javert gets to the word "on," he sings this amazing, unexpected high note. It's an imitation of an earlier high note in the same song, but differs in that it's so dissonant that the first time I heard it, I didn't even think it was a note. I thought he was just yelling. (Yes, I know that even yelling is a note, but I mean that I didn't think the note mattered -- I thought he was just randomly yelling, no longer singing.) The music behind him abandons him for almost an entire five seconds, refusing to join his new key, hence emphasizing the dissonance. Then it swells up to join him in the new key. It's one of the most beautiful, sad, and chilling things I've ever heard.

It's useless to try to explain music in words. If you get a chance, listen to it sometime. (If you're really curious, you can buy that single song for $.99 on Amazon and other places, too, I'm sure.) I'm pretty sure he's hitting the key one full note higher, but I don't have a score in front of me, so my apologies to those with a musical vocabulary who wish I were being more specific.

Now, in the spirit of listening to music rather than talking about it, here's Jake Shimabukuro playing "Bohemian Rhapsody" on the ukulele.

"There are shortcuts to happiness...

... and dancing is one of them." - Vicki Baum

Here's a writing tip: dance. If you're writing and you get stuck, or you're tired but don't want to stop quite yet, or your head is spinning, or it's just time for a break -- if you're able, and in whatever way you're able, dance. I do this almost every day (just ask the guy next door whose windows look into my kitchen) and it clears my head right out. Sometimes, the problems I'm having in whatever scene I'm writing solve themselves. Just try it once! And if you need some inspiration:

I will now recommend a Bollywood movie that does not star Shah Rukh Khan. (*gasp*)

In Dil Bole Hadippa! ("The Heart Says Hurrah!"), Veera, played by Rani Mukherjee, is the best cricket batsman in the Punjab. Unfortunately, when it comes time for tryouts for the Indian team, she is not allowed even to try out for the team. Can you guess why? Yeah, that's why. Can you guess what she does? Well, naturally, she disguises herself as a man! Unfortunately, the captain of the team is just so damn cute. And has *feelings*. Shenanigans ensue!

This movie is fun and charming and SO SO FUNNY, and the reason it's funny is that Rani Mukherjee is an outstanding comedic actor. I knew she was good -- I've seen her in *tons* of movies, thanks to the fact that she's often SRK's costar, *ahem* -- but I had no idea how bright she could shine when she's not in SRK's shadow and is allowed to play the movie's main role. I just love her. And in addition to the humor, this movie has a few scenes that made my heart glow. For example, Veera comes to tryouts as herself, clearly a woman, and is turned away at the gate by a guard who tells her something to the effect of, "This is cricket, not a beauty pageant." Veera is crushed. Then, a religious procession goes by, carrying the effigy of a goddess (my apologies for not recognizing her -- though I was proud to recognize some of the Sikh references in this movie!), and the guard and all the men standing in line for tryouts make signs of reverence and respect to the goddess. Veera then says something to the guard that I think many women, brought up under any of most world religions, could relate to: "She, who you turn into an idol and worship -- when she is human, you crush her. Shame."

It turns out that Veera's spirit is very hard to crush. :o)

Here's a trailer that does a decent job of conveying the feeling of this movie (and also demonstrates a tendency of bilingual Hindi-English speakers that I've mentioned here before, namely, the switching back and forth between Hindi and English so fast that if you only speak one of those languages, you get a headache).



Also, IMO, this is a good choice for someone who's never seen a Bollywood movie before and wants an introduction. There are some Bollywood movies that would make a terrible first introduction to the industry and would cause you never to watch another Bollywood movie again. I could make a list. I won't, but I could. BUT! This movie! It's funny, it's colorful, it's a good story with likable characters and good acting (and some exceptional dancing), it's only two hours and 28 minutes long (short for Bollywood), and I think it's representational. As you watch more and more Bollywood, you discover that there are plenty of quality movies that aren't light and fun -- Shakti: The Power, for example, is one of the most upsetting movies I've ever liked (and would NOT be on the list of movies *not* to watch that I'm not making) (and WOW can Karisma Kapoor act) -- but to pull you in and get you curious about the industry, I recommend something a little lighter for starters, like Dil Bole Hadippa!.

And did I mention the cuteness and the dancing? The two leads of this movie (Rani Mukherjee and Shahid Kapoor) are rawther beautiful people; they're excellent dancers; and Hindi movie credits are way more entertaining than other industry's credits. Evidence for these three points can be found in the video of the movie credits below, which I'm embedding just for fun. The credits don't have much to do with what happens in the movie itself (especially wardrobe-wise, and ALSO, in case you're getting the wrong impression, most of the screentime of a Bollywood movie is not actually singing and dancing), so don't watch them hoping to get a sense of the movie actual -- they're just fun, and occasionally hilarious (I strike poses in the locker room shower while clothed, don't you?). They will also teach you how to pronounce "hadippa." Mostly, though, I'm embedding them to get you dancing.



Writers: twirl those scarves like Rani and Shahid!

Randutiae for a Busy Week

I'm still having a funny stretch of dreams. The other night, after yet another trapeze class, I dreamed about a guy who was taking trapeze lessons. His name was Ted Zeppelin. The soundtrack of the dream was Pink Floyd, though, so there might be some band confusion in my brain somewhere.A quote from Mark Twain (thanks, Jen ^_^): "The difference between the right word and the nearly right word is the same as that between lightning and the lightning bug."If you love libraries, you will love the speech Philip Pullman gave recently. It might even make you cry. (Thanks, Rebecca.)If you are a smooth criminal, watch out for these guys. (Opens to a music video. There are cellos.) (Also, I hope they keep extra bows on hand. !!)
If you like cellos and Metallica and wonder where my sister, secret codename: Apocalyptica, got her codename from, watch out for these guys. (Another music video.) (Also, I'm guessing that even people who *don't* like Metallica [like my Dad] would like that.) (Also, I'm pleased to see that they dress warmly when appropriate. It is Finland, after all.) (Y'all know how much I love Finland, right?) My dad once sent me and codename: Cordelia a postcard from Finland that had a picture of the Finnish heavy metal band Lordi on the front. In it, he claimed to be well on the way to starting a new career in rock. If you knew Lordi and if you knew my Dad (whose career, for his entire professional life, was as a professor of religion), you would appreciate how funny this is. As a visual aid, here's Lordi:
Here's my Dad:


Fire is now out in paperback in the USA and Canada! (Powells; Amazon; bn.com)

And Indeed There Will Be Time

If only it actually were true, as J. Alfred Prufrock says, that there will be time for a hundred visions and revisions before the taking of a toast and tea. In my experience, a single revision can take months. :o)

As I recently promised I would do, I have been dictating *everything* with my voice recognition software, rather than typing, in order to be kind to my arms. It's made a huge difference. But there are certain frequent errors that are making me crazy and even, on occasion, worrying me deeply. My VRS frequently mistakes "will" for "won't" and "won't" for "will." It also mistakes "ever" for "forever," and vice versa. This means that I could say to someone, "I will love you forever," but my VRS could write, "I WON'T love you EVER." Luckily (?), another common mistake is the misrecognition of "loathe" for "love," so maybe what the VRS would actually write is, "I won't loathe you ever," which is better than the other option, but still kind of far removed from the intended expression of true love. (Seriously! It mistakes "loathe" for "love"!!) This means, of course, that in addition to accidentally failing to tell someone I love them, I could also accidentally fail to tell someone I loathe them, and I'm not sure which would lead to worse consequences, accidentally loving someone you loathe or accidentally loathing someone you love. FOREVER. You must admit that they could both be pretty bad.

You know, I wonder if J. Alfred Prufrock's life could be improved by the use of VRS. If ever a man was in need of a happy voice-recognition accident, it's him. "I loathe poo" (for example) miswritten as "I love you," an accidental click of the mouse, and off it goes! He has dared, he has dared! Except that I don't think he begins many e-mails. Or maybe he does -- maybe he begins a thousand he doesn't send. Poor J. Alfred. You know, if you wait until you're certain about something to do it, you'll never do anything.

******
The other day, I was writing an e-mail to a friend in which I was explaining about two other friends. Let's call them Lady X and Sir Y (chromosomally apt codenames). A long time ago, Lady X had a crush on Sir Y that was unfortunate (at the time) for a number of reasons, that she wished she didn't have, and that Sir Y knew she had -- BUT, Sir Y was a good guy and always had the decency to be a gentleman about it. I dictated: " Sir Y was a perfect gentleman and would never have made her uncomfortable by alluding to her crush." My VRS wrote: "Sir Y was a perfect gentleman and would never have made her uncomfortable by alluding to her crotch." HA HA HA HEE hoo

(As it happens, it is now years later and Lady X and Sir Y are happily partnered. I thank them for giving me permission to allude to their story on my blog. ^_^)

******
I don't think it's sad that J. Alfred Prufrock is alone. It can be lovely to be alone. I think it's sad that he's *lonely*. And I think there's something he doesn't know about loneliness: that we all get it, that we've all been there at one time or another, even those women in the room talking of Michelangelo. That he is not actually alone when he says,

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

Don't drown, J. Alfred. Wake up, wake up! Presume! Begin! After tea and cakes and ices, force the moment to its crisis! DISTURB THE UNIVERSE! Please? 'Cuz you're making me sad.

******
This post has been brought to you by angst, weltschmertz, a pair of ragged claws scuttling across the floors of silent seas, visions, revisions, decisions, indecisions, true love, the taking of tea, my voice recognition software, and T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock."

I Dreamed a Dream

Some news deserves mention on the blog: in Germany, Fire, or Die Flammende, debuted on the Spiegel adult hardcover bestseller list. Shazam! Thanks so much to my German readers. I cannot wait to visit you in March.

Also, FYI to American and Canadian readers: Fire is just coming out in paperback (the release date is January 25). Shazam!

(I've been trying to incorporate the word "Shazam!" into my vocabulary more often. Am I overdoing it?)

I'm going through a stretch in which my dreams are directly related to exactly what I just did. The other day, I took a trapeze class, listened to the soundtrack of Les Miserables for the FIRST TIME EVER (how had I gone my whole life without doing this?), and had a dream that night that Derek Jeter (the shortstop for the New York Yankees) and I were setting off to rescue Jean Valjean (the hero of Les Miserables) together. I'm not sure what we were rescuing him from or if we succeeded; the dream seemed to be about the journey. Derek Jeter was running along on solid ground. I was beside him, flying through the air on a flying trapeze. I'm unclear about whether they were successive flying trapezes and I was swinging from one to the next or whether it was a single flying trapeze that was somehow traveling alongside him, keeping pace. Thank goodness, I was doing splits on the trapeze, not pullovers. Otherwise, it would've been an exhausting journey, and by the time we got to Jean Valjean, I would've had nothing left to rescue him with.

Because I've posted certain things recently on my blog, I feel it is my duty to make an announcement. Remember that at trapeze class, I've been trying to catch my pullover? (First attempt and second attempt.) Well, in my most recent class, there was a little less of this nonsense...



...and a little more of this.



A precious little more. (Click on any picture to enormify.)

Can I point out how pointed my toes AREN'T in the picture below? It almost looks like I was trying to be ironic. Sadly, I was not.


To catch this trick, you do a mid-air push-up, release the bar, and propel yourself over the bar into the hands of your catcher.


Everything is under control.


Really.


Alternately, you do a pathetic little motion with your arms that might be mistaken, in ignorant circles, as a mid-air push-up, then let the guy on lines muscle you up into the hands of your catcher. This is not recommended. Regrettably, sometimes, it's all you're capable of. :o) (Explanation: the person "on lines" is the person holding your halter lines and breaking any falls so that you don't break your neck. The halter lines are connected to your belt. When you're first learning a trick and/or if you don't have the strength yet to lift yourself into all the necessary positions, the person on lines often uses his/her strength to pull the lines and help lift you.)

So. Remember my New Year's resolution to catch my pullover?



SHAZAM!

Now, to give credit where credit is due, I don't think it's exaggerating to say that the person on lines at this time (Kaz) was providing most of the muscle. It was the end of a hard class and I was EXHAUSTED. Also, the catcher (John F) is a superstar for seeing this wild, floppy thing flying toward him and managing to catch it anyway. After he caught me, I was so COMPLETELY SHOCKED at having made the catch that I forgot everything I was supposed to do next and probably made his job rather difficult. ALSO, a thank you to the person on the board as I was taking off (Wendy), who said something to me that at the time I thought was nuts: "Sometimes, when it's your first time trying to catch something, that's all your body needs to know -- that it's catch time -- in order to figure out what to do." I was skeptical, but as it happens, this catch was the first time I ever managed to get into position in time for this trick. THANK YOU, Wendy, Kaz, and John at TSNY Beantown! Amy, thanks for the excellent company, and Molly, a big thank you for the pictures!

Now I have a new goal: to do the pullover way better; more on my own steam; and in a manner such that it's not the ugliest thing anyone has ever witnessed. Yes, I dream a dream. :o)

Bears, Cars, and Feminine Sensibilities

On Tuesday I went for another lovely walk in another lovely snowstorm. Everyone seemed good-humored about having to balance on snowbanks. At one point, there was a man some distance ahead of me who was walking toward me and yelling that he wanted a bear. I wasn't sure what to make of this, but decided to cross to the other side of the street. Just in case he mistook me for a bear.

I also saw a man in a business suit carrying a 2 x 4. He wasn't yelling anything, just smiling pleasantly and swinging his 2 x 4 in a jolly manner.

Later, I sat in my front room writing, watching the snow get wetter and wetter. For a few minutes there, right before it turned to rain, the snowflakes were as big as cream puffs!

The longer I go not owning a car, the happier I am not to own a car. Those of you who've been around my blog for a while might remember how heart-rending it was way back when I lost my car. Preview: IT WAS HEART-RENDING WHEN I LOST MY CAR. But then I moved to a land where a person doesn't need to own a car! In addition to being close to lots of public transportation, I'm a member of Zipcar, which means I have access to a car whenever I need one. Which isn't very often. La la la. Are you bored yet? 'Cuz I could say more about this.

******
Are those of you with access watching Downton Abbey on PBS? Oh my goodness, I love it. I am pretty much always a sucker for a good show that follows the stories of both nobility and servants on an English estate a long time ago. (In this case, the 19-teens.) How is this show so well-acted? Elizabeth McGovern as Countess Cora is HILARIOUS, her expressions are priceless. And I love Gwen and Molesly and Lady Mary! (WARNING: Spoilers to the end of this paragraph.) I keep writing down my favorite lines of dialogue. Here's something the Earl of Grantham said the other day to Carson, the butler: "We must have a care for feminine sensibilities. They are finer and more fragile than our own." The reason this is hilarious is that he is referring to the recent, unexpected death of a houseguest; the Earl is afraid that the ladies both upstairs and downstairs must be finding the whole thing very shocking; but what the Earl doesn't know is that the houseguest died in the bed of the Earl's oldest daughter, who then, in the dead of night, with the help of her mother (the Countess of Grantham) and Anna (the head housemaid), carried his stark-naked corpse miles across the entire house so that he would be discovered in his own bed in the morning.

Watch the full episode. See more Masterpiece.

That's an end to my ramblings for today, except to point out that teeny link above for watching full episodes. (And also t0 say that the preview is fine, but it doesn't convey the humor or the strength of the characters.) I'll leave you with a (spoiler-free) quote:

Earl of Grantham: And to think Taylor's gone off to run a tea shop. I cannot feel it will make for a very restful retirement, can you?
Carson, the butler: [gravely] I would rather be put to death, My Lord.
Earl of Grantham: [a bit alarmed] Quite so.