Gillian Polack's Blog, page 116
May 11, 2013
Sensation and the novel
sartorias
has an interesting discussion on her blog, about LM Alcott, for whose writing I have an abiding fondness. I own one of the 'sensationalist' novels she wrote, for I am also quite lucky.I've been reading a couple of unreviewable* books this week, and the two are linked. If I discussed them, it would be to point out their sensationalist aspects, basically, for they're lacking in most other elements of good storytelling. One of them is very well known, too. And this kind of taletelling is on the increase.
My worries today are not about the lack of Literature or why this kind of tale is so popular (in the context of why my kind of writing never is). I'm far more interested in why this kind of tale is so popular and in the context of what it means to our various cultures and how it reflects the changes in readership that the new technologies and the crumbling of traditional publishing present.** The stories may mostly be somewhat vapid, but they meet a very real need and have a very real audience.
I don't think it's because we share the same values as Alcott's publishers did, in her early days. I think it's because we have a great increase in readers who are not yet sophisticated (and some of whom won't ever become so) due to changes in the accessibility of books and the nature of publishers' decisions about what will sell. Bread and circusses forever! Which, in this case, leads to a modern form of sensationalism. Or rather, many, varied modern forms of sensationalism.
The thing about sensationalism, is that it doesn't necessarily lead to bad writing. It does, however, depend on a culture of relying on action and drama and speed of events and shock and horror and bloody body parts and rape and all sorts of excitement above character development or carefully considered language or deep intellectual introspection. A good writer will have all the sensational elements and will also write well, tie the story together beautifully and have at least one nuanced character (the intellectual introspection is, alas, optional).
If I call someone a sensationalist writer, therefore, I'm thinking about the presentation of the story and I'm suggesting it's not a delicate and fragile narrative about small events. 24 is a sensationalist tale (the TV show) and TV is responsible for quite a few of our modern sensationalist tropes.
The bad news is that there's some poor writing out there (a lot of it) hiding behind splatter and emotion and hurt. The good news is, just with any other genre, there's some amazing stuff. What I would like to see is more articulation of the good writing, so that I can read it and ignore the rest and also so that we can be judged on our LM Alcotts and not on the worst of our penny-dreadfuls.
*By me, right now. They're perfectly reviewable in other ways. One I don't want to skewer, for it would be cruel, and the other, well, I'd be writing a critique when its audience is one that would not use that kind of critique (I checked reception of the author's other works, to make sure) and that's time wasted on a straight review at this busy moment, since the aim of my standard book reviews is to find the book the appropriate readers. It's not time wasted on an essay when life is quieter, so I'll save my thoughts for when an academic paper emerges or they spill out of me on this blog. This book could be one of the centres of an exploratory essay on modern sensationalism, if I choose its companions well, so I might wait for something scholarly. If I do, though, I totally obviously have more work to do!
**I feel I should apologise for this sentence. Maybe the sentence is apologising for itself...
gillpolack @ 2013-05-11T18:42:00
My life is full of mysteries. One of those mysteries is why I'm a preferred destination for work experience students. This year, I already have one student, who contacted me possibly on the first day she was allowed to and asked me many questions, which I always like. I won't take any more, because the workflow over the next three months isn't as student-friendly as usual. I hate having to explain this, but I especially hate it when the students I explain it to have very low level English skills. We're not talking ESL here: I can work with good students for whom English is not their first language. We're talking about students who can't string sentences together properly and can't explain clearly why they're ringing me.
Most of these students shouldn't be looking for work experience with me in any case. I make my students do research and world design and an interview with a writer (if they want) and proofreading and filing and sorting books and work using the catalogues of major libraries (which is always an eye opener for them - school education is quite different to my day) and all these things require a respectable level of English. I'm not a placement where the student can expect a job at the end - I'm a placement where the student can get a reference (if they want one, which they generally don't, for my students tend to go on to university, unsurprisingly). The students who ought to be ringing are the potential writers and teachers and librarians and academics.
What I think has happened is that some students have left finding a placement until the last minute and are getting desperate. I suspect they're making fifty calls and the first 49 already have work experience students.
Most of these students shouldn't be looking for work experience with me in any case. I make my students do research and world design and an interview with a writer (if they want) and proofreading and filing and sorting books and work using the catalogues of major libraries (which is always an eye opener for them - school education is quite different to my day) and all these things require a respectable level of English. I'm not a placement where the student can expect a job at the end - I'm a placement where the student can get a reference (if they want one, which they generally don't, for my students tend to go on to university, unsurprisingly). The students who ought to be ringing are the potential writers and teachers and librarians and academics.
What I think has happened is that some students have left finding a placement until the last minute and are getting desperate. I suspect they're making fifty calls and the first 49 already have work experience students.
May 10, 2013
gillpolack @ 2013-05-11T12:19:00
My eyes are shadowed with pain. I think my allergies are trying to turn me into a neo-Gothic heroine. It'll be over in a few days. This is the price of returning to child-bearing age when, really, I didn't want to. My PMT now includes the allergic element which I had not missed at all. And it lasts for longer than it used to. Glass bubble moment has come, and I'm watching my foods even more carefully than usually. This, too, shall pass.
I have many small things to grump about today and I'm determined to work regardless. I have one big thing (the undetermined problems with the structure of the flat) and have done everything I can about it.
All that is left is grump, medicine, hard work and The Saint. I have to do a library and grocery run this afternoon and The Saint is one DVD that needs returning. So my life is not bad, but I am grumpy. Also, waiting and waiting and waiting on a thousand things.
The very cute things that make my life more interesting today include an e-offer for Kirk and Spock salt and pepper shakers (which I am not even tempted to own - I shall henceforth think of them as the zombie shakers because of where that salt and pepper fall from) and the scenic introduction to several scenes in The Saint being given by the mostly-effective dangling of a postcard in front of the camera. The only problem is when the postcard wobbles. CGI doesn't have these fun moments and I miss them. (I don't miss blackface, however, and I do wish that stereotypes weren't still seen as an effective way of locating audience in a foreign culture.)
I have many small things to grump about today and I'm determined to work regardless. I have one big thing (the undetermined problems with the structure of the flat) and have done everything I can about it.
All that is left is grump, medicine, hard work and The Saint. I have to do a library and grocery run this afternoon and The Saint is one DVD that needs returning. So my life is not bad, but I am grumpy. Also, waiting and waiting and waiting on a thousand things.
The very cute things that make my life more interesting today include an e-offer for Kirk and Spock salt and pepper shakers (which I am not even tempted to own - I shall henceforth think of them as the zombie shakers because of where that salt and pepper fall from) and the scenic introduction to several scenes in The Saint being given by the mostly-effective dangling of a postcard in front of the camera. The only problem is when the postcard wobbles. CGI doesn't have these fun moments and I miss them. (I don't miss blackface, however, and I do wish that stereotypes weren't still seen as an effective way of locating audience in a foreign culture.)
May 9, 2013
gillpolack @ 2013-05-10T13:56:00
I have just opened my eyes. Not from sleep. Nor was it a religious awakening. It's what happens whenever I have a medical crisis followed by much work. There's a moment when I sort myself and realise just what has been missed through the crisis. We all knew I didn't get nearly as much enjoyment out of Conflux as I usually do (due to the strange things dancing in my right eye and due to my amazing fatigue and due to a new medical regimen and due to being programmed around mealtimes and being somewhat insulin-resistant - the latter is now under control but I'd only just started on the new medication before Conflux) and I managed the first week of term and then the second week and I thought "Things are much better this time."
Yesterday afternoon was a bit too exciting, for the things I hadn't done had piled up into paper and all my pre-prepared stuff for yesterday's class (including those slides I prepared!!) went walkabout. My students were awesome about it and we all enjoyed the replacement stuff and they forgave me for being two minutes late and I got home and breathed. And I wrote myself a note that I needed to sort those papers and find my missing class prep and so on. Then I finished another review book (6 down, just 7 to go!).
Just now I finished my paper sort. Several things had due dates of last week and I just have to accept that I missed them. I couldnt've fitted anything more into my last week. In fact, I did very well to fit what I fitted in. I chose all the larger-print review books instead of computer work, because there was just so much to do and I didn't check the papers because small print was difficult and the print was very small and so...I've missed things. Only two things, but it bugs me.
Could I have done them? Actually, it's possible. But I've been working longer hours the last fortnight because working with less eyesight is slow. I'm only now getting back to normal speed. I haven't written any fiction or worked on my scholarly papers. I've done less work on the Beast than usual.
The bottom line is that when significant changes to one's eyes happen - even if they're only going to be this bad for a few months - these changes take time and adjustment. It's no use crying over spilt milk. I spent a full day last week in various medical appointments and had a lot of calls to make about matters to do with my flat and about other things and it was first week of term (which always has more time doing admin work and less time for other stuff) and I had the conflu and I was on a bunch of new medications. I'm now on less medicine, which is why I can do things - the eye is still being adjusted unto. But I did three loads of washing yesterday and put some clothes away and made sure I had proper food.
I think I just have to accept I'm never superhuman and that I'm especially not superhuman when Life Happens. It'll be a couple of weeks before I get back to where I was a month ago. I haven't actually done anything wrong. So why do I feel guilty?
Yesterday afternoon was a bit too exciting, for the things I hadn't done had piled up into paper and all my pre-prepared stuff for yesterday's class (including those slides I prepared!!) went walkabout. My students were awesome about it and we all enjoyed the replacement stuff and they forgave me for being two minutes late and I got home and breathed. And I wrote myself a note that I needed to sort those papers and find my missing class prep and so on. Then I finished another review book (6 down, just 7 to go!).
Just now I finished my paper sort. Several things had due dates of last week and I just have to accept that I missed them. I couldnt've fitted anything more into my last week. In fact, I did very well to fit what I fitted in. I chose all the larger-print review books instead of computer work, because there was just so much to do and I didn't check the papers because small print was difficult and the print was very small and so...I've missed things. Only two things, but it bugs me.
Could I have done them? Actually, it's possible. But I've been working longer hours the last fortnight because working with less eyesight is slow. I'm only now getting back to normal speed. I haven't written any fiction or worked on my scholarly papers. I've done less work on the Beast than usual.
The bottom line is that when significant changes to one's eyes happen - even if they're only going to be this bad for a few months - these changes take time and adjustment. It's no use crying over spilt milk. I spent a full day last week in various medical appointments and had a lot of calls to make about matters to do with my flat and about other things and it was first week of term (which always has more time doing admin work and less time for other stuff) and I had the conflu and I was on a bunch of new medications. I'm now on less medicine, which is why I can do things - the eye is still being adjusted unto. But I did three loads of washing yesterday and put some clothes away and made sure I had proper food.
I think I just have to accept I'm never superhuman and that I'm especially not superhuman when Life Happens. It'll be a couple of weeks before I get back to where I was a month ago. I haven't actually done anything wrong. So why do I feel guilty?
May 8, 2013
Why fantasy writers ought to speak to historians and literature experts
Why make up faux Medieval names when the real thing is so much more fun?
A few days ago I mentioned my new hero, Gosfright. It’s too good a name to leave out of fantasy novels. I don't know if he's going to be in my writing, but I'm in love with the name. Other names that crossed my desk (from my own work) that day that are unjustly neglected include: St Benet Fink, Spearhafoc, Liquoricia, Esegar, Madog, and Sweetman. Some of my friends suggested other names. I list them below for the enrichment of your novel-creation (I’ve given you some of the comments, for good measure). My favourite of today is Brian, for we really don’t have enough Lives of Brian.
From
la_marquise_de_
Mahaut
Goscelin
Ancel
Jeannot
Dowsabel
From
cmcmck
Somerled (sometimes spelled Summerled)
Godith
Gilderoy
From
negothick
Tiffany. “Perfectly fine variant of "Epiphany," but guaranteed to propel a reader out of the Medieval setting.”
From
mount_oregano
“Here are a few names that appear in the genuine Medieval Spanish fantasy, Amadis of Gaul:
Briolanja (a queen)
Gandales (a knight from Scotland)
Madasima (daughter of an evil giant, although she is good)
Famongomadan (Madasima's father)
Urganda (a good sorceress)
Cildadan (king of Ireland)
Lisuarte (king of Great Britain)
Brian (a Spanish prince)”
From
zcat_abroad
“Ones I keep trying to re-invigorate (and yes, they are all saints, and many of them queens):
Aethelthryth (preferably spelt with aeshes, thorns, and eths)
Seaxburgh (badly pronounced Sex-burger - for some reason my sister turned this down as a suggestion for her daughter's name.)
Whitburgh
Saethryth
Eadgyth (guess)
Wulfhild
Wulfthryth”
I’m looking at Z-cats’s list and thinking that werewolves* really ought to have Anglo-Saxon or at least Germanic names. But vampires? I need to think about their names, just a bit.
*I finished my werewolf trilogy. This means I’ve read 5 review books this week. Two more and I will be not-so-far behind!! But which two? For here or for elsewhere?
A few days ago I mentioned my new hero, Gosfright. It’s too good a name to leave out of fantasy novels. I don't know if he's going to be in my writing, but I'm in love with the name. Other names that crossed my desk (from my own work) that day that are unjustly neglected include: St Benet Fink, Spearhafoc, Liquoricia, Esegar, Madog, and Sweetman. Some of my friends suggested other names. I list them below for the enrichment of your novel-creation (I’ve given you some of the comments, for good measure). My favourite of today is Brian, for we really don’t have enough Lives of Brian.
From
la_marquise_de_
Mahaut
Goscelin
Ancel
Jeannot
Dowsabel
From
cmcmck
Somerled (sometimes spelled Summerled)
Godith
Gilderoy
From
negothick
Tiffany. “Perfectly fine variant of "Epiphany," but guaranteed to propel a reader out of the Medieval setting.”
From
mount_oregano
“Here are a few names that appear in the genuine Medieval Spanish fantasy, Amadis of Gaul:
Briolanja (a queen)
Gandales (a knight from Scotland)
Madasima (daughter of an evil giant, although she is good)
Famongomadan (Madasima's father)
Urganda (a good sorceress)
Cildadan (king of Ireland)
Lisuarte (king of Great Britain)
Brian (a Spanish prince)”
From
zcat_abroad
“Ones I keep trying to re-invigorate (and yes, they are all saints, and many of them queens):
Aethelthryth (preferably spelt with aeshes, thorns, and eths)
Seaxburgh (badly pronounced Sex-burger - for some reason my sister turned this down as a suggestion for her daughter's name.)
Whitburgh
Saethryth
Eadgyth (guess)
Wulfhild
Wulfthryth”
I’m looking at Z-cats’s list and thinking that werewolves* really ought to have Anglo-Saxon or at least Germanic names. But vampires? I need to think about their names, just a bit.
*I finished my werewolf trilogy. This means I’ve read 5 review books this week. Two more and I will be not-so-far behind!! But which two? For here or for elsewhere?
gillpolack @ 2013-05-09T03:28:00
I have insomnia. I have made very good use of it, for I finished my review book (and now have to write something on it for ticon 4, but that can wait) and I'm in the middle of sorting photos for tomorrow's class.
You probably didn't need to know that. You also probably didn't need to know that I made my students this morning write about Cochrane (the Napoleonic sea hero upon which some rather familiar fictional heroes are loosely based) stuck at home on a dreich day.
In ten minutes I shall try to sleep again...for Thursday was actually a long enough day before the insomnia got attached to it.
You probably didn't need to know that. You also probably didn't need to know that I made my students this morning write about Cochrane (the Napoleonic sea hero upon which some rather familiar fictional heroes are loosely based) stuck at home on a dreich day.
In ten minutes I shall try to sleep again...for Thursday was actually a long enough day before the insomnia got attached to it.
May 7, 2013
gillpolack @ 2013-05-08T08:25:00
I'm working rather earlier than I expected today, because either someone is repairing the wall behind me, or my upstairs neighbour has decided it's time to put up pictures. I suspect the latter. I do hope she's not drilling any holes in the flexiwall and making it bear more burdens.
I rang the body corporate up to find out what's happening with the engineer and they still haven't got him the specifications. They're making it a thing of urgency now, for they're a bit worried by my weekly reports. Me, I'm even more worried by my weekly reports. I don't get to sleep at all easily, as a result, and so this morning's ear-full-of-drill was unfortunate, especially since I'm only 1/3 through this week's teaching and about 20% through this week's everything-else.
It's a worry that I'm already tallying up percentages. This afternoon may include fewer messages and more naps.
I rang the body corporate up to find out what's happening with the engineer and they still haven't got him the specifications. They're making it a thing of urgency now, for they're a bit worried by my weekly reports. Me, I'm even more worried by my weekly reports. I don't get to sleep at all easily, as a result, and so this morning's ear-full-of-drill was unfortunate, especially since I'm only 1/3 through this week's teaching and about 20% through this week's everything-else.
It's a worry that I'm already tallying up percentages. This afternoon may include fewer messages and more naps.
May 5, 2013
gillpolack @ 2013-05-06T13:25:00
My tax is done. It gets more complicated every year, for my income comes in dribs and drabs from all sorts of places. I do my best to sort it and explain it and then my accountant (who is worth her weight in gold) does the rest.
I've also sorted my CDs. I've a few to check and see if I want to keep, but mostly they're findable. I didn't mean to do this, but I couldn't discover any of the ones I wanted and that was not a good thing. I now have a little stack of music to bop to, and am much happier. It includes a group from Normandy (with a Scottish lead singer) singing a mixture of Medieval and folksongs, and it includes my favourite version of Miserlou, and some Duke Ellington, some popular songs from the 40s, and some old Sephardi tunes (Ximena!!).
It seems I'm letting music creep back into my life, little by little. I let it creep out when a friend gave me a CD of love songs by John Barrowman for a birthday present and another gave me a strange compilation of SF theme tunes and a whole bunch of friends talked about music I'd never heard (mostly modern). I tried listening to their music and it was fine, but listening to it just the once was sufficient. I could hum the melody and knew the number of repeats and all the harmonies made instant sense and... it was done. I found this dispiriting, and thought "Maybe I just don't get music." I left music alone for a long time, because I was so very inadequate. Now I've decided that I am not inadequate so much as unusual. I get music: I just don't get why I was ascribed that music.
My dream collection (Classical) is still Georg Tintner's entire Bruckner. One day I shall own it and listen to it three times in a fortnight and be happy. Emotionally traumatised quite possibly, but happy. Bruckner, Schubert, Smetana, Ravel, Debussy, Bach: I don't know why I didn't just play them! I'm humming the Moldau theme right now, because it's haunted me all my life, and so has Pachelbel's canon.
My dream everything-else varies, but it includes rembetika, Ofra Haza, fado, and oh, a hundred other styles and singers. The one thing that they appear to have in common is that that none of them sound like John Barrowman singing love songs.
I have modern music. Francoise Hardy is modern, and so are all the movie musicals (I love musicals! less The Lion King, though, than Kiss Me Kate) and Judy Garland and ... lots of singers. Ella Fitzgerald always and ever, and anything by George Gershwin. And Queen: I adore Queen.
This is a hotchpotch. Sometimes I think of singers, sometimes composers and sometimes styles. Is this why friends often want to educate me? I need to play those friends my favourite Bukharan Jewish folk music CD and enlighten them back, perhaps. Except I tried this, and the reward was a birthday some years ago where I was given John Barrowman and a compilation of SF theme tunes.
PS I ought to add an update. The same friend who doesn't understand my musical taste, gets the choice of DVDs spot on every time. I open a package and there is my dream series.
I've also sorted my CDs. I've a few to check and see if I want to keep, but mostly they're findable. I didn't mean to do this, but I couldn't discover any of the ones I wanted and that was not a good thing. I now have a little stack of music to bop to, and am much happier. It includes a group from Normandy (with a Scottish lead singer) singing a mixture of Medieval and folksongs, and it includes my favourite version of Miserlou, and some Duke Ellington, some popular songs from the 40s, and some old Sephardi tunes (Ximena!!).
It seems I'm letting music creep back into my life, little by little. I let it creep out when a friend gave me a CD of love songs by John Barrowman for a birthday present and another gave me a strange compilation of SF theme tunes and a whole bunch of friends talked about music I'd never heard (mostly modern). I tried listening to their music and it was fine, but listening to it just the once was sufficient. I could hum the melody and knew the number of repeats and all the harmonies made instant sense and... it was done. I found this dispiriting, and thought "Maybe I just don't get music." I left music alone for a long time, because I was so very inadequate. Now I've decided that I am not inadequate so much as unusual. I get music: I just don't get why I was ascribed that music.
My dream collection (Classical) is still Georg Tintner's entire Bruckner. One day I shall own it and listen to it three times in a fortnight and be happy. Emotionally traumatised quite possibly, but happy. Bruckner, Schubert, Smetana, Ravel, Debussy, Bach: I don't know why I didn't just play them! I'm humming the Moldau theme right now, because it's haunted me all my life, and so has Pachelbel's canon.
My dream everything-else varies, but it includes rembetika, Ofra Haza, fado, and oh, a hundred other styles and singers. The one thing that they appear to have in common is that that none of them sound like John Barrowman singing love songs.
I have modern music. Francoise Hardy is modern, and so are all the movie musicals (I love musicals! less The Lion King, though, than Kiss Me Kate) and Judy Garland and ... lots of singers. Ella Fitzgerald always and ever, and anything by George Gershwin. And Queen: I adore Queen.
This is a hotchpotch. Sometimes I think of singers, sometimes composers and sometimes styles. Is this why friends often want to educate me? I need to play those friends my favourite Bukharan Jewish folk music CD and enlighten them back, perhaps. Except I tried this, and the reward was a birthday some years ago where I was given John Barrowman and a compilation of SF theme tunes.
PS I ought to add an update. The same friend who doesn't understand my musical taste, gets the choice of DVDs spot on every time. I open a package and there is my dream series.
Reviews: time for Victoriana
Some of the reprints that publishers are bringing back into our lives are rather special. I have two today, Ware’s Victorian Dictionary of Slang and Phrase (Bodleian, 2013) and William Stephens Hayward’s Revelations of a Lady Detective (British Library, 2013). There are so many things I want to say about them, but time is scarce and if I do another impossibly-long blogpost, no-one will read my thoughts. This means I can’t explain how so many writers have Victorian phrase wrong (the Lady Detective in Hayward’s book is often called ‘mother’ as a term of respect, for instance, while many modern writers use ‘madam’) or how one of my students wanted to run away with the dictionary.
What I’d like to talk about it their contexts. Because Revelations was first released in 1864, it reflects a dead world from while that world was still living. It shows the different pace of narrative, how the in-one’s-face style was not nearly as common in a penny dreadful as laborious description. It shows all kinds of prejudices we think we’ve outgrown, like those forwards Catholics (religious Catholics are not treated kindly) and gypsies. Jews also suffer some despite in the stories, but not nearly as much as Catholics and gypsies. All the cracks in a society show at such a distance.
This makes the short stories in Revelations of a Lady Detective entirely delightful, albeit for the wrong reasons (I read a lot of books for the wrong reasons, I’m afraid) but also for some of the right ones. This is London before modern detective method and before any need for realism in the way police matters are handled. It is a fictional London, set inside the real one of the early 1860s. Criminals are justifiable scared and bitter about Lady Detectives, who are so clever and so tough and who ruin their scams and devilry. It’s as if there’s a League of Extraordinary Women, hidden in a society that we, historically, often describe as very negative for women.
Mrs Paschal is a precursor of Sherlock Holmes. Not only does she reason everything out (no need for brute force – when she needs help she merely asks the police and it is provided), but she goes in disguise perfectly happily. She has a whole wardrobe of disguises and is known to look meek and obedient when the occasion demands. She’s more flexible and interesting than quite a few of the modern steampunk heroines I’ve read recently.
And she wasn’t even the first female detective. Hayward was preceded by Andrew Forrest and his Female Detective. Which I now must read. I also must talk to Lucy Sussex about these books next time I see her, for Lucy knows much more about them and may know where I can find more books of Victorian female detective work.
Ware’s book was written out of nostalgia. Language changes. It always shifts and words migrate and take the place of other words. Ware was documenting the loss of Victorian English. This means, of course, that we have a nice chronicle of the state of Victorian English (according to Ware) at the tail end of the Victorian age. There were big changes before the book (Empire to Commonwealth) and big one after (the First World War) so it’s rather nice to have a summary of the words peculiar to that moment in time.
Ware seems to have expected them all to go, but some lingered. “I’m fed up,” is a phrase that my family still uses, and it comes, according to Ware, from a Boer War usage. “To catch on” is a little laboured, these days, but is still alive, too. Quite a few of the nineteenth century terms for being drunk (such as “He’s had enough”) are still alive in Australia, which quite possibly says something about Australia.
Most, however, have gone or, if they linger, linger in very specific social groups. I haven’t heard ‘costermongering’ as a musical term (and now want to use it, for Ware’s description of the work of Sir Michael Costa makes me think of “Hooked on Classics”) and I totally want the initials H.O.G. (High Old Genius) after my name. I have friends of knapsack descent (from military families - they call themselves “army brats” when pushed).
This small book is also a very handy reference for Rudyard Kipling. Probably for other writers as well, but Rudyard Kipling uses so much slang of various varieties that it really helps to interpret his prose. When Kim was playing the Game, he was doing something that was related to “playing a big game” which Ware calls “Trying for a daring success.” This helps me understand why Kim was so invested in spying, but it also adds an unsavoury element. “Playing a big game” was something criminals do. Kipling was not being uncritical of the Empire, but he was being very clever in how he expressed his criticism. And until I opened Ware, I missed that.
Both of these books are keepers. The Ware, in particular, I shall use until it’s worn out.
What I’d like to talk about it their contexts. Because Revelations was first released in 1864, it reflects a dead world from while that world was still living. It shows the different pace of narrative, how the in-one’s-face style was not nearly as common in a penny dreadful as laborious description. It shows all kinds of prejudices we think we’ve outgrown, like those forwards Catholics (religious Catholics are not treated kindly) and gypsies. Jews also suffer some despite in the stories, but not nearly as much as Catholics and gypsies. All the cracks in a society show at such a distance.
This makes the short stories in Revelations of a Lady Detective entirely delightful, albeit for the wrong reasons (I read a lot of books for the wrong reasons, I’m afraid) but also for some of the right ones. This is London before modern detective method and before any need for realism in the way police matters are handled. It is a fictional London, set inside the real one of the early 1860s. Criminals are justifiable scared and bitter about Lady Detectives, who are so clever and so tough and who ruin their scams and devilry. It’s as if there’s a League of Extraordinary Women, hidden in a society that we, historically, often describe as very negative for women.
Mrs Paschal is a precursor of Sherlock Holmes. Not only does she reason everything out (no need for brute force – when she needs help she merely asks the police and it is provided), but she goes in disguise perfectly happily. She has a whole wardrobe of disguises and is known to look meek and obedient when the occasion demands. She’s more flexible and interesting than quite a few of the modern steampunk heroines I’ve read recently.
And she wasn’t even the first female detective. Hayward was preceded by Andrew Forrest and his Female Detective. Which I now must read. I also must talk to Lucy Sussex about these books next time I see her, for Lucy knows much more about them and may know where I can find more books of Victorian female detective work.
Ware’s book was written out of nostalgia. Language changes. It always shifts and words migrate and take the place of other words. Ware was documenting the loss of Victorian English. This means, of course, that we have a nice chronicle of the state of Victorian English (according to Ware) at the tail end of the Victorian age. There were big changes before the book (Empire to Commonwealth) and big one after (the First World War) so it’s rather nice to have a summary of the words peculiar to that moment in time.
Ware seems to have expected them all to go, but some lingered. “I’m fed up,” is a phrase that my family still uses, and it comes, according to Ware, from a Boer War usage. “To catch on” is a little laboured, these days, but is still alive, too. Quite a few of the nineteenth century terms for being drunk (such as “He’s had enough”) are still alive in Australia, which quite possibly says something about Australia.
Most, however, have gone or, if they linger, linger in very specific social groups. I haven’t heard ‘costermongering’ as a musical term (and now want to use it, for Ware’s description of the work of Sir Michael Costa makes me think of “Hooked on Classics”) and I totally want the initials H.O.G. (High Old Genius) after my name. I have friends of knapsack descent (from military families - they call themselves “army brats” when pushed).
This small book is also a very handy reference for Rudyard Kipling. Probably for other writers as well, but Rudyard Kipling uses so much slang of various varieties that it really helps to interpret his prose. When Kim was playing the Game, he was doing something that was related to “playing a big game” which Ware calls “Trying for a daring success.” This helps me understand why Kim was so invested in spying, but it also adds an unsavoury element. “Playing a big game” was something criminals do. Kipling was not being uncritical of the Empire, but he was being very clever in how he expressed his criticism. And until I opened Ware, I missed that.
Both of these books are keepers. The Ware, in particular, I shall use until it’s worn out.
May 4, 2013
gillpolack @ 2013-05-05T15:37:00
I have a precise excuse for all the grumps this week. I have concrud. The symptoms are diminished by my various medications, but today it became inescapably clear. I have no idea how long this particular con virus lasts, but I'll be very glad when it's gone.
A friend of mine came round to sort out my dripping tap and see if anything could be done about my slow download. At least the dripping tap is sorted, but my flat appears to be three decades behind the rest of Australia as far as telecommunications are concerned and at my end, all connections are perfect and well-formed. Nothing's likely to change for me until the NBN happens. I can't watch TV on the net and I can only get 1/3 of the free to air stations by regular means and if I want to Skype I need to visit my friends (which is why one of them dropped round to see if there was anything he could do to improve things). I shall ring my ISP tomorrow and ask what they can do, because the speeds are really, truly 80s speeds (I wish I were exaggerating!). My low service applies despite me paying the same amount of money as anyone else and despite me living in the heart of Australia's national capital. It's daft.
I need to get that job and move to somewhere with services...
And on that note, I shall nurture my virus. I shall also try not to look at the cracks in the wall, for it's easy to worry right now. At least I know it's a virus on top of the usual. It will all be over soon. Everything except my crazy telecom situation will mend nicely in the near future.
A friend of mine came round to sort out my dripping tap and see if anything could be done about my slow download. At least the dripping tap is sorted, but my flat appears to be three decades behind the rest of Australia as far as telecommunications are concerned and at my end, all connections are perfect and well-formed. Nothing's likely to change for me until the NBN happens. I can't watch TV on the net and I can only get 1/3 of the free to air stations by regular means and if I want to Skype I need to visit my friends (which is why one of them dropped round to see if there was anything he could do to improve things). I shall ring my ISP tomorrow and ask what they can do, because the speeds are really, truly 80s speeds (I wish I were exaggerating!). My low service applies despite me paying the same amount of money as anyone else and despite me living in the heart of Australia's national capital. It's daft.
I need to get that job and move to somewhere with services...
And on that note, I shall nurture my virus. I shall also try not to look at the cracks in the wall, for it's easy to worry right now. At least I know it's a virus on top of the usual. It will all be over soon. Everything except my crazy telecom situation will mend nicely in the near future.
