Hannah Fielding's Blog, page 94

Legends of Halloween, and a soul cake recipe

Happy Halloween! What are you doing today to mark All Hallows’ Eve? Are you dressing up in a goulish costume? Carving a pumpkin? Taking children to trick or treat? I wonder – how much do you know about why we do these things? Here’s some background on Halloween customs and their legendary origins:

 

Jack-o’-lanterns: When Jack, a drunken farmer, met the Devil one night, he managed to trap him. Before releasing him, he made a deal with the Devil: the Devil could never claim his soul. Jack sailed off and enjoyed a life of sin and debauchery, safe in the knowledge that he would not end up in hell. But when he died, he was barred from heaven for his earthly misdeeds, and trapped in limbo. The Devil would not accept him in hell, either, and simply threw a burning coal at him. Jack put the coal in a turnip, hollowed out, and used it as a lantern to guide his lost soul. Jack-o’-lanterns are traditionally carved with frightening expressions to scare away evil spirits.

Trick or treating: In medieval times, poor people went souling on All Soul’s Day– they would knock on doors and be given soul cakes (see the recipe further down) in return for prayers for the dead. This custom began in Ireland and Britain, but also took place in Italy, and in Scotland a variant sprang up: guising, in which the people visiting houses wore costumes and were rewarded with cakes, fruit and money. It wasn’t until the 1930s in America that the ‘trick’ element came to be.
Apple bobbing: A game we’ve come to associate with Halloween likely because of the autumnal timing, which calls to mind an apple harvest, and also because traditionally Christians abstained from meat on All Hallows’ Eve. But in fact the game dates back to Roman times, and relates to love – apparently, the first person to bite the apple will be the next to marry, and girls who place the apple they bit into under their pillow will dream of their husband-to-be. Other Halloween games also relate to love. If a woman carves an apple in one strip and then throws it over her shoulder, the peel apparently spells the initial of their future love’s name. And on Halloween, so legend tells, if you stare into a mirror for long enough you’ll see your future husband, or if you’re destined to die before you marry, you’ll see a skull. (For more Halloween games and their legends, take a look at Robert Burns’ classic poem ‘Halloween’, which he annotates with explanations: http://poetry.about.com/library/weekly/blburnshalloween.htm.)
Bonfires: These are especially important in the Irish Halloween, but in Britain they’re saved for Bonfire Night on 5 November and used to commemorate the survival of King James I when the Gunpowder Plot of Guy Fawkes and others failed.

Americans undoubtedly celebrate Halloween the most, and their enthusiasm is spreading worldwide, largely due to shops stocking large amounts of Halloween paraphernalia. In Italy, where my latest novel The Echoes of Love is set, Halloween custom is rooted in remembering the dead. Families traditionally leave a meal out for the spirits of their deceased relatives while attending church, and souling has taken place since the 15th century.

Why not take part in the more traditional souling instead of trick or treating this year? All you need to do so is some delicious soul cakes that you can offer visitors as alms. Here’s a very simple, classic recipe I adapted from several soul cake recipes.

Ingredients

175g butter

175g caster sugar

1 egg

450g plain flour

100g currants or raisins

1/2 tsp ground cinnamon

1/2 tsp ground nutmeg

1/4 teaspoon mixed spice

2 tsp of milk (or for a tang, apple cider vinegar)

Pre-heat oven: 180C/375F/Gas mark 5.
Mix together the butter and sugar.
Beat in the egg.
Sift the flour with the spices and add to the mixture.
Add the currants/raisins and a littleliquid (milk or vinegar)and mix to form a soft dough.
Roll out the dough to about 1cm thick and use a cookie cutter to make cakes.
Use a blunt knife to indent a cross on each cake if you want to be truly traditional, and then transfer to a lined baking tray.
Bake for 15 minutes, or until golden.
Cool a little and enjoy!

You can add a little ginger too, if you like – the spicier, the better!

Legends of Halloween, and asoul cake recipe

Happy Halloween! What are you doing today to mark All Hallows’ Eve? Are you dressing up in a goulish costume? Carving a pumpkin? Taking children to trick or treat? I wonder – how much do you know about why we do these things? Here’s some background on Halloween customs and their legendary origins:

 

Jack-o’-lanterns: When Jack, a drunken farmer, met the Devil one night, he managed to trap him. Before releasing him, he made a deal with the Devil: the Devil could never claim his soul. Jack sailed off and enjoyed a life of sin and debauchery, safe in the knowledge that he would not end up in hell. But when he died, he was barred from heaven for his earthly misdeeds, and trapped in limbo. The Devil would not accept him in hell, either, and simply threw a burning coal at him. Jack put the coal in a turnip, hollowed out, and used it as a lantern to guide his lost soul. Jack-o’-lanterns are traditionally carved with frightening expressions to scare away evil spirits.

Trick or treating: In medieval times, poor people went souling on All Soul’s Day– they would knock on doors and be given soul cakes (see the recipe further down) in return for prayers for the dead. This custom began in Ireland and Britain, but also took place in Italy, and in Scotland a variant sprang up: guising, in which the people visiting houses wore costumes and were rewarded with cakes, fruit and money. It wasn’t until the 1930s in America that the ‘trick’ element came to be.
Apple bobbing: A game we’ve come to associate with Halloween likely because of the autumnal timing, which calls to mind an apple harvest, and also because traditionally Christians abstained from meat on All Hallows’ Eve. But in fact the game dates back to Roman times, and relates to love – apparently, the first person to bite the apple will be the next to marry, and girls who place the apple they bit into under their pillow will dream of their husband-to-be. Other Halloween games also relate to love. If a woman carves an apple in one strip and then throws it over her shoulder, the peel apparently spells the initial of their future love’s name. And on Halloween, so legend tells, if you stare into a mirror for long enough you’ll see your future husband, or if you’re destined to die before you marry, you’ll see a skull. (For more Halloween games and their legends, take a look at Robert Burns’ classic poem ‘Halloween’, which he annotates with explanations: http://poetry.about.com/library/weekly/blburnshalloween.htm.)
Bonfires: These are especially important in the Irish Halloween, but in Britain they’re saved for Bonfire Night on 5 November and used to commemorate the survival of King James I when the Gunpowder Plot of Guy Fawkes and others failed.

Americans undoubtedly celebrate Halloween the most, and their enthusiasm is spreading worldwide, largely due to shops stocking large amounts of Halloween paraphernalia. In Italy, where my latest novel The Echoes of Love is set, Halloween custom is rooted in remembering the dead. Families traditionally leave a meal out for the spirits of their deceased relatives while attending church, and souling has taken place since the 15th century.

Why not take part in the more traditional souling instead of trick or treating this year? All you need to do so is some delicious soul cakes that you can offer visitors as alms. Here’s a very simple, classic recipe I adapted from several soul cake recipes.

Ingredients

175g butter

175g caster sugar

1 egg

450g plain flour

100g currants or raisins

1/2 tsp ground cinnamon

1/2 tsp ground nutmeg

1/4 teaspoon mixed spice

2 tsp of milk (or for a tang, apple cider vinegar)

Pre-heat oven: 180C/375F/Gas mark 5.
Mix together the butter and sugar.
Beat in the egg.
Sift the flour with the spices and add to the mixture.
Add the currants/raisins and a littleliquid (milk or vinegar)and mix to form a soft dough.
Roll out the dough to about 1cm thick and use a cookie cutter to make cakes.
Use a blunt knife to indent a cross on each cake if you want to be truly traditional, and then transfer to a lined baking tray.
Bake for 15 minutes, or until golden.
Cool a little and enjoy!

You can add a little ginger too, if you like – the spicier, the better!

Social media: Friend or foe to book-reading?

On very few facts do academics agree, but here is one: reading books is good for you. Countless studies have shown the many benefits of reading, from improving communication skills, organisational ability and concentration, to relieving stress and opening up the imagination. And how many studies have found a downside to reading? None, so far as I can find!

We should all read more books; we know that. To relax. To expand the mind. To connect – as William Nicholson wrote for his characterisation of writer CS Lewis: ‘We read to know we’re not alone.’ But does what we read affect what we read? Specifically, for the many of us who are active in social media, is our time spent on Twitter or Facebook or any other platform making us better, wider readers, or diminishing our desire and ability to read books?

Down with social media!

You could argue that social media developments are to the detriment of book-reading:

Social media encourages us to flit about and digest information in tiny chunks. Does it hinder the patience required to read a whole book?
Heavy social media usage means reading lots of text on a daily basis. Does that wear us out, overloading the reading desire, and make us less keen to pick up a book at bedtime? Does it take away the precious time you would otherwise dedicate to reading?
Social media writing is generally at the level of published-book writing. Does social media text dumb us down, and make the transition to ‘proper’ writing jarring?
Social media text tends to be issue- and people-centric and rooted in the present time. Often, following a social-media feed has the feel of a soap opera – stories, real-life ones, unfolding before us. Are we less interested in learning about people through stories set in the past or even the future when we’re in touch more with real ones?
Finally, what’s cooler for a young person today – checking Facebook, posting an Instagram picture or reading a book? If you dare not to be on Facebook, are you something of an outcast? Social media is called ‘social’ for a reason – it connects us to a whole network of people. Reading, on the contrary, is a solitary pursuit. Has social media forced a notion that we should be spending our time being ‘sociable’; ‘being’, in whatever way, with people in preference to taking time to ourselves?

 

Hooray for social media!

Some argue that quite simply the more you read, the more you read. Reading social media feeds on and off all day means you’re practising the skill of reading constantly, so picking up a book and reading the text never feels strange and outmoded.
If you’re not a keen book reader, social media can plant ideas that may just send you to a bookstore. All sorts of content can connect you to books, from friends talking about them to sidebar adverts promoting them. Like it or not, in some way you’ll come across books more often if you use social media.
If you’re already a keen book reader, social media opens up a brilliant and vast world of possibilities! Every single social media platform has something for the book reader, from following a book feed on Facebook, to Tweeting your favourite author, to pinning beautiful covers on Pinterest, to reading a book review blog for recommendations, to joining a reading group on Goodreads and making new friends.

Comparing these pros and cons list, you’ll notice that the negative comments outweigh the positive ones in number. However, the final positive comment, in my view, blows all of the negatives out of the water!

One of the best aspects of my own publishing journey has been getting to know various social media and then using them to connect to like-minded readers and to find great new books to read. I know that I’ve read a lot more as a result of social media; I’ve even posted book reviews on this blog for some years now as a means to offer my own recommendations to others. If you can keep in check the downside of social media by ensuring that you control it and not vice versa, so you don’t drown in it but dip in and out, then it has much to offer a reader.

Gustave Flaubert wrote: ‘Read in order to live.’ In that sense, social media has the power to breathe new life into books, into reading, into how we all read. A tool that can be used for great good!

Farewell to the fero da prora of the Venetian gondola?

My novel The Echoes of Love opens in Venice, and so naturally descriptions of gondolas such as this one feature from time in time when I’m setting a scene: A couple of gondolas, their great steel blades looming dangerously out of the soft velvety mist, glided by swiftly over the gently lapping waters.The ‘great steel blades’ on the prow are an essential element in the description; part of the quintessential design of the gondola.  But did you know that they are under threat of extinction?

The metal blade is called a fero da prora, and it serves an important function: to balance the weight of the gondola at the stern. It is also a decoration that is rich in symbolism. First, the colour – Paolo explains this when he narrates a legend to Venetia in The Echoes of Love:

‘A crescent moon plunged into the sea to provide a shield of darkness for two young lovers to be alone together. That is the reason for the black colour of the gondola, caused by the abrupt immersion of the phosphorescent body in cold water, and the reason for the silvery lustre of the prow and the stern, which remained out of the water.’

Then the shape. Some say the S shape symbolises the turns of the Grand Canal; some say the overall look is to recall the mane of a lion, the symbol of Venice. The six-toothed comb beneath represents the six sestieri of Venice. The backwards tooth, the risso di poopa (hedgehog of the stern) stands for Giudecca. The friezes that sometimes feature between the six teeth represent the three major bridges of Venice: Rialto, Accademia and Scalzi.

Clearly, the fero da prorais a many-faceted element of the gondola. Why, then, are so many gondoliers today removing it from their craft? The answer lies in the rising water levels in the city (for details of this, see my earlier blog post ‘The fragility of Venetian beauty’). Venice is a city of waterways; and a city of bridges; and a city of gondolas that need to pass under bridges. But the acquaalta (high water) caused by rising sea levels means that the gondolas are coming ever closer to the underbelly of bridges, and the metal is at times scraping along the stonework.

To preserve the heritage of the gondola and ensure its full beauty remains, authorities in Venice impose strict rules on the craft and their pilots. In recognition of the problem, they have suggested that gondoliers make the fero da prorahinged, so they can flip them down under a bridge and then back up when in full view. But few gondoliers take this option; instead, a recent article in the suggests that instead ‘almost all’ remove their metalwork. The problem is that high waters are becoming less a rarity and more a way of life. In 1983 only 35 high water times occurred; last year Venice saw 156. Gondoliers are seeking a permanent solution to fitting easily under bridges.

The authorities have retaliated, meanwhile, by introducing fines for gondoliers not displaying a fero da prora, but without the means to combat the rising water levels, there is ultimately little they can do to protect this element of the gondola.

The gondola has long been a symbol of Venice, and in a sense that symbolism is now extending to the shaky footing on which the city’s future lies. At some point, presumably, the gondolier will cease to fit beneath a bridge – unless every bridge is rebuilt to be higher, and every street in Venice reinforced against the high water or built up. The death of the gondola is a sobering thought. It is one that makes me keen to revisit Venice, because who knows for how long its current vistas and culture will remain intact for our appreciation?

Damage Done by MJ Schiller

From the blurb:

When an unhappy youth leaves him damaged, will Teddy Mckee be able to find love?

“Teddy Passmore McKee was born in Cork, Ireland, with a limp and a chip on his shoulder that threw his balance off all the more.” When he falls in love with the dark haired beauty born of an Irish father and a Spanish mother, will Gabrielle Quinn be able to restore his balance? And what about the charming Sean Hennessey? When Gabby catches his eye, too, will Teddy’s playboy best friend cause his own damage?

Fourteen years later, will Teddy and Gabrielle’s son be able to overcome the damage done to him in his childhood?

“Even through bloodshot eyes he could see she was different.” But can Michael leave behind the bottle, and his womanizing ways, to win over the lovely Tess Flanagan? Tess has sustained some damage of her own. Can she and Michael overcome the terrors of the past and learn how to love each other?

And if they do, will they be able to elude those after them who want to create their own damage?

On the run after an altercation leaves their boss in a pool of blood, will Michael and Tess be able to stay one step ahead of their pursuers? Or is it simply too late to correct the damage that has been done?

I was delighted to have the chance to review this book for the author. As soon as I read her bio I knew by these words she was an author I would connect with: “I would rather write than do just about anything else.  After all, I get to make people (characters) do what I want, and design their happy endings. What power!”

There’s so much to love in this heart-touching romance novel:

The realism of the story world. Thanks to the setting, the characterisation, the dialogue and the stories, I felt quite transported to Ireland. There’s a grittiness to the book that I found powerful – the author doesn’t cushion her lovers in sweetness and light, but is bold in exploring how love can grow and be sustained in difficult circumstances.

The poignancy of the narrative. Without wishing to give anything away, I was very moved at times as I read. I found myself really rooting for Tess and Michael to overcome the demons of their pasts and build a brighter future together.

The wit that shines through. This is by no means a humorous book – at its heart are serious, weighty issues that tear the characters apart. But the author expertly weaves in the odd lighthearted touch that really lifts the narrative. For example, I laughed at loud at Teddy discovering his wife was in labour and struggling with a door, only for Gabrielle to say quite calmly, “It opens in. You have to pull it.” Little moments like this, reflections of everyday life, really make the book special.

The dual stories. I love that this is a book of two parts and two love stories. The first echoes through the second and acts as a foil, heightening the reader’s desire for a happy ending for Michael and Tess.

The drama. I was quite gripped by the dramatic sequences in the book. I found them to be superbly written to create suspense.

The exploration of trust and letting go. I loved where the author took the story – the journey the characters had to go on to face and then let go of the past, and to trust each other enough to share their deep, dark, tormented truths.

In all, I very much enjoyed reading the book, and look forward to the next MJ Schiller.

Damage Done is available now from Amazon; click on the book cover below to visit the store.

Putting a price on ebooks

Since the dawn of the digital books, a battle has raged on pricing, between those who price high and those who price low:

High: The publishers lead this camp, because of course they want maximum profit on a book sale. Never mind that the publication hasn’t included the costs of printing and distribution; they want an ebook’s price to sit close to the print book price. They cite the costs for legal work, editing, design and administration. And, of course, there is the intrinsic value in the book being a body of work on which an author has worked tirelessly.
Low: It was the early Amazon self-publishing success stories that saw minimal pricing lead to massive sales – authors like John Locke and Amanda Hocking. They followed the ‘pile them high and sell them cheap’ strategy, a kind of Wallmart approach, with the idea that readers were more likely to try an unknown author for just 99 pence or 99 cents. And it worked – so much so that a trend began, and every 99 price point publication began to damage the credibility of the high-price ebooks.

Interestingly, the price war has become something of a cerebral argument on the value of a digital book versus a print book, instead of a fight to the death. For if all books were priced high, how would the quality, traditionally published books stand out? And if all books were priced low, what hope would a small press or independently published book have against books created by the giants of publishing?

Take, for example, the top 10ebook bestsellers in the US for the week ending 10 October:

Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn (Penguin Random House): $7.99
Stepbrother Dearest by Penelope Ward: (Self-pub): $2.99
Outlander by Diana Gabaldon (Penguin Random House): $4.99
Gray Mountain by John Grisham (Penguin Random House): $11.99
Killing Patton by Martin Dugard (Macmillan) $9.99
Burnby James Patterson (Hachette): $9.99
Personal by Lee Child (Penguin Random House): $10.99
The Best of Me by Nicholas Sparks (Hachette): $4.79
The Maze Runner by James Dashner (Penguin Random House): $5.72
Captivated By Youby Sylvia Day (Penguin Random House): $7.99

The average ebook price across the top 25 is $7.74, up from $7.57 the preceding week. There are several strategies at work:

A self-publishing author opting for a low price – but not too low; the 99c/p price point has fallen from favour
New books priced very high – such as the John Grisham; capitalising on the impatient of keen fans and shouting ‘quality book – see how much we’re charging’.
A film tie-in book, The Best of Me, priced at $4.79 to attract mass sales as the film is released.
Romance novels at a lower price point: note Outlanderat $4.99, cheap for a Penguin Random House novel.

Meanwhile, the Hachette versus Amazon war on ebook pricing continues to be a hot topic of conversation in the media. Amazon wants to set a $9.99 limit price on most ebooks; Hachette does not agree. This week bestselling author R.L. Stine spoke out in favour of Amazon’s goal of keeping e-book prices low. ‘To me, the lower the price, the more books you’re going to sell,’ Stine told HuffPost Live.

What do you think about ebook pricing? How much will you spend on an ebook? Does a 99 pence or cent price point make you nervous, or eager to click ‘Buy now’? Will you spend five or six or seven dollars or pounds on the new release from your favourite author that’s only marginally cheaper in ebook format than in paperback, or will you refuse and wait for the price to drop? Are you keen to see ebook prices come down, because, like the 32% of respondents to a recent survey by market research firm Mintel, you prefer paper books but opt for ebooks that cost less? Or areyou one of the 25% who read more than you used to because ebooks have made reading more affordable?

I would love to hear your thoughts.

Books in your hands more quickly – a positive development?

This week, I was surprised to find a delivery man at my door at 8.50 p.m. on a Sunday evening. He was from Amazon, bringing a book I’d ordered. When I expressed surprise at the hour, he told me they now delivered until 9 p.m. every day of the week.  I hadn’t paid for any kind of expedited delivery – just the standard free option.

Then, yesterday, I was reading The Bookseller, the trade press for the UK publishing industry, and my eye was caught by the headline: ‘Amazon offers same-day collection in the UK’. The book-selling giant is to introduce a same-day collection service in the UK. That means customers who order a book (or another product) fulfilled by Amazon will be able to pick it up from one of 500 branches of a national newsagent chain. Order before 11.45 a.m. and you can pick up the book after 4 p.m. Order before 7.45 p.m. and you can collect from 6.30a.m. to 9 a.m. the next morning. The service will be free until 2015 for Prime customers, and £4.99 for others.

This same-day collection service is an add-on to the Amazon Lockers initiative, which allows customers to pick up their orders from lockers all over the country. So, for example, you can order a book online in the evening and pick it up at a London Underground station or an airport the next day. According to Amazon, this is an increasingly popular service, with orders doubling over the last year. Amazon has also been keen to push the idea that its use of some 6,000 pick-up venues drives people back to the struggling high streets (while neglecting to explore its own role in causing those high streets to struggle).

Christopher North, managing director of Amazon.co.uk, said that the company’s intention is to ‘ensure that customers all over the UK are provided with as much choice as possible when it comes to the delivery of their Amazon order’ (Bookseller).Apparently, this is what we, the consumers, want: all sorts of choices for getting our orders, and speed – faster, faster, faster.

But is that really what we as a collective want and need? Or is that what a corporate, world-changing giant is telling us to want and need?

Back to the delivery man at my door on a Sunday evening. While it’s always lovely to receive a new book, I would happily have taken delivery the following morning (or Tuesday, or Wednesday). I asked several friends the next day whether they’d experienced this ‘super Sunday delivery’, and they had. They all agreed that they didn’t feel it necessary, and had been surprised by the development. More concerning was the fact that some spoke of being irritated or uncomfortable. One poor lady had been home alone when the delivery man came, and had been quite unhappy opening the door in the dark and in her dressing gown!

‘So what of same-day books?’ I asked my friends. The discussion that ensued! Here are some of the points made:

It may be an exciting idea for the odd, very special publication – imagine if this had existed when the final Harry Potter book came out. But wait, bookstores opened at midnight then for eager fans…
Does it take away some of the joy of getting a book – the anticipation?
If you get a book too fast, do you then read it too fast?
Do you want to pick up a book from a locker or a newsagent – is something of the experience of the bookshop or even the gloriously book-shaped parcel lost?
How can a local independent book store that opens regular hours possibly compete?
Who really needs a book that fast!
Whatever next…?

The last point was the most concerning one. Think of the lessons we once taught children as they grow up:

Patience is a virtue.

Good things come to those who wait.

More haste, less speed.

Where are those values, once core in society, going? What’s happened to deferred gratification? Why must everything be faster? Why must childlike ‘now, now, now’ demands be met, instead of tempered?

Once upon a time, books were ever-so-precious objects – coveted and treasured. Of course, the quick delivery supports the idea of coveting books, needing to have them. But does it cement the idea of treasuring them as items? When you get something so easily, so fast, does it mean the same?

What do you think? I would love to hear your thoughts.

The Murano love knot

Venice is known for many things in the cultural world: architecture, music, literature, the classic Commedia dell’arte. But for me, the most striking and beautiful of all the city’s gifts to culture is Murano glass, made exclusively on the islands of that name since the 13th century and wildly popular worldwide for centuries. (The great lover Casanova once told a lover to wear her precious Murano glass beads for a date with him – and only her beads!)

In my novel The Echoes of Love, set in Venice, the vivid colours and elegance of Murano glass are perfect for the backdrop, so I weave in the glass where I can in setting descriptions:

… a golden glow from enormous Murano chandeliers… an amber Murano glass lampadario which hung from a chain of plump, clear glass globules… scalloped Murano glass sconces, shaped like shells, diffusing upwards their mellow light… enormouswhite Murano glass chandeliers… a beautiful Murano glass vase with a tasteful flower arrangement…

Murano glass makers create all manner of beautiful objects, from vases to chandeliers, pendants to paperweights. But one of their most iconic pieces is the love knot – beautifully sculpted interwoven rods of glassfused together to look like a knot.

Variations on the theme exist. Here’s a popular example from the Murano Net original Venetian glass company (if you get a chance, take a look at their website – there are some beautiful gift ideas for Christmas).

But the Murano Glass company interprets the knot more literally, as illustrated on this page:

 Whatever the style, the Murano knot symbolises love. The roots of the symbolismare to be found in legend:

In the 14th century, the Count GianGaleazzi Visconti had set up camp with his troops at Valeggio on the banks of the Mincio River, but there was little sleep to be had, for a group of witches descended on them at night, taunting them, threatening them. The men were deeply afraid, and only one dared confront them: Captain Malco. He managed to catch one of the witches,  and her cloak fell loose and revealed her true nature: she was a water nymph, a magical creature who lived in the river and could walk on land in the night hours only.

For Captain Malco and the nymph, Sylvia, it was love at first sight. They spent the night together, but with the first rays of the dawning sun, Sylvia vanished. She left behind a symbol of their eternal love: a knot in Malco’s handkerchief.

That evening, a group of young women came to dance for the Count Visconti and his cousin, Isabella. Malco was watching the dancers when he recognised his love, Sylvia, among them. But Isabella saw his attraction for Sylvia, and she was jealous, for she loved Malco. She whispered in the ear of the Count, and soon the dance was in uproar: Sylvia was denounced as a witch, and Malco was forced to defend her physically against his own men. Sylvia fled to the river, and Malco was locked in a cell for his deemed treachery.

Salvation, when it came, was from an unlikely source: Isabella, who had been gripped by guilt for her actions. She helped Malco to escape, holding off the guards, and when they finally made it to the river to search for him, there was no sign of the lovers, who had thrown themselves into the river. All that remained was Malco’s handkerchief, tied with a knot to symbolise eternal love: the Nodod’Amore.

To this day, ValeggiosulMincio celebrates the Feast of the Love Knot each June. The townspeople line the Ponte Visconteobridge with tables and chairs and feast on special knot-shaped tortellini and toast Malco and Sylvia: together forever.

You may be wondering why a knot in a handkerchief has inspired Italians for hundreds of years to make romantic glassware and feast in honour of a legend. What is an eternal knot? Such a knot has existed in legend for thousands of years and beyond the reaches of Italy. It’s one of the Eight Auspicious Signs that are important in Hinduism, Jainism and Buddhism, and it appears in ancient Chinese art and symbolism. The true eternal knot has no beginning and no end, so perfectly symbolising eternity; but of course that’s impossible to achieve with a handkerchief or glass (or pasta!). Still, the very fact that so many people own a Modena love knot and so many people attend the Feast of the Love Knotshows that what the eternal knot symbolises – a love that even death cannot end – resonates deeply within the human consciousness.

I could have danced all night…

There’s romance, and then there’s romance that incorporates dance and makes you feel like Baby in Dirty Dancing.

There’s a good reason why most good romance films incorporate a dance between the lovers at some point – there is no clearer, more evocative way to convey passion and vulnerability than through dance.

As MarthaGraham said, ‘Dance is the hidden language of the soul.’ The limits of language fall away. Distance diminishes. Conventions are cast off. Touch is permitted, and sensual. The rhythm of the heart is deafening. The world falls away, and all that exists is two people, dancing.

Dance is the medium through which lovers may explore, define and develop their relationship. Take this scene from my novel The Echoes of Love:

And then – then Paolo was before her. The crowd seemed to melt away and all she saw were those burning sapphire eyes that never left her face as he moved intently towards her. Venetia caught her breath as a curious lifting sensation blossomed inside her at the sight of him. He gave as formal a bow as if she was a great lady and this a ceremonial occasion.

‘You’re going to dance,’ he almost whispered in his low baritone voice as he took her hand and drew her firmly towards him.

Whatever might be happening inside her, in her rational mind Venetia knew she must never allow him, or any other person, to establish this sort of ascendancy over her.  … So although she allowed his pull on her hand to draw her slightly forwards, she looked him straight in the eye and smiled.

‘Yes, I probably am going to dance – if someone asks me.’

‘But that, divina, is exactly what I’m doing.’

Her head went up as a rebellious flame lit the amber irises. ‘It’s exactly what you are not doing. You’re telling me, which I thought we’d established I’m allergic to.’

Paolo’s eyes still held hers; devilish, amused eyes, showing he was entertained rather than offended by Venetia’s remonstrations.

‘One does have to be precise with you, I see.’

She was pleased that she had been able to assert her feelings, despite his unnerving effect on her; but also found herself relieved that he hadn’t taken umbrage.

‘It’s advisable, as a rule, to be precise, don’t you think?’

He laughed and almost swung her off her feet into his arms, and she surrendered to him, letting him draw her away. He held her close, with his head bent so that his lean, brown cheek was lightly touching hers. Like a knowing reprise, the familiar sound of Mina’s ‘Il Cielo in una Stanza’ floated around them once more, as it had done the first night they met in the San Marco café.  Their steps in perfect accord, moving together as one, they gave themselves up to the nostalgic love song. They danced in silence, their eyes never meeting, lulled by Mina’s warm voice, the gently pulsating rhythm and its soaring violins, like two people in a dream. Only Paolo’s arms spoke, clasping Venetia closer and closer, and her body responded, yielding to him. His hand hardly brushed against her bare shoulders, but his feathery touch scorched her to the core and her whole being came alive. Pressing herself against the tautly muscled length of him, Venetia felt his need for her and the heat of desire flooded her. An involuntary sigh floated from her lips and so, slowly, he drew her even further into his embrace. She felt as if she was slowly spinning and falling, and he with her, as if they were both being pulled by a current they could not resist, even if they had tried.

In romantic dance, so many customs apply – the most interesting of which, I find, is the dominance of the man. The man asks, the lady accepts. The man leads, the lady follows. But here, Paolo goes beyond asking – ‘You’re going to dance,’ he tells Venetia. And while deep down Venetia may find such alpha-male behavior rather attractive, she can’t possibly allow him to take the upper hand so easily, and nor will the romantic in her accept his deviation from the rules. So she makes it clear that he should ask, not tell. And then… well, and then somehow before she knows it they’re dancing – he’s gone beyond telling and simply swung her off her feet, and she’s surrendered. Because who can resist a man who wants to dance?

Like two animals engaged in a mating ritual, the time for making a show and fighting a corner is over – now, they have entered into the spell cast by the dance. A quietness, a calm descends; the thin sheen of the bubble surrounds them. For Venetia, especially, ‘surrender’ is the key word. All her struggle for independence, all her insistence on being respected as a strong equal, all the fear of feeling for Paolo, the dance cannot contain that. All it can contain is two people dancing with hearts beating as one; with souls connecting and melding.

But what happens when the music ends? There is a moment of entranced silence, and then the spell is broken. Paolo leaves. Venetia is alone. But the change that was been wrought through a single dance is immeasurable in its impact. There is no taking back a dance,and both lovers will always wish they could go back to that moment and live in it.

So there you have it, the romance of dance. The magic of that moment you’re dancing, and then the way it makes you feel every time you drift into memories. We may not let our feelings out like her, but deep down we’re all like Eliza Doolittle in My Fair Lady – when the partner is right, we could dance all night.

A brief history of Italian opera

When you think of Italy, you think of opera – the two are inextricably bound. Opera is so passionate, so dramatic, so epic; no wonder I chose to set my passionate, dramatic, epic novel The Echoes of Love in Italy!

In another life, had I the musical genius, I would love to have written or sung in an opera. As it is, I content myself to listen to CDs, go to opera houses and write books in which my characters are touched, just a little, by this most beautiful and stirring of art forms. I did not situate The Echoes of Love in the world of opera (though later this week I’ll review a book that does so beautifully), but I used opera to construct a dramatic backdrop for Paolo’s home:

La Torretta had belonged to a famous opera singer who had retired there when his fame had started to dwindle. He was not a very likeable person and gossip had it that there were orgies and other kinds of strange parties that took place at his home. The notorious tenor and his guests had perished in the fire set by one of his vengeful mistresses. It was a gruesome story and there was a rumour that on stormy nights as you approached the turreted house, you could hear the tenor singing the aria Addio, fiorito asil from Puccini’s Madama Butterfly.

Do you know ‘Addio, fiorito asil’? It’s a powerful aria; here it is sung by that most famous of Italian opera singers, Pavarotti.

Did you know that Italy is the birthplace of opera? It originated there in the seventeenth century. Operas were performed as part of grand theatrical events, with dance and plays and other forms of music, to please the court, at occasions like weddings and victory celebrations. Venice was at the forefront of opera development; in 1637 the first public opera house, the Teatro di San Cassiano, opened its doors, and no longer was opera purely for the elite. Other houses opened, and the public filled the seats to hear the castrato and the prima donna. From there, touring companies and visitors to Italy spread the word of opera worldwide, and German, French and English composers in particular began writing their own operas. But the Italian opera was the father of all opera – it was respected as the core style; and a divide grew between non-Italian composers who wanted to create their own national opera styles and purists like Handel, Gluck and Mozart who followed the Italian style faithfully.

The most famous and widely performed Italian operas today were written in the 19th and early 20th centuries by Rossini, Bellini, Donizetti, Verdi and Puccini. Of them all, Giacomo Puccini (1858–1924) is especially respected as one of the greatest operatic composers; his works include Manon Lescaut, La bohème, Tosca, and Madama Butterfly, Turandot and La rondine.

Sadly, recent news has suggested that Italian opera is not the adored, treasured cultural institution it once was. The opera house in Rome, the Teatro dell’ Opera di Roma, has recently made redundant its entire orchestra and chorus, amounting to 182 people, to save money. Falling attendance has hit hard, and the opera house is in debt to the tune of millions of euros and remains open only due to subsidies from the Italian government and Rome city council. In addition, the Italian conductor Riccardo Muti resigned from his position of music director.

There will always be political and economical considerations that affect culture, of course. But while journalists have been writing of the death knell of Italian opera, I have no concerns.I imagine the lovers in my novel The Echoes of Love enjoying a happy-ever-after in Italy that includes many evenings out at the opera. Such romantic dates they will be, and after watching the action unfold on the stage for a couple of hours, their own love story will seem remarkably drama-free in comparison!