Still Unmoved

and-yet-i-am-unmoved

Mr. Bennet is unimpressed.

We’re still working on finding a new Unicorn HQ. For a while it looked as if we might have found a house, but negotiations broke down over some problems that were found during inspection, so now we’re looking again. We’ve found another house that we like, but we’re not letting ourselves get too attached until the inspector has had time to look it over and see if there’s some ghastly problem that will cost thousands of dollars to repair. S and I will be talking about where we’re going to put the TV, or how we’re going to arrange the library, but then we will pause and say (often in unicornic unison), “pending inspection.” It’s sort of like knocking on wood.

“It’ll be so nice to have a flat driveway…pending inspection.”
“That shed out back is really cute…pending inspection.”
“I’ll finally have room for my own dedicated writing space…pending inspection.”

That last one—a writing space for S—has been one of her main requirements for our new house. I don’t know how she feels about £500 a year, but she definitely wants a room of her own. She promises to let me in, of course, so it’s not as if she’s just trying to avoid me. But she has found that she writes better and more consistently if she has a space set aside just for writing. It has to be a separate space, removed from the comfy chairs and TV where we spend most of our time. No doubt once we move (pending inspection) and get her new writing room set up, she will blog about it, possibly with pictures.

In the meantime, though, she’s starting a new writing project, and she actually wrote part of the first chapter yesterday while waiting for me to finish teaching classes. I’ll leave it to her to say more about that particular project, though, if she wants to.
As for me, I’m doing prep work for my April Camp NaNo novel. And I’ve been doing some reading, as well. I finished The Magicians, by Lev Grossman. You may recall that S and I have been group-watching the TV show with an online friend. The book was pretty good, though as our friend promised, Quentin is even worse in the book than on the show. He’s just so whiny and self-absorbed.

I’ve also been working my way through Call Me By Your Name. S and I saw the movie last weekend. S had already read the book, but I hadn’t. She and some of her online friends have all been squeeing over how awesome the book is—even more awesome than the movie, apparently. On her recommendation, I decided to give it a try. It’s very good, and the squee is justified. I haven’t quite finished it, because I have to do things like plan classes and grade papers. But hopefully this week I’ll get around to it. And then maybe I’ll start the second book in the Magicians trilogy, if I can just steel myself to endure more Quentin.

J

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Pwning the POV

all your base

Your base has been pwned. (Image from Know Your Meme)

When we first started writing, back when we were scrambling to figure out how novels and series and worldbuilding all worked, I put a little note to myself on the side of a basket I could see from my chair that said “Pwn the POV.” (Definition of “pwned” here. Bless you Urban Dictionary.) Heaven knows I didn’t feel like I was doing much of anything right at that point (and I wasn’t), but I felt what I most needed to address were my characters’ POVs. I may have been doing a lot wrong, but this instinct was absolutely right. So many of my early struggles as a writer could be fixed by understanding my characters’ voices better. And this is something I always push myself to remember, even now.

For instance, writing good setting description is something that doesn’t come naturally to me. At one point, to try and find some guidance on how to do this better, I picked up Joe Abercrombie’s Best Served Cold and began rereading the first chapter. (If my memory is correct, it was this experiment that led to the rule that I’m not allowed to read Joe Abercrombie when I’m writing, because I admire his writing so much it makes me want to give up.) Anyhow, the point is he describes his heroine’s ride to a palace with her brother, interspersing their amusing dialogue with her observations like: “The eastern sky bled out from red to butchered pink.” Monza, being a mercenary, also notes several times the palace’s defensive placement, including: “She spurred round one more steep bend, and the outermost wall of the citadel thrust up ahead of them. A narrow bridge crossed a dizzy ravine to the gatehouse, water sparkling as it fell away beneath. At the far end an archway yawned, welcoming as a grave.” All of this description says as much about Monza as it does the setting. It’s also fantastic foreshadowing, and establishes the tone for the chapter and the book as a whole. All because Abercrombie absolutely owns the POV, how Monza thinks and what she sees.

But not every author manages as well. As I think more about my upcoming epistolary novel, I was interested in reading The Chilbury Ladies’ Choir for my book club. The book consists of journals and letters, and I was hoping to pick up some tips on how to manage the structure. And I suppose I did learn some things not to do. Throughout this story of English women on the WWII home front, I rarely felt as though the POVs rang true. For instance, in a 17 year-old girl’s letter to her best friend, the writer refers to her best friend’s mother as “Mrs. Quail.” Why on earth would the writer simply not have said, “your mother”? And everyone writes their letters and journals as though they are aware this is a novel, which requires heavy doses of what is implied to be exact dialogue. If, perhaps, one character had an affectation that she was writing her journal novelistically, that might have been a clever choice, but most people don’t write correspondence as though it is a Charlotte Bronte novel. And not to badger this poor book too viciously, since it has been much read and well reviewed, but I also have to mention the lack of understanding the character’s mind frame when writing. What 13 year-old girl writes an eloquent, detailed description of her entire day, which ends with her father literally taking a horsewhip to her back? The POVs just aren’t credible to me.

J and I have also been talking about how understanding your characters can make or break plot-heavy television. Now, it might seem as though characters are not the natural focal point of fast-paced, plot-driven TV, but we think a tight handle on character is what made The Vampire Diaries more successful than other shows that attempt to fly through plot at that extreme CW pace J has discussed before. So often I find myself watching plot-heavy shows and wishing the story would slow down and allow the characters to breathe. (The 100 and Versailles are two that come to mind.) And yet, I never find myself wishing The Vampire Diaries would go slower, even though that show manages to squeeze more plot into one season than many do in three. J is actually the one who put his finger on what separates TVD from so many other shows—the main characters are always making the plot happen and doing it in ways clearly recognizable for their character. Damon is always trying to fix some problem, most likely caused by his essential Damon-ness, and doing so in a very Damon-like way. It is never a case of sacrificing character development for plot, because all of that crazy plot is driven by the characters behaving in character. Which also means that not every story can be told at that extreme speed, because not all stories have characters who behave that way. Anyhow, something to think about.

~S

Can’t Write. Reading.

cactus reading

I nearly forgot you all this fine Sunday because I’ve been too busy reading. It’s one of those things that happens to me from time to time. I think because the free time I have that I used to spend reading is so often now taken up by writing, I go longer between my pleasure reads than I’d like sometimes.

Not that I’m not reading. I read two books a month at work for book clubs, and I’ve always got an audiobook going in the car, but this past week I’ve been setting time aside at home to crack open novels for the sheer pleasure of getting lost in a book. I finished Call Me By Your Name Monday night, and I can’t recommend it highly enough. It’s positively beautiful, and left me a sobbing mess, but in the best way. I also set aside some personal time to finish my audiobook, which was the final book in Richard K. Morgan’s A Land Fit for Heroes series. For folks who like grimdark, I highly recommend it. (But if you don’t want graphic violence and sex, skip this one. Well, if you don’t want graphic sex, you should probably skip CMBYN as well.) And now, um, continuing with a theme it seems, I’m reading and immensely enjoying The Captive Prince series (which is also sexually explicit).

Point is, I’m having far too much fun reading to write, even blogs. I’ll see you all soon, though. Assuming I can get my nose out of my book.

~S

Map Till You Nap

Keneburg Small

More fun than a barrel of monkeys.  Though I suppose most things are, really.

It’s been a very busy week. Seriously, you have no idea. But I’ve still had time to read, here and there. I’m working my way through Joe Abercrombie’s Best Served Cold, which is very good. I’m about 80% of the way through, and I just discovered that one of my favorite characters isn’t dead after all. Which wasn’t really much of a surprise—I had a feeling he might still be alive. It wasn’t hard to guess, really. When someone gets stabbed, and his friends leave him, assuming he must be dead, that’s almost like when they say, “No body was ever found,” on a soap opera. But anyway, I’m enjoying the book.

I also listened to The Book of Three on audiobook. That’s the first book in Lloyd Alexander’s Chronicles of Prydain, of course. I should probably have read all those books when I was a kid, but I never did. In fact, I’m not even sure I knew they existed, which is a shame. If you read through the reviews on the Goodreads page, you’ll see a number of people grousing about how it’s full of fantasy clichés, or about how it’s a “blatant” Tolkien rip-off. Which I think is a bit unfair. Clearly Alexander is just drawing from the same sort of mythological sources that Tolkien used.

Also, Tolkien, no matter how awesome he may be, never had a female character like Princess Eilonwy. I like her a great deal, and I am quite serious when I say that she pretty much singlehandedly lifts the story from being run-of-the-mill YA fantasy. One reviewer on Goodreads, several pages in, calls her “an irritating twit,” only with a different vowel, and I suppose it says something about the sort of characters I like that my first thought was, “So, what’s your point?”

But it’s not just reading that’s been keeping me busy. This is our last full week of Camp NaNoWriMo, and we’re still in the middle of planning our next big novel. We have the whole thing outlined, and each chapter has been broken down into 400-700 word chunks. That takes a good deal longer than you might expect. When I do this by myself, I wouldn’t try to fully outline more than five or six chapters in a single day. It really just makes your brain melt. And that’s because, as I like to tell people, the outline is really the first draft of the story. It’s just the one where you don’t have to worry at all about how you phrase things. You just think about the plot and the character arcs. And it’s easier to see where things are missing (“Hey, this guy is supposed to be a main character, but he’s disappeared for ten chapters now”).

Now that we’re done outlining, you might imagine that it’s time to get started writing. Or rather, you might imagine that if you’d never met us. No, it’s not time to write—it’s time to make maps!

Last night, we started making a map for Leornian, one of the main cities of our Myrciaverse, and the ancient capital of Myrcia. It’s a city our characters have visited many, many times in many, many books, and yet we’ve never gotten around to finishing a map of it. I mean, we started a map, eight or nine years ago, but looking at it now in the sketchbook, it seems that we got about a quarter of the way through and then stopped for some reason. Maybe we went to take a nap or something.

Anyway, we’re finishing it now. Or rather, we’re starting from scratch, using that good old standby of fantasy mapmakers: blatant theft. We’re taking a map of Florence, turning it around, and moving things around in GIMP to match the image of the city in our heads. As I’ve noted before, this is a much faster way of doing things, and in some ways, much better. Adapting real maps of real places helps to keep your maps grounded in reality. You have some assurance that the city you’re planning is possible, because you know for certain that a city like it exists.

Using a real map as a starting point also helps to keep things more or less to scale. We have a cathedral in our universe that’s over 900 feet long—far, far larger than any real cathedral—and that mainly happened because we forgot to check the scale when we drew it. Since then, we’ve rationalized and lampshaded so that a 900 foot cathedral makes sense (wizards built it, I imagine), but yeah, if we could do it over again, it would probably be smaller than that.

Of course, if you need to change the scale, you always can. But very carefully. This weekend I finished the map for a different one of our cities, which will be a major location for the book, as well. That’s the map at the top there. It’s based on Carcassonne, France, though I changed the scale a bit, making it quite a bit bigger than Carcassonne.

Once we’re done with the maps, I suppose it will finally be time to start writing. Assuming we don’t find something else to do. Some people might think this is all a waste of time, but it’s not. If we’d taken the time to finish that stupid Leornian map seven or eight years ago, we wouldn’t be doing it now. And if we take the time to finish it now, we’ll be thanking ourselves seven or eight years from now, when we need it again.

J

The Persuasion Project: Abrupt End

burn

From giphy.com

So, I got sidetracked with other writing projects and never continued with my Persuasion Live Read. Well, I just finished reading the novel for my book club at work, so here’s the live read for chapters 9-24. Not terribly live, especially since I was often reading at work, so let me just dump my feelings. Perhaps if I try a live read again in the future I’ll figure out a way to make it more regular and spontaneous.

That Passage I Love

I’ve mentioned before here on the blog a passage I particularly love in Chapter 9 where Captain Wentworth rescues Anne from her naughty nephew. I have tried to figure out just what it is I love so much about this passage, but my guesses have never felt completely accurate. It turns out I’m a very lucky woman, and I’ve made some wonderful friends on Twitter since I wrote that blog. One of these friends, Erin, is an English prof and all-around Austen smartypants, and she brought up an amazing point about the shift in the narrative voice in the passage. Here’s the passage as a reminder:

There being nothing to eat, he could only have some play; and as his aunt would not let him tease his sick brother, he began to fasten himself upon her, as she knelt, in such a way that, busy as she was about Charles, she could not shake him off. She spoke to him, ordered, entreated, and insisted in vain. Once she did contrive to push him away, but the boy had the greater pleasure in getting upon her back again directly.

“Walter,” said she, “get down this moment. You are extremely troublesome. I am very angry with you.”

“Walter,” cried Charles Hayter, “why do you not do as you are bid? Do not you hear your aunt speak? Come to me, Walter, come to cousin Charles.”

But not a bit did Walter stir.

In another moment, however, she found herself in the state of being released from him; some one was taking him from her, though he had bent down her head so much, that his little sturdy hands were unfastened from around her neck, and he was resolutely borne away, before she knew that Captain Wentworth had done it.

Erin focused on the bolded: “she found herself in the state of being released.” Here Austen shifts from an account of what is happening to Anne to Anne’s own disoriented thoughts. It gets the reader so much closer to Anne, which Erin explained to me quite vividly: “think about how different ‘she found herself in the state of being released’ is from ‘suddenly the boy was lifted off her shoulders’ or ‘Wentworth appeared and took the boy off her back,’ etc. All describing the same action, but Austen’s really puts you in Anne’s body in a way the others don’t.”

The Rest of the Kellynch Stuff

Chapters 10-14 cover the rest of Anne’s time in the neighborhood she has lived in all her life. The most moving part to my mind is in Chapter 10 when all the young people take a long walk in the direction of Charles Hayter’s, the cousin Henrietta eventually marries. Anne overhears Captain Wentworth talking to Louisa Musgrove, the possible object of his affections, about the kind of woman he is looking for—one who thinks for herself and is strongly resolute. If your heart doesn’t break for Anne in that moment, I suspect your heart is, in fact, a potato.

Off to Bath

Overall, I’m not sure that I don’t prefer the first half to the second. The cast in the Kellynch area is more engaging, as I think becomes clear at the relief felt when the Musgroves arrive in Bath in Chapter 22. Yes, I enjoyed the discomfort and tension and longing between Anne and Captain Wentworth at the concert. And Mrs. Smith’s revelations about Mr. Elliot, the heir of Kellynch, are as interesting here as the revelations about the cad often are in Austen. Yet, I would still exchange it all for more time with the slightly less socially polished but more interesting cast of the first half. Well, I wouldn’t exchange all of it.

The Letter

Is there anything left in the world to say about Captain Wentworth’s letter to Anne? Seriously, if you don’t meep and sigh as you read it, you probably don’t even have a potato where your heart should be.

Burn!

What stands out most about Persuasion compared to other Austen is just how vicious the narrator can be. Granted, Austen’s narrative voice can always be sly—look how she views Lady Catherine or Mrs. Elton. But the narrator of Persuasion has a brutal honesty even about characters who on balance the reader should ultimately like more than dislike. The finest example is surely where the discussion turns to Richard Musgrove, brother of Charles, Henrietta, and Louisa. When he was young, Richard joined the navy, and at one point sailed on a ship commanded by Captain Wentworth.

The real circumstances of this pathetic piece of family history were, that the Musgroves had had the ill fortune of a very troublesome, hopeless son; and the good fortune to lose him before he reached his twentieth year; that he had been sent to sea because he was stupid and unmanageable on shore; that he had been very little cared for at any time by his family, though quite as much as he deserved; seldom heard of, and scarcely at all regretted, when the intelligence of his death abroad had worked its way to Uppercross, two years before.

He had, in fact, though his sisters were now doing all they could for him, by calling him “poor Richard,” been nothing better than a thick-headed, unfeeling, unprofitable Dick Musgrove, who had never done anything to entitle himself to more than the abbreviation of his name, living or dead.

If Austen was ever meaner, I missed it.

Final Thoughts

So, all in all, I love Persuasion. It’s an incredibly delicate work, written with a surprising edge, and featuring an incredibly sympathetic heroine and attractive hero. And yet, I never reach the end without thinking, “Gosh. It’s over already?” One wonders if Austen had plans to flesh out the characters and story more in places, or if this was essentially her intention. Whatever the case, while I love it, I can’t love it as I do Pride and Prejudice or Emma. Will I read it again someday? Most likely. Will I be happy to do so? Absolutely.

~S

The Persuasion Project: Chapters 7 and 8

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CE Brock illustration from mollands.net.

Welcome back to my live read of Persuasion. We’ve hit Chapter 7, and things are about to get kicked into high gear. How do we know? Look at this opening sentence!

A very few days more, and Captain Wentworth was known to be at Kellynch, and Mr Musgrove had called on him, and come back warm in his praise, and he was engaged with the Crofts to dine at Uppercross, by the end of another week.

Sigh!

Of course, their first meeting cannot smoothly come to pass, because what fun would that be? Anne is about to meet him at her sister’s in-laws’ until her oldest nephew is brought back to the house injured. Then the next night, everyone is going to dine at Uppercross with Captain Wentworth, Anne, naturally, being left behind to tend the recovering child. After all, why should Mary stay with her own child? As she says to Anne: “You, who have not a mother’s feelings, are a great deal the properest person.” Truly Mary is the worst, and cracks me up. But far more importantly—will Anne and Captain Wentworth ever meet?!

Well, yes, they will, the next morning when Captain Wentworth comes to shoot with Anne’s brother-in-law, Charles. What’s great about this is how brief and simple, and seemingly unexceptional the meeting is. It’s really only something Austen could pull off.

In two minutes after Charles’s preparation, the others appeared; they were in the drawing-room. Her eye half met Captain Wentworth’s, a bow, a curtsey passed; she heard his voice; he talked to Mary, said all that was right, said something to the Miss Musgroves, enough to mark an easy footing; the room seemed full, full of persons and voices, but a few minutes ended it. Charles shewed himself at the window, all was ready, their visitor had bowed and was gone.

And that’s all. We’ve waited six and a half chapters, and that is their reunion. Anne, unsurprisingly, is a bit flustered the rest of the morning, but there were no grand exchanges, no one fainted, it was all simply done and described in a beautifully understated manner. Frankly, this is another of those moments I adore in Austen. She doesn’t focus on the drama of the meeting, but Anne’s reaction to it, because it’s her internal life we actually care about.

The chapter then comes to an end with the narrator switching to Captain Wentworth’s thoughts on marriage. He is ready to marry any nice lady he meets, with the exception of Anne Elliot. He, in fact, does have a few criteria, all of which he has designed in reaction against Anne. But this cannot be the end of their story, can it?

Of course not.

Chapter 8 begins with the information that Anne and Captain Wentworth were constantly in the same circle after this time. And that is followed by many charming anecdotes about how everyone would ask him questions about the navy, which I find lovely, but I’m a dork for all things British navy in this era. The chapter, which covers a typical evening of supper and conversation, ends with dancing, Anne stationed at the piano, Captain Wentworth clearly unimpressed when he is told she never dances anymore. When he is later cold to her, she deems it by far the hardest moment of their reacquaintance.

And that’s those two chapters. Next up is arguably one of my favorite moments in all of literature. I think that should get me back to this reread in short order.

~S

Teasing the Inevitable

victoria-and-albert

Gosh, I hope it works out for these two crazy kids.

Tonight is the Oscars.  S and I are going to an Oscar party, though that’s mainly just for the fun of going to a party.  As far as the nominees are concerned, as my dad always likes to say, you can’t begin to plumb the depths of my indifference.  I was just looking at the official site, and in pretty much every category, it’s just movie after movie that I’ve never seen.  We got A Man Called Ove from the library.  And we watched about the first half-hour or so of Captain Fantastic.  And I saw Zootopia on Netflix.  But other than that, I’ve seen nothing.

The truth is that S and I spend a lot more time reading and watching TV anymore than we do watching movies.  Especially movies in the theater.  It’s been a very long time since we’ve gone out for a movie, in fact.  But that’s okay, because there’s so much good TV and so many good books.

Speaking of which, we just got the DVDs of Victoria with Jenna Coleman from the library, and we stayed up a bit later than we should have last night watching the first five episodes.  That took us from Victoria’s accession to her marriage to Albert.  It’s very good, and I wouldn’t be surprised if we finish it today.

At the same time, we’re reading Ethan Frome for S’s classic lit book club.  I’ve read it before, years ago, but S hasn’t.  Thanks to a technical glitch in the Google Books version that she’s been reading, she ended up accidentally skipping the introduction.  (For those of you who have read the book, that’s the frame story, where the narrator meets Ethan Frome and ends up having to stay at his house in a snowstorm.)  So we dug out her tablet and I read it to her while she drove.  And of course it changes the story quite a bit when you start out knowing, even from Ethan’s first appearance in the book, that something awful is going to happen to him.  The question becomes, “How did this happen?”

That’s the same issue faced with historical fiction, like Victoria.  No one with even the slightest knowledge of history has any doubt how things are going to work out between Victoria and Albert.  The facts are well known, and there’s not really any way to create suspense there.

The trick, in both cases, seems to be a focus on the characters.  Both Edith Wharton and the writers of Victoria seem to be concentrating not on trying to create false suspense where suspense is impossible, but rather giving us marvelous and telling little bits of character development.  In other words, rather than focusing on the outcome (What will happen to Ethan Frome?  Who will Victoria marry?), we focus on the internal qualities of the characters—the flaws and strengths that will lead them to this outcome that we already know.

Here, for example, is the third paragraph of the main narrative of Ethan Frome:

The night was perfectly still, and the air so dry and pure that it gave little sensation of cold. The effect produced on Frome was rather of a complete absence of atmosphere, as though nothing less tenuous than ether intervened between the white earth under his feet and the metallic dome overhead. “It’s like being in an exhausted receiver,” he thought. Four or five years earlier he had taken a year’s course at a technological college at Worcester, and dabbled in the laboratory with a friendly professor of physics; and the images supplied by that experience still cropped up, at unexpected moments, through the totally different associations of thought in which he had since been living. His father’s death, and the misfortunes following it, had put a premature end to Ethan’s studies; but though they had not gone far enough to be of much practical use they had fed his fancy and made him aware of huge cloudy meanings behind the daily face of things.

Even before we know why this much younger, healthier Ethan has walked into Starkfield, we know something vitally important about him—he’s a frustrated scholar unhappy with his lot in life.  Similarly, there’s a fantastic scene in episode 5 of Victoria, where Albert’s libertine older brother, Ernest, takes him to a brothel to “educate” him before his marriage.  Albert goes off with one of the prostitutes, but rather than sleep with her, he just talks to her and takes notes on what he should do on his wedding night.  It really explains a lot about the character, and about the kind of relationship we (as viewers who know our history) know we’ll be seeing later on between the queen and her beloved prince consort.

As a writer, I suppose the lesson here is to remember that “how” and “why” are sometimes more important than “what” happened.  If you create interest in your characters, you can make the reader want to keep reading, even when there’s no suspense as to how things are going to end up.

J

The Persuasion Project: Chapter 6

persuasion-ch-6

CE Brock illustration from mollands.net

 

It’s Persuasion Live Read time again! Chapter 6 opens with a nice bit of character building for Anne, but without a ton of plot happening during her stay with her sister, Mary Musgrove, at Uppercross Coattage. And even though things pick up a bit later on, I think I’m just going to pull some quotes that struck me. It’s as “live” as I can make my read. (Crazy thought—Read aloud with asides. Post audio.) Anyhow, here’s my favorite example of what Austen is doing in this chapter with Anne.

She played a great deal better than either of the Miss Musgroves, but having no voice, no knowledge of the harp, and no fond parents, to sit by and fancy themselves delighted, her performance was little thought of, only out of civility, or to refresh the others, as she was well aware. She knew that when she played she was giving pleasure only to herself; but this was no new sensation.

Just in case you were questioning whether or not Anne Eliot is a better person than you. Truly, she is always willing to be underappreciated, put everyone’s complaints and desires above her own. Is there any heroine who is so content to be unassuming without also coming across as spineless and unsympathetic? (I’m looking at you, Fanny Price. I’m looking at you.)

But then in the second half of the chapter, the Crofts arrive to take up residence at Kellynch. I immediately love Mrs. Croft when she comes to visit Anne and Mary at Uppercross Cottage.

Her manners were open, easy, and decided, like one who had no distrust of herself, and no doubts of what to do; without any approach to coarseness, however, or any want of good humour.

She’s entirely my kind of woman, and frankly, after all of the shallow, fake, and conniving people in Anne’s life, exactly the friend our heroine deserves. However, Mrs. Croft then nearly gives Anne a heart attack.

“It was you, and not your sister, I find, that my brother had the pleasure of being acquainted with, when he was in this country.”

Anne hoped she had outlived the age of blushing; but the age of emotion she certainly had not.

“Perhaps you may not have heard that he is married?” added Mrs Croft.

Of course, this turns out to be Captain Wentworth’s brother who used to live in their neighborhood, and the man the Captain was visiting when he and Anne fell in love. It could be a cheap ploy, but it works, and my heart is in my mouth along with Anne’s.

Another thing I love about Austen especially in this novel—her practical, honest narrative voice. Here’s how she describes the loss of the youngest of the Musgrove sons, Richard.

The real circumstances of this pathetic piece of family history were, that the Musgroves had had the ill fortune of a very troublesome, hopeless son; and the good fortune to lose him before he reached his twentieth year; that he had been sent to sea because he was stupid and unmanageable on shore; that he had been very little cared for at any time by his family, though quite as much as he deserved; seldom heard of, and scarcely at all regretted, when the intelligence of his death abroad had worked its way to Uppercross, two years before.

So blunt and honest in a way you don’t expect the well-mannered to be, and no one (seemingly) has better manners than Jane Austen. J and I were just discussing why Pride and Prejudice has received far and away the best adaptation (the BBC mini), and he proposed it’s because Austen’s narrative voice is so significant to the enjoyment of her novels, and that the narrative voice in P&P is so close to Elizabeth Bennet’s voice you can have her believably deliver the famous opening line about a man of large fortune and other tidbits from the narration. It feels so natural and the best of Austen remains. What more can you want? The narrative voice of Persuasion is so wonderfully blunt and subtle all at once, without the restrictions Anne feels since she is such a decent, unassuming woman. (Crazy idea—work out this theory some more and write about it in detail.)

And that’s all for now, but I’m so excited because Captain Wentworth is coming!!!!!

~S

 

The Long Count

sesame-street-count

1,243, count them, 1,243 pages!  Mwahaha!

It’s Sunday again, and we almost forgot to blog. S has been working on a rather important project for work that we won’t discuss here. I’ve been working a little on some reference works for the Myrciaverse. Also, we made a pot roast for supper, and it was delicious.

Over the weekend we finished The Count of Monte Cristo for S’s book club. It’s the second time I’ve read it, and it’s easy to forget just how incredibly long it is. How long is it? Well, it’s so long that the book club is doing War and Peace this summer, and thanks to The Count of Monte Cristo, War and Peace will only be the second-longest book we’re reading this year. That’s how long it is. S may post her thoughts on it sometime, but here’s my super-quick review.

It’s very good, and if you’ve got a few months free, I would highly recommend it. However, we had a few issues with it. For one thing, Dumas really drags the story out. There are long books that feel shorter than they are, like War and Peace. And for the most part, The Count of Monte Cristo is one of those. It reads pretty quickly. But there are times, like the chapters where Luigi Vampa, the Roman bandit, is introduced, that take up far, far more space than they really need to.

Then there are problems with the story itself. The count’s relationship with Haydée, his Greek slave girl, seems awfully forced. The count ends up with her because reasons, basically. One gets the sense that Dumas planned it that way, and forgot to show their relationship developing believably over the course of the story. As I remarked to S right after we reached the end, Haydée is the Ginny Weasley of the book.

As for the count himself, the fact that he decides that revenge is bad at the end comes out of pretty much nowhere. And the way he treats Maximilien Morrel at the end—refusing to come right out and say that Maximilien’s sweetheart, Valentine de Villefort, is still alive—is just cruel. When Maximilien and Valentine are reunited, they both act absurdly grateful to the count, when any normal person in their place would smack the guy in the face.

But even so, it was a good book. Good enough to read twice, in fact.

J

The Persuasion Project: Chapters 4 and 5

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CE Brock illustration from mollands.net.

The Persuasion Live Read finally continues! When last we saw Anne and her family in Chapter 3, the Elliots were retrenching, letting their home to people connected to the mysterious Captain Wentworth from Anne’s past. What could possibly happen next?! Well, let us read.

Chapter 4
He was, at that time, a remarkably fine young man, with a great deal of intelligence, spirit, and brilliancy; and Anne an extremely pretty girl, with gentleness, modesty, taste, and feeling. Half the sum of attraction, on either side, might have been enough, for he had nothing to do, and she had hardly anybody to love; but the encounter of such lavish recommendations could not fail. They were gradually acquainted, and when acquainted, rapidly and deeply in love. It would be difficult to say which had seen highest perfection in the other, or which had been the happiest: she, in receiving his declarations and proposals, or he in having them accepted.

How lovely is that? Granted, the reader is immediately inclined to swoon over these two given how our sympathetic heroine feels about him, but Austen in just a few sentences wonderfully describes the blossoming of true love. Bless her. This, of course, makes it even more painful as the reader learns how Lady Russell, not entirely in the wrong, convinced Anne to break her engagement to the unpromising Captain Wentworth.

But we soon learn that Captain Wentworth was actually as promising as he claimed he would be—rising in rank in the navy and making his fortune. Anne, I think showing a wonderful maturity and realism, doesn’t blame Lady Russell or herself for acting as she did when she broke her engagement to him, and yet, she would not advise a young woman in the same position to act in the same manner. It’s a fantastic, Austen-y realization, followed by that equally lovely self-delusion Austen excels at, as Anne thinks she will be able to meet Captain Wentworth’s sister and brother-in-law when they take the house with no awkwardness. Poor girl.

Chapter 5
So, Admiral Cross (that is Captain Wentworth’s brother-in-law) comes to terms with Sir Walter to move into Kellynch Hall. Sir Walter, Elizabeth, and Anne are all to move to Bath within the month, but Anne’s other sister, Mary, is ill and wants Anne to stay with her and her family just a few miles from Kellynch Hall. I think this exchange sums up how Anne is truly the only decent member of the family:

“I cannot possibly do without Anne,” was Mary’s reasoning; and Elizabeth’s reply was, “Then I am sure Anne had better stay, for nobody will want her in Bath.”

So, Sir Walter, Elizabeth, and Elizabeth’s companion, Mrs. Clay, depart. Anne stays with Lady Russell for a time before venturing to Uppercross Cottage to stay with Mary, one of Austen’s great “invalids.” In addition to Mary, the reader is introduced to her in-laws, the Musgroves, the table being set incrementally for the story about to unfold in earnest.

Hopefully I’ll be more regular in my live read, especially when I finish up The Count of Monte Cristo. In the meantime, think of Rupert Penry Jones.

persrupertpenryjones_pbs

Original from PBS.

~S