Remembrance 2013

Sunlit Poppy by Brian Smithson

Sunlit Poppy by Brian Smithson

Anthem for Doomed Youth, Wilfred Owen

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
      Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
      Only the stuttering rifles’ rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells,
      Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,—
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
      And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?
      Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.
      The pallor of girls’ brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

Linkspam, 10/11/13 Edition

Stanley Kubrick’s Photos of New York Life in the 40s

Stanley Kubrick’s Photos of New York Life in the 40s
I’m sorry if this one gives people nightmares.

Folks in the DC area–I’ll be at Capclave this weekend so if anyone wants to meet up for a meal or whatever, let me know!

And hey, we still don’t have a federal government here in the US!

And finally: David Duchovny and a tea pot.

Once Upon A Tower, Eloisa James

Once Upon a Tower, Eloisa James

Once Upon a Tower, Eloisa James

I wasn’t sure how Eloisa James was going to pull off a Rapunzel story in Once Upon a Tower, since she doesn’t normally write books about women who get locked away by their parents; in this case, the heroine chooses to lock herself away (but not until near the end).

The night Lady Edith–Edie–makes her debut, she is feverish and more than a little bit out of it.  However, her spacy demeanor utterly enchants Gowan Stoughton, Duke of Kinross–so much so that he betroths himself to her the very next day. Gowan thinks he’s getting a demure and mild-mannered duchess and proceeds to lead town.

Edie is neither of these things. An accomplished cellist, her music is everything to her. While she doesn’t perform in public to protect her father’s sensibilities, she is incredibly talented and music is her passion.  Betrothed to a man she doesn’t even remember, she decides to get to know him a bit better and writes him a letter.  A really, really blunt letter.

Gowan , while a bit shocked that his bride-to-be has a brain and opinions, is also enchanted by her letter and writes her back.  And eventually heads back to Town to get to know her better in person.

There’s a lot to like about this book. The way James deftly deconstructs the stereotype of the brawny Scotsman is one of the things I loved the most. Gowan is repeatedly compared to a tree, his legs like trunks and his chest is impossibly broad and, of course, he wears a kilt:

Surrounded by these sleek and silly Englishmen with covered knees, his bare legs felt twice as strong for being free of the hindrance of breeches.

He was getting sick of deflecting lascivious glances from women who appreciated his kilt for all the wrong reasons–and appeared curious about what he wore under it.

Read enough historical romances and the passionate Scotsman trope gets pretty old pretty fast. James also takes aim at the “hot-blooded Italian” trope, too.

But the main trope she–ahem–punctures is the one about virgins having amazing sex right out of the gate. There is bad sex in this book. Lots and lots of bad sex. And painful excruciating sex where Edie wants nothing more than for Gowan to just finish already. And it’s all entirely believable.

Both Edie and Gowan are virgins (yes! virgin hero!) and Edie is advised by her stepmother to fake orgasms in order to keep Gowan happy and Gowan approaches the marriage bed as he does everything else in life: methodically and with a list that can’t be deviated from.

And there is, quite possibly, the best description of an erect penis ever in a romance novel:

He looked huge, like a giant pink mushroom stalk, which was accurate, though not a very romantic metaphor.

Dear Eloisa James: Thank you so much for that description. Just thank you.

Of course, the bad sex is a metaphor for their inability to communicate with each other and once they get over the Big Misunderstanding (which results in Edie shutting herself in a tower) and learn to actually talk to each other, they’re on track for their happily-ever-after.

However, there is one thing that bothered me about this book and I find it deeply ironic that it bothers me since historical inaccuracies tend to not bother me. And what bothers me is the ahistorical use of poetry. Specifically, the poetry of William Butler Yeats.  There are direct quotations from “He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven” and “Brown Penny” as well as a glancing allusion to “The Second Coming”.  Apparently this is my particular historical kryptonite–and I find it ironic because this series isn’t intended to be historical at all and is, in fact, explicitly set in a quasi-Regency Fairyland.

There are also references to John Donne which, while plausible, isn’t tremendously likely since at the assumed time of the book (1820-ish), Donne would have been relatively unknown and, if known, considered crude and unfashionable.  It wasn’t until the late 19th century that his poetry and prose started to become more fashionable. Although it doesn’t surprise me one bit that Edie’s stepmother, Layla, would have been able to lay hands on a copy of Donne’s early poetry which is just full of sexy-times. (Lest you think I am making this up: Elegy 20: To His Mistress Going to Bed.) But I also wonder if there were something more likely for her to be able to pass along to Gowan–engravings or something.

On the other hand, I thought the Romeo and Juliet bits were wonderful and I found Edie’s lack of knowledge of Shakespeare sadly plausible–between her focus on the cello and the kind of reading that would have been considered appropriate for a young lady–especially with a father as uptight as hers was. References to Shakespeare in this period always make me think of Mary and Charles Lamb’s Tales from Shakespeare, which simplified Shakespeare for children and which, I imagine, was many young ladies’ only exposure to the texts. (Fun random fact: Mary Lamb stabbed her mother to death in 1797.)

Overall, I think that Once Upon a Tower is a really fun read with more serious undercurrents for readers who are interested in that sort of thing.  There’s a lot of satire and gentle fun poked at lots of tropes, too, which I found enjoyable but which may not be to every reader’s taste.  I wasn’t sure if I was going to continue to read this series. I loved A Kiss at Midnight and When Beauty Tamed the Beast, loathed The Duke is Mine (due to a beyond offensive depiction of a character with a cognitive disability), and was pretty neutral about The Ugly Duchess. This wasn’t as great as the first two books, but was better than the third and fourth, at least for me.

Linkspam, 4/5/13 Edition

Arches, Quintuplet, and GC Star Clusters: Rough and Crowded Neighborhood at Galactic Center

Arches, Quintuplet, and GC Star Clusters: Rough and Crowded Neighborhood at Galactic Center

And because it is National Poetry Month (in the US), have a poem! By someone who is not American!

Punishment, Seamus Heaney

I can feel the tug
of the halter at the nape
of her neck, the wind
on her naked front.

It blows her nipples
to amber beads,
it shakes the frail rigging
of her ribs.

I can see her drowned
body in the bog,
the weighing stone,
the floating rods and boughs.

Under which at first
she was a barked sapling
that is dug up
oak-bone, brain-firkin:

her shaved head
like a stubble of black corn,
her blindfold a soiled bandage,
her noose a ring

to store
the memories of love.
Little adulteress,
before they punished you

you were flaxen-haired,
undernourished, and your
tar-black face was beautiful.
My poor scapegoat,

I almost love you
but would have cast, I know,
the stones of silence.
I am the artful voyeur

of your brain’s exposed
and darkened combs,
your muscles’ webbing
and all your numbered bones:

I who have stood dumb
when your betraying sisters,
cauled in tar,
wept by the railings,

who would connive
in civilized outrage
yet understand the exact
and tribal, intimate revenge.

I am endlessly fascinated by bog people: Tales from the Bog in which it is revealed that Windeby Girl (the body which was the inspiration for “Punishment”) was no girl and probably died of natural causes. SCIENCE.

Linkspam, 3/22/13 Edition

The Lace Spangles Sparkle and Tremble

The Lace Spangles Sparkle and Tremble
Plimouth Jacket, photo by Ed Nute