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Monthly Archives: June 2013

Lady Dearing's Masquerade by Elena GreeneNow that I’m finally close to having a version of the balloonist story (title coming soon, I promise!) to send to my critique partners, I’m looking into yet another project. I’m considering doing an audio book version of Lady Dearing’s Masquerade.

I have a good friend who swears by audio books, since she spends a lot of time on the road. On the other hand, I have never listened to one. I’ve just never had the need. But the popularity of audio books is growing, so I’m working on getting educated.

I’ve listened to a number of samples from romance audio books, just to get an idea of how narration works. Since there’s usually just a single narrator, he or she has to do the dialogue for all the characters: hero, heroine, and everyone else, developing distinct voices for each. It seems quite the challenge.

Some authors choose to narrate their own books, but I know I’m not up to it! I can’t even do a British accent, which is one thing I know I want.

Another choice is whether it’s best in romance to have a female or male narrator.

This issue was discussed pretty thoroughly at the All About Romance blog post Speaking of Audio: Male versus Female Narrators. The question was, if one had to choose, would one “prefer to listen to an effeminate sounding hero or a drag queen heroine”?

As it turns out, with a good narrator, one can avoid either extreme.

Though I’m sure these actor/narrators are out of my reach, here are two examples I really liked:

The first is a sample from Flowers from the Storm by Laura Kinsale, narrated by Nicholas Boulton. Please listen. You will enjoy it!

As an example of a talented female narrator, here’s a sample from Lady Sophia’s Lover by Lisa Kleypas, narrated by Susan Duerden.

Do you listen to audio books? For romance, do you prefer a male or female narrator? Or does it really depend more on how the narrator handles each character?

Elena
www.elenagreene.com
www.facebook.com/ElenaGreene

IMG_1087-2I am having such a busy month! This past weekend we moved my daughter to Richmond, a feat that took up lots of time and energy in the last week. We also saw the Richmond relatives for Father’s Day and my nephew had this for his iPad–it’s a cover that looks like a vintage book.

In search of something to talk about today, I went to Chambers Book of Days for today and found this entry– (it all seemed to fit….)

THE ROXBURGHE CLUB

This fraternity—the parent of the whole tribe of book-printing clubs which have occupied so broad a space in the literary system of our age—was formed on the 17thof June 1812. The plant shot forth from a hot-bed of bibliomania, which had been created by the sale of the Duke of Roxburghe’s library. On that occasion Earl Spencer, the youthful Duke of Devonshire, the Marquis of Blandford, and a whole host of minor men, lovers of old and rare books, were brought together in a state of high excitement, to contend with each other for the rarities exposed under the hammer of Mr. Evans, in the Duke of Roxburghe’s mansion in St. James’s Square. On the 16th of June, a number of them had chanced to dine together in the house of Mr. Bolland (afterwards Justice Bolland), on Adelphi Terrace. They had to look forward to the exposure on the ensuing day of a most rare and remarkable volume, a folio edition of Boccaccio, printed by Valdarfer of Venice in 1471. They agreed to meet again at dinner on the ensuing evening, at the St. Alban’s tavern, in order to talk over the fight which would by that time have taken place over the body of Valdarfer; and they did so.

800px-Oldbooks-02Earl Spencer, the unsuccessful candidate for the volume (which had sold at £2260), occupied the chair; Dr. Dibdin acted as croupier. There were sixteen other gentlemen present, all of them possessors of choice libraries, and all keen appreciators of scarce and curious books. The lively Dibdin tells us that they drank toasts which. were as hieroglyphical characters to the public, but’ all understood and cordially greeted by those who gave and those who received them.’ We may presume that the immortal memory of William Caxton was one of the most prominent; that sundry illustrious booksellers, and even notable binders (bibliopegists they called them), were not forgotten. The club was constituted by the persons there assembled; but by the time they had had two annual assemblages, the number was swelled to thirty-one, at which it was fixed.

It was by an after thought that the club commenced its system of printing and reprinting, each member fixing upon some precious article, of which only as many copies were thrown off as afforded one to each, presented gratuitously. By this happy plan the friendly spirit of the brethren was of course promoted, at the same time that some valuable examples of ancient literature were rescued from oblivion. In the Scottish imitative societies—the Bannatyne Club, Maitland Club, &c.—the same plan was adopted; while in others of later institution the reprints have been effected by an equal annual subscription.

The Roxburghe Club still exists today and has produced a remarkable number of books over the years.

If you could have any antique book what would it be? Or do you own an antique book? (I own an 1815 edition of La Belle Assemblee!)

Following Diane’s report on Threads of Feeling earlier this week I’m recycling a blog post from a couple years ago to share news of an exhibit on Betsy Bonaparte at the Maryland Historical Society in Baltimore, MD: Woman of Two Worlds: Elizabeth Patterson Bonaparte and her Quest for an Imperial Legacy.

I began with a shout out to blogger Madeleine Conway at That Reading/Writing Thing who had some very nice things to say about my Regency chicklit A Most Lamentable Comedy, including this statement:

… her cast of secondary characters, however improbable, also have that unmistakeable air of coming from some research that amply demonstrates that old cliché about truth, fiction and strangeness.

Quite often here at the Riskies I like to explore the oddities of history that I’ve discovered and I was inspired to dig into the scattered and messy files of my memory to write about Betsy Bonaparte (1785-1879), Baltimore girl who made good–for a time. She was a rich merchant’s daughter who married Bonaparte’s younger brother Jerome Bonaparte in 1803. (Applause and cries of “Didn’t she do well!”)

Big brother, who had his eyes on further conquest of Europe through his siblings’ significant marriages, was not amused and ordered Jerome back to France–without his blushing bride. Poor Betsy, pregnant and alone, took refuge in London where she gave birth to their son Jerome Napoleon Bonaparte aka Bo. Big cheese Napoleon, not particularly bothered by such trifling matters as bigamy, married his troublesome younger brother off to a German princess, Catherina of Wurtemburg.

Betsy and baby Bo returned to Baltimore where she was notorious for her European connections and her fashion, which was a bit much by federal American standards. Rosalie Calvert, mistress of Riversdale House, Maryland, met Betsy Bonaparte in 1804 at a party hosted by Robert Smith, Jefferson’s secretary of the navy, and commented that she

…was wearing a dress so transparent that you could see the color and shape of her thighs and more! Several ladies made a point of leaving the room and one informed the belle that if she did not change her manner of dressing, she would never be asked anywhere again.

Another guest gave a similar account:

She [Madame Bonaparte] has made a great noise here, and mobs of boys have crowded round her splendid equipage to see what I hope will not often be seen in this country, an almost naked woman. An elegant and select party was given to her by Mrs. Robt. Smith; her appearance was such that it threw all the company into confusion and no one dared to look at her but by stealth.

Betsy was finally granted a pension by Napoleon, but never the title she wanted so much, and in 1815 a divorce by the state of Maryland. She set her hopes on Bo making a grand European marriage. Bo was not interested, becoming a lawyer and marrying a local heiress. Mama was not pleased.

It was impossible to bend my talents and my ambition to the obscure destiny of a Baltimore housekeeper, and it was absurd to attempt it after I had married the brother of an emperor. . . . When I first heard that my son could condescend to marry anyone in Baltimore, I nearly went mad. . . . I repeat, that I would have starved, died, rather than have married in Baltimore. . . .

In 1855, when the Bonapartes were again in power in France, Bo was offered the title of Duke of Sartene. He turned it down. Ironically, her widowed sister in law Marianne Patterson married Richard Wellesley, the older brother of the Duke of Wellington. Poor Betsy, surrounded by family members either turning down or effortlessly achieving the greatness she craved!

Betsy, uncharmed by Charm City, disillusioned and alone (she never remarried), spent the rest of her life amassing money and at the time of her death, having outlived Bo by nine years, had an estate worth $1, 500,000. She’s buried in Greenmount Cemetery, Baltimore. Her life inspired a play, Glorious Betsy, by Rida Johnson Young, which was made into a movie in 1928 and again as Hearts Divided (1936).

What are your favorite examples of truth being stranger than fiction?

Posted in Research | 1 Reply

9780955180859Janet first told us about the Threads of Feeling exhibit on display at the Foundling Museum in London in 2011, and a year later, that it was coming to Colonial Williamsburg. I was so excited I marked my calendar. The chances were great that I’d get to see the exhibit–my in-laws live in Williamsburg.

This weekend was my chance. We visited the in-laws and I made it a priority to go to the DeWitt Museum where the exhibit will continue until May 27, 2014.

In 1739 philanthropist Thomas Coram received a royal charter from George II to create a foundling hospital for “the maintenance and education of exposed and deserted young children.” It was intended to address the problem of babies being abandoned in the streets or killed because their mothers could not care for them.

Foundling_HospitalAt the Foundling Hospital (more like we would consider an orphanage), mothers were asked to provide a token to be kept with the baby’s registration as a way to help match baby to mother, if the mother came to reclaim her child. The tokens left were overwhelmingly swatches of textiles. The exhibit displays book after ledger book, each opened to a page showing a baby’s registration and the token left by the mother.

Babies that were left there were only a few days old to two months or so. Initially the hospital only accepted babies under six months of age. Later the age was raised to twelve months. Some of the babies had been named, but all received new names given to them by the hospital. Not all were illegitimate; some married couples gave up their babies because their poverty was so extreme they could not care for them. Some mothers left notes.

It is evident from the tokens that the mothers thought very carefully about what token to leave. Swatches of printed fabrics were cut to show a butterfly or a bird or some other symbol of hope. Some left ribbons of all colors or designs. At that time, ribbons were considered love tokens.

Other tokens were created specifically for the purpose. Hearts were cut out of fabric. Names were cross-stitched. Some swatches were decorated with primitive attempts at embroidery. Others had beautiful crewel work.

One had the overwhelming sense that these babies were loved and that the mothers’ situations were so desperate that giving the baby away to the hospital was the best they could do for them. Their baby would be fed, clothed, educated and apprenticed.

Even though the Foundling Hospital was a popular charity (which continues to this day as Coram), supported by wealthy patrons such as the Duke of Bedford, Hogarth and Handel, it could not afford to care for every baby brought to its doors. From 1749 to 1756, 2,808 babies were brought to the hospital, but only 803 were accepted.

The hospital used a lottery system to decide which baby got in. The mother reached into a bag of balls. If she picked out a white one, her baby could stay. If she picked out a black one, she and her baby were turned away.

This heart breaking policy changed in 1756 when the Foundling Hospital became funded by Parliament and all children up to 12 months old were accepted. The numbers of admissions rose from 200 a year to 4000 a year.

Of those babies accepted, two thirds would die. This horrifying death rate was only a bit higher than the norm of fifty per cent. If a child survived past one year old, chances were great that the child would survive until grown.

The tokens left by the mothers revealed, not only their love for their child, but also the best record available as to what ordinary people wore. Clothing of ordinary people was rarely preserved. Before discovering the tokens, it was assumed that the clothing of the poor was drab. The tokens show that the poor wore colorful clothing, printed fabric, and decorative ribbons.

Most of the fabrics were cotton; most were prints. It was surmised that the demand for cotton, for the masses is what drove the fabric industry to mass produce cloth.

Out of 16,282 children admitted to the Foundling Hospital between 1741 and 1760, only 152 were reclaimed by their mothers.

August_Müller_Interieur_mit_Mutter_und_KindAs I went through the exhibit, reading every page shown, the spirits of the mothers seemed to reach out to me, showing me what an agonizing choice they were forced to make.

Can you imagine how it must have been? To nurse your baby for two months. To fashion some sort of token as the only communication of your love for the child. To finally make the decision to give up your baby because you loved it so much, then reach into a bag and pick out a black ball.

What did those mothers do then?

Here is a lecture about the Foundling Hospital.
Here is a podcast with John Styles, the man behind the exhibit and the museum book.

Try to visit Williamsburg to see these Threads of Feeling. It is worth it.

Posted in Research | 19 Replies

In my second book, Just Say Yes, the hero participates in a village festival in which all the able-bodied men move a large stone in the village center in order to bring the village continued good fortune.  This is something that actually took place annually in an English village.  I ran across this odd activity in a book of English festivals, but I’ll be darned if I can find it now to give you the reference.

I was reminded of this recently when the wonderful Loretta Chase mentioned Hone’s Every-Day Book on her Two Nerdy History Girls Blog.  This book describes itself as an “Everlasting Calendar of Popular Amusements, sports, pastimes, ceremonies, manners, customs, and events, incident to each of the three hundred and sixty five days in past and present times.”  In short, it’s the ideal place to look for an interesting tidbit to spice up your story.  The 1827 edition comes in two volumes of which I only have the first (but remain hopeful for obtaining the second half of the year).

Bartholomew Fair 1825

Bartholomew Fair 1825

It’s a delight to just page through the book and pick out an event.  For example, on September 5, there is a long description of a visit to Bartholomew Fair in Stowe (or Smithfield as they appear to be interchangeable in this account) in 1825.  The description encompassed many shows including the Largest Child in the Kingdom when young, the Handsomest Child in the World, The Persian Giant, The Fair Circassian with Silver Hair, The Female Dwarf, Two Feet Eleven Inches High, Two Wild Indians from the Malay Islands in the East… I could go on (and on).

You might learn that March 5 is St. Piran’s day (there are a lot of saints in this book, most described as “Romish”). St. Piran is, apparently, an Irish hermit who moved to Cornwall, had a grave made and then died in it.  His day is reported to be a favorite with tinners as tradition has it that some secrets regarding the manufacture of tin was given by St. Piran.

The Every-Day Book covers everything from the laying of the first stone of London Bridge to Bastille Day.  I can hardly wait to get my hands on volume 2.

More concise and focusing more on festivals, but less forthcoming about actual years in which they were celebrated is Yearbook of English Festivals.  This might be where I got the stone moving ceremony, but I can’t find it right now.  My copy of this one was published in 1954 and features some of the more esoteric festivals celebrated in England.

Modern-day well-dressing

Modern-day well-dressing

According to the Yearbook, well-dressing, or well-flowering, is observed in many English villages in the summer, particularly in Derbyshire and Staffordshire.  This event involves decorating wells or springs with flower petals, allegedly to give thanks for its purity.  No one seems really sure where it originated. I love it nonetheless.  And, it’s still going on today. Welldressing.com has an extensive calendar.

I heartily recommend these fascinating compendia of yearly events and festivals.  Not only are they great sources for settings and scenes, they’re a lot of fun just to browse.