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Snow Days!

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My post today sort of goes along with Laurie’s. We had our own “snow days” here over the weekend–everything I was scheduled to do (RWA chapter meeting, friend’s dinner party, etc) was cancelled, my car was stuck in the garage (unless I wanted to dig it out, which I DIDN’T!), and I had two whole days of peace and quiet all for me. I could have done something useful, like mop the floor or finish reading my packet of RITA books, but of course I didn’t! I watched far more Food Network than is good for me (I’m pretty sure that Giadda woman does not eat the pasta she cooks, or she wouldn’t be so abominably skinny!), ate Choxie Hot Chocolate bars (another reason I will never be Giadda), and listened to some new CDs I had bought. It was wonderful.

I also settled in with my cats (like Laurie’s, they think a snow day means a “crowd onto the chair with Mom like two big lumps” day) and took on Cara’s “Read a Regency” challenge. I picked up Evelyn Richardson’s A LADY OF TALENT from my TBR pile. It was very enjoyable, a tale of an earl, his shallow (but funny!) Almack’s-loving fiancee, a female artist, and her dandy of a brother. I’m a sucker for art in books, and this heroine’s career details (she was a student of Angelica Kauffmann, paints portraits of Society ladies but really wants to do historical scenes, etc) were fascinating. She also fit neatly into the “bluestocking” profile of Megan’s quiz, always a plus for me. 🙂 Of course, not all runs smoothly, and the silly fiancee has to be got rid of somehow, but you’ll just have to read for yourself to see how!

It was a great weekend. If YOU had two whole snow days, how would you spend them?

Reflection and Remembrance

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The Merchant Sisters circa 1903

I’ve been having some crazy days lately. I’ve been in this deep reflection stage, pondering the meaning of my life (here is a great opening for Monty Python fans) and imagining that I have made progress.

Reflection is a unique ability of man. I sometimes think it is somewhat of a lost art. Perhaps I am wrong? I’d like to think so…but with the advent of so many “sit there and be done to” mediums, it seems that solitude is less often experienced these days, and solitude is a necessary prerequisite.

I am sitting in front of a computer screen right now, even though at the moment I am talking to myself. But in seconds I could be anywhere in the electronic world, shopping, checking the weather in Burma, perusing my email, looking for a chat room (although I am not a chatter, I could look for a chat room). It is incredibly easy to do these things.

If I want to stand up and go to where I last left my remote control, supposing I can find it (if not, I will experience some unpredicted exercise) I can flick on the boob tube. There are even more boobs on it these days (of any sort you want to consider), and if soaps aren’t your cuppa there are all of those “reality” shows–most of which don’t seem the least bit real to me, but nonetheless. Of course, if one does not want these, or the news, there are movies–some exceptionally good–and “how-to” programs, a favorite of mine, because I can imagine doing something I don’t, can’t, or won’t.

The radio is fairly innocuous these days. I usually tune into my local public radio that serves up NPR and PRI and the like. They actually do foster some thought on my part, rather like reading a good book–but it didn’t used to be there. No, just a few short generations ago, one had to occupy oneself with engaging directly with another person, by viewing a live presentation, or by reading or writing or involving oneself with one’s hobby.

My grandmothers sewed, read, played cards, wrote letters or poetry, took walks or buggy rides. They took walks, took the train, or went boating with their sweethearts/husbands. They made picnic lunches and made them exquisitely–they packed lemonade, cake and homemade pickles, homemade bread and jam, sliced meats, chicken legs, cloth napkins and a wool blanket or a woven tablecloth to lay out, and all was placed in a willow basket. In the evening they played the piano, sung, and read their favorite ladies’ magazine.

I get nostalgic thinking of this world I only lived in, peripherally, as a child. I of course did not experience the horses–tractors and cars and trucks had arrived by the time I arrived in the world–but I listened to the stories and saw the photographs. And when I grew older and was more interested in listening to my transistor radio off in a corner by myself, these experiences were still part of me. They are to this day, as I remember them.

I’d like to thank my grandparents and other grand-relatives for this gift of the past, and I do wish I could somehow bring it back, at least in a small way. And that, I think, is why I write–and why my mother wrote, and why my grandmother wrote.

It is a gift of reflection, and a gift of bringing back to life things we love.

All the best in your life,
Laurie

Everything* I Know I Learned From Romance Novels

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Some non-genre readers scoff at us fanat–that is, engaged readers of genre fiction. Romance, for example, they deride as being fluff, female porn, and the ever-loathed term “bodice ripper.”
But I have learned a lot–A LOT– from romance novels. For example:

One Saturday, the spouse and I were listening to NPR, and they had one of their quiz shows (no, I don’t remember the title. If I did, I would have said!). They were playing Dictionary, where someone finds an obscure word and the contestants have to make up definitions, and the real definition is included, and the other side has to vote on which definition is the right one.
The word was “delope.” I knew, of course, that it meant to shoot your pistol into the air during a duel because I . . . drumroll please . . . read historical romances.

I was up on the whole War of the Roses controversy because I devoured Anya Seton‘s Katherine. I also knew the prose Wat Tyler chanted during the 1381 Peasants’ Revolt because of the same book (“When Adam delved and Eva span/Who was then the gentleman?).

I’ve always used the phrase “mutton dressed as lamb” to indicate an older woman wearing garments better suited for a younger one, and now my Swank Husband (and his NY-editorial friends) all use the term too. I routinely ask my husband “Do I look muttony?” before going out.

“Hard-pressed” refers to the forced conscription of men into the navy during wartime.

I know all of Henry VIII’s wives in order: Katherine, Anne, Jane, Anne, Catherine, Katherine (that is from memory, I think I got all the ‘Katherine’s done properly) because of reading historical romance.

).While watching Master And Commander: The Far Side of the World, I leaned over and told my husband Admiral Lord Nelson had lost an arm, too, so Capt. Aubrey’s next revelation to the young injured cabin-boy made me look extra-cool (or geeky. You decide

I know all about how important it was to be seated above the salt at a banquet table. I am a big fan of salt, btw.

I know there’s more, but I think I’ve blathered enough–what facts have you learned from reading romance?

Megan
www.meganframpton.com
*Well, not everything, but a lot of things.

What did you read when you were a kid?

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Time to clear the literary palate…I was brought up in England, so I read some peculiarly English things–for instance, much Enid Blyton, the bane of teachers and parents for her awful and clunky prose, overuse of exclamation points (!!) and general idiocy, but beloved by many generations of English kids. I was a big admirer of the Famous Five series, starring Julian (older brother), Dick (fairly useless younger brother), Anne (their sister, a girly girl), their cousin George and her dog Timmy. George, aka Georgina, really really wanted to be a boy and I think she was destined to have some problems later on in life. The Five, in a fantasy world of endless school holidays, spent their time tracking down Evil Foreigners/Criminals who were doing Dastardly Deeds (usually involving the kidnapping of a geeky sort of scientist for his Big Secrets). Fab stuff. At a tender age I did some math and figured out, that counting three school holidays a year, the Famous Five were well into their 30s (and Timmy must have been a doddering canine geriatric), but they hadn’t aged a bit. Just as well, for George’s sake.


That’s the low end of the pile. How about the good stuff? One outstanding book is A Traveller in Time by Alison Uttley, one of the best time-travel stories I’ve ever read. It’s about a young girl who, when visiting her family in the country, goes back in time to become involved in the Babbington plot to overthrow Elizabeth I and put Mary Queen of Scots on the throne. It is a wonderfully dreamy and evocative book with a great use of language and historical detail, and the time travel details are absolutely convincing.


Another writer whose stuff I occasionally dip into now is Rosemary Sutcliffe, who wrote historical novels, concentrating mainly on the Roman-British occupation, and the period after the departure of the Roman legions from Britain. She’s another writer who created a vivid and believable world–you know she’s making stuff up but it feels absolutely right.


I could, but won’t, write a whole blog entry on Edith Nesbit, socialist, feminist, author, whose most famous book in the US is The Railway Children. I was fascinated by the adventures of children in the late Victorian period–even in the books that feature fantasy and magic, it was the ordinary fabric of everyday life that I found the most interesting. The Railway Children was made into a movie starring Jennie Agutter as its heroine Bobbie (another girl who wanted to be a boy but not as adamantly as George), and she starred as the children’s mother in a more recent version made by the BBC. A wonderful, major tearjerker.


And then there’s Rudyard Kipling. Yes, I know he was a racist, sexist misogynous product of his times, but boy, could that gent write. I feel an immediate kinship with anyone who knows what I’m talking about when I mutter the great, grey greasy Limpopo River or I am the Cat who walks by himself and all places are alike to me–both quotes from the Just-So Stories. Check out the lovely art-deco style illustrations by Kipling himself–here, the Elephant’s child is discovering what the crocodile has for dinner.

So, what did you read when you were a kid?

What everyone thinks is true… Part II

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Elena, Regency Research Nerd, back for more myth-busting on the history of pregnancy and childbirth.

#3: Babies were born in the same ancestral bed where previous generations were born, consummated their marriages and died.

No! I’ve seen this concept many times, and I can’t decide if it gives a sweeping sense of history or is just gross.

Several facts here:

Fabric was expensive and childbirth is messy. I won’t go into details for fear of offending the squeamish and scaring male visitors from the blog. So let me just add three words–“No rubber sheets”.

From the earliest times until well into the 19th century, most women usually gave birth in upright or semi-upright positions: squatting, standing, kneeling, sitting on the lap of a midwife or husband or in a birthing chair or stool.

However, from the 17th century or so toward “our” period, male obstetricians (called accoucheurs) who attended ladies, were beginning to move away from the birthing chair and/or redesigning it. Ladies (as opposed to working class women) were regarded as more delicate, and recumbent positions were increasingly recommended for them.

During the Regency, ladies usually gave birth in a specially designed birthing bed or cot, which was often portable and could be shared between friends.

The recommended position was the “Sims” position: woman on her side, knees drawn up, doctor BEHIND her. The lack of eye contact was supposed to preserve modesty and prevent embarrassment.

By Victorian times the “lithotomy” (on the back, legs up) position was more common, making for easier access for the doctor though not the best biological position for the woman. Conversely to Regency doctors, Victorian doctors worked under sheets by feel alone and maintained eye contact with their patients to prove they were not, um, peeking. Seems creepy to me.

Thanks for indulging me, everyone! Next week: husbands in the delivery room.

Elena
LADY DEARING’S MASQUERADE, an RT Reviewers’ Choice Award nominee
www.elenagreene.com