My Top Ten Favourite Romances in Literature

 1. Sally Adair & David Eliot in The Herb of Grace

2. Mary O'Hara & Michael Stone in The Rosemary Tree

3. Léonie de Bonnard & Justin Alastair in These Old Shades

4. Jo March & Friedrich Bhaer in Little Women

5. Emma Woodhouse & George Knightley in Emma

6. Lisette Colling & Lord Waverly in French Leave

7. Harriet Vane & Lord Peter Wimsey in the Lord Peter Wimsey Mysteries

8. Marguerite St. Juist & Sir Percy Blakeney in The Scarlet Pimpernel

9. Sophie Hatter & Howl Pendragon in Howl's Moving Castle

10. Jane Eyre & Edward Rochester in Jane Eyre

 I have not been tagged. But I love winter! ♥

Here are the rules!

• Link back to The Storybook Journal (Tryin' to get famous over here, peeps.)
• Answer the questions; think Winter-y thoughts! Include pictures, if you like.
• Tag at least 3 other bloggers, or more if you're feeling ambitious. :)

1. Name a few things you love about Winter, and a few things you don't love so much about it.

Snow, frost, hoarfrost; cold, fresh air; starry nights and clear skies; Christmas; cosy evenings, hot drinks and soups; snowdrops // what do I not love? I could only give boring, practical answers – the usual problems and dangers of especially harsh winter weather.
2. When you were a child, did you "believe" in Santa Claus?

Yes. And in a different way, I still do.
3. Is there a book or movie that you really love to read in the Winter as opposed to other times of year?

Books: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe; The Dean's Watch; Sister of the Angels; The Dark is Rising
4. Is there a particular Christmas movie that you watch EVERY year as tradition?

Little Lord Fauntleroy (1980) – Always on the last Friday before Christmas.
5. Do you usually get a real tree or a fake tree for Christmas? Who's in charge of decorating it at your house?

None in recent years. Traditionally always a real one; in future, who knows. Everyone decorates.
6. Does your family usually stay home or go visiting (relatives, friends, etc.) on Christmas Day?

Stay home.
7. What does your family usually do on New Years Eve? Any traditions? Do you ever stay up till midnight?

That really differs. There are so many factors that come to this.
8. Do you get snow where you live? If so, have you ever built a snowman and named him Olaf?

Yes, but the last years have been inconsistent. No – I'm no good at making snowmen, even though I like them, and I actually have never watched Frozen.
9. If it's snowing outside, would you prefer to go outside and build snowmen and enjoy it, or would you rather stay inside with a blanket and something hot to drink and maybe a movie or a book?

Both! Go outside, play in the snow, enjoy the air, and then get in and warm up with hot tea and good food, and a book or period drama.
10. When do you start looking forward to or getting excited about Spring?

I love all seasons, and the change if the seasons. I love winter, but the beginning of spring is very special. The first snowdrops and that certain change in the smell of the air makes me feel it.

I tag: https://lettersfromavonlea.blogspot.com // https://juliettederouledewrites.blogspot.com // https://cabdriversandcoffeepots.blogspot.com

New Release

 

I am absolutely delighted to announce the release of my new novella – The First Tale of the Tinners’ Rabbits – in ebook form. A paperback edition will follow suit!

Three hares sharing three ears,
yet every one of them has two.

Meadowsweet is a Dartmoor pony, and Jack is her boy. They journey from Dartmoor to the mythical land of Harewood, to help the legendary Tinners’ Rabbits. But what is their mission, how can they help? And who is it, who is truly in need of their help?

This is the first of three tales that is truly one tale in three, and a short Christmas story to follow.

ISBN: 9783754198995
ASIN: B0BFJTP5H8

This story, in its first, unpolished form, came into being through last years Inklings Challenge, a truly amazing writing challenge to be found on tumblr (you can still sign up for this year). I decided to turn it into something larger – this story (with the little Christmas tale) is to be the first part of three, and I will write a novelisation of the whole idea in German, as well as the other two novellas (and two more short stories) in English.

The idea was to write a portal fantasy story within a Christian worldview. I came to love the setting and the characters more than I ever expected. (Well, not entirely – I always grow very attached to my characters, but in this case, I knew I shouldn't keep it at this single story.) I was wondering for nearly a year just how tackle the whole business – keep up the style I went for, what language to work in, etc.

So I finally decided I ought to stay true to myself and to the story: I will continue it, all three parts, (and an Easter story and a Pentecost story to follow the Christmas one), and publish them first as they come out, then in one, and also write a German version in the shape of one whole novel, with some adjustments to both the different language, and the format.

As it is, I am awfully fond of this little tale, and I hope that other people will enjoy it as well. Perhaps it will interest some of you.

Nylons and Lipstick and Invitations

The Problem of Susan is frequently talked about and usually boiled down to the same wrong arguments its built on, which have, by sensible and insightful readers, been disproven again and again, only for it all to be rolled up again.

I think of it myself, periodically, and often write a few words on the subject, sometimes respond to comments that bother me in particular. It still baffles me to find how many people still believe in the misconceptions, at best, and sheer lies, at worst, that have been made up on the subject.

Naturally, the problem has to be tackled at the root. So many people argue about why Susan had been “kicked out” of Narnia, overlooking a simple fact that makes all these discussions completely superfluous: Susan has never been kicked out of Narnia. She has not been denied her way to the Real Narnia, she has not been sent anywhere else. Susan simply did not die. At least, not when her siblings did. Because she had dropped her faith in Narnia.

Of course this is usually equated with a general lack of religious faith, with which I cannot agree, and which is considered either a sign of her downfall or liberation. But it is altogether unclear in what religious context the Pevensies saw Narnia and Aslan – at the end of The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, at the very least, Lucy and Edmund had no definite idea of Aslan’s true identity. Unlike Eustace and Jill the Pevensies were raised Christian, not in any specially devout manner, it seems, just like normal British children of their time, and it’s difficult to say in what way they related their very tangible experiences in Narnia to more abstract religious teaching. It is not even unlikely that Susan, as the sensible, grown-up one of them, was a regular, though not particularly spiritual, church goer, while the other three might have considered, at first, nothing in our world as fulfilling as Narnia. This is just one possibility, and it could easily be entirely different, but the popular idea that Susan had all of a sudden become an atheist while her siblings were Good Little Christians is not in the least plausible, especially how one of Susan’s defining characteristics as she grew out of Narnia, was her desire to completely conform to society. Near The Last Battle, of course, the other Pevensies and Friends of Narnia knew who He was, but Susan had since then lost touch, and might even have considered the suggestion of their “old games” true nature to be blasphemous.

And then, of course, the old talk of Femininity and Sexuality. Both of these bother me dreadfully, in different ways each.

The Femininity, because it’s such an important argument used in the entirely wrong place. It’s odd how nowadays women are regularly shames for being feminine or liking feminine things, how in fiction, especially children’s’ fiction, all good examples for girls to look up to are supposed to reject all things associated with femininity – that is an extremely important problem to discuss, but in the case of Susan, it’s entirely out of place. This mindset usually employed by modern pseudo-feminists, and sadly way to common, but The Chronicles of Narnia were written in the 1950s and traditional femininity was encouraged. These books stand out today just as they did sixty years ago in the way girls of very different sorts are treated as absolute equals to each other and to the boys. That aside, Susan was shown to be very feminine and interested in beautiful things that are commonly associated with femininity in her years as a Queen of Narnia – the difference was just that she had not denied and forgotten what she knew to be true, nor had she valued these things above it.

And Sexuality – exclusively brought up by people who have misfortune of lacking all reading comprehension and common sense. The idea that nylons and lipsticks and invitations were a metaphor for sexuality is the most absurd idea imaginable. There is not the least indication, either from the books, nor from the historical context regarding the connotations of these things. They are wordly things, modern things, grown-up things, but by no means of a sexual nature. The specific use of these things are another reason why C. S. Lewis is so frequently accused of being sexist, but in the end, it was merely a rather simple collection of things that were popular at the time – were it Peter who had lost his faith in Narnia, then it might have been football and cars and wristwatches. And there was never an issue with these things to begin with – they were a symbol for the new life Susan had began, a grown-up life in the most shallow and immature way, in which there was no more room for Narnia and Aslan.

But what should be a much greater point of discussion is Susan’s deliberate rejection of Narnia. She might have considered it an old game – but what had made her do so? Was it her way of protecting herself from grief and worry, a way to cope, or was it out of sheer disinterest? Was it much less a personal thought of Susan, and an example for the way people so often teach themselves not to believe in what they know is real and true, a symbol of Lewis’ own overcome atheism?

But taking out all literary analysis and focusing only on Susan’s inner life and the unusual workings of Narnia, I have my own theory on the matter. It is so noticeable that Susan entirely forgot about the reality of Narnia, even though she had been there when she was far too old to forget about it. If she had been ten years younger, then she might have mixed up her vague memories with imagination and play. But Susan’s rejection of the experiences of her teenage years border on an actual amnesia, which indicates a deeper reason. The aforementioned grief and sorrow aside, I think there is a rather magical reason to it.

The Pevensies had forgotten about their life in England sometime during the fifteen years in which they ruled Narnia. They remembered Narnia upon their return, perhaps, because it seemed so much nearer to them, much more real and important, so they didn’t forget – whereas Susan, after some time, began to feel about Narnia the way they all had felt about England. It mattered less, and its magic, an effect perhaps drawn from the Wood between the Worlds, made her forget as though it was only imagined.

Of true importance is only this: Susan had, by the end of The Last Battle, still a long way ahead of her, and many sorrows and difficulties to face. But it was also an open way, and I am sure it led to the Real Narnia, in the end, despite all the curves and crossroads and dead ends it contained.

20 Bookish Questions

Another little whatnot I have not been tagged in, but the thing is – you know – if you want to get your blog rolling and the people to know what you're all about, you have to start somewhere. And, frankly, I like tag games, and answering random questions about this and that. So here we go!

HOW MANY BOOKS ARE TOO MANY FOR A SERIES?

I don't think there is any such thing as a correct lenght for any story. With very long series, there's often a risk of a decrease in quality, but such a risk always comes with any form of art. The thing is just, if it works, and if it is enjoyable, it's fine – no matter how long.

HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT CLIFFHANGERS?

That depends on how they are placed. Short cliffhangers, for a suspenseful effect, with a continuation to follow shortly, are fine. The sort that just lets the audience hanging, is not.

HARDCOVER OR PAPERBACK?

I used to only want hardcovers when I was younger, then heavily drifted towards paperbacks. Both are good, in my opinions, with different merits.

FAVOURITE BOOK?

The Chronicles of Narnia; The Eliots of Damerosehay; Goodbye, Mr Chips; Brideshead Revisited; Busman's Honeymoon; The Wind in the Willows; The Dean's Watch; The Dark is Rising Sequence; These Old Shades; Leave it to Psmith; so... so... so many others !!!

LEAST FAVOURITE BOOK?

I try not to pay much attention to books I don't like, and usually don't finish them. To be honest, I could not think of a book I dislike that I know well enough and care enough about to consider it my least favourite book.

LOVE TRIANGLES, YES OR NO?

Like most tropes, this depends entirely on the execution.

THE MOST RECENT BOOK YOU COULDN’T FINISH?

None in a while, though several I paused to finish later. But that's not the books' fault. I'm a mood reader.

A BOOK YOU’RE CURRENTLY READING?

Three Men in a Boat (to say nothing of the dog) by Jerome K. Jerome.

LAST BOOK YOU RECOMMENDED TO SOMEONE?

Goodbye, Mr Chips is my usual recommendation.

OLDEST BOOK YOU’VE READ BY PUBLICATION DATE?

I don't know... some Arthurian romance, perhaps?

NEWEST BOOK YOU’VE READ BY PUBLICATION DATE?

Uhh... umm... finished and loved? Piranesi, for sure. Currently reading parenthetically Rose Petals and Snowflakes.

FAVOURITE AUTHOR?

C. S. Lewis, Elizabeth Goudge, Oscar Wilde, P. G. Wodehouse, G. K. Chesterton, J. R. R. Tolkien, Dorothy L. Sayers, Georgette Heyer, many others...

A BOOK YOU DISLIKE THAT EVERYONE SEEMS TO LOVE?

I don't know. Some. Quite many, actually. But none I have strong feelings about, I think.

BOOKMARKS OR DOG EARS?

Bookmarks. Even if it's just something.

A BOOK YOU CAN ALWAYS RE-READ?

Chips... all Narnia books...most Goudge books, any Wodehouse.

CAN YOU READ WHILE LISTENING TO MUSIC?

Depends – sometimes it's great, and then it doesn't work out at all.

ONE POV OR MULTIPLE?

As long as all POVs are good I'm fine.

DO YOU READ A BOOK IN ONE SITTING OR OVER MULTIPLE DAYS?

That depends on the book, as well as my form, and the day's circumstances. Sometimes I do, but very, very rarely.

WHO DO YOU TAG?

You. If you like.

A selection of first and last sentences of Elizabeth Goudge novels

Linnets and Valerians

First: Robert gave the storeroom door a resounding kick, merely for his own satisfaction for he knew that only the kick of a giant would have made any impression on its strong oak panels, and sat down cross-legged on the floor to consider the situation.

Last: Uncle Ambrose also visited him and the greatest pride and joy of his old age was to walk down the Oxford High Street arm in arm with his brilliant nephew, with Hector, who appeared to be gifted with eternal life, sitting proud and erect upon his shoulder.

The Dean’s Watch

First: The candle flame burned behind the glass globe of water, its light flooding over Isaac Peabody’s hands as he sat at work on a high stool before his littered worktable.

Last: Isaac walked out into the sunshine and said to himself, “I shall make the celestial clock again. I shall make it for Mrs. Ayscough.”

The Rosemary Tree

First: Harriet at her window watched the gulls with delight.

Last: “Then it’s an odd thing you thought yourself alone,” said Harriet.

Green Dolphin Country

First: Sophie Le Patourel was reading aloud to her two daughters from the Book of Ruth, as they lay upon their backboards digesting their dinners and improving their deportment.

Last: “Oh, my!” ejaculated Old Nick in mocking tones. And then, very doubtfully indeed, “Oh, my?”

The Bird in the Tree (The Eliots of Damerosehay, no. 1)

First: Visitors to Damerosehay, had they but known it, could have told just how much the children liked them by the particular spot at which they were met upon arrival.

Last: “It’s true,” he thought. “The spirit of man has wings.”

The Herb of Grace (The Eliots of Damerosehay, no. 2)

First: The sun shining through the uncurtained east window woke Sally to a new day.

Last: But the sap rose from inexhaustible depths, and the spring would come again.

The Heart of the Family (The Eliots of Damerosehay, no. 3)

First: Meg, wearing mackintosh boots and a red mackintosh, and with a red sou’wester tied beneath her chin, splashed down the drive, and under the dripping oak-trees, in a state of happiness deeper and more perfect than any other she was likely to know while she lived in this world.

Last: The old house seemed to hold them both, and to hold, too, a welling up of freshness, as though it renewed its youth in the youth of this marvelous child.

Gentian Hill

First: On a clear August evening, borne upon the light breath of a fair wind, the fleet was entering Torbay.

Last: It was eight o’clock, and in a world at peace, they had come home.

Towers in the Mist

First: The first gray of dawn stole mysteriously into a dark world, so gradually that it did not seem as though day banished night, it seemed rather that night itself was slowly transfigured into something fresh and new.

Last: “God bless you and increase your sons in number, holiness and virtue. Farewell, Oxford, Farewell. Farewell.”

The Little White Horse

First: The carriage gave another lurch, and Maria Merryweather, Miss Heliotrope, and Wiggins once more fell into each other’s arms, sighed, gasped, righted themselves, and fixed their attention upon those objects which were for each of them at this trying moment the source of courage and strength.

Last: He would come towards her and she would run towards him, and he would carry her upon his back away and away, she did not quite know where, but to a good place, a place where she wanted to be.

A City of Bells (Torminster, no. 1)

First: Jocelyn Irvin, sitting in a corner seat in a third-class railway-carriage and watching the green and gold of England in the spring slip past the windows, meditated gloomily upon Life with a capital L.

Last: He was a magic man, a fairy-tale man, and it seemed to her quite natural that he should have got lost, for fairy-tale people are always easily mislaid, but warm inside her was the certainty that now at last he was found for good.

Henrietta’s House (Torminster, no. 2)

First: Once upon a time there was a railway station waiting for a train.

Last: So this is the end of the story of Henrietta’s house, and even though it is not strictly speaking a fairy tale – because except for the possible exception of the disappearance of the motor car nothing out of the ordinary happened on Hugh Anthony’s birthday – it can be turned into one by saying that everybody lived happily ever after.

Sister of the Angels (Torminster, no. 3)

First: The moment she woke up Henrietta was conscious that she was happy, unusually, deliciously happy.

Last: Nine o’clock struck and, as always at the conclusion of the carol service, the Christmas bells began to ring.

The trade and the ton

I am partial to historical romance novels, and particularly fond of the traditional Regency romance. They are not a so-called “guilty pleasure” for me, as I hold them in high esteem, and delight in them openly. But I do admit that I am rather picky about the books of this genre I read – of any genre, for I am a picky reader – and always pleased to find a particularly good specimen. Some of those are famous, classics of the genre, others are hardly known.

One of those hidden gems is The Weaver Takes a Wife by Sheri Cobb South.

I found it browsing a goodreads list, and added it spontaneously to the little collection of used paperbacks I bought with a valentine’s gift code from my favourite online book store. It arrived soon afterwards, and I immediately, actually rather randomly, picked it up and read it. And I loved every line on every page! 

I expected it to be a pleasant read, nice and just generally good fun. It turned out to be brilliant. The little black volume itself looks good enough, though unassuming, if not a bit off, perhaps, as the type-setting is pretty but at times looks unfinished. As I found out, it was independently published in 1999, when indie and self-publishing was not quite as common as it is now, and the style in Regency romances differed from the older classics and the current revival of the genre.

The story itself is gorgeous. It is written in a far more traditional style, reminiscent of Heyer, yet not at all imitating her. Only a tad old-fashioned, fit to the period and without being stuffy, very funny and full of sparkling dialogue. The supporting cast is great, featuring everything a traditional Regency romance needs, such as a no-good but darling younger brother; a set of caring friends; loyal servants, prone to gossip; and a quite despicable villain. Unlike other books of its type, it also features a delightful group of cotton mill workers.

The hero, Mr Ethan Brundy, is simply amazing, and very unusual for the genre: an illegitimate workhouse brat turned super-rich cotton mill owner, who drops his aitches and dresses expensively, with little taste. He is genuinely kind and caring, responsible and confident. His accent and his earnesty, not to mention his appearance, cause people of the ton to underestimate his intelligence and quick grasp. Nor do they understand that he cares not in the least about their opinion of him – he stands by his background, his class, and his convictions, and he does so with a disarming friendliness. His unwavering strength of character, combined with his exceptional candour, and his controversial opinions, expressed so kindly, are a joy to behold. And so is his love for his reluctant bride.

Lady Helen, or ‘elen, as her husband calls her, is very much unlike him: cold, haughty, and supercilious. She hasn’t a kind word for anyone, except perhaps her brother, and she delights in shoving her numerous suitors away by mere force of rudeness. Though very beautiful, she makes her way through more seasons than her father could afford, because she is still waiting for a man who might not exist. Mr Brundy is, for her, a mere laughing-stock, hardly a real person.

“Mr. Brundy,” she said with a nod, making the most perfunctory of curtsies to her father’s guest.

He made no move to take her hand, but merely bowed and responded in kind. “Lady ‘elen.”

“My name is Helen, Mr. Brundy,” she said coldly.

“Very well– ‘elen,” said Mr. Brundy, surprised and gratified at being given permission, and on such short acquaintance, to dispense with the use of her courtesy title.

Now why does she marry him? Because Mr Brundy, as I have said before, is more than confident, and certain he to reach every goal he sets himself. The moment he sets eye on his ‘elen, he decides to marry her, and her father, a dept-ridden duke, pressures her to accept his offer of her hand. She gives in:

“Mr. Brundy, you are no doubt as well acquainted with my circumstances as I am with yours, so let us not beat about the bush. I have a fondness for the finer things in life, and I suppose I always will. As a result, I am frightfully expensive to maintain. I have already bankrupted my father, and have no doubt I should do the same to you, should you be so foolhardy as to persist in the desire for such a union. Furthermore, I have a shrewish disposition and a sharp tongue. My father, having despaired of seeing me wed to a gentleman of my own class, has ordered me to either accept your suit or seek employment. If I married you, it would be only for your wealth, and only because I find the prospect of marriage to you preferable –but only slightly!- to the life of a governess or a paid companion. If, knowing this, you still wish to marry me, why, you have only to name the day.”

Having delivered herself of this speech, Lady Helen waited expectantly for Mr. Brundy’s stammering retraction. Her suitor pondered her words for a long moment, then made his response.

“’ow about Thursday?”

And now, the (supposed) marriage of convenience slowly evolves into a love-match of misunderstandings. Only Mr Brundy’s friends are truly aware of his sincere feelings for his wife, and only one of them of her feelings for him. Because Lady Helen enters marriage not only thinking her groom a cit, but certain that he’s only after her social standing. He, in turn, takes all her insults to heart and believes that she only married him for money even as her feelings for him grow to fondness, and love.

All this is tricky to write, for has it been done with less grace and skill, both characters and their romance would have been insufferable. But Mr Brundy’s love for his wife and his way with her are wonderful, as lovely as could be, and her growth as a person, and the development of her feelings are plausible and well-written, gradually, yet with sudden, clear reason.

There are sudden, tender moments of a shy, reluctant couple; adorable scenes of the Pygmalion kind; dinners and balls and dress fittings and the refreshing contrast of trade and ton – and a significant trip to the industrial North.

And in the end, there’s a great, rather Heyer-esque adventure, which causes first more secrets and misunderstandings, and brings our couple to defeat the villain, and finally admit their mutual love to each other.

It is truly a gem, I promise. It is a Regency romance in the most traditional sense, and yet thoroughly original. It’s funny, but never silly. Sensual, but restrained. Romantic and sweet, but never saccharine. All in all, a true delight.