Word Wenches

Talking Shoes

Anne here, pleading deadline dementia for what will be a very short, thin and possibly frivolous blog. It started thus: there is an old lady in my current story I'm working on at the moment, and she had occasion to have several old trunks fetched down from the attic.

"What's in the trunks?"
Lady Beatrice smiled. "My youth."
Abby opened the first leather trunk and lifted out XXXX.

"What's XXXX?" you ask. In my manuscripts XXXX means research or fix or work this bit out later.

So, the time had come for me to to find out, and describe, what was in the old lady's trunks. She's in her late 60's now, in 1816, which means her youth — which I take to mean her come out, before she was married, would have been in the 1770's.

And here's where the fun started. First I was looking for dresses she might have worn that I could describe. Some writers are wonderful at bringing a dress to life, but I'm not made that way. I don't lovingly detail each item of clothing — my descriptions are more like a quick, thumbnail sketch. And in any case, part of the purpose of this scene was for the old lady to reminisce a little.

But on my way through the various sites on the web dealing with 1770's fashions I came across — and was completely sidetracked by— shoes. And yes, I'll 'fess up — I fell in love with some of them.

Take, for instance, these stunning shoes on the left, made of yellow silk with elegant curved heels. They look so modern and stylish (in a slightly off-beat way) it's hard to believe these shoes are nearly 250 years old.

What surprised me was how many of the shoes were made of fabric — silk, brocade, satin, often embroidered. Of course they were for indoor wear, and by ladies who stepped in and out of carriages, no doubt. Many shoes were made of leather, too, of course, but I'm guessing not the special occasion ones, unless they were made of kid or some delicate leather like that.

Here's another pair I loved — embroidered fabric with satin ruffles, and the same kind of heels. (These shoes are also from: http://trouvais.com//?s=shoes&search=Go used with permission. Photography Bruno Suet)

Buckles were very fashionable at this time, and they were made of what was called "paste" — fake diamonds and other "jewels" made of glass and crystal (more of that in a blog coming up.) Here is a lovely pair of green damask and silk shoes with paste diamante buckles. The shoes had two flaps, which crossed over and were fastened with the buckles.

 

There's another very sweet pair of deep rose pink shoes with paste buckles here. They were obviously a favorite pair, and have been well used before being set aside and saved for posterity. And here's another gorgeous pair of pink embroidered glazed wool shoes. You will find an excellent collection of 18th Century shoes here(. I suspect you will also find it's very hard to stop looking — I did.) 

These lovely, if tattered — well, they're 239 years old— white silk shoes on your right are inscribed with a wedding date c1773. Note the beautiful diamante (paste) buckles and the elegant curved heels. According to Wikipedia, this is where we get the modern name of "louis heels."

http://trouvais.com//?s=shoes&search=Go used with permission. Photography Bruno Suet)

I got completely sidetracked researching gorgeous eighteenth century shoes for my old lady to have worn and saved, but do I regret it? No way. 

And then, of course, I got sidetracked into Regency-era shoes, and came across these stunning white satin boots. I'm wondering if I can have my autumn bride wear them. They're a decade or so past her wedding date, but would they have changed so much in fifteen years? And would a bride wear boots? What do you think?

Note: Wench Nicola Cornick has just told me she's written an article for the September Issue of Romantic Times on historical shoes — a slightly different take from this one. Look out for it.

Are you a shoe person? Do you love shoes?  Do you remember the shoes of your youth? Have you saved any special shoes, or do you remember a favorite pair? Or don't you care what goes on your feet, as long as they do the job?

Anyone for Luncheon?

Nicola here. Today I’m thinking about food. (Again! I think I blogged on a similar topic last time. Hmm… I do graze when I am writing so maybe that’s why food is in my mind.) Today, though, my subject is luncheon. Where I come from in the North of England it was customary to have “dinner” in the middle of the day – at lunchtime in fact – and have “tea” in the evening. We didn’t have “lunch”. In this respect we were carrying on a tradition that went back hundreds of years. Back in the Middle Ages one ate breakfast first thing in the morning. Dinner, the main meal of the day, was in the middle of the day around noon, and supper was between four and six pm. This schedule might vary a little depending on the hours of daylight, the demands of work and whether one was rich enough to afford artificial lighting in the evenings but the names of meals and their times were fairly standard.

So where did luncheon, or nuncheon, as it was known for a while come from? There are references to nuncheon as early as the 16^th century. The word probably derived from noon and schench meaning a drink taken at noon. Luncheon was first used in 1652 but not shortened to "lunch" until 1829.

Luncheon or nuncheon was an extra meal, slotted in between breakfast and dinner. Peasants working long hours in the fields might be given a nuncheon of bread and ale to keep them going to dinnertime if they had risen at first light. By the 18^th century ladies whose husbands were busy all day with political or sporting commitments might move dinner back to five or even six pm and then take a light nuncheon in the middle of the day to stave off the hunger pangs. It was the sort of snack one might stop for briefly on a long journey, as this reference to it from Sense and Sensibility in 1811 shows: "I left London this morning at eight o'clock, and the only ten minutes I have spent out of my chaise since that time procured me a nuncheon at Marlborough." Cold meat, salads and ale could be procured in most inns. In Pride and Prejudice Elizabeth and Maria Lucas take nuncheon on the way home to Longbourn from Hunsford.

By the Georgian era in England, the hours for all the meals had been pushed back considerably, at least for those who were in the leisured classes. With evening entertainment and artificial lighting, people were rising later and taking their breakfasts at ten am or even noon, hence the fact that “morning” calls were often paid after breakfast in the afternoon. They took dinner at the fashionable hour of six pm and supper between nine pm and two am. Often supper was part of the evening’s entertainment, laid on by the hostess of a concert or ball. 

By the turn of the nineteenth century it was not unusual for dinner to be as late as 7pm in town. “Country hours” with dinner at 4pm were still adhered to across a large part of England though. Many city dwellers looked down their nose at this unfashionable practice. In the towns as the time between breakfast and dinner lengthened, people were feeling hungry in the middle of the day. By 1810, luncheon was a regular meal. At least it was for society ladies. The nature of luncheon would vary from simple cakes and pastries (also available if you were out shopping) to a buffet of cold meats, cheese, pies, pickles, jam and preserves with tea, wine or ale to drink.

 Unlike dinner, lunch was not a formal meal to which one would generally invite guests although if visitors turned up requiring refreshments a hostess might put on quite a spread of cold dishes and desserts. Lunch was also not something men were accustomed to eating. When the Prince of Wales started to make a habit of taking lunch with ladies he was ridiculed for both his gargantuan appetite and his effeminate habits. When Lord Sandwich called for a sandwich it was not because he wanted lunch; he needed a snack to keep him gambling through the night. Luncheon was most definitely not for the boys.

Meanwhile the middle and lower classes were still taking dinner at noon. Their meals were dictated by their work patterns and there was no room for lunch. This started to change with the industrial revolution. As people started to have further to travel to their place of work they began to carry a light snack with them for the middle of the day and take their dinner in the evening. An ideal food for this light meal was the aforementioned sandwich. First invented in 1726 by John Montague 4th Earl of Sandwich (and what a pity they didn't paint him with one in his hand!) it had arisen because Sandwich wanted to eat bread, meat and cheese but still keep one hand free to hold his cards. The other players saw the way the earl placed the cheese and meat within two slices of of bread and asked for the same type of food, calling it “Sandwich’s”. It took a hundred years before the invention started to feature in the recipe books though. Interestingly Dr. Johnson’s 1755 Dictionary defined luncheon as “as much food as one’s hand can hold.”

The popularity of the light luncheon was boosted by the idea of the picnic. The word first appeared in English in 1748 and like the sandwich it was associated with card playing, drinking and conversation. The picnic could also be taken outdoors, usually in connection with a hunting expedition. Early in the 19^th century a group of fashionables established the picnic club, which met at the Pantheon in Oxford Street. They formed an orchestra and the “picnic” was a combination of entertainment and a cold buffet.

These days, of course, we have a number of meals. Breakfast, second breakfast, elevenses, brunch, lunch, afternoon tea, dinner and supper. Our mealtimes, their names and the food we eat at them can be as variable as we like. I enjoy very much a summer picnic with cream cheese and cucumber sandwiches and home made lemonade though this could be at lunchtime or in the evening.

Are you a fan of the sandwich? Do you enjoy a light lunch or picnic? And are there any Regency or Georgian set books you've read where the luncheon (or nuncheon) features in the story?

Misbehaving

 Hi, here's Jo with a blog about scandal. I decided to do this because of two unconnected inspirations.

The first is that I've been working through my chaotic research files on my computer, trying to put snippets into some sort of order. The second was an item on the radio about the social change brought about by the car, early in the 20th century. Before that, the person said, couples had nowhere to be alone together other than the front parlour, with a parent likely to pop in to see what was going on.

If that were true, then said parents would not have been likely to agree to their daughter going off with her suitor in a motorcar! 

However, it wasn't strictly true. What about the phrase "walking out." Couples were allowed to go out for a stroll. Often this would be two or more couples, or perhaps a sister would be sent as chaperon. But in what world are two young couples substantially more well-behaved than one? (The picture is from Tom and Jerry, or Life in London.) If a lady in accompanied by a maidservant, does that guarantee her virtue? Any number of scandals and court cases prove otherwise.

What, then, is "reality?

In romance reading circles, there's often debate about what amount of courting or sexual licence people in the past were allowed. As always, it would depend on circumstances and in the rules laid down by parents or others, but I'm sure there was scope. After all, even in the sixties, when I was at university, the powers that be thought they could control misbehaviour by banning the opposite sex from halls of residence during the night hours.

As always, it's in the hands of the author to make her world believable, but also in the mind of the reader, who will bring her beliefs and even her own experience to the book. 

Back to my chaotic research.

Consider this Georgian scandal and consider what behaviour must have been taking place. If, that is, you can make sense of it at all. To help you, a few points.

A crucial one is that this took place before the Hardwicke Act of 1754, so reading the marriage service before witnesses would have made the marriage legal. Even declaring themselves man and wife before witnesses would have done so.

To attempt to make this easier to follow I've filled out the Mr. Cr______l  etc used to pretend to conceal identity. Some names, therefore, are from my imagination.

I've also broken it into paragraphs. Here we go!

From the Gentleman's Magazine, Nov. 1747.

 Substance of several Letters, Published as Appeals to the Public, in a Dispute between Tho. Estcourt of Pinkney, Wilts. Esq. on one Part, and Mr. Styles and Lancelot Lee, Esqs. Of Coton, Shropshire, on the Other; also of a Pamphlet called, A Narrative of the Affair, by Mr. Crabwell.

 Mr. Styles charges Mr. Crabwell with having, by long importunity and artifice, debauched his sister, then married her, next attempted to poison her with laudanum;

afterwards married Miss Weatherby. unknown to his former wife, whom he also, by lies and slander, prevented from marrying Mr. Lee, a gentleman of great fortune &c.,

and enter'd into a confederacy with Mr. Fred Styles, that he should go to bed with his second wife, that he might catch them, and be furnished with a pretence to turn her out of doors.

(Pause for breath. So did Crabwell, after debauching etc Miss Styles, then ask the brother to seduce his second wife so he could return to the first? The mind boggles!)

Mr. Crabwell, in answer, says, that he long abstained from a criminal familiarity with Miss Styles, after he had it in his power; (so no lack of opportunity.)

that he at length complied to remove an indisposition which he thought would otherwise kill her;(she was dying of desire?)

and upon condition that, if she did not prove with child, he should be at liberty to marry any other woman;

that no other marriage passed between them except his once reading over the marriage form, no one else present; (Just the sort of thing a gentleman might do on a rainy evening.... I assume Miss Styles was unaware of the need for witnesses.)

that he did advise her to take laudanum, but it was to compose her, when she had been 16 or 18 nights without sleep; (They're living together?)

that he can prove Miss Styles bought his wedding shirts, was consulted about the colour of a lining to his wedding suit, &c. and therefore knew of his intended  marriage with Miss Weatherby,

that he never endeavoured, by one act, to prevent her marriage with Mr. Lee;

that he once asked Mr. Fred Styles if he would go to bed with his wife, but it was with an intent to retort upon him, for his asking him if he would kill his brother. (I wish there was more clarity in pronouns. Styles asked Crabwell to kill another Styles, or another Crabwell, and why?)

It may be noted, however, that, in the pamphlet published by Mr. Crabwell, he admits that he owned to his mother-in-law, Mrs. Weatherby, his marriage to Miss Styles, and that, altho' amidst her endearments, and the tenderest circumstances, he press'd her for the last favour, she absolutely refused, except he would marry her, at least so as to make it lawful.

What do you make of that?

In a novel, I doubt I could believe it, but doesn't it suggest that Mr. Crabwell and Miss Styles had a great deal of opportunity to make moral choices?

And who is Tho. Estcourt of Pinkney, Wilts. Esq? Or is that Mr. C________l, under deep disguise?

Ah-ha! A bit more research shows that the above account gave the name incorrectly. It was Thomas Estcourt Cresswell. (My Crabwell.) You can read an account, with the real names here.

My heroine's scandal in A Scandalous Countess is positively straightforward by comparison!

Jo

 

 

Some Some Summertime

Joanna here, 

The thermometer tells us it's 100 degrees today, (thank you, Mercury, god of thermometers).
The cat is conked out on her back in the shade, too tired to harass the birds.  I'm listening to my heatstroke playlist. That's the one that starts with the Beachboy's Kokomo, ("Aruba, Jamaica ooo I wanna take ya to ...") and shimmies on to the Lovin' Spoonful's Summer in the City, ("Doesn't seem to be a shadow  in the City").

Summer is upon us.

So let me ask, "What books would you take to the beach this summer?  Old friends?  New discoveries?"

There is a temperate zone in the mind, between luxurious indolence and exacting work; and it is to this region, just between laziness and labor, that summer reading belongs. 
                                 Henry Ward Beecher

Here in the South we know all about the heat index creeping stealthily up toward the triple digits.  We've raised 'doing nothing' to a graceful art form.  It's an art practiced by the swimming pool or a big 'ole lake,  or at least in company with a hose spraying around the backyard.  Bonus points for the lifestyle include barbecued ribs and cold Mountain Dew.  And beer.   

For me, any day of the simmering summer is incomplete without a book in the bag.  Or a couple books, since you never know exactly how the spirit will move you.  Summer reading needs the background noise of kids running around barefoot and yelling about nothing at all.  It needs a shady porch or umbrella and maybe a dragonfly hovering just off the port side of the hammock.    

I'll tuck an old friend in the straw bag -- Kai-Lung's Golden Hours by Ernest Bramah.  There's a funny, clever, dreamy, irrationality to it that suits hot weather and lying by the pool.  I own it in paperback, but it's free on e-readers, being out of copyright an' all. 

(Go ahead and click on any of these book names for more information 'bout the book.)

Jennifer Crusie always picks me up.  Funny, funny woman.  I haven't had a chance to read, Tell Me Lies yet, and I'm looking forward to it.  Susan Elizabeth Phillips has a new book out in July — The Great Escape: A Novel.  I might top those two off with rum and coke and Grace Burrowes' most recent book, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal. 

In one of those fortunate happenstances, the ARCs for Mischief and Mistletoe are wending their way Wenchward, so I have that to look forward to.  A cool read in so many ways.

Mary Jo Putney says:

I am a Reader for All Seasons, and certainly can’t evoke languid summer reading times as well as Joanna can. (The dragonfly is a nice touch. <G>)

But a favorite I just reread fits the summer reading theme: White Lies by Jayne Ann Krentz.  The  book is one of her Arcane Society romantic suspense novels, and it’s set in blazing summer heat in Arizona as the heroine, Clare Lancaster, becomes involved with murder, mayhem, and a hot alpha hunter named Jake.  I like  the characters and the plot—Clare is a human lie detector, which gives her an unusual philosophy of life.  And I like the JAK banter. 

I also like the way the book makes a reader feel the Arizona heat.  The burning steering wheels and the blasts of air conditioning when entering a building.  The deliciousness of a desert night, with softly slinking coyotes and giant stars on a dark velvet sky.  The crunch of bruschetta and the cool wine that follows.  Perfect summer reading if one is lounging on a shaded patio.  

But in general, any good story will do, summer or winter!

(Teacup attrib merdeglace, girl with hose attrib clapstar, bookshelves charliebrewer)

Nicola Cornick, who is not suffering the Virginia swelter or even Arizona's At-Least-It's-A-Dry-Heat desert, says:

There is a saying that summer in the UK consists of three hot days and then a thunderstorm, but this year it’s been so cool and damp we’ve barely had three hot days in a row and not much in the way of humidity.  So when my thoughts turn to summer reads they tend provoke ideas of pale sandy beaches and cool breezes off the sea and me sitting behind a wind break as I try to read, cradling a cup of tea from the flask to warm me up!

Maybe that’s one of the reasons I’m looking forward to reading The Cornish House by Liz Fenwick. It sounds wonderfully evocative of the county, its coastline, its history and its atmosphere. I love holidays in Cornwall and one of my all time favourite books is Frenchman’s Creek by Daphne Du Maurier, which evokes the spirit of time and place in Cornwall so beautifully. I was even lucky enough to stay in Daphne Du Maurier's house at Frenchman's Creek one year and I could feel the ghosts all around me.

Which brings me neatly to my other hotly anticipated summer read. This is The Silent Touch of Shadows by HWW Christina Courtenay, a time slip book set in the present and the 15^th century. I love time travel books and can never find enough of them to read. There's a pdf file with an extract from the here.  It's out in a couple of weeks and I can't wait to pick it up! 

Susan King brings us three recommendations and a garden:

I'm a dedicated year-round reader, though I tend to read a little more during the summer, with the pace of the household quieter, the Guys being busy and not around as much -- I'll find an air-conditioned corner, curl up with the dog, and make a dent in the TBR pile. If it's not too hot 'n buggy, I love sitting out to read on the shady side of the deck. But summer or winter, the reading situation depends on the deadline situation, but with my deadline a ways off yet (I'm time-dyslexic, ahem), this summer I have serious Reading Intentions.  

I've just started The Distant Hours by Kate Morton, and then I've got my eye on A Discovery of Witches by Deborah Harkness. At the same time (because who reads just one book), I'm catching up with some Wench novels (Mary Jo's delicious No Longer A Gentleman is toppling the stack). I've also loaded up the Kindle with lots of books and good intentions -- mysteries, romance, a couple of YAs.

In a few weeks, when we'll be at Lake George for a bit, I'll find time to sit out on the breezy porch and read for hours. There's always the bottomless stack of research books, notes, and pages to read/revise -- that sort of reading never stops!

It's a lovely thing, reading. I couldn't get through a summer (fall, winter, spring) or a lifetime without it!

 

The library in summer is the most wonderful thing because there you get books on any subject and read them each for only as long as they hold your interest, abandoning any that don't, halfway or a quarter of the way through if you like, and store up all that knowledge in the happy corners of your mind for your own self and not to show off how much you know or spit it back at your teacher on a test paper.
                    Polly Horvath

Andrea Pickens brings us a couple few interesting suggestions, including our only hit on nonfiction:

It’s been a little hard to think of summer reads because here in the northeast where I live, it’s been unseasonably cool. But the vernal equinox seems to be bringing in a wave of sun and heat, so am looking forward to stretching out under a beach umbrella and diving into some of the books on my TBR pile.

 

I can highly recommend one that I just finished. Anatomy of Murder, by Imogen Robertson, is the second in her Georgian-set mystery series and it features fascinating characters, a compelling plot and wonderfully gritty description of life in London. It’s a compelling read that’s very hard to put down.  I’ve also got Past Wench Loretta Chase’s new release, Scandal Wears Satin, in my beach bag, for her pithy humor is perfect for making me laugh on a lazy summer day.

 

Now,  I know it’s the season for light reads, but I thought you all might get a laugh at what else I’m currently reading. A  dear friend of mine is fascinated by physics—about which I know less than nothing. However, he finds the subject so interesting that I recently read The Clockwork Universe, which was about Isaac Newton,  the Royal Society and the making of the modern world of science, so I could talk to him about it. To my surprise, I found it fascinating. However, I’ve now opened Pandora’s Box, because he just gave me Quantum, a book on quantum physics. I have started it—and feel like I’m back in school because I’ve started taking notes so I can try to understand some of the concepts. To my utter shock, I am enjoying learning about something that is utterly alien to me. And given that we want young people to get excited about science as well as reading, I feel I’m doing my bit. (If I don’t surface for the rest of the summer, you will know why!)

And (Shameless plug!) for those of you in the mood for a traditional Regency read, I've just posted three more of my old Signet books in e-book format at Amazon.  The Banished Bride, Second Chances, and A Stroke of Luck.

Jo Beverley points out:

I've never understood the concept of summer reads. To many it seems to mean a time when they're allowed to goof off and read the books they actually enjoy instead of the ought-to tomes. Come on now, break free and read for pleasure all year long!

Next, I'm not sure people have the most reading time in summer. Why should that be? Surely many people spend their summer holidays places they enjoy, not escaping to somewhere else in fiction. Now a long winter evening -- that sounds like good reading time!

Anyway, I've never liked reading in the sun. However, that might not be a problem, given the weather summer's starting with here in England!

Do you read more in summer?

And we round it off with suggestions from Anne Gracie:

It's a lovely idea — summer reads — but it's a bit hard to wrap my head around at the moment, because where I am (downunder) it's cold and wet and wintry, so I'm thinking more of reading curled up in front of the fire, or snuggling down under the bedclothes with a good book. In any case, I'm like Jo — I don't much like reading on the beach. Too bright and glarey to read, and I always end up with sand in the pages.  Give me a shady garden with a hammock and a long, cool glass standing by, any time.

I'm actually not reading a lot at the moment because I'm on deadline, and at such times I reread, more than read,  but I have a lovely pile of new books ready on my TBR pile, and a few more on order.

I have Eloisa James's Paris book waiting, and Loretta Chase's Scandal Wears Satin on order, and I did try to leave Nalini Singh's Tangle of Need until after I'd finished my book, but I gave in. I've been hooked this series since Slave to Sensation. Julia Quinn's latest is singing its siren song to me, too. I've also got a pile of P.G. Wodehouses standing by — a lot of my old copies have gone walkabout, so I treated myself to a pile of new ones recently.

But summer heat or winter chills, as far as I'm concerned it's always time for a good book.

So, there you are -- round about two dozen books for your delectation and enjoyment.  Have you read any of these?  Would you second the recommendations?

Is summer your time for light reading and a lot of it?  Are you expecting to get much reading done over the next few weeks?

Fit For A Prince

Cara/Andrea here, June is always a festive month, its summer-kissed days aswirl with a host of  elegant parties for grads and dads—and of course weddings! This past weekend, I attended the nuptials of my dear friend and HWW Lauren Willig. As was befitting for an author of historical romance, it was a fairy tale affair held in the Rococo splendor of a grand old New York City venue, and given that it was an evening ceremony, the dress was Black Tie.

Lauren, of course, looked like a princess in her dress, and her new hubby James was equally dashing—though we Regency authors did tease him a little and say we were a little disappointed he wasn’t wearing breeches and boots. (He admitted that he had been thinking about a kilt, in homage to his Scottish heritage, but decided it might be too itchy for a June evening.) Our kidding aside, he looked wonderfully handsome in his tuxedo (as did all the men in the room) and it got me to thinking about the origins of this iconic item of evening wear. So I decided to do a little research . . .

During the 1860s, hunting and shooting parties were becoming more and more popular with the British Upper Crust at their country estates. And with all the vigorous outdoor activities, it was no wonder that some of the guests began to chafe at all the formal requirements for dressing. The Prince of Wales—later King Edward VII—a man known for his interest in wine, women and fashion, is credited with cutting away some of the constriction. Quite literally!

He apparently put in an order with his tailor, the esteemed Savile Row firm of Henry Poole & Co, for a “tailless dinner jacket.” They stitched up a blue silk smoking jacket for him (the firm says it has the original receipt but has been a little coy on whether the date is 1860 or 1865) and he began appearing at “informal” evening gatherings in his new creation. The Prince, or “Bertie” as he was known to both friends and his countrymen, was an influential arbiter of masculine style and so others began to follow his lead. (He is also credited popularizing the Norfolk jacket, the Homburg hat and the wearing of tweed, as well as pressing his trousers flat instead of with the traditional knife-edge crease down the front.)

Now, the threads get a little tangles on how the tailless jacket made its way to America. One version says that in 1886, the Prince invited a wealthy New Yorker named James Potter to visit Sandringham, his country estate in Norfolk, and when Potter asked for sartorial guidance for the occasion, Bertie advised him to have one of the new-style jackets made up at Poole & Co. Potter then supposedly wore it at the Autumn Ball which took place annually at Tuxedo Park, a private residential enclave  and sporting club for the rich not far from New York City which was built by Pierre Lorillard IV, heir to the tobacco fortune.

The more popular version of the story has it that the jacket was introduced at the Ball by Griswold Lorillard, Pierre’s son, who was a well-known rebel and reveler. Regardless of who wore it, there is no debate on the venue. The garment, which naturally caused a stir on the society pages of the press, was dubbed the “Tuxedo” jacket, and the rest, as they say, is history.

The tuxedo has since become synonymous gentlemanly elegance. Film stars of the ‘30s, famous politicians, dapper English spies—honestly what man doesn’t look “to die for” in this classic? And that goes for modern-day British Royalty too. The current princes (fluttery sigh) look rather delicious, don’t they. I think we girls ought to send up a smile of thanks to their fashionista ancestor.

Okay, I’m a very casual dresser and usually prefer sweatpants and T-shirt for my daily attire. But I do occasionally like getting dressed to the nines . . . and I confess that I love the sight of a man in a tux. How about you? Do you like seeing a guy all spiffed up? And does the man in your life like putting on a tux? Or does he moan and groan over having to don formal attire? And lastly, what celebrity do you think looks divine in formalwear? (My vote goes to Cary Grant . . . though I must say that Sean Connery and Daniel Craig are pretty hunky.) Do dish!

A New Slant on Writing

In the Matthew Macfadyen / Keira Knightley 2005 production of Pride and Prejudice, there's a scene where Mr. Darcy is writing a letter, despite Miss Bingley's determination he shall pay attention to her instead.  It reads, in part:

Elizabeth took up some needlework, and was sufficiently amused in attending to what passed between Darcy and his companion. The perpetual commendations of the lady either on his hand-writing, or on the evenness of his lines, or on the length of his letter, with the perfect unconcern with which her praises were received, formed a curious dialogue, and was exactly in unison with her opinion of each.

"How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter!"

He made no answer.

"You write uncommonly fast."

"You are mistaken. I write rather slowly."

"How many letters you must have occasion to write in the course of the year! Letters of business too! How odious I should think them!"

"It is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of to yours."

In that scene, we see Mr. Darcy writing his letter using a "writing slope''.  Go ahead.  Rent the film and see. 

This 'writing slope' is a wood box with an angled surface, elevated a couple inches above the desk or table, slanted and padded with felt or leather.  See the folks at the left using these.  The man in the wig is Samuel Johnson. 

This writing slope might be a heavy object, made for use in the comfort of the library or study.  It might stay at home, perfectly content, and never go adventuring.  Or the writing slant might lead a very exciting life indeed ... 

 

Toward the end of the Eighteenth Century, the writing slope shrank in size, sprouted handles, and transformed itself into a sort of traveling desk. 

It was now both a a writing surface and a sturdy wood box for transporting and storing the impedimenta.  Like the stay-at-home writing slopes, these traveling desks or 'lap desks' were angled to provide that optimal slanted writing experience. 

That writing desk on the far right, by the way, is said to have belonged to Thomas Jefferson.  

The lap desk was hinged in the middle and opened to reveal the felted or leather writing surface.  Underneath each half were compartments for storing writing paper and letters half completed.  Maybe there'd be a slim drawer at the end, especially in the early examples.  In any case, you'd have your ingenious cubbies to hold ink bottles and quill pens, sealing wax, silver sand, blotters, penwipes and so on.  Some of the most elaborate lap desks had sneaky little compartments lurking behind the drawers or opening with clever, secret levers and slides.

A man's penmanship is an unfailing index of his character, moral and mental, and a criterion by which to judge his peculiarities of taste and sentiments.
                 Philip Dormer Stanhope, Earl of Chesterfield

This sturdy, portable writing desk was the computer laptap of the Regency, encouraging literacy and correspondence on shipboard and battlefield, at any stray country inn or during the occasional stint in prison. 

From the name 'lap desk' you'd think you could use them in your lap.  But they folded in the middle, you see, so I feel a certain skepticism.  On the other hand, computer laptops aren't used in laps either, most generally, so it is a lesson not to be so literal.

Seeing Mr. Darcy engage in writing on his writing slope sent me to hauling out a lap desk that belonged to my grandfather.  It's about a century old, I would think, and an inexpe nsive example of the breed.  The felted writing surface is worn and torn.  Some of the wood's stained.  But it got a lot of use, writing letters home.    

This one for instance, on the left.  I like to think it was written using that writing desk.

Looking at all this collection of images across the centuries, I spent a while considering why folks liked to write at a slant, did it for so long, and then just seemed to lose the desire.  Slanted writing surfaces seem to peter out in the Twentieth Century. 

In what was a flash of insight for me, but may be obvious to everybody else, I decided ink flows more easily if the downward stroke is laid across paper at a slant.  On flat paper the writing is more likely to pool and blot when the ink flows with unruly haste. 
When we gave up quill pens and fountain pens, we also gave up the leisurely application of pen to gracefully slanted paper.  

... the beauty and nobility, the august mission and destiny, of human handwriting.
                 George Bernard Shaw

I see artists working on a huge slanted surface.  Anybody here use a slant for writing or drawing?  For calligraphy?

AAW: The Truth About Book Titles

By Mary Jo 

Today’s Ask A Wench answers a recent question from Penney Wilfort: 

“I was wondering about Authors' book titles. I see so many books from different Authors with the same titles. I was wondering if this is breaking a copyright law? Like with crochet patterns, knit patterns. they have so many copyright laws. So I was just wondering about the Authors’ books?”

The simple answer is that titles cannot be copyrighted or trademarked, so there is nothing illegal about having the same title.  (Though any current writer who entitled her book Gone With the Wind would need a sanity check since that title is so identified with Margaret Mitchell’s classic novel.)

But Penney’s question was a good trigger for all kinds of information about book titles from the Wenches, so read on! 

Jo Beverley:

Titles are important. A great title can hook a reader's interest, but if it doesn't represent something about the book, the reader will feel cheated. Sometimes a title comes to me early, but often one doesn't, which is a shame because a good title can even shape the book a bit. A good title comes naturally out of the book, but then will feed back.

One of my good ones is Something Wicked, which came to me early in the book when Lady Elfled is longing to do something wicked for once. One of the bad ones, in my opinion, is Forbidden. I know I had some ideas that were rejected, in part because one word titles were hot right then. Not only didn't Forbidden have much to do with the book, but there were three other books with that title that year!

Anne Gracie

I think one of the reasons so many titles are similar — or even the same — is that buzz words in the title sell books. So words like "Bride,"  "Wedding"  and so on, will always help the sale of a book.

The other thing is that the title is usually chosen long before a book actually hits the shelves, and sometimes several books with the same or similar titles might be coming out at similar times, but none of the titles are in the system, and by the time the publishers and authors find out about the identical titles, it's too late because the books are printed.

For my first series with Berkley, I named the first book The Perfect Rake and my editor and marketing loved the idea of  "perfect" in the title for all the others in the series, so that was pretty easy. I chose all my titles for that series.

For the next series, they wanted to get away from using the same word in each title, and that's when my experience pretty much merged with everyone else's — I put in a bunch of suggestions, but other titles are decided that vaguely fit the story, and which marketing is enthusiastic about. It's usually a combination of "buzz" words, though the impression they leave doesn't necessarily describe the plot.

So. . . The Stolen Princess (She wasn't stolen — she ran away)     
His Captive Lady (She wasn't a captive)
To Catch a Bride (He was actually fleeing a bride)
The Accidental Wedding (There was an accident, but the wedding was  deliberate)
Bride by Mistake which was pretty close.

Luckily, the titles and covers are usually finalized before I finish  writing the stories, so if I can, I'll write in some reference to the  title so it almost fits. And while I don't always love the titles, I  do have approval. Mostly I shrug and hope marketing know what they're doing. *g*

Marketing has already dreamed up the titles for my next series without  even knowing the actual stories. The first one is called The Autumn Bride. Expect to see more seasons and brides in the titles to come.

Joanna Bourne

I do remember one title.  It was the second book I had with Berkley.  My working title was Jessamyn, which is the name of the heroine.  I'm not very creative with my working titles, I'm afraid.  

When it came time to Name That Book, I had a number of suggestions.  I mean, I had just a whole raft of wonderful titles, every one more beautiful and appealing than the last.

So the conversation goes something like this:

They say, "How about My Lord and Spymaster?"

"Ummm ..."  umms I.  "There isn't a Lord in it anywhere.  It does have a Spymaster, but he plays what might be called a very peripheral role."

"Well ...   Marketing really likes this title."

And the rest is history.   

Susan Fraser King

Most of my book titles are my own, with only a couple so far decided by the editor and/or editorial committee. Titles evolve in discussion, with suggested titles going back and forth between author and editor and committee. Sometimes they're decided and then changed through the months of book production, so that an ARC title may differ from a final book title. Here's an example -- the title evolution of Lady Macbeth went something like this:

1. The Last Celtic Queen -- my original proposal title. She was exactly that, after all. Following acquisition, my editor reports that editorial committee thinks that's too long and readers won't get it. What else do you have?

2. Lady Macbeth, A Novel - my next suggestion. Editorial committee says, we don't want to mess with "that Scottish play" superstition so we don't want Macbeth on the cover. We'd like something literary and poetic. Whatcha got?

3. Rue of the Sorrows --  a phrase from the book that my editor and editorial committee like a lot. I suggest that the reader won't get it or may even think it's a French setting. This title goes on the ARCs anyway.

4.  Editorial committee decides they don't like Rue of the Sorrows, no one gets it, it sounds French, and now they'd like something that's strong and directly to the point. They suggest Lady Macbeth: A Novel.

Patricia Rice

I gave up whining about book titles long, long ago. Apparently Indigo Moon was the last title any editor ever liked, and it came out of a phrase I misremembered from The Shrew I put names on my computer files that tell me what book is in them:  California Girl is called "road trip" in my computer,  Merely Magic is "Bewitched." Try finding an old book later with file names like that.

When the Day Arrives and I must title the manuscript, I make suggestions and editorial committees reject them. Editors make suggestions and I gag and am forced to make new suggestions. At some point, I simply give up and concede to whatever doesn't have a million similar titles already on the market and might vaguely resemble the book. But right now, I wish I could invent another "marketable" word for "magic." I'm heartily tired of inventing new ways of using it.

PS: And just as a side note, I just received a note from a reader today that she bought The WIcked Wyckerley because the title was different. (She was rather tired of titles like Twenty-five Reasons Not to Chase a Duke,)

Cara Elliott/Andrea Penrose

Oh, don't get me started on titles. (insert long-suffering sigh here) It's not an easy process. I always have a few ideas . . . but they rarely have the editorial cover meeting afire with enthusiasm. A list from on high will then come back, which in turn renders me a little green around the gills. I scribble a few alternatives. Still no joy.

What usually happens is a even shorter list comes back from my editor, accompanied by the statement that "marketing is really excited about these." Which means, "pick one and we're done." So I do. The fact that the choices might not have much in common with the actual story or characters isn't as worrisome to marketing as it is to me. Occasionally, a little whining and sniffling can win a few last tweaks, but for the most part . . . c'est la guerre.

Nicola Cornick:

Titles! What a contentious subject that can be. I have lots of good ideas for titles but the marketing people seldom agree with me. Usually what happens is that I labour long and hard over a list of ideas, send it to my editor, a completely different list comes back with suggestions about which marketing are particularly enthusiastic and we settle on a compromise candidate somewhere in the middle.

The last time I got to choose a title for one of my books was for The Confessions of a Duchess three years ago. I have had some beautiful titles although there are a couple of books where the title doesn't bear an enormous resemblance to the story. Mistress by Midnight springs to mind - there were no mistresses and nothing in particular happened at midnight.

I do think that titles can be very influential on whether a reader is intrigued enough to pick up the book so it's important to get the right feel to them. With Forbidden, the title was chosen before I had even started the book, so that gave me a theme to work around(!)

MJP: The fact that Jo also has a Forbidden is another indicator of how the title business works.  Repetitively. <G>
 
Nicola: I'm afraid so. Someone else also had a Mistress By Midnight out at exactly the same time as mine and I've just seen another of my titles repeated this month. I'm with Pat's reader who wants some originality.

Mary Jo Putney

My fellow Wenches’ comments pretty much cover the topic of titles!  I’ve been luckier than most in that a good number of my titles are my own, though usually not until much agitas. Sometimes a great title will just pop into my mind.  Other times, we struggle and struggle to find something that’s catchy and appropriate. 

In my current Lost Lords series, I didn't come up with Loving a Lost Lord, , but Never Less Than a Lady, Nowhere Near Respectable, and No Longer a Gentleman are mine.  Nowhere Near Respectable in particular is one that just appeared in my mind.  And then I had to write a book to fit. <G>

It never gets easier because, as Anne says, there are certain key words that say “Romance” (bride, wedding, love) just as there are others that say “Mystery.” (Dead, death, blood.)  The trick is to find a title that reveals the genre, something specific about the book, and is appealing.  Not easy!

I am feeling cautiously optimistic since it looks like the working title of my current book, Sometines a Rogue (September 2013) will be kept.  But I always avoid printing bookmarks as long as possible in case the name gets changed again!

Penney, for your question, you’ll be a book from me.

For everyone else—are there titles that made a book leap into your hands?  Titles so awful that you couldn’t believe they’d made it into print?  And others that are so generic that they make no impression at all?

Here’s a little game from Anne:

Let's have a little straw poll — which book would you buy by title alone — and why?

1) The Bride Wore Black
2) Boots in the Bedroom
3) The Convenient Bride
4)
5)
6)

So what would you put on the list??!

Mary Jo

 

On shawls

Anne here, where the nights are getting chilly, and a woman's thoughts turn to... shawls and wraps.

 
I have to admit, I have an odd relationship with shawls; I love the idea of them and the look of them, and the beauty of some shawls is just breathtaking, so it's not surprising that I own quite a few shawls. However I hardly ever wear them.

I get impatient with shawls; they get in my way, they slide off me when I'm not looking, they need frequent adjustment, they dangle their ends in my coffee or champagne, or collect bits of food from other people's plates. And they never look as graceful or elegant on me as they do on other people, such as this lady above right, in an 1810 painting by Henri Francois Mulard.

Below is a lithograph plate showing a variety of ways of wearing shawls in early 19th-century France (ca. 1802-1814); redrawn from various early 19th-century sources by Durin for Albert Charles Auguste Racinet's Le Costume Historique (1888).  Isn't it just gorgeous? I blame this for my shawl addiction. I have the book it's from. 
So I keep buying shawls and drooling over pictures and displays of them because they're so beautiful. And whenever I'm tempted to buy I always wonder if whether this time, this shawl will be The One. 


I suspect women have always worn shawls or some variety of wrap. Traditionally our garments have always been less practical than men's for warmth, and as well as that, we tend to er, fluctuate in temperature from time to time. :)  On the right is one of the few portraits I found that show a shawl being used for warmth. It's by Elizabeth LeBrun, a female painter. Mostly shawls in paintings are a sexy accessory, also indicating wealth and exotic color and texture.

They're also a very useful accessory for flirtation — wrapping and rewrapping subtly draws attention to what is being wrapped, or perhaps revealed. It's the only possible excuse for some of the fine gauzy wraps and veils we see in history; decoration without warmth. Or perhaps a bit of color and movement to enliven a static portrait. 

In Western fashion history, the great flowering of the shawl took place in the 18th—19th century. It started with the import of exquisite shawls from Kashmir. Kashmir lies between Pakistan, India and China, and the shawls made there were from the fine hair — fleece, really, of Himalayan goats. The finest, most expensive fleece was collected in spring from bushes where goats had rubbed off the soft winter hair that lay beneath their coarser outer coats. The majority of shawls, however were made from pashmina, the hair from the belly of domestic goats — though these days 'pashmina' has become a generic term for a shawl. 

The word 'shawl' comes from the Persian 'shal', meaning a 'type of woven fabric'. Kashmir shawls were originally made for oriental noblemen, and the first shawls imported to Europe  were also used by men, but it wasn't long before women took control of these beautiful, warm and decorative items and men didn't really get a look-in again. 

The first Kashmir (or cashmere) shawls were wildly expensive as this portrait of the Empress Josephine indicates— the carelessly draped shawl symbolizes her possession of exotic and expensive riches of the orient.

 The art of the time is testament to the popularity of the shawl as an item of high fashion, wealth and style. 


Of course, Europeans immediately tried to imitate these gorgeous shawls, and the French, English and Scottish weavers competed fiercely to produce similar items quicker and more cheaply from wool, cotton or silk — they couldn't produce anything as light and fine and rich as the Kashmiris made. The most expensive Kashmir shawls were so light and fine that a whole shawl (more than five feet square) could be pulled through a wedding ring. 

Shawls were hugely fashionable, the finer and more expensive the better.
Catherine Willmott, a young Irishwoman visiting Naples in  1802, wrote to her brother, "As to dress, 'tis pretty much like the French, every lady with a great shoulder sheet of a shawl, looking like Mobbled Queens in the morning, and then in the evenings, exalted, through the Milliner's Apotheosis into Dianas, Junos, Hebes and all the Classic figures of the heavenly spheres. Guess where the Milliners and hairdressers go to study fashions; into the Churches among the Statues and Paintings which adorn the Tombs!"
(Note: the last part, about the hairdressers actually has nothing to do with shawls, as you can see, but I included it because it's so entertaining. Hope you enjoyed it.) 


Back in the UK, Norwich (pronounced Norritch) shawls of wool and silk were popular, but after the introduction of the French Jacquard loom, manufacturers in Paisley (Scotland) already well known for fine silks and muslins came to dominate the field. They copied the latest Kashmir shawls as soon as they arrived in port, sending their agents to London to  examine each new shipment. In 1812, eight days after a shipment of Kashmir shawls arrived in London, Paisley imitations were being sold for £12. The original Kashmir shawl would have cost around £70-100. At this time, the annual wage for a maidservant was around £10, which gives you an idea of the expense —even a locally made Paisley shawl was not cheap. 


So successful were the weavers of Paisley at "borrowing" and transforming various elements of eastern designs that the name of their town eventually became synonymous with the pattern they wove. Even today we all know what "paisley" means, and it isn't a town.



But as is the way with most things, once the shawls became mass produced and cheap to purchase, they were no longer such desirable fashion items, and fell out of favor. These days they're back, though in different incarnations. Me, I'd love one of those big gorgeous Kashmiri shawls from the Regency era.

And as this blog draws to a close, let me share another of the gems of Catherine Willmott's letters; in Florence she discussed the role of the cicisbeo: "In numerous instances these cicisbeos may be call'd lovers, in many others, Guardians, and in others I have remark'd mere servants, to run about on messages, carry the lady's shawl on his arm and to conduct her from one house to another." 



Clearly this is where I have been going wrong with shawls — I'm supposed to get a handsome Italian cicisbeo to carry the wretched thing.


*Patricia Rice just sent me this, as a solution to sliding shawls. Hmm, I don't know... cicisbeo or clip... cicisbeo or clip? What do you think?
 

What about you? Are you a wearer of shawls and wraps? Any favorites? Or are you like me and struggle with them? And which would you choose, the cicisbeo or the clip?
                        

A Taste of the Diamond Jubilee

Nicola here. It's been a wonderful week for pageantry in the UK with the Diamond Jubilee celebrations of Queen Elizabeth II. We've had the biggest flotilla of ships on the River Thames since 1662 and a stunning chain of celebratory beacons lighting up the night sky across the country and the world. Here in my country village there have been fetes, afternoon tea parties and barbecues. All the emphasis on food - apart from making my clothes feel quite a bit tighter this week - made me think about trying out a few historical recipes and I thought I would share a few of them here.

For our first course at the village fete we had Jubilee Chicken Mousse and Coronation Chicken with salad. Neither of these recipes is particularly old although they are absolutely delicious. Coronation Chicken was invented in 1953 to be eaten at the Queen's coronation banquet. In 2002 a new updated version was created for the Golden Jubilee with orange, saffron and cinnamon flavours which I think tastes even better than the original. (I do have sme photos but for some reason Typepad won't let me upload them. The chicken mousse looked beautiful and very summery!)

But now for the recipes. First we made Queen Cakes.

These are individual sponge cakes, enriched with currants or sultanas. Recipes date from the 17^th century. In the past, the mixture would sometimes be baked in heart-shaped tins and would then be called heart cakes, which were eaten accompanied by a glass of wine or cider.

To make Queen cakes:

Get a mini muffin tin tray or metal fluted cake tins and brush with melted butter and dust with flour. Beat together 4 oz butter and 4 oz sugar and mix in the zest of one large lemon.  Beat the mixture until smooth and then add two eggs, one at a time and beat those in too. Dissolve 1 teaspoon of baking powder in 2.5 fl oz of cold milk and stir into the mixture. Add 1 oz of ground almonds and sift in 8oz of plain flour and fold through.

Divide the mixture between the cake moulds. Press a layer of currants or sultanas on the surface and bake at 180 C/350F/gas mark 4 for 12 – 15 minutes until risen and set. Remove from the tins, sift with extra sugar and allow to cool.

Queen cakes appear in confectioner's advertisements from the 18th and 19th century.  "Seymour's Coffee and Jelly House... Royal queen cakes at 2 d.” From the Gazetteer and London Daily Advertiser, October 16th 1756. In the Victorian era they were very popular and Maria Rundell in “ New System of Domestic Cookery” (1806) calls for them to be made in smart porcelain cups.

My husband's favourite sweet was Queen's Gingerbread. This recipe originated at the court of Queen Elizabeth I where it was considered a “sweetmeat.” It is a dark slab of gingerbread with lots of spices and should be served after dinner with brandy. Recipes for gingerbread are centuries old but it is said that Queen Elizabeth was the first to serve gingerbread men!

To make Queen's Gingerbread:

Line the base of a 8 inch square cake tin with non-stick paper. Heat the over to 180 C/350F/gas mark 4. Place 1lb plain flour, 5 tsp of ginger, 1 teaspoon of nutmeg, 1 teaspoon of mace, 2 teaspoons of cinnamon and 1 teaspoon of bicarbonate of soda in a bowl. Melt 5 oz of unsalted butter in a saucepan then remove from the heat and add 8 oz caster sugar, 5 oz runny honey and 5 oz black treacle, stirring until gently warmed. Pour into the flour and spices, add 3oz of chopped dried apricot and 3oz of chopped glace ginger and mix to a dough. Press the dough evenly into the tin and smooth the flat top. Cut 3oz of almonds in half lengthways and press into the top. Bake for 25 minutes.

 I thought I should also create a bit of balance in the blog piece by including a couple of recipes from the time of Cromwell's Commonwealth. Despite Oliver Cromwell’s famous disapproval for anything that smacked of fun, this was the era when the first coffee houses opened in Oxford. It was also the period when drinking hot chocolate was introduced so it wasn’t all bad. In 1657 London’s very first Chocolate House was advertised: ‘In Bishopsgate Street, in Queen’s Head Alley, at a Frenchman’s house, is an excellent West Indian drink called Chocolate to be sold, where you may have it ready at any time and also unmade at reasonable rates.’

Here are two recipes from the 1650s. Carp Pie:

"After you have drawn, washed and scalded a fair large carp, season it with pepper, salt and nutmeg, then put it in a Coffin with good store of sweet butter and then cast on raisins of the sun, the juice of limons and some slices of orange peels, then sprinkling on a little vinegar, close it and bake it."

To make an Oatmeal-Pudding:

"Take a pint of Milk, and put to it a pint of large, or midling Oatmeal, let it stand on the Fire till it be scalding hot, then let it stand by, and soak about half an hour, then pick a few sweet Herbs, and shred them, and put in half a pound of Currans, and half a pound of Suet, and about two spoonfuls of Sugar, and three or four Eggs; these put into a bag, and boyled, do make a very good Pudding."

Do you have any recipes that you particularly enjoy for special occasions?

The Monthly

Here's Jo, responding to a question sent in by Artemesia. Artemisia, you win a book from me.

"My Curiosity overwhelms me.  A woman's menstrual cycle is seldom mentioned in any historical novel.
Occasionally, in passing, there is a reference to "courses" and only once did I read of the heroine's "padding."

What did they do?  How did they handle this problem?  My own grandmother told me she used newspapers or rags.  I've read that sanitary napkins as we know them did not appear till early 20th century. What did Lady Whatsit use?"

In a Wenchly conclave we felt that we'd covered this. In fact, that I'd covered it. Telling, I'm sure that I was instantly interested in the topic, and yes I had blogged about menstruation in response to a question, but it was way back in 2008 and the question had been about PMS. So I reckoned I could have fun with the topic again.

However, it's really difficult to find relevant images to go with this subject, so I'm experimenting with a non-illustrated blog. How do you feel about that?

 "A woman's menstrual cycle is seldom mentioned in any historical novel."

Is this true? The other Wenches tended to think so, and that it was reasonable. Do you agree? I don't.

In these discussions menstruation is often listed along with urination and defecation, and that's reasonable, because they are all normal, regular, and in the case of the last two, frequent. Among readers and writers, the above are sometimes also listed with rotten teeth, fleas, and sweaty clothing.

There's a huge difference. I can dictate that my characters all have good teeth, because good teeth are possible. I know people who've never had a cavity (It seems to be to do with natural resistance to caries.) I have reasonable straight and even teeth and I've never seen an orthodontist. I can assume that they and their homes are flea-less, and that they wear clean linen every day (many did) and take reasonable measures to freshen their silken finery.

I cannot assume they never pee and poop. Or that a woman who isn't pregnant doesn't menstruate at roughly monthly intervals. So why on earth would I try to banish these normal, healthy events from my books? Why would anyone want them banished?

Question #1 What's your preference. Ignore such things entirely, or include them when it's relevant to the story?

My opinion.

As a reader I often find their absence distracting.

I'm not saying they need emphasis any more than other natural functions, but there are circumstances when I need a mention. Lady Prunella is kidnapped by the rapacious duke, escapes into the woods, where she becomes lost and wanders, afraid of the duke's minions, for a day and a night. Sooner or later, she's going to have to relieve her full bladder. In addition to reality, how she deals with it will tell me a lot about her. Does she struggle on, legs more and more crossed, because she cannot face the prospect of hiking her skirts, and dealing with her split drawers if she's wearing them, and letting it out?

Or, does she face up the necessity with practical common sense and just do it?

It's even more stressful, and thus interesting, if she remains a captive and has to ask the duke to allow her to relieve herself. She might make this a means of escape, but I'm going to think pretty poorly of the villainous duke if he allows her out of sight.

Let's talk about menstruation.

if the couple are having sex regularly and the story carries on for more than a few weeks, menstruation becomes an issue in this reader's mind. Why ignore the reality when it throws interesting light on the characters and their relationship? How do the man and woman deal with this aspect of intimacy for the first time?

Of course if she doesn't menstruate she's probably pregnant, which is important, but which also might be something she wants to hide. It's easier to pretend to have a period than to conceal one.

I have a broader point on this. Why do women treat menstruation as an unspeakable subject? It's a basic part of womanhood, deeply part of our sexuality and fertility, and we should at least accept it, and at best be proud of it, especially in our special genre. Comments?

Question #2. Have you come across romance novels which include menstruation as part of the story? Please share titles where you think it was particularly well done.

How did women manage menstruation in the past?

Clear facts are hard to find. I did find some 18th century health books that dealt with first menstruation, but they dwelt on the importance of preparing girls for the event and dissuading them from being invalidish about it. Fresh air and activity were the key.

So what did women do to cope with the flow?

This site has some information, as does this one.

Both are worth exploring, but I simply can't believe one argument there -- that women did nothing; that they simply let it dribble out as they went about their lives. There's more on that here. I hold it generally to be true that people in the past had as much common sense as we do and in general tried to make their lives as comfortable as possible.

The above site talks about staining the shift. What a bother that would be, and it'd get through to the outer clothing too, so she's walking around with a bloody stain on the back of her clothing, probably with all the dogs in the house or village sniffing after her. Believable?

True, some women menstruated rarely, but what about the young girls and other single women?

Female servants were nearly always unmarried. Did they drip around the house every month? I wonder if there's anything interesting to be found in documents to do with life in convents.

Given all the problems, it doesn't take a leap of inventiveness to come up with the idea of rags or wool or other absorbent material that could be held in place by a sling tied to a belt of some sort, and in fact women in various cultures have done just that, either washing cloths or discarding the wool, paper et al.

I am a bit startled by the newspaper mentioned by Artemisia's grandmother. I wonder how that worked.

So for my purposes, I assume that to be the case -- that it was the common practice for most women up to the 20th century when commercial pads became available. I found sanitary pads for sale in the 1901 catalogue of Eatons, a Canadian company. "Sanitary diapers. Antiseptic bleached cloth made of specially selected bleached cotton, guaranteed chemically pure and absorbent, soft finish in sealed packages of 10 yards each." It came from 18" to 27", priced from 65c to 95c.

This was fairly expensive, and for a long time poorer women would avoid that expense by using folded rags and washing them for re-use as they probably had for centuries, but the pads were clearly not a new-fangled thing in 1901.

On the subject of rags, oddly, the earliest citation in the OED for "on the rag" is 1967! I'd assumed it was much older.

Just stay home?

Another way to manage the monthly applies mostly to the richer classes -- the woman simply staying at home for a few days. This would be particularly welcome if she had cramps. I still think she'd have used some padding to avoid staining clothes, bed, chairs etc. It 1661 Pepys  wrote, "My wife now sick of her menses at home."

Question #3 However, I don't think I've come across a heroine opting out of the story for three or four days. Have you?

Another relevant reference is from Travels Through the Interior Parts of North-America in the Years 1766, 1767, and 1768 Jonathan Carver, John Coakley. "The Indian women are remarkably decent during their menstrual illness." They go on to describe a practice of the women retiring to a building when menstruating. Their approval suggests this would be decent practice back in Britain, but also that it's not always the case?

Question #4 How would you interpret it?

Question #5 Do you have anything  data to add to the above?

Cheers,

Jo

 

Basking in Bermuda

by Mary Jo

Getting married was a lot of fun, but we knew it would be seriously exhausting.  So where would be good to escape for a few days?  Something romantic, but easy.  We considered a lovely B&B we’d visited in West Virginia, but that didn’t seem quite right.

Then inspiration struck:  Bermuda!  It’s a two hour direct flight from Baltimore, suitably exotic and romantic, and I’ve always wanted to visit.  However, it’s too far north (the same latitude as North Carolina) to be really warm for those winter breaks one takes when in dire need of a dose of sunshine, so I’d never made it there. 

April would be a perfect time to visit, and the Mayhem Consultant agreed.  Bermuda is as beautiful as its reputation, with pink sand beaches (well, not THAT pink) and turquoise seas.  It’s really an archipelago of 181 islands (more or less), some connected by bridges to form the mainland.  There are less than 21 square miles of area, so this is a small place. 

But Bermuda had a LOT of history.  There was no indigenous population.  The first known European to land was the Spanish sea captain Juan de Bermudez, whose name was given to the island.  Ten years later he came by the island again and released a dozen pigs and sows, for the benefit of future shipwrecked mariners.

It worked, too!  The first British settlers came in 1609, when the Sea Venture, part of a flotilla of supply ships heading toward the struggling Virginia colony, was run aground on the reefs during a storm to save it from sinking.  All 150 passengers and a dog made it safely to shore.  Most later went on to Virginia, but while on Bermuda, they were grateful for the pigs!  And Britain claimed Bermuda for the Empire.

Honorary Word Wench Kathryn Johnson wrote a wonderful, werll-researched book inspired by the wreck of the SEA VENTURE called The Gentleman Poet. 

With little land for agriculture. Bermuda became a shipbuilding and sailing center, and for quite some time controlled much of the world’s salt trade.  After the American Revolution and the loss of British military bases in the new USA, the Royal Navy began building forts and defenses on Bermuda. 

Situated midway between the British colonies in Canada and the Caribbean, the island became Britain’s primary naval installation guarding the western Atlantic shipping lanes.  The attacks on Washington and Baltimore during the War of 1812 were launched from Bermuda.  The Royal Dockyards were the hub of all this naval activity, and are now a very pleasant tourist destination with shops, museums. and a dolphin pool. 

Bermuda also had masses of forts: 90 have been built since 1609! My favorite was Fort St. Catherine, which looks modest above ground, but has many levels of tunnels and arsenals below.  It’s a great museum,.  Plus, hidden behind a pillar between artillery placements was a metal tray with cat food.  <g>  We saw two cats, and I suspect there were more. 

No shots were ever fired in anger from these forts, but in 1941, there was an invasion of sorts when the American military arrived to update and fortify the artillery for the duration of WWII.  Most of the military installations are gone now, but their artifacts remain.

Because of its small size, Bermuda has always had to husband its resources carefully.  For example, the only source of fresh water is rainfall, so there are reservoirs under just about every building on the island.  Roofs are not only designed to channel rain into the reservoirs, but they’re painted with a lime mixture that helps purify the water.

It’s almost impossible for outsiders to buy land in Bermuda unless they’re in the mega-rich category, like Mayor Micheal Bloomberg.  Tourists can’t rent cars, either.  Instead, there is a delightful bus system consisting of pink buses with blue trim.  (The colors of Bermuda.) 

Bus stops are painted pink for buses heading toward Hamilton, the capital, or blue for buses heading away from Hamilton.  There are also plenty of taxis that include a site seeing rate on their rate cards.

We were fortunate to be referred to a driver by friends who’d been escorted around the island by him.  He was a lovely fellow, and each day he’d come at 10:00 am and take us to a different area, then drop us off for lunch and take us back to our hotel later. (As an overseas British territory, the fish and chips were excellent!)

Bermuda is a rich tapestry of an island, both beautiful and sophisticated.  My favorite place was the oldest city, St. George’s, founded in 1612 under the name New London.  It’s charming and historical, with the beautiful church of St. George on a hill overlooking the town and the harbor.

The vital location has always made Bermuda busy and prosperous.  These days, the most profitable business is off-shore banking, with tourism in second place.  I had no money to launder, but the tourism side of the island is great.  <G>

Bermuda is as expensive as its reputation, though!  A saying we heard a couple of times was, “Know how to become a millionaire in Bermuda?  Go there as a multi-millionaire.” <G>

 But it was a lovely place for a honeymoon, a delicious blend of Britishness and history and island culture. 

Have you ever visited Bermuda?  If so, how did you like it?  And if not—would you like to??

Mary Jo, who wants to go back!

Ready, Aim, FIRE—a Few Basics on Regency Ballistics

Cara/Andrea here, It’s not that I’m feeling in a bellicose state of mind—my choice of topic today has been sparked my re-reading of Waterloo, one of the books in the wonderful Sharpe series by Bernard Cornwell. The epic battle’s anniversary is later this month, and as we all know, that clash of grand armies with its flashing sabers, whizzing bullets, booming cannons and choking clouds of gunpowder, was a turning point in European history.

Richard Sharpe, the hero of Cornwell’s novels, is a rifleman, which set him apart from the regular British foot soldier, who was equipped with a musket. And what, you might ask, is the bloody difference between the two weapons? Both shoot bullets with lethal effect, right? Well, not quite, as I learned when I decided to do a little research into what made the “Green Jackets” (the special rifle units wore green to distinguish them from the Red-coated regulars) of the Wellington’s army such a feared fighting force.

To begin with, we need to understand a few simple concepts about the inside of a gun barrel. So allow me to spin out a few facts.  A smooth bore weapon, like the famed Brown Bess musket—which was standard British Army issue for over 120 years—is exactly what the name implies. The inside of the barrel is a smooth cylinder, which makes it relatively easy and quick to thrust a bullet and powder down its length with a ramrod. This smoothness also keeps powder residue from building up inside the weapon too quickly, allowing it to be fired repeatedly before it needs to be cleaned—a rather large plus in the heat of battle.

There are, however, drawbacks. It’s been estimated that during the 1700s, few than one percent of all musket balls fired found their target. Or, in the words of a British colonel, “At two hundred yards with a common musket, one might as well be firing at the moon.” That’s because a musket ball (it is round, which we will see in a minute is important) has to fit rather loosely in order to be rammed down the barrel. This is called windage, and it  means that when the ball comes out, propelled by the tiny explosion of gunpowder, it knocks around a bit against the smooth steel, and thus its aim can be wildly inaccurate. That’s all very well when facing an opposing line of soldiers who are only ten or twenty yards away. However, at any greater distance, things become more dicey.

In contrast, the inside of a rifle barrel has . . .well, rifling. This term refers to a series of grooves cut into the inside of the barrel, which twist in a continuous direction. These grooves impart a spin to a projectile fired out of the weapon. Spin helps counteract the tendency to wobble and bob as an object flies through the air (imagine a gyroscope and how its spinning force makes it more stable) thus making it more likely to maintain an stable path. In a nutshell, (or cartridge wrapping) a rifle is a far more accurate weapon than a musket.

Rifling was known as far back as the 1400’s, and was used in hunting guns. (In his highly entertaining book, Gunpowder, Jack Kelley tells an amusing story on the early explanation for why these early rifles were more lethal than smoothbore guns. A Bavarian necromancer named Moretius theorized that the flight of bullets was controlled by spirits, or imps, who took delight in frustrating shooters. A rifled bullet went straight because no demon could ride astride a spinning projectile. This theory was backed up, claimed Moretius, by the fact that the spinning heavens were free of demons, while the stationery Earth was crowded with them.

An interesting theory. However, a Quaker Englishman named Benjamin Robins came up with far more scientific observations on ballistics in the mid-1700s. He determined that a round ball is subject to far more “drag” as it flies through the air, and thus loses speed and accuracy very quickly. (The loss of velocity also makes it less likely to kill an opponent, a fact which interested the Army.) A pointed projectile is far more aerodynamic. But as that wasn’t technically practical at the time (modern bullets are all cone-shaped for this reason) he pointed out that rifling at least improved the effectiveness of a gun, and predicted that any nation who fought with rifled weapons would have a huge advantage.

It certainly made technical sense. And yet, there were also significant drawbacks. As I mentioned, a smoothbore musket was easily and quickly loaded—a skilled soldier could fire a shot every 12 seconds. Loading a rifle took more time and effort because to tale on the spin from the grooves, the bullet had to be a touch larger that the gun barrel, so the compression of the lead would take on the minute grooves. This meant a rifleman had to laboriously hammer a bullet down the length of his weapon (small wooden hammers were part of his standard arsenal) and thus even a well-trained one could only fire 2 shots a minute as opposed to 5. The grooves of a rifle also collected residue far faster than a smooth barrel so had to be cleaned more frequently.

So despite Robins’s data, the rifle was deemed inefficient for army use. The British, however, experienced just how lethal its fire could be during the American Revolution. Many of the colonists hunted with rifled weapons—the accuracy of the Kentucky long rifle was legendary—and they turned their marksmanship on British troops with devastating effect. (The British complained vociferously that this sniping was unsporting, for the American didn’t stand in sitting duck battle lines, but fired from long range while hiding behind stone walls or trees, which allowed them to reload at the slower rate without suffering the consequences.)

The British surrendered the Colonies, but the lesson of rifle power was not lost on them. During the Napoleonic Wars, they began to develop special rifle companies (most notably the 95th Rifles and the 5th Battalion, 60th Regiment of Foot) which were deployed to great effect, especially in the Peninsular campaign. Riflemen were usually sent out as advance skirmishers, and their long range accuracy was used to disrupt the waiting enemy lines. A top priority was to pick off the opposing officers—it is said that Thomas Plunkett of the 95th Rifles killed French General Colbert from a distance of nearly 600 yards during the retreat to La Corunna.

After testing several models, the Baker rifle, designed in 1800 by a Whitechapel gunsmith named Ezekiel Baker, was the first standard issue British military rifle. For those of you who read the Sharpe novels, the Baker rifle will be a familiar name. It had a shorter barrel than a Brown Bess, making it a distinctive weapon. The stock had a small storage box built in it for the special cartridges, and it was equipped with a sword bayonet rather than the thin needle-shaped bayonet used on the Brown Bess musket.

Bonaparte dismissed the idea of rifles for his own armies, but in fact as well as fiction it proved an unwise decision. Richard Sharpe and his fellow riflemen wreak havoc on the French in Cornwell’s novels, and so did the real-life marksmen of the rifle regiments. The 95th Regiment served with distinction at the battle of Waterloo, and well, as they say., the rest is history.

So, are any of you fans of the Richard Sharpe novels? Which is your favorite book in the series. And have you watched the television version featuring Sean Bean? (fluttery sigh) I think he’s marvelous in the role, but let’s have a little fun—who else do you think would be a good Sharpe? I vote for Matthew MacFadyen.